Texas Twilight (2 page)

Lily screamed and again grasped the luggage
bar. One of the Comancheros had her by the ankle, pulling her
toward the side of the rocking coach. John fought to keep his
balance as he swung around. Grabbing the Winchester, he struck the
outlaw’s face several times, but the man was mad with evil intent,
and hung on relentlessly.

The coach lurched as the hind right wheel
spun off the road. John scrambled to keep from being pitched off
the top. The outlaw faltered. Quickly dropping the rifle, he
grasped Lily’s upper body and heaved. She bucked and kicked,
finding the outlaw with her boot, the kick glancing off his temple,
but still he clung fast. Again the careening coach swayed
violently, almost toppling all three.

A volley of shots sounded from within the
coach and from the corner of his eye he saw one of the remaining
two mounted riders fell. The final rider fired once, then pulled up
and stopped, abandoning his companion who still rode the stage.

John yanked Lily behind him as the Comanchero
stood and pulled out a knife. With the agility of a cat, the man
slashed out and John dodged to the side. Emboldened, the outlaw
sprung forward, catching John around the middle. The two fell to
the roof, wrestling for the weapon. John reached for his empty Colt
and brought it down on the man’s head, but not before a searing
heat flashed down his face from temple to earlobe. Hefting the
unconscious man up, John threw him off the cliff side of the
rollicking coach then slumped down, pressing his palm to his
face.

T
he driver let
the horses run on for a good quarter mile. Then he hauled back on
the reins bringing the lathered animals down to a trot, then a walk
and finally a halt.

Everything was quiet. The hot sun beat down
and the landscape wavered before John’s eyes. Lily’s stricken
expression gave him pause. Had she taken a bullet he hadn’t seen?
“Lily, are you all right?” he said, struggling to get the words
past the confusion in his brain. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

“No. I am okay,” she answered, climbing to
her knees.

The driver came back and took John by the
arm. “Come on, McCutcheon, let

me help you down.”

John shook him off. “I can manage. Check on
the passengers below.” It was then he realized his hand was pressed
to his face and blood dripped onto his shirt. Instantly the side of
his head began to sting with excruciating pain.

“What the...?” He pulled his hand away to see
it covered with blood.

“Dr. McCutcheon,” Lily said as she stood
carefully and took his arm. “You have been cut badly. Let us help
you down before you fall.” She looked to the driver who again took
John’s other side, and this time John let them help him to the
ground.

When Lily turned to leave John caught her
wrist. He held tight as she strained to get free. “How bad is it?”
John called out.

“Looks like everyone’s dead,” the driver
answered.

Lily let out a cry. She twisted and turned in
John’s grasp. “Let me go!” With force, she jerked her arm free then
ran to the other side of the coach where she pushed past the driver
and climbed in to find the limp and pale body of her elderly aunt.
“No,” she wept. “You cannot be dead. Tante Harriett, wake up.
Please, wake up.”

John followed with his handkerchief pressed
to his face. He reached in and hefted Lily out of the coach and
held her, feeling the wetness of her tears. Her hands curled around
the fabric of his shirt as sobs racked her body.

John swung her into his arms. “Shhh, now,
Miss Anthony,” he crooned gently. “It’s a pity, I know. I’m sorry
this had to happen. Don’t cry so.” Her hair, free from its bonds,
was a mass of blond locks cascading down her back. Improper or not,
he stroked it, marveling at its softness. He rocked for a few
moments until she quieted. Through the open doorway, he could see
that a bullet had penetrated the stage and Miss Abigail Smith had
taken it in the side. The teacher’s eyes were open wide in
surprise, and her mouth formed a little O. The stain on her blue
calico dress gradually grew larger.

He set Lily on the ground. “I need to check
them,” he said. “You wait here.” The fatal wounds of the two
brothers left no doubt of their condition. Feeling for Abigail’s
pulse confirmed her demise. Harriet Schmidt was slumped in the
corner, no apparent wounds visible. He pressed his index finger to
the artery in her neck. Several moments ticked by. “Actually, she’s
alive.”

Lily’s eyes widened in hope.

Without hesitating, John cleared away guns,
hats and other personal belongings and carefully laid Lily’s aunt
out on the bench and undid several buttons at the neckline of her
blouse. He inspected her head, looking for any sign that she’d
gotten hit by something. Without anything left to do for her but
wait for her to wake up, he climbed out of the coach.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I can’t find any wounds and she doesn’t
appear to have hit her head.” He looked into Lily’s face. “You
understand?” It took a moment before she nodded and wiped her eyes
with the sleeve of her dress. She looked too young and small to be
out here in the badlands of Texas. “Why don’t you sit over there in
the shade of that rock for a moment while Hank and I take care of
them.” He motioned to the stage with the tilt of his head.

“No. I want to stay with her. In case she
wakes up.”

John looked at her for a long moment. He
climbed back into the coach and gathered up her aunt, then carried
the tiny woman over to the shade and laid her down. With his knife
he sliced a section of cloth from her skirt and soaked it in water
from his canteen, placing it on Harriett’s forehead. He looked at
Lily, who’d followed behind. “There. Now, you sit.” He gave her a
little nudge. “Go on.”

Dazed, Lily sat on a large slab of granite
next to the body of her Tante. Beyond, where the sun beat down on
the rocky surface, speckles of black and white sparkled brilliantly
and heat waves rose to the sky. An enormous red ant crawled across
Lily’s hand, but she just watched it with swollen eyes. Somewhere a
locust buzzed.

Why had Tante Harriett insisted on leaving
Boston in the first place? Returning from a mysterious meeting,
she’d insisted they leave that very night. When asked, she’d said
she needed a drier climate for her health. But, she had never
mentioned that before. When pressed further, Tante Harriett,
totally out of character, snapped at her telling her not to
question her so much. If only they had not come west…

Lily
glanced back at the coach and her heart did a somersault. All those
people were
dead
. She and
Miss Abigail had been discussing sarsaparillas and how they wanted
one as soon as they reached Rio Wells. The thought of the teacher
with the blood spot on the side of her dress made Lily’s throat
threaten to close and her eyes felt as if hot coals were wedged
behind them.

The coach rocked slightly. She didn’t want to
think about what they were doing in there. She tried to look away,
over the desolate, dry lands, but couldn’t tear her gaze away. She
watched Doctor McCutcheon as he approached, then set her cloth
satchel at her feet.

“Miss Anthony.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’d
like to make it to the safety of the swing station before
nightfall. I think it best if you ride up top with us.”

“What about my Tante?”

“She’ll need to ride inside.”

“But what if she wakes up? She will be
frightened if she cannot find me.” But I do not want to look at
those dead bodies another time, she thought, suppressing a
shudder.

“She’s still unconscious.” His expression was
soft but his tone said his decision was made. “Do you have a
bonnet, or parasol, to keep off the sun?”

Her emotions were all jumbled up inside and
she struggled to understand. At her silence he squatted down and
opened her bag, rummaging through it.

“Here.” He placed the bonnet on her head and
tied the sashes. The ugly gash of his wound stood out on his tanned
cheek, and the purple stain of iodine confirmed he had done some
doctoring to himself. Finished, he sat back and studied her
face.

“I killed a man,” Lily said under her breath.
“I shot him dead. Maybe even more than one man. I am not sure.”

Dr. McCutcheon nodded thoughtfully. “That you
did.” He reached out and straightened her bonnet as if he were
searching for the right words. “And, if you must know, I’m glad you
did. Those men were killers. As bad as that might sound to you,
it’s just the way it is out here. You have to be tough to
survive.”

He stood. “It’s best not to think about it
too much. Now, up you go.” He took her hand and pulled her to her
feet, then gathered her Tante into his arms.

At the coach Lily stopped him with a touch to
his hand before he could open the stage door. “Please bring her up
on top with us, Doctor McCutcheon. I’ll make a spot for her between
the luggage. Watch over her. The fresh air will do her good
and…”

His jaw clenched and released. “Hank,” he
called, and the man ran over and helped Lily to the top of the
coach where just a few minutes before they’d been fighting off the
Comancheros. Dr. McCutcheon climbed up with Tante Harriett in his
arms. After laying her down he took his spot as lookout.

B
y the time they
reached the swing station the moon was overhead and the sky filled
with stars. Not much more than a rundown shack, the stage stop had
several corrals holding a dozen or so horses. It was the property
of Wells Fargo, run by an employee who met and fed passengers along
the routes. Smoke wafted from the chimney, attesting to the fact
that there was indeed an able-bodied occupant within.

In the soft moonlight, John watched a stout
little man hurry out, followed by a shaggy black dog. The man took
hold of the horses as the driver set the brake.

“Hank, I was getting worried. Did you have
trouble? Where’s Sam and Dalton?”

“They’re dead, Chester.”

John climbed down and reached up for Lily.
Taking her hand, he guided her down, then made sure she was steady
on her feet before releasing it. “We were attacked. They killed
three of the passengers, too.”

“Those Comancheros are getting as bold as
brass around here. I fear for my safety near every day and night.
Just a couple of nights ago I saw two up on the hill, watching.
I’ll miss those boys...” His voice broke and he shook his head.

“You have some supper ready for this miss?”
John asked. “She’s had a rough go of it.”

“That I do. Stew and corn bread. Come
inside.” The man walked ahead and opened the creaking door.

Lily waited for him as he climbed back to the
top for Harriett. It was strange the woman was still unconscious.
Inside, he laid her on a small cot on the far wall.

“Go ahead and dish up Miss Anthony’s dinner,”
John said. “Hank and I have business to take care of outside.”

“Understood. There’s a small graveyard out
back. If you use the lanterns on the porch you won’t have a problem
finding it. You can bury them there.”

John motioned to the cot. “Come and get me if
she wakes up.”

It took the better part of two hours before
John and Hank had the bodies of Abigail Smith and Cyrus and
Jeremiah Post buried in the sandy loam and covered with rocks. John
had gathered the few personal belongings off the men’s bodies and
stuck them into their luggage, along with some blood-soaked sheets
of a letter. They’d been loose in Jeremiah’s breast pocket, and
John had folded them and stuck them back into an envelope addressed
to the sheriff of Rio Wells.

He and Hank washed up and hurried inside,
hunger gnawing their bellies. Lily had changed and now sat by her
aunt’s cot, holding the older woman’s hand.

Chester dished the men’s food and watched as
the two wolfed it down, refilling their bowls to the brim for a
second go round. “That’s a nasty cut. Are you going to do something
with it?”

John swallowed. “Just as soon as I eat I’m
going to stitch it up.”

“How you gonna do that?” Chester asked,
skeptical.

“He’s a doctor,” Hank responded, over a
mouthful of potato and meat.

“It’ll hurt like hell,” Chester said as he
came close to get a better look. “I suggest you take some whisky
first.” The dog followed his master over. He whined once, then made
a small circle and lay down by John’s chair.

“Don’t I already know that, but I have to be
steady.” Finished, John went to his black leather bag and pulled
out the things he needed, along with a pie-sized mirror. “Bring me
all the light you have in this place, if you don’t mind.”

He was surprised when he found Lily standing
next to him with a lantern. “I can do it, Dr. McCutcheon,” she
said, her eyes assessing his wound. “I am a seamstress. I have a
year and a half of experience working for my Tante, as well as
before coming to America.” She put the lantern on the table and
picked up the needle in a steady hand, the one that had been
shaking not all that long ago. “You can trust me.”

John looked down at her slim fingers holding
the needle. They were lean and long and a bit roughened at their
tips.

“Okay. Let me get prepared.”

He washed up, then slicked his hair away from
his face. Taking a tub of clean water and soap, he tackled the
painful job of cleansing the wound thoroughly, having to stop
several times to slowly breathe in and out through his nose. He
then irrigated it over and over with handfuls of water. Afterwards
he swabbed it generously a second time with iodine, bracing against
the pain. He took the needle and held it in the flame of a lamp for
several seconds. Looking into the mirror, he pointed out to Lily
where he’d like her to make the stitches. When he was finished, he
took the bottle of whisky Chester held out to him and took a long
drink.