Packing Iron (3 page)

Two more days passed before Gabriel was strong enough to stand; and a third day before he could walk without Ingrid supporting him. During that time, he saw Raven going about her chores. He knew she saw him too, but she
wouldn
’t talk to him or look his way. And once, when she was coming from the barn and he started in her direction, she ran off and refused to answer when he called out to her. He considered talking to Ingrid about her behavior. But he decided this was a personal issue, something to be settled between the two of them, and said nothing to her mother.

On the morning of the fourth day Ingrid met him as he was hobbling back from the corral. He’d been checking on the condition of his horse and had almost gotten bitten for his trouble. Angered by the Morgan’s irascibility he was in no mood to be sociable. But when she invited him to
breakfast
he managed to be civil and followed her into the cabin.

It smelled of fresh-baked biscuits and hot coffee, neither of which he’d had in a while, and his mood quickly
softened
.

As he sat at the table and looked around, he realized Raven was absent. Guessing that she’d deliberately avoided him, he smiled to himself and began eating. He devoured a platter of fried eggs, pancakes, crisp bacon and homemade
biscuits soaked in gravy and then washed everything down with three mugs of coffee sweetened with canned milk.

‘Reckon I was hungrier than I thought,’ he said as Ingrid cleared away his dishes.

‘I’m glad. I like a man who eats well. It’s one of the things I miss most about Sven not being here.’

‘Your husband’s away, ma’am?’

‘He passed on.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to dig up unhappy memories.’

‘You didn’t. My memories of Sven are happy ones.’ She paused, wistful, and said: ‘We tend to do that, don’t we?’

‘Do what, ma’am?’

‘Remember only the good times?’

He gave a shrug that could have meant anything.

‘I mean, when I think of Sven I never think of the times we got cross with each other or argued and went to bed without speaking or— Oh my goodness,’ she said,
interrupting
herself. ‘Will you listen to me prattling on? If that isn’t so typical of a widow – always living in the past.’ She paused, hoping he would pick up the conversation. When he didn’t, she guessed he wasn’t a man who enjoyed idle chatter. Well, Sven hadn’t either, so this was nothing new. Pouring Gabriel another cup of coffee, she set the pot on the stove and went to the window and looked wistfully out at the parched, sunburned landscape.

‘If only it would rain.’

‘Wouldn’t count on it, ma’am.’

‘What? Oh … no … of course not. It is summer after all. But I do so miss the rain.’

‘You’re not from around here then?’

‘Oh, no. Neither was Sven. We were both born in Norway – on the outskirts of Bergen, the gateway to the fjord
country
. Our families were neighbors and had been friends for generations. When my parents decided to come here it 
seemed only natural that Sven’s did too….’ She absently twisted her apron-string around one finger. ‘I’m beginning to get used to it now. Sven being gone, I mean. I’ll always miss him, of course, but….’ She smiled sadly; then after a deep sigh pulled herself together. ‘If you care to smoke, Mr Moonlight, I have the makings.’

‘Much obliged.’

Ingrid brought him the coffee can containing Sven’s tobacco and papers. She then picked up the soap and
scrub-brush
and began cleaning the stove-top while he rolled a smoke.

‘Amazing how times flies. It’s been two years and three weeks since my husband was killed. Yet there are still times, even now, when I look around and expect to see him
standing
there and…. It’s foolish, I know, but I just can’t believe he’s gone.’

Gabriel felt her pain but said nothing.

‘Perhaps it’s because of the way he died that I can’t get over it.’

Weary, but sensing she needed to talk about it, Gabriel forced himself to ask: ‘How’d it happen, ma’am?’

‘We – Raven, Sven and I – were in Santa Rosa to pick up supplies and a dress my husband had ordered from St Louis for my birthday. As we were leaving Melvin’s Haberdashery, three cowboys came galloping up the street from the Copper Palace – that’s a saloon on Lower Front Street in case you haven’t been there. They were drunk and
hollering
at the top of their voices and when they reached Main Street they started shooting up the town. They weren’t trying to hit anyone but folks got scared and began
screaming
and scattering in all directions and in the chaos one of their bullets … happened to hit Sven as he was trying to protect us. I didn’t realize he’d been hit at first. Then he collapsed and I saw the blood coming from his head and …
and by the time I got him to the doctor’s office he was … was—’ Her words trailed off.

For a few moments all was quiet save for the harsh sound of her brush scrubbing the stove-top.

Then, voice choked with tears, she continued: ‘I know that accidents happen … that every day folks – decent church-going folks who’ve done nothing wrong – die just by falling off a wagon or a step-ladder, but … oh dear God, why did it have to be Sven? He was such a fine man and such a wonderful father and husband … and to have him die this way seems like such a senseless waste.’

Gabriel digested her words.

‘The three cowboys, ma’am – what happened to them?’

‘Nothing. Oh, they were arrested. There was even a trial and a lot of fancy lawyer talk … but when it came to sentencing them, the judge said since no one could prove who fired the actual bullet that killed Sven, that meant it could’ve come from anywhere and he dismissed all the charges against them.’

Gabriel angrily stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. Santa Rosa ain’t known as a pillar of justice.’

‘You’ve been there, then?’

‘All too often.’

‘Then you must’ve heard of Stillman Stadtlander?’

The name of his former employer, a ruthless, powerful rancher who years ago had falsely accused him of stealing Brandy and turned him into an outlaw, made his blood boil.

‘Was he involved in your husband’s death, ma’am?’

‘Not directly, no. But one of the cowboys was his son, Slade.’

‘And the other two – was it the Iverson brothers?’

‘Why, yes. You know them?’

Fighting to keep his composure, he said grimly: ‘Heard tell of ’em.’ 

Before Ingrid could question him further the door was flung open and Raven came hurtling in.

‘Momma, Momma – there’s men coming! A whole parcel of ’em. Riding this way.’

Gabriel instinctively dropped his hand to his Colt .45. ‘Mean a posse?’

‘Looks like, yeah.’

‘Don’t be foolish,’ Ingrid said as he got to his feet. ‘You can’t ride in your condition.’

‘Can ride far enough to lead ’em away from here. After that, it won’t matter. How far off?’ he asked Raven.

‘Two miles. Maybe less.’

Ingrid grabbed his arm. ‘Wait. I have a better idea.’

‘Don’t have time to discuss it.’

‘Not even if it could save your life?’ Before he could reply she told Raven: ‘Take his horse and hide it in Furnace Canyon. Stay with it and keep it quiet till the men are gone.’

‘No!’ Gabriel pushed Raven aside and turned to Ingrid. ‘You want her stomped to death?’

But Raven had already squeezed past him and was
sprinting
for the corral.

‘Goddammit,’ he yelled. ‘Get back here, girl!’

He limped out of the cabin after her, each step causing a searing pain in his back. ‘Y’hear me? Don’t go near that damn’ sidewinder!’

Raven ignored him. Before he was halfway to the corral, she had opened the gate and swung up onto the stallion’s back. The Morgan crouched, like a big cat, and seemed ready to buck her off. But as Raven grabbed its mane and urged it to run, the horse lost its rage and galloped out of the corral.

Stunned, Gabriel watched as Raven, clinging to its back like a limpet, guided the stallion into the scrub-covered hills. 

‘Come with me,’ Ingrid grabbed his arm. ‘Hurry.’

She led him to the well. It was surrounded by a low wall and stood at the foot of a makeshift windmill. Lifting the two boards covering the top, she pointed at an iron ladder imbedded in the wall with its bottom half immersed in the water. ‘Think you can manage to climb down there?’

He pinned her with his pale blue eyes. ‘If they find me, know what they’ll do to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dammit, if you won’t think of yourself, think of Raven. What her chances will be without you.’

‘It took a miracle to save your life,’ Ingrid said quietly. ‘I’m counting on God not wanting to squander that miracle by deserting us now.’ She offered him her hand. ‘Ready?’

I was born ready, Gabriel thought. Grasping her hand, he stepped onto the wall, faced her and lowered himself
backward
down the old, rusty ladder. Each step sent pain flaring up his back, making him dizzy. Gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out, he clung to the rungs and descended into the dark, dank-smelling well.

Ingrid waited until his head was below the wall; then she replaced the boards covering the well and returned to the cabin. There, she picked up a basket of dirty clothes and hurried out to the water trough. She knew she was a poor liar and hoped by keeping busy she would be able to fool whoever questioned her.

She was pegging wet clothes to the laundry line when the posse rode in. It was a ragtag bunch made up of two regular deputies and a dozen townsmen temporarily deputized – all led by Stillman Stadtlander’s foil, Sheriff Lonnie Forbes.

Ingrid smiled at the tall, big-bellied, gray-mustachioed lawman. ‘Good day, Sheriff. What brings you out here?’

‘We’re huntin’ a fella, ma’am.’

Before he could explain further, she told the rest of the posse: ‘All of you, back up your horses. I’ve just washed these clothes and I don’t want your dust all over them.’

There was enough annoyance in her voice to make the weary men obey her.

‘You could be a tad more sociable, Mrs Bjorkman,’ Sheriff Forbes grumbled. ‘Boys’n me, we been in the saddle since sunup.’

‘And I’ve been scrubbing and ironing since before that,’ Ingrid said tartly. ‘But if it’s water you need, you’re welcome to help to yourselves.’ She motioned toward the water trough then continued pinning up her laundry.

Telling his men to go ahead, Sheriff Forbes dismounted and asked Ingrid if she’d had any visitors lately.

‘Just one.’ She spoke with a peg between her teeth and it was difficult to understand her. ‘But I don’t have to tell you
that now, do I? If you hadn’t seen his tracks leading in from the desert, you wouldn’t have wasted your time coming here.’

The sheriff, who hadn’t seen any tracks but wasn’t about to admit it, gently took the peg from her mouth.

‘This fella we’re after, he was here then?’

‘I just said that, Sheriff.’

‘For how long?’

‘Long enough for me to feed him and water his horse.’

‘Then, what?’

‘He rode off.’

‘Just like that?’ When she didn’t reply, he said: ‘Can you describe him?’

‘Sure. Tall, lean, lots of dark hair with touches of gray, late thirties, early forties, hard to tell with all the dirt on him; a gunfighter most likely, riding a black horse, a
thoroughbred
by the look of it—’

‘That’s the
hombre
all right. Did you patch up his wound, too?’

‘There was no need. He’d done that himself. But I did see blood on his shirt. Down here mostly,’ she indicated her lower back. ‘I knew then he’d been shot. But he didn’t favor it much … just changed his shirt and went on his way.’

Sheriff Forbes eyed her with barely controlled anger. ‘Ever think you might be helpin’ an outlaw … a murderer on the run?’

‘I’ve already told you he looked like a gunfighter.’

‘But you still went ahead an’ helped him?’

‘I’m a widow with a child. What was I supposed to do? Try to chase him off my property and risk having him shoot me and take what he wanted anyway?’

She had a point, he had to admit. Gazing about him, he said almost sarcastically: ‘Don’t ’spect he’s still here?’

‘If he is, then he sneaked back and is hiding somewhere 
without my knowing.’ She pegged up the last sheet, picked up the empty basket and started for the cabin. ‘If you think there’s a chance of that,’ she said as the sheriff fell in beside her, ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d have your men look around. I didn’t like the way he looked at Raven and I wouldn’t want him here when she gets back.’

‘Back from where, ma’am?’

‘Out there somewhere.’ She gestured in the opposite direction to which Raven had ridden off. ‘You know how she is, Sheriff. More foot-loose than a coyote. She lit out early this morning. Said she’d seen some Gambel’s quail and wanted to snare them for dinner.’ Ingrid laughed, hoping it didn’t sound forced. ‘Truth is, Sheriff, she
probably
just wanted to get out of helping me do the wash.’

He didn’t comment and she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. Shortly, they reached the cabin. She stopped, rested her basket on her hip and faced the big lumbering lawman.

‘There’s coffee on the stove if you don’t mind waiting till I heat it up.’

‘Thanks, we gotta keep ridin’. But I will take you up on your offer to look around. You know. Just in case he snuck back without you noticin’.’ He rejoined his men and Ingrid, blood running cold, entered the cabin.

At the window she lifted the curtain a little, and watched as the posse searched the property. There wasn’t much natural cover and for the most part, the men kept walking. But two stopped by the well. Ingrid held her breath as they spoke and then squinted up at the windmill. Keep moving, she prayed. Please keep moving. One of them must have said something funny because they both laughed and then walked on.

Relieved, Ingrid kept watching.

Presently, several men entered the barn. One of them 
quickly reappeared and yelled something to the sheriff, who was washing up at the water trough. Quickly knotting his wet kerchief about his neck, he plodded into the barn.

Knowing they must have found traces of Gabriel’s blood, Ingrid fought down her fear and went to the stove. Moving the coffee pot over the flame, she stoked the embers and took two mugs out of the cupboard.

‘Door’s open, Sheriff,’ she said when he knocked a few minutes later. Then as he entered: ‘Glad you changed your mind. I enjoy company when I’m having my coffee.’

‘This ain’t about coffee, Mrs Bjorkman. It’s ’bout the blood on the floor of your barn.’

‘I already told you about that, Sheriff. Remember? I said I knew the man had been shot—’

‘So you let him change shirts in your barn?’

‘I’m a widow,’ Ingrid said indignantly. ‘Where would you have him do it – in my bedroom, perhaps?’

Sheriff Forbes went red and stepped back as if stung.

‘I meant no offense, ma’am. But I got folks to answer to. Important folks! They expect me to catch this fella, and mighty damn’ quick too, and since you’re the only person who’s seen him since he shot Mr Stadtlander’s boy—’

‘Slade?’ Ingrid said, shocked. ‘This man shot Slade Stadtlander?’

‘Cut him down right in front of his pa.’

‘Dear God, when?’

‘Few days ago. And before that, he killed the Iverson brothers. Shot ’em in cold blood outside the Copper Palace.’

Ingrid’s mind spun and she gaped at him for a moment. Finally she said: ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to feel sorry for them. Not when the judge gave them a free pass after they’d killed my husband.’

There was such rage in her blue eyes Sheriff Forbes again 
stepped back, hands fumbling with the brim of his hat.

‘I ain’t askin’ you to feel any way, Mrs Bjorkman. I’m just tryin to do my job. Good day to ya.’ Turning, he ducked out through the door.

Ingrid quickly sat down before she collapsed. Outside, she heard the sheriff bellowing at his men and shortly after that, saw the posse ride past the window out into the desert.

Then it was all quiet and she was alone. Heart pounding in her ears, she waited long enough to make sure the posse wasn’t returning then hurried out to the well.