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Ghosts of Bluewater Creek

Robert Hale Limited

Josh McCabe pushed open the door of the sheriff's office and dropped the burden from his shoulder. It made a dead, heavy sound as it hit the rough boards and around the room everything from the glass in the windows to the gun rack on the wall rattled. Only the sheriff, a big, sweat-stained man with a long moustache and a flabby paunch seemed undisturbed by the commotion. If it hadn't been for the gentle rustle of the newspaper as he turned to the next page, a casual observer might have thought the man with his feet up on the desk was asleep on the job.

But Josh didn't underestimate anyone.

'Sorry,' he said, closing the door gently before helping himself to a cup of hot coffee from a pot on the stove.

With a sigh, the sheriff finally looked up. Removing his glasses, he folded the wire arms flat before slipping them into his shirt pocket. Then he kicked his feet to the ground and peered over his desk at the body on the floor before giving Josh a full head-to-toe once over.

'I could probably arrest you for that,' he said, without a hint of humour.

Josh chuckled and tossed a folded piece of paper on to the lawman's desk. 'John Travis. The dodger says dead or alive. I thought I'd save you some time and the town the expense of keeping him while you wait for a judge to come through and hang him.'

The sheriff grunted, digging a toe into the corpse as he passed to refill his coffee cup. 'I was talking about you making a goddamn mess on my floor.'

Josh nodded, his initial good humour fading under the sheriff's continuing lack of interest. 'Of course you were. The poster says five hundred dollars. I'm in a hurry. Have you got the money in the safe?'

'Five hundred?'

'It says it there in black and white.' Josh pointed to the untouched dodger.

'What did he do, steal candy from a five year old?'

The sheriff's contempt continued to erode Josh's temper. 'He killed his family, then rode into town spraying bullets and killed another five people before high-tailing it with the banker's daughter,' he reported without emotion.

They stood a moment or two in silence while the sheriff inspected the wanted poster and Josh stared at the corpse. He had been a boy, only sixteen, the peach fuzz on his chin confirming his tender years. Even with the cuts and bruises Josh's fists had inflicted, in death his face took on an angelic innocence that belied the evil inside.

'Did you find the girl?'

'Nope. I don't think I would have wanted to.'

The sheriff seemed curious as he glanced sideways and narrowed his eyes at Josh, but if he had intended to probe further, something changed his mind and Josh was glad of it. If Travis's dying confession was true....

Josh's anger flared as he wished he could kill the twisted son-of-a-bitch again.

The stove hissed as he tossed the dregs of his cup into its belly. 'About that reward money....'

The sheriff pursed his lips and inflated his chest, working up to something. Josh had a pretty good idea what. He had been stonewalled more than once by a lawman who didn't like bounty hunters and resented paying out more than his own yearly wage to someone he considered no more than a saddle tramp with a gun.

Before he could attempt a refusal, Josh pointed to a wanted poster pinned to the notice board behind the sheriff's desk. 'I heard a rumour Abe Lawton's headed this way. Some bummer saw him in Bluewater a couple of weeks ago. The guy said he was tearing down the town: drinking, beating and killing men, raping women.'

'Bluewater? That's less than fifty miles away from here. Do you reckon he's headed this way?'

'He could be.'

'Is that why you're in a hurry to get out of town?' The sheriff's comment dripped with scorn.

'I was more thinking about you. I wouldn't want to get in your way when you make your play.'

The sheriff's jowls wobbled as he gulped. He obviously hadn't thought about his own involvement, and now Josh mentioned it he didn't like the prospect.

'Do you fancy your chances trying to bring him in?' the lawman asked, sounding more desperate than conversational.

'I always like to finish a job when I start it.'

Josh's remark made the sheriff turn and scrutinize him, his brow furrowing before his eyes widened. The news seemed to light a fuse under the apathetic sheriff and he rattled the keys on his belt as he almost tripped over the corpse in his haste to get to the safe. His fingers fairly shook as he pulled out a stack of bills and counted off $500 into Josh's rock-steady hand.

'You're him, aren't you?' he said, shoving the remainder into the safe and locking the door. He handed Josh a receipt slip, waited for him to sign it using a pen from the desk, then stared at the neat signature. 'I knew I was right. You're that bounty hunter who brought in the other four Lawtons. Well, Mr McCabe, I can't say I like what your kind does, but you ... you've got my respect for that at least.'

Josh headed for the door, barely able to contain a smirk of satisfaction. True he'd been trying to put the fear of God – or the Devil – into the sheriff, but it didn't hurt to have smoke blown up your ass now and again. It beat the alternative. But he didn't have time for chitchat and definitely couldn't force himself to trade empty niceties with an official who had probably been elected by default and would probably look the other way if trouble did make an appearance in his town. Besides, if Abe Lawton was near by, Josh didn't want to miss the son-of-a-bitch again.

'I'm keeping his horse,' Josh said, nodding towards Travis. 'Have you got a problem with that, Sheriff?'

'No, sir, anything that takes you closer to keeping Abe Lawton away from this town is fine by me. Do you think you'll be able to? Stop him before he gets here, I mean.'

Josh grunted, leaving the lazy old man in no doubt about his disdain for him. Looking somewhat put out, but now too nervous even for caustic sarcasm, the lawman shook his head as he pulled out his spectacles and returned to his desk. 'On your way to the livery stables, ask the undertaker to come over and collect this body, will you?'

Josh stepped outside, bracing himself against an onslaught of lashing rain. Deliberately, he left the door open, noting the puddle that quickly spread inside. 'Ask him yourself,' he called over his shoulder as he collected the horses from the hitch rail before heading back along the street.

Standing in the middle of nowhere, Ellen Cahill shifted her old carpetbag from her left hand to her right and back again, trying to ease the stiffness in her arms. It didn't help. Her back still ached, her feet hurt and her head pounded like a blacksmith's hammer.

She had imagined that losing her money, her ticket and being thrown off a train was the worst that could happen, not counting what she still couldn't think about in Bluewater. Now, cold and tired with three-day-old hunger gnawing at her backbone, she admitted she was probably wrong. She had been walking for two days and the only sign of civilization she had seen was an old boot with a hole in the sole half-buried at the side of the road.

She looked up at the sky, swaying slightly as the movement caused a sudden wave of dizziness to wash over her. Determined not to faint again, she drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly as she waited for the sensation to pass and her vision to clear. Overhead, the encroaching black clouds only added to her feeling of desolation as they shadowed the lush green valley and slowly turned day as dark as night. Even the distant mountains lost their silvery brilliance as the heavens dropped a veil over their snow-capped peaks.

Returning her attention to the road, Ellen blinked rapidly against tears of despair she thought had long since dried up. 'Oh, stop it,' she said, dabbing her eyes on a torn cuff. 'What other choice do you have?'

Looking down at her plain black dress, she frowned as she realized that even it had seen better days. Like her courage it too was falling apart at the seams in the face of a harsh reality. A splash of rain hit her in the face. Another. Then another. That was all she needed, and she said as much as she rolled her eyes and scowled at the sky.

She grabbed up her skirts with fresh determination and started to walk the road that seemed without end as her rain-soaked dress weighted down every step. Stumbling for what seemed like the hundredth time, she allowed herself to cry at last as mud and blood trickled down her shins. But her tears weren't formed from self-pity. They were a bitter mix of disappointment and defeat, because, despite her bravado back in Bluewater, she had failed in her quest at the first obstacle.

But no, she couldn't allow herself to fail.

'Get up, girl,' she told herself as she fell again. 'Get up!'

Somehow she scrambled to her feet and managed another step, but fatigue and the growing certainty that she was destined to die in this miserable, godforsaken place weighed like rocks in her boots. This time when she fell she stayed face down in the mud, feeling it suck her in like an old friend's embrace as the rain patted her on the back, congratulating her on a decision well made.

She thought again about the boot, separated from its partner and left half-buried and forgotten beside the road. Would the folks who found her cold, dead body just walk on by as she had done? Or would they wonder who she was, where she came from or what madness had brought a sixteen-year-old girl to this remote place?

The cruel facts acted like a slap in the face.

'I want to live,' she muttered, somehow pushing herself on to her hands, then her knees and finally to her feet. 'I have to live.'

The world reeled, flashing silver and black before her eyes, but now she didn't let it stop her as she repeated the words, using them like a crutch as she forced one foot in front of the other, again and again.

When at last a town appeared up ahead she was long past believing in a happy ending. Without really trusting her eyes, she stumbled down the middle of the main street looking in awe at the people who, in turn, stopped to stare at her.

Like a desert oasis, a beautiful hotel loomed before her with its brightly painted sign shining through the greyness of the day. Remembering her appearance, she stopped and tried to run her fingers through her sodden, knotted, hair then she straightened her collar and sleeves.

'Get out of the road,' a rider shouted, mud splashing her as a horse walked past.

She leapt out of the way, missing her footing in a deep puddle. The world spun as her arms fanned the air, pain jarring through her as she landed heavily on the rutted ground. Pride made her struggle against the sticky wetness that sought to hold her, but fighting only seemed to make the situation worse. Already drenched, lightheaded from lack of food and sore from a dozen falls, the last of her strength ebbed away quickly with her fruitless efforts.

She stopped fighting. This time she wasn't worried. It didn't matter. She lay back and waited, allowing the dizziness and constant pounding in her head to engulf her as she imagined a plate of food, a clean bed and the safe embrace of a woman she only knew as a pretty face in a faded tintype.

'What's she doing?' a man on the street shouted.

Fresh from stabling the horses, Josh was heading for the saloon. He didn't miss a stride as he negotiated a bunch of folks too stupid to get out of the rain. Small towns were full of crazy people and he had learned not to stick his nose in where it didn't belong. Besides, his mouth tasted like an old washrag, his stomach growled and nothing and no one was standing in the way of a bottle of whiskey and a plate of mutton and potatoes. Even so, he couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding as the crack of a whip and the creak of wheels warned him the stage was on its way.

He pulled away as someone grabbed his arm, losing his footing on the uneven plankwalk and glaring at the elderly woman who yanked him to the front of the crowd. 'Can't you help her, big man?'

Without thinking, he let his gaze follow the direction of the woman's outstretched finger. It was difficult to make out the figure lying in the middle of the street, covered as it was in mud, but he assumed it to be a girl or a woman; a damn fool female at any rate.

Looking along the street, he sighted six angry horses fighting the bit, their powerful hoofs carving out safe passage for the stage. The driver shouted at them, hunkering down inside his coat until his face almost disappeared under his wide brimmed hat.

A sick feeling crept over Josh as he looked quickly between the unshifting crowd, the girl and the vehicle heading towards them. He stepped off the plankwalk, or the old woman pushed him, he wasn't sure which, but his boots slipped and sank as he left the relative safety of the boards. A hush descended over the bystanders as they waited for him to do something.

'Goddamn, useless farmers,' he mumbled under his breath. 'Hey, girly, you better get out of the way.'

Like a deer suddenly aware of the hunter, her head whipped up to find him, her eyes misty and unfocused as she squinted through the relentless downpour. She looked confused, dazed and definitely unaware of the danger bearing down on her.

'Get out of the street,' he yelled.

Her head turned, her expression remaining calm as the stage gathered pace towards her. At last the driver seemed to see her but instead of hauling on the reins he just hollered for her to get out of the way.

Driven forward by the hands of the crowd, Josh slipped and slid his way into the river of mud, his footing precarious as he fought deep ruts and holes caused over time by a hundred wagons and a thousand cattle. Doubting he would make it, he flailed his arms, yelling for her to get back, but she didn't and the horses kept coming. In his imagination, he could hear them snorting, see their nostrils flare as they fought the driver. Crazy bastard, he was whipping them on!

Gathering momentum as his legs grew accustomed to the sucking mud, Josh snatched the girl up and careered across the street into a sea of boots and skirts as the wheels of the stage churned within inches of his feet.

'Damn fools. Stay out of the street,' the driver yelled.

Someone tried to help Josh up, but he shrugged them off as he rolled his weight off the girl. Lying on her back with her face only inches from his, she blinked rapidly.

'Didn't you see the stage coming?' he asked snappily, raking hair off her muddy face and out of her eyes so she could witness the full ugliness of his anger.

'Are you an angel?' she muttered.

That took the wind out of him. 'Hell no.'

'What did she say?' someone asked.

'Can you walk?' Josh asked, noticing the blood on her knees and shins before he tugged her dress down over her high-buttoned boots.

Her chin trembled.

'Je-sus.' He swept her up and staggered to his feet, glaring at the faces that stared back at him. This was bad. He couldn't afford to be saddled with a girl or a reputation as some kind of hero.

'What the hell are you all looking at?' he shouted. 'When I find out who pushed me into the goddamn street....'

His harshness had the desired effect with the crowd opening up a path to the hotel. Josh hesitated before taking it. What the hell was he going to do when he got there? In the eyes of the town, he was a man-hunter, outside the boundaries of human decency. He was someone to be feared, if not grudgingly respected when word got round who he was. If he dropped that façade for even a minute ... and yet, he couldn't just abandon the girl, even if she was a piece of pie short of a picnic. He chuckled to himself. How long had it been since he'd had a simple thought like that?

The girl wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head against his shoulder. Despite her apparent contentment, she shivered and awkwardly he hugged her more tightly, actually liking the way she snuggled into him, unafraid. It made him feel human, a rare luxury he had denied himself for too long.

'Who does this girl belong to?' he asked, scanning the group of bystanders.

A collection of shrugs and mumbling met his enquiry.

'Well?' Josh asked. 'Is someone going to claim her or do I have to put her back in the road?'

The small crowd had been easing in for a better look but they jumped back and started talking among themselves, feigning a loss of interest if they had to get personally involved.

'Thank you, sir, for your kindness,' the girl said with quiet dignity, her misty gaze now firmly on him, 'but there'll be no need to toss me aside like an old boot.'

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Excerpted from Ghosts of Bluewater Creek by Terry James. Copyright © 2011 Terry James. Excerpted by permission of Robert Hale Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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