Payback at Morning Peak (33 page)

“Is that you, Pete? Boy, I didn’t think you were in the area. Where you been?”

Pete sat on the edge of the bank and took off his shoes. “Oh, here and there. I’ve been mourning your death these past couple fortnights. Your head popping out of that mist makes me wonder whether maybe what I heard about you dying in the street that night was true.”

“I felt like death was traipsing pretty close to my sorry behind for a while there. They carted me down to an Albuquerque hospital. Once I started feeling a little better, I shined on to this ugly nurse. After that, it was easy as pie.”

They grinned.

“Brother, pie can be tart sometimes.”

“Yes, it’s true. What we do for love. She brought me fresh clothes, I relieved her of her money, and I was on my way, down the back stairs. Poor ole Magdalena yelling out the hospital window, ‘Stop that man, he made off with my virginity!’”

Once again, they enjoyed Al’s account.

“She didn’t actually say that, but she might as well have. Come on in, these warm waters will set you right.”

Pete took off his clothes, laid them on the bank. Took his pistol and held it high out of the moisture as
he gradually submerged himself. He secreted his .44 in a small crevice in a boulder that protruded from the stream. “Yeah, I was up at Carl Buckles’s place yesterday to see if I could round up some hearty souls for a little adventure I had in mind. Then old Buckles says, ‘Your brother Al was up here a week or so ago.’ Hell’s fire, I nearly had a stroke. It’s good to see you, son.”

They spoke for some time, Al admonishing his brother for not coming back for him in front of Judge Wickham’s house, and Pete explaining that Ed Thompson, now deceased, had told him Al was dead.

“How’d Ed get it?”

“Ed decided he was the baddest man alive and I had to dissuade him of that notion.”

“Where did that happen?”

“Up around Colorado way, near to Cripple Creek.”

“What were you doing up there?”

“Looking for Billy Tauson.”

“Tauson is in jail here in Cerro Vista.”

“Yeah, I heard tell—”

A voice from the bank of the streambed startled them. “Hey, you guys. It’s two dollars for the herbal waters. I’ll settle up with you when you get out.”

Pete looked at the grizzled man, his shirt off as if to show his sturdy build. He held a double-barreled shotgun casually in his arms.

Pete called out to the proprietor while moving toward his hidden weapon in the boulder. “No need to wait around, fellow. Just drop the two dollars on my pants there on the bank.”

“What did you say? I didn’t get it.”

Pete reached his pistol and, keeping it shoulder-high, began walking out of the water. When he got to where the water was only knee-high, he pointed his weapon at the man and spoke calmly to him. “Take two dollars out of your pocket, without moving that scattergun one inch. Lay the money carefully on my pants, then toss that shotgun into the water.”

“What? Are you loco? I run this here concession. You got to pay me for using the waters.”

“Who says?”

“Seth Watkins, that’s me.”

Pete cocked the six-shooter and took several steps closer to the man, raising his weapon slowly toward the man’s chest. “Suit yourself, Seth. I’ll put two in your nipples afore you can wheel that buck-shooter around this way. But favor yourself. Either do as I say—put the two dollars on my pants and toss that weapon into the water—or get ready for the Holy Ghost. It don’t make no never mind to me either way.” Pete smiled pleasantly.

The man’s eyes darted back and forth between Al, who was still chest-deep in the water, and Pete, who was now standing within arm’s length of him.

“It’s two against one. What’s a fellow to do?” He looked to Pete as if asking his permission to weasel out of his predicament.

Pete broadened his smile. “The dude in the water doesn’t have a gun, unless you count his dick.” He began a disingenuous chortle. “So it’s just the two of us and the two dollars you owe me. Let’s see it.”

The man slowly set his shotgun down on a stump, reached in his pocket for the two dollars, set those on
Pete’s trousers, and turned once again, making a careful move toward his weapon. Once he had the piece cradled securely in his arms, he started to walk away.

“You’re forgetting something, Seth, and because of that I’m gonna ask you to also pack up your duds and your tent if you have one and skedaddle out of here, but not before you complete what we agreed upon, which I’ll not repeat.”

Seth Watkins stood with his back to Pete. “You wouldn’t shoot a man from behind, would you?”

“Make a funny move and see.”

The man rocked back and forth in his boots, then finally raised the shotgun slowly over his head and tossed it into the water.

Pete winked at Al and turned back to Seth. “Don’t you feel better now, relieved of the burden of having to decide if you were going to get yourself killed?” Pete walked up behind Seth and whispered in his ear, “You got ten minutes. I don’t ever want to see you around these parts again, you hear me?”

“My wife, what—”

“I’m being as kind as I can be. Send your wife down here to keep us company whilst you pack up.”

“I’ve got a good little business going here. Everybody knows Seth.”

“Don’t come around here anymore. I’ll hurt you real bad and do some ugly things to the little woman, agreed?”

Seth looked to Pete, then walked away.

“Hurry, now, you only got ten minutes.” Pete went back into the water. “I hate a bully, don’t you, Al?”

Pete told Al his plans for raising cash and asked if he
was interested. After hearing a “Hell, yes” from Al, Pete mentioned Crook Arm.

“He’s a good enough hand, but where the hell is he?” Al said.

Pete explained to Al that Omaha had told him of Crook Arm’s whereabouts. They decided their soak was over, and soon set out for Big Rock and the completion of the trio that was to become the infamous Día de los Muertos Banditos.

Cybil and Jubal sat next to a meandering stream. Cyb had indeed planted her lips on Jubal’s kisser.

“You know you’ll have to marry me, don’t you?” she said.

“I thought it was the man’s prerogative to make that decision.”

Cybil ran her hands along her long legs, straightening the wrinkles in her skirt. “I think, if truth be told, women make their men feel as if it’s their choice, but in reality it’s always a woman’s decision.”

“But when you say I’ll have to marry you, it sounds as if you’re confident that I would want to.”

“I know you want to be with me… that’s apparent.” Cybil smiled.

“Am I so easy to read?” He tried to look hurt.

Cyb poked him in the ribs. “Oh, it’s a combination of reading and what you might call observing what is undisguised.”

“I realize that when we are together, I tend to… apologize. I don’t seem to be able to help myself, I guess I haven’t the control I feel you deserve.” He wondered
how his deepest secrets could be so transparent to this person. “I would marry you in a minute if I had a decent job or an education, or, for that matter, two dollars for the marriage license.”
Unless you consider that tarnished lump of yellow.

She gazed at him. “It’s so good to see that apple-pie face of yours again.”

“What would you say if I told you I saw you when I returned before you saw me?” Jubal tossed a rock in the streambed.

“You mean when Daddy brought you into the dining room? What are you getting at, Mr. Wandering Deputy?”

“Ah, never mind. It was just a crazy thought. Forget it.”

She made a fist with her right hand and punched Jubal lightly on the shoulder. “You will sit by this streambed ‘til it freezes over if you don’t tell me what you’re speaking of.” She put both hands on Jubal’s chest and pinned him against the sloped bank.

“I thought you ladies of eastern education were taught manners and—”

“Decorum, cotillion dances. Wrestling, also.” She was bent over him, her arms still pinning his shoulders to the grassy verge, her face merely inches from his. “Give, or I’ll put a death grip on you.”

“Uh-hm. Death grip.” He rubbed his chin as if contemplating something. “Sounds interesting.… It’s not such a big thing. I saw you last night.”

Cybil released his shoulders. “Last night? When?”

“I was out walking”—he sat up and wrapped his arms
around his knees—“and found myself in the pathway behind your house.”

She gasped.

“I wanted to be close, I wanted to see you.”

“You just happened to find yourself lurking behind my house.… But where was I? In the kitchen with Mom?”

He shook his head and pointed upward with a finger.

“I was upstairs? In the sanctity of my room?” She poked Jubal in the ribs with a sharp finger. “You are a degenerate, Mr. Junior Lawman, and should be arrested.… Was I dressed?”

“Nope.”

“You’re lying. You weren’t there, were you?”

“I was kidding. You were dressed, stood in the center of the room, and then came to the window to raise the sash. You then parted the curtains and stood for a moment thinking of me.”

She howled and settled next to him on the grassy bank. “I did think of you last night.” She held his hand. “I don’t remember when, maybe it was when you were behind my house.”

“I felt as if you knew I was close. I wanted to toss a pebble at your window and wish you good night.”

“You should have, Jube. Who knows?”

They looked at each other and kissed softly.

“I think I should be getting back. Mom’s going to be asking questions about that ‘embroidered hankie.’”

They started back toward town, arm in arm. “We’ll be with each other someday, Jube. I love you and know you’ll be kind.”

Their heads together, Jubal buried his face in Cybil’s hair. Her arms around his waist, she tightened her hold on him.

The Wetherford brothers found Crook Arm right where Omaha had said he’d be—sitting in his rock cave, smoking peyote. Through a long, painful explanation of what they were planning and what was expected of him, Crook Arm’s expression never changed. With an elaborate system of rocks and pebbles laid on the floor of the cave, Wetherford showed the Indian how much he would receive from their planned robbery.

Crook Arm grunted his assent and explained through sign that he didn’t have a horse, that he had gambled it away. They showed him the assayer’s mount from Cripple Creek. The man sprang onto the animal’s back and raised his fist high into the air, screaming something that sounded like he was in a great deal of pain.

The brothers looked at each other, wondering if they had made the right decision with this wild man.

The
tres hombres
rode into the courtyard of Miguel Lopez, an old man waving to them.

“Hola, amigos.
What can this ancient hombre do for you?”

“Masks. Scary ones,
comprende?”

“Ah, yes. Sí, señor. Masks I have. Día de los Muertos is not ‘til November but I have for you many masks.”

“I still don’t understand why we need masks, Pete. Hell, the townies all know us, we’re wanted for everything from rape to murder. Why bother?”

“Al, my good fellow, you haven’t any romance in your soul. The right mask will scare the bejeezus out of these poor clerks, wait and see.” He raised his hands high in the air and made a creepy sound.

They paid Lopez for three masks and started to leave.

“Señors, I would like you to take with you some of Rosa, my wife’s, special food.”

Lopez went into the kitchen and came back wrapping in paper a half dozen fried hotcake-looking pastries. “Very good, corn flour and chile chicken cooked in wood-fire pit. Is good, señors. Eat on your way to your destination.”

They saluted the old Mexican and rode off. Pete turned to Al after a short time. “Did that old man say eat these on the way to your ‘destiny’?”

Jubal and Cybil managed to extract themselves from each other before reaching the center of town. They stood at the corner of Calle Piñon and Paseo Segundo. “Is my hair mussed, Jube?”

“It looks as if you just jumped out of bed, Cyb.”

She smiled, a bittersweet look to her. “I know you’re funning with me, but be serious, please.”

“You look beautiful. No one would know that we just walked a mile wrapped tightly in each other’s clothes.”

Cybil glanced around at the passerby, then playfully stuck out her hand as if to shake. “Mr. Young. It’s been a pleasure spending this fine morning with you.”

They shook hands rather formally.

“And you, Miss Wickham. I trust you are busy packing for your sojourn back east?”

“Yes. I’m leaving in the morning, Jube, and I have so
much… stuff. It will take a team of mules to get me to the station.”

They smiled, both glancing around, wondering if it would be safe to kiss once again.

“Will I see you tonight?” Jubal asked.

“Let’s try.”

They once again shook hands, enjoying the fun of the little drama, and parted.

Jubal watched from the hotel porch as Cybil walked the few paces down Calle Piñon. It had been a fine morning and Jubal was anxious to get to work, to bury himself in the pure splendor of hard honest labor.

He thought maybe it would be fun to help Cybil pack, to pester her about what she was taking back to school. “What are these for, Cyb?” He would hold up a lacy chemise and act innocent. Then reach for—His thoughts were interrupted. Something about what Cybil had said about packing. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t the packing, but the way to get to the railroad station, what had she said? “A team of mules.”

It all came flooding back. A team of horses. Two. The image of the lone rider when Jubal was coming into Cerro Vista. The man who was leading a packhorse. Cripple Creek’s sheriff Tom Cox’s explanation of the theft of the assayer’s horse after the robbery.

Pete Wetherford was in the vicinity of Cerro Vista. Jubal was sure of it.

The trio of gunmen neared the outskirts of the northern border of Cerro Vista.

“We’re all clear where to meet afterwards? The fork
in the road at Morning Peak?” Pete made a sign to Crook Arm with his spread fingers indicating a fork.