Glorious (36 page)

“I figure you're not up to seventy miles in the saddle,” Stowers said, and McLendon gratefully agreed.

“We don't exactly know the way from here to your town,” Stowers added. “None of us have been to or even heard of Glorious. But Captain Smyth says it's near Picket Post Mountain, and I guess we can find that big old pile of rock.”

Shortly before eight, Stowers called a halt. McLendon argued that they shouldn't stop for the night—the Apaches might descend on Glorious at any moment. But Stowers said that the horses needed to be fed, watered, and rested. “We've still got more than fifty miles ahead of us, some of it hard going. If we keep a steady pace tomorrow, then we should reach Glorious by the following afternoon.”

McLendon had trouble sleeping that night and the next. He kept imagining MacPherson's men sneaking into town and murdering the remaining founders in their beds. He had particularly unsettling visions of Ike Clanton manhandling Gabrielle while Joe Saint looked on, too panicked to intervene.

Both mornings they set out while stars still were visible. The Morgans were unsuited for speed in the desert sand, but they could hold
an even, if plodding, pace. Stowers let another trooper take the lead while he dropped back beside the wagon and pointed out to McLendon some of the sights they were passing. The most impressive was a high, thin mountain spire Stowers said was known as Weaver's Needle. “You can just see the tip of it from Picket Post Mountain,” he said. “So remain patient, for we're making progress.”

They skirted through part of the Pinto Mountains. Stowers sent two men ahead to look for Apache sign. When they returned they reported that they hadn't found any. McLendon fumed through what he considered an unnecessary stop for lunch; Stowers pointed out that his men would be of no help to the citizens of Glorious if they arrived exhausted and starving. McLendon suspected that the half-dozen troopers quietly passed around a flask during their meal break. How could this unimpressive bunch intimidate Collin MacPherson?

Then they rode on again, and finally they entered the long valley. McLendon could see the specks that made up Glorious at the base of Apache Leap.

“Let's hurry,” he said to Stowers. “My friend Crazy George will gladly stand you and your men to drinks in his saloon, and a slap-up dinner at the town hotel will be on me.”

Stowers shook his head. “No time for that. I've got my orders. Now that we're in sight of town, I'm going to send you and the wagon on ahead. You can make sure that your people are still safe. The rest of us have a different responsibility.”

“You're going to scout around for Apaches?”

“Perhaps we will, but our immediate task is to meet with this civilian named MacPherson. Captain Smyth was real specific about it—that I should inquire of him about the situation and assure him that his and Governor Safford's interests are being protected.”

McLendon was stunned. “What about the interests of the people in Glorious?” he demanded. “What about their safety?”

“We're here to do our best about that. But the captain don't want the governor mad and climbing up his ass. Let me hear what MacPherson has to say, and then I'm sure we'll go looking for your Apaches.”

“Don't do this. Come with me into town. Let everyone there see you so the word of your presence spreads.”

“Mr. MacPherson's to see us first. I've got my orders. You go on and tell them in town that we'll arrive presently. Is that MacPherson's place across the creek?”

McLendon watched Stowers and the five soldiers splash across. “We going on into town?” the private driving the wagon asked.

“We are,” McLendon said. “Try to look impressive.”

The Culloden vaqueros at the town's west guard post stared as the wagon with McLendon aboard rolled past. One of them jumped on his horse and rode off in the direction of the ranch; McLendon knew the Mexican was reporting his return to town. As the wagon came to a stop in front of the Owaysis, Crazy George and Mary Somebody, the Tirritos, Major Mulkins, and Joe Saint all came hurrying outside.

“Where's the Army?” Mulkins asked.

“They did send some soldiers,” McLendon said. “Not as many as we hoped, but some. Seven, counting the private here.” He was still so shaken by Stowers's orders to report first to MacPherson that he failed to notice whether or not Gabrielle seemed surprised that he'd returned.

“Where are the others?” Saint inquired.

“At Culloden, checking in with MacPherson.”

“Christ Jesus, no,” Mary said. “The Army works for MacPherson too?”

“It's more like they work for the governor,” McLendon said. “I'll
explain. Private, I guess you want to stable your mules at the livery. You can see a man named Ike Clanton right over there, staring at us from the doorway. Everybody else, let's have a moment inside the saloon.”

McLendon told about his meeting with Captain Smyth and how the camp commander was only convinced to send any troops at all when McLendon told him about MacPherson's business partnership with the governor.

“I think we can still work this to our advantage,” he said. “How do all of you stand with MacPherson just now?”

“He sent Ike around again this morning to tell us he'd waited long enough,” Gabrielle said. “We have the rest of the day to agree to sell. After that, Ike says, Mr. MacPherson won't ask again.”

“But he can't act while the soldiers are around,” McLendon said. “The longer they can be persuaded to stay, the better. While I was gone, were there many newcomers?”

“A few,” Saint said. “Just prospectors, though—no one out to open new businesses.”

“But they're coming,” McLendon said. “They have to be. It's inevitable. So what we have to do is keep the soldiers here.”

“What do you think MacPherson is telling them?” Gabrielle asked.

“What can he tell them? It's his men who've reported seeing all the Apaches. If he claims they're miraculously gone now, the soldiers will still have to look for themselves. Their commander at McDowell can't risk the governor losing his precious investment. A Corporal Stowers is in charge of the men sent here. When he comes back to town, all of you talk to him. Lie to him. Tell him you've seen Apaches too. Anything to convince him that we're in imminent danger.”

But when Stowers rode into town soon afterward, he needed no convincing.

“Mr. MacPherson confirms that the Apaches are all around,” he
told McLendon. “He's got his men on alert. Have you seen their weapons? All of them have double-action pistols, and they also have these Winchesters—”

“Yes, we know about the Winchesters,” McLendon said impatiently. “But what about the Apaches? What's your plan in this?”

Stowers set his lips in a thin, grim line. “As I said, Mr. MacPherson's bunch are alert, but he admits that, well armed as they are, they still may not be able to hold off the number of savages about to descend. The best they can do is protect his ranch, which as I'm sure you understand has to be Mr. MacPherson's primary concern. Which leaves you folks open and vulnerable to the Indians.”

“But you're here. Hell, send back to McDowell for more help. Captain Smyth said he'd be prepared to supply it.”

“There's no time for that. Two days for the messenger to make the ride, a day to gather and prepare the men, another two days to make the march here—the way it seems based on Mr. MacPherson's information, you people would be buzzard food by then.”

“What are you saying? That you're going to ride off and leave us?”

“Christ, no. There's a plan, a sensible one. Mr. MacPherson suggested it.”

Heart sinking, McLendon asked, “And what's that?”

“Since you can't be protected here, you'll be loaded up in wagons and transported under our guard to Florence, where you'll be safe until this Apache threat subsides. Mr. MacPherson has kindly offered to write a letter to the governor telling him the Army acted with great foresight and dispatch. Captain Smyth will be pleased. Tonight my men and I will stand watch along with some of the Culloden hands. Meanwhile, everyone living in town is to pack a few necessities and prepare to leave first thing in the morning. Glorious is being evacuated.”

W
ord of the evacuation spread quickly. All afternoon and evening, the founders were kept busy. The Sears and Sons employees and the prospectors staying at the Elite Hotel demanded dinner, then lined up to pay their room bills. The Tirritos' dry goods store was crowded with jostling men anxious to purchase candy, beef jerky, and canned fruit to eat on the way to Florence. The shop's small supply of pistols and ammunition was completely depleted; as one customer told Gabrielle, “If the Apaches attack as we're traveling, I mean to return fire.” The Owaysis was busiest of all. Everyone in town, it seemed, intended to be hungover when they departed.

It was very late, almost midnight, before the saloon crowd thinned and McLendon, Saint, Mulkins, Crazy George, Mary Somebody, and Gabrielle had the opportunity to sit down together in the Owaysis and talk. A few prospectors, including Bossman Wright and Oafie, were still huddled around tables, but they were so deeply into drink that they seemed unlikely to eavesdrop or interrupt.

“So we'll have to be away for a while,” Mary said. “I've got the girls packing up. It can't be longer than a few days, can it?”

“What's MacPherson's intent?” Mulkins asked. “How does he benefit from everyone leaving?”

“I expect that you have some idea,” Gabrielle said to McLendon. “You understand how people like him think.”

“Sadly, I do,” he said. “MacPherson's outmaneuvered us again. It's terrible and brilliant, what I believe he plans to do next. In the morning everyone leaves for Florence. The town stands deserted. As soon as it is, MacPherson sends in his men to take over the hotel and this saloon and your shop, Gabrielle. They nail up signs announcing new ownership, MacPherson Hotel and MacPherson Saloon and MacPherson Dry Goods. I see they put up ‘MacPherson Farriers' the minute Charlie and Rose left town.”

“They started hammering as your stage departed,” Mulkins said. “But how can he have his men come in and claim businesses that are legally ours? We're going to come back. Unless we agree to sell, they're our businesses, not his. It's the law.”

“Not entirely,” McLendon said. “Remember the bill of sale for the livery that Ike Clanton showed me after Bob Pugh's death? When you return, MacPherson can produce more forged sales documents that he'll claim you signed. You can call him a liar all that you want, but he'll be in possession of the property while you're taking him to court. He can afford as many lawyers as he likes to draw out the process, while you struggle to pay off your own lawyers and still have something left over to live on. Even if you can hang on, you'll have to hope that the judge rules in your favor. Given MacPherson's money and political connections, I don't think that's likely.”

“Judge Palmquist in Tucson is supposed to be honest,” Saint suggested. “We could take the matter before his court.”

Mary Somebody snorted in disgust. “Joe, you know there ain't an honest judge in the territory. All of them have been bought and paid for by somebody. Mr. MacPherson's got us, don't he? I can't see any way past this.”

“Me, either,” Mulkins admitted. “He's too rich and too smart. We're done. What pains me most is feeling so helpless. We work hard and we're honest and still whatever we have can be taken away on a rich man's whim. I know it happens all the time back east, but it wasn't supposed to be that way out here. The West was going to be a place where anything was possible, where there were better lives for ordinary people.”

“Agreed,” said Crazy George. “Hell. Wait a minute.” He rummaged behind the bar and produced a bottle. “Fine blended whiskey. Let's all have some.”

“Why, George,” Mulkins gasped. “I thought you only served red-eye.”

The saloon owner grinned. “Just because I sell that piss don't mean I have to drink it myself. I always have a little of the finer stuff on hand for personal consumption.” He poured generous measures for them all.

Even Gabrielle sipped the whiskey. After they sat for a few moments, drinking silently, she said, “Well, I'd best get back to the shop. Papa is trying to pack, and he's terrible at it. The one travel bag that the Army allows us will be overflowing with things we won't need in Florence. Joe, will you come and distract him while I set the packing straight?”

“Of course,” Saint said. “I guess there's nothing more to be done here.” He and Gabrielle stood up, and as they did, Bossman Wright jerked to his feet at the prospectors' table.

“Sheriff, wait a goddamn minute,” he demanded.

“Bossman, it's very late,” Saint replied. “All of us have to prepare for morning departure. I suggest you get to it.”

Wright exhaled boozy breath and shook his head. “I ain't departing. Today I caught sight of promising silver sign and I'm not walking away from it, Apaches or no.”

“You must leave. All of us must. The Army's ordered it.”

“The Army, you say.” Wright regarded Saint curiously. “Is the Army the law in town, or are you? Ain't you the one wearing the badge?”

“I am,” Saint said. “But I believe a military edict supersedes civilian law.”

“Say what?”

“I mean the Army has authority over a sheriff.”

“That's not always so,” McLendon said. “Joe, Bossman's making a valid point. When martial law is proclaimed, the military runs everything, but even Collin MacPherson doesn't have the authority to declare martial law in conjunction with an Army corporal. Glorious no longer has a mayor, but it still has a sheriff. Legally, I think you're unquestionably in charge.”

Wright unleashed a mighty belch. “Like I said.”

Saint looked thoughtful. He said to Wright, “Well, Bossman, in any event I'd advise you to at least go off and get some sleep. Tomorrow promises to be challenging.” Wright, Oafie, and the other prospectors left the saloon. When they were gone, Saint said to the founders and McLendon, “All right. Tomorrow when everyone else evacuates, I'm staying.”

Gabrielle snapped, “You can't. Don't be foolish. What can you do against MacPherson?”

Saint shrugged. “I'm the sheriff. When I took the job, I promised to uphold the law. It would be a crime for MacPherson to take
advantage of your absence and claim he bought your businesses when he didn't. If he tries and I'm still here, I can prevent it.”

“How?” Gabrielle asked. “Will you stand in my shop doorway and forbid his men to enter? They'll shoot you down and claim it was the Indians.”

“I'm the sheriff. It's my responsibility to try.”

“You alone against MacPherson's men,” Gabrielle said, attempting sarcasm but sounding horrified instead. “You're not a fool. Don't act like one. Self-sacrifice accomplishes nothing.”

“Well, fuck it,” Crazy George said. “Joe, I mean,
Sheriff
, you say you're not leaving?”

“That's correct, George.”

“And that corporal can't make us go?”

“Not as far as I'm concerned.”

“Goddamn, then I'm staying too. Let them try to take over my place. They'll pay for it with blood.”

“Think about it,” McLendon cautioned. “Aren't your lives worth more than your businesses? MacPherson's in earnest. He won't be dissuaded by anyone standing up to him.”

“Probably not,” Mary said. “But me and George have had some hard times, and this place is what we've ended up with. We'll send Girl and the two whores away with the soldiers in the morning, but we've been pushed out enough in our lives, and we ain't going to be pushed no more.”

“Amen,” Mulkins said. “Not long ago I fought for this country, all the way down to Cold Harbor and Richmond and Appomattox. I'm staying, and I'll fight if I must.”

“You really
are
a major?” McLendon asked.

“Union Army. George, pour us another shot of that fine liquor. Let's toast spitting in Collin MacPherson's eye.”

Everyone but Gabrielle raised a glass. She said to Saint, “Are you determined to do this? You can't be talked out of it?” The sheriff shook his head. “All right, then. I'll go help Papa pack, and in the morning I'll send him on to Florence while I stay behind with you.”

“What? You can't,” Saint spluttered.

“Why not? Don't I have the same right as you to be stupidly noble?”

The sheriff took her hand and said, “Gabrielle, be sensible. This is going to be no place for a woman.”

She yanked her hand away. “Mary's staying with George. Isn't she a woman?” Gabrielle looked at Mary as though seeking support.

“It's different,” Mary said. “I'm old. Glorious has always been the end of the line for me. You've got a fine life ahead. Don't throw it away.”

“Mary's right,” Saint said. “Gabrielle, I forbid you to stay. You'll leave tomorrow. And that's the end of it.”

A dark expression swept across Gabrielle's face. McLendon recognized it from their time together in St. Louis. Saint's attempt at male mastery was the worst possible response.
I still understand her better than he does,
he thought, and it made him proud. He, too, was determined that Gabrielle shouldn't stay, but, unlike Saint, he knew how to persuade her.

“Gabrielle,” he said. She and Saint were glaring at each other. “Gabrielle. Think about your father.”

“What about him? He'll go with the Army to Florence.”

“No, he won't—not without you,” McLendon said gently. He knew he had to avoid any hint of confrontation. “I know this—that your father loves you more than anything else in the world. If you stay, he will too.”

“I'll tell him that he has to go.”

“You know better. Think about it. He won't leave you, any more
than you'd let him stay while you were evacuated. It's going to get bad here after everyone else is gone. There's going to be fighting, shooting. People are going to die. Your father is brave, but he's old. If he stays, he won't survive. He'd probably be the first one down. And if you do stay and send him away, what will become of him if you're killed? You know that, for all his pride, he's not able to take care of himself. He's loved you and done his best to protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him. You have to go to Florence with Salvatore. You know that.”

Saint, recognizing a compelling argument, chimed in. “Your father's your responsibility. Save him.”

Gabrielle chewed on her lower lip, then addressed McLendon and Saint collectively. “You bastards.” She whirled and ran out of the saloon.

“She'll go with her father in the morning,” McLendon told Saint. “No need for further concern in that regard.”

“And when word reaches Gabrielle in Florence of what's going to happen here, you'll be there to comfort her,” the sheriff said bitterly. “At least this turns out well for you.”

“I don't see how. I've had enough of bending to the will of rich men. I'm not going to Florence, either.”

•   •   •

C
ORPORAL
S
TOWERS
took it hard the next morning when Saint told him that he and some others weren't leaving.

“You have to,” the bearded enlisted man insisted. “I represent the Army, and I'm telling you what's so.”

“Unless martial law has been formally declared, as sheriff of this town I'm not under your command.” Saint and Stowers stood outside the livery, where several buckboards and wagons, all on loan from the Culloden Ranch, were ready to transport evacuees to Florence. The
daily Florence stage was waiting too. “If Apaches are about to attack, then you'll not want to risk them descending while you waste time in fruitless argument.” He gestured at everyone milling around. “Get these people on the wagons and be on your way.”

“Mr. MacPherson may be unhappy with this when he learns of it,” Stowers protested. “He'll likely protest to the governor, who in turn will take action against Captain Smyth. The captain's a good commander. Have you any idea of some of the incompetents who've commanded my camp?”

“First of all, Mr. MacPherson is undoubtedly about to be informed,” Saint said. “I just saw his man Lemmy Duke observing us, then riding out to Culloden. Whatever form Mr. MacPherson's wrath may take is already beyond your control. Second, I sympathize with your commander, but I have more pressing concerns. The morning is passing—organize the evacuation.”

Stowers called for quiet. Those holding tickets on the stage to Florence should get on board, the corporal instructed. It would be part of the evacuation procession. Mr. Jesse of Sears and Sons and the representatives of several other mining concerns climbed aboard. Then the corporal explained to the crowd that women and children had first claim on space in the wagons. Mrs. Clanton came forward with her brood and they were helped up. Bossman Wright took Oafie firmly by the arm and dragged her to the next wagon.

“I won't go, I won't,” she wailed.

Wright said, “Keep me in your heart, darlin',” and kissed her. Then, embarrassed at displaying tenderness in public, he grunted, “Git up there, woman,” and literally tossed Oafie into the wagon bed. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Sally and Abigail, the Owaysis whores, followed Oafie into the wagon. They called down to Mary Somebody that they'd wait to hear
from her in Florence. She had given them money for food and a few nights' lodging in an inexpensive hotel. Girl was supposed to go with them, but she screamed and refused to get up in the wagon, even when Mary and Crazy George tried to push her into it. Finally Mary sighed and said that she could stay.

“Older men next in the wagons,” Stowers ordered, and some gray-haired prospectors and all of the mining company clerks clambered on. Most of them weren't even middle-aged, but as professional men they felt that they had the right to pride of place. Salvatore and Gabrielle Tirrito stood by a wagon but still didn't get in. Gabrielle might be leaving, but she would wait until the last minute to give Saint and McLendon the satisfaction of knowing for certain that they'd prevailed.