Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747) (26 page)

The Ranger looked down the dusty street at the dead men and horses strewn about. Julio, Eduardo and some townspeople walked among the dead, shovels in hand. One of the doves from the cantina stood watching, wrapped in a bedsheet, smoking a thin cigar.

“Vaya con Dios,”
Sam said to Raul. “Take a shovel with you.”

 

In the rocks behind the livery barn, Hector had lain on the hillside, hugging the ground as bullets flew in the street below. He had kept an arm over the sacks of money beside him as if they were living things. He'd even watched through swollen eyes as Erin, Teto Torres and five of the remaining Gun Killers ran from the rear of the cantina into the barn and raced out moments later atop any horses they could get their hands on—most of their own horses lay dead in the street, shot down at the hitch rails by the
rurales.

When the woman had ridden out of the barn, she'd led two horses behind her. Hector saw her look in his direction as she turned loose of the two spare horses' reins. He'd watched the horses race away, but veer off from the rest of the riders and slow to halt farther up the hillside.

What was her intention?
he asked himself. Had she left the horses for him? He believed so. Yet, did she not think he would take the money and ride away, never to be seen again? She could have told Teto and the Gun Killers he was there hiding with the money, he reminded himself. He would be dead, and they would have split the money and ridden on. At least she would have had a share. As it turned out, she would have nothing now, unless he—the squirrel—could be trusted to keep her share safe for her.

With great pain in his chest, his cracked ribs and his badly beaten head, Hector gathered the tops of the sacks of money in his right hand. He crawled on his belly, pulling himself up the hillside with his free hand toward the two loose horses. He would show her what a squirrel would do.

When he had gotten to the spare horses, one turned and trotted away. But the other horse stayed put, staring at his battered face curiously until he reached out and took a hold of its dangling reins.

“Ah, I can see you are a good
caballo
,” he whispered in a strained voice.

Pulling himself up the horse's sides, the two sacks in hand, he loosened both strings on the sack tops, tied them together and draped them over the horse's back behind the saddle. It would have to do for now, he told himself. Looking back down the hillside, he saw two of the
rurales
and some townspeople walk out the rear door of
his
cantina and head for the livery barn.

“I will be back . . . to claim what is mine,” he whispered to himself in a ragged voice. He hefted himself up onto the saddle with much effort, pain throbbing throughout his body. Lying forward on the horse's neck, reins in hand, he whispered, “Take me away from here,
caballo.
I have seen far too much.”

 

Five miles along the hill trail, Teto, Paco Sterns and Truman Filo had climbed down from the rocks and stood over the bodies of the three
rurales
who had followed them from Rosas Salvajes
.

“Gather their horses,” Teto said, his gun belt hanging over his shoulder. As he spoke, he reloaded his smoking pistol. “We'll be needing them before long.”

Climbing down from the rocks behind them, Wade Carrico, Ludlow Blake and Jete Longley stepped out on the trail—all that remained of the Gun Killers that had been in Rosas Salvajes when the shooting started
.

“We lost two spare horses when your lady-friend let them get away,” Carrico said, gesturing toward Erin, who stood off to the side, her forearms wrapped around her midsection.

“Are you going to start arguing again?” Teto asked in a warning tone, clicking his reloaded revolver shut and staring hard at Carrico.

“No,” said Carrico, unafraid. “If you don't give a damn, neither do I. I was just curious why she let them go, is all.”

Teto considered the matter. Then he turned to Erin and said, “Why
did
you let the spare horses go?”

“For God's sake, Teto,” Erin said in a shaky voice. “I was scared, and sick . . . and being shot at.”

Teto turned to Carrico, with his loaded pistol pointed loosely toward him.

“Wade, she was scared and sick and being shot at,” he said. “Does that do it for you?”

Carrico only shook his head and looked away.

“Were the lawman and the
rurales
working together ?” he asked, changing the subject.

Teto gave a little laugh and said, “I'd have to say so, Wade, whether they meant to be or not.”

Carrico let out a breath, chuckled a little to himself and said, “If they weren't, I expect they damn sure should have been. That turned into a real tight spot there for a minute or two.”

Paco Sterns looked back warily along the hill trail.

“We have the horses. Let's
vamos
,” he said.

“What about the squirrel and our money?” Erin asked just to get a feel on where things stood with Teto.

“As soon as it's safe, we find the squirrel and skin his back with a bullwhip,” Teto replied. “But for now, our situation has changed. We do not risk getting ourselves killed over money.” He grinned. “Not when there is a whole country full of it waiting across the border.”

Chapter 27

The Ranger had spotted the lone rider moving along the high trail in the afternoon sunlight. As soon as he saw the bulging feed sacks hanging over the horse's rump, he realized it was the Mexican, not one of the Gun Killers, riding the high trail away from town. He lagged back a safe distance and kept out of sight. He wasn't after the money. Yet, he would bet that wherever the money went, Erin Donovan would follow. And wherever Erin Donovan went . . .

He let his thoughts fade as he watched the Mexican guide the horse down the rocky, sloping hillside to the lower trail, leading out of town across the rolling desert floor. From the looks of the battered Mexican, and the way he sat slumped loose in his saddle, Sam doubted he could make it very far without pitching sidelong into the dirt.

Never underestimate the healing power of money, Sam reminded himself, letting the Mexican get to the bottom of the treacherous hillside and on to the lower trail before nudging his dun down behind him. Sam stayed back out of sight and followed the hoofprints of Hector's horse until they turned off the lower trail back toward a bleak, little adobe hovel.

The house stood at the end of a worn path, beneath a hillside covered with cactus, creosote and mesquite brush. Sam had a hunch that this was the Mexican's home, or at least a place where he felt safe enough to lie low and rest himself overnight—let himself heal a little.

Or meet someone?
Sam asked himself, looking all around, studying the lay of the land.
We'll see. . . .

He rode the dun away from the trail, found a rise strewn with brush and cactus and stepped the horse down out of sight. He climbed down from his saddle, took the Swiss rifle case from beneath this bedroll and opened it on the ground. Instead of taking out the rifle, he only took out the scope. Lying down at the edge of the rise, he made himself comfortable and looked across the purple evening toward the open front window of the adobe.

It's going to be a long night
, he told himself, the brass-trimmed scope to his eye.

 

At a camp, lit only by the pale light of a half-moon, Wade Carrico stooped down and shook Teto Torres by the shoulder.

“Teto, wake up,” he said. “She's gone.”

The Mexican outlaw leader sat up, rubbing his face, and looked at Carrico with a questioning expression.

“The hell are you talking about, Wade?” he asked angrily.

“I'm talking about your woman,” said Carrico, his voice turning equally angry. “I watched her go get her horse and lead it away from here.”

“You didn't try to stop her?” Teto asked.

“I figured it being your woman, you wouldn't want me laying hands on her,” Carrico said. “There's been bad blood between us over her as it is.”

In truth, Carrico was glad to see her go. Had he stopped her and brought her to Teto, she would've lied and put him in a tight spot. This way, Teto had no one to blame but Erin herself.

Teto just stared at him for a moment, realizing he was right.

“How long ago?” he asked.

“No more than five minutes,” Carrico said.

“Damn it,” Teto said, “she's always been bad about slipping off in the night.” He stood and looked down where Erin had slept on a blanket beside him. When he'd gone to sleep, she'd been lying against him, her arm over his chest.

“Want me to start grabbing everybody's horses?” Carrico asked.

“No,” said Teto, “just mine. I'll get her. I'll see what this is all about.”

As he spoke to Carrico, Teto thought about the missing money, the missing Mexican. He thought about his brother, Luis, standing with the knife in his chest, declaring that Erin carried his child in her womb.

“Alone? Shouldn't I go with you, at least?” Carrico suggested. He stared at Teto in the thin light of the moon, but the leader's face revealed nothing.

“No,” Teto said, “you should do like I said and get my horse for me. I'll find her and bring her back. We'll catch up to you and the others on the trail.”

As Teto pulled on his boots and gathered his hat and gun belt, Carrico hurried to where the men had lined their horses along a rope stretched between the two scrub piñons. When Carrico returned to Teto, the outlaw leader climbed up into his saddle and looked down.

“Keep the men on this trail. Keep moving north,” he said to Carrico. “I'm putting you in charge until I get back and catch up to you.”

“You got it,” Carrico said. “But are you sure this is the right thing—”

“Not now, Wade,” said Teto. “I've got no time to argue with you.” He gave a wry smile that went unseen in the pale moonlight. “She's my Irish princess.”

Without seeing Teto's smile, Carrico thought his words sounded weak for the leader of a gang like the Gun Killers. His were more the words of a small child still yearning for his mother's milk.

“Go, then,” Carrico said, raising a hand, not knowing how else he should respond to such a frivolous statement.

As Teto left, his horse's hooves clacking away across the wide rock shelf lying beneath them, heads rose from saddles and blankets. The remaining Gun Killers frantically gathered around Carrico in the darkness.

“Easy, fellows,” Carrico said. “It's only Teto going after his woman.”

“What the hell?” Ludlow Blake asked, his Colt hanging in his right hand, his hair disheveled.

“You've got to be kidding,” said Truman Filo, his rifle in hand.

“There's no
kidding
here, Filo,” Carrico replied quietly. “He left me in charge. Anybody don't like it, make yourself heard.”

“It's all right with us, you being in charge, Wade,” said Paco Sterns.

The gunmen stared after the sound of the horse's hooves until the animal crossed the rock shelf and stepped off onto softer ground.

“There he goes,” said Filo as the hooves fell silent. “Jesus, after all that went on between them back in Wild Roses? Now she up and runs off?”

“Nothing new for her,” said Paco Sterns. “She's always running off . . . always in the night too.”

“Yeah, but why is Teto always following her?” said Filo. “Hell, let her go, is what I would do.”

“Really?” said Carrico, contemplating the situation as he spoke.

“Hell yes,
really
,” said Filo. “Damned if I'd go running after her, in the middle of the night—make a fool of myself in front of my men.”

“Not even for a hundred thousand dollars?” Carrico asked in a quiet tone.

“
Oh
,” said Filo.

The gunmen stood in dead silence while Carrico's words sank in.

“Damn it!” Jete Longley said at length.

“Let's get our horses!” said Ludlow Blake.

“Easy, fellows,” Carrico repeated, holding up a hand in the darkness to stop them.

“You mean we're not going after them?” asked Jete Longley. “You're the one mentioned the money!”

“That I am,” said Carrico. “There might be money behind this, and there might not. So let's keep our heads in case we're wrong.”

“What do you say, then?” Filo asked.

“We're going after them, sure enough,” said Carrico. “But we're going to shy back and see what it looks like before we go accusing anybody.”