Ride to Hell's Gate

No sooner had Dawson and Caldwell led Caldwell’s horses to the town stables and begun watering them at the public trough than Gerardo Luna walked up to them with his ornate shotgun draped over his forearm. ‘‘Marshal Crayton Dawson, mi amigo!’’ Luna said, having recognized him immediately as the two walked into Matamoros off the flat, dusty trail. ‘‘What brings you to my town?’’ As he spoke he gestured an arm, taking in all of the sprawling village.

‘‘Good day to you, Mr. Moon,’’ said Dawson, stepping forward to meet his old friend. ‘‘Since when do I need a reason to come visit my friend?’’

‘‘You will never need a reason.’’ Luna smiled. ‘‘But I will wager you are on the trail of some felon.’’ He shifted a glance to Caldwell.

‘‘Mr. Moon,’’ said Dawson, ‘‘I’d like you to meet my deputy, Jedson Caldwell.’’ Gesturing a hand toward Luna he said, ‘‘Jedson, this is Gerardo Luna, the man I have been telling you about—the law in Matamoros.’’

‘‘It is a pleasure meeting you, Sheriff Luna. I’ve heard a lot about you,’’ said Caldwell, stepping forward with his right hand extended.

‘‘Si,’’ said Luna, ‘‘Lawrence Shaw has told me much about you.’’ Luna’s smile waned a bit as he added, ‘‘Before he got started staying too drunk to carry on a conversation, that is.’’

‘‘You know I would not do that, no matter how drunk and rank he became,’’ said Luna. ‘‘I sent him to a place where I hope he will sober up and get back to his old self.’’

‘‘I see,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘That’s good.’’ He and Caldwell gave each other a look, both of them knowing how much help a big gun like Shaw would have been, had he been there sober, ready to ride. ‘‘Well, let’s hope it gets him straightened out,’’ Dawson added, sounding just a little disappointed.

‘‘Yes, let us hope so.’’ Luna eyed the two lawmen, having understood the look they’d exchanged. ‘‘But now, what about you?’’ he asked Dawson. ‘‘You still have not told me what brings you here to my town.’’

‘‘The Barrows Brothers Gang.’’ Dawson’s expressionturned grim, down to business. ‘‘Word has it they have thrown in with Luis Sepreano and his Army of Liberation.’’

‘‘Army of Liberación . . .’’ Luna spit in distaste. ‘‘Luis Sepreano has gathered for himself an army of murderers and thieves, nothing more.’’

‘‘Yep, and now he’s taken in the Barrows Gang. With them riding with him, he gets the run of both sides of the border. Your government agrees with the American consulate that this bunch has to be stopped.’’

Luna gave Dawson a look of bemused disbelief. ‘‘So, the two governments have decided to send out one U.S. marshal and one deputy?’’

Luna looked back and forth between the two lawmen and shook his head. ‘‘You need more men.’’

‘‘I’ve mentioned that myself,’’ Caldwell said, giving Dawson a thin smile of satisfaction.

Ignoring the remark, Dawson said to Luna, ‘‘We shot it out with some of Barrows’ men in Poco Río and chased two of them toward here. But my horses went down on me and we had to pull away. We heard shooting yesterday on our way around the hills. But I figure they know we’re heading here and have cut out in another direction by now.’’

‘‘Do I know these two desperados?’’ Luna asked, his hand deftly stroking along the butt of his shotgun.

‘‘Probably,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘It’s Leo Fairday and Black Jake Patterson. They’ve been riding both sides of the border for a long time, even before they threw in the Barrows.’’

‘‘Yes, I know these two,’’ said Luna, ‘‘and they are both bad and dangerous men. They are both wanted throughout Mexico, but no one man has been able to stand up against the gangs they ride with. Patterson is best friends with the Barrows brothers. Leo Fairday has long been wanted for killing a woman he once lived with near Poco Río. It is said she was the mother of his child.’’

Dawson’s expression turned darker. ‘‘Fairday took a young whore hostage in Poco Río. He said he’d let her go if we gave him a head start to the hills. I figured he’d leave her for us to have to take back to town. But instead, we found her gutted like an animal.’’

‘‘Senseless,’’ Luna commented. ‘‘But rest at ease knowing that I will introduce them to mi pequeño ángel, if they show up in my town.’’ He patted the shotgun.

‘‘We’d both appreciate any help your little angel might give us, Luna,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘But like I said, they’ve most like cut out by now. We’ll be pushing on as soon as I can get a fresh cayuses under me and we take on some trail supplies.’’

‘‘We’ll backtrack and try picking up their trail at the hills where we heard all the shooting,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘I hope it wasn’t Fairday and Patterson waylaying some innocent travelers.’’

‘‘What about Matamoros?’’ Dawson asked. ‘‘What if I’m wrong about them cutting out? What if they decide to come here anyway?’’

Luna let out a tense breath. ‘‘You are right, my friend,’’ he said. ‘‘It is at times like this I must remind myself that my first duty is to protect my town.’’

‘‘Not that we wouldn’t welcome you with us,’’ said Dawson, ‘‘you and your little angel.’’ He nodded at Luna’s ornate shotgun.

‘‘I am honored,’’ Luna said seriously. Then he looked off toward the American consulate building that towered above the rooflines from two squares away. ‘‘I wonder if your leaders or mine even realize how bad things could get along the border with Sepreano and the Barrows joining forces.’’

‘‘Of course they realize,’’ Caldwell said with a dark chuckle. ‘‘That’s why we’re here.’’

Dawson considered things for a moment, gazing off with Luna toward the looming American consulate building where an American flag flew alongside a Mexican flag. ‘‘How long do you suppose Shaw has been drunk?’’

‘‘How long?’’ Luna looked at him. ‘‘Long enough that he passed out in a gunfight. Long enough that he did not even remember being in the gunfight until he awakened three days later and saw a bullet hole in his shoulder. Even then I had to tell him about it.’’

‘‘He’s turned into a falling-down drunk,’’ Dawson said with remorse. ‘‘I hate hearing that.’’

‘‘Perhaps he will change,’’ Luna said. ‘‘But for now he and his fast gun are of no help to you. Riding with you to face the Barrows and Sepreano, he would get himself killed.’’ Luna considered it, then added, ‘‘Although it would appear that getting himself killed is what he is trying to do these days.’’

‘‘I’m glad you’re here looking out for him, Mr. Moon,’’ Dawson said. ‘‘We’ve been friends since we were kids in Somo Santos. Losing Rosa has just about caused him to lose his mind.’’ He wasn’t about to mention how much he himself had loved Rosa Shaw, or how many nights they had spent together those times while her husband, Lawrence Shaw, was off somewhere building his reputation with a gun.

‘‘She was a beautiful woman, Rosa Shaw,’’ said Luna, seeing the sadness move into Dawson’s eyes but not being able to fathom the depth of it. ‘‘We grew up near here, she and I. Sometimes I think that being here makes Lawrence feel closer to her spirit.’’

‘‘Yeah, I see how it could,’’ Dawson said. Not wanting to bring up her memory at a time like this, he did not want to talk about anything to do with Rosa Shaw. Changing the subject he asked, ‘‘What kind of horse can I expect to buy here for forty dollars?’’

‘‘A hundred will buy one that is not only breathing, but perhaps even able to carry a rider,’’ said Luna, his smile widening. ‘‘Horses have become gold here.’’ He pointed toward the American consulate. ‘‘Your wealthy políticos americanos buy the best of them for themselves, their children and their mistresses. The federales buy them up for the soldiers in Mexico City. A rurale lawman like myself rides a mule if he can afford one, or a donkey if he cannot.’’

‘‘I’ve got to buy one, and a good one at that,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘Who do I need to see?’’

‘‘There are a few horses left at the stables that came from the late Judge Bengreen’s Cedros Altos spread,’’ said Luna without mentioning that was the place where he’d sent Shaw. ‘‘They are not from the judge’s private stable, but they will be good, hard-boned Spanish Barbs from his working string.’’

‘‘Gracias,’’ said Dawson. ‘‘A good cattle horse will suit me fine. While Jedson waters his horse, what say you walk over to the stables with me and introduce me to your local horse dealer?’’ As he turned with Luna to walk away toward the stables, he said to Caldwell over his shoulder, ‘‘As soon as I get back, we’ll go round up some supplies and have ourselves a meal.’’

When Dawson and Luna turned the corner of an adobe building and started toward the open doorway of the town livery stables, Luna asked, ‘‘Do you want to know where I sent our friend Shaw?’’

‘‘Yes, I want to tell you,’’ said Luna. ‘‘I sent him to work for a woman who looks enough like Rosa she could have been her sister.’’

‘‘Why would you do a thing like that?’’ Dawson asked, giving him a look. ‘‘He has a hard enough time keeping Rosa off his mind as it is.’’ Dawson winced a bit, realizing that he himself still had difficulty keeping his memory of Rosa Shaw from overshadowing his thoughts.

‘‘This woman is the widow of the judge whose horses we will be seeing in the corral.’’ He gestured a nod toward a corral beside the livery stables. ‘‘I sent Shaw to work for her hoping that it would at least sober him up . . . perhaps even give him something he feels is worth living for.’’

‘‘Good luck,’’ said Dawson, turning his gaze back to the livery stable, toward the corral. He had lived with Rosa’s sister, Carmelita, after Rosa’s death, but it hadn’t helped. Carmelita had seen through him. In the end it had only made both him and Carmelita miserable.

‘‘The widow has had trouble with sneak thieves,’’ said Luna. ‘‘Shaw can keep them scared away while his wound heals. If he stayed here with a wounded shoulder, the word would soon get out. Every gunman along the border would be upon him like wolves.’’

‘‘You’re a regular matchmaker, Mr. Moon,’’ Dawson said as they walked to the side of the stables where three sturdy Spanish Barb horses stood under a thatched overhang, out of the hot sunlight.

Catching a slight bitterness in Dawson’s tone, Luna stopped and shrugged. ‘‘Did I do something wrong, my friend? If I did, you must tell me what it is.’’

Dawson stood looking at the three horses for a moment as if appraising them. Finally he let out a tight breath. Realizing he’d been a bit testy with his longtime friend, he turned to him and said quietly, ‘‘Pay me no mind, Luna. You did the right thing. I would have likely done the same, given the situation, the circumstances.’’ Dawson rubbed his neck irritably. ‘‘I’ve just been too long on the trail. It’s making me cross for no reason.’’

‘‘Si, I understand,’’ said Luna, studying Dawson’s expression, seeing the same cloud of sadness he’d detected earlier upon mentioning Rosa Shaw’s name. Dismissing the matter he stepped closer to the corral rails and gestured toward the three horses. ‘‘Here are the last three of the judge’s Spanish Barbs. These fellows are handsome animals, eh?’’

‘‘Yes, they are,’’ said Dawson, opening the corral gate and stepping inside, Luna right beside him. ‘‘How many were here to start with?’’ He ran a gloved hand along the flank of a cream-colored roan with black stockings. The big Barb gelding tossed his strong head and puffed at Dawson.

‘‘There were many, perhaps a hundred or more,’’ Luna estimated. ‘‘Most were taken across the border and purchased by the army. But the army does not accept branded animals if they can keep from doing so. A few branded ones were culled and left behind, sold to the dealer here in Matamoros at a cheap price. Since he bought them cheaply, perhaps you will be able to do the same, from him.’’

‘‘Yes, that would be good,’’ said Dawson, beginning to understand that these horses were not the lesser of the lot. They were all fine animals. ‘‘Who bought the rest that were left behind?’’

‘‘A Mexican rancher from over near Reynosa bought five or six.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘There are still many branded horses waiting at the Cedros Altos ranchero to be sold.’’

‘‘I see,’’ said Dawson, running his hand across the Cedros Altos brand, the letter C with a tall A standing inside it. ‘‘If they bear the brand, they must’ve been part of the judge’s personal riding stock.’’

‘‘Si, this is what I think,’’ said Luna. He stood back, watching Dawson walk around the cream Barb, inspecting it before lifting each of its hooves in turn. ‘‘They are the best horses we have seen in my town for a long time.’’ He grinned. ‘‘But we must not let the horse dealer know that we think so when you see him, eh?’’

‘‘Right.’’ Dawson set the Barb’s forehoof down and dusted his hands together. ‘‘Where will we find the dealer?’’

Dawson looked at the three horses again as he stepped back toward the corral gate. ‘‘The late Judge Bengreen had good taste in horseflesh,’’ he said. ‘‘I take it he left his widow well provided for?’’

‘‘Beautiful women always find themselves provided for. It is the way of the world,’’ he pointed out. ‘‘She is very wealthy, this one,’’ he added, shaking his fingers as if money had stuck to them.

‘‘That figures,’’ Dawson said with a tired smile. ‘‘Shaw is the only man I know who can get blind drunk, pass out in a gunfight, get himself shot and wind up working for a beautiful wealthy widow . . . protecting her.’’

‘‘It is true,’’ Luna laughed, not having thought of it that way before. ‘‘Always it is the way things happenfor Lawrence Shaw! Always he is like a cat. He lands on his feet!’’

‘‘Well, good for Shaw,’’ Dawson said, meaning it. Luna noted the sadness in his eyes go away as he latched the corral gate and turned in the direction of the cantina. ‘‘I hope it all works out for him. I guess I’ll have to just settle for a good dependable horse.’’