The Outlaw's Bride (15 page)

“But what will happen next?”

“This evening when one of the boys sneaked into the McSween’s house to fetch Billy out from under the floor, he told me Dick Brewer had called a meeting of the Regulators. Brady was a Dolan man, but he wasn’t a bad fellow. The Regulators are going to be unwelcome in Lincoln Town.”

“Do you think Dick wants to disband the group?”

“Probably. He’s never been a man for violence.” Noah brushed a strand of dark gold hair from Isobel’s shoulder. “I’d like to hear what he has to say. I trust Dick’s judgment. I’d lay down my life for that man.”

“Let’s go to the meeting,” she whispered.

“It’s a good safe distance from Lincoln,” Noah assured her. “At a place called Blazer’s Mill.”

To reach Blazer’s Mill, Noah, Isobel and the Regulators rode through friendly territory. Dick Brewer joined them at his farm. As they journeyed west, they picked up five new sympathizers.

Noah and Dick insisted Isobel ride close to them. Dick was furious about Brady’s murder. The killing betrayed the true purpose of the Regulators, he said, which was to bring law and order to the county. He wanted to disband the group but the Regulators were still needed.

Members of the posse who had shot John Tunstall roamed loose—at least two hid near the little town of Tularosa, not far from Blazer’s Mill. A huge number of Tunstall’s cattle had been stolen and driven to San Nicolas Spring near the Organ Mountains. The spring, too, could be reached from Blazer’s Mill. Worst of all, Dolan had put a bounty of two hundred dollars on any Regulator. If the group dispersed, bounty hunters could pick them off.

Isobel studied the two men, one slender and finely carved, the other massive, as if hewn from stone. Noah and Dick were notches above the other Regulators. They were clean men, their guns polished, their horses groomed. Both were intelligent and skilled, yet they avoided violence.

As she rode the grassy trail along the Rio Ruidoso, Isobel began to see a picture of the future. At first her thoughts seemed childish, but soon she began to pray her dreams could become real.

She and Noah would live as husband and wife in the adobe house beside the Pecos River. They would own
land and run cattle. She saw their children scampering through the front yard or wading in an irrigation ditch…little girls in pigtails…little boys with scuffed knees. A lush garden grew beside the house, rich with peas, beans, corn, chilies. Laundry flapped on a line, the New Mexico sun bleaching the linens a pure, brilliant white. Chickens scratched in the dust. The aroma of
biscochitos
drifted from the kitchen window. Lace curtains billowed in the breeze.

Dick and Susan Brewer would visit, their buckboard full of children. Laughter would fill the house as the families ate together. Isobel and Susan would discuss children and recipes. Noah and Dick would linger on the porch after the little ones had gone to bed. They would speak in low voices about their land and livestock.

“Billy was a good kid till they killed Tunstall,” Noah was saying. “Now he’s angry, reckless, hotheaded. He never thinks about the future. All he wants is revenge.”

Dick glanced behind at the youth—little the worse for the shot that had torn up his leg a few days earlier. “Billy and Tunstall were pals. Tunstall was the first man to accept the Kid and try to help him.”

“I’ll talk with him after lunch.” Noah checked his pocket watch as the group rounded a pile of logs beside the mill, then entered a corral near Dr. Blazer’s foursquare house. “Maybe I can make him see sense.”

Isobel’s usual fire-and-ice demeanor seemed to have suddenly melted, Noah noted as they dismounted. She wore a peaceful, faraway gaze. It worried him.

That morning, she had pinned her hair high on her head, all swooped up in curls and waves. Gold tendrils
danced around her neck and forehead. Isobel had already earned the Regulators’ respect for her shooting and riding. Today her beauty had won their devoted admiration.

Noah grunted. Those poor, female-starved cowboys wouldn’t know how to behave around a woman like Isobel. But they flirted and made eyes at her all the same. Some in the bunch were said to be downright handsome. Ladies thought the Kid was a charmer. He could dance better than any man Noah knew, and when he felt like it, he could be amiable—so long as a person didn’t stare at those buckteeth and droopy eyes.

Most of the Regulators had been in the woods the night of Noah’s wedding and knew it was a sham, but Isobel made it plain she belonged with him. She slept near him each night on the trail. She rode at his side. She followed him with her eyes.

Now, at Blazer’s Mill, she was introducing herself to Mrs. Godfroy, the wife of a government agent who rented the house from Dr. Blazer.

“I’m Mrs. Noah Buchanan,” Isobel said.

The woman smiled. “Would you and your friends like some dinner?”

Dr. Blazer, a dentist, had leased his house as headquarters for the Mescalero Indian Agency. Mrs. Godfroy was known for serving a fine meal, and the men looked forward to eating there before hunkering down to talk things over.

They were settling around the table for a meal of stew and cornbread when Noah glanced out the window. A small cloud of dust drifted up from the road the Regulators had just ridden. Now Noah spotted a lone mule and rider—a small man, loaded down with pistols,
cartridge belts and rifles. He carried his right arm at an odd angle.

A wash of ice slid down Noah’s spine. “Boys, looks like we’ve got a visitor,” he said. “Yonder comes Buckshot Roberts.”

“B
uckshot Roberts was in the posse that shot Tunstall!” Billy Bonney shouted, grabbing his rifle and angling toward the window. The other men pushed away from the table and went for their weapons.

“Roberts is a bounty hunter,” the Kid said. “He’ll be after that two hundred dollars Dolan put on our hides.”

“Hold it, boys!” Dick called. “I’ve got a warrant for Buckshot’s arrest. Let’s get him to surrender.”

“Surrender,” Billy muttered. “I’d rather put a bullet through him.”

“Frank, you know Buckshot Roberts pretty well.” Noah addressed one of the two Coe brothers. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“No problem.” Frank buckled on his six-shooter and left the room.

Noah handed Isobel a Winchester. “Buckshot Roberts is almost too crippled to lift a rifle,” he said in a low voice. “But he’s fought Indians and Texas Rangers, and he’ll stand up to all fifteen of us if he’s pushed. I want you to stay close to me.”

She nodded, disconcerted to see these armed men in a dither over a single bounty hunter riding a mangy mule. What could one man do against so many?

Frank Coe had begun talking to Buckshot from the porch. Watching from a window, Dick shook his head. “Frank just stepped out of my line of vision. Three of you boys go arrest that little varmint.”

Mrs. Godfroy was in a tizzy. “Mr. Brewer, you can’t shoot your guns around this place! Those men are standing by a door that leads to Dr. Blazer’s storage room. He’s got a Springfield and a thousand rounds of ammunition in there.”

“Roberts, throw up your hands!” A voice outside the window cut off Mrs. Godfroy’s warnings.

“Hold on,” Buckshot Roberts shouted back.

A blast of gunfire followed. Mrs. Godfroy screamed. Everyone inside the house raced for the back door. Noah grabbed Isobel’s hand and ran behind a water trough near the corral. They crouched there, breathing hard as they loaded their Winchesters.

Isobel peered around the trough and gasped. “Buckshot’s wounded!”

Noah jerked her back to cover, his blue eyes flashing. “Careful, Isobel. The man is a deadeye shot.”

“But he was hit—his stomach was covered with blood.”

“Gut shot.” Noah took off his hat and wiped his brow. “He won’t last long.”

Just then, Charley Bowdre and George Coe dashed around the water trough. “Loco little spitfire!” Bowdre spat. “He drew on me, so I shot him—but he won’t quit! He blew off my cartridge belt and mangled George’s finger.”

Muttering curses, George Coe bound his hand with a bandanna. “Blasted off my trigger finger right at the joint, ornery little—”

“Buckshot hit Billy,” Bowdre cut in. “I don’t know where he is now.”

Isobel peered around the trough at the crippled bounty hunter who had managed to shoot four men. In the doorway to the storage room, he lay stomach down on a bloodstained mattress. His rifle was aimed at the trough.

Perspiration trickled down Isobel’s temples as she took cover again. “Dick’s coming our way.”

As he slid in next to Noah, Dick yanked off his hat. “How many shot here?” he asked.

“Two. George Coe and Bowdre,” Noah answered. “They’ll live.”

“A shot skinned Billy’s arm—says it matches the one he took in his leg the other day.”

“How’s Mrs. Godfroy?” Isobel asked.

“Screaming that Buckshot’s in a room full of ammo. I’m going to that stack of logs near the sawmill to get a better look. If I don’t talk him into surrendering, he’ll die on that mattress.”

Noah grabbed Dick’s arm. “Let me talk to him.”

“I’m leading the Regulators, Noah. I’ll do it.”

Without waiting, Dick ran in a crouch toward the pile of wood a hundred yards from Buckshot Roberts. Noah handed ammunition to Bowdre, whose gunbelt had been shot off.

“Dick’s behind the logs,” Isobel reported. “He’s trying to get a better look at—”

“No!” Noah roared.

Too late. Dick lifted his head just above the line of
logs. Buckshot took aim and fired. The bullet struck Dick between the eyes, and he toppled over.

“No!” Noah’s cry echoed. “No!”

He started for his friend, but Bowdre and Coe dragged him back. Trembling, Isobel sank against the trough.

“He’s gone, Noah,” Coe barked. “Let’s get out of here before Buckshot kills us all.”

As he grabbed Isobel’s arm with his bloody hand, a hail of slugs splintered the trough, causing water to stream out the holes. As soon as the shooting paused, the three men hustled her toward the corral.

The remaining Regulators were already on their horses. Several men blocked Noah to keep him from heading back to his friend. As the group sped away from the mill, Buckshot continued firing.

“Dick,” Noah groaned. “We’ve left Dick.”

“Brewer’s dead, Buchanan,” Billy Bonney said. “The Godfroys will bury him.”

Noah lapsed into silence. But when Isobel gazed at the man she loved, she saw his tears.

For almost two days Noah said nothing. When the Regulators arrived at Dick Brewer’s ranch, they gathered on the porch to talk. Isobel joined them, but she noted that Noah sat a short distance away, hat in hand as he studied the ground.

“We need a new leader,” Billy declared. “With Dick dead, we got even more reason to blast them Dolan snakes to kingdom come.”

“You want to be leader, Kid?”

“Sure!”

A disgruntled muttering followed, then Frank Macnab
spoke up. “I’ll put my name in the ring, boys. Everybody knows I’m a cattle detective. Makin’ war on rustlers is my job, and the Dolan bunch is no better than a pack of thieves. I reckon I can get myself deputized easier than any of you.”

“He’s right,” Charley Bowdre said. “Macnab is used to trackin’ folks down. I’d stick by him as leader.”

“Me, too,” Frank Coe added.

“Aw, nuts,” Billy said, flinging down his hat.

Noah stood. “I’m going to round up Dick’s cattle and take them to Chisum’s ranch for safekeeping,” he said. “I’ll cast my lot with Macnab.”

“You stickin’ with the Regulators, Buchanan?” Bowdre asked. “Nobody’d think you was yeller if you wanted to leave. With Dick gone—”

“With Dick gone, I’ve got a job to do,” Noah spat. “It’s called revenge.”

Without a glance at Isobel, he stalked off the porch and headed for his horse.

Isobel heard Noah’s boots on the porch of Dick Brewer’s cabin. After the Regulators left, she baked a batch of biscuits and cooked a thick cream gravy. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she knew Noah liked it.

Head down, he entered the front room and hung his lariat on a nail by the door. Without looking at Isobel, he sat on a stool and took off his boots.

“Noah,” she tried, his unfamiliar reticence distressing her. “I…I made your supper.”

He stepped to the table and sat in one of Dick’s rickety chairs. Isobel split the biscuits with a fork and ladled gravy over them.

As he ate, she turned over memories of the first hours they had spent alone together. Here in Dick’s cabin, Noah had taught her to wash dishes, their hands touching in the warm, soapy water.

But Dick’s death had changed Noah into this unspeaking, angry bull of a man. A man who frightened her.

“Will you have more biscuits?” she asked.

He shoved his plate at her.

“How many days will it take to round up the cattle?” she asked as she filled it.

He chewed a bite so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he lifted his head. “You were right all along. When someone you care about gets killed, you don’t stand back and let things take their course. You don’t wait for the law. Not in Lincoln County.”

“Noah, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Dick Brewer got killed—as fine a man as any to walk God’s green earth. Buckshot Roberts deserves to die for killing Dick. Jimmie Dolan, Snake Jackson, Jesse Evans—the whole passel of them—deserve to die. And I aim to bring them to justice.”

“You mean you’ll try to kill all those men yourself?”

“I mean I will kill them.” He pushed his plate back and stood. “I understand you, Isobel Matas. Finally, I understand.”

He went into the bedroom. Isobel sat at the empty table staring at the chipped plates and blinking away tears. Her vision of a little adobe home on the Pecos faded. The kitchen garden would never bear fruit. There would be no laughing children, no laundry flapping, no
biscochitos
baking. Susan and Dick would never visit. The dream was ashes.

Dick Brewer had not owned many cattle. Even so, the drive from his place to Chisum’s South Spring River Ranch exhausted Noah and Isobel. At night, they took turns sleeping and guarding the herd. During the day, they worked to keep the cattle out of the river and move them east.

Caring for Dick’s cattle was the least Noah could do for his friend. After meeting Susan Gates, Dick had told Noah about his desire to raise a ranching family on the vast New Mexico range. He had confided that he hoped every one of his children would have Susan’s red hair and gray eyes.

Choking down the knot in his throat that rose every time he thought of Dick, Noah studied Isobel from a distance. Her riding skirt was dusty from days in the saddle. Her white shirtwaist hung loose. The long gold curls that turned men’s heads were shoved beneath one of Dick’s old hats.

Isobel had buckled on one of Dick’s holsters, and her pistol now hung at her thigh. A leather cartridge belt studded with bullets girdled her hips. Noah would have figured her for a tough trail hand if not for the soft glow in her eyes each time she looked at him. Where was her fire?

As they camped each night, she cast sweet smiles Noah’s way. Her hands gently spread his blanket on the thick grass. She never tried to make him talk as they sat beside the campfire. Instead she cooked, dusted his Stetson and read aloud from his Bible.

Her tenderness was almost enough to weaken him to the point of shedding tears. But when he lay alone in the dark, he saw Dick rising from behind that stack of
logs…a bullet slamming into his forehead…his body jerking backward…crumpling.

No! Dick’s death demanded justice, and Noah was the man to deliver it.

Noah and Isobel drove the cattle onto Chisum’s spread and left the herd with the hired hands. They found Chisum’s square ranch house empty of guests. But Mrs. Towry, the housekeeper, knew all about the shoot-out at Blazer’s Mill.

“Buckshot Roberts died the day after you left,” she said as they sat on the sofa in Chisum’s front room.

“Gut shot,” Noah mumbled.

“Major Godfroy and Dr. Blazer sent to Fort Stanton for a doctor. I don’t know why they wanted to save that rotten bounty hunter. Dr. Appel drove down from the fort, but it was too late. They buried Buckshot Roberts right beside Dick Brewer.”

Noah clenched his teeth to suppress a curse and stared out the window.

Mrs. Towry continued. “Mr. McSween is at Fort Stanton. District court was to start in Lincoln this morning. Everyone thinks Judge Bristol will be staying at the fort for protection. Soldiers will stand guard every day at court. The town should be safe now.”

Isobel glanced at Noah. “I’m going to Lincoln,” she said. “I want to be there for the trials.”

Noah frowned but made no move to dissuade her. “Fine. We’ll go.”

Mrs. Towry took in a breath. “But Mrs. Buchanan has been on the trail for days with those reckless Regulators. Herding cattle like a common cowboy. It’s plain indecent the way you’ve treated your bride. Why don’t you take
her home? The fellow who looks after your place told me a coyote got into your chicken coop. Your milk cow got scared and broke loose. Court will go on for weeks, and if I was you, I’d check on my place.”

“Well, you’re not me, Mrs. Towry,” Noah said, standing and slinging his saddlebag over one shoulder. “I have business in Lincoln.”

“It is one thing,” Isobel said, throwing open the guest-room door, “to mourn your friend. It is quite another to be rude.”

“What did you say?” Noah emerged from behind an ornate bamboo screen, his shirt in his hands and his face dripping wet.

“You were impolite to Mrs. Towry.” Isobel tried to keep her eyes on his face. “She was trying to help.”

“And I was trying to make my point.” He stepped back behind the screen. Amid splashing water, she could hear him muttering. “That house is in the past…crazy idea anyway…writing stories and all that nonsense…”

Isobel marched around the screen. Noah was bent over the washstand, scrubbing his hair with soap. Sputtering, he came up for air. As he blindly reached for the towel, his hand inadvertently touched Isobel’s shoulder.

She sucked down a gasp. Taking the linen towel from its brass hook, she handed it to him. For a good minute he rubbed his hair and face.

Then he lifted his head to stare at Isobel. Bright blue eyes shone in a face so haggard and tormented her heart ached.

“Noah,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

“The best man I ever knew got a bullet between the
eyes. And now he’s buried next to his killer. If you don’t think that turns my stomach—”

“Sit down, Noah Buchanan,” Isobel cut in, pointing a finger at the chair near the window. “Sit. Now.”

“I’m busy.”

“Sit!”

Casting her a black look, he obeyed. She drew a fresh linen towel over his shoulders and around his neck, tying it in back.

“What are you—”

“It’s time for a haircut,” she said. “My husband may act like a barbarian, but he won’t look like one.”

She rummaged through a drawer until she found a pair of scissors. “When I was a girl,” she said, snipping at his sideburns, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? You lived on your fancy hacienda with your rich clothes and your rich parents. What was there to be scared of?”

“Many things.” She smiled as she drew the comb through his hair and cut the ends. “I was afraid of my horse.”

“Your
horse?
”

“Yes, I was terrified of him. One day my father took me aside and brushed away my tears. He said, ‘Isobel,
mija,
you must change your fear into anger. Anger will make you strong. And with that strength, you will control your horse.’”

She snipped the back of Noah’s hair. “From that time, I hid my fear behind the curtain of anger. No one, nothing, could frighten me. I have pursued revenge with that anger—never letting anyone see my fear.”