CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Señor Deed, it is time to get de horses ready,” Billy Montez announced, coming out of the barn. Last night’s attempted horse stealing was forgotten for the moment. The four dead Comanches had been dragged out of sight, left for their fellow tribesmen to retrieve, if they dared.
Deed chuckled to himself. He didn’t need reminding by the Mexican who felt it was his duty to tell him every time a stage was coming. This coach would be arriving from the north. They gathered a fresh team with Billy coaxing them in Spanish. Since the raid that killed his father, Benjamin hadn’t helped with the horses, but Cooper had and was bouncing alongside Deed.
“Billy, that back bay’s got something wrong with his leg.” Deed pointed with his left hand; his right was painfully sore and badly bruised. “Back right.” He had taken to carrying a revolver in his waistband for left-hand use.
“Sí. We must check it.”
An examination showed the animal was nursing a strained leg muscle. It wasn’t serious, but running with the team now could lead to something permanent. The limping horse was removed from the team and replaced with another. The injury might have occurred during the failed Comanche raid on the barn, but it was impossible to know for certain.
“Waco will not like being away from his friends. Bingo will not either. But it must be so,” Billy said. Waco was the name he called the limping horse and Bingo was the name of the replacement. He had a pet name for every horse that came through the station. Deed did his best to remember them; although he was certain the names changed occasionally.
“Kinda like people, I guess,” Deed said, leading the injured horse away.
“Sí. Liniment is inside.”
“Good.”
Soon, a bearded driver with a cocky attitude brought the coach into the station with a hard gallop as all drivers liked to do. A huge wad of tobacco in his mouth made it difficult for him to speak without shifting it to the side of his mouth.
“Whoa, you fleabags! Whoa!”
As if on cue, the glistening horses stutter-stepped to a stop. The coach’s wheels groaned as he slammed on the brake and reined hard. Unlike Tade Balkins, Pip Mateau was a scruffy-looking teamster in a soiled leather jacket with long, matted fringe and a bowler hat.
Pip spat a thick, brown stream and hollered, “Ever’body out. Good chow. Hot coffee waitin’. Outhouses in the back. Will be a’ goin’ again in thirty minutes. Not thirty-five. Thirty.”
He wrapped the reins around the brake and eased down, greeting Billy warmly. “Hey, Billy, you ol’ Mex, this new team any good?” He waved his arms at the new horses and spat again. “I’m givin’ ya a ri’t smart, good bunch. You betcha. Don’t let Balkins have em, ya hear.”
Billy grinned and hollered back something in Spanish. Deed picked up several choice swearwords, all delivered in good-natured fun.
“Hey, who’s this hombre packin’ the six-gun—an’ the busted-up hand?” Pip Mateau stopped his advance as passengers filed out, stretching their arms, behind him.
“Sí. This is Señor Deed Corrigan. He’s helping. For a short time. Bueno,” Billy said.
Yanking off his dirty gloves, Pip held out his right hand. Deed smiled and extended his left. “My right’s a bit sore.” The driver switched hands and shook Deed’s left heartily.
“Ain’t you the fella who took down a gunman with your hands—and him pointing a six-gun at your belly? Heard that last year, I’m thinkin’. Down in Austin, it was.”
“Didn’t have any choice.” Deed leaned down to pat Cooper.
Pip eyed him carefully and changed the subject. “Got a load of express this trip. No gold. Big load o’ mail,” Pip declared. “And eleven passengers.” He motioned toward the two men climbing down from the coach’s roof and spat, admiring the thickness of it.
Deed didn’t think either man was armed.
“Can ya believe it, I’ve even got one o’ them spirit guys on board.”
Deed watched the passengers head for the station. “A spiritualist?”
“Yeah. You know, hears ghosts and makes them write stuff on magic slates . . . ring bells an’ sech,” Pip spat again and nearly hit his own boot. “Scary pecker, if ya ask me.”
“That him?” Deed nodded toward a well-dressed man in a black broadcloth suit with a scarlet scarf around his neck.
The man’s handsome face was accented with a black goatee. His dark eyes seemed to take in everything and his smile looked like he had a secret worth laughing about. Beside the man was a woman of undeterminable age, wearing a veil attached to a triangular black hat. Her dress was also black and flowing and she carried a large purse as if it contained something sacred. The man glanced at Deed, Billy, and Pip as he strode toward the station. The woman only looked ahead.
“Yeah, that’s him. Longstreet, I think. Like the Rebel general. No relation. I asked him,” Pip said and rolled his neck to relieve the stiffness. “Heard him asking about Mrs. Forsyth here.” He rolled the wad around in his mouth. “The word’s out ’bout her dead husband, ya know. He wanted to know all ’bout it.”
“Excuse me, Pip,” Deed said. “Billy, can you handle the team? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t bother her.”
“Sí.”
Scratching his beard, Pip watched Deed hurry to the station. He turned to Billy. “Hear tell he’s a heller with a gun—or his fists.”
“Sí. He save many life when Comanche attack stage. He and a man name of Hannah. James Hannah.” The one-eyed Mexican glanced at the fast-walking Deed. “Last night, Deed kill three Comanche who try to steal our hosses. I kill one.”
Pip shook his head in admiration. “What happened to his right hand? Looks all black and blue.”
“A Comanche hit him with tomahawk.” Billy swallowed. “Señor Deed kill him with bare hands.”
“Lordy.” Pip watched Deed. “Did you say James Hannah? Everybody knows that name. He’s supposed to be meaner than Hardin.”
“Sí, it is so.”
“Is this Deed feller that good, too?”
“Sí.”
“Damn.” Pip spat a long, brown stream, admiring its strength. “Say is he any relation to that Rebel outlaw, Holt Corrigan? A bad one, I hear.”
“Maybe so. He no talk of it. I no ask.”
“Sure.”
Deed hurried to the station, adjusting the gun in his waistband. Cooper bounded ahead of him. He wasn’t particularly good with a gun left handed, but he couldn’t even grip one with his right. He stepped inside, allowing the dog to enter first, and saw Longstreet talking to Atlee and Olivia as they served the other passengers. Hermann Beinrigt had moved to the sofa and was sitting up. The spiritualist’s assistant stood near Longstreet as if she were attached.
“Mrs. Forsyth, your late husband, Caleb, has been trying to reach you,” Longstreet declared in a silky voice. “Have you heard any strange sounds at night? Or felt a soft breeze that shouldn’t be there? That was your beloved . . . Caleb,” he oozed. “I know because he has come to me . . . for help. I am Eugene Longstreet, noted spiritualist and mesmerist. Many have found spiritualism to be quite comforting in such an awful time of grief.” He paused and motioned toward his assistant. “And this is Amenmeit, my assistant. She comes from Egypt and is schooled in the science of the otherworld.”
Olivia appeared annoyed. Atlee’s face was unreadable.
Deed stepped between the women and Longstreet. “Mister, please take a seat. Mrs. Forsyth is busy.”
The look from the mesmerist was one of pure hatred. “I am sharing something personal and very important to Mrs. Forsyth. Please leave us alone.”
“I can handle this, Mr. Corrigan. Is the new team ready?” Atlee’s voice was stern.
Deed nodded and left, hearing Longstreet say, “Not everyone understands what it’s like to lose a loved one. Or to learn that one can actually communicate with him again. I can arrange to stay over and conduct a special séance for you. My work in El Paso won’t begin until next week.”
Angry, Deed went outside where Pip and Billy were finishing with the harnessing of the new team. Cooper was inspecting something in the kitchen and didn’t make the retreat in time to follow.
“Did that ghost hombre go at her?” Pip asked and spat.
“Said she could handle it.”
Pip spat again. “Wanna bet that bastard stays over?”
“Mucho bad,” Billy said.
“None of my business.” Deed patted the lead horse’s neck with his left hand. “You ready to go?”
“Whenever. I’d like to grab some of Mrs. Forsyth’s good stew real quick,” Pip said.
“Go on. I’ll help Billy.”
Pip nodded, spat, and headed for the station.
Inside, Longstreet continued, “Your husband wants me to tell you how proud he is of you—and of Benjamin. He misses you and—”
“Excuse me. Mr. Longstreet, isn’t it? But we must take care of our guests,” Atlee declared, moving past the mesmerist. “Olivia, will you begin pouring coffee please? Thank you.” She turned toward Longstreet. “If you want to eat before the stage leaves, I would suggest you sit down.”
Amenmeit’s only response was a disgusted snort. She turned and walked out, leaving Longstreet alone with the two women.
“If it pleases you, Mrs. Forsyth, my assistant and I could sleep there.” Longstreet’s smile was waxen and his eyes sought hers as he pointed to the cots set aside for coach employees, now used by the Beinrigts.
Atlee stopped, holding a large bowl of biscuits. “Mr. Longstreet, I guess I need to be more clear. I have no interest whatsoever in your nonsense. You are a guest here as all passengers are. If you want to eat something, please sit down. If not, please leave.”
Longstreet appeared stunned for a moment. Atlee thought he was going to burst into a rage, but he forced himself to calm.
“As you wish, I will tell your husband that you have no interest in talking to him.” He made a dramatic turn toward the door, hesitating and expecting to be stopped.
“Do make sure die Tür ist shut ven you leave,” Olivia Beinrigt growled.
Outside, Amenmeit walked up to the coach, looking for Deed. She walked over to him, standing close. “There are spirits around you. They speak of danger. You are a dangerous man, they say. Your own spirit carries something of the Orient.”
“Well, good day to you, too, ma’am,” Deed responded and continued checking the harness.
“I will tell the Great Longstreet that you are not one to be bothered. There is much death around you.”
“Tell Great anything you want”—Deed leaned his outstretched hand against the coach—“but if he messes anymore with Mrs. Forsyth and her children, he’s going to have to answer to me.” He glared at her. “He won’t like that outcome.”
She blinked and stepped closer, letting her bosom brush against his extended right arm. “I was hoping we could be together tonight.” She batted her thick eyelashes. “Amenmeit will make you very happy.”
“You aren’t worried about all those ghosts around me?” Deed grinned.
“You mock Amenmeit.”
“You catch on fast,” he said and stepped past her. “Excuse me, but the ghosts and I have work to do.”
Her eyes flashed hatred as he brushed past.
“Billy, have you double-checked the back boot?” Deed spun around and strode toward the rear of the coach.
“No. I have not, Señor Deed. I will.”
With her hands on her hips, the dark-skinned woman snarled, “Deed Corrigan, you will die a horrible death. I can see it.” A savage statement of foreign words followed.
Deed didn’t respond as he double-checked the harness.
From the station, a disgruntled Longstreet appeared, walking toward the coach. Amenmeit went to him and spoke angrily, pointing and waving. The spiritualist glanced up at Deed several times. Finished with the new team and checking the coach, Deed and Billy walked toward the corral, paying no attention to either of them.
Puffing out his chest, Longstreet said something to her and headed toward Deed, now leaning against the corral. Deed watched him advance and decided he wasn’t going to wait for the spiritualist to perform. He stood straight, waiting. A look of surprise popped into Longstreet’s eyes as he realized this strange man was definitely not going to avoid him. He had counted on his fiery advance to make Deed go elsewhere to avoid contact.
Fifteen feet from Longstreet, Deed stepped closer and growled, “Ghost-man, this isn’t one of your night shenanigans. If you want to face me, you’re going to join your ghosts. Here and now. Your choice. Make it.”
Longstreet shivered visibly, then turned around, shouting more loudly than necessary, “Let’s get in the coach, Amenmeit. We need to get to El Paso as soon as possible.”
“Good idea. More ghosts there. And gullible folks,” Deed snapped, watching the mesmerist retreat.
Longstreet’s strange assistant started to respond; her eyes blinked rapidly but she decided to enter the coach instead. Longstreet followed, mumbling under his breath. Behind them came the other passengers, talking among themselves about the good food.
As Deed stepped away from the corral, Blue rode into the open area on a tall bay and trailing a handsome sorrel stallion and a buckskin packhorse on lead-ropes. He was weary from his long ride from El Paso, but happy to see his brother.
“Hey, Blue, you’re back,” Deed yelled. “How’d it go?”
Reining up, Blue told him about the attempted holdup; Rebecca Tuttle being stood up; James Hannah’s meeting with Agon Bordner; meeting briefly with Holt; and their outlaw brother’s assessment of the fat man’s intentions.
Deed glanced around, “So James Hannah is now working for Bordner. How about that.”
“Probably, but I don’t know that for a fact,” Blue said, swinging slowly from his horse. His legs felt like they wouldn’t support him. He stood beside the tired horse he’d been riding, leaning slightly against the animal. Beside it, the sorrel and buckskin were sweating lightly and the stallion looked ready to run. “Last time I saw Hannah, he was strolling across the restaurant to see Bordner—in a back room.”
Blue patted the bay horse he had been riding and changed the subject. “How’re things going here? What happened to your hand, Deed?”
In a few short sentences, Deed told his older brother how things were going at the relay station, complimenting Atlee on her attitude and determination. He briefly mentioned the raid on the horses and dismissed his hurt hand as not much.
Blue guided his three horses to the water trough with the reins and the lead-ropes in his right hand. Their conversation was interrupted by Pip Mateau, who came out of the relay station and yelled the stage was leaving. With only a nod to the two brothers, he climbed onto the driver’s box, unwrapped the reins, and yelled again.
“Everyone’s in, Pip,” Deed assured him. “Including the ghost man . . . and his whatever.”
Pip Mateau laughed, waved, and shouted a good-bye. With a vigorous spit toward his horses, the bearded driver snapped the reins and the horses began to gallop.
After the stage left, Deed walked over to the drinking sorrel and patted its back. “How is this big rascal? Did you ride him?”
“Oh yeah. Handles good. A little headstrong. Probably could run all day,” Blue said, from the other side of the sorrel, “He’ll be a hit with our mares.”
“Reckon so. What’s his name?”
“Magnuson called him Captain.”
“Captain. I like it.”
Blue told Deed that he had gold certificates for two hundred dollars for him from the stage-line, a reward for fighting off the Comanches. He told about Hannah’s demands and his surprise that the manager had complied.
“Good, we can put that to good use at the ranch,” Deed said, slapping his brother on the back. “You can buy something nice for Bina, too.”
“Already did.”
“All right, big brother.” Deed smiled, took off his hat, and wiped his forehead with his single forearm, then returned the hat.
He suggested they take the horses to the barn for rubdowns and some oats while they talked. Billy passed them, holding a broken piece of harness and talking furiously in Spanish. Inside, Blue took off the heavy saddle and saddle blanket and began to rub the livery horse’s back with his fist full of straw. The horses chewed on hay while the brothers groomed them. Deed loosened the pack on the buckskin’s back and placed the canvas arrangement on the ground, using mostly his left hand, with his right only for balance. The weight was still painful. With a currycomb and brush, he started brushing the quiet horse.
“Man, that is one fine looking animal,” Deed praised.
“Yeah, thought so, too. Magnuson said he’s pretty gentle for a stallion,” Blue said, turning away from rubbing the livery horse.
“Did you talk to the district manager . . . about here?” Deed asked as he worked.
“Yeah. Willard Epson didn’t sound like a man who was comfortable with the idea of a woman station manager,” Blue said, shaking his head. “I told him to keep his mind open. That this was his best station. And it wasn’t because the horses were harnessed correctly. Or given good rubdowns.”
“Couldn’t have said it better, big brother.”
“I’d expect him to make a surprise visit soon. To see for himself.”
“Tell her that.”
They finished cleaning the horses and left them enjoying buckets of oats. At the doorway to the station, Atlee Forsyth stepped onto the porch, hailed Blue’s arrival, and invited him in.
“Had anything to eat today?” Deed asked. “This is when we usually do. After the coach leaves.”
“Coffee and jerky this morning on the trail. You saw my pack, getting thin.”
“Then you’re ready for some good chow. Atlee’s one fine cook.”
“Atlee?” Blue cocked his head.
“Uh, Mrs. Forsyth. She asked to be called by her first name.”
“Sure.”
They took a few steps toward the house and Blue asked, “Are you going to be able to leave here now?”
Deed stared at the house for a moment before responding. “Got no choice. You and Silka are going to need help.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Blue said. “Does . . . Atlee know?”
“I’m sure she’s guessed. It was just supposed to be until you got back from El Paso.”
As they entered the station, Billy went directly to sit down. Deed and Blue went to the smiling young woman. “Atlee, you remember my older brother, Blue.”
“Of course, I do,” she said and smiled. “How did the trip to El Paso go? Well, I trust.”
Blue was surprised to see how fresh and happy Atlee appeared. Olivia Beinrigt was in the kitchen, humming a tune only she and her husband knew. Even Hermann Beinrigt was looking definitely improved and stood, stoking the fireplace. Cooper watched the German farmer for a few moments, then trotted over to greet the Corrigan brothers. Blue noticed that Benjamin was not around and decided not to tell her about the attempted holdup. There was no need to burden her with such news.
“It went fine, ma’am. Thanks for asking.” Blue removed his hat. “I did talk with Mr. Epson for a few minutes.” He added, “After Tade Balkins told him about the Indian trouble here.”
“I see.” Her response was cool, but not quizzical.
Folding his arms, Blue told her about the exchange, making no attempt to whitewash the district manager’s remarks, but added that he thought Epson would make a surprise visit soon—and before making any judgment.
She smiled. “We’re ready. Anytime.”
Motioning toward the table, she changed the subject. “Please sit down, Mr. Corrigan. I’m certain you’re hungry.”
“It does smell mighty good. And please call me Blue. I get real tense when I hear Mister.” He looked over at Deed sitting down next to Billy. “Reckon I’m going to have a hard time getting my brother back to the ranch after all this good food.”
“My name is Atlee. And Deed shot a deer several days ago. He and Billy skinned and dressed it. We’re so lucky to have his help.”
Blue glanced at Deed and winked.
Elizabeth hurried to get a chair next to Deed. As they gathered around the table, Atlee asked Deed if he would favor them by saying grace.
“Or course.” He folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord, thank you for this bountiful food set before us. Thank you for giving us one of your precious animals that we might be strengthened to serve you better. And bring your gentle hand upon all of us that we might have peace. In your name we ask this . . . Amen.”
Blue glanced at his younger brother and smiled. It was the first time he could remember Deed saying grace since they were youngsters. Deed smiled back.
Dishes were quickly passed and the group began to eat. Little conversation passed among them. From the kitchen, the young boy appeared. Both Blue and Deed watched him from the corner of their eyes. It was Deed who spoke first.
“Benjamin, after we eat, I’d sure like to get your opinion on one of the coach horses if you’ve got the time. Leg problem.” He paused and added, “And I’d like you to see the new stallion my brother just bought in El Paso. He’s a fine one.”
Without waiting for a response, Deed turned to his brother beside him. “This young man has a real eye for horses, Blue. Learned from his pa, I reckon.”
Licking his lips, Benjamin responded, “I have chores.” There was no emotion in his eyes or his words.
Atlee brought a cup of coffee to her mouth and paused. “Olivia and I will do just fine, Benjamin. You go on ahead and help . . . Deed.” She sipped her coffee and returned the cup to the table.
Benjamin said nothing, but sat down at the empty chair next to his mother. Atlee filled his plate without asking what he wanted.
“I’m not hungry,” Benjamin declared. “You know my pa used to shoot deer for us all the time.”
“I’m sure he did,” Blue said.
“It’s no big deal like my ma is trying to make it.”
Atlee’s eyes flashed. “That’s enough, son. Deed has been gracious enough to help us for a few days. Till we get everything settled again.”
“We don’t need no help.”
Deed’s eyes met Blue’s, then he turned toward the boy. “I’m sure you don’t. Anyway, I’ll be leaving with my brother in the next day or so. We’ve got work to do on our ranch.”
The look on Atlee’s face was a mixture of sadness and anger. She wiped her mouth with a napkin to hide her emotions. She intended to ask the Beinrigts to stay, but hadn’t done so yet, telling herself that Hermann needed to recover more. And, therefore, she needed Deed to continue helping she had told herself.
It was Olivia who spoke first, “Herr Corrigan, you vill be missed. Much, I think. You are needed here a little longer. Ja.”
Atlee coughed and regained her composure. “We all knew he couldn’t stay long. We have been most fortunate to have . . . his help this long.”
Elizabeth looked at Deed with a face that was close to tears. “Y-You c-can’t go.”
Placing his coffee cup back on the table, Blue studied Atlee’s tortured face and knew what had to happen.
“Deed, I think you need to stay here another week or so. At least until Epson makes his inspection.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll go on to the ranch.”