by Paul Lederer
I squatted down beside the man I knew to be McQueen and went through his pockets. I found what I was looking for. With an inappropriate grin I rose and held Ray Hardin’s wallet up for Beth to see. ‘Still had it on him.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was thin; her face was bloodless. ‘Can we go now?’
Gathering up the lead to Henry Tyler’s sorrel, I swung aboard the buckskin and we started away from the river, leaving the blessed shade of the cottonwoods behind. The sky was high and harsh. I was grateful to Tyler for the waterbags he had had sense enough to bring along. The desert was as long and desolate as ever. A gathering of vultures began to soar on high, forming a dark, tragic image. Beth saw them but kept her eyes averted.
A mile or so on she said, ‘Surely we’re going in the wrong direction.’
I reined up briefly. Her blue eyes were clear despite the blistering sun. She looked as if she had just stepped out of her bath. A few wisps of pale hair had slipped down from the fawn-colored Stetson she wore to drift across her forehead. I wanted to speak softly to her, but I had to make myself clear and so my voice was a little rough.
‘Listen, Beth. I don’t know what you two had in mind when you roped me into this, but I am not going to chase after Corson, am not about to go back to Flagstaff where they have a hangman’s noose waiting for me. I’ve chosen this direction to get as far away as possible from the men who want to gun us down, from the men who killed Henry Tyler.’
‘You’re afraid of them.’
‘Damn right’
She didn’t criticize my language, though for a moment I thought she was going to actually cry and that made me feel more like a heel than ever. We rode for ten or more silent miles before I halted again, scanning the far horizon and said, ‘Let’s swing down and give these horses a break. It’ll soon be dark. No one can sneak up on us on these flats.’
I had it in mind to rest the horses, to apologize, then continue on our way in the morning. Except it wasn’t our way. I was determined to make California. She was dead-set on reaching Flagstaff and finding proof of her brother’s innocence. It didn’t look as if I was going to be able to talk her out of it. I didn’t like the idea of a woman trying to cross that expanse of desert on her own, with known killers and bands of Yaqui Indians roaming the trackless wasteland, but what was I to do?
No sooner had she swung down from her blue roan’s back than she stuck out her hand and said, ‘Let me see Ray Hardin’s wallet, please.’
With evening descending the breeze had risen. Crouched down Beth began to go through the billfold, removing every scrap of paper, weighting them down with pebbles to keep them from being blown away. Every piece of paper was spread out before her; her frown only deepened. A hint of despair had crept into her eyes.
‘What is it we’re looking for?’ I asked, squatting beside her.
‘The number!’ she said as if I were the idiot of the world.
‘Look,’ I said, moderating my voice. ‘That’s the second time you’ve told me that we are looking for a number that is important. Thing is – excuse me – I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
We were speaking in those few graceful twilight desert hours with the sky in the west reddening, the heat of the day dissipating. Doves winged past overhead, cutting quick ‘V’s as they made their way toward their secret watering places. The crimson sky painted the desert to deep red and violet. Beth’s cheeks were flushed with the evening light. She had removed her broad-brimmed hat and it hung down her neck by a rawhide string, letting her hair drift in the breeze. She was a pretty picture at that moment as the long desert, transformed itself from hell to a landscape of muted beauty.
Wearily, Beth said: ‘I told you that Jefferson Pulver had written a full confession on his death bed. Probably after he and Corson had a falling-out, he wanted to make sure that his former friend got his.’
‘So you said.’
‘The confession is locked in a safety deposit box in a Flagstaff bank. That’s what he wrote to my brother in his letter of apology. I need to be able to open it.’
‘You don’t have the key? Is that it?’
‘Do I not!’ Beth said. She reached into the neck of her blouse and showed me a brass key hanging from a chain. ‘You didn’t go through Ray Hardin’s wallet, but Henry did. He found the key and rode to Yuma to give it to me.’
‘Then …?’
‘Then we don’t know the box number!’ Beth said in frustration. ‘The bank is not going to let me go in and try fitting my key into every safety deposit box in its building. Can you imagine how its other customers would feel about that!’
‘I see.’ Dusk was settling and her face was fading away from me. Now twin rivulets of tears silvered her cheeks. ‘But Ray Hardin knew the number? Is that it?’
‘Yes,’ her muted voice whispered out of the gloaming. She sighed, leaned back with her hands between her knees and explained. ‘You’d have to have known Ray. He was a former Texas Ranger with a lot of expertise in various areas. Well,’ she waved a fluttering hand, ‘I told Ray my problem and … and I guess he was courting me and I let him think that it might work out.’ Her head was bowed a little now. She went on.
‘Ray knew a lot of people on both sides of the law, and he sometimes used them to his advantage.’ Beth wiped a tear away and looked at me through the dim light. ‘He wasn’t really what you would call a good man always, but neither was I being “good” in using him.
‘No matter! Ray fell in with the Corson gang and somehow learned the number. Then I think he must have stolen the key. He would have.’
‘For you.’
‘For me,’ Beth agreed reluctantly. ‘He was on his way to Flagstaff to open the lockbox and recover Pulver’s last confession so that I could convince the authorities to release my brother. When.…’
‘When Corson caught up to him, wanting to get to the incriminating confession first.’
‘Exactly. That’s when you came into the picture. We knew you had talked to Ray before he died … oh, I know this sounds very complicated!’
‘Not now that I understand things a little better,’ I told her. ‘My only question is – what now?’
Really, I saw no way out of this for Beth. What did she want to do, track down Corson and beat the information out of him? The man was a known outlaw with a band of hard men surrounding him. As she had said, the bank wasn’t going to allow her to try her key in a hundred boxes, searching at random for Pulver’s confession. And, I had no intention of tracking a bunch of hard-cases across the desert, certainly no desire to return to Flagstaff where Tom Driscoll was waiting with my hanging noose on his desk.
‘I’ll see you back to Yuma,’ I said as full dark settled and the stars began to blink on. The coming moon illuminated the western horizon dimly. By its meager light I could see that Beth continued to cry – soundlessly, pitiably. ‘I can’t do anything else to try to help you that makes sense.’
‘We have to continue on to Flagstaff!’ Beth said with sharp abruptness, and she rose from the sand, dusting herself off. I didn’t laugh out loud, though the temptation was there.
‘There’s nothing to be done there, Beth. You said so yourself.’
‘We don’t know that! Maybe the bank will relent if we explain things.’ She began to pace the ground with short frustrated steps. ‘Maybe someone – whoever the confession was dictated to … a friend of Pulver’s – knows the number of the safe deposit box. We could ask around! Maybe the banker himself knows the number and would be willing to give it up in the pursuit of justice.’
Those were a lot of ‘maybes’.
I was thinking: Maybe I could hit the Colorado River by morning and ferry across into California. I was no one’s guardian angel. Not at the cost of my own neck and I told her so. She turned, hands on hips and glared down at me.
‘Why can’t you understand matters! You’ll never be free – not even in California. You’ll be a hunted fugitive forever. You claim you are innocent, that t
his Tom Driscoll framed you. All right! He did that for the same reason he sent my brother, Ben, to prison. To protect Corson and his gang from being charged with these crimes. Haven’t you been listening to me at all? If Pulver’s confession is found, Tom Driscoll will be implicated. If you are innocent, a fair-minded jury will see it, and you’ll be free to have a normal life without fearing each shadow and badge you see!’
I didn’t answer her then. I couldn’t. Beth was right in some distant, theoretical way. But juries don’t always go the way you’d anticipate despite evidence. You’d think she would have known that after having her brother railroaded on false testimony. Me, I live in a different world where the hangman is real and death looms. My idea of survival was more basic, that fleeing to California was a whole lot better than sweating it out in the Flagstaff jail while a group of twelve honest citizens tried to decide my fate.
‘You don’t want to help me,’ Beth said moodily.
‘I’m not Ray Hardin,’ I responded, and on that unhappy note we made our beds for the night.
Don’t ask me why I did it. I still have no idea. North of the searing desert, Flagstaff rises in a wave of rolling pine-clad hills. We rode higher and the temperature dropped with each mile. Beth did not ask me, nor did I tell her why I had decided to ride along with her. As I have said, I just do not know. Did she touch my conscience or my need to be protective of a small woman on a lonesome quest? Was I in pursuit of vengeance or justice?
Maybe it was no more complicated than the sad sight of blue eyes crying in the purple dusk of the desert evening.
At a guess we were up at about 4,000 feet in altitude when we began to see the smoke of home-fires from the town itself. It was late afternoon, the sunlight slanting through the pines. Our horses’ hoofs were muffled by the pine-needles. It was dusty and warm still at this time of year, but the shade of the tall trees, the occasional gust of cooling breeze, were heaven after the hell of the salt flats.
I had no idea what we were doing here, no idea of how we were going to go about matters.
Beth, on the other hand, was eager and resolute. I marveled at her loyalty to her brother and wondered if I could ever hope to find anyone so determined to do right by me.
‘We’ll have to wait until after dark, of course,’ Beth said, leaning forward eagerly as she studied the pretty little town below.
‘Of course,’ I mumbled, wondering about my own sanity.
‘Because if they see you, they’ll lock you up, won’t they?’
‘If they don’t just shoot me down.’
She seemed to not hear me. This was a single-minded woman. Despite her small stature, her heart and determination were large and magnificent. Unfortunately her determination seemed destined to lead me to the waiting gallows.
‘Let’s swing down and rest, Beth,’ I suggested as the shadows beneath the pines lengthened and began to pool together.
‘All right,’ she answered. With a small, innocent frown she told me, ‘We shall have to sell Henry’s sorrel. It only slows us down. Besides, we may need the money for bribery.’
‘I can see that,’ I said with only a touch of irony. ‘Who is it we might have to bribe?’
‘Whoever it is that wrote down Pulver’s confession, or arranged for the safety deposit box in the bank. Jefferson Pulver was on his death-bed, was he not? He couldn’t have done it without help.’ Beth’s frowning face became more serious, her eyebrows drawing together as she deeply considered her plan to find the papers exonerating her brother. My frown was deeper.
‘I can’t go down there with you, Beth,’ I said in the near-darkness of the mountain twilight.
‘Very well, then!’ she snapped.
‘You know I am on the run. You can’t expect me to march into Flagstaff and walk around until I’m recognized.’
‘I told you! Pulver’s confession may clear you as well.’
‘And may not,’ I said, shaking my head doubtfully. ‘We don’t know for sure what he dictated, even if we could find the letter.’
‘So you would send me down there alone?’
‘I’m not sending you anywhere. I brought you to a reasonably safe place across the long desert. If you have to pursue your plan, I wish you luck. I just ask you to remember that Art Corson and Sheriff Driscoll will do anything they can to deter you if they have a hint of what you’re up to.’
‘They don’t know me,’ Beth argued.
‘It won’t take them long to find out who you are once you start snooping around.’
‘It’s a risk I have to take,’ Beth said with the same resoluteness she had shown all the way down the long trail. ‘My brother must be released from prison.’
She was facing the sundown sky. I put my hand on her shoulder and turned her toward me. ‘You’re risking your life!’ I said and she laughed soundlessly before putting her forehead against my shoulder.
‘Am I not?’ she murmured, gripping my arm tightly for a moment. Stepping away she told me, ‘John, I am not such a fool that I do not understand the risk I am taking. It is just that it must be done. I could not live with myself if Ben were left to rot in that horrible prison. How could I face myself each dawn?’
I had no answer for her. I stood there in the deepening shadows of the pines and watched as she turned and walked from me toward her little blue roan.
Then, with a silent oath, I trudged after her and swung aboard my buckskin horse. Flagstaff beckoned with its ranks of distance-shrouded lights.
FIVE
We emerged from the verge of the forest and rode on as the velvet twilight shadows disappeared and the clear black sky gathered clusters of silver stars. Just below the horizon the hazy light of the moon again began to glow. I had ridden the last few miles in silence, following the young woman on the little blue roan. Now I spoke.
‘We have to talk about specifics, form a plan. We can’t just ride blindly into this.’
‘What do you think I have been doing all this time, John Magadan?’ Beth said a little wearily. She glanced at me, graced me with a half-smile and waited while the buckskin stepped up beside her pony.
She nodded toward Henry Tyler’s sorrel which I still led and remarked, ‘I told you that I mean to first sell Henry’s horse and saddle for ready money. Our own horses are in need of feed and water.’
‘My horse is too well-known in Flagstaff,’ I commented. The big buckskin with that splash of white across his chest would be spotted instantly by any stableman.
‘Yes – that will take some thought. You might be able to find a small farmer to hold him for you.’ Beth went on, ‘With a portion of the money from the sale of the horse, I shall buy you a handgun. I notice you do not have one.’
‘I didn’t have a choice of weapons when I broke away from the law,’ I replied sourly. My disposition was growing blacker as we neared the outskirts of the town. Beth, on the other hand, seemed only optimistic.
‘Tell me what you prefer, and I will obtain one.’
‘Colt Peacemaker, .44 caliber. There isn’t any other handgun worth owning.’
She nodded resolutely, glanced at my hands on the reins and said, ‘You are right-handed, are you not? I shall have to buy you a gun-belt and holster as well.’
‘Yes.’ I took in a deep breath. ‘Beth, I see that you have a practical plan. For the immediate contingencies, but how in … how are we going to set about finding someone to help us discover the safety-deposit box number without getting me rearrested?’
‘I have a plan for that,’ she said confidently, and at that time we found ourselves approaching the main street of Flagstaff where Sheriff Tom Driscoll, had he known that I had returned, would be licking his chops at the thought of being finally able to stretch my neck. I passed the lead rope to Henry’s sorrel over to Beth and turned Buck into a narrow alleyway, thinking for a moment about poking the big horse with my spurs and getting as far as possible away from Flagstaff and a crazy little woman.
Of course I did not. I had come too f
ar to throw in my cards. Thinking of what Beth had said, I began to ride a wide, slow loop around the outskirts of town, searching for a small landholder who might be in need of ready cash and willing to board my horse.
That turned out to be surprisingly easy. I was walking the buckskin down a narrow lane that cut through a stand of pine trees when I came upon a small man leaning on the top rail of a pole fence, his boot on the lowest rail. I nodded to him and reined up.
‘How’s it going friend?’
He looked at me morosely. ‘Wife’s mad at me again.’
‘What can you say?’ I responded with a laugh. ‘Would a few extra dollars make her happy? You could buy her a new dress, maybe. Something like that.’
‘What have you in mind?’ the little man asked.
‘I need a place to have my horse kept for a few days. I’ve business in town, and I don’t like the stable-master.’
‘Jenkins?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I don’t like him neither,’ the man said.
He slipped through the rails and approached me as I swung down. He took Buck’s bridle and stroked his neck. His eyes narrowed as he studied me. ‘Haven’t I seen you before?’
‘I don’t see how. I just drifted in from Montana.’
‘Long ride.’
‘Long ride,’ I agreed as he continued to study the horse. ‘So, you see, he’s trail-weary and I won’t be needing him for a few days anyway. Business to attend to.’ The farmer looked doubtful. ‘Of course if you’d rather not.…’
‘What were you thinking of paying?’ he asked in a cagey voice.
‘The same Jenkins would charge,’ I answered.
‘You wouldn’t mind if I saw some cash money? Sorry, mister, but I don’t know you from Adam.’
I fished the much-folded ten-dollar yellow-back bill from my pocket and showed it to him. His eyes brightened a little.
‘Seeing as you’re a man of substance,’ he said with a smile. He patted the buckskin’s neck again. ‘Besides, I’ve got your collateral, don’t I?’
