Shadows of Agua Fria

Intro.

He stood up from the quilt that spread out upon the grass. He stared in the direction of a nearby hill. Leaning against the loan Mulberry tree, he saw a cloud of dust rise from the opposite side of that hill. Joe stepped forward and covered his eyes from the New Mexico sun. He saw riders heading his way. He heard the thunder of their hooves; the men upon their backs were whipping their mounts ferociously as they whooped and yelled.

"Who is it?" Maria asked, she could not mask the uncertainty in her voice.

"Red", he said in reply, eyes fixed upon the oncoming doom.

"No," Maria demanded as Joe turned to face her.

Her brown eyes shown in the sun and he stared deeply into them as he said, "Pray for me."

Tears began to trickle from her eyes as she reached up and hugged him tight about the neck.

"God will keep us," she whispered, her voice weak with fear.

Joe broke her hug and held her at arm's length, gently looking into her eyes once again. He could hear that they were closer now, the four of them atop mounts as black as midnight.

"This is it, Maria." He told her. "If they take me back, they won't take me alive."

They were upon the lovers then. Four men with faces as dour as death sat on their horses and looked down upon their prey. They had arranged themselves in a crescent shape with Maria and Joe at its focus. Red hopped from his mount; his boots kicked up a cloud of dust as he landed.

"You murdered my brother, Joe," he said as he approached.

"Your brother was killed stealing cattle!" Joe spat at Red, his voice dripping with spite. "He was a no-good thief, a murdering son of a bitch. Just like you, Red."

Red had been smiling, now his expression was hard as cold steel. Looking down at the dust under his boots, Red sniffed audibly. His men began pulling their riffles. The three aimed their weapons at Joe who gripped the handle of his revolver as Red slowly walked closer. Red moved close and whispered softly in Joe's ear.

"Hell," he said. "Ain't no crime stealing from the likes of you."

Red spit upon the tip of Joe's left boot as he turned and started back to his mount. Joe screamed and jerked the pistol he had been wearing.

"You go to hell!" he yelled raising his piece. He had gotten the deadly steel from its holster and was able to squeeze off a few unaimed shots, emptying the revolver as the riffles opened fire.

The shots exploded in her ears, and she screamed in anguish. Knowing she was certainly now a widow; Maria was overcome with grief. Greyish blue smoke filled the air. It smelled acrid as a breeze caught it blowing the smelly haze her direction, momentarily obscuring her view.

As the smoke passed her by, Maria's vision cleared, and she saw the horror before her. Joe lay dead upon the ground. She saw the pistol smoking in her lovers' once warm hand, a hand that had comforted her on many a dreadful night. She made a decision then.

"Forgive me father," she said, tears now streaming down her face in torrents. With a piteous cry, she made for the weapon.

Maria knew she had no shot against Red and his riders. Even if the piece weren't empty, the riffles would make a quick end to her. "Good, she thought." She quickly ran and picked up the weapon.

Red had heard Maria scream and saw her running toward Joes as the breeze blew the last of the smoke away.

"Shit," he said with a sigh, looking down at his boots again. He raised his head before addressing his men.

"Answer her prayers, Boys," he said as he rifles opened fire once more. Maria, dropped the weapon and fell over atop of Joe, dead.

Chapter 1.

The peaceable town of Agua Fria boiled with hidden tension. Troubles with renegades and bandits had been bad, though it had been some time since the last raids. Like any other boomtown, her streets overflowed with people seeking their fortunes. Gold and silver mines brought more people to the farming community, adding their personal and political schemes to the unstable mix. Navigating her streets even visitors could feel the weight of stress on their shoulders. Agua Fria was a powder keg. With tensions high, the last thing the town needed was a spark.

Riding into town, a lone stranger upon a horse as black as midnight threatened to shatter this fragile peace. Upon his hip, he wore a sawed-off Winchester repeating rifle in a custom holster. Spurring on his mount as he rode in from the South, he slowly scanned, noting all he saw. The stranger had a dark presence about him, his cold eyes narrowed to slits by the New Mexico sun. He looked dangerous. The majestic black horse moved with a slow grace; its rider bobbed lightly in the saddle. It was not the graceful animal that held the towns' attention. All eyes were focused on the stranger. It was his weapon that caught every eye, and suspicion drove many to utter the words "Outlaw", or "Killer". People in Agua Fria were caught off guard by this menacing presence and could only stare as he dismounted his horse with a thud and stepped onto the boardwalk. A sense of foreboding had fallen over the town, and its people feared a coming storm.

Eyes narrowed in distrust as the stranger walked past. Shopkeepers watched him through the windows of their shops. A mother pulled her child to the side, shielding the kid behind her skirts. All eyed him with suspicion. The stranger was used to this treatment. He used cynicism and distrust to his advantage. These were natural human emotions that allowed him to appear menacing. In his line of work, it paid to look dangerous. He knew that for a fact. Knowing so did nothing to remove the sting he felt when things like this happened. With a furrowed brow and a stern look, the newcomer turned to face the woman who spurned him.

"The marshal," he demanded of the woman who could only point in reply.

He noticed the child's bright eyes shining at him. The little girl craned her neck to look around her mother. Her smile was infectious. The stranger returned her smile and tipped his hat with a wink, leaving the two to their business. He walked in the direction the woman had given him. He was working and had a simple yet dangerous job to do.

The outsider didn't need the Marshal. He preferred to take care of his business without the possible interference of local law enforcement. The fact that local law would allow such a man as his quarry to walk freely through the streets did not suggest he could trust them. He'd best avoid any legal entanglements he decided. Bounty hunters weren't exactly loved in frontier towns.

Walking along the boardwalk, he noticed the streets were bustling with people. Some entered shops, others stood at the windows and looked at the goods displayed. Everyone walked with a purpose, quickly, and avoided eye contact. He observed that no one stopped to talk with others. He noticed the only voices he heard came from the many saloons that lined Agua Fria Street. Aside from the more raucous types at the bars, it seemed as if no one was willing to break the peace with even a whisper.