Bullet Creek (27 page)

“Sure you don't want me to turn around,” he snarled, “so you can drill me in the back like Sanchez?” Tom drew a breath. “Sure you don't want to get a kid to do it?”

Real leered at him. “Go to hell, old fool.”

The gun barked, the shot echoing off the low adobe walls lining the steps. Navarro blinked, stared at the gun from which no smoke appeared. It sagged in Real's hand, fell and clattered down three steps and lay still.

Navarro looked at Real. He lay slumped on his left shoulder, cheek against a step upon which dark red blood pooled. On the landing above him stood his sister, a small silver-plated pocket pistol extended in her left hand. Smoke curled from the barrel.

Lupita stared coldly down at her dead brother. “Coward.” She slowly lowered the pistol, let it drop from her hand.

Lupita looked at Navarro. “I should have killed him when Alejandro told me about the gold mine.”

“Was Alejandro in on it with him?” Navarro asked.

“No.” It was Alejandro himself, stepping out through the double doors, his arm in a sling. He didn't have a gun in his hand or on his hip. “I knew about the gold and Real wanting to squeeze out Vannorsdell so he could have it all for himself, but I didn't know he had our father killed till I heard him talking to the girl in her room one night.”

The younger de Cava stared grimly down at his brother. “I wanted to kill him then myself but I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger.”

“There wasn't any gold.”

The voice had come from behind Navarro. He turned around. Vannorsdell stood a few feet back in the courtyard, dusty and bloody from several bullet burns, his left trouser knee torn. He was wearing his hat, and he still had the big Colt in his hand, hanging low at his side. Bear Winston and Ky Tryon flanked him. Navarro realized that the shooting had ceased, that he hadn't heard any reports for several minutes now.

“I prospected that cave years ago, when I first came to this country,” the rancher said. “I had a couple Army assayers take a look. There's one vein that pinches out about ten feet inside the mountain.” He shook his head. “The gold Real and his killers got out of that cave is about all there is. All there ever will be.”

Lupita sighed and tottered back against the wall, her face bleaching. She dropped her chin to her chest and sobbed at the irony and horror of it all. The de Cava's spidery, silver-haired maid, her face even more grave than usual, walked through the doors holding a shawl about her shoulders as if chilled to the bone. She moved carefully down the steps and strode stiffly toward her daughter lying dead outside the courtyard gate.

Alejandro stepped forward and faced Navarro and Vannorsdell, his back straight and soldierly. “My sister and I will leave here, turn over the de Cava grant to you.”

“I don't want it.” Vannorsdell ran the back of his wrist across his mouth, smearing blood and dirt. He glanced at the house. “This is de Cava land. Always has been, always should be. If we can be friends like me and your old man, I'll give you all the help you need getting back on your feet.”

Alejandro stared back at him, wary caution in his gaze. Lupita held her head down, sobbing.

Navarro turned. Feeling as old and tired as he'd ever felt, he started back across the yard toward the battlefield over which powdersmoke still wafted and the smell of blood emanated.

Frank Sharpe met him, grabbed his arm. “De Cava's men are all dead or run off, Tom.”

“How bad they hit us?”

“Five dead, seven wounded.”

Navarro stared grimly at the dirt before his boots. “Get a wagon and some shovels.”

He brushed at the blood on his face and limped through the main gate.

Two months later, in the Vannorsdell dining room at the crack of dawn, Tom sipped his coffee and said over the rim of the mug, “Ready to head north, Mrs. Navarro?”

“Ready and raring.” To Paul Vannorsdell, Louise said through the side of her mouth, “Let's see. Since we're leaving in July, we'll get up there just in time for winter, won't we?”

“A little snow never hurt anyone,” Navarro said, throwing back the last sip of his coffee. “Besides, we'll want to get those pregnant mares all cozied up in their new pastures before they drop their foals in the spring.”

“If you'll excuse me”—Karla slid her chair out from the breakfast table and turned to Tom—“I'll be off on my morning ride. Don't think I can take the sight of you riding away . . . for the last time.”

Tears came to her eyes. Dressed in her riding clothes and a beaded denim jacket, she moved around the table to Navarro, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard on the cheek. The girl straightened, turned, and hugged Louise. “You promise to take good care of him?”

Louise glanced at Tom. “I'll do my level best.”

“ 'Cause he can't take care of himself. He thinks he can, but he really can't. You know how many times he's been wounded in the few years since I've known him?”

Tom snorted. Half of those times had been due to Karla's own antics, not the least of which was getting herself kidnapped by slave traders and hauled to Old Mexico.

“I'll take care of him, Karla,” Louise said. “And as soon as we get settled into our new ranch house, I'll send you a letter.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Karla forced a smile. Without another glance at Tom, she grabbed her hat and left the room.

When the outside door slammed, Vannorsdell said, “That girl's gonna miss you, Tommy.” He sighed and stared down at his stone coffee mug. “And I am, too. That's a fact.”

“I'm grateful for what you've done for me, Paul. Not too many men would have given this old gunfighter a new start, but you did, and for that, I owe you my life.” Tom wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “And thanks for those mustangs. They're prime. Sired by the Appy and that Morgan, they'll produce some of the finest cow ponies in all of Wyoming.”

“Hell, you paid for 'em,” the rancher said as he, too, gained his feet. “I just threw in a couple scrubs for saving my ranch. And that you did, Tom. Let there be no mistake. Without you, this ranch would now belong to Real de Cava, and my bones would be strewn around Bullet Creek Canyon.”

“How's everything going with Lupita and Alejandro?” Louise asked the rancher as they walked out onto the porch.

“Good so far. I've lent them six of my top hands to get their herds back together and to work on their wells and such. Lupita's doing the hiring and firing and keeping the books. I think Rancho de Cava will be back on its feet again by spring.”

“Maybe the don's kids aren't turning out so bad, after all,” Tom said, descending the steps.

“At least two of them,” the rancher replied as they made their way into the ranch yard and headed for the corral, where Tom's twenty-five mustang mares milled with the two stallions, their coats glistening as the sun climbed.

The five drovers Tom had hired to drive the cavvy north waited outside the corral, smoking and talking and looking over the run-ready, eager-eyed remuda. Mordecai Hawkins and Billie Brennan had gone ahead in the chuck wagon.

“Chivvy 'em out, boys!” Tom yelled.

One of the men swung the gate wide, and Tom, Louise, and Vannorsdell stepped back to watch the cavvy thunder through the gate, the cowboys whistling and waving their reatas. The ground vibrated beneath Navarro's boots. Dust rose, tinted pink by the sun.

Navarro wrapped an arm around Louise's waist. “That's a fine-lookin' bunch. A damn nice start.”

“A brand-new beginning,” Louise said, her eyes bright beneath the brim of her man's cream hat. “For both of us.”

“Just stay clear of Colorado, Tommy,” Vannorsdell warned. “Whatever you do.”

“No need to even straddle the line. We're gonna head straight north through Utah.”

Tom shook Vannorsdell's hand, then helped Louise into the saddle. He bid the rancher a final good-bye, then mounted his pinto. He and Louise trotted their horses through the gate. Tom reined up suddenly.

“You go on,” Tom said, staring after the dust of the cavvy being hazed on down the road. “I'll be right behind you.”

Louise gave him a questioning glance, but before she could say anything, Tom had reined his horse off the trail and up the low hill covered with desert scrub and stippled with chiseled stones and wooden crosses. He rode up to the freshest grave and looked down at the stone he'd carved himself.

 

Lee Luther
1863-1879

 

“You didn't have time to grow old, boy. Maybe you're better off. Wherever you are, I know you're makin' big tracks.” Tom blinked back tears. “Man tracks.”

Navarro reined the pinto around, galloped down the hill, and headed west, into the dust of his north-heading herd.