The Ghost of Apache Creek

Chapter 15

Mash Lake drew rein at the marshal’s office, where a lamp burned, its two front-facing windows rectangles of orange light.

Around him the town lay dark and dead and only the prowling wind took any interest in his being there, sniffing him all over before moving on.

A horned moon began its climb into the sky, and the buildings along the street took on a ghostly sheen, their false fronts looming over Lake as though they were going to reach down and grab him.

Somewhere a door banged on its hinges. A feral dog barked. Blown sand sifted against the mustang’s legs. Lake’s saddle creaked. He heard his own breathing in the quiet. The dog barked again.

And suddenly the marshal’s office went dark.

Lake’s hand rested on the ivory butt of the Remington holstered across his belly.

“What the hell do you want? State your business.”

A man’s voice from inside the cabin—rough, unfriendly, and demanding.

“Lookin’ fer a square and a bed for the night,” Lake said.

“I got faith in this here rifle gun,” the man said. “She shoots right where I aim her.”

Deciding that the circumstances demanded a fast burnish of his bona fides, Lake said, “It’s only me, ol’ Mash Lake as ever was. Friend to all, enemy to none.”

The marshal, or whoever he was, had the good grace to put a grin in his voice.

“Real true blue, ain’t you, fer a night rider?”

“Lost my way,” Lake said. “Seen your light. Pegged this burg as a place where I could get a bit o’ supper an’ a bed. Seems like I pegged it wrong.”

“That depends,” the man inside said.

“On what?”

“On me,” the man said.

The office door opened and Lake saw a tall, thin feller walk out, then immediately step into shadow.

“Light,” the man said. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

A moment’s pause, then, “Mister, right now I’m nervous and when I’m nervous I get scared and when I get scared bad things happen.”

Lake stepped out of the saddle, his hands high.

“No reason to be sceered of ol’ Mash Lake, as mild-mannered a cove as you’ll find in a day’s ride in any direction.”

“Around here, that don’t cover a lot of folks,” Pace said. “Come on in slow and grinnin’, like you was bringing a fruitcake to Grandma.”

Lake left his horse at the hitch rail and followed Pace’s motioning rifle into the office.

He saw Jess and swept off his hat. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he said. “You must be the marshal’s lady wife.”

“She’s my prisoner,” Pace said. “Now shuck your gun belt and lay it there on the desk.”

Lake did as he was told.

“Why are you in Requiem?” Pace said.

“Strange name fer a town,” Lake said. “Makes me think o’ death and Judgment Day.”

He read the irritation in Pace’s face and said quickly: “I’m just passing through, Marshal, comin’ from one nowhere, goin’ to another nowhere.”

Lake scratched a bearded cheek. “Well, that ain’t the whole story. I also got a hanging posse on my back trail.”

“Why for that?” Pace said.

“Killed me a crooked gambler.”

“Hell, gunning a base dealer ain’t breaking the law. Nobody’s going to blame you for that.”

“Ah, well, his four brothers don’t think that way. Narrow-minded gents, an’ no mistake.”

Lake’s eyes strayed to the window. “They’ll come for me, if’n they ain’t here already.”