J.D. could feel Kate building up a head of steam. Before she blew a gasket, he chimed in to say, "In that case, Colonel, we've reported what we saw to everyone with any manner of authority around these parts. We're on our way to Tucson shortly, and may mention it to someone there."
"A capital idea!" Hungate replied. "I wish you all good fortune, then. Good day!"
Chapter 4
Kate grumbled about Colonel Hungate all the way back to Inferno. It wasn't a long ride, but her not-so-sotto voce comments about Hungate's smarmy arrogance, lack of concern for people murdered on his watch, and general demeanor toward the pair of them began to get on J.D.'s nerves as they approached their destination.
"Sugar, I agree with you," he said at last, "but we've done everything we can from here. Unless we find somebody to lodge a complaint with in Tucson, when we get there—"
"Don't you think I won't!"
"I never doubted it, and I'll be right beside you. 'Course, the problem is deciding who we tell about it, if we want results."
"Explain, J.D."
"It just so happens that the governor of Arizona Territory is a Mr. Anson Safford, commissioned by our friend in Washington, in 1869. He's on his second term right now, campaigning to establish public schools throughout the territory."
"You've been keeping up on news," Kate said.
"My point being, he may not have the time to meet with us."
"Not even if we drop a certain name?"
"He'd likely send a wire to check our bona fides, but as far as speaking to us personally...well, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. Besides, there's still the jurisdiction problem."
"Oh, come on!"
"I mean it, Hon. The marshal's right, as far as legal goes. He also strikes me as a lazy do-little, but that's beside the point."
"And Colonel Hungate?"
"He could send a troop out to investigate, assuming that he wanted to, but full-bird colonels keep a close eye on their prospects for promotion, pretty much like anybody else. The last thing that he wants to do is start a war without sufficient evidence against hostiles, and chasing white outlaws around the territory's not his job. Now, if the killers came across from Mexico, and we could prove it, that would be a border violation. Barring that..."
"Damn it, J.D.! You're telling me no one's responsible for law enforcement in the territory, outside little isolated towns?"
"I can't swear to it, but it looks that way."
"Who'd know for sure?"
"The governor, or someone on his staff. But by the time we get to Tucson, any evidence around the scene will likely blow away."
"Five people murdered, and the killers go free? Because nobody cares enough to look for them?"
"We've seen it happen time and time again," J.D. reminded her.
"I know. It always makes me sick."
"Well, since we don't have badges and nobody's paying us to keep the peace, I'd say the best thing we can do is move along and watch out for ourselves."
"It makes me damned sick. Sick and mad."
"Too sick for supper?" he inquired.
"Hell, no. It makes me hungry, staying mad like this."
He smiled at that, adding, "And I know something else that seems to help your appetite."
"Oh, do you, now? And what might that be, Mr. Blaze?"
"I'll show you, when we're back in the hotel."
* * *
They dropped their horses at the livery, the second time that day, and walked back down the mostly-empty street to their hotel. This time, a buggy passed them, heading east and raising dust, the solitary passenger doing his best to overlook them as he rattled past.
The hotel's desk clerk blinked at them again, same way he had when they'd checked in, then seemed to recognize them through some kind of mental fog and nodded at them with a tight-lipped smile. J.D. assumed it had something to do with guests being so few and far between. When they had passed upstairs, beyond his line of sight, Kate said, "That guy gives me the creeps."
"Inferno is a creepy kind of town," J.D. agreed.
"Almost a ghost town," Kate replied.
"I wouldn't go that far."
"Has anybody spoken to us yet, besides the marshal and the clerk?"
"Your favorite colonel."
"Huh! I wouldn't give you two cents for the three of them."
J.D. took off his gunbelt, draping it across the high back of their room's lone chair. "I find the only person that I need to see or talk to is right here, inside this room."
"Yourself?" she teased.
Feigning a hurt expression, he replied, "Only if you plan on ignoring me."
"That's never been my plan," Kate said, and stepped into his waiting arms.
Undressing turned into a race. Kate won, primarily because as she shed clothing, J.D. got distracted, reaching for her eagerly, forgetting that he wasn't in the altogether yet.
"No fair!" she chided him. "I don't intend to be the only naked person here."
"No, ma'am!" He snapped off a salute and finished stripping down in seconds flat. They fell together on the creaky bed, all hands and mouths, hungry and questing, roaming over territory that was both familiar and forever new. Each gasped in turn at something which the other did, rolling together on the hotel's quilt without pulling the sheets and blankets down.
J.D. knew that they had a lot to make up for: the killings, their frustration trying to report them, and the long ride still ahead of them before they reached Tucson. He didn't want to think about who might be prowling on that desert trail, focused and reveling in Kate—still the best-looking woman he'd ever seen and J.D.'s perfect match in every way.
When J.D. entered her at last, she gave a little cry, then pushed off from the mattress, rolled him over on his back, mounting him as if he were a mustang she had captured in the wild. He bucked and writhed beneath her, not to throw her off, but pumping deep into her warm wetness, the only place on Earth he felt completely, absolutely safe.
When Kate's climax washed over her, J.D. hung on, gave in, and let it carry him away, a heartbeat after her. Their mingled cries filled up the room, and only afterward, lying with arms and legs entangled, did Kate laugh, saying, "I'm glad we've got the hotel to ourselves."
"Not quite," J.D. replied, breathless. "There's still that other room, out of the twelve."
"Wherever that is. Anyway, he ought to be at work. If not, I hope he got an earful for his trouble, eavesdropping."
J.D. could only laugh at that, before he asked, "And are you hungry yet?"
* * *
Rice McKibbon took his wife aside after she'd slipped her pie into the oven, lowering his voice to keep their conversation private from the kids. "I guess you haven't heard from either of the Dresslers, then?"
"It's two days running," said Susanna. "Maybe they're just keeping busy, but..."
She let the sentence trail away, a bleak, worried expression on her face.
"I was supposed to trade some corn off for their eggs, this afternoon," Rice said. "I know time gets away, with kids and all, but still."
"Maybe they'll come to church on Sunday, Rice."
"Maybe. I had a thought that I should ride around and check on them, tomorrow morning."
"Would you?" And she sounded almost hopeful now.
"I've laid some time aside. I'll leave a list of chores for Levi and Alonzo."
"Better yet. You know what Pastor Redding says about a pair of idle hands."
"I was a boy myself, Susanna, once upon a time."
"And not so long ago," she smiled.
A racket from the barn distracted Rice. Frowning, he said, "I'd better see what that's about. If Caesar's picking on the mares again..."
"Be careful, will you? When he gets his blood up in the rutting season—"
"I can handle horses," he replied, cutting her off. "I'll be back in a jiffy and start washing up."
"I'm plating supper up in fifteen minutes."
"And I won't be late." Rice kissed h
er lightly, making Levi giggle, while his older brother pulled a face. Leaving the farmhouse he had built himself, Rice gave a passing thought to the Winchester hanging on his wall, but left it there.
What could the horses do that called for any action with a shooting iron?
It was a short walk from his front porch to the barn, no more than thirty yards. McKibbon's long legs ate it up, and he was opening the barn's tall door in nothing flat. Inside, he heard the horses stirring restlessly, but they'd calmed down from whinnying the way he'd heard them in the house. Rice called out to them in a low and soothing voice, advancing slowly toward the four stalls that they occupied along the north wall of the barn.
The whisper of a footstep coming up behind him made McKinnon stop dead in his tracks, then start to turn, hands clenching into fists instinctively. They didn't help him as he glimpsed a painted demon's face, no more than three feet distant from his own, and saw the tomahawk descending in a swift arc, looping toward his forehead.
When it struck him, cracking bone and biting deep, Rice tried to shout but couldn't make his voice respond. Same with his body, as he urged it to fight back, but felt his legs collapsing like the folds of an accordion.
The floor rushed up to meet him, already festooned with ribbons of his blood.
* * *
Inferno had two restaurants: one simply called Café, the other breaking with the town's tradition, boldly labeled "Dan's." The second place was larger, and its sign had seemingly been painted sometime in the last six months or so, while Café's had begun to pale from more protracted punishment by sun and wind.
J.D. and Kate decided to try Dan's for supper, then decide which place to go for breakfast in the morning, prior to lighting out for Tucson. As they entered, rich aromas from the kitchen set their mouths to watering: grilled meat and fresh-baked bread, some kind of soup or stew in large pots simmering—and cake, unless Kate missed her educated guess.
A freckled waitress with an auburn bun met them with smiles and led them to a table by the broad front window, with a clear view of the short and sparsely populated street outside. J.D. ordered beef stew and baked potato from the menu that she handed him, while Kate went for a rib eye steak smothered in onions, green peas on the side. Two mugs of piping hot coffee, black, appeared while they were waiting for their meals.
Kate sipped her mug and eyed him through its steam before she said, "You wore me out, Husband."
"Back at you, Wife."
"That's all right, then."
Breaking the mood, he said, "I know Inferno's small, but when I look around the street, it almost seems deserted."
Thinking summer weather likely kept townsfolk indoors, as much as they could manage. "I don't envy farmers, trying to grow crops out here," he said.
"The ones who manage to survive."
"We can't do anything about that, now."
"We could have buried them, if we'd known no one cared enough to even have a look around the place."
"And if we had, I bet the marshal would've claimed he had to see the bodies as we found them."
Kate snorted. "Not Dilly. I do believe he's married to his office chair."
"Keeps him from sniffing after strangers, anyway," J.D. replied. "I'd rather have a tin star like him in charge than one who's always prodding strangers to move on."
"Not that we planned to hang around."
"No, ma'am. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, adios Inferno."
"And we'll talk to someone, when we get to Tucson?"
"If they'll talk to us. I'm not pursuing some kind of crusade."
"I didn't ask—"
Their food arrived just then, and J.D. dug into one of the finest stews he'd ever tasted: rich and meaty, with potatoes, carrots, peas and onions, gravy thick enough to hold a spoon upright without fear of it falling over, and a portion large enough to feed two men. Kate's steak was charred outside and pink inside, the way she liked it best, covered with grilled onions, the fresh peas adding almost shocking color to her plate.
When they were roughly half done with their meal, Kate nodded toward the window, saying, "There he goes."
J.D. turned in his chair and spotted Marshal Dill across the street, leaving his office, likely bound for home. His oval face was bland, without a hint of any care in the wide world.
"Sleeps like a baby, I suppose," Kate said.
"As long as no one messes with his jurisdiction."
"Right," she said, frowning. "But how long can that last?"
Chapter 5
The Café opened early, presumably to catch shopkeepers on their way to work before they opened up for business. When Kate and J.D. entered, shortly after 6 a.m., there were more people in the smallish restaurant than they had seen around Inferno since arriving there. Approximately half the twenty tables were already occupied, with conversation buzzing until everyone shut up, watching the new arrivals guided to their seats by a blond waitress on the hefty side.
"Looks like we caused a stir," Kate said, as they were settled at their table.
"Oh, no, ma'am," the waitress instantly assured her. "It's the killings, don't you know."
Kate and J.D. locked eyes before he asked, "Out at the Dressler spread?"
"Oh, no, sir!" Wide eyes focused on his face. "Were they killed, too?"
"It's only what I heard the marshal say," J.D. replied.
"Well, this was the McKibbons, slaughtered on their own home ground. Did I already say the morning's special is Virginia ham with eggs, whichever way you like them?"
"I'll have that," Kate said.
"Yes, ma'am. It's really good. Your eggs?"
"Scrambled."
"The same for me," J.D. put in. "And coffee, black."
"I'll get that right away," the waitress said, and flounced off toward the kitchen, checking other tables on her way to see if they were satisfied with whatever they'd ordered.
Leaning forward, Kate hissed, "So, a second family. If Marshal Dill or Colonel Hem-and-Haw had done something—"
"It still might be the same," J.D. cut in.
"Don't make excuses for them, Jehoram Delfonso!" Trotting out the hated given names he never used, except on the odd legal document from time to time.
"I'm not," he said. "We've got no guarantee that searching for the Dresslers' killers would've stopped whatever happened to the other bunch, last night."
"It might have helped. You can't deny it."
"No. And I can't prove it, either. Nor can you. "
Their coffee came. The waitress seemed to sense their tension and departed without saying any more.
Kate scowled. "I feel like these McKibbons might still be alive, if—"
"Stop right there," he warned her. "When you start playing 'what if,' there's no end to it."
"But—"
"We alerted the only people in authority around this wide spot in the road. If they did nothing, that's on them, not us."
"I think we ought to look into it," Kate replied.
"We've got business in Tucson, if you recollect. The Grayson Boys?"
"I'm not forgetting them."
"Plus, we have no authority, and no one's paying us."
"Well, money isn't everything."
"Unless you're short of it. Like us, right now."
"All right, J.D. If you don't think there's any chance that we could help."
"No one can help the dead. We start to meddle in the law's affairs where we're not wanted, we'll wind up in jail, or worse."
"You're right, I guess."
Their meals arrived. J.D. dug into his, while Kate sat watching him across her heaping plate. The cook had added fried potatoes as a bonus, on the side.
"What now?" he asked her, with his mouth half full.
"I was just wondering if we could hang around here for another day, and leave tomorrow? Just to see if something breaks."
Damn it! he thought. When Kate made up her mind, there was no moving her.
Wearing his best stern face, J.D. repl
ied, "One day. And we'll be out of here tomorrow, first thing after breakfast?"
"Absolutely," she replied, smiling. "I swear."
* * *
Eagle—Itsá, in the language of his people—was a diyin of the Chiricahua nation, taught a shaman's skills and art from childhood until he became a man. Within his heart and mind resided secrets of his tribe: medical, magical, and spiritual. Because he deviated from the role adopted by his elders, bowing to the White Eyes and retreating to a barren reservation, he was shunned today, except by those seated before him in the mountain cave, a dozen warriors who had followed him to exile, rather than be cowed and ruled by the invaders.
Ba'cho, the Wolf, was first to speak. His tone carried the same edge Itsá had already noted several times before. Not quite defiance, but approaching it. "What orders have you for us, Diyin?" he inquired.
"Another revelation from Tobadzistsini, the God of War," Itsá replied, with all solemnity.
"We listen," Ba'cho said, "and hasten to obey His word."
Not mine, the shaman thought. I'll have to watch this one more closely. Possibly eliminate him altogether.
"Tobadzistsini has been pleased with our efforts so far," Itsá declared, "but he wants more. To finally solidify our power, He requires a ritual of sacrifice."
"More settlers, Diyin?" Now the question came from Cougar, or Ndolkah in the old tongue.
"But not simply executed in their homes," the shaman answered. "This time, we need captives to present before Tobadzistsini, still alive when I perform the necessary service and dispatch them to His hands."
"No doubt, you have another family in mind," Ba'cho spoke up.
"I do," the diyin said. "This time, when we remove the young ones from their nest and later put them on display, there is no doubt that it will start a final war between our people and the White Eyes. I have seen as much in visions."
"And who wins, Diyin?" Wolf asked him, almost challenging.
"The outcome is obscure to me, but war must still be fought, regardless. We owe that much to our ancestors, and to the spirits of the land."
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