The Legend of El Duque (3 page)

SIX

After supper Clint went into the sitting room with Bill Werter and the doc. They had cigars and brandy.

“You're not really plannin' on makin' this trip alone, are you?” the doc asked Clint.

“Why not?” Clint asked. “Like Bill says, I'll make a smaller target that way.”

“Not with that bull in tow,” Tyler pointed out.

“I'll worry about that on the way back,” Clint said. “Maybe, when the money's been paid, nobody will care about the bull.”

“He's still gonna be a valuable animal,” Tyler said. “Somebody could grab him and ransom him.”

“And I'd pay,” Werter said.

“Again?” Tyler asked.

“Again,” Werter said. “I need that bull, no matter how much it costs.”

Clint drew on the very good cigar and sipped the excellent brandy.

“You're staying the night, of course,” Werter said.

“Yes,” Clint said. “And I'll leave in the morning.”

“I will send a telegram to Don Pablo and let him know you're coming.”

“And the price has been agreed on?” Clint asked.

“Yes.”

“And what am I riding into?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are the feelings on the other side about Don Pablo selling this bull?”

“I . . . don't know what the situation is down there. Are you thinking that someone on that end might try to stop you?”

“Why not?” Clint asked. “Why should the situation be any different there?”

“So somebody from Mexico might try to rob you before you get there.”

“Could be.”

“Maybe you shouldn't do this alone, then,” Werter suggested.

“It's a little late for that.”

“I can still send someone with you,” Werter said. “Ed, for instance—”

“I'd need someone I know I can trust to watch my back, Bill,” Clint said. “That means someone I would pick out myself. That's what I meant when I said it's a little late. I'll be leaving in the morning.”

Werter frowned.

“Maybe I should pay you more.”

“It's not about the money,” Clint said. He stood up, set the glass down. “I'm going to turn in.”

“We'll have a good breakfast before you leave,” Werter said, also standing.

“Suits me.”

“I'll show you to your room.”

They walked to the stairs together and went up to the second floor. Werter took Clint to one of the guest rooms.

“My room is all the way at the end, if you need anything,” the man said.

“I'll be fine.”

“Clint,” Werter said, putting his hand out, “whatever happens, I appreciate you coming.”

Clint shook the man's hand and said, “I'm happy to help—and make some money at the same time.”

“I know you're not doing this for the money,” Werter said, “but I need this whole thing to be a business proposition.”

“Understood. Good night, Bill.”

“Night, Clint.”

Clint went into his room and closed the door behind him.

SEVEN

Harve Steiger woke the next morning and glanced at the whore lying next to him. He'd paid three dollars for her to stay all night. Three dollars was a lot when you were used to nickel night at the whorehouse, but he was already feeling richer.

She wasn't young, and she wasn't beautiful, but she had the kind of body he liked to be in bed with, big and meaty and warm. On top of that, she was a talented whore, and she liked her work.

She was lying naked, almost on her belly but leaning slightly on her left buttock. The right one was staring up at him, big and round and smooth. He smiled and slapped her on that cheek hard enough to leave the red print of his hand.

“Hey!” she shouted, sitting straight up in bed and staring around. “What the hell?”

“Rise and shine,” he said. “Time for you to put that talented mouth to work, woman.”

“What time is it?” she asked, yawning. She stretched at the same time, his eyes going right to her heavy breasts as they rose and fell.

“It's early,” he said, “and I have to leave soon. So come on, let's go.”

He got to his knees on the bed and took his flaccid penis in his hand so he could shake it at her.

She stared at his dick, then at his face, then back at his dick.

“Really? Is that supposed to put me in the mood?”

“I don't have time to put you in the mood,” he said. “Come on, you're a whore. A dollar puts you in the mood, and I gave you three.”

“I think you worked off those three when you stuck your tallywacker in my butt, Steiger,” she said. “That hurts, you know.”

“Then why were you moanin' and groanin' like you loved it?” he demanded.

“Because,” she answered, “you gave me three dollars!”

“Whore,” he said, “if you don't suck this cock, I'm gonna give you somethin' else.”

“You don't even remember my name!”

“Wrong,” he said, “I never knew your name, and I don't care. Suck!”

She glared at him, then got down on her belly, took his dick in her hand, and took it in her mouth. The flaccid thing just sat there, then started to swell slightly. She tickled his balls with one hand, stroked him with the other, while she increased the pressure of her sucking.

“And if you bite me, bitch, I'll kill you,” he told her.

She considered it briefly, wondering if she'd be able to get out of the room before he could grab her by the throat, or grab his gun.

* * *

Clint awoke, got out of bed, and walked to the window, which overlooked the front of the house. There were already hands working with stock in the corral, and several men were riding out to do their chores. Clint had often wondered what it would have been like to settle down on a ranch. The times that he'd been a guest—like now—had already seemed pleasant, but he'd also been around during trying times, and he didn't think he'd be comfortable for very long. There was just too much to be done, and too many people to keep track of.

He washed up and packed his saddlebags for his trip to Mexico, then went downstairs for breakfast.

EIGHT

True to his word, Werter made sure Clint had a full breakfast—steak and eggs and flapjacks, along with some fresh biscuits. Lizzie was there to eat with them, but it was just the three of them.

“Clint,” Lizzie said, “aren't you the least bit afraid?”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Well, of what might happen,” she said. “Have you been to Mexico before?”

“Many times,” he said. “In fact, I have some friends there.”

“Then maybe they can help you.”

“Maybe they can,” Clint said. “I'll have to check while I'm down there.”

“I'll certainly worry less if I know you have help,” she said.

“About me,” Clint asked, “or the bull?”

“Oh, you . . .”

* * *

After Steiger blasted his load onto the whore's face, he kicked her out of the room and got himself dressed. He'd gotten his three dollars' worth, so he gave her time to wash up first.

“Do me a favor,” she said.

“What?”

“Next time you have three dollars, spend them on somebody else.”

“I'll spend it on a whore who don't talk so much,” he told her.

Once he was dressed, he went downstairs, found the sheriff in the lobby.

“I was just comin' up to see you,” Lane said.

“You got more information?”

“I do,” Lane said. “Let's find the others. I think I know the route Adams will be takin' when he leaves here. With that information, you can get ahead of him.”

“That'll keep us from havin' to trail him,” Steiger said. “He'll never see it comin'.”

“Come on,” Lane said, “let's find the others so you fellas can get goin'.”

“If I know them, they're at the whorehouse,” Steiger said. “Yesterday was nickel night.”

* * *

After breakfast, Clint went outside to the barn to saddle Eclipse. Werter came in as he was tightening his cinch, carrying some supplies.

“I remember the way you like to travel, so I put some supplies into a burlap sack.”

“Thanks.” Clint took the sack and hung it on his saddle horn.

“And here's the money.” Werter handed Clint a leather wallet. Clint took a look inside, saw a sheaf of hundred-dollar bills.

“And here's some spendin' money for you,” Werter said, handing him another roll of bills.

“Much obliged.”

“You want part of your fee now?” Werter asked.

“This isn't part of it?” Clint asked, indicating the roll.

“No, I'm coverin' your expenses,” Werter said.

“Well then, you can pay me when I get back and the job is finished,” Clint said. “Once that bull is safely in your corral.”

They walked out of the barn together. Some of the men by the corral stopped to watch. Clint didn't see Ed Hagen anywhere, hadn't seen the foreman since the day before. Also, Lizzie was missing.

He mounted up.

“Was that true what you told Lizzie about Mexico?” Werter asked. “You got friends there?”

“I do.”

“You going to try to get one of them to help you?”

“Maybe.”

“What route are you going to take?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

“You sure are closemouthed about this.”

“I don't want anyone to know what I'm doing, Bill,” Clint said. “After all, word got around about you buying the bull, didn't it?”

“You think one of my men talked?”

“One, or more.”

Werter rubbed his jaw.

“I find out who it was, I'll fire his ass, and then burn it.”

“I wish you luck.”

“Naw, I wish you good luck, Clint,” Werter said. “Send me a telegram when you get there.”

“I will,” Clint said. “See you soon.”

Werter threw Clint a salute before he rode off.

* * *

Tibbs walked all the horses out of the livery and handed Steiger the reins of his. All four men mounted up and looked down at Sheriff Lane.

“You want us to kill 'im, Sheriff?” Steiger asked.

“I want the money,” Lane said. “I don't much care how you get it.”

“Okay,” Steiger said. He looked at his men. “Let's go.”

Lane watched the three men ride out, heading south. He only hoped the information he'd gotten about Clint Adams's route was right. The quicker Steiger and his men got this done, the faster he'd be rich.

* * *

Clint headed south from the Werter ranch, but as soon as he was out of sight, he headed west. This route would probably add a day to his trip, but he'd talked openly the day before about heading straight south. That meant he had no intention of doing so.

Besides, there was a little something he had to take care of in a town called Sublette.

NINE

Sublette was a busy little town that had only one thing Clint was interested in—a telegraph office. From here he could send a telegram without anyone being the wiser.

He rode into town and found the office immediately. He had more than a few friends who lived down near the border, and over the border in Mexico. Men whom he would trust to watch his back. There was a border town with a telegraph office, where he could stop in before crossing. He handed his messages to the clerk, asking for replies to be sent there. Hopefully, by the time he got there, the answers would be waiting.

“Send those right off, please,” Clint said.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched the key operator send the messages, then left and walked with his horse to the saloon across the street. One beer and then he'd be on his way.

* * *

Steiger, Tibbs, and Jerome rode south and had to go only a few miles before Steiger realized what had happened.

“What is it?” Jerome asked as Steiger halted their progress.

“He didn't go south,” Steiger said.

“How do you know?”

“No tracks.”

“That just means he didn't go directly south from the ranch,” Tibbs said.

“We're gonna have to fan out, look for his trail,” Steiger said.

“What other way could he have gone?” Jerome asked.

“Lots of ways,” Steiger said. “If I was him, I woulda gone east or west first, then south.”

“What do we do if we can't find his tracks?” Jerome asked.

“We'll worry about that when the time comes,” Steiger said. “Right now fan out and look real hard. I wanna pick up his trail soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tibbs said.

“If you see anything,” Steiger said, “fire two shots with your rifle.”

“Right,” Jerome said.

“Now scatter!”

* * *

Sheriff Lane went back to his office after Steiger and the others left town. He did some paperwork, then left the office and went to the Brass Bucket Saloon. He got himself a beer, took it to a table, and waited. Before long the man he was waiting for came in, got himself a beer, and joined him. There was nothing strange about two men having a beer together. It all appeared very casual.

“The boys get off okay?” the man asked.

“Early.”

“That's good.”

“They headed south,” Lane said. “I hope you're right about that.”

“That's what Adams was talkin' about doin' last night,” the man said. “If he changes his plan, the boys will have to adjust.”

“They might not be smart enough to do that.”

“Steiger's plenty smart,” the man said. “The other two just have to do what he says.”

“Maybe you better tell me exactly where Adams is goin',” Lane said. “Just in case the boys send me a telegram askin' me that.”

The man hesitated.

“Come on,” Lane said, “you already went against Werter by givin' me information. Where's the harm in tellin' me everythin'?”

The man didn't speak, just sipped his beer.

“Don't tell me you're feelin' guilty.”

Ed Hagen stared intently at Sheriff Lane.

“Yeah, I am feelin' guilty,” he said, “but that don't matter. I gotta start thinkin' about my own

future.”

“And with that money,” Lane said, “you'll have a future, won't ya?”

“Yeah,” Hagen said, “yeah, I will.”

“Look,” Lane said, “I'll get us two more beers and then you can tell me where Adams is goin'. If the boys can't pick up his trail, they can ride on down to Ol' Mexico and get there ahead of him. Be there waitin' for him.”

“Yeah,” Hagen said, “yeah, okay.”

“Atta boy,” Lane said, standing and slapping Hagen on the back. “I'll be right back.”