Packing Iron (9 page)

The hostler was sweeping out the livery stable when Gabriel drove up in the wagon. The old gray-bearded man leaned on his broom and stared at the gunfighter in surprise.

‘Didn’t ’spect to see you again, son.’

‘Forgot to say
adios
to the mice.’

The hostler chuckled and spat at a spider scurrying for cover, drenching it in tobacco juice. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Lookin’ to sell this rig. Know anyone who might be interested?’

‘Mebbe.’ The old man walked slowly around the wagon and horses, sizing them up. ‘How much y’askin’?’

‘Make an offer.’

‘Gotta talk to a fella first.’

Guessing the hostler had a buyer in mind Gabriel untied the Morgan from the rear of the wagon, stepped into the saddle and thumbed at the cantina across the street. ‘When you’re ready, old timer, I’ll be in there. But keep in mind the money’s for a widow with a young’un, so make your offer fair.’ He nudged the Morgan in the direction of the cantina.

Two tequilas chased by a beer and a plate of tortillas and
beans later, Gabriel saw the hostler push in through the swing-doors. Pausing long enough to let his eyes grow
accustomed
to the dimness, he came bustling over to Gabriel’s table.

‘Don’t know if it’s fair or not,’ he said, placing a wad of bills before Gabriel, ‘but two hundred’s all I could rustle up.’

‘Horses alone are worth that, if not more.’

‘Take it or leave it, Mr Jennings.’

Gabriel instinctively dropped his hand to his gun.

‘Got no call to shoot me, son. I coulda kept the money an’ the rig if I’d felt inclined. But you been square with me, so—’

‘Get to the meat, old timer.’

‘Sheriff’s got his deputies combin’ the town for you.’

‘You tell ’em I was here?’

‘If I was younger, sonny, I’d take offense to that.’

Gabriel sighed wearily, stuffed the money into his pocket and got to his feet.

‘They headed this way?’

‘Only a matter of time. Soon as Sheriff Akins told his men ol’ man Stadtlander had upped the price on your head, they set off like a pack of hungry dogs.’

Gabriel felt a surge of anger. ‘Is he here – Stadtlander, I mean?’

‘Sheriff’s office, last I heard.’

‘How many guns with him?’

‘Six or seven. But you won’t have to deal with ’em. They’re out helpin’ the deputies hunt you.’

Gabriel offered his hand to the hostler. ‘’Bliged.’

‘You’da done the same,’ the old man said. ‘Now git.’

Keeping to the backstreets Gabriel rode toward the sheriff’s office. As if sensing the urgency of his mission, the normally
irascible Morgan made no attempt to be skittish or buck him off; and though Gabriel still didn’t trust it, the horse remained docile and obedient, following every command Gabriel gave it.

Sun beating down on them, they cut through the Mexican section of town. Dirt streets, adobe hovels, fruit stands, leather shops, children with outstretched hands clamoring for him to stop – all reminded Gabriel of his years of exile south of the border. It also increased his
determination
to end Stadtlander’s hold over him.

They entered a sun-bleached alley striped with shadows. Barely wide enough for two horsemen to pass, it led between the backs of several buildings to the rear of the jail adjoining the sheriff’s office. Two saddled horses stood tied to a hitching rail.

Gabriel dismounted, looped the reins over the rail and pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot. Pumping a shell into the chamber, he followed the blank wall of the jail to the end and then ducked into another, narrower alley that ended at Main Street. Keeping close to the wall Gabriel peered out and saw wagons, buckboards and riders passing by, townspeople going about their business, and two old timers jawing outside the sheriff’s office. He waited
impatiently
for them to stop arguing and stomp off in opposite directions and then walked casually along the sidewalk to the front door. It opened at his touch and he ducked inside, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot anyone who opposed him.

The office was empty. He moved quietly to an inner door that he guessed led back to the jail. Pushing it open with his rifle, he peered inside – and saw a young, one-legged jailor dozing in a hard-backed chair. Gabriel poked him with his Winchester. The man came awake instantly and froze as he saw the rifle and who was holding it.

‘Easy,’ Gabriel warned. ‘Tell me where Mr Stadtlander is an’ you can go back to sleep.’

‘With the sheriff. ’Cross the street havin’ a drink.’

‘Place got a name?’

‘Garrett’s.’

Gabriel nodded and tapped his rifle butt against the jailor’s head, knocking him senseless. Taking his keys, Gabriel re-entered the office, locked the door, threw the keys under the desk and walked out.

No one paid attention to him as he crossed the busy street to Garrett’s, a small wood-fronted building with
traditional
bat-wing doors named after the sheriff who’d killed Billy the Kid. Ducking into an alley beside the saloon Gabriel entered through a back door. To his left was a
storeroom
, to his right a kitchen and directly ahead a door
leading
into the bar. Gabriel inched it open and peered through the crack.

A bartender was pouring whiskey for three cowboys at the bar. Behind him, above the cash register and a display of liquor, hung a gilt-edged mirror in which Gabriel could see the reflection of Sheriff Samuel Akins and Stillman Stadtlander.

The two men were talking at a corner table, a bottle of rye before them. Gabriel made sure no one else was in the bar then pushed open the door and covered Stadtlander and the burly, mustachioed lawman with his rifle.

Everyone but Stadtlander froze. The tough old rancher, shoulders hunched over from arthritis, chuckled as if seeing an old friend and shook his head in admiration.

‘I was expectin’ you to make a play, Gabe. Barkeep, another glass.’

‘Save it,’ Gabriel waved off the bartender. ‘Won’t be here long enough for a drink.’

‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ Sheriff Akins told him. He was a
big man, full of self-importance, but he had a woman’s voice. ‘Y’ain’t goin’ nowhere. You so much as step outside an’ my men’ll cut you to pieces.’

‘I just come from outside, sheriff. Not a deputy in sight. You,’ Gabriel wagged his Winchester at the bartender who was reaching for something. ‘Bring your hands up real slow and don’t let me see anythin’ in ’em.’ Then as the bartender slowly obeyed: ‘Come out from behind there.’

He waited until the bartender was in front of the bar then turned back to Stadtlander and the sheriff.

‘So what happens next?’ the rancher asked him.

Gabriel set the rifle on the table next to him and let his gun-hand drop beside his holster.

‘I was hopin’ we could end our differences right here an’ now.’

Stadtlander grinned mirthlessly. ‘I’d like to oblige you, son, but it seems the Good Lord has other plans.’ He raised his gun-hand and Gabriel saw arthritis had turned it into a half-closed claw. ‘Throw in my broken ribs, gimpy leg an’ bad back an’ you’d get more fight from a blind gandy dancer.’

As he finished speaking one of the cowboys at the bar moved slightly. That movement, twitch, saved Gabriel’s life. His eyes flicked in the cowboy’s direction – and in that instant he saw in the mirror the reflection of Stadtlander’s other hand reaching under the table and drawing a derringer from his boot.

He drew his Colt and fired, so quickly the bullet knocked Stadtlander from his chair before the derringer cleared the table.

Sheriff Samuel Akins threw up his hands and blurted: ‘I ain’t drawin’ against you, Moonlight. Y’all can see that.’

Gabriel ignored him. Stepping close to Stadtlander, he kicked the derringer aside and looked down at him.

Stadtlander lay on his back, blood seeping from his shoulder, teeth gritted against the pain. ‘W-why didn’t you kill me?’ he said bitterly. ‘Can’t you see I got nothin’ to live for?’

‘Windmills,’ Gabriel said, holstering his Colt. ‘I’m all through fightin’ ’em.’ Picking up his Winchester he
prodded
the sheriff with it, forcing him to stand up. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Where?’

‘Pick up our horses.’

Stadtlander raised up on one elbow. ‘You arrogant pup! You really think you can just ride out of here?’

‘That depends on Sam, here.’ Gabriel turned to Sheriff Akins. ‘When we get outside, I see any of your deputies or Stadtlander’s men pointin’ a gun at me, I’ll put a bullet in your spine. May not kill you right away but you’ll surely wish it had.’

Raven was depressed.

A sudden thunderstorm over the Cookes Range, followed by torrential rain, had turned the local creeks and gullies into dangerous, fast-moving rivers. A flash flood had also washed out the railroad tracks twelve miles east of Deming, forcing the train on which she and her mother were traveling to stop.

Hunched down in her seat in the passenger car, she sat with her nose pressed against the window, glumly watching the rain lashing against the glass and wondering how long they would be stuck here.

Two hours earlier she had asked the conductor the same question. He hadn’t been much help. He’d telegraphed the stationmaster at Deming he said, and workmen were on their way, but in this kind of weather who knew how long it would take them to get here. Hours, days, maybe even weeks. He winked at Ingrid to let her know he was joking, and then continued on.

One of the four well-dressed, silver-haired men playing poker across the aisle turned to Raven and remarked that she should consider herself lucky.

She could tell he was being condescending and disliked him immediately. ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘Be polite now,’ her mother whispered.

‘Back in the ’70s, little gal,’ the man said pompously, ‘’fore the Iron Horse replaced Mr Butterfield’s stage line an’ that hellion Geronimo was runnin’ wild, you would’ve been more concerned ’bout keepin’ your pretty hair than a little rain storm.’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Geronimo wouldn’t have bothered me. Go ahead an’ laugh,’ she said as the man and the other players chuckled, ‘it’s true. My grandpa saved the life of Almighty Sky, medicine man of all the Mescaleros, and from then on the Apaches were our friends.’

The story sounded preposterous, but Raven spoke with such sincerity it was hard not to believe her. The four poker players exchanged questioning looks. Then the pompous man tapped the ash from his cigar and turned to Ingrid, who was quietly crocheting, and inquired: ‘Is that true, ma’am?’

‘Sure is,’ a voice said behind them.

Everyone turned and looked at the tall, rain-soaked man standing by the door. He’d just entered and water from the brim of his old campaign hat and yellow slicker was pooling around his boots.

‘I can vouch for it. Apaches saved my life an’ it was all on ’count of her an’ her mom.’

The pompous man cleared his throat. ‘I’m very sorry, little gal,’ he began. ‘I didn’t mean to insinuate—’

He got no further. Raven, who like her mother had been staring at the stranger in shock, now jumped up and ran to him.

‘G-Gabe!’ she flung herself into his arms and burst into tears. ‘W-what’re you doing— I mean, h-how did you get here? I never thought I’d see y-you again!’

‘Had some doubts ’bout that myself,’ he said, thinking about how hard he’d ridden the Morgan. ‘But thanks to the
delay an’ a shortcut through Massacre Pass I was able to catch up with you.’

‘Mean you’re comin’ with us?’

‘Far as Sacramento, yeah.’ Scooping Raven up in his arms, he carried her to her seat and stood in the aisle
smiling
down at Ingrid. ‘If that still meets with your approval?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, playing along.

‘Momma!’

Ignoring Raven’s angry protest, she added:

‘I’ll have to think about it.’

‘Sounds reasonable.’ Gabriel set Raven down and wiped the rain from his eyes. ‘Now if you ladies will excuse me, I’ll go make sure Brandy doesn’t kick nobody while they’re loadin’ him on the train.’ With a polite tip of his hat, he turned, opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

It was mid morning when the train carrying Gabriel, Ingrid and Raven finally pulled into the Central Pacific Railroad depot alongside the Sacramento River.

At that hour the stationhouse, freight yard and bustling waterfront were at their busiest. Mule-drawn wagons were lined up twenty deep as the drivers waited their turn to unload their cargo onto the decks of the paddle-wheel steamers tied up along the riverbank. Wranglers shouted and cracked their long whips as they herded sheep and cattle up ramps leaned against the vessels. The bleating and bellowing of the animals, mingled with the clanging of streetcars and whistles from arriving and departing
steamers
was deafening.

Opposite the station was a shack with a rooftop sign that advertised: ‘California Steam Navigation Company – Steamers for San Francisco. Cabin $5 – Deck $2.’

Nearby, a rival steamship company sign invited visitors to take an ‘Exciting steamer ride up the Mighty Sacramento River.’ Below, a barker dressed in a flashy striped suit waved tickets in the faces of passers-by, urging them not to miss the
trip of a lifetime!

As arriving passengers poured from the stationhouse, urchin newspaper boys swarmed around them, shouting the latest headlines. In the street fronting the station
horse-drawn
streetcars run by the City Railway Company waited to carry arriving passengers into Sacramento. Adding to the traffic jam was a long line of carriages and buckboards filled with impatient passengers, all anxious to board the
departing
trains and steamers.

Raven couldn’t believe her eyes. As Gabriel helped her and her mother off the train, she just stood there on the crowded platform, gaping at the spectacle.

‘Mite different than the desert, huh?’ Gabriel said to her.

She nodded, speechless. ‘Are all cities like this?’

‘Some are much bigger,’ her mother said. ‘As a little girl, when I came over from the old country with my folks, I remember landing in New York and thinking that all the people in the world must live there. Have you ever traveled back east?’ she asked Gabriel.

‘Nope. Likely never will either. I like my crowds to come one at a time.’ Carrying their valises to a bench, he told them to wait for him while he unloaded the Morgan from the boxcar.

‘Want me to help?’ Raven asked. ‘Brandy won’t bite me.’

Gabriel ignored her and continued on along the
platform
to the first of several boxcars that were attached behind the last passenger car. As he approached he saw the conductor standing beside a loading ramp. Two depot
workers
were on the ramp trying to rope the stallion which was snorting and kicking in the boxcar. A third man stood nearby nursing a bleeding hand.

‘Mister,’ the conductor said as Gabriel joined him. ‘You got just ten seconds to get that muckraker out of there. After that I get someone to shoot him.’

‘Do what you gotta do,’ Gabriel said. ‘I’ll do the same.’ His hand strayed to his gun. As the conductor jumped back, alarmed, Gabriel signaled to the workmen to get down. They quickly obeyed.

Gabriel walked up the ramp into the car and looked at the Morgan. Eyes blazing red, nostrils flared, it lunged at him.

Gabriel stood his ground. The stallion stopped a few inches from him and bared its teeth. Gabriel felt its hot, rancid breath on his face.

‘New territory, new rules,’ he told the horse. He dug into his Levi’s and pulled out the last of the piñon nuts. The Morgan eyed the nuts suspiciously then gently ate them out of Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel picked up his saddle, threw it over the back of the stallion and cinched it tight. He then grabbed the bridle from a hook, eased the bit into the horse’s mouth and fastened the straps.

The conductor and workmen fell back as Gabriel led the Morgan down the ramp toward them. As he passed the man who’d been bitten Gabriel flipped him a silver dollar.

‘Better see the doc ’bout that hand, fella. Hate for you to get infected.’

Stepping into the saddle, Gabriel rode back to Ingrid and Raven. They weren’t on the bench and their luggage was gone. He frowned, puzzled, and then heard Raven call out his name.

Turning, he saw her emerge from the stationhouse with her mother. With them was a big, fleshy, handsome man in his early fifties. He wore a black jacket over his gray vest, a white shirt fastened with a string-tie and his black pants were tucked in half boots. Beneath his spotless pearl-gray Stetson his face was square, jut jawed and pugnacious. He had banker’s eyes.

Dismounting, Gabriel led his horse up to them.

‘Gabe, this is my stepbrother, Reece Blackwood,’ Ingrid introduced.

‘And you’re Mr Moonlight,’ Reece said quickly. ‘Can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you.’ He shook Gabriel’s hand firmly, chewing as he talked. ‘Ingrid’s been telling me how kind you’ve been to her and Raven.’

‘More like the other way ’round,’ Gabriel said quietly.

‘Ingrid said you’d say that.’ Reece smiled and Gabriel smelled licorice on his breath. ‘But modesty aside, I’m truly grateful to you. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you – anything at all – just let me know. They both mean the world to me, as you can imagine.’

Gabriel nodded. He wasn’t fully sold on the other’s sincerity but decided not to rush to judgment.

‘Look what Uncle Reece gave me,’ Raven said, holding up a small pale blue package with
Black Jack
printed on it. ‘It’s called chewing gum. It’s the latest fad. Want a piece?’

Gabriel, who’d never seen chewing gum, reluctantly took the stick from Raven, peeled away the tin foil and put the gum in his mouth. His eyebrows arched approvingly. ‘Tasty.’

‘I chew it all the time,’ Reece said. ‘Helps keep me relaxed. Trouble is the dam stuff doesn’t hold its flavor so I must go through a half-dozen packs a day.’

‘Uncle Reece gets boxes of it shipped to him all the way from St. Louis,’ Raven told Gabriel.

She went on talking but he’d stopped listening. Behind Reece, Latigo Rawlins had just stepped out of the depot into the sunlight and Gabriel had a hard time hiding his surprise.

Latigo looked equally surprised to see Gabriel and his hands dropped close to his guns as he approached the group.

‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Small world.’

‘You two know each other?’ Reece said, surprised.

‘We’ve met,’ Gabriel said coldly. He tipped his hat to
Ingrid. ‘Reckon I’ll be ridin’ on now.’

‘Can’t you stay and have lunch with us? Our connection doesn’t leave for another two hours.’

‘Yes, yes, you must join us,’ put in Reece. ‘There’s a fine restaurant not far from here and—’

‘Sorry,’ Gabriel said. ‘Got a long ride ahead of me.’

‘You can’t make Carmel by tonight,’ Ingrid said, hurt. ‘Surely another hour or so won’t make a difference.’

‘Why don’t you take the train?’ Reece suggested. ‘I’m sure the Southern Pacific or Central Railroad goes to Monterey. From there it’s just a short ride.’

‘Had my fill of trains,’ Gabriel said. He bent down and gave Raven a hug. ‘Remember what I told you.’

‘Be responsible.’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘An’ take care of Momma.’

‘Hallelujah.’

She sniffed, fighting tears. ‘Will I ever see you again?’

‘Count on it, scout.’

He straightened up. Nodded goodbye to Ingrid and Reece. Gave Latigo a curt look. Stepped into the saddle.

‘Be nice to Brandy,’ Raven called after him.

Gabriel waved to show he’d heard her and rode off.

‘Interesting fella,’ Reece said.

‘If I had a son,’ Ingrid said quietly, ‘Gabe’s how I’d want him to grow up.’

‘Nice sentiment. But he belongs in a museum.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The world’s passed him by.’

‘Nonsense. Just because a man wants to ride—’

‘I meant he’s a gunfighter. Can tell by his eyes. The catlike way he moves. Am I right?’ he asked Latigo.

The little gunman shrugged as if he didn’t want to be included.

Reece turned back to Ingrid. ‘We’ll be in the twentieth century before you know it. His kind will be nothing but a memory, a bad memory, ground under by progress.’

‘That include me too, Mr Blackwood?’ Latigo said, deadly soft.

‘Sure.’ Reece popped a fresh stick of gum in his mouth and chewed vigorously. ‘You and Moonlight, you’re the last of a dying breed.’