Ghost Moon by John Wilson

Author:John Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2011-10-23T04:00:00+00:00

A number of men are standing in a group outside the house. Several turn to look at me as I approach.

“I’m looking for Mr. Godfroy,” I say.

“He’ll be in the parlor,” one man volunteers.

I enter the front door and hear voices coming from the room to my right. I remove my hat and step through the doorway. Two crudely built open coffins are balanced on chairs. I glance into the closest one and see a body I don’t recognize. I know most of the Regulators by sight and this man hasn’t been shot in the head, so I assume it’s Buckshot Roberts. I step over and look in the other coffin and a chill runs through me. The skin on the left side of the man’s face sags unnaturally, as if the bones underneath have given up the struggle to hold the skin tight, and there’s a gaping black hole where his eyes should have been, but there’s no mistaking Dick Brewer.

My gasp brings over a middle-aged man with a kindly face.

“You know this fellow?” he asks.

I take a moment to recover from the shock and collect myself.

“Yes,” I say. “He’s Dick Brewer. He was John Tunstall’s foreman.”

“You a Regulator?” I sense the men in the room tense.

“No. I used to work for Tunstall is all. Brewer was a good man.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have come down here with the rest of those scum.” I don’t argue, and the man holds out his hand and introduces himself. “Fred Godfroy. Indian Agent on the reservation here. We’re just about to put these boys in the ground if you want to stay and pay your respects. I can also offer you a bed for the night if you feel like breaking your journey, and that offer comes with a generous helping of Clara’s famous turkey stew.”

I think for a moment as I stare at Brewer’s pale, mutilated face. Another man I counted as my friend dead. The calming influence and the only brake on Bill and the other hotheads is gone. I don’t want to see him put in the ground with the man who killed him and I don’t want a hearty meal and companionship. I need to escape and be on my own.

“Thank you for the offer,” I say, looking at Godfroy’s smiling face, “but I’ll be on my way. I just stopped by on my way back to Fort Stanton because Lieutenant Fowler asked me to speak with you.”

Godfroy nods and turns to the men in the room.

“Best get the lids on these boys and get them buried,” he says before leading me outside. We move away from the gathered men down to the dry riverbed.

“Lieutenant Fowler wants to know the situation among the Apaches on the reserve,” I say. “He’s worried about trouble here.”

“No doubt that these are difficult times,” Godfroy begins, “and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t any tension among the young warriors here, but this isn’t San Carlos. These are Mescaleros, not Chiricahuas. The land hereabouts is much more to their liking than the desert round San Carlos.

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