Silver City

by Jeff Guinn

  “We can’t take Brautigan by surprise if he sees us coming,” Mulkins said. “If we cross the valley directly and then are silhouetted on that hilltop, if he looks behind them at all, there we’ll be. We need to circle around the base of the hills instead. It’ll take longer, but offers considerably more advantage.”

  So they rode around the hills. Mulkins was alert, Gabrielle was determined, and Joe Saint hoped they’d both soon become discouraged and agree to turn back toward Mountain View. So long as they were following Brautigan and McLendon into unknown territory, Saint believed there was no possible positive result. Their own deaths from starvation or exposure were most likely, especially if they became lost. If they caught up, Brautigan would kill all three of them and McLendon too. The worst alternative was that somehow they’d miraculously save McLendon. Then he and Gabrielle would go off to California together after all. Saint’s purpose in joining Gabrielle and Mulkins wasn’t to help bring about McLendon’s improbable rescue. It was to serve as a constant voice of reason until they were persuaded to give up.

  As they circled the hills, he saw his first opportunity. The sun beat down with ferocious power, and Gabrielle was bareheaded.

  Saint pulled his horse alongside hers and said, “You’ll get heatstroke without a hat. Take mine.”

  Gabrielle looked flushed and uncomfortable. Sweat streamed down her face. But she said, as Saint knew she would, “I can’t take your hat. Then you’d be the one at risk.”

  “No,” Saint said, removing his hat and pushing it toward her. “We’ve got to get your head covered. If we don’t, you’ll collapse. Let’s pause and think about this.”

  Major Mulkins heard them and briefly reined in his mount. “Gabrielle, that bandanna around your neck. Use it as a head scarf. That should provide sufficient protection.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “Of course—how obvious! Thank you, Major.” She tied the bandanna in place over her dark, tangled curls and said, “All right. Let’s ride on.”

  It took some time to get around the hills. When they did, a considerable flat expanse stretched out before them, sparsely dotted with rocks and clumps of cacti. Though they stared hard to the south and southeast, they saw no sign of Brautigan and McLendon.

  “Perhaps we might look for hoofprints?” Gabrielle suggested.

  “There’ll likely be none,” Mulkins said. “The ground’s too hard.”

  “Gabrielle, we tried, but we lost them,” Saint said, trying and mostly succeeding to sound sympathetic. “You’ve done all that you could do.”

  “Hardly,” she said. “It’s only been an hour or so. I’m not stopping now. Major, what do you suggest?”

  Mulkins studied the land ahead. “We may not know their exact route, but we still have the general direction. Silver City’s somewhere to the southeast. We keep riding that way and chances are we’ll sight them sometime. Even if we don’t, Brautigan might have to light in Silver City for at least a short while, make his arrangements to bring C.M. east. Could be we’d catch up to them there.”

  They rode southeast. Saint thought Gabrielle was experiencing considerable discomfort. She barely winced as she rode, trying not to bounce too much in the saddle, but Saint was well attuned to her expressions and noticed every minuscule grimace. Goddamned Cash McLendon, whose selfishness was the cause of her suffering. When Saint first met McLendon in Glorious, he disliked him for his mistreatment of Gabrielle in the past, and resented her continuing affection for the son of a bitch. After Saint saved McLendon from Brautigan on the night that much of Glorious burned, he sent McLendon on his way and thought he was rid of him for good. When Saint and Gabrielle moved to Mountain View and Saint resumed teaching school, it seemed only a matter of time until he and Gabrielle married. Then a letter arrived for her from McLendon, asking for another chance to win her back. To Saint’s horror and disgust, she agreed to let him come and try. Saint knew he had earned Gabrielle’s love in a way that McLendon never had. Damn it, he deserved her. Because he cared so much for Gabrielle, Saint didn’t blame her for inviting McLendon to Mountain View. It was all McLendon’s doing. The slimy bastard was a master manipulator. Which meant, once McLendon arrived in Mountain View, that the outcome was never in doubt. Gabrielle chose him over Saint, McLendon’s shady past in St. Louis caught up with him once again in the person of Patrick Brautigan, and now here they were, Saint and Gabrielle and Major Mulkins, too, risking their own lives to save someone whose death would leave the world a better place. Saint had come to hate McLendon that much.

  These bitter thoughts occupied Saint as they continued riding southeast. They periodically halted so Mulkins could scan the horizon ahead.

  “Don’t be discouraged that we haven’t seen them,” he cautioned Gabrielle and Saint. “They’re up there somewhere.”

  In the afternoon they stopped for sips of canteen water. “I’m thinking there’ll be creeks or pools of some sort once we gain the mountains,” Mulkins said. “It’ll be cooler there too. Shade.”

  “Should we ride through the night, Major?” Gabrielle asked. Saint was offended that she asked Mulkins instead of him. It was as though his opinion didn’t count.

  “Too dangerous,” Saint said quickly. “We might get all turned around in the dark.”

  “I think we could navigate decently by the moon and stars,” Mulkins said. “But I agree with Joe, for a different reason. Our horses have been going all day. We try to keep them moving all night as well, they’ll get worn out. So we’ll need to camp, let them crop some grass if they can find any. You need to rest, too, Gabrielle. You’ve been through hell.”

  “Brautigan may not stop,” Gabrielle protested.

  “I think he will. He’s from St. Louis. He likely doesn’t know his way around here any better than we do.”

  —

  BY DUSK they were almost to the mountain range. When they spied a patch of thin grass, Mulkins said they should make camp.

  “It’s something for the horses, anyway,” he said. “They need water too. We’ve only got the three canteens, but we’d better use part of one for the animals right now.” He and Saint poured small amounts of water in their hats and let the horses drink. They sucked in every drop and snuffled at the hats hoping for more. Then Mulkins and Saint ground-tethered them by the grass; the horses cropped at the growth.

  “We need to eat too,” Mulkins said. “Perhaps the last of the biscuits might comprise our menu tonight.”

  “I shouldn’t have eaten so many of them earlier,” Gabrielle said. “Major, you and Joe divide those remaining between yourselves.”

  “You need to eat,” Saint said. “After all you’ve been through, you have to build back your strength. I’m fine, I’m not hungry. Major, you and Gabrielle share.”

  “We all need to eat,” Mulkins said. “We’ve got four biscuits, also a half-dozen cans of food and some jerky. Let’s each have one biscuit and save the last one to divvy up for breakfast.”

  “And coffee,” Saint said. “I’ll start a fire.”

  “Don’t,” Mulkins said. “Out in the open as we still are, the flames will be visible at great distance. If Brautigan’s anywhere nearby, he might see. We don’t have sufficient water to use any for coffee, anyway. Let’s eat our biscuits, wash them down with a sip each from the canteen, and do what we can to get some sleep. We ought to be moving early tomorrow, get into the mountains before the sun’s full up.”

  Both men insisted that Gabrielle have use of their blankets. She lay down on them carefully, trying to find the most comfortable position. Her injuries made it difficult. Saint, watching, could hardly stand it. What must have happened to her?

  “I think you need medical attention,” he said. “Doc Vance—”

  “I’m all right,” Gabrielle said sharply. “How many times must I say it?”

  “It’s something to be discussed,” Saint said.

  “It
’s not.”

  “Let’s just sleep,” Mulkins suggested. “Joe, I don’t think we need to stand a watch. You’ve got your Winchester handy? I’ve got my shotgun, and also C.M.’s Peacemaker. Gabrielle, what about Ike Clanton’s gun?”

  “I tucked it in my waistband during this afternoon’s ride, and now I have it on the blanket near to hand.”

  “We ought to be all right, then,” Mulkins said. “One of you hears anything during the night and I don’t, be certain to wake me.”

  “One other thing,” Saint said. “I’ve been thinking. Aren’t we going about this the wrong way? We know Brautigan is taking McLendon to Silver City.”

  “So?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Why not return to Mountain View, explain to Sheriff Hove, and have him wire the sheriff in Silver City? Let the lawmen sort this out. Sheriff Hove is a man of discretion. Our names need not come up in it. That decreases the chance of retaliation, should Brautigan somehow walk away free.”

  “Joe, you’re forgetting what a hellhole Silver City is,” Mulkins said. “We’ve all heard how it’s got no law to speak of. A telegram from Sheriff Hove would likely be ignored.”

  “You don’t know that would happen,” Saint argued.

  “Joe, for heaven’s sake,” Gabrielle said. “If all you’re going to do is try and talk us into turning around, then just go back yourself. The Major and I will manage without you.”

  “I’m only thinking of you,” Saint said. “That’s my sole concern.”

  Gabrielle sat up on her blankets. It hurt to do it. “Thank you for that. But I’ve heard enough about giving up or trying something different. I’ll tolerate no further discussion. Stay and help, Joe, or else go.”

  Saint knew Gabrielle meant it. “If you’re staying, so I am,” he said.

  “All right. Now let’s sleep.”

  Gabrielle was exhausted and dropped off immediately. Soon Mulkins was asleep too. Saint sat with his back propped against a rock and brooded. Gabrielle was so besotted with McLendon that there was no reasoning with her, and Mulkins clearly didn’t understand the futility of overtaking Brautigan and attempting to fight him. What was it about McLendon that blinded others to their own well-being? Saint had never understood his appeal, to Gabrielle or anyone else. He reminded himself, as he had almost every day since McLendon came to Mountain View, that the man was only alive because Joe Saint took pity on him once and saved him from Patrick Brautigan. If Saint only had that night back in Glorious to do over, how different things would be.

  He slept and had short, violent dreams.

  —

  IN THE MORNING, they broke their last biscuit into three parts. After the horses had a little water, they mounted and rode into the mountain range. Some of the going was slow. They had to pick their way through narrow cuts and across rocky canyons. Most of the canyons were shallow, but a few required careful navigation. They dismounted and led the horses.

  “At least it’s a cool morning,” Mulkins said. “We can thank the clouds for that.” A thick blanket of light gray clouds blocked the sun.

  “Maybe it will rain,” Gabrielle said. “Not enough to flood, but something nice and steady. I think getting wet would be refreshing. It would at least wash off some of the dust.” All three were coated with grime.

  Just as Saint began explaining how it was really too late in the season for rain, the first drops fell. As Gabrielle hoped, the rain came in gentle fashion rather than torrents. Even the horses seemed to relish it, neighing and tossing their manes.

  “The best part is, we can replenish canteens,” Mulkins said. “That would have been impossible back where it was flat and dusty.”

  Pools formed in some of the rock formations surrounding them. Mulkins showed Gabrielle and Saint how to place their tin coffee cups so the runoff would drip directly into them. He positioned their one nearly empty canteen to do the same.

  “These are tricks I learned back in the war,” he said. “When we besieged Richmond, rainwater was our best means of refreshment.”

  They found enough water pools to allow themselves and their horses several hearty drinks. By the time the rain ended, Gabrielle said she was afraid that she might slosh as she rode.

  “I feel so much better,” she said. “Don’t you, Joe?”

  “The water was welcome,” Saint said grudgingly. He’d thought if they became thirsty enough, Gabrielle and Mulkins might yet be persuaded to turn back. One more possibility lost.

  —

  MOST MOUNTAINS IN the range were separated by narrow valleys. Just past noon, crossing a valley floor relatively thick with vegetation, Mulkins called a halt so that the horses could rest and graze.

  “Let’s each have a few bites of jerky,” he said, producing some strips of dried meat from his saddlebag. “Since we took in considerable liquid during the rainstorm, let’s save the canned goods for now.”

  Saint hated jerky. It always tasted too salty to him; bits stuck between his teeth. He gnawed his strip. Gabrielle took measured bites of hers and seemed to enjoy it. “Will the food really hold out if we have to go all the way to Silver City?” Saint asked Mulkins.

  “Water’s more crucial,” Mulkins said. “Dehydration would lay us low faster than hunger. We’re well watered for now. The rain was a blessing. As to the food, we’ll just have to be sparing.”

  “Keep your shotgun handy,” Saint said. “Perhaps as we go along we’ll roust a jackrabbit.”

  “Oh, for now we don’t want to be shooting,” Mulkins said. “Out here, sound echoes and carries for miles. If Brautigan’s anywhere near, he’d hear and be alerted to our presence. We mustn’t fire at all.”

  Saint was annoyed, both with himself for not realizing and with Mulkins for correcting him once again in front of Gabrielle.

  “We’ve not caught sight of them yet,” he said. “Ike Clanton could have been wrong. Brautigan might not be aiming for Silver City at all. We could be going in entirely the wrong direction.”

  “No, it has to be Silver City,” Gabrielle said. “Think where Brautigan wanted to make the exchange. He wants to get back to St. Louis, and Silver City is the best way if they have stage or train service there.”

  “Only stage, I believe,” Mulkins said. “But I expect that the stage could get him and C.M. from Silver City to Wichita in Kansas, and from there they’ve got trains.”

  They remounted and worked their way past two more mountains, each steep. Saint thought their peaks looked different from the Pinals around Glorious and Mountain View. The Pinals were bloodred and sharp-edged. These were dust-colored and rounded. Still, they took time and effort to negotiate. As the day wore on, Gabrielle was clearly in more pain. Whenever they had to lead their horses, she limped badly.

  When they paused for a brief drink in mid-afternoon, Saint said to Gabrielle, “Pull up your pant leg. I want to see your injured shin.”

  “There’s nothing to see,” Gabrielle said, but Saint wouldn’t be denied. He grasped her left ankle—she gasped in pain—and rolled the pant leg up. Gabrielle’s exposed shin was swollen as though a good-sized ball was wedged between the bone and skin. Bruising spread up toward the knee and down to the ankle.

  “Jesus,” Saint said.

  Mulkins, peering over Saint’s shoulder, grimaced. “That injury’s serious, Gabrielle,” he said. “Maybe we shouldn’t go on.”

  Gabrielle yanked her pant leg down. “Nothing’s broken. Yes, it hurts. But we’re trying to save someone’s life.”

  “You can’t walk on that,” Saint said.

  “Yet I have been. Now we’ve had our water. We need to move on.”

  When they came to the next rocky slope where the horses had to be led, Saint said to Gabrielle, “Give me those reins and let me carry you on my back.”

  She smiled. “I don’t need to be carried. But thank you so much for offering.” Having
seen the damage done to Gabrielle’s shin, Mulkins eased the pace as they walked.

  “Slow and steady,” he called back over his shoulder to Gabrielle and Saint.

  It appeared to Saint that the futility of their pursuit became more obvious with each step. They kept moving southeast, but there was no guarantee they were headed in exactly the right direction to reach Silver City. They might miss it by miles one way or the other, finally fetching up in some remote part of New Mexico with no food or water or much chance of finding any. Gabrielle still looked determined, but it seemed to Saint that Mulkins’s expression gradually grew doubtful. If the Major joined him in calling off the chase, surely Gabrielle would have to agree.

  The clouds dissipated, the sun broke through, and almost instantly it was so hot that steam rose from the damp rocks around them. It created a foglike effect; fog was rare on the frontier, but Saint remembered it well from his years living back East in Pennsylvania, before his wife and daughter died from a fever and he thought for a long time that his own life was ruined. Then he came West, met Gabrielle, and had hope again. Cash McLendon ruined that. Or perhaps not.

  It grew hotter still. The last of the standing water evaporated and the steam was gone. They found themselves on a mountain downslope, facing a cramped valley with another, steeper mountainside to maneuver around on the other side. Saint wiped sweat from his eyes and thought about suggesting they stop for a while, perhaps even for the night. They’d been leading their horses for some time. Gabrielle’s limp was more pronounced. It was hard to breathe in the heat. Saint sucked in searing air, preparing to call out to Mulkins a few dozen yards ahead, but Mulkins spoke first: “Quick, look there!”

  He pointed across the valley at a spot where the slope of the next mountain curved into what appeared to be a shallow ravine. Gabrielle stared in that direction, and Saint squinted. The lenses of his thick glasses were coated with dust. He took the spectacles off, wiped the lenses on his shirt, and looked again. His heart sank. Perhaps a mile and a half ahead, two men led horses and a mule along the slope toward the ravine. One man was much larger than the other. Without doubt, Brautigan and McLendon.