The Ghost of Apache Creek

Chapter 19

“She skedaddled, Sam, just as you said.” Mash Lake shook his gray head. “Little gal sure had me fooled.”

“Seems like.”

Pace glanced around the office; then his eyes caught and held on a patch of floor near the gun rack.

“Mash, come here, quick,” he said. “Look at this.”

Lake studied the warped timbers for a moment, then said, “It’s blood. And there are other spots on the wall.”

“Yeah. And I’m willing to bet that it’s Jess’s blood.”

Lake’s eyes wandered to the door. “What do you reckon happened?”

“Somebody came in here and took her, is what happened.”

Pace rubbed a smear of dry blood between his fingers. “You ever hear of Deacon Santee?”

“Hell yeah. Everybody’s heard of the deacon. I was told he got hung years ago down Texas way.”

“He didn’t. He’s alive and well, sprightly and horny enough to take Jess as his seventh wife. But she ran away and when she stumbled on Requiem she warned me that Santee would come after her.”

Lake whistled through his teeth. “The Deacon Santee I heard about, if it’s the same one, ain’t nobody to mess with, Sam. He’s got a bunch of sons who are just as wild as he is and they’re known for cuttin’ up folks with bullwhips. The deacon his own self is pure pizen with a gun and he’s as crazy as a loon.”

The old man’s eyes showed his concern. “Hell, Sam, he’s even crazier than you, and that’s sayin’ something. Mind you, that only goes if this deacon is the original article.”

“He’s the original article all right. There’s no doubt about that.”

“What will he do to the girl?” Lake said.

“I think you know the answer to that, Mash.”

Pace stepped to the window and leaned the top of his shaved head against one of the cool glass panes.

“You know Jess is a whore?” he said without turning. “Been selling it since she was fourteen, she says.”

Lake was old enough and experienced enough to take that in stride.

But he didn’t answer, his face betraying nothing.

“I reckon there ain’t a thing the deacon and his sons can do to Jess that men haven’t done to her before,” Pace said.

“Except kill her,” Lake said.

“Right. Except kill her.”

“What will we do, Sam?”

“Not we, Mash. There’s only me on this one.”

“What will we do, Sam?”

“She’s my prisoner and I’m responsible for her. I’m going after her.”

“And I’ll ride with you,” Lake said. “Whore or no, I like that little gal. She kinda grew on me, like.”

“All right, if that’s the way you want to play it.”

“That’s the way of it, Sam.”

Pace crossed the room and opened a drawer in his desk. He took out a holster and cartridge belt.

“Leather is still supple,” he said. “Even when I was at my craziest, I never forgot to oil them.”

He filled the cartridge loops and shoved his Colt into the holster.

“We’ll leave at first light,” Pace said. He smiled. “I’m not much of a hand at tracking folks in the dark. I don’t see that good. You?”

“I’ve never done it, Sam. But we’ll track better come morning.”

Lake studied Pace from his scuffed, down-at-the-heels boots to the top of his bristled head.

“Know something, Sam? You’d look a sight saner if you ditched them rags you’re wearing and got yourself some better-lookin’ duds.”

Pace glanced down at himself. “I guess that’s what three years of living rough can do to a man. I look like a railroad bum, don’t I?”

“You do an injustice to bums everywhere, Sam. You look way worse.”

“Bring the lamp. There are a pile of men’s duds in the general store, if they ain’t been et by moths by now.”