With a tight smile for his two clients, Clay Culhane left them in Sheriff Hernandez’ care while he sought a refuge from Frank McLeod. Walking down the main street of
“Senora,” he began as he stopped and looked between the stairs and the woman.
“Please, sir,” the woman said in perfect unaccented English. “It is important I speak to you. You have nothing to worry about.” She began to climb the steps.
Culhane took a few moments to look around the alley. His gunfighter’s instinct, honed by many years of watching his and his brothers’ backs, told him it was safe, that there was no ambush awaiting him. But, still he thought it was better to be cautious. Slowly climbing the stairs to the door left open by the woman, he paused and peered into a short hallway. The woman was waiting by a door half the way down it.
She beckoned him on, “Please, we only have a short time to speak.”
The lawyer removed his hat as he stepped into the woman’s room, holding it lightly in his hands he studied her. “I know you.”
“Yes, you bought me a drink last night in the saloon.”
He peered closer at her. Without harsh makeup and revealing dress, she was almost unrecognizable from the night before.
“My name is Lupe Alvador.” She removed her shawl and faced the lawyer with a defiant look, “I am a saloon girl. Many men have loved me, but I have given my heart to few. Two of those are Heath Thomson and Johnny Madrid.” Her face softened. “They respect me.”
Culhane nodded in understanding. “But, I don’t see . . .”
“I have not finished. Two of those that I do not consider friends are Charles McLeod and Joe Harrington.”
“The head teller of the bank? The one who was killed during the robbery?”
“Yes.”
Two pairs of blue eyes pierced the tall lawyer as he stood next to them. “What the hell are you thinking?” hissed Johnny Madrid.
“Trust me,” was the only response Clay Culhane made. Stepping around the defense table, he moved to stand in front of the saloon bar serving as the judge’s bench.
“Miss Alvador, where do you work?”
“I am a saloon girl at Maximilian’s.”
“What does a saloon girl do?” Culhane ignored the snickers which rose from the gallery. He moved slightly so that Lupe could not see anyone in the saloon court save for the judge and himself.
“We drink with the customers and get them to buy more liquor. We listen when they want to talk.”
“Was Charles McLeod someone who wanted to talk to you?”
“He was.
“What about Joseph Harrington? Did he talk to you also?”
“Yes.” The buzz in the courtroom became louder.
“What did they talk to you about?”
“They didn’t exactly talk TO me. They spoke together while I was in the room.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They were under the impression I did not understand English.”
“Why would they think that? You speak English very well. Like a native.”
“I am American. I was born and raised in
“So, you let them think that you didn’t understand the English language.”
“Yes.”
“What did they talk about?”
“Last month they began coming to the saloon. They would choose a corner table and talk about robbing the bank.”
“LIAR!” Frank McLeod stood and pointed at Lupe, “Liar, you’re a liar!”
The Judge pounded his gavel on the bar, “Sit down, Mr. McLeod or I’ll have you removed from this court.”
“No! I will not sit hear and listen to this whore try to pin this on my son. She’ll say anything to save her lovers!”
Moving to stand before the defense table, Culhane whispered to his clients who had both turned and started to stand, “Sit down and don’t say a word you two. Not one word.”
“Enough. Sheriff? Remove this man from the court.”
Pete Hernandez and his deputy each grabbed one of Frank McLeod’s arms. He began twisting to try and free himself from their grasp. “Let me go!” Their only response was to grip McLeod tighter and begin to pull him towards the saloon door. “No! No!”
“Mr. McLeod? Will you refrain from any more outbursts?”
McLeod glared defiantly at the judge, but said, “I will.”
The judge nodded to the lawmen, who released McLeod’s arms. “Now sit down and be quiet. If I hear you so much as cough, I will have you ejected. Is that understood? And that goes for everyone else in this room.” Judge Nethers’ eyes swept the room finally coming to rest on Heath Thomson and Johnny Madrid.
Nodding reluctantly, McLeod returned to his previous seat.
“Please continue, Mr. Culhane.”
“Miss Alvador, do you know why Charles McLeod and Joseph Harrington wanted to rob the bank?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she said simply, “For the money.”
Clay Culhane allowed himself a small smile and a soft chuckle ran through the gallery. “So as far as you know, McLeod and Harrington had no particular reason for the money?”
“They never spoke of one. The only thing Charlie said was that he would finally be free of his father.”
“Did you overhear when they would carry out the robbery?”
“Yes. Joe, Mr. Harrington, said that there would be very few customers in the bank on Thursday mornings, but that the vault would be full of money.”
“Did he say why the vault would be full?”
“Because Friday would be the day the ranchers would get the cash for their payrolls. Thursday, they prepared for Friday.”
“How was the robbery to happen?”
“Mr. McLeod said that he had three men who worked for his father who would be willing to do the robbery. He said that he couldn’t do it because too many people knew who he was.”
“Do you know why Mr. Harrington was shot and killed by the robbers?”
She shook her head, “No.”
“Miss Alvador, why did you not speak about this to the sheriff at the time of the robbery?”
“I did not believe they would actually put Heath and Johnny on trial. They are not murderers.” She smiled fondly at the two defendants.
“No other questions for this witness.”
“Mr. Dornin, your witness.”
Andrew Dornin sat quietly for several moments before saying, “The People have no questions.”
Judge Nethers looked down at the paperwork lying before him on the bar in an effort to hide his face. “You may step down Miss Alvador.” After Lupe Alvador returned to her seat behind Heath Thomson and Johnny Madrid, the judge said, “Your next witness, Mr. Culhane.”
“The Defense rests.”
“Mr. Dornin?”
Dornin’s shoulders twitched as he fought an internal battle. He’d never wanted this trial to occur in the first place, and except for Frank McLeod’s pressure, it never would have. Finally, he raised his head and slowly stood, “The People rest.”
“Mr. Dornin, are you ready to proceed with your closing remarks?”
“No, Your Honor. I have no summation.”
The judge murmured, “No sense prolonging this.” He looked at the defense table, “Mr. Culhane?”
“The Defense has no remarks it wishes to make.”
“Fine.” Judge Nethers gathered his papers and shuffled them as he thought. “I will now render my verdict.”
Frank McLeod leaped to his feet, “No! No! This whole trial has been a farce!”
“In that you are correct, Mr. McLeod, now do you want to hear my verdict or do you want to leave the court room?” Judge Nethers kept his voice calm.
McLeod turned on his heel and left the court room. He was no seer, but he knew what was coming. When he left, so did five other men, all in his employ.
“Anyone else want to leave, then do so now.” The judge waited patiently. When no one did, he said, “Good. Mr. Thomson and Mr.
Clay Culhane walked out of the door of the saloon and stood on the walkway with his clients. Lupe Alvador came to stand between Heath Thomson and Johnny Madrid. “Well, gentlemen and lady,” Culhane said as he settled his hat on his head, “Would you like a . . .” He never finished his question. Gunshots erupted from several directions but all aimed at the foursome.
Thomson looked at Culhane and grinned tightly, “Now who do think is shooting at us?”
Culhane didn’t bother to answer.
“Heath!” Thomson glanced back towards the saloon doors, he saw
“Nothing for me?” asked the former gunfighter.
“Don’t worry, lawyer man, I wouldn’t forget you.”
As he did, more gunfire came from the roof of the general store across the street from the saloon. Spotting the gunman, he fired quickly at him. The man retreated.
From the ground floor doorway of the store, McLeod yelled, “You can ride out, Culhane, I don’t blame you. Alls I want is those two murderers!”
“Sorry, they’re still my clients.”
“I hope this doesn’t cost extra,” Thomson said, “I haven’t been paid this week.”
“No, this is included in the defense.” Culhane grinned at the young deputy. He liked this man’s humor and serenity in tough situations. Thomson reminded him of his brother Ben. Culhane glanced back at the saloon. “Is Lupe okay?”
“Nope, I’m making it up as I go along.” Culhane took time to look along the street as far as he could see from his place of refuge.
He could see Sheriff Hernandez peeking out from the safety of a doorway a hundred yards away. “Frank! You’re not going to like how this ends. Why don’t you just accept the judge’s decision and head home?”
“Brave words, but I think it’s YOU and your friends who aren’t going to like the ending.”
“Culhane’s right, McLeod!” yelled Hernandez, “You’re caught between us; there’s no escape. Give it up now, and go home before anyone else gets hurt!”
“The only people who are going to get hurt are
Hernandez also moved into the street, “No. They were found not guilty. You had your trial, and just because you don’t like the verdict doesn’t mean you get to mete out justice as you see fit.”
“That was no trial; that was a comedy!” McLeod turned and raised his gun towards the sheriff.
“Don’t do it, McLeod. I’m the one you want,” Thomson called out as he slowly stood.
Frank McLeod quickly swung around to face Heath Thomson. “Where’s the other one? I want you both!”
Rising and walking into the middle of the street, Culhane tried again, “Frank, this is ridiculous. You don’t want revenge for Charlie’s death. You want revenge because he got caught in something you can’t make go away. You’re angry because you’re embarrassed. Stop this foolishness and go home.”
“Foolishness? Do you think I’m joking?” McLeod quickly raised his gun and fired towards the tall blond.
Thomson threw himself sideways in an effort to escape the bullet. He almost succeeded.
Madrid
Frank McLeod stood in the middle of the street and rocked slightly before slowly falling to the ground, dead.
Racing from the saloon, Lupe gathered the fallen deputy into her arms. “Heath, oh Heath.”
Heath’s eyes were closed. Johnny Madrid and Clay Culhane came to stand over the silent man and crying woman.
“I don’t see a wound, do you?”
“Nope, I don’t think he was shot at all,” answered Culhane.
“Quiet, you two, I’m mortally wounded and this poor woman is grieving.”
“What!?!” Lupe shoved Heath’s body away from her. “I thought you were dead!”
“I could be,” Heath sat up and fingered the sleeve of his shirt where two neat holes were. He stood and pulled Lupe to her feet. “If you’d like, I could show you where I might be shot.”
“Oh no, you’re too seriously wounded. I’ll take care of this poor thing.”
Watching the interplay between the two young men, Culhane shook his head, half in amusement, half to clear his memory. They reminded the lawyer of his brothers and their banter. The pain of their death, which he thought he’d buried with the passage of time, came back in full force. Taking a deep breath, he took the deputy’s arm and led him to where Sheriff Hernandez waited near Frank McLeod’s body.
Four days later, the three men found themselves again standing in front of the saloon where the trial had been held. This time they were saying good-bye. To each other, and to
“You don’t have to leave town now, Heath. I know Pete Hernandez doesn’t want to lose a good deputy,” Clay Culhane was saying.
“I know. But,” Heath’s blue eyes looked away toward the open end of town, “I haven’t seen my mother in quite a while. I think I need to go there before I get sidetracked any more.”
“I understand. What about you? Where will you go, Johnny?”
“You can come with me, you know. You’d like my mother; I know she’d like you,” Heath offered.
“Yep. Mothers love me,” Johnny teased back. “I got a job offer down south, in
“Thank you, but I didn’t get you anything,” Heath stammered. He held the rifle and felt its balanced weight. Growing up, he’d always wanted a rifle this good.
“That’s okay, I think I got the better prize,” Johnny said catching sight of Lupe Alvador walking towards them. “She’s never been to
“I bet there’s some mothers there too that’ll love you.”
“They can’t help it,” Johnny heaved a deep sigh at the troubles his charm brought his way.
Clay Culhane found himself shaking his head at the continuing brotherly banter. “Well, now, I’ll have you know that Heath won’t be all alone for the entire trip.”
The blond grinned at the dark-haired lawyer, “Nope, gonna take a little side-trip to Latigo.”
“Where’s that?” Johnny asked, a frown creasing his tan face.
“
Culhane shook
“I always do.”
The former deputy strapped the rifle scabbard to his saddle before turning and extending his hand to the gunfighter. “
“Thomson.”
LANCER RANCH, SPANISH WELLS,
“It’s Lancer now.”
“Barkley.”
Nick Barkley, and the two Lancers, Murdoch and Scott, stood between the two men, their heads swiveling back and forth as they followed the terse comments.
Heath’s mouth quirked up in a grin, “I guess you decided to look up your father after all.”
“He decided to look me up. You, too, huh?”
The blond shook his head, “No, it’s a story.”
“We have time,” Teresa said reaching out and taking Johnny and Heath by an arm. The trio turned and 
began to make their way out of the great room heading for the patio. “I, for one, can’t wait to hear it.”
For several moments, the three remaining men stood still; then Nick asked, “What just happened?”
“I’m not sure,” answered the elder Lancer, his face creased in puzzlement.
“Well, I for another one am going to go hear this story,” Scott said as he began to walk towards the door leading to the patio. Before leaving the hacienda, he paused and looked back, “Coming?”
The End
As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.
"Oh beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly;
Sing the Death March as you carry me along.
Take me to the valley, there lay the sod o'er me,
I'm a young cowboy and know I´ve done wrong."
" I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story;
Got shot in the breast and I know I must die!"
"My friends and relations they live in the Nation:
They know not where their dear boy has gone.
I first came to
O I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."
"It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing:
It was once in the saddle I used to go gay.
First to the dram house and then to the card house,
Got shot in the breast and I'm dying today."
"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;
Get six pretty maidens to sing me a song.
Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,
Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall."
"Go gather around you a group of young cowboys,
And tell them the story of this my sad fate.
Tell one and the other before they go further,
To stop their wild roving before it's too late."
"Go fetch me some water, a cool cup of water
To cool my parched lips," then the poor cowboy said.
Before I returned his spirit had left him
Had gone to his Maker, the cowboy was dead.
We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along.
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.
Francis Henry Maynard 1876