Dance With A Gunfighter (15 page)

The livery owner glanced at McLowry, and his brow
furrowed. "Mine dried up. Most folks’ patience dried up right along with
it. Few stubborn fools, though, like Huckleby and me stuck around. What can I
say?"

McLowry asked for directions to Mrs. Huckleby’s place.

Outside the livery, Gabe looked up and down the quiet, lonely
street. "I’m afraid you might have been right, Jess. This hardly looks
like a place Tanner’s gang would hang out, mine or no mine. I wonder if it’s
worth staying here at all?"

"What about sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed
tonight?"

"I’ll have plenty of time for comfort after Tanner’s
gotten rid of. Let’s get some food, talk to a few people, and then we can
decide, okay?"

He watched her scan the street again. She was coming to
understand how to judge places pretty well.

As tired as she might be, he also saw how doggedly willing
she was to keep right on going. She did it for family. The cause was a good
one, and noble, but he knew from experience how bad such a cause could turn.

They walked down the street to the saloon. McLowry entered
to ask if there was any place in town that they could get a meal; a moment
later he stood at the swinging double doors and motioned to Gabe to join him.

She was hesitant about entering after her bad experience
getting booted out of one in Tombstone, but she did. Inside, a dark wooden bar
ran along one side of the room, and dark wood covered the walls. In the center
of the room were tables and chairs, plus a dusty, ignored-looking piano in the
corner. The idea struck her that all saloons were probably laid out pretty much
the same. McLowry motioned for her to go to a table. The place was empty except
for three men standing at the bar. They eyed Gabe as she walked in, studied
McLowry, than quickly turned their attention back to their drinks.

Gabe and McLowry sat. In a moment the barkeep was at their
side, offering them sausage, eggs, potatoes and gravy. They ordered the works,
plus beer.

They ate in silence.

Finally, Gabe pushed aside her beer glass. "I don’t
know about this town. I’m almost afraid to ask about Tanner after what happened
with Blackie Lane, but at the same time, I don’t want to stay if there’s no
reason."

"We can stay for a while without asking about him,
and just listening."

"And in the meantime, Tanner might be getting even
farther away from me."

McLowry took a long swallow of his beer, then leaned back.
"You can’t have it both ways."

"I know," she said miserably.

He came forward. "Let’s think about this." He
drew on the dusty tabletop as he spoke. "To the west are the Dragoon
Mountains, and to the east are the Chiracahuas. Both ranges have bands of
Apaches. It’s not likely Tanner would be hiding out in there any amount of
time. We came from the south, and to the north there’s nothing but a couple of
poor settlements all the way to Florence Junction. I say we stay here for a
while and talk to folks, and find out as much as we can without asking them
point blank."

Her gaze caught his as images came rushing at her of Jess
at the Crystal Palace, of Clara, even of the shootout that she had missed but
still could see clearly because it had been the talk of Tombstone for days and
she had heard every single detail about it more than once. She frowned.
"How? In poker games?" she asked bitterly.

"I doubt there’s enough money in this town to make a
game interesting. They probably play with matchsticks as well."

"Money could become a problem. This doesn’t look like
a place that will offer us much work."

"No work," he said. "Sounds good to
me."

She smiled, despite herself.

One of the men who had been leaning against the bar
strolled over to them. His hair was long and grizzled, and he wore a flannel
shirt, suspenders, and baggy brown trousers with a gun stuffed in the
waistband. "Not that I was payin’ no mind to your talk, mister, but, you
say something about work?"

McLowry frowned. "You got pretty fine hearing, old
man. Must be part Apache."

"’Pache’s the reason for the work. My son’s sheriff
in this here town. You folks are new here and you might think it’s a pretty odd
place to put a town, and it is, ‘cept for one thing. It’s got silver. One pure,
beautiful vein of it. The men in the town mined it, and now we got to get it to
Tucson to be sold. The money ain’t all profit--it’s the mine workers' wages as
well. We ran out of funds three months ago, but the men saw how close we was to
reaching the vein, so they kept diggin’. Now, the whole town depends on the
wagons with the ore getting through, past the ‘Paches as well as hold up men.
You got the look of a good man with a gun. Will you help?"

McLowry glanced at Gabe, but her attention was on the old
man. "You’ve got ore to sell now?" she asked.

"That’s right."

"And word’s gotten out that you’ll be moving
it?"

"Can’t keep nothin’ secret in a place like this,
‘special when so many folks and families is involved."

"Are you worried that someone like, well, like Will
Tanner and his gang will hear about it?"

"’Course we’re worried. That’s why we’re looking for
good men to help us."

Gabe met McLowry’s eye. He faced the old man. "Sounds
dangerous," he said. "I heard Tanner’s somewhere around here."

The old man shrugged. "Tanner’s always around here.
Seems he’s got some sorta hideout in the hills. He can’t stop a whole town,
though."

Gabe’s heart leaped at the news. So that was why Blackie
Lane was headed this way.

"We’ll pay good money to anyone who helps us get the
ore to Tucson where we can sell it," the old man continued. "After
it’s sold, there’ll be plenty of money to go around for everyone. Folks got
their life savings in this mine, and they’re holding on best they can."

"How many men plan to go with you?" McLowry
asked.

"’Bout ten. But they’re farmers and miners. None
‘cept my son’s got more than passin’ skill with a gun. There’s about fifteen
men all tol’ dependin’ on this trip. But we can’t all go. Some’s too old, like
me, and we’d get in the way. So the rest of us’ll stay here, keep an eye on the
women and children. If the men make it to Tucson to sell the ore, there’ll be
plenty of money to go around--even enough for a hired gun. Those men could use
your gun...McLowry."

Gabe lay her hand on McLowry’s arm. This man, too, knew
him by sight, knew his reputation. That explained why he was willing to tell
Jess so much about what was going on here, why he was so open about everything.
He thought Jess was still a hired gun. She saw him mulling over the man’s words
and it scared her. He had given up that kind of work, at least she thought he
had.

McLowry knew it was much more likely that Tanner would try
to ambush the miners out on the open range than to come to town to do it. If he
went along, he could meet Tanner out there and maybe even manage to talk to
him. Maybe convince him to get far away from here and keep away from Gabe. His
voice, when he turned to the old man, was low and firm. "I’ll go as long
as my cousin stays here in Dry Springs until I return."

Gabe was confused. Why was Jess interested in doing this?
Why did he want her to stay in Dry Springs? Tanner’s hideout was nearby. It
made sense that he might come to town looking for money or silver instead of
trying to chase down a dozen men on the open desert. Well, if he did, she would
be here waiting. She didn’t understand it, but she agreed. "Sounds
fine...Cousin Jess."

Chapter 12

The next morning, McLowry went to the livery stable to
join the small outfit that would be guarding the ore as it left Dry Springs.
The old man had said there would be about ten men altogether. He had failed to
say, though, that all but two gave the impression that the deadliest thing they
had ever wielded was a pitchfork.

McLowry swung himself onto his saddle. Leading three
wagons with silver ore meant the going would be slow. The outfit probably
wouldn’t see Tucson until the eighth day. Once there, the sale of the ore would
have to be negotiated. At least the ride back should be fast. Overall, they
would be gone twelve to fourteen days.

The townspeople stood on the street watching silently as
the wagons rolled out of town. Gabe stood beside Mrs. Huckleby, who had let
them rooms for the night. The people were so silent the only noise to be heard
was the clip-clop of the pack mules and horses, and the rolling of the iron
wheels.

The journey to Tucson should be trouble-free, McLowry
thought. Few robbers would steal wagonloads of silver ore. But once the ore was
exchanged for cash, these men would have a real problem on their hands unless
the robbers were too busy laughing at the motley group to rob them.

He was their best chance. He couldn’t help but think that
if he were smart, once in Tucson, he would simply keep riding in the opposite
direction from Dry Springs, Gabriella Devere, and her revenge. He wouldn’t,
though. Since Gabe had come into his life, he’d been nothing if not plain dumb.

o0o

The Huckleby home was large, with four bedrooms that had
been rented out during the heyday of the Dry Springs mine. Now, the house was
empty except for Gabe. The furnishings were plain and sturdy, the house
comfortable.

Gabe stood at the window in the front parlor. Fifteen days
had gone by since McLowry and the others, including Mrs. Huckleby’s husband,
Lew, left town. They should have been back by now.

McLowry had bamboozled her, that was for sure. Tanner
never did show up in Dry Springs, and it hadn’t taken her long to figure out
that if Tanner had, in fact, learned about Dry Spring’s silver ore, he would
also have heard it wasn’t in town anymore. The chance of him showing up here
was remote to nil. God, but she was a ninny! She should have insisted on going
with McLowry. But even if she had, he and the other men never would have
allowed her on that trip. She might, though, have followed along on her own.

There was no work in Dry Springs so Gabe had spent her
time making rounds of the homesteads whose men were away. She checked on the
women to see if they and their children were all right and if they needed
anything from town. At least doing that, she felt useful, instead of moping
about worrying about McLowry and feeling guilty because three of her family’s
murderers were still running free. But the worry was constant. Even at night
she was beset by nightmares, including one in which she held a gun on Tanner,
ready to shoot...but when she looked at him more closely, he turned into Jess.
She awoke shaken from that, reminding herself she had to be very careful and
very sure before actually pulling the trigger.

On this day, she didn’t need to make any rounds. The women
whose husbands and sons had gone to Tucson had shown up in town early to await
the men’s arrival. A few tried to act unconcerned as they went about their
business. Gabe saw them step into the General Store and buy a few provisions,
chat with each other on the boardwalk, or have a cup of tea or lunch in Mrs.
Huckleby’s dining room. After each activity, they would go out onto the main
street of town and their gazes would turn westward, toward Tucson, looking for
dust clouds against the sky, the sign of a group of men riding fast toward
home, their pockets full of money.

But the skies stayed clear.

As the day wore on, Gabe went outdoors to wait with the
others. By sunset, the women openly stared toward the west. They stood side by
side, calico dresses limp against thin bodies and their arms crossed over flat
chests. With straw-colored hair pulled back in a tight bun, and brown,
sun-parched skin, they seemed to have taken on the look of the desert they
lived in. As they scanned the skies, they wore the dour expressions of those
that lived with hardship, and expected it to continue.

Gabe talked with the children and tried to distract them
from their mothers’ worries and her own. Jess would return. She knew he would.
A few Apaches or hold-up men couldn’t stop him.

By nightfall, the women who lived nearby returned home,
but six families who lived farther out chose to spend the night in town. Mrs.
Huckleby opened her rooming house to them. The parlor was turned over to seven
school-age children--from Charlie Walker, age five-and-a-half, to Susan Flint,
age fifteen--to sleep on the floor. Five babies stayed with their mothers.

"Mrs. Larkin and Mrs. Grimes can have my room,"
Gabe said to Mrs. Huckleby in deference to the two oldest women in the group.

She went into the parlor to join the children. Three
Flints, one Bailey, one Walker and two Grahams. She had met them all as she
went on her visits.

Confusion marred the faces of the youngest children, but
the three oldest, Susan Flint, Dickie Graham and Laura Walker, peered up at her
with firm determination in their eyes. They were strong, Gabe thought, these
frontier children. Already they had learned to keep the fear in their hearts a
secret and to wear a calm demeanor around those who were weaker than
themselves. Yet they cared as fiercely as anyone.

"What’s this?" she asked. "I’ve never seen
you guys so quiet."

The older ones shrugged and the younger ones giggled.

"Who knows how to play Simon Says?"

"That’s a sissy game." Dickie Graham folded his
arms and scowled. Dickie, at twelve, the oldest of the Graham brood, had cheeks
red and full as apples. He overcame his chubby, cherubic looks by having a
temperament as contrary as vinegar.

"You think it’s easy, do you?" Gabe challenged.

"Of course it is," he said.

"You think you can beat Simon?"

"I
know
I can." He smirked.

"We’ll see, won’t we?" Gabe put her thumbs in
her belt loops and swaggered around the parlor tougher than any gunslinger.
"Anybody else brave enough to take on Simon?"