A Coffin for Santa Rosa (14 page)

The next morning Gabriel awoke to find Raven cuddled against him on the floor. She was sound asleep. Her lovely pursed lips fluttered each time she breathed out. Touched by the realization that she’d gotten out of bed and joined him during the night, he leaned over and gently kissed her on the forehead.

She stirred in her sleep, one hand absently rubbing her brow as if brushing away a fly, but didn’t awaken.

Gabriel smiled. My God, how much she meant to him!

He studied her for a long time, like a man trying to memorize something he might never see again; then he rose, dressed, stepped into his boots, grabbed his hat and gunbelt and quietly left the room.

Outside, dawn was breaking. The rising sun was the color of fresh-baked bread. As it crested the distant mountains its brightness outlined the craggy peaks and turned the dove-gray sky a pale, luminous gold.

But night wasn’t giving up easily. Darkness clung to the town like a forbidding shroud. Usually the air was cool, crisp and dry; this morning a damp misty dew glistened on the rooftops, boardwalks and hitch-rails; while the ever-present wind off the
desert not only spun the vanes of the windmills but gave the air a chilling bite.

Gabriel shivered. Pulling up the collar of his denim jacket he walked to the middle of the street. There he paused and looked about him. Was there anything he could do to give himself an edge against Latigo? Silver Avenue ran north and south, so he knew the sun wouldn’t be a problem no matter which way he faced. Nor was he superstitious, having killed his enemies while facing all points of the compass. But remembering Raven’s warning that dirt might blow in his eyes, he told himself to be sure to face south so that his back was to the wind.

One thing he knew he didn’t have to worry about was a sniper hiding on the rooftops; perhaps on another day Latigo might have hedged his bet and hidden a rifleman up there, but not today. Today his reputation was at stake and such was the handsome little gunfighter’s ego that Gabriel knew it was all-important to him not to sully it, to kill his rival fair and square.

Los Gatos
was not open for business at this early hour. But the front door was ajar and Gabriel pushed inside and saw someone working in the kitchen. It was the same lumpy middle-aged woman whom he’d previously spoken to regarding the man playing solitaire. Gabriel entered, bid her good morning in Spanish and asked if he could buy a cup of coffee.

The woman stopped kneading her tortilla dough, took a black iron pot from atop the stove and filled a mug with hot coffee. It was the color of tar and almost the same consistency. But to Gabriel it was nectar and he gave her a silver dollar. Grateful, she insisted on making him breakfast. He sat at a rickety little table opposite the stove and attacked a pile of eggs, beans, rice and tortillas. Normally, he would have easily wolfed everything down. But today, halfway through the meal he pushed the plate away. The woman anxiously asked him what was wrong. Not wanting to admit it was nerves he grimaced,
rubbed his stomach and blamed his loss of appetite on too much tequila.

Outside, as he crossed over to the hotel, he tried to figure out why he was so nervous. He knew he wasn’t afraid of dying. He’d already faced death on numerous occasions and never once been nervous. So why now?

Just then he happened to look up and saw Raven watching him from the window of their hotel room. She waved
half-heartedly
to him then turned away so he wouldn’t see she was crying.

His heart went out to her. And suddenly, clearly, he knew why he was nervous. He was afraid he might lose her.

By mid-morning the planked sidewalks lining both sides of Silver Avenue were jammed with people. The whole town knew about the impending gunfight and everyone wanted to tell their grandchildren they had witnessed it.

The boardwalks fronting
Los Gatos
and the Commercial Hotel were especially crowded. And those not standing outside were gathered in the windows of the stores and saloons, their faces pressed against the glass as they anxiously waited for noon to arrive.

Meanwhile, Sheriff Cobb, determined to prevent the
ever-swelling
crowd from getting out of hand, had sworn in six temporary deputies and instructed them to patrol Silver Avenue from Pine to Elm. Their orders were to disarm anyone carrying
a gun or being disorderly, and to arrest all drunks. This severe action was to pacify the Mayor and the City Council who, the night before, had angrily questioned his motives for allowing a gunfight to take place in their peaceful community. Don’t forget, he also reminded them, this gunplay would not only eliminate one or both of the last two dangerous gunmen in the territory but would eventually become part of the Deming folklore – like Billy the Kid’s jailbreak in nearby Alamogordo – something every town needed if they wanted to lure rich Eastern tourists to the area.

About eleven-thirty, the local photographer, a gangly congenial young man from Kansas named Pete Weyborne, set up his camera and tripod in the street directly in front of the hotel. Though all the locals referred to his camera as a ‘
shutter-box
,’ it was actually a recent innovation from Kodak known as the ‘B’ Daylight model. It consisted of a simple black box, with a lens and string-shutter assembly that allowed the photographer to load and unload roll-film outside the darkroom – in daylight as the name suggested.

Pete was a perfectionist and to make sure he did not ruin this golden opportunity, as Sheriff Cobb had called it, he gave two boys a nickel each to act as stand-ins for the gunmen, and then for the next thirty minutes drove them crazy by moving his camera around, ‘framing’ them from different angles until he finally found the one that satisfied him.

Shortly before noon Raven sat watching the now-huge crowd from her hotel window. She had long ago cried herself out, and seemed to have accepted both the gunfight and Gabriel’s possible death as inevitable. But the crowd and their ghoulish excitement at seeing two men shooting one another angered and disgusted her.

Turning to Gabriel, who sat smoking on the bed, she said: ‘I hate them. They’re like a bunch of buzzards. Laughing and
joshin’ around. Why, you’d think they were waitin’ for a parade to go by, not to watch two people trying to kill each other.’

Gabriel didn’t answer. Exhaling a smoke ring he watched it slowly drift upward and dissipate as it reached the ceiling. In his mind he saw himself with his father as they rode through a mountain pass in Colorado. Ahead, a crowd of people from a nearby town were gathered on a hillside overlooking a dangerous curve in the railroad tracks. Curious, his father had asked one man what was going on. Everyone was waiting for the gold camp special to go by, the man replied, adding that because of the long, steep grade sometimes the brakes gave out and the train jumped the tracks.

Horrified, the Reverend Moonlight began to berate the crowd. At first they ignored his ranting. But after a little they got angry and turned on him and young Gabriel had to drag his father away before the crowd beat him.

It was a lesson the teenager never forgot.

Five minutes before noon Gabriel buckled on his gunbelt, made sure his Colt was fully loaded then put on his hat and joined Raven at the window.

‘I’ll see you shortly,’ he told her.

She nodded, but wouldn’t look at him.

‘Don’t forget we got a train to catch in a couple of hours.’

Again she nodded; again she wouldn’t look at him.

Gabriel had a million things to tell her but he couldn’t make himself say them. Giving her a hug and a kiss on the top of her head, he left.

Raven felt her eyes burn but no tears came. Rising, she pulled the curtains shut and threw herself face down on the bed.

A deputy with a shotgun was waiting for Gabriel when he emerged from the hotel. He ordered the crowd on the boardwalk to step back so Gabriel could pass and then escorted the gunman into the hot, sun-scorched street.

Sheriff Cobb, timepiece in hand, stood alone in the middle of Silver Avenue. He nodded at Gabriel and signaled to Weyborne to get ready to photograph the shootout.

Standing with his back to the south, Gabriel felt the wind whipping against his legs. He looked around for Latigo. The fastidious little gunman was nowhere in sight.

‘Where is he?’ he asked the Sheriff.

‘Still in the cantina. But he knows he’s got to come out ’fore noon.’

Gabriel smiled to himself. Latigo had made his first mistake. If he was trying to rattle Gabriel, then he must feel he needed an edge, which meant he was not as sure of himself as he pretended. That was a good sign and Gabriel felt a wave of confidence spread through him.

He looked up at his hotel window. It was open but the curtains were drawn. He was thankful. He knew that Latigo’s first bullet would hit him somewhere, but hopefully not fatally, and didn’t want Raven to see him get shot.

‘Twenty seconds,’ Sheriff Cobb called out.

The batwing doors of
Los Gatos
swung open and Latigo stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. Second mistake, Gabriel thought. It was dark in the cantina and Latigo would need time
for his eyes to get fully adjusted to the glare.

But if the El Paso gunman was worried about anything, he surely didn’t show it. Tipping his hat to the excited crowd, he swaggered into the middle of the street.

Sheriff Cobb signaled for the crowd to be silent and then turned to Pete Weyborne. The young photographer nodded to show he was all set.

The sheriff looked at the two gunmen, ‘Whenever you’re ready, make your play, gents,’ and stepped back out of the line of fire.

Gabriel and Latigo stared at each other. They were less than twenty paces apart and knew they wouldn’t miss at that range. Both were poised to draw; both seemed reluctant to draw first.

Gabriel knew that Latigo, like most gunmen who wore two guns, would only draw one of them. He also remembered Latigo always rolled his smokes with his left hand, suggesting the little gunfighter was left-handed. So he concentrated on Latigo’s left forearm, knowing it had to move before his hand did.

Another second dragged by. Then Gabriel saw something in Latigo’s narrowed, amber eyes that told him the little gunfighter was about to slap leather.

Gabriel tensed, ready to grab his Colt – and at that instant a gust of wind blew. Dust swirled around his boots. Gabriel saw Latigo blink and knew dust had blown into his eyes. It was the edge he needed. His gun leapt into his hand, thumb cocking back the hammer. But in the split-second before Gabriel pulled the trigger he saw something glinting in the sunlight above Latigo’s left shoulder. He knew, even before he actually looked, that it was a rifle poking out between the curtains in his hotel room window. It was aimed at Latigo and Gabriel knew it must be Raven, even though he couldn’t see her.

‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t!’

Latigo whirled, saw the rifle, jerked his gun and fired at the window – all in one fluid, blurring motion, everything
happening so fast it was over before anyone realized what happened.

There was a sharp cry in the room. The rifle, Gabriel’s Winchester, fell from the window and landed on the crowded boardwalk.

By then Gabriel was already running, elbowing his way through the startled onlookers and racing into the hotel.

Without slowing, he ran to the stairs, vaulted up them two at a time and raced along the landing to his room. Ramming the door open with his shoulder he burst inside and saw Raven lying limp and crumpled on her side below the window.

His heart froze. Dreading the truth, he kneeled beside her and gently rolled her over. She didn’t move. He cradled her in his arms. Blood streamed from the bullet wound creasing her temple and her big black eyes stared blankly at him.

Horrified, he pressed his ear against her chest and listened for a heart beat.

Nothing!

With a cry of anguish, he scooped up her limp body and ran from the room.

As he pounded down the stairs he saw Latigo and the sheriff entering the lobby. Behind them came a large, barrel-bellied man in a suit carrying a black bag. Following him were several deputies, shotguns held protectively in front of them as they tried to keep the crowd back.

‘Set her down there,’ Dr Carstairs said, indicating the sofa. Gabriel obeyed. The doctor pushed him aside, got out his stethoscope and pressed it against Raven’s heart.

Dear God, Gabriel prayed, don’t let her be dead.

A hand gripped his shoulder. He turned, saw Latigo looking at him. For the first time Gabriel saw sadness in the little gunfighter’s amber eyes.

‘I … I didn’t know,’ he said. ‘I swear—’

‘Will you people shut up!’ Dr Carstairs said. The lobby went
quiet. Dr Carstairs unbuttoned Raven’s shirt and again pressed the stethoscope over her heart.

Gabriel held his breath. His world seemed to stop.

‘She’s alive,’ Dr Carstairs said finally. He examined her wound and looked relieved. ‘Lucky for her the bullet just grazed her skull. Any deeper and I’d be calling the undertaker.’

Gabriel could breathe again. ‘Will she be all right, Doc?’

‘Sure. Once she comes around she’ll have a headache for a while, but otherwise she’ll be fine.’ He added, ‘Somebody fetch me some hot water and a clean towel.’

‘I’ll do it,’ the desk clerk said. He smiled sympathetically at Gabriel and hurried off.

Less than two hours later Gabriel and Sheriff Cobb stood outside the Union Depot, sun hot on their backs, waiting for the train to California. Behind them a subdued Raven, head bandaged, sat quietly on a shady bench next to their carpetbags.

The sheriff gave her an anxious look. ‘If you want to stay another night,’ he told Gabriel, ‘that’s OK with me.’

‘Thanks. But there’s no point,’ Gabriel said. ‘Doc says she’ll be fine. Said in a way the long train ride’ll be good for her. Stop her from jumpin’ around too much.’

The two men stood there sweating in silence.

‘Funny how things work out,’ Sheriff Cobb said.

Gabriel nodded. ‘Sorry I ruined your memoirs.’

The sheriff grinned and ran his fingers through his cropped, iron-gray hair. ‘You didn’t. By the time I get around to puttin’ what happened today on paper, it’ll read like the stuff legends
are made of.’

There was a distant train whistle. People around them began saying goodbye to their friends.

Sheriff Cobb offered Gabriel his hand. ‘Good luck, son. Take care of that little gal.’

‘With my life,’ said Gabriel.

‘Don’t forget to buy a copy of my book when it’s published.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Sheriff Cobb pulled a folded note from his pocket and handed it to Gabriel. ‘Latigo gave me this before he left town.’

Tipping his hat to Raven, who smiled, he walked to his roan, stepped into the saddle and rode off into town.

‘What’s it say?’ Raven said, as she joined Gabriel.

He read the note. Chuckled.

‘Well?’ Raven demanded.

‘Just men talk,’ Gabriel said. ‘Inappropriate for a lady.’ Crumpling the note, he tossed it away. The wind caught it and sent it rolling along the railroad tracks like a miniature white tumbleweed.

The train whistle blew again, closer this time.

‘Look,’ pointed Raven. ‘There she comes.’

Gabriel looked out across the flat, sun-baked land and saw smoke curling up on the horizon. As he did he felt Raven’s fingers intertwine with his and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

Life, he realized, for once hadn’t jumped up and bitten him.