Widowmaker Jones (26 page)

“You're not dragging me anywhere. I'm an adult, and it's my right to go where I please.” She rode past him, intending to put an end to any more such conversation.

“Those Apaches might have already done for Cortina,” the judge said. “Killing Mexicans is an Apache's favorite sport. Apaches hate Mexicans as bad as Mexicans hate Apaches.”

At midday, the trail crossed a narrow stream pouring down from high on the mountainside, and they found the tracks of three horses at the water's edge. A little farther on the trail passed through a thin stand of pines. Their horses made little sound on the bed of pine needles blanketing the ground, and there was nothing but the creak of saddle leather when they pulled up at the edge of a high meadow with the ruins of the church on the far side. The church wasn't the multistoried, adobe affair with a bell tower that Newt had come to expect in Mexico, but instead, it was a low, rambling building of stacked stone. The only thing that testified to its being a church was the weathered wooden cross mounted on its roof above the front door.

The church and the rest of the abandoned logging town butted up against a sheer rock bluff made of enormous slabs of stone that rose high above the meadow. The same stream they had crossed earlier ran through the meadow, and near the church there were the ruins of other dwellings lining its banks.

They sat their horses in the edge of the timber, watching and debating on whether to ride out of the timber. There was no way to reach the church without crossing two hundred yards of open ground. Newt debated on leaving his horse and going on foot along the foot of the bluff, but the cover there was scant enough that he was still going to be easy picking for anyone on the lookout in that old church. The meadow extended well past the church, so there was no option to come at it from behind. There was no smoke rising from the church, or any other sign of habitation, but the thought of crossing that meadow wasn't a pleasant one.

“It could be that Cortina has already moved on, if he was ever here in the first place,” Kizzy said.

The judge snorted. “And it could be that he's got a rifle propped in one of those church windows waiting for some unsuspecting soul to come riding into his sights.”

“We could wait until nightfall,” she added uncertainly.

Newt rode out of the timber, his rifle butt resting on his right thigh and the barrel pointed at the sky.

“What's he think he's doing?” the judge asked. “Sometimes he hasn't got enough good sense to pour piss out of a boot . . . Begging your pardon, ma'am.”

“Why don't you go with him?” she asked.

“I believe I'll sit here and watch.”

“Coward.” Kizzy trotted forward until she caught up to Newt. When she looked back she was pleased to see the judge riding from the timber and taking a course paralleling their own several yards away.

They went across the meadow at a walk. A beaver dam had turned much of the middle of the meadow into a shallow pond, and Newt and Kizzy skirted the dam and splashed through the marshy ground, starting up the far side. The judge rode up the other side of the pond, with him and Newt occasionally catching each other's eyes. It was a slow, cautious ride, where every second each of them expected the worst.

They were within fifty yards of the church when Don Alvarez's daughter called out to them. Rather, she screamed at them.
“¡Deténgase! Para sus caballos! ¡Vete!”

Newt stopped his horse behind the stone foundation and the collapsed log walls of a cabin. “What's she yelling about?”

“She said for us to leave.” The judge had dismounted behind a stone fence and was peering over the top of it.

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that,” Newt called back.

The woman inside was still shouting, and they could hear what sounded like crying between the things she shouted at them.

“I'm guessing they left her behind,” the judge said.

Newt had been thinking the same thing. There wasn't a horse in sight, and if there was anyone else in the building, Cortina or the other bandit, they would have long since fired on them. He stepped off his horse, dropped a rein on the ground, and started for the church.

“You be careful,” the judge said. “She might have a gun, and there's nothing worse than a crazy woman with a gun.”

Newt stalked toward the church. The front door was barely hanging by one hinge and propped wide open. Through the dark eye of the open doorway and behind the shuttered windows the woman's voice became more frantic. He didn't have to speak Spanish to understand that she was threatening him and warning him not to come inside.

He paused to one side of the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom inside. The dog went in first, and drew no fire. For once, he was glad that they had the dog along. When he stepped inside he held the Winchester at hip level, cocked and pointing the way.

There was nothing in the chapel but cobwebs and a single busted church pew that someone had scavenged partially for firewood. And his boot heels sounded loud on the stone floor as he crossed the room and headed for the closed door on his left. He could hear the judge come in the room behind him, and the cocking of his shotgun hammer.

Newt pushed gently against the closed door and found it locked or barred from the other side. It was made of flat-hewn pine logs as thick as a man's leg. He raised his foot and kicked into the door as hard as he could. Something creaked and cracked, and the door gave inward slightly. Two more kicks and the bar across the doorway on the inside splintered and snapped. The door swung slowly inward, revealing the tiny room on the far side. A soot-stained fireplace was in one corner, and Don Alvarez's daughter stood before it.

She was little more than a girl. No more than thirteen at the oldest, and her fancy dress was soiled and torn from hard travel and her face was streaked where tears had muddied the grime on her face. Her hair had come free from the silver comb tucked into it at the crown her head, and a loose black strand of it hung over her face. The hand that held the knife shook badly while she kept swiping that strand of hair out of her eyes. Girl child though she may have been, and cultured rich man's daughter or not, she cursed him as vilely as a border town prostitute.

“
¡Váyanse, o me cortaré sus cojones!
” she threatened.

“She says if you take one more step toward her, she's going to cut off your balls,” the judge said from behind him.

“Put down the knife.” Newt eased the hammer down on his Winchester and let the rifle hang from one hand, pointed at the floor. “We mean you no harm.”

She spat something else at him, talking far more loudly than necessary for the tight confines of the room, and jabbing at the air between them with the knife. It was a small but wicked dagger, with a double edge and a needlepoint.

“Talk to her, Judge. Ask her where Cortina went.”

“She's not making sense. Seems like she's a little high-strung and upset with her recent beau.”

Newt moved sideways, leaving the judge in the doorway. Don Alvarez's daughter shifted the knife from one to another of them.

“Keep her talking, and I'll see if I can get that knife away from her,” Newt said.

She immediately whirled on him, crouched like a cat, with the knife leveled on his gut.

“I think you ought to know that she speaks English,” the judge said.

“Now you tell me.”

Kizzy stepped into the room past the judge. “Put down the knife. Your father is coming soon, and he has trusted these men to find you.”

The Alvarez girl spat her disdain while Kizzy stepped closer.

“Don't fool around with her,” the judge said. “She'll cut you, sure as the world.”

“Please,” Kizzy said in a quiet voice, holding out her hand for the knife.

Newt took a step sideways, and the knife immediately shifted to him again. Kizzy sprang and grabbed the girl's wrist, and the two of them struggled for an instant. The Alvarez girl clawed at Kizzy and jerked her arm repetitively to free her knife hand. Before Newt could close, Kizzy drew back her right fist and punched the girl squarely on the nose.

The Alvarez girl crumpled to the floor, clutching her bleeding nose with both hands and staring up at Kizzy with tear-flooded eyes. Kizzy pitched the knife to Newt and squatted beside the girl with a hand placed gently on her shoulder.

“You go tend to the horses,” she said to Newt. “Judge, you stay here in case I need you to translate. She's had a hard time, but I think she's settling down now.”

Newt went past the judge, and the two of them shared a look.

“That Gypsy girl packs quite a punch for a little thing, don't she?” the judge observed. “Kind of reminds me of someone else I know, 'cept she's easier to look at.”

T
he Alvarez girl sat on the fireplace hearth glaring at them. The silver hairpin she wore had come totally loose, and her long, black hair hung free and uncombed. Her pouting, sullen expression, bloody nose, and the filthy remains of her fancy dress made her seem more of a beggar orphan than a
grande
's daughter. Kizzy studied her, trying to decide what possessed such a girl to run off with the likes of Javier Cortina. There was no telling some women's taste in men, but considering that Cortina had taken her horse and run off and left her, her devotion was surprising.

The girl's nose looked horrible, already swollen and with dried blood crusting over both nostrils. Kizzy felt a little bad for hitting the girl so hard, but only a little. While the girl had decided to act less hysterical than when they had first found her, she still glared at them like a pouty child. Something about that look made Kizzy want to hit her again. The spoiled little fool had no clue.

“I'll ask you one more time. Is Cortina headed to Las Boquillas?” Newt stood in the doorway, leaning against one side of the jamb, his arms folded across his chest.

She spat at him. “He is going to kill you. He knows it was you at La Babia and knows it was you that killed one of his men outside Zaragoza.”

“Why didn't he come to find me then, or wait for me here?”

“You think you are strong? You are nothing,
nada
. Javier is a real man.” The girl went back to her native tongue and scolded Newt more. Her tone was vile and hateful.

“This little princess has got quite the filthy mouth on her. I've known river flatboatmen and Missouri bullwhackers who can't outcuss her,” the judge said.

“Does Cortina have my horses?” Kizzy asked. “White horses.”

The girl started to curse Kizzy like she had Newt, but flinched and quieted when Kizzy stood. One hand went to her tender nose, and the other reached out to fend Kizzy off.

“Oh, quit the dramatics,” Kizzy said. “Another knock on the snoot might do you some good, but I won't be the one to do it.”

“Who's with Cortina?” the judge asked. “I know I put some buckshot in his hide back at La Babia.”

“I don't know him.” The girl sniffled and wiped gently at her nose with the back of her fingers. “His name is Juan.”

“How bad is he hurt?”

“He said no fat old judge could hurt him.”

Newt reached down and grabbed a bloody shirtsleeve from the floor. It was obvious that it had been torn off and used as a bandage or for a cloth to bathe a wound. “Looks like he was bleeding some.”

“Javier said you and the judge are back shooters and too afraid of him to face up to him like a man,” the girl said.

“Does he intend to cross the river at Las Boquillas?” the judge repeated.

“He didn't say.”

“You're awfully loyal to a man who ran off and left you here alone with the Apaches raiding,” the judge said.

The girl's expression changed somewhat, and they could all tell from her face that she didn't know anything about the Apaches.

“Javier will come back for me. He promised.”

“Young Cortina ain't coming back,” the judge said. “He's used you, and now he's done with you. Grow up.”

“Your father is looking for you,” Kizzy said to take some of the sting out of what the judge had said. “He is very worried about you.”

“My papa thinks he knows everything. I'm old enough to do what I want to.”

“Old enough to run off with a no-good killer and thief like Javier Cortina?” the judge asked.

“Those are all lies.”

“What about this woman's white horses?” the judge asked. “Javier stole them from her.”

“Javier bought those horses on the American side of the river.”

“Javier is a liar. How many of my horses does he have?” Kizzy's voice grew louder and as harsh as the judge's.

“Two. Juan's horse went lame this morning, and we had to leave it behind,” the girl said with tears flooding her eyes again. “That's why Javier had to leave me for a while. He went to get a horse for me.”

“And he couldn't have sent his man to go get one, or left him here with you while he did?” the judge asked.

“He said that you would be coming, and that you would have the Rangers with you.” When the girl mentioned the Texas Rangers, her mouth shaped the words like a bad taste came with them. “And Father will be coming, and he swore to me that he would have his men kill Javier if he ever talked to me again.”

“Well, too bad Javier isn't still here,” the judge said. “Your daddy won't be too far behind us.”

“I won't go with him. Not Papa.”

Newt straightened in the doorway. “No, you won't be going with your papa, yet. You're coming with us.”

“I won't.”

“Bring her along,” Newt said. “We'll put her on the spare horse.”

“What do we want with her?” Kizzy asked. “Her father should be along by nightfall.”

Newt started out of the church, but paused and turned back to Kizzy. “Him showing up is the reason I want to keep her, and besides we can't leave her alone with that war party nearby.”

“You'll be as much a kidnapper as Cortina in Don Alvarez's opinion if you don't wait for him with her,” Kizzy said. “And my brother is at his mercy. Don't you forget that for an instant.”

Newt went outside.

The judge chuckled. “Gypsy woman, you don't understand one thing about this situation, do you? Your brother is one of the reasons the Widowmaker is going to hold on to the girl. That, and looking out for his own neck.”

“What do you mean?”

“What's to force Alvarez to keep his word about your brother? What's to keep Alvarez from killing that big lummox out there that you've been mooning over the instant we hand over the girl?”

“I think Don Alvarez will keep his word,” Kizzy said. “And he still needs your help to catch Cortina.”

“He doesn't need our help anymore. We were just jokers in the deck, and a little insurance to run Cortina down. Alvarez will know it's only a horse race to the river now, and any value we once had went out the window when we got this close to the border.”

“I don't believe he is that kind of man.”

“Are you willing to risk your brother's life, and the Widowmaker's, on that? I'll tell you one thing: Don Alvarez is a man used to getting his own way, and he's touchy proud.”

Kizzy stared out the window, rubbing her temples with her fingertips and thinking. She only wanted her brother free and their horses back. How did things become so tangled?

“My papa will have you all dragged behind a horse when he finds out how you have treated me,” the Alvarez girl said.

“Old Gabriel here might have something to say about that.” The judge patted his sawed-off shotgun. “And I wouldn't want to be your daddy if he thinks tying a rope on that man outside is going to be easy. The Widowmaker doesn't suffer fools gladly.”

They marched the Alvarez girl outside, and Newt was already bringing over the black draft horse. He gestured for her to mount it.

“You can't make me,” the girl said. “I won't.”

“You will, or I'll pick you up and put you on it,” Newt said.

The girl was stubborn, but she saw that he meant what he said and took the rein he offered. “A lady only rides sidesaddle, and I want a different horse.”

“A lady doesn't elope with bandits,” Newt said. “Get up on that horse.”

“Turn your heads while I mount. I'll have to lift my dress.”

Newt shook his head. “And have you spur off? Get on the horse.”

The girl hesitated, and that was all it took for Newt to grab her around the waist and pitch her up on the horse. The girl landed belly down on the saddle with a grunt and her butt stuck up in the air. She quickly righted herself and got a leg over the black. She cursed Newt more in Spanish while she adjusted her dress as best she could.

“Let's ride.” Newt went to his own horse and mounted.

The judge and Kizzy quickly followed his example, and the four of them left the ghost town at a trot. The Alvarez girl was crying again and trying to hold them up, but the judge rode behind her and kept her horse moving ahead of him.

The trail led them out of the meadow and wound through a stand of spruce up the steep, rocky side of a ridge. The late-afternoon sun was sitting on top of the mountain, hitting them right in the face. They were to the top of the ridge when Don Alvarez's men rode into the meadow.

“
Hombre!
” one of the vaqueros shouted up to them.

Newt rode back to sit his horse beside his companions. The vaqueros had stopped their horses near the beaver pond, at least four hundred yards away as the crow flew, and several hundred feet below their position on the ridge.

“
Hombre!
” the vaquero shouted again with his voice ringing off the mountainside.

“I see a couple of those rurales down there with them,” the judge said. “Apparently the Apaches didn't get them all.”

Newt counted fifteen men, and he tried to make out Don Alvarez among them.

“Bring my daughter down to us!” Alvarez rode forward of his men.

Newt glanced at the red dress the Alvarez girl was wearing and knew how her father had spotted her so easily. That red dress and Kizzy's white horse stuck out like a sore thumb.

“We could leave her here for them,” the judge said. “It will take them a while to get up here.”

“I don't relish losing my leverage,” Newt answered. “There's no witnesses up here, and Alvarez can do whatever he wants to us.”

“To you, you mean,” Kizzy said. “What about Fonzo? You made a deal with Don Alvarez. Turn her over as a show of good faith.”

The Alvarez girl tried to charge her horse down the ridge, but the judge grabbed one of her bridle reins. She raised one leg and kicked at him, but he warded it off and doubled her horse around.

“I'm going to laugh when Papa has you beaten for what you have done to me,” she said.

Newt took another look at the girl's battered nose. All he needed was for Alvarez to have one more thing to hold against him.

“Send Consuela down to me,” Don Alvarez shouted at them again.

“So that's your name, girl,” the judge said.

The Alvarez girl only glared back at him.

“Send someone back to get the boy,” Newt shouted down the mountain. He wasn't sure Don Alvarez could understand him, so he shouted it again, like an echo.

There was no answer. And the don rode back to his men for a discussion.

Newt dismounted and took the Sharps buffalo rifle from under his stirrup leather. He walked to a pile of rocks overlooking where the trail dropped off down to the meadow below.

“What are you doing?” Kizzy asked. “Are you crazy enough to think you can fight them all off?”

Newt knelt on one knee behind the rocks, craning his neck over them to see down the ridge. “You bring the boy and meet us in Las Boquillas. We'll trade there.”

Still, nothing came back from the men below. The four of them waited anxiously for something to give in their favor.

“Do you think he heard me?” Newt asked.

“He heard you,” the judge said. “He's weighing his options, or figuring out how he can get around us.”

“You are afraid of Papa, like you are afraid of Javier,” the Alvarez girl said.

Newt lowered the falling block on the Sharps enough to see that it was loaded. He had only two rounds left for it, one in the chamber and one in his pocket. The vaqueros were riding toward the ridge. He shouldered the rifle and found Don Alvarez in the rifle scope.

“You can't be serious,” Kizzy said.

“We've got the high ground,” the judge said. “But there's a lot of them.”

Newt lowered the Sharps, resting its butt on his upraised thigh with the barrel pointing at the sky. The boom of the gun startled their horses when he pulled the trigger.

“What the hell was that for?” the judge said when he got his gray back under control.

“I'm giving them something to think about.” Newt motioned down the ridge where the vaqueros had stopped. “They'll think twice before they come up here now.”

“That trail isn't the only way up here,” the judge said.

“It's the quickest and easiest way,” Newt replied. “It'll buy us some time.”

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” the judge asked.

Newt started breaking off little limbs from the surrounding trees and picking up whatever dead branches, handfuls of dry grass, and deadfall material he could find on the ground. The judge dismounted and helped him. They piled their gatherings on the ground barely out of sight from where the trail down the ridge fell away.

“What are you doing?” Kizzy asked.

“Building a fire,” Newt answered.

“You can't be intending to camp here.”

Newt ignored her and soon had a fire going. He laid the green spruce boughs over it so that it put off plenty of smoke.

“That ought to do it,” he said.

“Do what?” Kizzy asked.

Newt rose from the fire and held out a hand. “Give me that funny hat of yours.”

Kizzy hesitated.

“Give me your hat. It's twice as big as the rest of ours, and should be easy to see for anyone coming up the trail.”

She took off her hat, and he carried it to where he had left the Sharps on the rock pile. The trail below where he stood was relatively open to the meadow below, with only rocks, low brush, and a few scattered trees. He laid the Sharps on the rock pile with its barrel pointing down at the trail. Then he laid the hat on top of its action.