The Alamosa Trail

Chapter 8

El Paso was bustling when the three young cowboys rode into town on the morning of April tenth. Two trains were standing in the depot. One was a passenger train taking on travelers for its run back east. Even though the engineer was at rest, the fireman wasn’t. He was working hard, stoking the fire to keep the steam pressure up.

In contrast to the fireman’s toil, the engineer was leaning out the window of the highly polished, green-and-brass locomotive. He was smoking a curved-stem pipe as he watched the activity on the depot platform, serene in the power and prestige of his position.

A score of passengers was boarding or getting off the train as the conductor stood beside the string of varnished cars, keeping a close check on the time. Over on the sidetrack sat a second train. That one was a freight, its relief valve puffing as the steam pressure was maintained. The passenger train had priority over the “high iron,” as the main track was called, and only after it departed would the freight move back onto the main line in order to continue its travel west.

Two stagecoaches and half a dozen carriages were also sitting at the depot, while out in the street behind the depot a horse-drawn streetcar rumbled by.

As Chad, Gene, and Ken rode through the town, they looked into the faces of everyone they encountered, studying them for any reaction to their presence.

“It don’t look like anyone’s takin’ any particular notice of us,” Ken said. “Maybe don’t nobody know we’re train robbers.”

“More’n likely, they haven’t even heard about it in the first place, seein’ as how we ain’t really train robbers. Don’t forget, the train robbery never come off,” Gene said. “I don’t see no need to be worried.”

“And anyway, nobody saw us. We were down in the ditch, in the dark,” Ken insisted.

“Nobody saw us, that’s true. But they may find out who Hank and Eddie are,” Chad said. “And if they do, it won’t take much to connect them with us, ’specially since Hank was my brother.”

“So what are you saying, Chad? That we should just stop livin’? That we should run away and hide somewhere?” Gene asked.

“No, I’m not sayin’ that a’tall. But I don’t think we should ever talk about it. Don’t tell the other boys about it, and let’s not even talk about it among ourselves anymore, in case someone might overhear us,” Chad said.

“Oh, hell, I’ll go along with that,” Ken said. “What we done was so damn stupid, it ain’t somethin’ I’d ever want to tell anyone about, anyway.”

“Hey, there’s Barry Riggsbee!” Gene said, pointing to a man walking down the sidewalk. “Barry!” he called.

Hearing his name shouted, Barry looked toward the street, then smiled when he saw the three cowboys weaving their way through the heavy street traffic, working their way over to him.

“I see you got the telegram,” Barry said, greeting them as they dismounted to shake his hand. “Me an’ Tennessee both got one, too, telling us to come here.”

“That’s what ours says as well. Have you seen Jim and Frankie yet? Are they in town?”

“They’re not only in town—they’ve got money for anyone who signs up for the job. Me’n Tennessee have already got ours.”

“Where are they?”

“I’d try the Border Oasis if I was you. That’s a saloon just down the street. They’re supposed to meet Clay Allison there sometime today, so I reckon they’ll be hanging around there till he shows.”

“Who?” Ken asked.

“Clay Allison. Haven’t you ever heard of him?”

“Of course I’ve heard of him. What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Well, if you take the job the telegram was talking about then you’re going to be working for him. We all are. Seems he’s bought some horses he wants us to bring up from Mexico.”

“What’s he paying?” Gene asked.

“That’s the best part,” Barry answered. “He’s paying two hundred dollars apiece, and like I told you, you’ll get the first hundred soon as you agree to hire on.”

“Have you and Tennessee hired on?” Chad asked.

“Yep. So far there’s Tennessee and me, Jim Robison, and Frank Ford. And now you three, if you’re goin’ to do it.”

“Hell yes, we’re going to do it,” Chad said.

“Good, good. Glad we’ll be working together again. By the way, how’s your brother gettin’ along? And where’s Eddie Quick? Don’t seem right, seein’ you three without them along.”

“They, uh, didn’t make it,” Chad replied.

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that,” Barry said. “But I read where a lot of good men died out durin’ the winter.”

Chad, Gene, and Ken looked at each other. They hadn’t said anything that would suggest Hank and Eddie died during the winter. And they said nothing to correct Barry’s misconception.

“I’ve got two questions to ask,” Chad said. “How do we get that money? And when do we start after them horses?”

Barry pointed to the Border Oasis. “Like I said, you’ll prob’ly find Frank Ford or Jim Robison in there. And one or the other of them will have your money. But as for when we start after the horses? Well, I don’t reckon that’s goin’ to happen until after Clay Allison gets here.”

Approximately six miles from El Paso, nineteen-year-old Marilou Kincaid walked out to the barn to call her sister and brother in for breakfast. Brenda, her seventeen-year-old sister, was milking, while fifteen-year-old Nate was pitching hay for the animals.

“Breakfast is ready,” Marilou said.

“Good,” Nate said, resting on the pitchfork. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Brenda said.

“At least I’m not so skinny I look like a rope with knots tied in it,” Nate teased, tossing some hay at his sister.

“Hey, watch that! You’re getting hay in my hair,” Brenda complained.

“What are we having?” Nate asked.

“Biscuits, sausage, and gravy. I made the biscuits myself,” Marilou said proudly.

“Don’t eat the biscuits, Brenda! You’ll probably get poisoned,” Nate teased.

“You don’t have to eat them.”

“Oh, I’ll eat them, I suppose,” Nate said as the three started back up toward the house.

“Now there’s a big surprise,” Marilou said, and she and Brenda laughed out loud. They were still laughing when Nate pushed the door open, then came to a complete halt, his eyes wide with confusion.

There were three strange men in the kitchen. One was stockily built, with red hair. He was standing behind the children’s father. Another was a medium-sized, pale-skinned albino, with eyes so light a pink as to almost be colorless. The albino was holding a knife to their mother’s throat.

The third intruder was small, wiry, and dark, with a narrow nose, thin lips, and a jagged purple scar that started just above his left eye, slicing down through it and leaving a puffy mass of flesh, then running down his cheek to hook up under the corner of his mouth. He was standing by the table eating a biscuit-and-sausage sandwich.

“Well, now, would you lookie at these two girls? They’ll do fine, just real fine,” the scar-faced man said, looking at the two girls with unabashed lust in his eyes.

“I know who you are,” Nate said. “I seen your picture on a wanted poster. You’re Will Shardeen.”

“Boy, you ain’t needed,” Shardeen growled. He pulled out his gun and, before anyone could say a word, yanked the trigger. The gun roared, a wicked flash of flame jumped from the barrel of the gun and a cloud of smoke billowed out over the table. The bullet hit Nate in the forehead and as he fell back, heavy drops of blood from his wound splattered Brenda’s face and hair.

“Nate!” Marilou screamed as her brother fell to the floor. She dropped to her knees beside him and put her hands on his face, trying desperately to deny what she was seeing.

“Murderers!” Nate’s mother yelled. She tried to stand up, but the pale-faced one shoved her back down in her chair, then cut a nick in her face with the tip of his knife. A bright red stream of blood began flowing from the gash.

“Leave her alone!” the father shouted, but his shout was cut off by a blow to the back of his head as the red-haired man brought his gun down sharply.

“What do you want?” Marilou asked. “What are you doing here?”

“What do we want? What does anyone want?” Shardeen asked. “We want money.”

“Money? Are you crazy?” the mother replied. “We don’t have any. We barely make a living from this place.”

Shardeen looked pointedly at Marilou. “Are you a virgin?” he asked.

“What?” Marilou asked, gasping at the impertinence of such a question.

“It’s a simple question, girly. Are you a virgin? Have you ever been with a man?”

“That’s . . . that’s none of your business,” Marilou replied.

“Oh, but it is my business. Now I figure your little sister here is a virgin, for sure,” Shardeen said, looking at Brenda. “Seems to me she’s too young to be anything else.” He looked back at Marilou. “But you’re a little older. For all I know, you may of already spread your legs a few times.”

“Why . . . why are you concerned, one way or the other?” the girl’s mother asked.

Shardeen smiled. “Well, since you asked, there are people in Mexico who are willing to pay a lot of money for Anglo women,” he said. “And if they’re virgins, why, they’ll pay even more.”

“You . . . would do such a thing? You would sell young girls to, to people like that?” the mother asked.

“Not just young girls,” Shardeen said, putting his hand on the woman’s chin and lifting it so he could study her more closely. “Any woman. You’ll do, too. I know you’re no virgin, but I reckon we’ll get enough for you to make it worth our while to take you with us.”

“I’m not going with you, and neither are my daughters,” the woman said resolutely.

“That’s all right by me, lady. If you don’t want to go with us, then I don’t see no reason for keeping you alive,” Shardeen said He cocked his pistol and aimed it at the mother.

“No!” Marilou shouted. “Don’t shoot her! She’ll go with you! We’ll all go with you!”

“Well, now, that’s more like it,” Shardeen said. He looked over at the other two men with him. “Whitey, you and Red go out to the barn and saddle three horses. Pick out the best ones you can find. Once we get rid of the women, the horses will belong to us.”

The albino started toward the door but the stocky one with red hair hung back. Red grabbed himself unabashedly. “Hey, Shardeen, can we have us a little fun with ’em before we sell ’em to the Mexicans?”

“No. We get a hundred dollars more if they are virgins,” he said. “I don’t aim to give up two hundred dollars just ’cause you can’t keep your pecker in your pants. If you want to do somethin’, do it with the old woman.”

“All right, don’t make no never mind to me which one I do it with, anyhow. Just as long as I get to do it,” Red replied.

“We ain’t got the time till we’re down in Mexico. Now get out to the barn and help Whitey with them mounts.”

Word of what happened out at the Kincaid Ranch reached town by noon. A neighbor who stopped by discovered the bodies of Hiram Kincaid and his son, Nate. There was no sign of Mrs. Kincaid or the girls.

The sheriff called for a posse and when thirty angry men rode out at about two o’clock that afternoon, it was all Jim, Frank, Barry, Tennessee, Chad, Ken, and Gene could do to keep from going with them.

“You know they aren’t going to find anything,” Jim told the others, as they stood in front of the saloon and watched the party leave. “They’re angry and frustrated and need to do this just to have something to do. But whoever did this is long gone by now.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Barry said. “But if it weren’t for the money we already took to do the job, I’d be out there ridin’ with them, even though they ain’t going to find anybody or anything.”

“Let’s go have another beer,” Tennessee suggested.

When the boys returned to the saloon, they found it nearly empty. Only Jensen, the gambler, had not ridden out with the posse, and he was sitting at a table at the back of the room, dealing hands of poker to himself. Seeing someone come in, Jensen looked up in anticipation of a game, but the smile left his face when he saw that Jim Robison and Frank Ford were with Barry and Tennessee.

Clay Allison arrived about an hour later. He recognized Jim and Frank, and started toward their table with Hector Ortega right behind him.

“Barkeep,” Clay called, “bring me a beer, and bring my amigo a tequila.”

“I don’t have any tequila,” Ned said. “If you want something to drink, go to a cantina. That’s where the Mexes go,” he added, looking pointedly at Ortega. “There’s two or three of ’em in town.”

“This ‘Mex’ is staying with us. Bring him a beer, too.”

Ned hesitated for a moment, obviously not too pleased with serving a Mexican.

“Boys, this is Clay Allison,” Jim said, introducing Clay to the others.

When he mentioned Clay Allison’s name, Ned gulped, and his eyes grew wide. He was galvanized into action. He quickly drew two beers, then brought them over to the table.

“Why didn’t you say you was with Mr. Allison here? Of course, anyone who is with Mr. Allison is welcome at the Border Oasis anytime, be he Mex or American,” the bartender said.

“Where is everyone?” Clay asked, looking around the saloon. “Don’t normally see watering holes this quiet, even in the middle of the day.”

“Someone murdered a man and his young son at their ranch near here,” Jim said. “Nearly the entire town has formed a posse to go after whoever did it.”

“Must’ve been a might popular man to have a posse that large after his killers,” Clay said.

“Yeah, well it’s not just the murders. The man’s wife and daughters are missing, too. The sheriff figures whoever killed the men took the women. Though where he took them, don’t nobody have any idea.”

“He took them to Mexico,” Ortega said in a matter-of-fact manner. He took a swallow of his beer.

“How do you know?”

“The banditos,” Ortega said. “They will pay gold for Anglo women.”

“So what you are saying is, the women are probably still alive?” Chad asked.

“Sí,” Ortega answered. “But it would be better for them if they were not, I think.”