“Now what?” Johnson asked irritably. “Will this accursed stage trip ever be completed?”
“I wonder why we are stopping,” Jane said.
Falcon put the compress down and drew his pistol. “I don’t know,” he said. He cocked his pistol. “But I don’t intend to be caught by surprise this time.”
“Mr. MacCallister, you might want to see this,” the driver called down. “I think the rest of you should stay in the coach.”
With his cocked pistol in hand, Falcon stepped down from the coach, then moved up to the front.
“What is it?” he asked.
Falcon was standing at the right front of the coach. The driver pointed over to the left side of the road. “It’s over there,” he said.
Looking in the direction the driver pointed, Falcon saw some yellow cloth on the ground.
“Don’t that look like the dress that Indian girl was wearin’?” Gentry asked.
“Yes,” Falcon said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I seen it. So the question is, what do you reckon it’s doin’ there on the ground?”
With his gun still at the ready, Falcon walked over for a closer look at the dress. That was when he saw the other items of clothing.
And then he saw Cloud Dancer.
The young Indian woman was lying on her back, totally naked. The bullet hole in her forehead was round and black.
Shaking his head slowly, Falcon put his gun back in his holster and returned to the stage. He reached out and grabbed the front of the wheel, then looked up at the driver.
“She’s over there,” he said quietly.
“Is she ...”
Falcon began nodding before the driver could finish his question. “Yes, she’s dead.”
“Damn.”
“She’s also naked.”
“What’s that you say? She’s nekkid?”
Falcon nodded again.
“Why, them sorry sons of bitches,” the driver swore angrily. “It ain’t bad enough they took the girl, and it ain’t bad enough that they kilt her. They had to do this to her. So, what do we do now?”
“We can’t leave her out here,” Falcon said.
“No, I don’t reckon we can.”
Falcon stepped back to the coach window.
“What is it?” Johnson asked, still irritated by the unscheduled stop. “What is so important that we can’t continue our journey?”
Falcon ignored Johnson’s question. Instead, he looked directly at Jane.
“Mrs. Stockdale, I wonder if you would step out here for a moment?” he said.
“Yes, of course,” Jane Stockdale said, stepping down. She looked at Falcon and the driver with a questioning expression on her face.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Johnson asked, even more irritated now because he got no reply to his earlier question. He stepped out of the coach just behind Jane.
“Mrs. Stockdale, I’m going to ask you to do something,” Falcon said. “Something that’s not going to be easy or pleasant, and if you don’t want to do it I’ll understand, and I’ll take care of it myself. But I think what needs to be done should be done by a woman.”
“I’ll do it,” Jane said without hesitation.
“You haven’t heard what I want you to do.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you want me to do it, then I know it must be something important. I’ll do it,” she said.
Falcon pointed toward the side of the road.
“You’ll find the young Indian woman over there, in that ditch,” he said.
“Is she ...”
“She’s dead.”
Jane put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my! The poor thing.”
“She’s also naked,” Falcon added.
“She’s naked?” Johnson asked, looking toward the side of the road. “You don’t say.” He took a couple of steps toward the direction indicated by Falcon.
“Hold it right there, Johnson,” Falcon said.
“I was just going to ...”
“You are just going to do nothing,” Falcon said. Then, turning back to Jane, he said, “You can understand that I don’t want to take her body into town like this. I could dress her, but I think it would be more respectful if a woman put her clothes back on her.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” Jane said. “I’ll do it.”
“Thanks.”
Jane walked across the road, stopped, then gasped visibly as she looked down into the ditch. Gathering her resolve, she pulled her shoulders back, leaned over to pick up the dress from the road, then climbed down into the ravine. For the next few minutes, Jane couldn’t be seen, shielded as she was by the berm along the edge of the ravine.
“You think we ought to let Mrs. Stockdale be down there all by herself ?” Johnson asked. “Shouldn’t one of us be there with her?”
“Why?” Falcon asked.
“Why? Well, just to, uh, look out for her.”
“You are volunteering, are you?”
“Well, I would do it.”
“I’m sure you would,” Falcon said.
“Do you ... do you think those men had their way with her?” Johnson asked. “With the young Indian girl, I mean.”
“Had their way with her?” Falcon asked.
“Yes, you know. What I mean is, do you think maybe they raped her?”
There seemed to be a little more than idle curiosity in Johnson’s question. Falcon thought he saw a little red glint way in the bottom of the drummer’s beady little eyes, and he turned away in disgust, for fear he would backhand the son of a bitch.
After a few minutes, Jane returned to the stage. She put her hand on the side of the coach and stood there for a moment with her eyes closed. Falcon saw tears sliding down her cheeks.
Falcon took a scoop of water from the barrel and handed it to her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Jane nodded as she received the dipper. She drank the water, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That poor girl,” she said. “She was so sweet and innocent, so nice to Timmy.”
Falcon took the dipper back from her and returned it to the water barrel.
“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “I know it was hard on you.”
“Mr. MacCallister, I know you was wounded, but do you feel up to helping me get her back here?” Gentry asked.
“I’ll help,” Johnson said.
“No, you won’t,” Falcon said sharply, pointing at Johnson. “If you so much as touch her, I’ll kick you from here to Sunday.”
“Now, what was that all about?” Johnson asked as Falcon and the driver started toward the dead girl.
“Mr. Johnson, have you always been this insensitive? Or did you have to study to attain this level?” Jane asked.
When the five men rode into Oro Blanco, nobody paid any attention to them at first. Then a few noticed a bright yellow piece of calico wrapped around one of the riders’ legs. A couple of them laughed at the incongruous sight, but then another noticed that the calico was stained with blood.
The riders stopped in front of the saloon.
“Fargo, I need a doctor,” Ponci said. “This leg is hurtin’ somethin’ fierce.”
“Ahh, you’ll feel better once you’ve tossed a few drinks of whiskey down your gullet,” Fargo said. “Come on, boys, let’s go in and celebrate.” Fargo swung down from his horse and tied it off at the hitching rail.
“Fargo, don’t you think we ought to go on a little farther before we stop?” Dagen asked. “That stagecoach ain’t that far behind us.”
“What the hell for?” Fargo asked. “It’ll be four more hours before the stage gets here, if it comes here at all. Like as not, he turned around and went back to Pajarito.”
“I’d just feel better if we would divide the money up now and go our way,” Dagen said. He rubbed his hands together. “I got me some big plans for my share.”
“We’ll divide up the money when I say we’ll divide up the money,” Fargo replied. “Now, I say we’re goin’ to have us somethin’ to drink and somethin’ to eat. We ain’t eaten this live-long day and I’m hungry.”
“Yeah,” Monroe said. “I’m for that. Let’s get somethin’ to eat and drink.”