Rides a Stranger

by Bill Brooks

  He opened the door and stood there.

  “I guess you heard,” he said.

  She feigned ignorance.

  “He’s back and I aim to kill him. I’m tired of this goddamn business.”

  She looked at him without trying to hide her hatred.

  “If I have to kill every man in the territory who would have you or who you’d go off with, then that is what I’ll do. And if need be, I’ll kill you as well.”

  She pulled at the bodice of her dress so that her flesh was exposed, the upper swell of her breasts.

  “Shoot me right here—through my heart,” she said. “Why not do it and end it and go and live with that Mexican wench and then you both can be as miserable as I’ve been.”

  He took one step into the room. She remained defiant.

  “Do it, John.”

  He turned suddenly and left, closing the door behind him.

  She quickly went to the window and saw the lights still on in the small adobe—Pedro and Maria’s quarters just off the west corner of the house. She stood watching until the door opened and Maria emerged and then closed the door behind her, then watched as she went around back of the main house. Satisfied that Maria and Johnny would be occupied for some little while there at the back of the house in one of the spare rooms, she then slipped down the front stairs, pausing only long enough to take money from the safe and to write something on a piece of paper that she wrapped the money in, then went down to the adobe.

  Pedro had a rope in his hand he’d been weaving.

  “I need you to go and find the man named Jim Glass and tell him to meet me at the grove as soon as he can come.”

  “No, señora, I cannot go. Señor Waco will fire me, or worse…”

  “El consiste en allí coger a su esposa, Pedro—your wife and Señor Waco, right this moment.”

  The old man dropped his eyes in shame.

  “I know what they are doing, señora.”

  “Take a horse and this money and go home,” she said. “After you’ve found Mr. Glass, go back to your home in Mexico.”

  He looked at it. She’d never seen such sorrow in a man’s face.

  “Take his best horse and the saddle,” she said. “This is a bill of sale for it. No one will question you as the owner.”

  He looked on the verge of tears.

  “I will do it,” he said, “if you do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Let me kiss you.”

  She saw in his eyes that it wasn’t so much desire as it was loneliness and drew his face to hers with both hands and gently kissed him on the mouth.

  “It is enough,” he said when she pulled back. “Gracias…”

  “Hurry,” she said.

  “Maria will tell Mr. Waco that I’ve gone as soon as she returns and finds me missing.”

  “Write her a quick note telling her that your heart is broken because she is being unfaithful to you and that you can’t take it anymore and that you are going home to Mexico. They will believe it.”

  He smiled. “You’re very devious for someone so young,” he said.

  “I’m a woman,” she said. “All women are devious.” It was of course a veiled reference to his own wife and he knew it and smiled sadly.

  “Sí, all women are so.”

  She hurried back to her room and stood by the window and watched until she saw him come out of the adobe again and head for the corral. Then she saw the shadow of him astride the horse, the glint of silver from the saddle in the moonlight, and smiled. In a short time, she told herself, she would be free—one way or the other—and set about making her plan of escape.

  And as Pedro rode away to the town on his good horse and fancy saddle, his pocket full of more money than he’d seen since a bank he’d robbed near Paso Robles and his old revolver stuck down in his belt, he felt again vital—like in the old days—and once more felt the wind against his face and the blood of a bandit rushing through his veins.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I was already awake and dressed when the knock on my door came. The light outside was still struggling against the fading darkness—dawn against night. I opened it and found an old man standing there—Mexican under a big frayed sombrero, face as cracked and brown as old leather. His shirt was buttoned at the throat and his eyes held secrets I’d not want to know about. His ears stuck out like jug handles.

  “Señor Glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “She say to meet her in the grove soon as you can.”

  “Antonia?”

  He nodded. “Sí.”

  “That’s what she told you?”

  He nodded. “You better hurry. Señor Waco is coming soon to get you.”

  “How many men?”

  He shrugged. “Many,” he said. “More than you.”

  I considered for a moment it was a setup. But looking into that ancient face, I didn’t see anything dishonest, just a face that had seen its share of troubles and hardship.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Pedro Montero,” he said proudly. “I used to be a pretty bad hombre in my day.” Then he grinned a mouthful of butternut yellow teeth and I didn’t have any reason not to believe him.

  “You know they might kill you for telling me these things,” I said.

  “Shit,” he said. “They’ll have to catch me first…” Then he turned and walked stiffly down the hall then down the stairs. I went to the window and looked down onto the street and saw him mount a good-looking animal with a saddle that had silver ingots inlaid in the pommel and wondered how a broke-down old Mexican could afford such finery. But then, like he said, he used to be a pretty tough hombre in the old days, and maybe he still was.

  I pulled on my coat and hat and went down and out the front door and down the street to the livery where I’d boarded my horse. I gave the man three dollars for its keep and asked him to saddle it for me. I knew if Waco and his boys were coming, he was already on his way. I’d have to find a different route out to the ranch in order to avoid passing them on the road. I walked up to Chalk’s place and knocked on the door and this time it was Chalk himself who answered even with his damaged hands.

  “I’m learning to do things I used to take for granted,” he said, standing there. “Like opening the damn door.”

  I told him the situation.

  “They might burn the town,” he said.

  “No, I don’t think so. Some old Mexican brought me a message from Antonia. I’m to meet her in the grove again.”

  “You sure he’s not setting you up?”

  “Could be, but the old man seemed honest enough.”

  “Pedro,” he said. “He’s worked for Waco long as I can remember.”

  “I think he was doing her bidding.”

  “I can’t help you, Jim. You’re smart, you’ll ride away from this and not look back.”

  “Tell me if there is a different way I can reach the ranch other than the road.”

  “You could swing wide west, go up through Dead Horse Canyon then cross Bitch Creek and come into the ranch from the north.”

  He called his wife and told her to draw a map as he gave her instructions. She didn’t seem very happy I had returned but set at the table and drew the map as he described it on the back of a piece of butcher’s paper and gave it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I might not ever see you again, Chalk. Either Antonia and I will get away or they’ll kill us both.”

  “You take care,” he said. “I wish there was more I could do.”

  I went back down the street to the livery and Tom was there with his horse saddled.

  “You heading out too?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Good luck to you, Tom.” I held out my hand.

  “I guess I’m not ready yet to quit,” he said.

  “Quit what?”

  “Whatever it was we were doing before.”

  “We weren’t doing anything before.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, we had set out to save the woman,” he said. “That’s what it was.”

  “You don’t want to go no farther with me, Tom. This is getting into some serious business. Waco and his men are on their way here now.”

  “Then we better get going,” he said.

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to argue with John Wesley Hardin,” he said. “Why I’ve shot men for less.”

  I shook my head and mounted up and rode off in the direction Chalk had said but Tom wouldn’t quit following me and after a time I just let it go. If he aimed to get himself killed, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  We reached the canyon about noon and rode down into it and the red rock walls rose on both sides of us a good hundred feet or so and the echoes of our horse’s iron shoes rang off the loose rock in a way that sounded like there were more than just two of us.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said, looking up at the walls. “Reminds us of what small and sometimes insignificant creatures we humans are…”

  I didn’t say anything; for me, it wasn’t an adventure or some sort of picnic we were on and the beauty of the land had to it an unforgiving nature and could be just as cruel as any human as far as I was concerned. I felt closed in and kept wondering if Waco and his men had for some reason decided to come into Coffin Flats this same route instead of the road. But then, why would they? I didn’t know, but it was in my mind a possibility. And if we encountered them in the canyon, me and Tom wouldn’t stand any more chance than a block of ice in hell.

  We came out of the canyon just as the sun was setting low, and there ahead of us, twinkling with that last bit of sun, was what had to be Bitch Creek, the sun on it causing it to light like it was on fire.

  We crossed it and as the water came up to our stirrups I told Tom to hold his feet high unless he wanted wet boots and he said, “I’m already there,” and we rode on across like that, our feet high.

  Once on the far side, we let the horses have a blow and chewed on some jerky.

  “What’s the plan when we find her?” Tom said.

  “To get the hell out of the country as quick as we can and leave as few tracks as possible.”

  “Which direction?”

  “Texas, I’m thinking. The Panhandle possibly. Big country, easy enough to get lost in it.”

  He nodded.

  We tightened the cinches and got on board and rode on swinging slightly northeast this time, calculating we were already on the ranchland and just needed to locate the grove.

  Dusk drew in around us like a curtain of purple. We found ourselves sitting atop a bluff looking down to some distant lights winking in a wide valley.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s Johnny Waco’s place.”

  “So while we’re here looking for his wife, he’s in Coffin Flats looking for you?”

  “From what the old man said, yes.”

  “Where exactly are we supposed to hook up with her, and how?”

  “She’ll meet us in a grove beyond those hills,” I said.

  “I think the Spanish word is bosque,” he said.

  “There anything you don’t know?”

  “Plenty, and I’m still learning.”

  “Well, let’s go see if we can find that bosque in the dark then.”

  “Let’s.”

  Once I got my bearings straight we eventually saw the shadows of the grove standing against the night sky. We drew reins and I gave a sharp whistle. We sat there listening. Finally we heard the footfall of a horse.

  “Jim?”

  “Over here,” I called.

  She came toward us slowly. Having a full moon helped matters. We heeled our mounts to meet her.

  “Who’s this?” she asked when we drew up together.

  “His name is Tom, he’s a friend.”

  “Tom Twist, ma’am.”

  “Johnny rode out with a dozen or so men this morning,” she said. “He’s looking for you in Coffin Flats.”

  “I know.”

  “I wasn’t sure if Pedro would find you or just keep riding.”

  “He found me.”

  “Thank God.”

  “You set to go?” I said.

  “Ready.”

  “I’m thinking we’ll make a run for the border—Texas. I still got some old contacts over there I can trust. It’s a good place to get lost in.”

  It was then that a voice shouted.

  “Don’t move or we’ll cut you down like grass.”

  We whirled our animals around and saw them there astride their horses in a moonlit meadow maybe a hundred yards away.

  “Ride into those woods,” I said, and slapped her horse, and me and Tom were right behind her. Gunfire erupted and you could hear the whine of bullets as they went past our heads, could hear them snapping limbs and busting against the trunks of the trees.

  Tom’s horse got shot from under him and I raced up fast and offered him my hand and he took it with his good hand and swung up behind me. I heard him groan as he did. We got just to the edge of the woods and my horse got shot and we both went tumbling.

  Antonia’s scream cut through the racket of gunfire. I pulled Tom to his feet and we found her just inside the woods trying to control her frightened animal. I told her to dismount and took the reins and forced the animal to the ground using a technique an old vaquero once taught me.

  “He knew I’d come here,” she said breathlessly.

  “You hurt?” I asked.

  “No. A bullet passed right through my blouse and I thought I’d been shot. But I’m not.”

  “Tom, what about you?” I said. The bullets came in through the woods like angry hornets.

  “I think I broke my arm in the fall,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Which one?”

  “Guess.”

  “That arm is a curse,” I said. “You might be better just cutting it off.”

  “I’m beginning to think so.”

  “How about we do some firing back,” I said.

  “I dropped my guns,” Tom said, reaching around for them.

  My own rifle was still in its scabbard.

  “You two wait here,” I said and began to crawl back out again, feeling along the ground as I went. I found one of Tom’s pistols and grabbed it and stuck it in my belt then crawled on till I got to my own shot horse and jerked the Winchester free of the scabbard and began to lay down a field of fire at the muzzle flashes coming from Waco’s men. They looked like large fireflies in the darkness. Knowing they’d quickly pick up where I was firing from, I crawled back into the woods.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” I said.

  “You two go,” Antonia said. “He wants me. I’ll go to him.”

  “No,” I said.

  “It’s the only way you and your friend stand a chance.”

  “I think he’s pissed off enough to kill us no matter what you do.”

  “Maybe, but he’ll surely kill you if you don’t run.”

  The gunfire stopped suddenly. We all took a deep breath.

  “What’s he planning?” Tom said.

  “Who knows?”

  “I’ll give you about five minutes to come out—then I’ll set those woods afire with you in them.”

  Antonia said it was Waco shouting the command.

  Before I could stop her, she cried, “I’ll come to you, Johnny, if you let them go!”

  “Sure,” he called back. “Why wouldn’t I? What the hell I want with them?”

  “Even I know a damn lie when I hear one,” Tom said quietly.

  “You glad you came now?” I said.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “This is stupid,” she said. “I won’t let you die because of me.”

  “You two take out of here on your horse,” I said to them. “I’ll hold them off long as I can.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Tom don’t deserve this,” I said. “Neither do you. Get the hell out of here w
hile the getting’s to be had.”

  Tom said he wouldn’t go either.

  “Goddamn it, go!”

  “What difference will it make?” she said. “He’ll just find us and kill us anyway.”

  “He can’t track you in the dark and by morning maybe you’ll have found a place to hide. Take Tom and get in the wind.”

  Tom refused to go until I cocked the hammer of my pistol and put it against his head. “Either they’ll kill you or I will,” I said. “Get the fuck out of here, both of you!”

  They got the horse to its feet and mounted double and I laid down more fire to hide the sound of their leaving and Waco’s boys returned my fire with equal measure and I figured this was it—this was how I was going to die—just like those soldiers in the old battles when I was nothing more than a snotnose kid in a bad war—shot or burned to death, or both, in a wood without any name.

  I emptied my guns then settled in and waited.

  Something calm came over me.

  I stopped fearing death altogether in those next few moments.

  I could hear them coming.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They rode swiftly through the night of moonlit landscape. Tom could see the shape of things and it was like riding through a dream as he clung with his good arm around the woman’s waist. She was a skilled rider. They rode wordlessly and there was just the sound of the horse’s labored breathing, the ring of its shoes on rock and the thud of them in the soft soil, the creak of saddle leather, the whisper of wind.

  They rode until the woman pulled reins and said they needed to give the horse a rest, then stood together in the moonlight looking back at the direction they’d come from. They stood quietly and listened, thinking they’d hear the rumble of other riders pursuing them. But there was just the great empty silence.

  “We shouldn’t have left him,” Tom said softly.

  “It’s what he wanted,” she said. “You must be good friends…”

  “No,” Tom said. “We hardly know each other.”

  The night air was cool against their skin and she buttoned her coat around her and he said, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “May I ask what it was between you that made him so determined to find you?” Tom said.