Trail of the Hanged Man (3 page)

The next morning, in the dewy gray light before dawn, Sheriff Tishman entered the livery barn and found Lawless saddling the grullo.

‘’Morning.’

‘’Morning.’

‘Glad I caught you afore you left.’

Instinctively, Lawless’ right hand dropped to his Colt. ‘Something wrong, Sheriff?’

‘Uh-uh. Just wanted to talk to you, is all.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I talk better over breakfast,
amigo
.’

Lawless’ stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten. With a shrug, he followed the lawman across the street to Millie’s Eats.

The café was empty save for two gaunt, bearded desert riders, a bald Mexican cook and a hard, tight-lipped, sleepy-eyed
waitress
. Everything smelled of coffee, bacon and hot grease.

They sat at a plank table by a window overlooking the street. Lawless’s survival instinct made sure he faced the door. The sheriff, sensing Lawless was broke, told the waitress to bring coffee and enough eats for four hungry cowboys.

‘And your friend, what’s he having?’

The sheriff laughed and fondly patted his belly, a belly that almost hid his large silver-and-turquoise belt buckle. ‘Wonder how she knows I like to eat big,’ he said, winking at Lawless.

They waded through platters of fried eggs, ham steaks, link sausages, and a mountain of hash browns then lit their smokes and sat back to enjoy their coffee.

Lawless kept waiting for the sheriff to say what was on his mind. But the lawman made no mention of it. Finally, with the sun now yellowing the rooftops of the buildings across the street, he could wait no longer. ‘Let’s have it, Sheriff. I want to be halfway to Arizona by sundown.’

‘Maybe after your hear me out, you won’t need to go to Arizona.’

‘I doubt that.’

The sheriff drained his coffee and leaned back, dug out a crumpled paper bag and offered it to Lawless. ‘Lemon drop?’

Lawless shook his head. ‘Just get to the meat.’

The sheriff popped a candy into his mouth, tucked the bag
away and placed his huge fleshy hand palm-down on the table. For a moment he locked gazes with Lawless and then withdrew his hand to reveal a deputy star.

Lawless almost laughed. ‘You aren’t asking me to wear that, are you?’

‘Why not? Fella handles a gun like you I want him beside me, not facing me.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Two hundred a month, room and board and free ammo.’

‘That’s more than fair, but no thanks. I break broomtails, not people.’

‘You expect me to believe that,
amigo
, after seeing you slap leather?’

‘You better believe it,’ Lawless said grimly. ‘I don’t like being called a liar.’

‘Farthest thing from my mind,’ Sheriff Tishman said. ‘I’m just trying to take advantage of your skill with a gun. And to prove it, I’ll up the offer from two to three hundred. Now, what d’you say?’

Lawless didn’t say anything.

‘Four?’

Lawless blinked. ‘Four hundred a month?’

‘And found.’

‘Judas.’

‘That mean you accept?’

Lawless ignored the question. ‘Whom do I have to kill?’

The sheriff cocked his head, looking at him as if he were a rare artifact.

‘I asked you a question, Sheriff.’

‘Uh? Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s just I ain’t never heard anyone say “whom” before. Mighty fancy.’

‘I’ll try to be more illiterate for you in future,’ Lawless said. ‘Now, answer my question.’

‘Hopefully – no one.’

‘Then why the high-roller wages?’

‘I figure you’re worth it.’

‘You mean Mr Edfors does?’

Sheriff Tishman reddened, started to admonish Lawless, decided against it and swallowed, hard.

‘Mr Edfors owns the bank, not the sheriff’s office.’

‘I’ve heard he owns both.’

‘Then you heard wrong. Now, you ready to throw in with me or not?’

Lawless was tempted. Wear a star for twelve months and he’d have almost $5,000 – more greenbacks than he’d ever hoped to call his own.

‘Tell you what,’ the sheriff said, rising. ‘I can see you’re
interested
. So why don’t you sit here a spell, think it over while you’re finishing your coffee? And when you decide, stop by my office. I’ll swear you in and then walk you over to your new digs. How’s that sound?’ Before Lawless could reply, the sheriff left money for the check, waved to the waitress and left.

Expressionless, she watched the lawman walk past the window and cross over to his office. She then brought the coffee pot to Lawless’s table.

‘How long you lived here?’ he asked, as she refilled his cup.

‘Nigh on three years.’

‘Like it?’

‘Better than some towns, worse than others. Why? You
figuring
on becoming a permanent customer?’

‘With a deputy’s badge.’

‘Oh.’

‘Would I be making a mistake?’

She held his wolfish, amber gaze without flinching. ‘You don’t look to me like a man who needs advice.’

‘Didn’t you ask around before taking this job?’

‘Mister, I was so glad to escape from that hellhole cantina I was stuck in, this place seemed like heaven in a teacup.’

Lawless nodded, understanding. He’d held a few jobs he hated in the past. It wasn’t fun. ‘Guess I got my answer,’ he said.

Rising, he went to the door. There, as the waitress started
clearing
his table, a thought hit him and he looked back, said: ‘By any chance, ma’am, do you know the Morgans?’

‘Violet and Joey – sure. Knew their daddy, too. Good folks.’

‘Then you’d vouch for them?’

‘In a frog’s wink.’ Her gaze returned to the window in time to see the sheriff enter his office. ‘Though it might not be the most popular vote in town, if you get my meaning?’

Lawless grinned, tipped his hat, opened the door and stepped out into the cool, windless morning.

Sheriff Tishman looked up from the stack of old wanted posters he was reading and grinned as Lawless entered. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, indicating the chair beside his desk. ‘Coffee’s heating up.’

‘Thanks, but I intend to put some dust behind me.’

The lawman lost his smile. ‘You ain’t taking my offer?’

Lawless shook his head.

‘That’s too bad,
amigo
. I was looking forward to hearing more of them fancy words.’

‘Maybe another time.’

‘Sure. I can always use a good man. By the way’ – the sheriff held up one of the Wanted posters – ‘your cousin, Will – he’s a dead ringer for you.’

‘’Cept for one thing,’ Lawless said. ‘He has a scar on his chest.’

‘That’d be mighty hard to see if he kept his shirt buttoned all the time.’

‘Nigh impossible, I’d say.’

The words hung in the air like a veiled threat, daring the sheriff to press the issue. Unfazed, the lawman swatted a fly that landed on the wanted posters and scooped its squashed remains into a waste basket.

‘That’s the problem with killing things,’ he said pointedly. ‘There’s always a corpse to bury.’

‘Beats getting buried yourself,’ Lawless said.

‘Never thought of it that way.’ The sheriff shuffled through the posters, giving himself time to figure out how he could get his question answered without getting shot. ‘This scar your cousin has,’ he said finally, ‘any idea how he got it?’

‘Knife fight.’

‘Where?’

‘El Tecolote.’

‘’Mean that old cantina down in Las Palomas?

‘Uh-huh. Got jumped by border trash.’

‘You were there, then?’

‘Heard about it later.’

‘Self-defence, I bet.’

Lawless smiled mirthlessly. ‘That was the “rumor”.’ He left.

Rising, Sheriff Tishman plodded to the doorway, stood there watching Lawless untie his grullo from the hitching rail. ‘Rumor I heard,’ he said, ‘your cousin was piss-drunk and tried to carve up a soldier from Camp Furlong who was kissing his whore.’

‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Lawless said. ‘The camp’s just a mile from the border and Columbus, across the railroad tracks, is a dry town.’

The sheriff chuckled. ‘That’s why I try never to ride south of Deming. In my book, folks who vote against liquor being sold don’t deserve law and order.’ He waited until Lawless had mounted before adding: ‘That shirt of yourn … you always keep it buttoned up?’

‘Winter and summer.’

‘Must raise a powerful sweat riding in this heat.’

‘Powerful.’

‘Yet you still keep it buttoned?’

Lawless shrugged. ‘Way I figure it, if the shirt-maker didn’t want folks to use the top button he wouldn’t have sewed it there.’ Before the sheriff could question him further, he nudged the grullo into a trot and became part of the wagon and buggy traffic moving along the street.

Sheriff Tishman took a lemon drop from the bag in his vest
pocket, put it in his mouth and sucked contentedly. The tart flavor soothed his tensions. Unhurried, he looked at the poster still in his hand. Above the words ‘Wanted Dead or Alive – $5,000 Reward’ Will Lawless’s stubbled, mustachioed face glared at him. It bore a startling resemblance to the man riding away from him.

With a heavy sigh, the lawman re-entered his office and pinned the poster on the wall behind his desk.

He never wanted to forget that face.

As he studied it he absently fingered the rope burns on his neck, wondering as he did if the
rurales
really had hanged the Texas outlaw Will Lawless.

The Morgans’ ranch was twenty miles from the Mexican border and a hard hour’s ride west of Borega Springs. A thousand acres of open scrubland in an arid valley surrounded by canyons and steep rocky hills, its north-east property line bordered the little town of Santa Rosa while the south-east corner was occupied by a single level log-walled house, plank barn, bunkhouse, and several log-fenced corrals containing horses. There was a
vegetable
garden beside the house, fenced to keep out peccaries and wild deer. Beyond that was an old weathered wind-pump that towered above a stone-ledged well.

Lawless studied the ranch from a nearby rise. A herd of
shorthorns
grazed on the open scrubland. Mixed in with the cattle were several giant horses. Eighteen hands high, they were all bays with white stockings and distinct white feathering around their hoofs. Lawless recognized them as Clydesdales, a breed originating in Scotland, and wondered what they were doing in New Mexico. His gaze drifted to the east. In the distance, across seemingly endless miles of sun-scorched desert, Massacre Peak
loomed up on the flat horizon.

Returning his attention to the house, Lawless glimpsed a flash of sunlight glinting off steel behind the nearest corral fence. Instantly, he dived from the saddle. As he hit the ground he heard a rifle shot. The grullo reared up with a shrill whinny,
staggered
forward on buckling legs and collapsed.

Lawless crawled to his horse. It breathed its last breath as he reached it. Silently cursing, he peered over the saddle and saw the same glint of steel momentarily appear then disappear behind the corral fence.

Easing his Winchester out of its scabbard, he leaned the barrel on the saddle, aimed at where he’d last seen the steel and waited. Shortly, the steely glint reappeared and after a few moments, a figure took its place.

Lawless squeezed the trigger. There was a painful cry and the figure pitched on its face. Lawless waited a few moments to see if anyone else appeared. When no one did he rose and hurried toward the corral. He had almost reached the gate when the door of the house opened and Violet came busting out. She leveled a 10-gauge shotgun at him.

‘Hold it right there!’

Lawless stopped and raised his hands. ‘Easy, ma’am.’

‘Drop your gun,’ she said.

‘Your hand fired first. Shot my horse right out from under me.’

‘You don’t drop that rifle I swear I’ll kill you.’ She cocked both hammers.

Lawless dropped his Winchester. Without lowering his hands he thumbed in the direction of the body.

‘Your man’s over there. If you check his rifle, you’ll find the barrel still warm.’

‘You’re wasting your breath,’ Violet said. ‘It can’t be one of my men. They’re off rounding up strays. There’s just my brother and me—’ She broke off, horrified, as the truth dawned on her.

Running to the body, she saw who it was and gasped.

Lawless quickly joined her.

It was Joey all right – Joey with blood pumping from a hole in his chest.

Sobbing, Violet knelt and cradled her brother against her.

Lawless went cold. ‘God help me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know it was him.’

‘Liar!’

‘I’m telling you the—’

‘You gutless, murdering.…’ She grabbed the shotgun and swung it toward Lawless.

He knocked the barrel aside just as she pulled both triggers. The shotgun went off with an ear-shattering roar. Buckshot
discharged
inches from Lawless’s head. Deafened, ears ringing, he tore the shotgun from her hands and tossed it aside.

She attacked him, fighting and scratching, pummeling him with her fists. He grabbed her wrists and held her, helpless. At the same time he spoke soothingly to her, trying to calm her. When that failed, he gripped her wrists with one hand and clipped her on the jaw. She slumped in his arms.

Lawless gently lowered her to the hot sand and turned to Joey.

The boy’s eyes fluttered and Lawless realized he wasn’t dead.

Yet.

Picking him up, Lawless quickly carried him into the house. A vase of wild sunflowers sat on a plank table. Lawless swept it off and gently set the boy down. He unbuttoned Joey’s shirt and examined the wound. The bullet had entered his chest at an angle, just missing the heart. Turning Joey on to his right side, Lawless saw an exit hole under his left arm and felt relieved that he didn’t have to probe around for the bullet.

Violet entered with an angry rush.

‘He’s alive,’ Lawless said, ‘barely.’

Her rage faded. ‘Oh God, dear God,’ she sobbed.

‘Pull yourself together, girl. Your brother’s going to need you.’

When she continued to sob, Lawless grasped her by the
shoulders
and shook her, hard. She snapped out of it and stood there,
fighting shock.

‘I’ll r-ride into town,’ she blurted, ‘and fetch Dr Harlan.’

‘By then Joey will have bled to death.’

‘No! He can’t! He mustn’t!’

Lawless’s grim silence seemed to stiffen her resolve.

‘Mister, my brother’s all I got and I’m not going to let him die.’

Lawless looked around and saw a wood-burning stove in the corner. Moving to it, he opened the furnace door and saw the embers were still glowing. ‘Reckon I could cauterize his wound,’ he said.

‘You mean burn him?’

‘He won’t feel it.’

Violet hesitated.

‘It’s our best chance to stop the bleeding.’

‘Do it,’ she said.

‘I can’t promise it’ll work.’

Violet thrust her tear-streaked face into his. ‘You shot him, damn you. Now save him!’

They piled wood into the stove and made a roaring fire. Lawless then stuck the blade of his hunting knife into the flames and when it was white hot, he pressed the steel against the entry wound in Joey’s chest. The stench of burning flesh as the wound sealed made Violet gag. But she hung in there, waiting while Lawless reheated the blade in the fire and then returned beside her. She then gently rolled her brother’s limp, shirtless body on to his side and gritted her teeth as this time Lawless laid the white-hot steel over the still-bleeding exit hole.

Again the flesh sizzled. But this time the bleeding didn’t stop.

‘Hold him still,’ Lawless told her.

While Violet held her brother on his right side, Lawless took a .45 cartridge from his gunbelt, gripped the lead between his teeth and pulled it from its brass case. He did the same with a second bullet. Then he poured the gunpowder from each case
over Joey’s exit wound, went to the stove and lit a long kitchen match.

‘Don’t watch,’ he warned Violet. Without waiting to see if she turned away, he lit the gunpowder. It flared briefly and smoke curled up.

Violet retched, clamped her hands over her mouth and ran outside.

Lawless heard her vomiting. He took a swig from the whiskey bottle he’d found in the cupboard beside the iodine and
bandages
, and examined the wound. The blackened flesh had sealed, stopping the bleeding. He knew it might only be
temporary
but it was a good start. Uncorking the bottle of iodine he poured some over the wound before wrapping a bandage around Joey’s chest and tying it behind his back.

When he was finished, he knew he’d at least given the boy a chance. Now it was up to a higher court whether he lived or not. Gently picking Joey up, Lawless carried him into the bedroom and placed him on the bed.

As he was covering the boy with a blanket, Violet joined him. She began to apologize for running out on him but he cut her off. ‘Go heat up a big pot of coffee, strong as you can make it. We’re going to need it before the day’s over.’

They took turns sitting beside the bed, keeping alert with mug after mug of coffee, watching, waiting to see if Joey regained
consciousness
. He didn’t. Day turned into night. Night turned into a chilling, misty gray dawn … and still the youngster lay as if dead.

‘Is he going to die, you think?’ Violet said.

‘That’s not for us to know,’ Lawless said.

‘He’s in God’s hands, that what you’re saying?’

His silence answered her question.

She looked at her brother, carroty hair all tangled, eyes closed, face pale beneath his freckles, lying still as a corpse – and made a decision.

‘Help me hitch up the team.’

‘Bad idea,’ Lawless said. ‘Even if the ride into town doesn’t kill him, which it most likely will, there’s nothing more the doc can do—’

‘We’re not going into town,’ Violet said. ‘I’m taking Joey to my neighbors, the Bjorkmans. They’re only a few miles south of here.’

‘What can they do that we already haven’t?’

‘Take us to the Mescalero reservation. Ingrid’s husband, Sven, knows the shaman, Almighty Sky—’

‘Whoa,’ Lawless said. ‘Back up the wagon. You’re pinning your hopes on an Injun medicine man? Goddammit, girl, you gone loco?’

‘I don’t know,’ Violet said. ‘Maybe. But according to the Bjorkmans – and other folks, too – there’s a young girl on the reservation, a healer who supposedly has strange powers. There’s some even claim she can bring back the dead. I don’t know if it’s true or not – it probably isn’t – but right now, the way Joey is, it’s worth a chance. Anything is to save his life.’

Lawless didn’t believe a word of it, but he said anyway: ‘I’ll watch your brother. Ride over and ask your neighbors to bring the girl here.’

‘They can’t. She’s sacred. Almighty Sky won’t let her leave the reservation. He most likely won’t let us see her either, not even if Mr Bjorkman asks him to. But I have to take that chance. If I don’t and Joey dies I’ll … never forgive myself. Now,’ she added crossly, ‘you going to help me hitch the team or not?’

‘Lead the way,’ Lawless said.