“Send him word to come up here tonight and see me.”
“How—”
“Lily, you aren’t dumb. You’ve sent him notes before. I’ve seen you do it. Go down and get some paper and pen and write him a note. I need to talk to him.”
“You ain’t mad about that, are you?” Lily stood up, looked at her warily and started for the door.
“Of course I ain’t mad. I need him to do some extra work for me, so you can have him one night a week.” She reached out and swatted her on the butt with the flat of her hand to impress her to move faster. “Now get that note sent.”
“Oh, that hurt me,” Lily cried out, then headed for the doorway and reached back to gingerly rub the right side of her derriere.
“Don’t fiddle-faddle around either.”
“I won’t. I won’t.” And she disappeared.
Ella drew in a deep breath. Brad could be the answer to the information she needed. A hard tug with both hands grasping it, she raised the corset and front of her dress up. Then, checking her cleavage and satisfied, she headed for the stairs. The kitchen help—oh, those slow-moving girls. They were even lazier than her doves who napped all day.
CHAPTER 8
JESUS Morales needed a drink bad. He rose to a sitting position on the bed and began to shake. He clutched his arms and his molars chattered uncontrollably. His actions awoke Tia. She sat up and hugged him tight to still his shaking.
“Oh, my God, my lover, you are like a man freezing,” she cried.
“I am,” he managed. “Got to—have a drink. I—had this—before.”
“What do you need?” she asked, in the shadowy darkness of the pre-dawn.
“Anything—”
“Maria next door has something in a jug.” She quickly pulled on her skirt and then her blouse. She looked at him with a pained expression, then she went to a trunk, found a blanket and wrapped it around him.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then quickly dressed and rushed out the door.
He shook and with shuddering breaths tried to still his quaking. Somehow he must rid himself of these shakes before this man Sam T. arrived. He couldn’t afford to disappoint him or the major.
Tia returned with a crock jug and he tilted it up with her to steady it until the liquor ran in his mouth. Then his throat constricted and threatened to choke him. He pushed the jug aside and began to cough. At last, with tears streaming down his face, he managed two more swallows of the fiery liquor. Some kind of mescal. Bad stuff, but he’d drunk worse before to get drunk on.
Weak and in a cold sweat, he began to settle down. She swept the damp hair from his face and kissed him on the mouth.
“You have been gone for so long. I was so pleased you came back to me. I don’t want to lose you again.” Her brown eyes were pleading her concern.
He nodded. He had missed making love to her for a long time, but he’d had no money, no good job to support her. No, before he could ever have asked to stay with her, he had to have a good job like the new one he held with the major.
“How will you ever ride out and find this Apache like you are?” she asked in a concerned whisper.
“I will take a little whiskey along. This will go away in time.”
“No! You will only drink it and want some more. I know you will, and then that major will fire you and you will go back and dig adobe again like some animal.” She folded her arms and sat pouting on the bed.
“No, Tia.” He held up his hands in defense. “I won’t do that again.”
“Yes, you will, and then I can cry at night for you.” She shook her head in disapproval. “No more whiskey, no mescal, no tequila, no wine, no more cerveza.
He shrugged. “You probably are right. Sometimes I can’t control myself.”
“I will go in the desert with you to find this one.”
“Too dangerous.” He shook his head.
“Jesus, I don’t want you to have to work in that adobe pit ever again.”
Her concerned look at him in the dim light made him want to hide. “Ah, sí, it’s a bad place.”
“I will ride Sam T.’s horse and we will go find Too-Gut,” she said.
“It will be dangerous to look for him. Those Apaches steal Mexican women.” No way she could go up there. She must stay there. What of her work? He knew she did domestic chores for some women in town.
“I will be with you. You will be sober. I have no fears of them.”
He started to lift the jug to take another swig. She wrapped her small arms around it and wrestled it away. “No more drinking. You have to find this Apache.”
Jesus closed his eyes. Already she sounded like a wife. One little drink would not hurt. Besides, he might start trembling again. She fled with the bottle and he was forced to resign himself that was all he would get.
Perhaps he could reason with her—later. When she returned, she began to gather her things and he knew her intentions were to go along. His head felt light and he blinked his eyes; they felt gritty.
“Get dressed so we can leave,” she ordered.
Damn. He wondered if he had done the right thing going back to her after all. He felt terrible; he had a splitting headache, a bad stomachache and was within a hairbreadth of vomiting everything inside. He dressed and struggled with a bowl of leftover cold beans she handed him. Then she went out the door and brought up the three horses that Major Bowen bought the day before.
He finished the bowl and picked up the first saddle and pad. She took the other one outside while he saddled the bay. Then she left for the well with a large olla on her head to get water. He wondered where he could find something to drink. Only a little to clear his head, that was all he needed.
He put Sam T.’s saddle, the one Bowen chose for him, on the big sorrel. Two good horses, sound and well enough shod for the trip he planned. The second bay was the packhorse, but he showed Texas blood like the others. Thicker, with more muscle than the run-of-the-mill caballos most Mexicans and Indians rode. The sorrel was a hand taller than the rest. The Major warned him that Sam T. would need such an animal.
Jesus put the pack saddle on the bay. When Tia returned, she began to fill the panniers to bulging with things. He noticed her packing when he set the crossbuck on the third horse and cinched it down.
“You can’t take everything with us,” he said over his shoulder.
“Just what I think we will need.”
He shrugged. What could he do with such a strongheaded woman? He didn’t want to argue, he wanted a drink. She soon had the canteens full of water and hung on the saddle horns. Packs tied down on the horses, he finished cinching his bay.
“Why don’t you stay here?”
She ignored his question and shoved his new Winchester in the boot. “We better ride out before we draw suspicion.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, recalling the major’s words about the secrecy around their mission.
Mounted and headed north beside the Santa Cruz in the cool morning air, he wondered what he had forgotten. She rode the spunky sorrel and kept it beside his bay. He hoped this man Sam T. didn’t get too mad about him letting a woman take his horse. The major said Sam T. had been a captain in the war with him. No matter; he trusted his ex-commander’s choice of men.
Jesus studied the purple mountains and shook his head in disbelief. No whiskey; this would be a long day. He drew a deep, ragged breathe. This woman had turned into a devil on him. Then he glanced over at her shapely brown legs, too short for the stirrups. Oh, she was such a wonderful spirit in bed, though. With a hopeless head shake, he looked at the brim of his new straw hat for divine help.
“Can we find him, this Too-Gut?” she asked, looking across the saguaro-clad hillsides.
“If he is alive, we can.” Then he laughed aloud.
“What is so funny?”
“Two days ago, I was daydreaming in that pit. If I had some horses and supplies I would go to the Sierra Madre.”
“We are going north?” She
frowned with a bewildered look at him.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter where we are going. I am not working in that pit anymore, am I?”
“No, but only if you don’t get foolish and go back to drinking.”
Jesus shook his head. Women did not understand anything.
In late afternoon, an Indian woman they met on the road gave them some vague directions. From her instructions, they rode up a canyon choked with mesquite. Jesus rose in the stirrups to try to see through the lacy branches. Then he spotted a brush wickiup covered with old scraps of tarp. He dismounted heavily and handed her the rein. His head pounded and he wondered if Too-Gut was even at home.
He squatted on his heels. The wonderful soft black boots felt good on his feet.
“Aren’t you going to ask if he’s home?” she whispered from the saddle.
“If he’s home, he will come out when he gets ready. It is impolite to bust up to a man’s door.”
She shrugged.
A young woman came out. She looked like a hawk. Not pretty, but her eyes shone like liquid coal and gave him a hard once-over. Then he saw the copper-skinned Too-Gut slip outside with a rifle in his hand. His name came from the great stomach that hung over his breechcloth.
The Apache blinked his eyes. “Jesus?”
“I have work for us to do.”
“I don’t work for the army.” He shook his head so hard that his bangs even lifted.
“No, Major Bowen needs some trackers.”
“Trackers?”
“Yes, and he will pay us two dollars a day. He needs to find some outlaws.”
“Good. We can find them.” A sly grin spread over his brown face. “When?”
“Four days. Meet me south of Tucson on the river.”
Too-Gut nodded.
“Will they give you a permit to leave the reservation?” Jesus asked.
“You got some whiskey?” Too-Gut had ignored his question. Jesus knew the man had heard him.
“No, I don’t drink—anymore.” Jesus turned and looked at Tia. She nodded her approval. Then, stiff-like from the long ride, he rose to his feet.
“Gawdamn! You go to church now?” The Apache laughed until his belly shook. Then he sobered and nodded thoughtfully. “I see you in four days.”
“Will you need a horse?”
The Apache held up two fingers. “The ones here are too weak to ride far.”
Jesus wondered about buying two more horses. The major said he could buy what they needed. He hoped the major approved. Two also meant the girl was coming. He raised his eyes to the sky for help. That would be a picnic, two females along with them. His mouth felt dry. If he only had a drink. He worried that without a pass from the agency, Too-Gut would be considered a bronco Apache with a price on his head.
How would the major and this Sam T. take that? Maybe he should have stayed in the adobe pit. There were less worries there.
“Be damn good to work again,” Too-Gut said and slapped him on the shoulder. “You have pretty woman too. Next time bring some damn whiskey.”
“In four days, I will meet you on the river. Do you need any food?”
“You got some tomatoes in a can, huh?” Too-Gut turned his face to the side, waiting for his answer.
“Some, I can give you. That’s all you want?”
“Plenty good.” Too-Gut waved the girl forward to come take them from Jesus. “Plenty good stuff.”
Jesus dug them out of the pannier and gave her six cans. Too-Gut nodded his approval. They parted, Tia and Jesus headed west.
“Can we ride off this reservation tonight?” she asked, nervously scanning the saguaro-studded hills.
“Why? We can camp anywhere we like. I never saw no Indian police today. They don’t know we’re here.”
Tia looked around worriedly, then she chewed on her lower lip before she finally spoke. “I don’t want an Apache to take. me. I’ll be glad to get back to my casa.”
“We can ride a ways,” he said, studying the low-hanging sun. Good, that meant she would stay at home. He drank some tepid canteen water and wished for whiskey.
Sam T. strode down the hillside street toward the small creek that gurgled through the town’s center. He heard someone mention Walnut Creek as the name of the stream. Mrs. Tremble’s food was sustaining and he wanted a walk worse than anything, but planned to learn what he could with a visit to the street of saloons the men in the boardinghouse called Whiskey Row. City planners had put all the bars in one block to make it easier to control things. He understood the philosophy of such thinking. Any hellraising was confined to one area and the more genteel could avoid it, if they wanted it that way.
A buggy with a spanking-good black horse went by. A man in a business suit who sat upon the seat with a whip in his hand nodded sharply in passing. In the twilight, Sam T. watched him drive up the hill and turn into the prestigious whorehouse gate. Someday he needed to inspect that opulent palace.
Sam T. crossed the bridge and watched three cowboys ride up: They dismounted, hitched their ponies and rushed into Mahoney’s bar like they were dying for drink. With a search around in the growing evening, he could see several horse down the street were hitched, and some rigs too, before the various establishments.
He parted the batwing doors of Mahoney’s and saw the threesome he’d observed earlier, one on each side raising the arms of the third cowboy. Some sort of celebration, from the looks of it.
“Look, boys, this is Buddy’s last night out to howl. Saturday night, he’s getting hitched to the boss! Whoopee!”
“All right, drinks for the groom,” Mahoney said, holding up a bottle and glass to pour him one.
“What about the best man?” one of the cowboys asked.
“Hell, he can buy his own,” Mahoney said. “He’s getting off scot-free.”
Everyone laughed out loud and moved in to clap Buddy on the shoulder.
“Howdy, Captain,” Mahoney said, coming down the bar.
“Howdy, Sarge. And I’m paying for my own tonight. Guess the cowboy’s got him a wife?”
“Ah, the lady owns the Bar TF. She’ll be a handful for that lad. She’s a spoiled daddy’s girl and never been married. Bet she’s pushing thirty-five. Ah, she ain’t bad to look at. But she’s been running that ranch since they came here. Her daddy got himself laid up from a horse wreck and he still can’t walk or ride.”
“Buddy is good-humored enough about it,” Sam T. pointed toward the prospective groom with his glass, which Mahoney filled for him.
“Sure’n he better be. She can horsewhip him, if he ain’t.” Mahoney laughed aloud. Then he lowered his voice. “Mamie VanKirk is some woman. Be lots of fun to be at their wedding, though. Wish I could go, but that’s my biggest night here.”
“I imagine it is. That’s a public place?”
“Oh, sure, Saturday night out at the Chino Valley Schoolhouse. It’s where the families and couples go dance. Draw big crowds too.”
“I might have to see that,” Sam T. said and studied the amber whiskey in his glass.
“You’d be welcome,” Mahoney said.
Sam T, wondered if Julia would be there. Maybe if he was still in town he could rent a rig, drive out to the fort and offer to take her. No, he better not. How would folks take it? Not good. Best he not do that; she had a husband. He wished that woman was off his mind. When would the major get back? His return might have more to do with what Sam did next anyway.
“You and the major going to do some mining together?” Mahoney asked.
“I guess,” Sam T. said, to be agreeable and keep off the subject of what he would eventually do in the territory. He finished up the evening more informed on the town and business in general.
The next morning, Sam T. took his breakfast at the boardinghouse. He learned a little more about the fellow boarders. There was a bank teller, some store clerks, two carpenters. He could tell they were anxious to learn about him. All eyes were turned when he explained, “Major Bo
wen and I are looking at some mining properties.”
That sounded like the best thing he could come up with and the nods of satisfaction down the way pleased him. Maybe the major would be back in town and he could learn everything about this secret marshal business. Strange that Bowen never mentioned it was undercover work in his telegram; obviously it was. He looked over his coffee and studied the wallpaper’s patterns. The major would tell him all about it when he returned.
Midmorning, he climbed the hill and walked to Bowen’s house. When he passed the bordello, he didn’t notice anyone spying on him from the upstairs window. At the bungalow, Mary looked up from her gardening and pushed a stray wisp of hair from her face to smile at him.
“Morning, Sam. Did you sleep good last night?”
“Sure did, Mary. Mrs. Tremble is nice lady. Thanks for pointing her out to me.”
“He’s in there. Grouchy as a bear, but he’ll be glad to see you,” she said, raising up from her knees.
“What’s upsetting him?”
She smiled and shrugged. “He’ll have to tell you.” She went ahead of him through the living room.
“Sam T. Oh, good, you made it,” the major said and rose from his place at the table and shook his hand.
“I don’t really have an office.” Standing astraddle the straight-backed chair, Bowen looked around. “We can sit here fine. We’ve used worse.”
Gerald Bowen had accumulated some more lines in his face since their last meeting, but he still looked like a typical, straight-backed West Pointer. Sam T. selected a chair beside his, and Mary took his hat.
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said after her.
“You two want coffee or whiskey?” she asked.
“Need whiskey, but we better start on coffee,” Bowen said in a disgusted tone. “Glad you’re here, Sam, but I have to tell you this may be the biggest mess you and I ever tried to handle.”
“Mary said it was undercover.”
“Worse than that.” Bowen held up a hand as if to wave the notion away. “There’s outlaws all over this territory and no statewide law enforcement agency. It all falls into the lap of county sheriffs.” Bowen explained his problem and added the latest reluctance of the governor to continue through with the project.
Lawless Land Page 12
