Dance With A Gunfighter (16 page)

To her relief and with Dickie’s help, even though he might
not have realized it, all the children joined the game, making it laugh-filled
and fast-paced enough even to hold Dickie’s interest. He lost.

Afterward, Gabe led a sing-along about the mishaps of
"Sweet Betsy from Pike" and her lover Ike. As it grew later and the
little ones began to nod off, Gabe lulled them by softly singing "Simple
Gifts."

Her mother had loved to sing to her and her brothers, and
that song was one of her favorites. After her mother’s death, there were no
songs in the Devere house for several years. Gabe could still remember the
evening--she guessed she was seven or eight--that she quietly began a nonsense
song her mother used to sing about the sow who got the measles. A stricken look
had filled her father’s eyes, but then her brothers joined in, and soon, all
four of them were singing together. After that, the house was always filled
with song. It had brought them pleasure and comfort, as Gabe hoped it did now
for these children.

As the children fell asleep, Gabe, too, lay down on the
floor and whispered goodnight.

"Gabe?" A girl’s soft voice called to her.

She lifted her head to see Susan Flint’s serious face
peering at her. "Yes?"

"Thank you for staying with us," Susan said.

"Don’t worry," Gabe replied, understanding the
real reason for the girl’s words. "They’ll be all right."

The children tossed and turned, and before long, ended up
all crisscrossed, half on each other and Gabe, and half on the blankets.
Somehow, they fell asleep. And somehow, despite her worry about Jess, Gabe did,
too.

o0o

At the first light, the vigil began again. A search party
was out of the question. If Apaches had attacked the men, the town might be
next, and anyone who could shoot a rifle would be needed there. Small Apache
uprisings had taken place all over the area.

The hours crawled by.

In late afternoon, Ben Graham, one of the miners who had
gone to Tucson, reached town, his horse lathered and blowing hard. A crowd
gathered around him as he slid from the saddle, barely able to stand.

"Get Doc Shannon," Graham said. "Will
Tanner’s gang ambushed us."

"Was anyone killed?" one woman asked.

"I don’t know for sure. But I do know the doc’s
needed real bad. The men are still two, three, hours out of town, traveling
slow."

Panic seized Gabe.

"Did Tanner get our money?" another woman asked.

People grumbled that anyone would ask about money when
lives were on the line.

"We stopped him."

Despite themselves, a sigh of relief went through the
crowd.

Doc Shannon ran for his bag while two of the boys hitched
horses to his buckboard. The doc wasn’t a real doctor, but he had help sew up a
few Confederates during the War and knew more about doctoring than anyone else
in town.

Gabe ran to the livery stable for Maggie. Quickly saddling
her, she followed Graham and Doc Shannon out of town, riding hard to catch up
to them, but not so close that they could order her back.

Don’t you dare be hurt, Jess McLowry
, she
whispered, her heart pounding with fear. Or anyone else, she added, thinking of
the women and children she had come to know and respect over these two weeks.

They rode for what seemed like hours. Dust clogged her
throat. The desert played tricks with her eyes, making far things close and
near things far. More than once she thought she saw them, only to discover she
had seen nothing. Finally, riders appeared on a distant ridge, silhouetted
against the sky. Gabe could see them even more clearly than she could see Doc
Shannon’s wagon just ahead of her through the dust. Men on horseback riding two
by two, plus the wagons, cut a sharp relief on the horizon. A steam-like haze
rose up from the ground and made them seem to shimmer, as if they were ghost
riders instead of men. The image frightened her, and she pushed Maggie harder.

Finally, she reached them. The men who hadn’t been hurt
were helping the others. All plodded along, dirty, grimy, bloodstained, their
hats slouched low, bandannas used for bandages. Jess wasn’t among them.

Heat and dust from the gathering of horses made Gabe’s
eyes water as she searched for Jess.

Then, far in the distance, she saw a lone rider slumped in
his saddle, his flat-brimmed hat nodding with the swaying gait of his horse.
She slapped the reins, urging Maggie forward once again.

"Jess!" she screamed, her throat raw.

It was all McLowry could do to stay in the saddle. His
shoulder hurt like hell from a bullet. He’d been awake almost forty-eight
hours, since the first time Tanner’s men attacked. Just a bit farther, he kept
telling himself, and he would reach town...and Gabe.

The past two days he thought he would never see her again.
To his dismay, he learned how much it mattered to him--more than anything in
his life. He hadn’t wanted that.

He looked up, his head fuzzy. The men in front of him had
stopped and dismounted. Tanner’s men couldn’t be attacking again, could they?
That was why he had stayed behind--to protect their flank--knowing that Tanner
liked to attack from behind, not out in front. He blinked hard, trying to see.

A single horse rode toward him. It was Gabe. His Gabe.
McLowry slowly dismounted, every muscle aching, his legs barely able to support
him.

Gabe slid off Maggie. She was ready to throw her arms around
him when she saw the blood on his shirt, and the odd way he held his arm
against his chest. "You’ve been shot," she cried, grabbing hold of
him, helping him stand.

"It’s nothing." He draped his good arm over her
shoulders, his breathing heavy. "The bullet passed right through."

Her arms shook as she steadied him, then she gently
touched his dirt-streaked face. He was perspiring, and clearly in pain, but he
wasn’t feverish. "You’ll be all right now," she whispered.

"I know." He didn’t expect this surge of...what?
happiness? joy? at seeing her again. He forced a wry little smile despite the
way his whole arm felt like it was on fire. "Hey, you weren’t worried
about me, were you, cousin? Didn’t I tell you I’m too mean to kill?"

"Oh, you!" She didn’t know what to say, but just
shook her head, overjoyed to see him and desperate for the doctor to look at
his arm.

As they walked toward the men, pride filled Jess’s voice.
"You should have seen them," he said. "That little band of
miners and farmers held off Tanner’s gang of outlaws and finally drove them
away. They were great."

"Any chance Tanner was killed?"

McLowry’s mouth tightened. "Tanner wasn’t there. Just
his men. He probably didn’t think he needed to show up, himself, against a
bunch of miners and farmers. He most likely expected it’d be like taking candy
from a baby."

"He didn’t know you were with them."

"No," McLowry said. "Not then, he
didn’t."

"Damn that man!" Gabe cried. "He was
responsible. Whether there or not, he was responsible!"

"We’ll stop him, Gabe."

"Now, he’s even hurt you. My God!" She gazed up
at him. She knew she couldn’t hide the feelings that were so strong her chest
ached with them. She heard his breath catch, and watched his eyes soften.

Suddenly, the hubbub that had been around them stopped,
and everything grew still. McLowry’s expression went hollow and strained. Gabe
turned toward the group of men.

They stood in a circle around a man lying on the ground.
Their heads were bowed, their eyes downcast. Doc Shannon rose slowly to his feet,
his shoulders slumped. He had done what he could, but it hadn’t been enough.
McLowry and Gabe moved forward, and the circle opened to include them, to let
them see who lay dead. Gabe’s world began to spin and an unreleased cry made
her shake with the effort of holding it inside. She pressed her knuckles hard
against her mouth.

Roy Flint. His three children had been with her last
night. Michael, Mary, and Susan, the oldest. Susan...only fifteen years old,
but putting on a brave front with the younger children, mothering them, helping
Gabe calm them and comfort them. And now, she was the one who would need
comforting. Gabe could scarcely breathe for her anger and hatred of Will
Tanner.

If she had found him and killed him, Susan would still
have a father. Her hands clenched so tightly, her nails dug into her palms.
May
your soul burn in hell, Will Tanner, for the death you’ve brought to good men
and the heartache to those who loved them.
Someday, she vowed, someday
Tanner would pay.

At dusk the outfit reached Dry Springs. Some people ran to
meet them, but many stood in silence on the boardwalks. Word of Roy Flint’s
death had reached the town long before the group arrived. The procession was
somber despite the mission’s success.

As they reached the main street, someone began to clap for
the men, and then another joined in, and soon the whole town applauded and
cheered for the survivors, despite the tears they shed for the one who would
never again walk among them.

They rode to Doc Shannon's house where Mrs. Huckleby and
other women waited to help the wounded.

Mrs. Shannon took charge of McLowry. She cleaned his wound
with antiseptic, and bandaged it, then told him to get some sleep and to see
the Doc in the morning.

McLowry nodded, but Gabe, who hadn’t left his side, could
see he was so tired he hardly knew where he was, let alone what he was agreeing
to. The man looked more in danger of exhaustion than anything else and she
half-carried him down the dark street to Mrs. Huckleby's. The house was filled
with people again tonight, but Mrs. Huckleby had left a room free for McLowry.

Gabe helped him stumble toward the bed. He flopped on top
of it, on his stomach, and almost immediately fell asleep.

She knew he would sleep better without his boots and
pulled them off. Then she looked at his denims. He would sleep better without
them as well.

His clothes were grimy and he was lying on top of the
blankets. She managed to roll him over on his good arm and pull the blankets
free. Then, reminding herself she would have done the same for her father or
brothers, she tugged off his denims. Long johns, as she’d expected, covered his
bare skin, but she found it a lot harder not to check their fit than she ever
dreamed of with her father or brothers. Quickly, she pulled the blankets over
him, then leaped back.

His eyes opened. He looked at the surroundings and seemed
startled, but she hurried forward. "I’m here, Jess," she whispered.
He must have decided he was safe, because he shut his eyes and slept again.

You
are
safe, she thought. Finally safe. She leaned
forward and kissed his temple. Looking at him sleeping, at the light and shadow
cast by the sculpted planes of his face, her heart grew so full she feared it
would overflow. She softly patted the long-fingered hand she had come to love,
careful not to disturb him, and quietly left the room. Someone else needed her
tonight.

Downstairs, the adults sat in the kitchen consoling Mrs.
Flint, while the five children who remained in the boarding house had been sent
into the parlor to sleep.

Gabe went directly to the parlor and stopped at the
doorway. The children sat on the floor. Susan Flint’s long, pale blond hair
caught her eye immediately. Susan sat with her little sister and brother trying
to comfort them and be strong for them. The other two children sat apart. One
was drawing and the other cutting paper dolls out of a Sears and Roebuck wish
book.

Gabe drew herself up and made her voice strong. "Hey
there," she said, walking into the room.

A chorus of "Hey" greeted her in return. Susan
raised her head at the sound of Gabe’s voice. Her face was ashen, her eyes
red-rimmed. Gabe felt tears sting her own eyes, but she couldn’t give in to
them. She sat beside Susan on the floor and took her hand, gripping it tightly,
as she addressed the younger children. "Who’d like to hear a story?"
she asked.

"I want to," six-year-old Mary Flint said.
"Tell me about bad angels."

"Bad angels?" Gabe asked, but as soon as the
question left her lips she realized the danger in the way Mary might answer.

"Mama said my daddy is with the angels. She said they
took him to heaven. But they killed him. They’re bad!" She began to cry.
"I want my daddy to come home."

Silent tears rolled down Susan’s face.

"Come here, Mary." Gabe held out her arms and
the child curled onto her lap. Their nine-year old brother, Matt, turned his
back on them and buried his face in his folded arms. Gabe saw his shoulders
shudder, but no sound came. He had probably been told boys don’t cry, and he
was manfully trying to hide his tears. The heartache of these children was
unbearable.

Holding Mary close, Gabe did the best she could to
interest them in a long, suspenseful tale about Paul Bunyan and his blue ox,
Babe. She kept her stories going until all the young ones were asleep.

Gabe sat on the floor with her back against the wall.
Susan sat beside her, her hands folded on her lap, her head bowed. Silence
stretched a long while before Susan lifted her head, her eyes solemn.
"They say the man responsible for killing my daddy is named Will Tanner. I
heard you’ve been looking for him. Is that true?"

Gabe was surprised the children knew about her quest.
"It’s true. I only wish I’d found him before this happened."

"Why do you want him?"

Gabe wondered if she should say. But then she realized
that Susan Flint, perhaps more than anyone else, would understand how she felt.
"He killed my pa," she said quietly. "And my brothers."

The girl’s face seemed to grow even paler. Her eyes darted
over to her young brother and sister asleep on the floor, then to Gabe.
"How did you bear it?" she whispered, more to herself than anything.
"I’m sorry," she held Gabe’s eyes. "I’m so very sorry."