The Outlaws (18 page)

“When I grow up I’m gonna ride with Billy like you do,” Jules told him.

Ezra tousled his hair. “You’ll have to learn to shoot better, if you want to do that.”

“You can teach me.”

“Sure.”

Yet when Ezra stepped out into the night, he realized he didn’t want Jules ever to ride with Billy. Jules reminded him of Papa in many ways. Jules ought to go east to a university like the one where Papa had always planned to send Ezra.

His brother didn’t belong in a hard-riding, fast-shooting crowd like Billy’s.

I’ll have to give it up myself, Ezra thought with a pang. If I mean to get a job. And I’ll need a job if I intend to court Violet.

There was no one waiting in the deeper darkness under the big old cottonwood. It seems to Ezra he could smell the new leaves. The spring night itself smelled fresh and cool. Would Violet come? Had he mistaken what she’d whispered at the door? He leaned against the thick trunk, his gaze fixed on the lighted window of the Gabaldon casa. Off in the hills a coyote yipped. Another answered, and another, until their chorus started a ranch dog to barking. An early frog croaked a love song from a nearby stream, He remembered the words to one of Browning’s poems:

“Never the time and place

And the loved ones all together!”

She must come to him tonight. He couldn’t bear it if she didn’t. Something moved in the darkness. A stone scuffed under a footfall. Ezra held his breath, hoping, afraid to call her name in case it wasn’t Violet. He could picture Vincente’s anger if her father caught him waiting under the cottonwood. He breathed a faint scent of roses and his heart skipped a beat, then began to thud in his chest. He saw a slim figure approaching.

“Violet,” he whispered. She ducked under the low-hanging limbs and he caught her hand.

She resisted when he tried to pull her closer. “You must behave or I won’t stay,” she said softly. He could see the oval of her face like some night-blooming flower, smell her rose perfume mixed with the intoxicating scent that was her own.

“Violet,” he murmured.

“I came to see you for a reason.” she said.

“Yes, I had to see you, too. Violet, You’re the most--”

“Why I came is because I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything, anything at all.” He reached for her hand, again, marveling at its tininess.

She let her hand rest in his. “I think of you as my friend and that is why I ask you.”

“I am your friend. Always.”

Her face was close to his. All he needed to do was bend his head and their lips would touch. Dizzy with anticipation, Ezra leaned forward.

“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll find a way to take me to see Billy without anyone knowing.”

Ezra held. “Billy?” he muttered.

“Yes, I want to go to him now, tonight. He promised me the last time we met that he’d come for me soon.”

Ezra drew away from her, let go of her hand. “Do you mean when you met him at the cantina?”

“Billy and I have met four times since then. Secretly, of course. He is so brave, so wonderful.” She sighed. “But now he’s locked away and cannot come to me and I want to see him very badly. Oh, Ezra, I’m so glad you are going to help me.”

Chapter
12

Mark crested a hill and shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun to look at the adobe buildings of Lincoln spread out below along the Rio Bonito. His black snorted and tossed his head as though to show contempt for the little town. It didn’t look like St. Louis, that’s for sure, any more than this sparse high country looked like the lush river valleys of Missouri. Mark patted the black’s neck, saying, “You’ll get used to it, Sombrito.”

He was glad to be back. St. Louis had stifled him with its burgeoning greenery, its thousands of people. He was traveling light, the two most important things he’d brought with him being Sombrito, born and raised in Kentucky and bought by the Judge two years ago, and his United States Deputy Marshal’s papers.

The judge was in poor health, though he claimed seeing Mark gave him a new lease on life. “

“Hell, you could have come home any time these past seven years,” the Judge had told him. “That warrant out for you was voided when Hiram York left office. He got caught with his sticky fingers full of bribes before the year was out. Everyone knew Brendon York was an even nastier chip off the same villainous block. No one mourned his passing. I tried to locate you. Where in the name of heaven were you?”

“In the New Mexico Territory,” Mark said. “And I changed my name. Called myself

Halloran.”

The Judge grinned. “At least you stuck to an Irish moniker.”

“I should have stayed here and faced up to what I’d done.”

“You’d be seven years in your grave if you had, and you know it. Hiram was riding high when it happened. The warrant was for show—his boys were out to shoot you, not arrest you.”

Mark sighed. “I never killed a man since. I won’t, unless it’s to save my own life, but I can’t say I’m sorry Brendon York is dead.”

He told the Judge about the mess in Lincoln County and about Tessa Nesbitt.

“If you’re going back, and it sounds as though you are, you ought to carry some authority to get the place cleaned up,” the Judge advised.

Mark nodded. “I’m going back. You ought to see that country. Rolling grasslands, mesas, mountains, canyons—it’s got everything. Even the sky is different. Bigger. More stars. It gets into a man’s blood.”

“Sounds to me like something besides the country got into your blood,” the Judge said. “Well, I’ll tell you, you straighten things out and then I’ll come for a visit and see for myself. It shouldn’t be hard to get you appointed as a Deputy United States Marshal. Later on, maybe you’ll feel like settling down and practicing a little law.”

Trust the Judge to try to arrange his life, just as he’d always done. But this time Mark didn’t fight him. Coming into Lincoln County as a lawman made a lot of sense. As for ever going back to being a lawyer, time would tell.

So now he was Mark Dempsey once again; he had his name back, free and clear. He’d never suspected it would be so easy. In fact, he’d been afraid he faced a hangman’s noose, once he returned to St. Louis.

What had Tessa thought about him leaving her without any more than a second-hand good-bye?

Somewhere down there she was waiting. But was it for him? Had that bastard Rutledge

taken his place? Mark kneed the black ahead, anxious to get into town as soon as possible.

When he angled back onto the road, he saw a dust cloud that resolved into a rider galloping toward him, Winchester in hand, and Mark checked the impulse to reach for his own gun. There was something familiar about the way the man sat the horse, and besides, the rider was fleeing town, not coming after him. He pulled to the side of the road, so there’d be no question he meant to let the man pass unmolested.

Mark recognized the rider as the man hailed him.

“Halloran!”

Billy the Kid.

Billy slowed his
horse. Mark halted and waited for Billy to stop beside him.

“Good to see you again, Billy,” he said.

“Where you been?” Billy asked. I heard you went to St. Louis.” “You heard right. I’m just back.”

Billy grinned. “Well, I’m just on my way out.”

“Things quieted down any?”

Billy shrugged. “You could say so. At least the new sheriff and the new governor ain’t as bad as the old ones. I’d sure like to jaw with you, but I’m in sort of a hurry and would take it kindly if you didn’t mention meeting up with me.”

Mark nodded. “Good luck,” he called as Billy spurred his horse.

The rest of the way into Lincoln, Mark wondered if he’d meet men riding after Billy, but no one came along until he was on the outskirts. Again he recognized the rider.

“Ezra!” he called.

Ezra pulled up his pinto. “Mark! I never expected to see you again.”

“I rode down from Santa Fe. Your sister--is she still in town?”

“Tessa is living with Maria Zamora, She and Jules. Look, I’m in a hurry right now. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“When will that be?”

Ezra hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’ll see you.” He dug his heels into the pinto and galloped away.

So Ezra was still following Billy.

Mark stopped off at the sheriff’s office. Tom Longworth, wearing a deputy’s badge, was the only one there. He looked at Mark’s papers and shook hands. Mark had always liked Longworth.

“Gonna need all the lawmen we can get,” Longworth said, “Billy’s on the loose again.

“On the loose?”

“Yeah, he’s been under house arrest up to Patron’s place and I guess he got tired of it, Patron sent a boy a few minutes ago to report Billy was gone. Hell, Juan probably saddled his horse for him.”

“You going after him?”

“Naw, we got better things to do. You know yourself ain’t no one gonna catch up to Billy if he don’t want ‘em to. Besides, he was supposed to get a pardon, courtesy of the governor. It may come through yet.”

“Then why are you worried about him being on the loose?”

“He’s bound to run off a few horses here, a few steers there, and get people to complaining. Been some grudge killings in the south county, but things have been quiet up this way. Except for the Indians. Some chief named Victorio has got the Mescaleros on the warpath again. Like I said, glad you’re here, we need you.”

Longworth told him of a place where he could get room and board. Mark brought his gear to the house, had something to eat, then set off for Zamora’s.

“ Tessa, she go off with Senor Rutledge,” Maria told him. “I think to Senora McSween’s casa.”

Susie was back in town? Mark was surprised. He’d have thought she’d want no part of Lincoln after last summer’s horror. He asked Maria where Susie was living, started in that direction, then decided not to go there after all.

He was tired. Sombrio was tired, too; he’d pushed to get to Lincoln. And he sure as hell didn’t want to meet that bastard Rutledge. Didn’t want to see Tessa with him.

There was always tomorrow.

Mark hesitated as he passed Zamora’s on the way back to his room. Blue shadows darkened the tiny yard as dusk settled in. He could wait here for Tessa. The door opened and Maria came out, her arm around a smaller woman. He could hear the woman sobbing. Before he could urge the black on, Maria caught sight of him.

“Senor! Por favor!”

He swung off the horse and walked toward her.

“What am I to do?” Maria asked. “This child, she is loco. She says she will run off.” Mark took a good look at the girl, not a child at all, but a very pretty young woman.

“What’s wrong, senorita?” he asked.

“Oh,” she sobbed, “oh, I don’t know what to do. Billy is gone, and Ezra, too--they left without a word. Left me. Billy left me.” She glanced wildly around. “I’ll ride after him. I’ll find him!”

Maria grasped her arm and pulled her toward Mark. “Senor, por favor, take Violet to her padre. He is Vincente Gabaldon.”

“Do you want to go home?” Mark asked Violet.

“I want to go to Billy.” She covered her face with her hands and sank to the ground weeping.

“Stop that!” Mark gripped Violet’s elbow and jerked her to her feet.

She gasped and stared at him.

“You’re behaving like a baby,” he said sharply. “You’re upsetting Senora Zamora.’’ “But he’s gone.” Her lower lip quivered.

“If you mean Billy, he’ll be back; he always comes back to Lincoln. Now stop crying and I’ll take you home.”

Violet remained subdued as Mark guided the black toward the Gabaldon ranch. He wondered how a girl like this had ever gotten mixed up with Billy, whose taste usually ran to an entirely different type of woman. What was Violet’s father thinking of to let her even meet Billy?

A half-mile farther, three riders pounded from the cover of trees just off the road and spread out to block his way.

“Alto!” one of them ordered. “Halt!” “Who are you?” Mark demanded.

“I am Vincente Gabaldon.”

Mark reined in the black. “Good. You can take your daughter.”

“What are you doing with her?” Vincente demanded. His two scowling associates kept their hands near their Colts.

“Maria Zamora asked me to bring the girl home.”

“That is your story.”

“Damn it,” Mark said, “I don’t even know your daughter. From the sound of things, you’d do well to keep an eye on her—she was trying to run off to join Billy the Kid.”

‘This I cannot believe. You lie!”

“Papa,” Violet said, “this man has nothing to do with--”

“Silencio!” Vincente thundered. “Hija de la puta! You are no daughter of mine.” Violet flinched back against Mark. She began to cry.

“I think I recognize you, senor” Vincente said. “You are one of those who work for Senor