Evan retreated before the squad of approaching soldiers whose eyes were full of death. They were dressed in moldering uniforms and they were crippled and limping, with white skulls showing beneath old flesh. Every one of the soldiers was looking at Evan and calling out to him in weirdly hollow voices, lamenting at having died so young.
Evan knew he must show bravery before these poor fellows. He forced his legs to halt their retreat and struggled to rid his features of the fear he felt. He must meet them and let them have their way with him, for hadn't he killed them with his saw and scalpel?
"I'm ready to stand punishment," Evan called out to the soldiers.
The four soldiers in the first rank surrounded Evan and caught hold of him with skeleton hands. The remainder broke ranks and swarmed upon him.
"Evan, what's wrong?" John said, shaking him.
Evan fought up out of the frightening pit of sleep and came awake with John bent over him in the night. "Okay, John, okay," Evan said.
"You were talking in your sleep," John said, removing his hand from Evan's shoulder. "Something about being punished."
"It was just a dream," Evan said. He rose to a sitting position and looked about him. "I'm all right," he added, glad it was truly only a dream.
"You sure?"
"Yes. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."
"It's almost daylight. What do you say to us getting started now and making it to El Paso today?"
"Fine with me. I couldn't sleep anymore anyway. We could probably make it there by some time in the afternoon."
* * *
Tattersall and his band of men, and the two Valdes brothers, Carlos and Leo, rode into Ciudad Juarez on the seventh day after leaving Chihuahua. They halted their mounts on the high point of the city from where they could look along El Camino Real and see the Rio Grande, and beyond the river, the buildings of El Paso.
Carlos spoke to Tattersall. "Leo and I will stop here. We have some business to do."
"What kind of business?"
Carlos resented being questioned, but decided to answer for he needed the Americans. "Our family has a freight station here with a warehouse, wagons, and horses for our freight line. We want to talk with the men who operate that for us. Also, Leo and I shouldn't ride into El Paso on Valdes horses and in these clothes. We don't want to be noticed before we find and kill Hawkins. We will come across the river later today."
Tattersall nodded, running his eyes over the men's expensive clothing, the silver-decorated saddles, and the prominent Valdes brand on their horses. He tried to read more in Carlos and Leo, but they were as unreadable as their father.
"Me and my men have talked it over and we're going to take a couple of days to let loose and do a little celebrating. Then we'll we go looking for Hawkins."
Carlos shrugged. "All right. I've been waiting a year to see Hawkins dead, so two more days means nothing."
* * *
Marcella moved along the boardwalk on the shady side of the El Paso street. Yesterday Karl and she had arrived late and she had seen little of the town. Today she planned to do considerable exploring.
A scattering of people came and went on the street, some on foot like herself, a few horsemen, some carriages, and half a dozen wagons loaded with freight.
Just ahead of her two young Mexican cowboys were dismounting in front of a cantina. They were dressed in worn and faded pants and shirts, and battered, broad-brimmed sombreros. They wore pistols belted to their waists. Both were quite handsome. They turned and looked at Marcella.
To her surprise, they had blue eyes, which quickly ranged over the length of her with a measuring look. In unison, they whipped off their sombreros and bowed with a graceful bending of their upper bodies.
"Buenos dias, señorita," Carlos said. But was she actually a señorita? She was very beautiful and he wanted to know for certain. "It is señorita, isn't it?"
"Señorita will do," Marcella replied, for she certainly didn't feel married.
"Bueno," Carlos said, and gave her another little bow.
Marcella gave both men a little smile and continued on her way.
She had proceeded but a few steps when a man called out from farther along the street. "Rachel. Rachel Greystone."
Marcella glanced in the direction of the call. Two horsemen had stopped on the street. The taller man was smiling and waving his hand. It appeared that he was looking directly at her. She didn't know him, so she cast around to see who might be near her and to whom he was speaking. There was nobody. The man sprang down from his mount, handed the reins to his companion, and came swiftly toward Marcella.
"Rachel, how did you get to El Paso?" Evan asked. She had that same brilliance about her that had so often been in his mind. He gloried in the sight of her.
"Who are you? Why do you call me Rachel?" As she asked the question, she recalled the image of the woman and her saying the name Rachel.
Evan's smile became one of puzzlement. "Why, that's your name. Don't you remember us meeting in Marshall?"
She was dumbfounded disbelieving what the man was saying. Yet his words had the ring of truth. "You know me? Know me as Rachel Greystone?"
"That's what you told me your name was. Don't you remember me? I'd just got off the train at the station, and when I came into the hotel, you kept me from falling when I tripped."
Rachel caught her head between her hands and closed her eyes. Shadowy figures of wounded soldiers moving on a street were forming. Then she recalled taking hold of the arm of an ill man and helping him into the hotel. "I do seem to remember that. But you look somehow different."
"I've gained some weight as I've healed from my wound. But I'm that same fellow. You were going east to be a nurse for General Lee's army, and to find some of your relatives who were fighting with him."
Rachel stepped forward and clutched Evan by the arm with a hard grip. "Yes! Yes! It's coming back to me. I did talk with you. And I did get on the train."
Her face creased with a fierce effort to see more in that empty gulf of her previous life. The man was stating the truth, and the truth became the key that unlocked her mind, and the nothingness of the past became suddenly filled with people and events.
Rachel's words came with a rush. "Then later the train pulled onto a siding. I fell off, yes, I fell. Then when I came to, Karl was with me. There was no train. He told me I had fallen from the buggy. He told me I was his wife."
"Married? You said nothing about being married when I saw you in Marshall. In fact, from what you said, I was sure you were single."
Rachel's hands flew up to cover her face. "Oh, my God. That's right. I'm not married. Karl lied to me. I've been living with him as his wife and I'm not." A sob of torment escaped her.
Rachel's hands lowered from her tear-streaked face. "How could he do such a thing to me?"
Because you are beautiful and he must be a son of a bitch, Evan thought, but kept silent.
Rachel collected herself and looked more closely at the man who had awakened her memories. He had the most gentle eyes she had ever seen on a man. At the moment they were watching her tenderly and with sorrow. "I seem to recall you said your name was Evan."
"Yes, Evan Payson."
"Thank you, Evan, for not forgetting me. I don't know what might have eventually happened to me if you hadn't come back into my life today."
She smiled at Evan, a frail smile, but a gift of pure gold to Evan.
"You seem to be in a bad fix," Evan said. "Is there something I can do to help you?"
"I must get away from Karl," Rachel said. "Go someplace where he can't find me."
"Must you hide from him? We'll tell the sheriff what he has done to you and let the law handle it. What's his name?"
Rachel shook her head, and her hands came up as if to ward off something terrible. "No one must ever know that this has happened to me. No one. Promise me that you won't ever tell."
"I promise." Evan understood the disgrace that Rachel would face from having lived with the man without being married to him. Never had he hated a man like he did this one who had so abused her.
Rachel looked around to see who was close. Two women had stopped on the boardwalk and were looking at them. They were too far away to have heard. Evan's friend and the Mexican cowboys were watching, but at a distance. She looked about in a larger radius for Karl. He wasn't in sight.
"Who is Karl?" Evan asked.
"His last name is Redpath. He owns the Handford Hotel."
"I'll go and have a talk with Redpath. Tell him I know what he's done and that he must never bother you or speak to you again."
Rachel knew Evan, with his youth and slight build, could never stand against Karl Redpath. "He's a dangerous man," she said. "I saw him shoot four men, and he did it easily. He laughed about it afterwards."
"Even so, I should still have a talk with him."
"I don't want to see you hurt."
"All right then," Evan said. He would have that talk with Redpath later. "I'll help you, if you'll let me."
"Would you? I can't pay you for I have no money."
"I don't want payment. My folks own a ranch a few miles west of town. They'd be glad to let you stay with them until you decide what you want to do."
"Thank you. I accept gladly and will always be in your debt. Can we leave right now?"
"Sure."
He took Rachel by the hand and they went quickly to John. "Can I borrow your horse?" Evan asked John. "Rachel and I want to ride to my parents' place."
"Sure," John said, and swung down to the ground. From the tense expressions on the faces of Evan and the woman, John knew something was wrong. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Just let us use your horse," Evan said. He spoke to Rachel. "Give me your foot."
Rachel hoisted her dress to mid-leg and gave Evan her foot. He lifted her astride. She tucked the tail of her dress under her for protection from the saddle, and took the reins John was holding out to her.
"I'll bring your horse back to you later," Evan said to John.
"No hurry. I can walk home from here."
"We mustn't go past the hotel," Rachel said to Evan.
"Won't have to." Evan led off.
Neither Evan nor Rachel saw Carlos and Leo mount their steeds and follow after them.