Santa Fe Showdown

by Jory Sherman

  “Let me tell you something, Marylynn,” he said. “If I ever get in another fight, I hope you’re watching my back. You did just fine.”

  “That cook was trying to kill you,” she said, as if dumbstruck.

  “That’s what a price on your head does to people,” he said. “I’m just a way to make a few extra dollars for folks who ought to know better.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to go up against you.”

  She reached out and touched his arm, saw the blood, the ripped sleeve. He held his arm up and looked at it himself.

  “Can you sew?” he asked.

  “There’s a lot of things I can do, Lew. If only you’d let me.”

  He didn’t answer, but reached for the bundle of food Marylynn had in her lap.

  “I’m still hungry,” he said. “But tonight, we’ll eat in Santa Fe.”

  “Together?”

  “Yes, together. I owe you for what you did back there. That fool waitress would have filled us both full of buckshot.”

  “I never thought of that,” she said. “I just didn’t want her holding a shotgun on you.”

  “You’re a good woman, Marylynn,” he said. “You’ll go far.”

  She gave him an odd look, but Lew paid no attention. He took a piece of steak from the bundle and stuck it in his mouth, then handed the food back to Marylynn. She looked at it, and then her face drained of color and she grabbed her stomach.

  Lew knew she was going to be sick.

  12

  THE SNOWY PEAKS OF THE SANGRE DE CRISTO RANGE GLISTENED in the late afternoon sun like an ermine mantle sprinkled with silver and golden dust. Santa Fe lay in view, a sprawl of adobe buildings that glowed with an orange fire. A thin pall of smoke hung over the town, and as Lew and Marylynn rode in, they could feel the energy and vibrancy of the inhabitants. Carts pulled by burros traversed the busy streets, vendors displayed wares of blankets and pottery and vestments and utensils, children raced to and fro playing with sticks and balls, and women trundled babies from shop to shop like travelers on an excursion to a foreign land.

  “What a beautiful place,” Marylynn exclaimed, her gaze taking in the splendor of a city that seemed to rise magically from the barren desert.

  “It’s quite a town, I hear,” Lew said, and began looking for a place to board their horses. He knew, from experience, that there was probably a town plaza, and that this road, and all others leading into Santa Fe, was arrowed straight toward the center of the city.

  None of the people on the street paid any attention to them, and they saw others on horseback as they neared the heart of the city. The sunset emblazoned the clouds with shimmering patinas of gold, and rays shot out from some of them like some wondrous fountain that bespoke the majesty of nature and, perhaps, the glory of a supreme being. Marylynn gazed at the heavens like a wonderstruck child, while Lew looked closely at the cantinas and eateries that seemed to appear on nearly every block.

  “Where are we going?” Marylynn asked.

  “I’m going to find a stable and a hotel,” he said. “Then we can look for a place to eat.”

  “Are we staying in the same room at this hotel?” she asked.

  “Marylynn, you’ve got to get over your attachment to me. I’ll be riding on, soon, and I’m riding alone. You’ll have to find your own way.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she said. “And you need someone to look after you, Lew. I’ve already seen what kind of trouble you can get into. And then, there’s that flyer, following you wherever you go.”

  Lew pulled out the scrap of paper he had taken from the café and studied his likeness.

  The drawing showed him clean-shaven, with short hair. He touched fingers to his beard and stroked the stubble as if coaxing it to grow.

  “I’m going to let my beard and hair grow out,” he said. “I doubt if anyone will recognize me. We’re a long way from Arkansas.”

  “I feel like a castaway,” she said, pouting.

  “You mean a castoff.”

  “That, too.”

  He laughed.

  “Marylynn, you have your own life to live. I have my own.”

  “But I want to be with you. Please.” The pleading in her voice made him squirm inside his skin.

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with you, Marylynn. I’m not married. Never have been. I don’t have a job. I couldn’t support you. I couldn’t even settle down. I’d always be looking over my shoulder. A wanted man.”

  “Maybe you should think about getting married. Settling down. You need someone to look after you, Lew. We’ve passed at least two livery stables. Didn’t you see the signs?”

  The truth was, Lew wasn’t looking for the stables yet. He was looking for the Tecolote Cantina, and he saw it just when she asked the question. But he wasn’t going to tell Marylynn what was on his mind.

  “I guess I missed them,” he said. “But I don’t see any hotels.”

  “There were some up those two streets where the stables were,” she said. “I declare, you must be a country boy.”

  He laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Well, are we going to board our horses or just keep riding all night?”

  “We can go back. You show me the sign.”

  They turned their horses. The sun was down behind the mountains, but the glow was still in the sky. Bats flapped overhead like harbingers of dusk, and the temperature began to drop. A few oil lamps glowed in store windows.

  Marylynn pointed to a sign that read STABLES, 1 BLOCK. They turned down that street, which bore the name Caballo Street. There were two hotels in the first block and one in the next, across from the small livery and blacksmith’s shop. All of the buildings were made of adobe brick. None were close together. There were cobblestones in front of the hotels and hitch rails as well as rings.

  “That looks like a nice one,” Marylynn said, pointing to the first hotel they passed. It was called El Nopal, and there were two large pots flanking the entrance, both filled with cactus plants.

  “We’ll see,” Lew said.

  The next hotel they passed was called The Majestic, and, like the first, it was two-storied, with a balcony on the second floor. It had no plants outside, but looked clean and inviting to a pair of tired riders.

  The stable was at the end of the second block, across from a hotel called El Palacio. Its lobby was visible from the street, since it had plate glass windows and was well lighted with oil lamps that glowed invitingly onto the darkening street. The stable took up space for four hotels and was called Caballero Stables. A square of orange light stood outside the open doors of the first entrance, and there were hitch rails along the front of the entire complex.

  They dismounted out front and wrapped their reins around one of the hitch rails and walked inside. The aroma of horse dung and hay assailed their nostrils. A horse whinnied at the far end and a man emerged from one of the stalls. He wore a straw hat, faded blue denims, and a blue chambray shirt. When he drew close, he spoke to them in English.

  “You wish to board your wagon here?” he said. “I am Alonzo, the owner, at your service.”

  “Two tired horses,” Lew said.

  “Ah, you will stay the night—longer, perhaps?”

  “Longer, maybe,” Marylynn said, with a mite too much eagerness, Lew thought.

  “At least one night,” Lew said. “What do you charge for boarding?”

  “You will stay at the hotel across the street? I own that, as well, and if you stay there, then it is only one dollar for each horse. If you do not, then the cost is two dollars for each horse.”

  “What does the hotel charge for the night?” Lew asked.

  “One room or two?” Alonzo said. He was a short, muscular man, clean-shaven, with gnarled hands that had weathered many a rope burn. He had an affable smile and the whitest teeth Lew had ever seen.

  “One room,” Marylynn said, and Lew sighed.

  “Yes, one room,” he echoed.

  �
��For you, because you are young and you are tired, the cost will be only two silver dollars for the night. If you stay a week, only twelve dollars. Is that too dear for you?”

  “No,” Lew said. “That will be fine.”

  “I will get your horses. You just walk across the street and tell the clerk at the desk that Alonzo said you are to have the special rate, for one night or for one week.”

  “Thank you,” Marylynn said, beaming.

  “Yes, thanks,” Lew said, feeling as if she had a rope around his neck.

  “You may pay the livery charge at the hotel,” Alonzo said. “There is a room for dining and the food is very good. And we serve honest drinks at very reasonable prices.”

  “You speak very good English,” Lew said. “Better than I speak Spanish.”

  “I had the education from the Catholic school,” he said. “I went to college in Mexico City to learn the business, but I learned the English when I was very young.”

  Alonzo walked outside with them and waited until they had removed their rifles and saddlebags, then led their horses into the stables.

  “Do not worry,” he said. “I will take good care of your horses. My boy will be here soon and then I will take my supper at the hotel. Perhaps I will see you there later.”

  “Maybe,” Lew said, taking Marylynn by the arm before she could get words out of her open mouth. He hustled her across the street toward the hotel.

  “My, what a nice man,” she said. “I like Santa Fe already.”

  Dangerous thinking, Lew thought. A young woman could be lulled into a sense of well-being so easily. Santa Fe was an old town, wise in the ways of the world. And like all such towns, its denizens were waiting to pounce on the unwary, the unsuspecting, the innocent. But he did not want to think of these things. After tonight, she would be on her own, out of his sight and out of his mind. He could warn her, but he would not go so far as to throw his lot in with hers, no matter how vulnerable she might be.

  He paid at the desk for a room and the livery. One night only. Much to Marylynn’s disappointment.

  When she saw the room, Marylynn turned to him. “Oh, it’s so nice here. Couldn’t we stay for a week? Get to know the town? Do some exploring. At least until I can find some gainful employment.”

  “Marylynn, what you do is your own business. I’m staying for one night, that’s all.”

  “Oh, you hardheaded stubborn old mule,” she said. “You want to spoil everything.”

  “No, I don’t, Marylynn. What’s so special about this place? It has a bed, a table, two chairs, a chamber pot, a dresser, and a wardrobe. There are thousands of these rooms all over the West.”

  “But it was such a long tiring ride here, Lew. And as soon as we get here, you want to leave. You just can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?”

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I have my own life to live. And you have yours. This is a dead horse. Let’s not beat it anymore.”

  She did everything but stomp her feet. He watched her wash up for supper and waited until she was ready to go down before he took to soap and water. She glared at him the whole time from the window, where she gazed out on the city, its adobe buildings softened by night, its lights full of bright orange promise, the snowcapped mountains shining under stars and a rising moon.

  They ate in the dining room, at a small table that looked out on a veranda bathed in moonlight, with a fountain that glistened in the golden glow of lamplight.

  “It’s so romantic,” she said. “I wonder why nobody is taking their meals outside on that lovely veranda.”

  “Probably because they’d be eaten alive by flies and mosquitoes,” he said.

  “Lew, don’t you have any romance in you whatsoever?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said, chewing on a tender morsel of steak smothered in onions.

  She huffed a little, but left him alone while she ate and admired the romantic view. He wished now that he had just dropped her off and gone to another hotel. She was as hard to get rid of as red chiggers in high grass. His only hope was that she would still be asleep in the morning when he up and left her.

  When they were drinking their coffee after finishing their meal, she reached across the table and put her hand atop his.

  “I am going to miss you, Lew. I wish I were going with you.”

  “I wish you well, Marylynn. Let’s not say good-bye yet. I don’t much like good-byes, anyway.”

  “I don’t like them at all.”

  “Maybe you’ll change your mind by morning and let me go with you,” she said.

  “No, I will not. And that’s final.”

  She withdrew her hand and glared at him.

  “I wish my father were here, alive,” she pouted. “He’d take the strop to you and beat you to a fare-thee-well.”

  “You must have had a mean father.”

  “How dare you say a bad thing about my father.”

  “You said it. Not I.”

  “Lew, you are impossible.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” he said, and turned away from her.

  It was good to rest up in the city, to be at a destination. But looking out at the veranda and the stars, the moonlight, he knew he was more at home out there, bedroll on the ground, horse nibbling grass nearby, only the silent stars for company. He wondered if it would always be so.

  Her cup clattered against her saucer as if she had jangled them deliberately to get his attention.

  “I’m ready to return to the room,” she said. “Unless you want to explore the town, see what sights it has.”

  “I do not. I’m tired, Marylynn.”

  “Well, I’m tired too, Lew. I’m ready to go to bed.”

  He studied her face. There was a ferocity about the woman that was almost admirable. But she could cling to a man like a wood tick and suck blood until she almost popped. In the lamplight, he had to admit, she was beautiful. Like a river at night, a river running deep. There was a mystery about her, the mystery of woman, perhaps, and a strength such as his mother had possessed. She was fascinating, even alluring. He knew he had to be on guard this night, more than all the others. She knew he was leaving her in the morning. He would put nothing past her in her desire to have him stay.

  “Marylynn, before we go up, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “Sure. Ask me anything.”

  “Back there in Glorieta, when you had my pistol trained on that woman, would you have shot her if she hadn’t put down the shotgun?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze direct, unwavering. Her eyes glowed with a sunken fire like the coals in a blacksmith’s forge.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I asked you,” he said.

  “She was going to shoot you, Lew. I’ve already killed one man who tried to do that. What makes you think I wouldn’t have killed a woman trying to do the same thing?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” he said, and scooted his chair away from the table. “I just hope you don’t get into the habit,” he said. “On anybody’s account.”

  “Like you, you mean,” she said, and her words stabbed him in the heart.

  Hell, he thought, hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  13

  SHE WASHED THE DRIED BLOOD FROM HIS ARM WITH A WET cloth. The cut was not deep, and Lew knew it would not take long to heal. It didn’t hurt, just stung a little in places.

  “You should have some merbromin on it. Iodine, maybe.”

  “Neither of which we have here in the room,” he said.

  She leaned back in her chair and dropped the damp cloth onto the table. The room was on the first floor, at the back of the hotel. The view from the window was not much, a vacant lot overgrown with weeds that had caught scraps of paper, pieces of thin cloth, and tumbleweeds. Other buildings on either side loomed faint in the darkness.

  “Lew,” she said, “what was it like when your folks…when you lost your ma
and pa?”

  “You’re thinking about your daddy,” he said.

  “Yes. You remind me of him, in a way.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. Your quietness, maybe. But you’re gentle. He was hard.”

  “Daddies have to be hard on little girls, maybe.”

  “Are you going to answer my question? Please. I want to know.”

  “My ma and pa were brutally murdered,” he said. “It is not something I like to think about. They were killed on my birthday, so I have a permanent reminder of how they died.”

  “I don’t mean those kinds of thoughts, Lew. I meant, afterward. When you were alone and they were gone. What did you think? How did you feel?”

  “Probably like you feel, Marylynn. One minute they were alive, the next minute they were gone. There was an emptiness in the world. My pa…I miss him still. It’s like there’s a hole in my life, in all life.”

  “That’s how I feel. I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door there. He—sometimes, he feels right close to me. And at others, he seems so far away I can’t even remember what he looks like.”

  “It’s going to be that way for a long time, Marylynn. Maybe you never get over it. I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I dream about my father. And my mother. I can’t make good sense of the dreams, but there is the feeling that he is still alive and still giving me good advice.”

  “That hasn’t happened to me, yet,” she said. “At least I don’t think it has.”

  “Each person is different, I guess.”

  “What else?” she asked.

  Lew could hear the screechy squeak of a windmill somewhere outside. It was a forlorn sound and reminded him of other times when he was alone and he heard things.

  “Sometimes, when I’m alone in a room like this,” he said, “I hear my father’s footsteps outside the door, or somewhere in the building. I know it’s him because of the rhythm and because I remember his gait, the way he walked. I know he’s just outside, and I have the feeling that he’s going to walk through the door and put his hand on my shoulder.”