Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (3 page)

The big man looked up when Nevada approached. A jagged scar showed on his cheek above his beard. He motioned toward the coffeepot. “Should be hot soon. Grab a cup.”

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Nevada squatted on his haunches near the fire and reached for the pot.

An occasional grunt and the scrape of a knife against the bottom of a tin pan were all that disturbed the morning. Nevada ate the scant fare offered and drank the strong brew, grateful for the meager meal. His thoughts wandered ahead to Tombstone. The first order of business would be to find work. Maybe he’d take a stab at staking a silver claim if nothing else panned out.

The leader tossed the remnants of his coffee onto the fire and pushed to his feet. “Want t’make a couple of gold pesos, stranger?”

“What’s your plan?”

“Like I said last night, me and the boys are huntin’ a man that killed a kin of ours. He’s an outlaw that might be runnin’ with a local gunman, Curly Bill. Got word him and his gang are holed up nearby. They should be ridin’ down the trail toward Tombstone soon.”

“What do you need from me?”

“We’ll all ride up close to the trail, then hoof it the rest of the way. You’ll wait with the horses while we scout ahead.”

“No need for pay. I’ll trail along since I’m headin’ toward Tombstone myself.”

“I don’t care to be beholden to a stranger.” He flipped a gold coin in the air, and Nevada caught it. “Stay with the horses until we get back, and there’ll be another waitin’ for you.” He motioned to his men. “Saddle up, and let’s head out.”

Fifteen minutes later the men broke camp. They swung aboard their horses and hit the trail through the brush heading toward Tombstone. Nevada let his gaze roam the surrounding area. Rugged mountains crested against the distant sky must have beckoned many a wandering miner to explore their shadowy crags. Manzanita and cactus dotted the landscape, and a scorpion scurried across the trail.

Finally, the leader raised his hand and drew to a halt. They stopped on a relatively flat area with undulating hills not far ahead. “This is a good place to wait. The man we’re huntin’ should be comin’ just beyond this rise. There’s a narrow spot in the trail where we’ll hold them up without any gunplay, then take him back to the marshal in Tombstone for trial.”

Nevada stepped off his horse. “Sure you don’t want me to come along?”

“Naw. But you might need this, if anything happens.” The man yanked a grain sack out of his saddlebag and tossed it.

“What for?” Nevada caught it and held it up for inspection. The bag had two holes cut side by side with a string attached near the opening.

All three men withdrew similar sacks and slipped them over their heads, tying the cords around their necks. “We aim to have the element of surprise and don’t care to have these gents see our faces, in case we don’t capture them all.”

One of the men gave a coarse laugh. “Which ain’t likely. But Curly Bill’s a mean one. We’d hate to have him come gunnin’ for us if’n he gets away.”

Nevada tossed the bag on his saddle and shook his head. “Not for me, fellas. I’ll wait here like you asked, but that’s all.”

“Suit yourself.” The leader’s words were slightly muffled, but his eyes gleamed from the holes cut in the bag. He yanked his thumb toward his men. “Let’s go.”

They stalked past the horses and headed up a shallow wash toward a rock-strewn hill. Their boots weren’t suited to walking and one of the men stumbled. His curse rolled across the clearing. Within minutes they disappeared over the top of the low rise.

Nevada gazed at the spot. This setup didn’t smack of an honest group of cowboys trying to round up a killer. He’d ridden on more than one posse in his younger days and never once found the need for a mask. He waited another ten minutes, then grasped his horse’s reins and tugged. Time to see what those hombres were up to.

Christy stepped off the train in the new town of Benson, Arizona, grateful to be rid of the dirty, noisy car. This journey had taken longer than she’d anticipated, and worry over her mother mounted. Joshua hadn’t said how bad Ma’s condition might be, or even what was wrong. Right now all she cared about was reaching Tombstone and seeing to her mother’s needs. She chafed at the constant delays and prayed Ma wouldn’t worsen before she arrived.

While train travel was somewhat faster than a stagecoach, it didn’t have much more to offer in the way of comfort. The cars had jarred, jerked, and rattled their slow way across the countryside, kicking up volumes of dust that drifted into the windows. Her sage-green traveling dress and matching hat were covered with the stuff. Good thing she’d thought to wear a hat with a heavy veil covering her face. More than likely she’d be even more grateful for it by the time the stagecoach rolled into Tombstone.

Tucson had been a disappointment, although the train departed before she had a chance to visit any shops. She’d expected a grand city and only found streets of low adobe houses on the outskirts of town where the train passed through. She scanned the small station at Benson, wondering how many of the people who’d disembarked with her would be going on to Tombstone. Most of the passengers on the train were men, and more than one had given her a look of deep interest, which she’d chosen to ignore. Women had accompanied two of the men, but the rest traveled alone and apparently weren’t immune to a single woman.

The stagecoach driver approached the knot of people standing on the siding. “Folks, anyone going on through to Tombstone has thirty minutes to buy their ticket and get some grub. Hustle along.”

Christy rolled her head back and stifled a groan. She’d parted with ninety-eight dollars in train fare since leaving Auburn, California. Hopefully her brother was gainfully employed and kept the pantry stocked. At this rate she’d soon be out of the money she’d carefully saved. She walked to the side of a group of three men as they headed toward the way station.

The crude adobe structure stood alone at the end of the street. Two dogs chased a small boy who ran in circles, laughing and screaming, in front of the building. A chicken screeched and flapped out of their way. A woman stood off to the side, hanging clothing on a line strung between two poles planted in the ground, ignoring the visitors trooping across the hard-packed ground toward her.

One of the men wearing a bowler hat, trousers, white shirt, and vest poked his comrade in the side and snickered. “Looks part Injun. Wonder if I need to worry about my scalp.”

Christy swung around and glared. “I don’t know where you’re from, mister, but any decent man in these parts will horsewhip a man who talks ugly about a woman.”

A red stain crept up the man’s neck, but his eyes narrowed and his chin snapped up. “None of your never-mind, lady. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“No, but I heard you.” She squared her shoulders and marched past him. Ever since she’d taken her first job in a saloon at the age of sixteen and felt the ugly stares and heard the whispers of the decent folks in town, she’d been a champion of the downtrodden and misunderstood. What did it matter the race of the woman hanging the clothes on the line? She was a person with feelings, needs, and desires, like any other. Christy smiled at the dusky-skinned woman as she moved past her. The woman looked startled but smiled tentatively back.

So much prejudice in the world and so little compassion,
Christy thought. Hopefully she’d find something better in Tombstone.

The door of the squatty building opened, and a young girl motioned her inside. “There isn’t much time before the next stage leaves. Pa has a pot of vittles on the stove.”

Christy crossed the threshold into a dimly lit room. Only one small window helped to illuminate the squalid setting. It was barely big enough to contain two rough-hewn tables surrounded by four chairs each, and a rude wooden bar ran well over half the length of the room off to the left of the door.

A man stood behind the waist-high barrier, and the people from the coach lined up before him. “Two dollars each for the trip and a dollar for your meal. Make it quick, folks. There’s barely time to get your ticket and eat before the stage leaves for Tombstone.”

Christy gasped and covered her mouth with her gloved fingers. Another three dollars? Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d eaten a scanty breakfast. She drew in a lungful of the odor emanating from the pot on the potbellied stove behind the counter and wrinkled her nose in distaste. If she guessed correctly, that meal had been brewing for days. She cast around hoping for something else to assuage her hunger and her gaze fell on a loaf of bread. No signs of black spots on the surface, so it might be safe.

She edged up as the man in front of her walked away, clutching his bowl of whatever concoction the establishment saw fit to serve. “I need a ticket for one, please.”

“That’ll be two dollars, Miss. How about a bowl of my wife’s fine stew?” He grinned, showing a blackened tooth.

“Uh, no. Thank you. Might I have a slice of bread instead?” She dug into her reticule hanging around her wrist and withdrew the required payment for the stage.

“That’ll be two bits for a slab o’ bread. Sure you don’t want the stew? I kin throw in the bread for free if you take ’em both.”

“Just the bread.” Christy laid a coin on the counter. She took the slip of paper declaring she’d purchased one-way fare to Tombstone, and grasped the edge of a small plate with a jagged slab of bread sitting atop it. Praise be, it appeared fresh. A quick step took her to a table not yet occupied, and she sank down in relief. If Ma wasn’t up to cooking when she arrived, she’d fix them all a nice supper.

What a relief. Only a couple more hours till Tombstone.

An hour later Christy grabbed at the window frame of the stagecoach, steadying herself from being thrown into the lap of the man beside her. The gentleman wearing the bowler hat sitting across the coach grunted and scowled. “Consarned uncomfortable contraption, if you ask me. Good thing some of the passengers wanted to ride up top, or we’d be jammed in here like sardines. The alkali dust is enough to kill a person.”

A rotund man sitting next to the bowler-clad gentleman nodded and patted the arm of the woman beside him. “I agree. I’m thankful the driver allowed us to get out and walk on some of the roughest areas. Thought my teeth would rattle out of my head a couple of times.”

Christy smiled but didn’t comment.

His female companion had kept to herself most of the trip, clutching the man’s arm whenever the coach lurched or jolted. She stared across at Christy’s neckline and her eyes widened. “That’s an exquisite cameo.” She leaned forward and squinted. “Are those pearls around the edge?”

Christy touched the brooch. “Yes. It was a gift from my grandmother before she died.”

The woman sat back, a genial expression lighting her face. “It looks valuable. I’ve heard Tombstone is quite a wild city. You might want to be careful where you wear it.”

“Thank you. I hadn’t thought of that.”

The group inside the stage settled into silence, and Christy was left alone with her thoughts. This brooch contained so many loving memories from her childhood when her papa’s mother still lived. She’d stayed with them from the time Christy was eight until she turned twelve and her grandmother had passed. Every year on Christy’s birthday she’d been allowed to wear the piece for the entire day.

That last day, as the sweet older lady rested in her bed, she’d pressed her cameo into the young girl’s hand, closing her fingers over the small treasure. “It’s yours, my love. It’s been in my family for three generations. Maybe someday you’ll have a daughter you can give it to. Tell her about me, will you, child?”

Christy had treasured the cameo and kept it close from that day forward, always anticipating the time she’d have a family and be able to pass it along with the fond memories of her grandmother. Now she wondered if it was too late. She was twenty-five years old and the closest she’d ever come to marriage was Ralph, back in Last Chance. Some would say she was an old maid and beyond hope, but in her heart-of-hearts she still believed the right man would come.

A loud “whoa” emanated from the driver, and the team slowed its pace. “Hold on, folks. We’re goin’ down a pretty decent grade,” his voice boomed from on top of the box. “When we reach the bottom it’ll be some better. You can get out and stretch your legs a mite if you’ve a mind to, before we start up the other side.”

The stage tilted and slowed its forward progress, as the driver continued to haul back on the reins and call to his horses. Once again Christy gripped the opening in the door as the wheels encountered ruts and rocks, jostling the passengers from side to side. Why hadn’t the man allowed them to walk this stretch? It seemed the horses would have less work holding back the extra weight in the coach if it were empty. She was tired of being thrown into the man next to her, although from the smug expression she’d noticed a time or two, he didn’t seem to mind.

A gunshot from somewhere ahead electrified the five travelers inside. The man she shared a seat with leaned toward his window and peered outside. “By Jove, it looks like a holdup! There’s a man with a rifle standing in the middle of the road.”

The stage didn’t slow, and another gunshot cracked. “Stop your team, or we’ll shoot one of the horses,” a rough voice echoed against the hillside.

“I ain’t stoppin’ for nobody.” The driver shouted the words, and a gun barked from on top of the stage.

Christy’s heart jumped, and a knot formed in her stomach. They were so close to Tombstone, and now someone wanted to rob them? Half of what she had left was inside her small purse. She unpinned the cameo from her dress and held it in the palm of her hand. Bandits would surely notice a piece of jewelry this fine, and she couldn’t allow it to be stolen. Slipping her reticule from her wrist, she placed the brooch inside, then searched the interior for a place to hide it. Nothing presented itself as an option.

The seat. Her bag was small and might fit. She turned and jammed the bit of cloth between the seat and its back, stuffing it hard into the crack. The two men continued to peer out the window, but the woman’s gaze followed her movements. Christy raised her eyes and met the woman’s, giving her a tight smile.

“Do you think they’ll kill us?” She whispered the words and clenched her hands in her lap.

Christy shook her head. “Not if we do what they say. If they stop the stage, obey their orders and don’t argue or complain. Most robbers won’t harm a woman.”

Nevada’s chin jerked up at the gunshot. He’d almost crested the hill, and he dug in hard, scrambling through the brush and over the top, pulling his horse behind him. They hit a patch of loose rock and slid for several yards, his gelding scrambling to remain on his feet. He held fast to the reins and jumped to the side, getting out of the way as Nugget lunged over a boulder and skidded to a stop. “Whoa, boy. Easy now.” Stroking his mount’s neck he waited, surveying the area below. On the far side of the gulley, a brace of horses pulled a stage down the hill, the driver hauling back on the reins trying to slow the team. Three men wearing sackcloth masks waved their guns and shouted, but the driver didn’t appear to notice.