Packing Iron (10 page)

It took Gabriel three days and three nights to reach the Carmel Valley. He could have reached there sooner but he didn’t want to push the Morgan too hard and he also had a lot on his mind.

He kept to the back trails, avoiding towns and people as much as possible and eating off the land. He rode past fragrant peach orchards, vast cattle ranches and farms surrounded by corn fields and acres of vegetables, and, as he got nearer the coast, through forests of oak and pine. Deer and rabbits were everywhere. He shot only what he needed, built a fire where the smoke wouldn’t be seen, and ate everything but the bones.

He felt, he thought, as if he’d been reborn.

At night, under an indigo sky bright with stars, he let the Morgan graze at will, spread his bedroll in secluded hollows and lay there smoking and thinking about Ellie and Ingrid and Raven, trying to figure out what place they belonged in his life.

On the afternoon of the third day he reached Monterey Bay. The craggy, dramatic coastline was fogged in. Monterey Pines grew along the cliff-tops, their twisting gnarly branches poking up through the fog like ghostly skeletons. The weather reminded Gabriel of his childhood when he
traveled with his father, a devout circuit preacher, among the gold camps in the Colorado Mountains.

The fog unnerved the Morgan. Gabriel was forced to dismount and lead the skittish stallion until they got farther inland where the sun had burned the fog away. Along the way he stopped and ate wild black berries growing beside the trail.

Ahead, a family of Mexicans was filling baskets with the berries. All the children were girls. The oldest smiled shyly at Gabriel, who politely tipped his hat and asked her for directions to the Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo. She pointed the way and he nudged the Morgan inland.

He rode over low rolling hills covered with lush grass and scrub bushes and across a valley bright with wild flowers growing among clumps of oak trees. Still within sight of the Pacific Ocean, he finally topped a rise and saw spread out below him a large plain with a river winding through it. A few hovels were scattered along the far bank. Above them on a green hillside was the mission.

Gabriel reined up and looked at it in surprise. It wasn’t what he expected; certainly nothing like the well-kept missions in New Mexico and Mexico. There were no other buildings or stables and only the weed-covered ruins of a protective wall remained around the church, which was in sad disrepair. The domed bell tower was cracked and its bell badly rusted by the sea air. The stone walls of the church had crumbled in places and swallows darted in and out of the broken windows. Yet strangely, despite all the
deterioration
, the slanted shingle roof of the church was relatively new.

A faint sound came from inside the church. At first Gabriel thought it was the wind blowing through the crevices; but as he rode closer he realized it was children singing.

Crossing the river, he dismounted by the arched
doorway
, tied the Morgan to a stump and entered the church. The interior was equally deteriorated. Wind-blown sand covered the floor along with sprouting grasses and weeds. Rafters and chunks of stone from the old roof blocked his way to the sanctuary and as he picked his way over the debris, squirrels fled underfoot.

The singing, wondrously clear-pitched, was coming from the sacristy. Gabriel peered around a crumbled wall and saw half a dozen shabbily dressed Indian children singing in front of a nun whose face he instantly recognized: it was Ellie!

She saw Gabriel at the same moment. In the midst of conducting the misfit choir she suddenly froze, her
expression
a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Then she fainted.

The children stopped singing and cowered as they saw Gabriel. Not knowing what tribe they were he spoke to them in Spanish, trying to calm them. But they didn’t understand him and fled in all directions.

Picking Ellen up, Gabriel carried her outside. There, he removed her coronet, revealing her close-cropped, pale honey-colored hair, and splashed water on her face from his canteen.

Gradually, she regained consciousness.

‘It’s OK,’ he said as she looked confused. ‘Don’t be scared, Ellie. It’s me – Gabe. Remember?’

‘’Course I do.’ Suddenly she smiled. ‘It’s just that … for a moment, I thought I was seeing a vision.’

‘More like a nightmare, you mean.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, Gabe, Gabe, I’m so happy to see you.’ She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘All this time I thought you were—’

‘Dead? Nah. I’m too ornery to die.’

‘But when you rode away you looked so weak and pale … had lost so much blood … I was certain you couldn’t last much longer—good gracious!’ she said suddenly. ‘The children – where are they?’

‘They ran off. Reckon they thought I was a vision, too.’

Eager to regain their trust, Ellen led Gabriel to the river and introduced him to the impoverished Indian families living in the hovels. Shy and reclusive, they said little and seemed downtrodden, Gabriel thought. He therefore wasn’t surprised when later as he and Ellen returned to the church she explained that these few Indians were all that remained of the once-proud Esselen tribe that in 1771 Father Junipero Serra had recruited to build the hillside mission. Disease and brutality, she said, had all but
exterminated
them.

Same old story, Gabriel thought bitterly. Everywhere the padres go they end up killing more Indians than they convert.

Ellen next led Gabriel to the sanctuary garden. ‘Father Serra’s buried here,’ she said, pointing to a tiny weed-strewn grave, ‘along with some of his compatriots and all the Indians who died over the centuries.’

‘You stay in this pile of ruins, Ellie,’ Gabriel said gruffly, ‘an’ you’ll die too.’

‘If that’s what the Good Lord intended, so be it. I’ve finally found peace of mind. Can you understand that? All these years I’ve been trying to find what it is that I was put on earth for and now at last I know.’

‘Mean, dyin’ for no reason?’

‘Oh, but there is a reason – those poor creatures you just met, living in squalor when once they roamed free by the ocean, healthy and happy and in harmony with the earth.’

‘An’ you, you’re supposed to save ’em?’

‘It is God’s wish,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m humbly
grateful
 
that He chose someone as lowly as me to do His work.’

Gabriel studied her in the sunlight shining in through a broken window. Her lovely face shone bright with God.

‘Please don’t be angry with me, Gabe. Just be glad that I’m finally happy.’

He knew then she was out of his reach and stopped trying to make sense of why she was throwing away her life.

‘Come,’ she took his hand, ‘I want to show you where I live. Then no matter where you are, or how far away, you’ll be able to close your eyes and see me any time you want.’ She led him back into the church and along a corridor to a tiny, bleak cell. ‘This was once Father Serra’s room and now it’s mine.’

Gabriel looked at the barred window with its decrepit wooden shutters, at the bed of boards in the corner and the tarnished silver crucifix hanging on the opposite wall and slowly shook his head.

‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she said. ‘But living here and helping the Esselens has given purpose to my life. I am truly content. And what more can anyone ask for?’

Keeping within sight of the ocean, he headed north trying to convince himself that he didn’t know where he was going. But deep down he knew that was a damned lie. He was going where his heart lay: Old Calico.

He’d only ridden a short distance when he realized how boring the Morgan had become. Deciding to fix that, he removed his hat and slapped the stallion over the head with it.

Instantly the startled horse reared up, squealing with rage, and started bucking. Gabriel clung on gamely but was finally thrown to the ground. Dazed, he lay there for a second – only to see the stallion, teeth bared, charging him. He quickly rolled aside and narrowly missed getting stomped.

Jumping up, he stood there laughing. The Morgan circled him, snorting, eyes blazing, and then as if realizing they were back to the old rules, trotted up to him.

‘I don’t know ’bout you, horse,’ Gabriel said, stepping into the saddle, ‘but I feel a damn sight better.’

Gabriel dismounted beside the creek and let the Morgan slake its thirst. Hunkering down, he filled his canteen, drank his fill, and then splashed water over his sun-and wind-burned face. Feeling much cooler, he wet his bandanna and knotted it about his throat. He’d been riding since sunup and it was now late afternoon. Most of the trail had been uphill, winding through the rocky hills and canyons, often following the old Southern Pacific branch line that ran from Sacramento to Hangtown, or Placerville as the former gold-rush town was now called.

It had been a hot, tiring ride. But now, according to an old prospector he’d just passed, Old Calico was less than a mile away. Gabriel grasped the reins, avoiding as he did a sly nip by the Morgan, mounted and continued on up the trail. As he rode he wondered what kind of reception awaited him. Would Ingrid and Raven still want him around? Would Reece Blackwood welcome him as readily as he had promised or had his instinct been right when he sensed the banker’s friendliness was insincere and he was merely putting on a show for Ingrid?

Shots jolted him back to reality. Gabriel grabbed his Winchester, levered a shell into the chamber and guided the stallion toward some rocks blocking his view of the trail ahead.

Angry shouting reached Gabriel. As he rounded the rocks he saw a young man being dragged behind a
galloping
rider. Three other riders rode alongside, taunting the victim.

Taking quick aim, Gabriel fired and cut the rope.

Freed of the dragging weight, the horse stumbled and pitched the rider over its head. He landed hard, dazed for a moment, and then jumped up and glared at Gabriel. The other riders, who’d pulled up, angrily turned in their saddles.

‘Easy,’ Gabriel warned, leveling his rifle at them. ‘Caution’s the way.’

‘Who the hell are you, mister?’

‘More to the point,’ Gabriel said, ‘why’re you draggin’ that young fella around?’

‘That’s none of your damn’ business,’ the oldest of the riders, Gatlin Vogel, said. He had a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt and Gabriel now noticed the other men wore deputy badges. ‘Now, ’fore you dig yourself a grave, ride on an’ I’ll forget you ever mixed into this.’

Ignoring him, Gabriel rode to the young man. No more than 17, he untangled himself from the noose, rose, and slapped the dirt from his ragged, disheveled clothes.

‘Anythin’ broke?’ Gabriel asked him.

‘Reckon not.’ Under a mop of unkempt red hair there were scratches on his sullen, rebellious face and his dark eyes were full of contempt. ‘Don’t know why you butted in,’ he said grudgingly, ‘but I reckon I owe you some thanks.’

‘Where’s your horse?’

‘Harlin, there,’ the young man, Mitch Utley, thumbed at one of the deputies, ‘shot it out from under me. Else I’d be back in Diablo Canyon by now.’

‘Never shoulda left there in the first place,’ Sheriff Vogel growled. ‘You an’ your pa an’ the rest of your pig-suckin’
brood, you ain’t welcome in Old Calico. An’ I aim to make all of you remember that.’ Turning to Gabriel, he added: ‘For the last time, mister – ride on.’

‘Be glad to.’ Gabriel removed his boot from the stirrup nearest the cowboy and extended his hand. ‘Jump up, boy.’

Mitch swung up behind Gabriel. Keeping his eye on the sheriff and his deputies, Gabriel backed up the Morgan until they reached the trail and then rode off.

Ahead, the trail snaked down into a deep, broad canyon. Snuggled between the steep rocky slopes, most of which were scarred with abandoned mines, was Old Calico. It looked no different than most small towns that had been founded during the gold rush – except for one difference: when the mines finally played out and gold became scarcer than an honest man, thanks to the railroad Old Calico had managed to survive.

And now, thirty years later, it was thriving and
prosperous
.

Gabriel slowed the Morgan to a walk and rode between two rows of neatly painted false-front stores facing each other across a paved street. Both sidewalks were also paved and hanging on poles were electric arc lamps powered by dynamos. Side streets led back to well-kept two-story,
wood-frame
houses and as Gabriel reined up in front of the bank, the people on the sidewalk looked at Mitch as if he were a leper.

‘Don’t look like you’re too popular,’ Gabriel said dryly as he and Mitch dismounted.

‘That’s ’cause I ain’t one of ’em. An’ if you’re goin’ in there,’ Mitch said, meaning the bank, ‘I ain’t one of you neither.’

‘One of who?’

‘Miner trash!’ a woman yelled at Mitch as she and her husband rode past in a wagon. ‘Get back where you belong!’

‘Reckon that answers my question,’ Gabriel said.

‘Mine, too,’ Mitch said. ‘Only thing I can’t figure out is if you’re one of Blackwood’s new guns, why’d you help me back there?’

Gabriel gave a wolfish smile. ‘’Fore you hang a sign on someone, boy, might be wise to know who he is.’ Slinging his saddle-bags over his shoulder, he entered the bank.

Inside, everything was clean, well-appointed and orderly. Gabriel looked at the well-dressed customers doing business at the teller windows and wished he’d shaved and bathed before looking up Ingrid’s stepbrother. But it was too late. Coming out of his office toward him was Reece Blackwood and the handsome little gunfighter from Texas, Latigo Rawlins.

‘What’d I tell you,’ Gabriel heard Latigo mutter. ‘He’s harder to lose than a plugged nickel.’

Reece ignored him. Smiling, he stuck out his hand to Gabriel and said: ‘Glad you took me up on my offer, Mr Moonlight. Can always use a good man.’

Gabriel didn’t remember any offer but said anyway: ‘Thanks, but I’m not lookin’ for work.’

‘Then you must be looking for my stepsister.’ Reece put a fresh stick of Black Jack gum in his mouth. ‘Your timing’s perfect. I’m just heading home so I’ll let her know you’re here. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees you. You’ll stay for dinner of course? Seven o’clock suit you?’ He turned to Latigo. ‘Tell Mr Moonlight how to get to my house.’ He was gone, the door swinging shut behind him before either Gabriel or Latigo could say anything.

‘He ever wait for an answer?’ Gabriel said wryly.

‘Not unless it comes out of his mouth,’ Latigo said.