A Coffin for Santa Rosa Page 15

  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.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  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.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  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 sw
eating 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.

  By the Same Author

  Gun for Revenge

  Packing Iron

  Copyright

  © Steve Hayes 2009

  First published in Great Britain 2009

  This edition 2012

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0710 7 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0711 4 (mobi)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0712 1 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 8845 5 (print)

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Clerkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Steve Hayes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988