Chapter 18

Saturday, May 30, 1891

After closing the law office that Saturday noon, Malik and Peng rode horseback to join Beatrice, Wren, and the children at The Rapids cabin, where the others had gone earlier, having taken the family’s four-in-hand carriage. They had been driven there by Nate Vargas, who would return for them on Monday morning.

May was typically a warm month in southern Arenoso, already bringing summertime temperatures. That hot afternoon saw Aspen and her little brothers impatiently awaiting Malik’s arrival. He had promised them an afternoon outing to the river bank and he had hinted at the possibility of wading and splashing in the shallow water of the Gravel Bar’s north channel, weather permitting.

The weather did permit. The children exhausted themselves in water play with the result that, almost immediately after supper, all three were fast asleep and tucked in bed.

Wren prepared lemonade and Beatrice coaxed Malik down onto the porch step, where she sat to one side and Wren the other. Peng sat on the step below, leaning back between his knees. Then, even Malik began to doze off.

Beatrice said, “Emil, there is something important we need to discuss.”

This brought him fully awake. “Yes, dear?”

She said, “You’ll recall that I have mentioned before that, when women live together, ut mifgt happen their monthly cycles may begin to coincide.”

“Yes. You’ve said that the three of you are like that.”

“And we are, to a remarkable degree. What makes it even more remarkable is that we all have missed our last two monthlies.”

“The coincidence has been lost? What would account for that?”

“It’s not so much that it’s been lost, as it is that it has entered a different phase.”

“I’m -- not sure I... “ He suddenly sat bolt upright. “You’re joking?” he demanded.

All three of them now turned to face him.

Wren, beaming, said, “No, Shadow, we’re not joking.”

“Quite the contrary, Master. I trust it pleases you,” Peng said.

“You, too?” he asked Beatrice.

“Me, too,” she said, a smile on her lips and a tear sparkling in the corner of her eye.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Malik said, the appreciative wonder evident in his tone. But then he looked at each of them, asking, “And you are each happy with this?”

They assured him that they were.

“Holy smoke,” he whispered, gazing toward the river. Then he looked back at Beatrice. “Does this mean you’ll all deliver on the same day?”

“Probably not, but within a week or so of one another. Near as we can figure, Wren has the best chance of being first, then Yan, but it’s too close a thing to say with any certainty. And, it could all be on the same day, bit probably not.”

“Incredible,” he said.

“We think we should celebrate,” Beatrice added.

“How does one celebrate such an unusual event?”

“Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll show you.”

(Saturday, May 30, 1891)

Friday, June 5, 1891

A week that had commenced in joy was closing on a tragic note.

The family sat in silence as Dr. Lee had finished his explanation. After a moment, Malik, his visage tightened in worried consternation, asked, in halting fashion, “Doctor Lee, might this have been brought on by, uh ... by ... over-enthusiastic ... uh, marital relations?”

Lee, whose attention had been directed to Peng, turned to Malik and looked into his eyes. After a few seconds, he said, “No, not unless a foreign object was inserted into the vaginal canal with sufficient force to cause debilitating pain and virtually immediate bleeding. It is not possible to cause this in any normal form of sexual intercourse, athletic or sedate, without the application of significant external force, and then it would also result in noticeable injury to the man. So, no. If you have to ask, then it is assuredly not so.”

Doctor Lee shook his head and frowned, again turning to Peng. “As I said, I believe this was a result of the delivery of the twins. I would surmise the additional stress on the uterine musculature caused damage to the interior of the womb so that it is unable to carry to term. From what I can tell, the damage is most likely permanent.”

This was, in fact, what Beverly Kagan had told them on Wednesday, after Peng had been passing a bloody discharge for a day and a half. Kagan had packed Peng’s vaginal canal in an effort stop the bleeding and advised her to stay in bed.

The hemorrhage had stopped by Thursday morning and the family had traveled to Summer Lake in the Manuela de Ortega on Friday. There, Peng was examined by Dr. Lee Wuying, who had overseen her pregnancy and attended the delivery.

Beatrice asked, “So, future pregnancies will result in miscarriages?”

Lee, still looking at Peng, said, “Either that, or the further complications of this or future miscarriages will prevent pregnancy altogether. I suspect the latter is more likely.”

Wren sniffed, a tear running down her cheek, as she reached for Peng’s hand.

(Friday, June 5, 1891)

Sunday, June 7, 1891

DeWitt:

Bill had telephoned me on Saturday with instructions to go to Waypoint and assume the role of bodyguard for the Patron. I boarded the westbound Santa Fe that evening.

On my way to the station, I went by Bill’s house. He gave me a copy of the coded message that had come in by wire that morning, addressed to the Jefe. It said that Miss Peng had a physical condition which would prevent her from serving as his guardian for several weeks. The Jefe had appended a note to Bill suggesting I be assigned the duty, unless Bill had a preferred alternative.

The Santa Fe train was running ten minutes behind its schedule when it arrived in Fort Birney, at seven-thirty Sunday evening. I was carrying both a large carpet bag, packed with clothing, work boots, personal items, and my forty-five Colt, and had a leather rifle case with its forty-five caliber Winchester ‘Eighty-six slung over my shoulder. I was wearing my thirty-eight in a shoulder holster under my traveling jacket and my brown “work” bowler on my head.

As I walked across the depot platform, a man approached me. He was broad shouldered, some taller than me, clean shaven, maybe mid-forties, and wearing a Stetson. As he stepped into the light, I noticed the glint of a lawman’s badge on the left breast of his waistcoat. When he came closer, I saw it was the star of a federal marshal.

He stopped in front of me and, in a friendly tone, asked, “Are you Wayne DeWitt?”

“I am that man, marshal. Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. I’m Connor Lonegan, US Marshal for eastern Arenoso. Emil Malik asked me to take you to dinner. He said he’d pay, so I was on board.” Lonegan chuckled.

Nodding, I said, “The Patron, uh, that is, Mister Malik has mentioned you. But I expected you to be about three feet taller.”

Lonegan, grinning, said, “Used to be, ‘til I started riding with your boss.”

We were at a restaurant called the Officers’ Mess, after having dropped my bags at the Fort Birney Lodge. We’d enjoyed a really fine meal and I was sipping my coffee. I was awaiting an ice cream dessert that featured a banana, chopped nuts, chocolate flavored sauce, and whipped cream.

Connor, puffing on a Guardia Real, had just finished describing the events the night on the depot platform in Shepherds Crossing, after he’d first met the Patron. He told of how the Patron and his friend, Cowboy, had snuck out over the roof of the passenger coach, unarmed, and had knocked out a fair portion of the opposing posse. Then they surprised the county deputy, who had confronted Connor, when the downed-men’s hats came sailing over the coach to land at the deputy’s feet, giving him second thoughts.

I said, “That’s not the way the Patron tells it. He said that you went out on the coach’s platform and pointed out to the men waiting there how, despite that you and your deputies were outnumbered better than two-to-one, nobody was going to walk away without some heavy load of buckshot in them. He said you painted such a picture of mayhem that every man in that posse chose to abandon the deputy sheriff.” I was chuckling as I finished.

Lonegan just shook his head, dismissing my account.

The waiter brought the sundae just then and Connor and I both paused to admire it. I said, “I’ve visited a few ice cream parlors before, but that has to be the most interesting dessert concoction I’ve ever seen.”

“It does make an impression.”

I dug in.

After a bit, I asked, “Were you there when Cowboy was killed?”

Connor pressed his lips together and nodded his head. He said, “Those two had known each other since they were youngsters. Watching them work together was like watching two minds sharing the same thoughts.” He sighed.

“We were after a white slaver. Among other things, his gang had been kidnapping women from the towns along the Fort Birney branch. They’d ship the women to Mexico, hidden in compartments in a gondola under a load of coal. Everyone thought he was a Kanzona copper named Doyle, which turned out to be an alias. Many folks were actually helping him, even some lawmen, unaware of the truth. It cost some of them their lives. But I’ll give him this: Doyle did know his way around railroad operations.

“We were on Emil’s train, one made up special, just for that purpose. Doyle was on the regular passenger train, and we were chasing after him, looking for an opportunity to save those women. He was headed south, to Mexico, leaving a trail of bodies behind him, mostly members of his gang. He was killing them just to shut them up.

“We caught up with him and his Mexican partner at Micah Spring. They had the three women they’d taken. I say women, but two were just girls.

“Emil figured it for an ambush, so he planned for us to come up on them from two directions.” He chuckled, grimly. “Emil’s always workin’ out a plan.

“Our big concern was that Doyle an’ his partner would kill the women if things got desperate, just to keep the women from testifyin’. So we needed somethin’ sudden, somethin’ that would throw them two off their intents.

“The plan was for Cowboy and his brother, Juniper, to hide by the siding, down by the spring run, Juniper because he figured to be the best rifle shot, of any of us. An’ he was that. They slipped off the train, careful not to be seen, when we stopped by the water tank.

“Then me, an’ Emil, an’ Cowboy’s brother, Sage, were to circle around so we could come up on Doyle and the Mexican from the far end of the wye. We were to ride in, drawin’ their fire, then Cowboy an’ Juniper were to take them from the rear.

“After we dropped Cowboy and Juniper, we took our train up the track, about a mile, out a’ sight of the wye. Then we unloaded our horses and rode around this low hill toward the tail end of that wye track.

“But Cowboy was worried for the women. He’d missed a chance to rescue them the day before, instead getting’ thrown in jail for murder, killin’s which had been Doyle’s doin’. So, at Micah Spring, when them sunsabitches started to break cover, Cowboy saw a chance to finish them off without harm comin’ to the women. He had Juniper shoot the Mexican, who came out first. Then Cowboy charged toward Doyle, trying to give Juniper a shot at ‘im.” Lonegan looked down at the table, shaking his head. “Well, it worked. Doyle raised up just enough to take a shot at Cowboy, and Juniper shot Doyle right in his fuckin’ forehead.” He looked up at me, “But not before Doyle shot Cowboy.” Connor sighed.

“Sage, Emil, an’ me had heard the shootin’, but we weren’t in sight a’ things, as there were some trees we had yet to get clear of. Emil kicked his horse, though, and that animal took off like greased lightning. He was too late for the fight, but Emil got to Cowboy just before he died.”

Lonegan again looked down, seeming to be lost in the memory. “That was a helluva thing.”

I let the silence linger for a minute, then I said, “I met one of those girls, well, she’s mostly a woman, now.” Lonegan looked up.

“Rosario Morales,” I said. “In Dorado Springs. First I laid eyes on her, she had a shotgun pointed at my chest.”

“The hell you say.”

“Yep. And from only about ten feet off. She had me disarm and then hold my hat to my head. I don’t mind tellin’ you, she had me a mite worried, there, for a minute or two.”

“So?”

“I was guarding the Patron, that day. He went in the bank to talk to the manager, so I set up outside, next door, by the mercantile, where I could keep an eye on the bank. Turned out, Morales’s Pa owned the mercantile.

“Rosario was tending the store and had seen me watching the Patron, loaded for bear, like I was. When I set up to watch the bank after he went in, she figured the worst, and came after me. I offered to show her my badge, and she nearly spit on me.

“Fortunately, her Pa came out, though he didn’t give a damn about my badge, either; later I found out it was because of that Doyle character. But her pa did send Rosario to check with the Patron, while he kept the shotgun on me.” I chuckled at the memory. “Even the Patron was cautious of them, coming around the far side of the mercantile to see what was going on, and staying quiet, so as not to startle Morales. Then he went back to the bank and came out the front door to let Morales know I was okay.”

I shook my head and smiled. “That Rosario’s quite the fierce young woman. Handsome, too. You’d definitely want her on your side, though. They think the world of the Patron and his friend, Cowboy, that’s for damn sure.”

“Oh? You interested?”

“What? Oh, in Rosario? Yeah, maybe could’ve been. But I’m corresponding with another fierce young woman, over in Yuma.”

“Fierce? How so?”

However, I noticed a waiter turning chairs up on tables, so I said, “That’ll have to be a story for another time. Looks like they’re wantin’ to close up.”

Lonegan looked over at the waiter, then stood, and dropped some coins on the table. He said, “Tell Emil he owes me, and to pay off soon, as I charge compound interest.”

(Sunday, June 7, 1891)

Monday, June 8, 1891

I was pleasantly surprised to find Connor in the lobby of the Fort Birney Lodge when I came down in the morning.

I said, “Mornin’. Did the Patron tell you to take me to breakfast, too?”

“No, but I wanted to hear that other fierce young woman story, so I figured I’d ride along to Waypoint.”

“You’re joking.”

“Yeah, I am. I decided to visit Peng Yan. She’s a deputy marshal, you know.” I did and I nodded. “Besides, I want to collect that dinner from Emil at the Old Courthouse Inn. I like eating there even better than at the Officers’ Mess.”

“So where do we go for breakfast?”

“About twenty miles south of here, at a town called Agate. There’s a family sells from the depot platform. They make a great egg and potato burrito. It’s got chorizo and cheese, some even have frijoles. You can get beer or soda pop to drink, too, and lemonade, if you have your own jug.”

“My canteen’s in my bag, and the lemonade sounds more like breakfast.”

“Here,” he said, “let me heft that rifle for you. What have you got in here?”

The Kanzona passenger train left Fort Birney promptly at seven that morning and we reached Waypoint at ten thirty-seven, two minutes ahead of schedule, according to Mister Timmons, the conductor. That didn’t mean the train could also depart two minutes early, of course, as the advertised schedule of departures had to be observed. “Late can accumulate; early is lost at each stop,” Mister Timmons observed.