CHAPTER TWENTY

Buttons Muldoon leaned over in his seat and called into the coach, “Cornudas Mountains in view, Mrs. Talbot. And a pretty sight they are too.”

Luna Talbot looked out the window and then said, “Will we reach them before nightfall, Mr. Muldoon?”

“Unlikely,” Buttons said. “Looks like the shadows are halfway up the mountain slopes already.”

“Where is Mr. Broussard?”

“He rode ahead on a scout.”

“Does he think we’re in any danger?” Luna said.

The stage bumped over some rocky ground and Buttons raised his voice a little to be heard. “No danger. Red did see dust behind us, but he reckons it was only a pronghorn. Don’t worry, Mrs. Talbot, Broussard is a right careful man.” He sat back in the seat and studied Red Ryan for a moment. “Never seen you white-knuckle that Greener afore in open country. You expecting trouble?”

“Nope, I’m not expecting trouble, but I don’t want to be fooled is all.”

“You sure you ain’t got them Irish feelings of your’n again, seeing things happen that ain’t happened yet?” Buttons said.

“My ma was an O’Leary, and she had the gift of second sight,” Red said. “She called it the dara seal-ladh, and she often saw the coming of sudden death to her kinfolk and even strangers.”

“Hell, Red, don’t say stuff like that,” Buttons said. “Do you have the dara see . . . sela . . .”

“No, not like my ma had.”

“Well thank God for that,” Buttons said. “For a moment there you had me all affrighted thinking about sudden death and us feeding the buzzards.”

“Where the hell is Broussard?” Red’s voice was so edged that Buttons stared at him in surprise.

And then in equal bewilderment he stared at his guard’s continuing death grip on the scattergun. “Red, I’m sure he’ll be back directly.”

“I hope so. Hey, it looks like thunderheads moving in over the mountains. Black sky over there.”

“Nah, it’s just passing clouds,” Buttons said. “I reckon we’re in for a spell of dry weather. We passed a flock of quail out in the open, and that’s always a sign of no rain.”

Red said, “I didn’t see any quail.”

“Well, sure enough, they were there,” Buttons said, blinking.

* * *

Arman Broussard avoided the worst of the downpour by sheltering under a rock overhang in a shallow arroyo overgrown by brush and cholla. He saw no alternative but to wait out the storm, especially since out in the desert a mounted man would represent a tall target for a stray lightning bolt. Above him, the sullen sky looked like curled sheets of lead. He lit a cigar and waited. Nearby his horse grazed on bunchgrass and didn’t seem to mind the thunder and relentless rain.

The storm passed quickly, but by that time the sun had fled the sky and the day was shading into evening. Broussard led his horse to the mouth of the arroyo and in the murky distance to the south he saw two bobbing lights, the sidelamps of the Patterson stage. The gambler decided to wait where he was until the stage arrived . . . a decision he’d later regret.

* * *

“Wherever we find graze for the horses is where we’ll camp,” Buttons Muldoon said. “Plenty of trees growing around there, so we’ll do all right for firewood.”

Red said “Strange we’ve seen no sign of Broussard.”

“He probably waited out the storm someplace.” Like Red, Buttons wore his slicker, and again like Red, a slightly worried expression. “Bill Stanton says there are a couple of underground springs in the Cornudas. Be good to camp near one of those.”

“Seems like.” Red’s eyes restlessly searched the distance ahead.

And that worried Buttons even more. “Hell, Red, are you seeing things again?”

“Before the rain started, I thought I saw smoke.”

Buttons groaned. “First dust, now smoke. Red, there ain’t nobody in them mountains. Trust me. People don’t live there, and I doubt the Apaches ever did.”

“Well, I thought I—” Red shook his head. “You’re right. It couldn’t have been smoke.”

“Damn right, I’m right. And I’d appreciate it if you quit choking that Greener. You’re putting the fear of God into me again.”

“I still got a strange feeling though, Buttons.” Red removed his plug hat and shook rainwater from the brim. “Like there’s somebody watching me, studying my every move.”

“A bad-intentioned somebody?” Buttons said. “Like road agent somebody?”

“Maybe.” Red replaced his hat and smiled. “Or the ghost of some old miner.”

Buttons let out with an exasperated snort, leaned over, and yelled into the stage window, “You hear that, Mrs. Talbot?”

“Hear what?” the woman said.

“Red’s hair is standing on end. All of a sudden, he’s sceered of ghosts and ha’nts an’ the like.”

There was a pause, then Luna said, “I feel the same way, Mr. Muldoon. It’s as though there are eyes on me.”

“Because it’s getting dark,” Buttons said. “Lots of folks see scary things in the dark, usually wolves and bears an’ the like.”

“Yes, that must be the reason,” Luna said. “Because it’s getting dark.”

* * *

Arman Broussard watched the stage roll closer, coming on slowly, the tired horses at a walk. He threw away the dead stub of cigar and prepared to mount, figuring he’d ride out to meet the others. He never made it. Hearing a sound behind him, the shuffle of feet, the gambler spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun under his coat. Before he could draw, something hard slammed into the back of his skull, and suddenly he was falling headlong into a black abyss that had no beginning and no end.