“Thank you,” Nell said. “Naomi and I owe all of you so much. I never thanked you properly for rescuing me from the Comanches.”
“It was my pleasure, ma’am,” said Rusty. “I never seen anybody visit so much grief on a pair of Comanches as you and Bonita did.”
Nell laughed. “I couldn’t have done it without Bonita, and neither of us would have had a chance, without you, Gavin, and Vic.”
Rusty turned away, embarrassed by the unaccustomed praise. The second day after they had been wounded, Woody and Whit were conscious but weak. Gavin spent half an hour with Woody, telling him what had taken place after he had been ambushed.
“I’d have been dead a couple of times,” said Gavin, “if it hadn’t been for Wiley and Whit. They waded in and did their share.”
“I’m not surprised,” Woody said. “They don’t have much of their paw in them. Where is Nip Kelly?”
“One of the bushwhackers escaped,” said Gavin, “and Nip went after him. I’m thinking some of us ought to go looking for him, if he hasn’t returned by tomorrow.”
“Some of us should have gone today,” Woody said. “Nip’s no slouch with those twin Colts, and I reckon he can shade any one of us with a Winchester. It ain’t takin’ him this long to track down one bushwhacker.”
“Not a man of us left unwounded, except Nip and Vic,” Gavin said, “but you’re dead right. I ain’t in prime condition, but I can ride. I’ll go at first light.”
“I reckon it’s just as well this will be my last ride as trail boss,” said Woody. “Every time there’s a need for me, I’m flat on my back with arrows or lead. You’re wounded too. Why don’t we talk to Vic?”
“Talk to Vic if you want,” Gavin said, “and he’s welcome to ride with me, but I’ll be goin’ at first light. I believe in a man ridin’ for the brand, but Nip’s pretty far out on a limb, right now.”
Woody said no more, nor did he approach Vic. It wasn’t the first time he and Gavin had disagreed, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. The more he thought of Gavin’s stubborn stand, the more certain he became that the man was right. While he—Woody Miles—had been out of his head with fever, Nip Kelly had likely gotten himself neckdeep in trouble. Perhaps even more than the resourceful Missourian could handle. In so many words, Gavin hadn’t said he didn’t want Vic trailing Nip, and like a revelation, Woody believed he knew the reason. Vic Brodie was more headstrong than was Nip Kelly, and even with his back to the wall, wasn’t inclined to seek help. Troubled, Woody silently cursed the bushwhackers and the wound that sapped his strength. Wounded or not, he was still trail boss, and Pitkin would be looking to him for some decision regarding Nip Kelly. Knowing Gavin McCord, Woody was certain he wouldn’t speak to Pitkin of his decision to follow Kelly, but within minutes of Gavin’s departure, Pitkin arrived with questions.
“I am concerned about Mr. Kelly,” Pitkin said.
“So am I,” said Woody. “Gavin’s goin’ after him at first light.”
“Gavin has an unhealed wound,” Pitkin replied. “So does everybody, except for Vic and myself. Perhaps it is time for me to assume some of the responsibility for this outfit.”
The Englishman was dead serious, and Woody almost laughed.
“None of us have ever doubted your sense of responsibility for this outfit,” Woody said, “but we don’t know that Kelly hasn’t walked into somethin’ that won’t ensnare all of us, and every gun we can muster. I promise you, when we ride as an outfit, you’ll be in the thick of the fight. Until we know what’s happened to Nip, this calls for the eyes and the ears of a frontiersman. Wounded or not, there isn’t a man alive more qualified than Gavin McCord.”
“I am unprepared to contest that,” said Pitkin. “Gavin has proven himself.”
He turned away, and Woody was left alone with his thoughts, until Naomi came looking for him.
“Woody, Gavin’s wound isn’t healed. Why is he riding in search of Nip Kelly?”
“His choice,” Woody said. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I have. He refuses to discuss it.”
“Naomi,” said Woody wearily, “a man generally bears enough of a load, without havin’ a woman question his judgment at every turn. If you want Gavin, ease up on the reins. Give him his head, and I don’t mean on a platter.”
For a moment he thought she was about to lose her temper, but she didn’t. Without another word she turned away.
Santa Fe, New Mexico. August 4, 1869.
Nip Kelly had ridden almost a hundred and fifty miles. He immediately found a livery, leaving instructions for his horse to be rubbed down, grained, and watered. Of necessity, he stopped at a cafe and ordered a meal, and before leaving, he asked about Tobe Hankins.
“Fanciest saloon in town,” the cook told him. “You can’t miss it.”
Kelly had ridden all night, and it was still too early for the saloons to be open. There was no mistaking the place, when he found it. In gaudy red and gold letters two feet high, the name—“Tobe’s Saloon”—was emblazoned across the false front. It seemed plenty large enough for living quarters, and Nip pounded on the locked double doors.
“Vamoose,” growled a surly voice from inside. “We open at eleven. That’s three more hours.”
“This ain’t saloon business,” said Nip. “I’m here to see Tobe Hankins.”
“What’s yer business with Tobe?”
“None of yours,” Nip said shortly. “It’s between Hankins and me. Tell him Nip Kelly’s here.”
“He don’t generally git up till ten,” said the same voice, a little less surly now.
“He will this morning,” Nip replied. “Tell him I’ve brought him a message from one of his amigos. A gent name of Watt Grimes. His dyin’ words, in fact.”
That got almost immediate results. When the door eventually swung open, it revealed the bearded man behind the surly voice. A Colt revolver had been shoved under his belt, and under his arm was a sawed-off shotgun. When Kelly stepped inside, the door was shut and locked.
“That’s Tobe’s office, down the hall,” his host said. “You can go in an’ wait.”
Cautiously, Nip opened the heavy door and stepped inside. The interior was dim, the only light being the rays of the morning sun through a single window. At the far end of the room was a desk, and behind the desk, a door. Nip took a chair against the wall, from which he could watch the door through which he had entered, as well as the door behind the desk. As he had expected, Hankins entered through the door behind the desk. Nip got up and stood before the desk. Hankins said nothing, and it was Nip who spoke.
“It’s been a long time, Tobe.”
“Not near long enough,” said Hankins.
“I wish I could say it’s good to see you again,” Nip said, “but I’m just not that big a liar. How well do you know a gent name of Watt Grimes?”
“He comes in the saloon occasionally,” Hankins said. “What are you leadin’ up to?”
“An ambush,” said Nip. “Six skunk-striped varmints waylaid the outfit I’m ridin’ with. I trailed the only one who got out alive, leavin’ him for the buzzards and coyotes. Before he cashed in, he said the ambush was your idea. He also said, tell you to go to hell. Now I’m here to settle with you, Hankins.”
Hankins laughed. “You’ll never leave this room alive. Do you think I invited you in to talk of old times?”
“I got more confidence in a rattler than I have in you, Hankins,” Nip replied. “Do you think I came here alone, without the rest of the outfit knowin’ where I was headed?”
Again Hankins laughed. “Won’t make no difference. There’s no statute of limitations on murder, Nip. I can kill you legally. Remember, you left Missouri on the dodge. I still have one of the wanted posters.”
“You bastard,” Kelly said, “it was you that provoked that gunfight. You drew first.”
“Yeah,” Hankins gloated, “but you fired first, and it was your slug that struck poor Celeste Tilden. Funny thin’ was, she wa
s afraid you’d get in trouble for shootin’ me, but it only got you in deeper. It was you that rode away.”
“You told me she was dead,” said Nip, “and I knew I couldn’t count on you to speak up for me.”
“You was always puttin’ me down,” Hankins replied. “Celeste always preferred you, and even after you rode off, that didn’t change. She hated me, and I had to fight for the favors that would have been yours.”
“What in tarnation are you saying?”
Again Hankins laughed, savoring the torture he could see in Nip Kelly’s eyes. When he spoke again, it was with an evil hiss.
“You was a damn fool, Kelly. You’ve always been a fool. Celeste Tilden wasn’t dead. Your slug only creased her. It took some doin’ on my part, but I convinced her you didn’t want her, that you was fiddle-footed. I had her for five years, Kelly, but you spoiled it for me. She cussed me, slapped my face, and went to St. Louis. I heard she died there, spendin’ her last years in a whorehouse. For ten years, you rode the outlaw trail, Kelly, for a no-account whore who should have been dead.”
“You lie, damn you,” Kelly snarled.
But the misery in the man’s eyes told the truth, and the acceptance of it was enough to contain Nip Kelly’s anger. For a long moment, his hands trembled over the butts of his twin Colts. Gradually he became deadly calm, hooking his thumbs in his pistol belt. Much to the surprise of Hankins, Kelly spoke.
“So there was no deception on Celeste’s part, Hankins. Just your lies. I can feel better about her in a whorehouse, or even dead, than in your filthy hands. Now, let’s get back to my purpose for bein’ here. You hired that bunch of scum to bushwhack Pitkin’s outfit, and I have the truth of it from a dyin’ man. Before I kill you, I want some answers.”
“This time,” Hankins said, “I don’t mind givin’ you some straight ones. There’s a railroad comin’, Kelly, and I aim to own the land they’ll need for the right-of-way. Just who do you reckon owns that land now?”
“Gladstone Pitkin,” said Nip.
“Yes,” Hankins admitted. “Now I aim to make you an offer you can’t refuse. I figure we might have been friends, if we hadn’t let a no-account woman come between us, but all that’s in the past. With you or without you, I aim to take that land from Pitkin. I aim to walk tall in this territory, and this is your chance to side me. Will you?”
“Never,” Kelly gritted. “I won’t betray a man who’s treated me white, who accepted me for what I am, without questionin’ my past.”
“Not even to save your own hide?”
“Not even then,” said Kelly.
The shotgun bellowed, its heavy load blasting a hole in the desk, but Nip Kelly wasn’t there. He had hit the floor, pulling a Colt, rolling away. He came to his knees, his Colt spitting lead, but Hankins was bellydown on the floor, behind the ruined desk. While the bearded man hadn’t reloaded the shotgun, he had drawn the Colt. He fired twice, and both slugs slammed into Nip Kelly’s back. He lay facedown, his life leaking out on the office floor.
“Good work, Jake,” Hankins said. “Wrap him in a blanket and get him out of sight. After dark, I want you to take him as far along the Santa Fe Trail as you can—at least fifty miles—and drop him.”
“Hell,” said Jake, “why go to all that trouble? Why not just plant him somewhere?”
“Because, by God, they’ll come lookin’ for him,” Hankins said, “and I want to be sure they find him.”
Hankins left the saloon and climbed the back stairs to the second floor of the Pecos Hotel. He silently cursed Deuce Rowden and his bunch for the bunglers they were, lamenting the loss of the three thousand he had wasted on them. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. When he knocked on a door, he was admitted by a Mexican whose twin pistols rode low on his lean hips, thonged down with rawhide. Hankins came right to the point.
“Sanchez, I need some men. Man killers.”
“Si,” said Sanchez. “For where, Señor, and how many?”
“Fifteen,” Hankins said. “Here. In Santa Fe.”
“The law, Señor?”
“For the next few days,” said Hankins, “the law will be mindin’ its own business.”
Gavin saddled his horse. In his saddlebags was enough jerked beef for three days, and additional shells for Colt and Winchester. Naomi spent a few final minutes with him. After her talk with Woody, she had said nothing more to Gavin regarding his decision. The girl had begun to appreciate Woody’s wisdom, for Gavin seemed relieved. Obviously, he had expected an unpleasant confrontation with her. She knew he must speak to Woody and to Pitkin before he rode out, and and she yielded to them.
“I won’t be back until I find Nip, or get some word of him,” Gavin said.
Pitkin nodded, and Woody spoke.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be movin’ on. We’ll look for you somewhere between here and Santa Fe.”
Gavin tipped his hat and rode away, knowing they were concerned about him, knowing they were reluctant to speak, lest it be taken as a lack of confidence. Before he lost sight of the camp, he reined up and looked back. Naomi raised her hand. Gavin swallowed hard and rode on…
20
Gavin had ridden not more than a dozen miles when he reached the macabre sign that Kelly had left. The abandoned Winchester said that Nip had caught up with the lone bushwhacker who had run for it. The written message, however, left him puzzled. Apparently, Kelly had learned something from the bushwhacker, but why had he ridden on alone? True, most of the outfit had been wounded, but if Tobe Hankins—for whatever reason—had hired one bunch of killers, he certainly was capable of hiring others. However resourceful Kelly might be, taking on a gang of killers single-handed wasn’t his responsibility, yet he appeared to be ready to do just that.
“Damn it, Nip,” Gavin said aloud, “why didn’t you ride back and tell us whatever you had learned?”
While Gavin had word as to Kelly’s whereabouts, he was reluctant to simply return to camp with the information. They still would be faced with the need to join Nip in whatever difficulty he had encountered, yet every man—with the exception of Vic and Pitkin—had been wounded. Gavin rode on, believing he was not more than a day’s ride from Santa Fe. When he eventually found Nip Kelly’s body, it was late afternoon. Try as he might, he was unable to find Kelly’s horse. Riding a mile farther toward Santa Fe, he figured it out. He found tracks of a lone horse from Santa Fe, and tracks of the same horse, returning. Nip had died in Santa Fe, yet someone had taken the time and trouble to ride out and leave his body where it was sure to be found. Why?
“Damn it,” Gavin said, through gritted teeth.
Sadly, he wrapped Nip’s body in a blanket, tied it securely, and draped it over the withers of his horse. With the animal carrying double, he dared not hurry it. He eventually reached camp just minutes before the second watch began. Rusty, Vic, and Ash watched him approach in the starlight, needing no explanation. The slow plodding of the horse soon awakened the camp, for they all feared something had happened to Nip Kelly, and not one had been asleep. Gonzales had lighted the lantern. Silently, Vic helped Gavin remove the blanket-wrapped body and ease it to the ground. Beyond the dim light from the lantern, there was the sound of weeping. Nell, Naomi, Bonita, Jania, and Laketa were paying tribute to Nip Kelly in the only way they knew how. Gavin rolled Kelly over, exposing the pair of bullet holes in his back. It was all they needed to know of the manner in which Nip had died. Without a word, Gavin removed the written message from his shirt pocket, passing it to Woody. Gonzales held the lantern close, and Woody read the brief message aloud. With a minimum of words, Gavin explained where he had found the message, and finally, where he had found Nip’s body.
“For some reason, he rode to Santa Fe alone,” Woody said. “Do any of you have any ideas as to why he did that, instead of ridin’ back and tellin’ us what he had learned?”
“I have nothing more than a suspicion,” said Gavin, “but I believe Nip knew, or at least thought he knew this Tobe Hankins. He may
be somebody from Nip’s past.”
“Maybe,” Woody said, “but why did Nip have to go after him alone?”
“He never talked much about himself,” said Naomi, “but he once told Nell and me that he was from Missouri, that he once knew a girl there, but that she was dead.”
“We are speculating,” Pitkin said. “Tomorrow, we shall bury Mr. Kelly and resume our journey to Santa Fe. Gavin, have you any idea how much farther we must travel?”
“I rode a good sixty miles before finding Nip,” said Gavin. “I’d say we’re a hundred miles out. Another week, at most.”
“When we have reached the place where you found Mr. Kelly’s body,” Pitkin said, “we shall leave the herd and the wagons there, and ride to Santa Fe. I shall ask all of you to load your weapons and follow me. We shall see that Nip Kelly has not died in vain, gentlemen, if we must demolish the town, leaving not one brick atop another.”
Sadly, they left Nip Kelly in a lonely grave along the Santa Fe Trail. It would grass over and become one of many, lost to the ravages of time…
Upper fork of the Pecos River. August 11, 1869.
“Just a mile or two beyond here is where I found Nip,” Gavin said. “For the sake of good water and graze, we’d better leave the wagons and the herd here.”
“Father,” said Nell, “why must we remain here with the wagons and the herd, while all of you ride to Santa Fe? Naomi and I can shoot, and I know Bonita, Jania, and Laketa can.”
“Precisely why all of you will remain here,” Pitkin replied. “Gonzales will be here, and I suspect we may need all of you to tend the wounded.”
In Santa Fe, Jake pounded on Tobe Hankins’ door. Finally, Hankins opened it.
“Devlin just brought word,” Jake said. “They’re on the upper fork of the Pecos, and it looks like they aim to stay a while.”
The Santa Fe Trail Page 29
