The Legend of El Duque (4 page)

TEN

Clint had himself a beer without attracting any attention to himself, then went outside, mounted up, and rode out of Sublette. From there he headed due south. Heading for Colorado. He thought about stopping in Denver to see his friend Talbot Roper. Maybe he could get Roper to tag along and watch his back, but he'd already sent the man a telegram. If Roper was available, he'd meet Clint at that little border town, or send him a reply. He had also sent telegrams to Bat Masterson, Bass Reeves, and a couple of friends across the border in Mexico. They all had their own lives, but if they were available, they'd be there to help him.

It would be some time before he reached the Mexican border. Riding through Colorado and New Mexico, he might even think of somebody else he could ask for help. There was a man named John Locke who lived just outside Las Vegas in New Mexico. He was certainly a possibility. Looking for help from someone in Arizona or Texas would just be going too far out of his way. Don Pablo Sandoval was expecting him to arrive at a certain time, and to be more than a few days off from that would not do. The man undoubtedly had other offers for his prized bull. Clint had to get there in time, and make the buy.

* * *

It took them a full day to find his trail. They had to double back to the Werter ranch, pick it up, and follow it precisely. It led them to Sublette, where Steiger sent Sheriff Lane a telegram.

Tibbs and Jerome were waiting in the saloon when Steiger entered with the reply.

“What's he say?” Tibbs asked.

“He leaves it up to us,” Steiger said. “We can follow his trail and try to catch up, or head for Mexico in a straight line and possibly beat him there.”

He didn't add that the words “you idiots” were in the telegram several times.

“So,” Tibbs asked Steiger, “what do we do?”

“Instead of trying to catch him, I'd rather get ahead of him,” Steiger said. “Let's ride for Mexico.”

“Now?” Jerome asked.

“After a quick somethin' to eat,” Steiger said.

“Good,” Tibbs said. “I'm starved.”

* * *

Clint bypassed Denver a few days later and camped just outside Canyon City. In the morning he'd ride in and replenish his meager supplies. He thought about stopping in Trinidad later in the week before leaving Colorado, but Bat Masterson was long gone from there. He'd rather bypass that town and then stop in Taos for more supplies. He was only carrying enough for a few days at a time, but a packhorse simply would have slowed him down too much.

He'd been sleeping lightly when he camped, feeling that it was better to expect trouble than not. He managed to get some sleep, depending on Eclipse to warn him if anyone got close to their camp. The horse was better on watch than most men Clint had ridden the trail with.

He awoke in the morning, made himself some coffee, and had beef jerky for breakfast before dousing the fire, saddling up, and hitting the trail again. He didn't see anybody trailing behind him, but more important than that, he didn't have that feeling between his shoulder blades that he got when someone was on his trail. That could mean only one thing to him. He'd managed to hide his route from them, so they were heading straight to Mexico, trying to get there ahead of him.

At least that would make the ride to the Mexican border less of a concern.

ELEVEN

M
EXICO
J
UST OUTSIDE
Q
UERETARO

Don Pablo Maria Cortero y Sandoval stepped out onto the portico, holding in his hand a glass of sherry. His
segundo,
Carlos Montero, came from the other direction and stopped in front of him.

“Well?” Don Pablo asked.

“The bull is fine,
jefe
,” Montero said.

“Both of them?”

“
Sí
, both are fine.”

“Good,” Don Pablo said, “we want to make sure we sell our American friend a healthy bull.”

“Sí, señor.”

Don Pablo studied the man for several moments, then said, “Well, speak up, man. You have something on your mind.”

“It is El Duque,” Montero said. “I do not think we should be selling him.”

“We are not selling him, Montero,” Don Pablo said, “I am.”

“Sí, señor,”
Montero said, “I understand, but I do not think—”

“I do not pay you to think, Montero,” Don Pablo said.

“Sí, señor.”

“Go, see to the bulls,” Don Pablo said. “Treat them both like royalty.”

“As you say,
jefe
.”

Montero, a man in his mid-thirties, turned and left. Behind Don Pablo his wife stepped out onto the portico.

“My husband,” she said, “do you think you should treat Montero in such a way?”

“I treat my men as I see fit, my dear.”

“Yes, of course.”

Antonia de la Huerta y Sandoval was some thirty years younger than her husband. They had been married two years, and she knew he had married her just to have her on his arm. He loved no one the way he loved his daughter, Katerina, who was only a few years younger than Antonia.

“Would you like another drink, my husband?” she asked, taking his empty glass from him.

“Yes, I would,” he said.
“Gracias.”

As she turned to go back into the hacienda, Don Pablo said, “Where is Katerina?”

“Your beautiful daughter is out riding,” Antonia said.

“By herself?”

“I believe so.”

“I have told her over and over—”

“
Sí
, but she is headstrong, is she not?” Antonia asked.

“Indeed,” Don Pablo said. “Indeed, she is.”

“I will get your drink, and then I must go to town. I won't be long.”

“As you wish,” Don Pablo said, turning away again.

Antonia nodded, and entered the house.

* * *

Montero went to the barn and saddled his horse. He rode away from the hacienda out into the hills west of the rancho. There he found Katerina Sandoval waiting for him by her horse. He dismounted and ran to her. Taking her into his arm, they kissed.

“Have you talked to my father?” she asked.

“I have.”

“About us?”

“No,” he said, “not yet.”

“About what, then?”

“About El Duque.”

She dropped her arms and stepped away from him.

“That bull!”

“He is selling your future, Katerina,” he said. “Our future.”

“It is only a bull.”

“El Duque is a prized bull,” Montero said.

“There is the other.”

“Unproven.”

“My father values him enough to sell El Duque.”

“For money.”

“Is money so distasteful to you?”

“I want only what you have coming,” Montero said.

“And I want to be your wife, Carlos,” she said. “You must speak to my father.”

“I will,” he said, “I promise, but the time must be right.”

“And when will that be?” she asked.

“Soon,” he said. “Very soon.”

That did not make her happy.

“I must get back,” she said.

He helped her mount her horse.

“My love,” he said, “I promise—”

“I am beginning to tire of your promises, Carlos,” she said, and rode away.

* * *

An hour later, in a deserted shack located farther west, Carlos kissed the smooth flesh of Antonia's breasts, teased her nipples with his tongue while she cradled his head.

On the outside the shack still looked deserted, but inside they had created a small love nest where they could meet and be together.

She reached between them to grasp his hard shaft and pull him toward her. She spread her legs and he pushed the spongy head of his cock against the wet lips of her pussy until they parted and he slid inside. He slid his hands beneath her to cup the smooth orbs of her ass and began to move in and out of her. Her breath came harshly in his ear as the intensity of his strokes increased.

“Oh, yes!” she cried, biting him on the shoulder.

“Damn it!” he yelled, and increased his stroke until he was fairly pummeling her . . .

* * *

“I've told you not to do that,” Montero said later.

“What?”

“Bite me.”

She chuckled, rolled onto her side. Her small, exquisite breasts barely moved.

“You're afraid your young paramour will see it?” she asked.

“I don't need any trouble with Katerina right now, Antonia,” Montero said. “And neither one of us needs any trouble with your husband.”

She grinned at him and said, “However you look at it, Carlos, we are all heading for some trouble.”

“Well, not yet,” he said, pulling on his trousers. “First we have to deal with this matter of the bull.”

“Why are you so concerned with that bull?” she asked.

“Because the bull is the future.”

“Whose?” she asked.

“Ours,” he said, although what he was thinking was,
Mine.

He put on his vest and strapped on his gun.

“Are you going to get dressed?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, “after you leave. You know I don't mind being watched while I disrobe, but not when I dress.”

“Where does he think you are?”

“In town.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“He never cares.”

“Well,” he said, “I must get back before he looks for me.”

“When is this gringo supposed to arrive?” she asked.

“At the end of the month.”

“Then it will all be over by then,” she said, “one way or another.”

“Sí,”
he said, before leaving, “one way or another.”

TWELVE

Clint arrived at the Mexican border with two weeks left to go on his trip. He thought about crossing at El Paso, but instead had chosen the small U.S. border town of El Codo.
El Codo
meant “The Elbow,” which was how the town was shaped.

El Codo was of little significance, really. Across the river from it was the larger and more populated Mexican town of Nogales, but El Codo had something Nogales did not—a telegraph.

He rode into town late in the afternoon, which meant he was probably going to have to either spend the night there, or cross the river into Mexico and spend the night in Nogales.

He looked for and found the small telegraph office, leaving Eclipse unattended while he went inside to see if he had any replies.

“Why, yes, sir,” the clerk said, “I believe they're right here.”

The clerk went through a pile of messages, and just when Clint almost came to the conclusion that the man had lost them, he came up with them.

“Here ya go,” he said, handing them to Clint.

“Is this all of them?” Clint asked.

“Yessir,” the clerk said, “ya got three.”

“Thanks.”

Clint went outside to read them. Bat Masterson apologized, but he had recently taken a bullet in his thigh and couldn't ride. However, if Clint could find no one else, he'd wrap the thigh up as tight as he could, hop on a buckboard, and make the trip.

Bass Reeves was still marshaling in Indian territory, and had to testify in court, but if Clint couldn't find anyone else, he'd risk the wrath of the Hanging Judge and come to his aide.

The third message was from south of the border. Clint's friend Sebastián de la Vega had recently been thrown from a horse and the feeling had not yet returned to his legs. But he was sending someone to meet Clint in Nogales. He assured Clint that, despite this person's youth, he was very capable of watching Clint's back, and guiding him through Mexico.

Clint's first choice would have been Bat Masterson, but he wasn't about to make his friend travel while injured. His second choice would have been Talbot Roper from Denver, but he had not heard back from him. Roper was the best private detective in the country, and he was probably away from Denver on a case. Next would have been Bass Reeves, but he couldn't ask Reeves to go against the Judge.

So he was prepared to at least meet the man that de la Vega was sending him. He felt bad that his friend was paralyzed from a fall, and hoped that the use of his legs would return.

He went back inside and sent his own replies back to all three telegrams. De la Vega's man was probably already in Nogales, so even if he wasn't willing to use him, he couldn't stop him. He had to at least meet the man.

When he came out, he decided to go ahead and cross the river to Nogales and spend the night there. It would also give him more time with de la Vega's man.

He rode out of El Codo, found a shallow place in the river, and crossed into Mexico. Within half a mile he came to Nogales. It was getting dark as he rode in, and Nogales was alive with light, music, and loud voices. Clint felt lucky to find the livery pen so he could leave Eclipse there to be cared for, then he carried his saddlebags and rifle to a small hotel across from a noisy saloon.

“One night,” he told the young clerk.

“Sí, señor.”
He handed Clint the key.

Clint went to the first-floor room, which was in the back, and dropped off his saddlebags and rifle. He didn't know where he was going to meet de la Vega's man, so he decided to just get himself a beer, and something to eat.

He went back to the clerk and asked him where the best food in town was.

“Across the street,
señor
.”

“That noisy cantina?”

“
Sí, señor
. They have the best beer, the best
señoritas
, and the best
enchiladas
and
frijoles
.”

“And what about trouble?”

“It is not allowed.”

“Really?”

“
Sí, señor
. The owner, he is my cousin, and he does not allow trouble.”

Now Clint had to decide if the clerk was sending him there because it had the best food, or because the clerk's cousin owned it.

“I'll tell you what,” Clint said. “If I pay you, can you get some food brought to my room from there?”

“Sí, señor,”
the clerk said. “I can do that. Just tell me what you want.”

“A little bit of everything,” Clint said, handing the clerk some money. “Is that enough?”

“More than enough,
señor
.”

“Well, you keep what's left.”

“Gracias, señor.”

The young man was in his twenties, and the extra money would be a good tip for him.

As Clint started back to his room, the clerk shouted, “
Señor
, what to drink?”

“Cerveza!”

* * *

Clint was sitting in his room when, a half hour later, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, the clerk was there with two black-haired Mexican women wearing off-the-shoulder blouses, holding plates of food. The clerk was carrying a bucket of beer.

“Come on in,” Clint said.

They entered and put the plates down on the top of the chest of drawers. The clerk handed Clint the bucket, which had kept the beer cold. To top it off, he handed Clint a glass mug.

“These are my cousins, Lupita and Consuelo.”

Lupita was young, probably not yet twenty, and pretty. Someday she would be as beautiful as Consuelo, who was in her thirties and possessed of a mature beauty that Mexican women grew into.

They had brought him plates of enchiladas, tacos, frijoles, tortillas, sliced peppers and tomatoes, and beer.

It was a feast.

“Lupita and Consuelo can stay while you eat,
señor
,” the clerk said, “and give you anything you want.”

“I think I've got all I need,” I said. “What's your name?”

“Eduardo.”

“Well, Eddie, the girls can come back for the plates in about half an hour.”

“The
señor
is sure he does not want us to stay?” Consuelo asked. “Maybe one of us?”

“Right now,” Clint said, “the
señor
is only interested in eating.”

Consuelo spoke to Lupita in Spanish, and the younger woman seemed crushed by what she'd been told.

“Sí, señor,”
Eduardo said, “they will return. Please, enjoy the food.”

“Thank you, Eduardo,” Clint said, “and thanks to all your cousins.”