Ghost Moon (15 page)

I sit in the dark cellar all morning, the dead Tom Cullins my only company. I feel helpless, like Ishmael in
Moby Dick
, trapped on the
Pequod
by the maniacal Captain Ahab's overwhelming desire for revenge. Every turn I take in my story leads me back to Bill and his murderous intent. At every corner, I find him standing just out of sight, smiling as he plans another death. Wellington warned me that we do not always have control over our stories and where they take us, and I should have listened to him. What will rescue me from this?

All morning I hear thumping feet, shouts and gunshots above me. It must be early afternoon when I first smell the smoke. The firing appears to have stopped, so I go up to investigate.

The McSween house is built with two wings extending from the main building. One wing is filled with smoke and the wooden timbers supporting the adobe walls are burning fiercely.

“What's happening?” I ask Harvey and McSween, who are standing in the hall outside the parlor.

“They poured coal oil over the woodpile at the back and set it alight,” Harvey replies nervously.

“It's spreading slowly because of the adobe walls,” McSween explains, “but the fire's got a firm grip. It's only a matter of time.”

“So we're stuck in a burning house, surrounded by gunmen intent on killing us and with no way to escape?” I ask angrily. Again Harvey nods despondently.

I'm struggling to control my rage at being trapped and having lost Coronado again, when a voice shouts from the parlor, “Mrs. McSween's coming back.” McSween murmurs, “Thank God,” under his breath and opens the door. Susan McSween bursts through and embraces her husband.

Harvey and I stand by awkwardly as the McSweens each say how glad they are that the other is unharmed. Others, including Bill, are gathering in the hall behind us.

“We must surrender,” Susan McSween declares to us all. “Colonel Dudley cannot help us, but he has offered all of us safe passage out of the house.”

My heart leaps. Maybe it's all over, but then Bill speaks up. “Of course Dudley won't help us. He's part of Dolan's gang.”

“He has to be neutral,” Mrs. McSween says.

“Then why,” Bill asks sarcastically, “are the howitzer and the Gatling gun pointing at us and not the Dolan store?” There's a murmur of agreement among the other men. “And what will Dudley do if we do surrender?” Bill goes on. “Hand us over to Dolan and Peppin?”

“He has to,” Mrs. McSween explains. “He has no legal authority. The judge has to decide what's to be done.”

Bill laughs bitterly. “The judge who's in the pay of the same men who support Dolan? Here's what'll happen boys.” Bill turns to the Regulators. “If we surrender, those of us not taken behind the Dolan store and shot out of hand will end up in front of a judge who's been paid to hang us. Is that what we want?” A chorus of nos echoes down the hall. “Then we have to fight it out. If we can join up with the boys in the Tunstall store, there'll be at least thirty of us and—”

“There's only three left in the Tunstall store,” Susan McSween interrupts in a strong voice. “Jesse Evans and his men moved in on them this morning. Most managed to slip out the back. The three who stayed held off Evans and the others, but they can't be any help. We're on our own in a house that's slowly burning down.”

Bill curses under his breath but soon regains his confidence. “It don't matter. What's important is that we live to fight another day. The fire's moving slow, so we'll be all right until dark. Then we'll break out and head for the river. They'll never be able to follow us in the dark. We'll get back into the hills, regroup and do it proper next time. Finish the job afore Dudley can get here to give Dolan the advantage.”

“There will be no next time.” Susan McSween's voice is strong and commands the men's attention. “Don't you see that? This is the end. Dolan's won. Even if some of you escape, you'll be hunted down and finished off.”

“We ain't finished off that easy, right, boys?” Shouts of agreement meet Bill's exhortation. “We're the Regulators. We can't fight the army, but we've got the beating of Evans and his scum. Right?” Another chorus of shouted agreement. “Who's with me for a breakout tonight?” The response from the Regulators is unanimous.

I look back at McSween, who is standing between his wife and Harvey, looking confused.

“You're all mad,” Mrs. McSween says, shaking her head. “Come on, Alex. Let's get our things together.” She steps forward, but her husband stays where his is as if rooted to the spot. “I don't know,” he says miserably.

“What do you mean?” Susan asks, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

McSween looks terrified. His eyes are darting between his wife and Bill, and he's wringing his hands in front of him.

“I mean,” he begins hesitantly. “I mean I have responsibilities. These are my men now that John and Dick are dead. I can't leave them.”

“That's the way, Mr. McSween.” Bill's voice is calm and encouraging. “You stick by us and we'll have your business back for you afore you know it.”

“You shut up.” Susan McSween's voice is hard and commanding. I spot Bill tense and his face distort into a black scowl. I silently pray he doesn't do something stupid. “Responsibilities!” Susan continues, turning to face her husband. “What about your responsibilities to me? Don't I count for more than this gunfighter trash you seem so fond of?”

“But they're my men,” McSween says. “I can't abandon them. John had a dream. He wanted to start something good here. Something that wasn't the private preserve of some corrupt politicians and businessmen.” As he talks, his hands settle and he calms down. “It's a good dream, and these trash, as you call them, and I are all that is left of John's dream. I have to keep trying as long as there's any chance of realizing the dream.” Susan stares hard at her husband but says nothing. Everyone waits to see what will happen. Eventually, McSween continues. “You must leave, Susan. Dudley won't let any men come out unless we all do, but he will protect you. I'll come for you when all this is over.”

I have a feeling like a black stone sinking in my stomach. The fighting will go on, and I'm still stuck in the middle. I angrily push past Bill and the others into the parlor and slump down in a tattered, dust-covered armchair.

I don't know how long I sit there, feeling sorry for myself. I hear shouting from other parts of the house, men come and go in the parlor, and occasional shots are exchanged through the windows. I ignore it all.

What I can't ignore is the increasing heat and the thick, dark smoke billowing into the room. Eventually, I can barely breathe, and I stumble across the hall and into the kitchen, where I find McSween, Susan and Harvey. I've heard both the McSween's voices raised as they argued back and forth about what is to be done, but the quarrel seems to be over now. Susan stands by the stove, her arms crossed, and McSween sits at the table, slouched forward with his head in his hands. Harvey sits beside him.

“You are a fool, Alex McSween,” Susan says. “I have always admired your loyalty, but it is misplaced in this case.”

McSween says nothing, and I am wondering whether I should say anything, when a shout of “Soldiers!” comes from the hall. Susan heads through and I follow.

The front door is open, and through it we see three soldiers escorting a small group of women and children along the street. The firing has stopped to allow them to pass.

“Will you give me safe passage if I join you?” Susan shouts, stepping out onto the verandah.

“I shall,” the sergeant with the group replies, “but be quick.”

Susan retreats to the kitchen. I step out the door.

“Be careful,” the sergeant shouts. “I have orders to collect only women and children. I cannot protect you.”

“I know,” I say. “Is Lieutenant Fowler of the Tenth with you over there?”

“No. His troop was not back from the reservation when we left the fort this morning.”

“If he arrives, could you tell him that Jim Doolen is here?”

“I'll do that.”

Susan reappears. Without looking back, she strides down the path and joins the small group who set off down the street. I watch despondently until a bullet
whines overhead and forces me back inside. The hope
that I could get word to Lieutenant Fowler was my last
chance for escape. Now I'm just another helpless pawn
in whatever plan Bill has hatched to get us out before
the fire destroys the house.

19

T
here are sixteen of us crammed into the kitchen, the only habitable room left in the slowly burning house: eight Hispanics who came with Jose Chavez, including the old man from La Luz; five Regulators, including Bill; McSween; Harvey; and myself. Night has fallen. It's moonless, but outside it's lit as bright as day by the flames from the burning house. Shadowy figures move about in the dancing light and occasional bullets thud into the adobe walls. I'm reminded of the vivid pictures of scenes from hell in the big illustrated bible in which my mother wrote the major family events.

The firing has almost ceased. Not only is it difficult to find targets, but it's obvious that we can't last much longer in what's left of the house. All Dolan and his men have to do is wait. We'll come to them. How we do that is up to Bill.

“Anyone feel like a song?” The closer we get to our bid for freedom, the more excitable Bill has become, singing and dancing wildly around the cramped room. It's almost as if he draws energy from our increasingly dangerous plight.

“We need to go,” McSween says.

“We'll dance our way out, right past Dolan, Peppin and the rest.” Bill grins broadly. “Here's how we'll do it. I'll take a group over toward the store. That'll draw the fire. The rest of you break out the other way and head down to the river. Who's with me?”

Jim French, who was part of the group who ambushed Sheriff Brady; Jose Chavez; and a new Regulator that I only know as Tom, immediately push forward to stand by Bill. Surprisingly, Harvey joins them.

Should I join them as well? The first group might have the element of surprise, but it's small and will be the focus of all the guns outside. When the second group breaks out, the gunmen around us will be distracted, but it's a much bigger group.

Before I can make up my mind, Bill goes on.

“Good. The five of us will go like bats out of hell when I give the word. Mr. McSween, you lead everyone else in the opposite direction. As soon as you're away from the firelight, scatter and try to make it down to the river. Clear?” There's a murmur of agreement. “Good. Then check your guns and let's get going.”

Automatically, I check that my Cavalry Colt is loaded and ready. Then I step over to Harvey.

“You sure you want to go with Bill's group?” I ask. “You'll be drawing a lot of fire, and you don't even have a gun.”

Harvey shrugs.

“Never was much of a shot. I'll keep my head down and hope for the best.”

“Good luck,” I say and turn away, but Harvey clutches at my arm. He's trying desperately to appear brave and nonchalant in front of the others, but I can see in his eyes that he's terrified. There are beads of sweat on his forehead.

“I'll tell you one thing though,” he says with a weak smile, “if I get out of this, consumption or no, I'm heading back east to spend the rest of my life in a nice safe law office.”

I nod and try to smile encouragingly. Suddenly, Bill is beside me.

“You don't want to come with us?” he asks with a broad smile.

“I'll take my chances with Mr. McSween's group,” I reply.

“Not the sort of work you thought you were getting into when we met on the trail?”

“It's not,” I agree, “and I'm out of it. If I live through tonight, I'm going up to Fort Stanton to work as a scout.”

“Army ain't for me. If you get tired of taking orders, me and some of the boys are going to set this territory alight. There's plenty cattle and few fences, and good money to be made from those who don't ask too many questions.”

“You're going to become a rustler? What happened to the idea of getting a grubstake and setting up your own ranch?”

Bill shrugs and laughs.

“Were never for me. Too much of my da in me, I reckon. Well, good luck, Canada Kid. Maybe we'll meet again one day.”

“Maybe,” I say, but I hope not. Bill has got me into a lot of trouble, and yet there's a part of him I'll miss. Not the cold-blooded killer who can shoot a man in the head without a second thought, but the charming kid who can sing and dance with the best of them.

“Okay,” Bill says. The bustle in the kitchen ceases and people pay attention. “It's time. The five of us will head for the store. This is the order: Harvey, Jim French, Tom, Jose and me. Go hard, shoot at anything that moves and good luck.