Dark Trail (16 page)

Sarah turned, looking for Frank.

She saw him over by one of the tables, where a Negro in a white jacket was pouring whiskey for men and punch for women.

Frank took a shot and quickly knocked it back.

Adair led Beth and Ben over to the same table. Beth took a little punch. Ben declined anything.

Adair then stood with the three people as if they were all posing for a picture. As the four of them faced the crowd, Adair said, “You'd better get over to the main corral if you want seats.” He looked at the two men and smiled. “I expect these boys want to get on with things, right, boys?”

Ben managed a smile; Frank merely dropped his gaze.

Sarah knew she wouldn't have much time now. She felt in the folds of her dress for the reassuring touch of the gun. There. Yes. She wondered how she'd get the chance to draw Ben aside alone before the gunfight.

Moving away from the oak tree now, she watched as the crowd began to push for the corral and the grandstand seats.

Kerosene torches were lit and servants carried them down to the corral. The yellow flames whipped in the wind, and you could smell the kerosene burning. In their light, even attractive people looked somewhat grotesque, like beings that were not quite human. Larger torches encircled the corral. Even at dusk, the lighting here was good.

The crowd pushed up into the seats. There was a lot of drunken laughter, and meanness in the laughter. They had come, after all, to see someone shot to death.

Hollister went over and joined Adair in talking to Ben and Frank. Once again, Ben seemed attentive and interested; Frank didn't seem to be listening.

And then Sarah saw her opportunity. Ben broke from the crowd and started for the house. He likely needed to use the toilet facilities.

She noted that he went in the west wing of the house, the side hidden from the grounds being used this evening. She hurried around the back of the house; she wanted to be in position when Ben came out.

She found a gazebo that faced the west door of the place and stood flat against one side of it, so that Ben wouldn't notice her when he came out.

She took the pistol from the folds of her dress, gripping it tightly in her hand, her fìnger touching the trigger.

She had to make Ben listen to reason. Had to.

Frank decided to follow Adair and Hollister over to the corral. He was surprised when the scent of jasmine perfume floated on the shadows and drew close to him.

“Hello,” she said, and he was surprised by how shy she sounded. He'd always been surprised by this part of her—the part that blushed at a dirty word, or was so insistent on disrobing and making love only in the dark, or that, as now, could be shy as a young girl.

“Hello.”

Adair and Hollister were many paces ahead now, letting themselves be caught up by backslapping drunks.

“You mind if I say something?” she said.

“I guess not.”

“I'm sorry how things turned out.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

“You never did understand me, Frank.”

“Well, it's for damn sure you never understood me, either.” And in that you could hear all his rage and pain. He sounded young and naive.

She grabbed his sleeve with surprising ferocity. “You stop here a minute.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want you to come to your senses.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning get on a horse and get out of here as fast as you can.”

“Sure, Beth. And what about the ten thousand dollars you and Ben are counting on.”

“I don't care about that anymore, Frank. I just don't want to see you die.”

He slid his arm around her waist, trying to kiss her; that proved to be a mistake. “What the hell's wrong with you?”

“I don't want you, Frank, but I don't want to see you dead. It's time you changed your life and it's time I changed mine. You need to be more like Ben and I need to be more like Sarah.”

“Now isn't that a sweet little speech,” Frank said.

“I mean it, Frank. We both need to start acting like adults.”

Then Hollister was there, one with the shadows at first, but his smile white and smirky the closer he got.

He could see they were arguing. As usual, he seemed amused by the grief of others. He was one of those people who fed on such griefs.

“Anything I can do to help?” he said.

And then Frank swung around and caught Hollister with a good, clean uppercut. He knocked the man backward, right to the edge of his heels, but before Hollister could fall on his back, Frank grabbed him again so he could hit him a few more times.

Beth screamed for him to stop, but Frank was too crazed now, the way he usually got once he hit somebody. He went over to Hollister and kicked him hard a few times in the ribs and then he pulled his boot back, ready to kick Hollister in the head.

But Beth grabbed him and knocked him off balance and wouldn't let go of him.

“Find a horse, Frank, and ride out of here fast. Please. For your sake and Sarah's. Can't you understand that?”

But fear was gone from him now, replaced with the kind of rage he could sustain for a long period. He thought of his life and how miserable it had become, and then he realized that this gunfight was an opportunity to be savored, not feared. If he lived, he'd have ten thousand dollars and could start his life over. If he lost, nothing would matter anyway.

He grabbed at her arms now and pushed her away from him.

“Leave me alone,” he said.

He walked down to the corral where the torches flickered and the hard laughter of the waiting crowd could be heard.

“How much further?” Guild said.

“Up around this bend,” the sheriff said.

The moon had come up full now, brilliant silver and so clear you could see the configurations on its face. The night smelled of autumn, sparkling. Guild wished there were time to appreciate it. He spurred his horse.

“I sure hope we get there in time,” Guild said.

When he came out of the house, Ben Rittenauer knew he needed some coffee. He needed the troubled edge it always gave him.

Shadows were deep around the house. He was surprised by how quickly it had become night. From down at the corral he could hear the sounds of the waiting crowd. Gunfights usually happened spontaneously and were the result of anger. Tonight was different. Tonight was more like a stage show. He felt nervous about it now, a little uncertain.

As he started down the sloping hill to the corral, a voice called out from behind him, “Ben.”

At first he wasn't sure who had spoken. He turned to see a figure separate itself from the shadows beneath the big oak tree near a small gazebo.

The woman Sarah stepped into the moonlight. “Evening, Ben.”

He knew immediately something was wrong here. He said, “Evening.”

And then he saw the silver Colt she brought up from the folds of her dress and pointed straight at him. “I asked you not to come here tonight. You're going to kill Frank.”

“Maybe he'll kill me.” He knew enough to stay calm, not rile her any more than she was already riled.

“You know better than that.”

She came closer to him, out from beneath the tree entirely now. He hoped for a moment that she'd be close enough for him to grab, but she instinctively kept her distance.

“I'm sorry I have to do this,” she said.

“You're not feeling well, Sarah. We've all been under a lot of strain.”

“It's not right that she should have both of you.”

“She's not a bad woman, Sarah. Just confused sometimes. The way we're all confused sometimes.”

“He loves her. He can't get her out of his mind.”

“I know.”

“I wish he loved me that way.”

“I wish he did, too, Sarah, for everybody's sake.”

She was going to kill him.

He'd thought her harmless, but now suddenly he knew differently.

She was going to kill him.

They stood in the soft shadows, moonlight touching the dewy grass with silver, the scent of hay and horses strong from the nearby bam, and looked at each other.

“Why don't we see if we can go find Frank,” he said.

“You're trying to trick me.”

Every time she spoke, she sounded worse, crazier.

“I'm trying to help you, Sarah.”

“You'll have somebody take my gun away, and then you'll go kill Frank and get the ten thousand dollars, and I'll be left with nothing.”

She was starting to cry. “It's not fair.”

She raised the Colt higher. Directly pointing at his heart now.

“Not fair,” she said again.

Just before he threw himself to the right, he saw the Colt erupt in yellow-red fire. She cried out, but he couldn't tell what the words were and anyway he wasn't listening very well. He knew she would kill him if she got lucky with her shots, so his own gun was suddenly in his hand and he began firing, too.

He meant only to shoot her in her gun arm, to disarm her more than anything, but she stepped forward, sliding on the dewy grass, slipping away from his aim, and putting her chest where her arm had been.

In the terrible moonlight, he saw how blood bloomed on the front of her dress, and how she fell so fragile, arms waving in a horrible dance as she tumbled down, her Colt spinning from her fingers and arcing high through the air before landing on the footpath to her left.

The crowd at the corral were already shouting and running back in their direction.

Sarah was on her back on the ground, crying softly. There was no anger or fear in her now, just a gentle melancholy.

He went over and knelt next to her and said, “I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't mean to—”

She reached up and took his hand. He held it tight for her. He did not need to hold it long.

“Sarah,” he said. “Sarah.”

He looked at her shuddering there on the grass, her dress soaked now, the scent of hot blood steely in his nostrils.

“Goddammit, Sarah,” he said. “Goddammit. You shouldn't have tried it. He wasn't worth it and neither was I.”

Behind him, a male voice said, “She's dead, friend. She's dead.”

And it was only then that Rittenauer put her hand down.

“Goddammit,” he said again, though to whom and exactly about what he had no idea.

Five minutes later, Guild dismounted, ground-tying his animal and walked quickly to where the crowd had gathered on the side of the house. Torchlight lent the staring faces a certain forlorn quality. Here and there you could hear a woman crying.

Sheriff Carter put a big hand on Guild's shoulder. “You just stay calm, Guild, and let me handle this.”

But Guild paid no attention. Inside the crowd now, he saw Frank, Beth, and Ben. He no longer had to wonder what had happened.

When he reached the front of the crowd—how pretty they smelled on the cool night air—he found her.

A small bald man in a dusty black suit bent over her. Obviously he was a doctor and obviously he was searching for vital signs, and just as obviously he was finding none.

Adair and Hollister stood on the other side of Sarah's body. The doctor looked up at them and shook his head. He closed his bag and stood up.

Guild paid the doctor no attention. He just kept staring down at Sarah. The contrast between her sweet, peaceful face and the blood spreading across her chest and stomach startling him.

Ben Rittenauer stepped up. “I'm sorry, Guild.”

Guild continued to stare at her, but he spoke to Rittenauer, “You did it?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn't you have goddamn shot her in the hand or something.”

“I tried, Guild. I honestly did. She had a gun on me and she moved and—”

Guild shook his head. He wished he were alone with Sarah. Finally he glanced up at Rittenauer and knew the truth. There was genuine grief in the man's face. He hadn't wanted to kill Sarah.

Two chunky Mexican men came with a stretcher and a gray woolen blanket. They forced the crowd to stand back and laid the stretcher on the dark grass and they picked Sarah up by the shoulders and the feet and then set her on the stretcher.

As Guild watched them, Frank came up.

“I'm sorry, Leo.”

“I'll bet you are.”

“Whatever you might think, I cared about her.”

Guild turned and faced him. “You ever think that maybe this is your goddamn fault?”

Frank Evans sighed. “Leo, I didn't ask her to come out here.”

“She was trying to protect you, you stupid bastard.”