A Coffin for Santa Rosa Read online

  Latigo grinned at Gabriel. ‘Has a way with words, our sheriff, don’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gabriel said grimly. ‘Way he paints it, us shootin’ one another is pure downright noble.’

  ‘Inevitable, not noble,’ Sheriff Cobb said. ‘Let’s face it. Neither of you will grow old. Or die in bed. Only a matter of time ’fore some punk hoping to be another Charley Ford shoots you in the back. You know that well as I do. Only choice you got is how and where it happens.’

  There was a long pause. No one in the cantina moved.

  ‘Well?’ Sheriff Cobb said finally. ‘What’s it going to be, gents?’

  Latigo Rawlins cocked a questioning eyebrow at Gabriel, who shrugged.

  ‘Noon’s fine,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Gabe, no!’

  Everyone turned as Raven, in her yellow gingham church-dress and matching hat and shoes, pushed through the batwing doors and ran up to Gabriel.

  ‘You can’t! You promised Momma you’d take care of me.’

  ‘An’ I aim to,’ Gabriel said.

  ‘How? By shootin’ it out with him? Maybe getting killed?’

  Gabriel turned to the sheriff. ‘Get her out of here, Cobb. Have one of your deputies take her back to the hotel.’

  ‘Anybody touches me,’ Raven warned, ‘they’re gonna get bit!’

  Sheriff Cobb said, ‘Now, now, girl, there’ll be none of that. You just walk yourself out of here like Mr Moonlight says.’

  ‘I’m not moving,’ she said stubbornly. Then to Gabriel, ‘Being a man means being responsible. Ain’t that what you told me?’

  ‘Don’t matter what he told you,’ Latigo said before Gabriel could answer. ‘I’m calling him out and unless he’s a yeller dog, he’ll face me.’

  Everyone held their breath.

  All the air seemed to be sucked out of the cantina.

  Gabriel smiled, wolfishly. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said to Latigo. ‘On Silver … in front of the hotel.’ Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Raven by the arm and marched her outside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  As they crossed the busy dirt street to their hotel, avoiding buckboards, riders and freight-wagons, Raven begged Gabriel to change his mind.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said grimly. ‘Not even if I wanted to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You heard him.’

  ‘So he called you yellow. So what? Words … that’s all they are.’

  ‘Some words you can’t walk away from.’

  ‘Sure you can. You know you ain’t yellow. I know you ain’t yellow. So does everyone else – includin’ Mr Rawlins. That’s all that matters.’ When he didn’t reply, she added: ‘Remember what Momma told you?’

  ‘’Bout what?’

  ‘Posturing. How men had this silly gunfighter code they thought they had to follow, even if it meant dyin’ for it. Remember that?’

  He did but he didn’t want to talk about it, so instead he said, ‘How long were you listenin’ outside?’

  ‘Long enough to hear Sheriff Cobb say your ways are over. That men like you’n Mr Rawlins are standing in the way of progress and how sooner or later some dirty coward like Charley Ford would shoot you in the back.’

  Gabriel didn’t say anything. They had reached the opposite planked sidewalk now and, without breaking stride, he led her into the hotel and up to their room.

  There, he stood silently looking out the window at the street below. Frustrated, Raven joined him.

  ‘What’re you doin’, looking for a place to die?’

  Angered by her sarcasm, he whirled and raised his hand as if to strike her. But as he looked into her upturned face, her large, expressive, dark eyes moist with tears, all his anger faded and he gently wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to him.

  ‘Oh, G-Gabe,’ she wept, ‘I’m so scared. If something was to happen to you I … I don’t know what I’d do. I really don’t.’

  ‘Nothing’s goin’ to happen to me,’ he assured her.

  ‘But he’s so fast … you said so yourself.’

  ‘I’m fast too.’

  ‘I know, but … what if he’s faster?’

  ‘That’s somethin’ I’m not worried about. You shouldn’t be either. Tomorrow we got a train to catch to California. And after that, schoolin’ and then … you got a hotel to buy an’ me a rockin’ chair, so I can sit an’ spit all day … remember?’

  Raven nodded and smiled through her tears. ‘And a spittoon,’ she said. ‘So you don’t mess up my front porch.’ Suddenly she was sobbing.

  Gabriel held her tightly, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her. But even as he spoke he felt the same icy hand gripping his jugular and deep inside himself he knew doubt for the first time.

  What if Raven was right? What if he wasn’t as fast as Latigo? But he was. Yes, but what if he wasn’t? What if he really wasn’t? What then?

  Christ, there’s a hell of a thought. What then?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Though it was two hours past midnight, Latigo Rawlins was still sitting with his boots propped up on the window ledge, drinking rye from a bottle he’d bought at the cantina, so the knock on his hotel room door didn’t wake him.

  But it did rattle him some. Grabbing one of his ivory-handled Colts, he went to the door and quietly asked who it was.

  ‘It’s me – Raven.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Raven Bjorkman. Open up, Mr Rawlins. I want to talk to you.’

  Surprised, and wondering if it was some kind of trick, the diminutive handsome gunfighter stood to one side of the door then opened it slightly.

  Sure enough, Raven stood alone in the hall. In a plaid shirt hanging outside her Levi’s, knee-high buckskin moccasins and with her short black hair blown wild by a night wind, she looked like an orphan Apache.

  Yet there was something very appealing about her and Latigo decided not to turn her away. ‘Little late for house calls, ain’t it?’

  ‘I had to wait till Gabe was asleep.’ When Latigo continued to look suspiciously at her, she said: ‘Surely a famous shootist like you isn’t afraid of one little girl?’

  He grinned, amused by her sass, and let her in. ‘If Gabe sent you to beg for his life, missy, you’re flat wastin’ your time.’

  ‘Why would he do that? Darn fool, he can’t wait for tomorrow to come so he can gun you down in front of everybody.’

  It wasn’t the answer he expected. ‘You sayin’ Gabe doesn’t know you’re here?’

  ‘’Course not. He’d whip silly me if he did. That’s why I couldn’t come earlier.’

  ‘If you’re not here to beg, then what—?’ Latigo broke off as it suddenly hit him why Raven had come. ‘Why you little vixen. You know Gabe can’t win tomorrow so you came here to flirt with me … to get me to take you in. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  He went to touch her, only to jerk his hand back as she whipped out Gabriel’s bone-handled skinning knife from under her shirt and flashed it at him.

  ‘Try that again,’ she warned, ‘an’ I’ll gut you neck to gizzard.’

  More surprised than alarmed, Latigo laughed and withdrew his hand.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Bjorkman. Obviously I misinterpreted your intentions.’ Still amused, he holstered his six-gun, returned to his chair and took a swig of whiskey. ‘Now whyn’t you tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘To make you an offer – a thousand dollars if you’ll ride out tonight.’

  Latigo smirked. ‘Buyin’ me off, that it?’

  ‘Call it what you like, Mr Rawlins. It’s the same amount as the reward, only this way you don’t have to fret about gettin’ killed.’

  ‘No chance of that happenin’. If there was you wouldn’t be here, now would you?’

  ‘I’m here,’ Raven said, irked by his mocking tone, ‘’cause I don’t want to see Gabe or you killed.’

  ‘You’re here,’ Latigo corrected, ‘’cause you know – just like Gabe knows – I’m faster than him. Not
by much. Maybe just a fraction of a second. But that fraction will determine the difference between who lives and who ends up face down in the dirt.’

  ‘If you take my money, no one ends up in the dirt.’

  ‘Sorry. Not interested.’

  She frowned, puzzled. ‘A thousand’s a thousand. What difference does it make who pays you, Mr Rawlins?’

  ‘Right now, plenty. This is somethin’ that should’ve been settled a long time ago. You and Gabe are leaving town tomorrow. I don’t take him down now, hell, I mightn’t get another chance. Then no one will ever know for sure who’s fastest.’

  ‘Is that so important?’

  ‘Damn right it is.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause that’s how history will remember me.’

  ‘History?’

  ‘Yeah. As Sheriff Cobb keeps sayin’, gunmen like Gabe an’ me, we’re the last of our kind. Once we’re gone, the breed’s extinct. That means folks are goin’ to remember us. An’ I don’t want to be remembered as some fancy-dressed, sawed-off bounty hunter or killer, but as the fastest gun in the territory. Maybe the fastest anywhere.’

  She saw how determined he was and that scared her. ‘Please, Mr Rawlins, I’m begging you—’

  He cut her off with an impatient wave. ‘Save your breath, missy. We’re done here.’ Rising, he held the door open for her. ‘Sweet dreams.’

  Desperate, Raven said: ‘What if I made it two thousand? Would you ride out then?’

  ‘Not for five thousand.’

  Raven sighed, defeated. ‘I hope you rot in hell,’ she said and stormed off.

  ‘That,’ Latigo called out after her, ‘is a foregone conclusion.’

  Gabriel was sitting on the bed, smoking in the dark, when she quietly opened the door of their hotel room and tiptoed inside. She saw him instantly and stopped, frozen, desperately trying to think of what to say.

  ‘Did he agree?’ Gabriel asked, not looking at her.

  Startled by his question, Raven decided not to make things worse by lying and said, ‘No.’

  ‘Reckoned as much.’

  ‘How’d you know where I went?’

  He didn’t answer. She watched the ash on his cigarette glow bright orange as he inhaled, then said, ‘Are you awful angry with me?’

  ‘Not angry so much as disappointed.’

  ‘I only did it ’cause I love you. Don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Tinkling music from an upright saloon piano wafted in through the open window; followed by men and women laughing. Raven stood there, eyes downcast, utterly miserable.

  ‘C’mere.’ Gabriel patted the bed. Then as she sat beside him. ‘I know you were just tryin’ to help. But what you don’t understand is by beggin’ Latigo not to kill me, you proved you got no faith in me – me, the man your mother chose to look after you, to help you get all growed up. That’s a hard pill to swallow.’

  ‘But that’s not true! I do have faith in you, Gabe. Lots an’ lots of faith. Honest. And I know you’ll always take good care of me.’

  Again, the ash glowed brightly in the darkness.

  ‘It’s just that … I got to thinking … worrying about how somethin’ might go wrong. I mean it could, you know. Things go wrong all the time. Someone could yell an’ distract you just as you started to draw … or dirt could fly in your eye … you could even suddenly sneeze or get the hiccups … anything. An’ then, no matter how fast you are, that’d give Mr Rawlins an edge and—’

  ‘Latigo don’t need an edge.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He can clear leather faster than me.’

  Horrified, she said, ‘Then how can you beat him?’

  ‘By shootin’ straighter. Killing a man ain’t just a matter of quick reflexes. Anyone who thinks that is already feet up. What’s most important is makin’ sure that your first shot counts; that the other fella’s dead before he can get off a second shot an’ this time maybe kill you.’

  ‘B-But what if … the other fella’s faster and he can shoot straight?’

  ‘Then you never have to question yourself again.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  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.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  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 crowd
ed. 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 standins 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.