Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747) (25 page)

He had started to turn his scope back to the street in Rosas Salvajes when a bullet streaked in and thumped into the dirt near his right elbow. Turning quickly toward the sound of a rifle shot, he saw riders coming toward him fast—but he held his fire. These weren't Gun Killers. These were two of the
rurales
he'd seen dragging the dead horse down the street in San Pelipe.

“Drop the gun!
Drop the gun
!” one of them shouted as they raced in closer and slid their horses sideways to a halt thirty feet from him.

Sam laid the Swiss rifle carefully on the ground, took his hands away from it and raised them.

“On your feet!” the excited
rurale
ordered. “Do it now!”

Sam stood up slowly, his hands still in plain sight.

The two recognized him, he was certain. Turning to each other, they spoke in voices too low and fast for him to hear.

“You are the
Americano
lawman from Nogales—the one we met in San Felipe!” the excited one said, his rifle pointed at Sam.

“I knew that,” Sam said calmly, staring at him.

“Lift your pistol and drop it,” the other man demanded.

“No,
wait
!” said the excited one, not liking the idea of this lawman getting his hand on a gun. “Get on the ground,” he ordered. Then quickly he corrected himself. “No, wait. Stay on your feet!”

“Make up your mind,” Sam said. He paused, his hand halfway to the butt of his holstered Colt. “I don't have time for all this.”

“You will make time, Señor Lawman,” said the excited
rurale.
He turned to the other man and said, “Julio, get his gun and rifle. I have him covered.”

“
Sí
, Eduardo,” said Julio. He stepped down from his saddle and walked forward, a big French-made revolver in his hand.

Sam cut a glance toward the distant street as heavy gunfire erupted. The other
rurales
descended onto the town in a looming swirl of dust—dust that had already begun to obscure everything from sight. The
rurales
rode back and forth, shooting at the cantina and at anyone foolish enough to let themselves be seen.

“I hope you fellows brought shovels,” Sam said quietly, lifting his Colt and handing it to Julio, who stood in front of him.

“Don't worry, lawman. We have plenty of shovels,” Eduardo said with a smug grin, not catching the implication in Sam's words.

Sam let out a long breath as the shooting from the distant street intensified.

“Careful with the rifle, Julio,” he said as the young man picked up the Swiss rifle and turned it back and forth in his hands.

“Don't worry, lawman,” said the
rurale.
He lowered his rifle barrel a little now that he considered Sam unarmed. “Once Raul has taken down the Gun Killers, you will get these back. We do not want you getting in our way while we do what must be done.”

“I understand,” Sam said, keeping his hands chest high, watching the young Mexican look the big Swiss rifle over, deciding how to disassemble it. “Do you mind if I break the rifle down?” he asked. “It might be quicker.”

“Julio, give him the rifle before you shoot your foot off,” said Eduardo. “But keep an eye on him.” He stared hard at the Ranger. “If he tries anything, shoot him.”

In Rosa Salvajes, the shooting continued to intensify. The dust had grown to such a thick swell that all Sam and the two
rurales
could see were the blossoms of blue-orange gunfire streaking back and forth between the mounted posse and the hard-fighting, besieged Gun Killers. Behind the cantina, Sam watched a string of riders race up out of the dust along a hillside and bound out of sight over a rise.

Sam shook his head as he quickly took the Swiss rifle apart and placed it and the scope inside the wooden box. He closed the box on the ground, stood up and stepped back.

“There you are,” he said as he raised his hands chest high again. He gestured a nod toward the gun battle. “The quicker we get down there, the quicker your men can stop shooting one another.”

“You make me laugh, you
gringo
lawman,” the mounted
rurale
said. “You always think you know everything.” To Julio he said, “Get on your horse and keep this one between us.”

“
Sí
, Eduardo,” the young Mexican said. He started toward his horse with the Swiss rifle case under his arm. But Sam stopped him and took the case.

“If you don't mind, I'll carry the rifle case,” he said.

The two looked at him. “No,” Eduardo said. “You will get the rifle back
only
when Raul says you may have it. We are sick of you
Americanos
coming here thinking you can tell us to do whatever you want.”

Sam clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut as he swung up onto his saddle.

“Ready when you are,” he said.

Chapter 26

When the Ranger and the
rurales
drew near Rosas Salvajes, the thick, blinding cloud of dust had begun to lift above the town and drift across the rocky land. The firing had stopped. Only a thin rise of dust stood above the path the Gun Killers had used as an escape route. Sam shook his head, realizing how many of the outlaws had gotten away. He hoped that among them Erin Donovan had managed to stay alive.

At the edge of town, the
rurale
leader's horse came pounding up to them. The big Mexican's hat was missing. He had tied a bandanna around his forehead to cover a bullet graze. He looked stunned by the fierceness with which the Gun Killers had faced his posse.

“They got away?” he said to Sam in the form of a question, a strange look on his face. “We could see nothing in the dust but
dust.
They got among us. We could not fight without shooting our own.” He gave his strange look to Eduardo and Julio. “They have killed
my posse
!”

“I figured they would,” the Ranger said. “These men are no easy kill.”

“They killed all of our men?” Eduardo cut in.

“All but three,” said Raul. “Those three are in pursuit of the killers right now.”

“In
pursuit
?” Sam said, his very tone implying the foolishness of such an act.

“Sí
, I sent them in pursuit,” said the leader defensively. He looked Sam up and down. “Do you say sending them was a mistake?”

“A bad mistake,” Sam responded, still gazing off along the high hillside trail. “You need to go stop them before it's too late.”

As if on cue, a hard volley of rifle shots resounded in the distance, from the path the Gun Killers had taken.

Sam let out a low breath and shook his head again.

“Never mind,” he said quietly.

Raul appeared enraged, but he subdued his anger and said, “I will ride them down myself, as soon as we have buried our dead.” He looked at Eduardo and Julio. “Eduardo, go bring the townspeople out of hiding. Tell them we need shovels to bury our dead.”

“
Sí
, Raul,” said Eduardo, avoiding Sam's knowing stare. “Come, Julio,” he said. He started to turn his horse away.

“Wait a minute, Julio,” said Sam. He reached over and jerked the Swiss rifle case from under the young Mexican's arm. “My Colt, too,” he said, holding out a hand toward Julio.

Julio gave Raul a questioning look.

“Yes, damn it, give him his gun,” said Raul, as if disgusted with Julio.

Sam took the Colt, checked and holstered it. He gave Julio a nod.

The two
rurales
turned their horses toward the dusty street as heads began to peep out from doorways and windows.

“Let me be honest with you, lawman,” said Raul with a sigh. He touched his fingers to his bandaged head, examining his wound as he spoke. “I have much to do. I am going to need your help.”

Sam looked him up and down.

“I don't dig graves,” he said. He turned his dun and started to tap his heels to its sides.

“
Santa Madre
! Look at this!” Raul said in disbelief.

Sam turned in his saddle and saw a gunman staggering toward them from the alley beside the Perros Malos Cantina. The entire length of the gunman was soaked with blood. He left a trail of bloody footprints behind him. A knife handle stuck from the center of his chest; his gun hung from his right hand. His left hand held the strap to a canteen.

Raul jerked his pistol from across his chest, but Sam raised a hand toward him.

“No, wait,” Sam said, stopping the
rurale
leader from shooting the wounded outlaw. “Let's see what this one has to say.”

Luis Torres staggered in place and crumpled to the ground just as Sam swung down from his saddle, rifle case still in hand, and ran to him. Stooping down, Sam laid the rifle case in the dirt and raised the wounded man's head onto his knee. He looked at the bloody face closely.

“Luis Torres?” Sam said, recognizing him from a wanted poster in Nogales.

“Yes, yes, I am Luis,” the outlaw groaned. “Get away from me. . . . I am cursed.”

“You're dying, Torres,” Sam said bluntly. “It wasn't one of this posse who stuck that knife in your chest. Who did it?”

“The . . . woman. The mother of my child . . . ,” Luis said, his words ending in a deep, wet-sounding cough.

Sam knew there was only one woman he could be talking about.

“Erin did this to you?” he asked, not doubting it for a second.

Luis nodded and grasped Sam's shirtsleeve. “Am I cursed to hell . . . forever?”

“You'll have to take it up with God,” Sam said. “Where are the Gun Killers headed? What are their plans from here.”

“
Plans . . . ?
” said Luis. “No plans . . . not while you dog us so closely.”

Good
, Sam thought, his persistence had paid off. Had he not been on their trail, they might have gone off on another mission to rob and kill. He'd kept them too busy dodging him. He had forced them into this showdown—would have ended it here, had the
rurales
not ridden in unexpectedly and spoiled everything.

“Was it the posse who shot you?” he asked, recalling the gunshots from the cantina before the
rurales
rode in.

“No . . . my brother, Teto . . . shot me,” Luis said. He managed a thin, weak smile. “Arrest him . . . eh?”

Sam only stared at him, knowing he wouldn't be breathing much longer.

“Over the woman,” Sam said, not liking the picture that was coming to his mind. “Because she's carrying your baby.”

“
Sí . . .
,” Luis said with a deep sigh. His eyes went to the knife handle standing on his chest. “She is . . . a bad woman,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

“So it seems,” Sam replied, not liking to have finally and so completely admitted it to himself.

“She caused me to . . . do my brother wrong,” Luis said, fading fast. His eyes began to glaze over and look away aimlessly.

No, that was your fault
, the Ranger said silently, realizing it did no good to tell Luis while he drew his last breath.
He must have known it anyway
, Sam thought as he reached a hand down and closed the outlaw's eyes.

“What did he tell you?” Raul asked, stepping over from his horse with his pistol drawn and cocked.

“Nothing helpful,” Sam said. He stood, picked up his rifle case and walked back to the dun.

Raul uncocked his pistol and shoved it back into his holster.

“You tell me!” he demanded. “I will decide if it is helpful or not.”

“Go home, Raul,” Sam said as he tied his rifle case under his bedroll.

“
Go home
, you tell me! How dare you say such a thing,” Raul shouted. He pounded himself on the chest. “Mexico is
my
home—what's left of it after you gringos cut it, divide it and steal it
one piece at a time
!”

“Right,” Sam said flatly, turning to him with a cold stare, “I almost forgot.”

He swung up into his saddle and adjusted his dusty sombrero.

“Where are you going?” Raul demanded. “I am not through talking!”

“Yes, you are,” Sam said, turning his horse away from the hillside and the trail the Gun Killers had taken.

Seeing his direction, Raul called out, “You are running away from them?”

“They're stirred up like hornets. I'm riding
around
them until they settle,” Sam said. “You three would be wise to do the same.”

“No,” said Raul, “the three of us will not run
around
them. We will ride them down and kill them as soon as we bury our dead.”