The Legend of El Duque (7 page)

TWENTY-ONE

“We're lost,” Tibbs said, “ain't we?”

“No,” Steiger lied.

“Well,” Jerome said, “then we don't know where we are.”

“Look,” Steiger said, “we know where he's goin', so let's just go there.”

“Mexico City?” Tibbs asked.

“Near Mexico City,” Steiger said. “The Rancho Sandoval.”

“If he's so famous,” Tibbs said, “everybody should know where he lives. All we have to do is ask.”

“We will,” Steiger said, “when we get closer. All we got to do now is head south.”

Tibbs looked at Jerome, who shook his head and shrugged.

“Look,” Steiger said, “we're just adjustin' to the situation, that's all.”

“Well,” Tibbs said, “we better get this job done, is all.”

“We will,” Steiger said, turning his horse south. “Let's go.”

* * *

Days passed without incident, which suited Clint. They were camped one night and he asked Mano, “How far to Queretaro?”

“A day or two,” Mano said.

“Depending on?”

“On how fast we travel.”

“I don't want to push the horses too hard,” Clint said. “We can keep up the pace we've been traveling at.”

For a few days, they'd been living on beans and coffee, and Mano was hankering for something more.

“Can we buy some bacon at the next town?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, sure,” Clint said. “Bacon and beans would be a welcome change.”

“You have not told me if any of my father's stories about you are true.”

“And I won't,” Clint said. “That's up to your father to tell you.”

“Bien,”
Mano said, “then tell me this.”

“What?”

“The story about the time my father fought five Juaristas and defeated them single-handedly without weapons. Is that true?”

Clint studied the younger man across the fire, then said, “Well, yes, that's true.”

“Ha ha!” Mano cried out. “That old man! He told me it never happened.”

“Well, I suppose your father may have become . . . modest in his old age.”

“What about the women?”

“What about them?”

“All the women my father is supposed to have had,” Mano said.

“How many is that?”

“Many,” Mano said, “many, many over the years.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I think maybe that is something I'll leave to your father to answer.”

“He does have a young wife,” Mano said. “I suppose the women could have been attracted to his money.”

“Just remember,” Clint said, “your father didn't always have money.”

“That is true.”

“I'll take the first watch,” Clint said, intentionally changing the subject.

But instead of going to bed, Mano wanted to hear more stories. Or ask about them.

“What about the time with the three nuns?” he asked.

“What?” Clint asked. “Who? Me or your father?”

* * *

Carlos Montero wasn't sure he was doing the right thing.

He had gone to Mexico City, as Don Pablo had wanted, but he had also collected some men to help him with the gringo when he arrived, as Antonia wanted him to do.

The gringo was projected to arrive any day. So Montero decided to take his men to Queretaro and intercept him.

Now he was sitting in a cantina, drinking beer, while his men were in back rooms with two of the cantina girls.

What if the gringo bypassed Queretaro? What if he went directly to the rancho? It was too bad he did not have the gringo's name.

But how many gringos would be riding through, carrying a large some of money and looking for Don Pablo Sandoval's rancho?

“Señor
, you would like some company?” a cantina girl asked. She was young, busty, with a wide, beautiful mouth that promised many things.

But Montero had enough problems with women, since he was sleeping with the
patrón
's
daughter as well as his wife.

“No, thank you,” he said, “but I will have another
cerveza
.”

TWENTY-TWO

Clint and Mano rode into Queretaro the next morning. Clint decided he needed a bath before he presented himself to Don Pablo to buy his bull. The man was a Spanish aristocrat, so manners and hygiene were probably as important to him as the money.

“A bath?” Mano asked.

“Wouldn't hurt you either,” Clint said as they rode in.

“But it is not Saturday night.”

“That's okay,” Clint said, “nobody is going to hold it against you.”

“Well,” Mano said, “this is a fair-sized town. Must be plenty of pretty
señoritas
who would like a man who has just had a bath.”

“There you go,” Clint said. “We'll spend one night in a hotel in a real bed, have a bath, and then tomorrow we'll move on to the Rancho Sandoval.”

“That suits me,” Mano said.

“You might even send your pa a telegram and tell him where we are and how we're doing,” Clint said. “I'm sure he's worried about you.”

“I will do so,
señor
,” Mano said. “He will be happy to hear from both of us.”

They rode up to a hotel and reined in. Clint dismounted and handed Mano his reins.

“I'll get us a room, and you take the horses to the livery. You better warn them to take special care of Eclipse. And watch he doesn't take off any fingers.”

“I will.”

“You mind sharing a room?”

“I do not mind,” Mano said, “as long as we don't have to share a bed.”

“Nope,” Clint said, “sharing a bed is not something I'm hankering to do either.”

They split up there, and Clint went into the hotel lobby carrying his saddlebags and rifle.

* * *

Carlos Montero was starting to think he'd been a fool to let Antonia talk him into this. How was he going to identify the gringo with the money without knowing his name or what he looked like? Don Pablo must know the man's name—why had he never mentioned it to Antonia?

Montero was drinking in a small cantina when the two men he'd brought with him came in.

“Carlos,” Mendez said, “two men just rode in. One is a gringo.”

“Where'd they go?”

“One went into a hotel, the other to the livery stable.”

“We need to find out if this is the gringo with the money,” Montero said, getting up. “We will go to the livery and ask the other man.”

“He is pretty young,” the other man, Ibanez, said. “He should talk if we pressure him.”

“Well, we will pressure him, all right,” Montero said. “We will pressure him.”

The three of them left the cantina and walked toward the livery stable.

* * *

Clint checked them in and went upstairs to look at the room. It had two small beds, with mattresses that were barely better than sleeping on the ground.

He went to the window and looked out, saw three men leaving a cantina down the street. One of them pointed to the hotel, then pointed somewhere farther along. The three men exchanged some words, and then continued up the street.

Clint had a bad feeling, and left the room.

* * *

Montero, Mendez, and Ibanez came out of the cantina, and Ibanez pointed to the hotel.

“The gringo went in there,” he said, “and the other man went that way.” He pointed toward the livery.

“All right,” Montero said, “let's go to the livery and see what we can find out.”

* * *

At the livery, Mano spoke with the farrier about Clint's horse, Eclipse.

“Do not worry,
señor
,” the older man said, “I would only take good care of such an animal.”

“Just be careful of him,” Mano said. “He likes fingers.”

The man held up his left hand, which was already missing part of a finger, and said, “Do not worry,
señor
. I have been bitten before.”

“I can see that.”

The man took the reins of both horses and walked them farther into the barn.

TWENTY-THREE

Montero and his two men approached the livery, and then stopped.

“All right,” Montero said, “you two go in and find out what you can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I will stay out here and watch,” Montero said. “I do not want you to be interrupted.”

Mendez and Ibanez exchanged a glance, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the barn.

* * *

Clint left the hotel, looked around, determined that he was not being watched. The three men may have had nothing to do with him, but he still had a bad feeling, and over the years had come to depend on his instinct.

The three men were up to no good.

* * *

Mano turned to leave the barn, but his path was suddenly blocked by two men.

“Excuse me,
compadres
,” he said. “You are blocking my way.”

“Just take it easy
, chico
,” Ibanez said. “We have some questions to ask you.”

“I do not know either of you,” Mano said. “Why would I answer your questions?”

“It would be much better for you if you do,” Mendez said.

“Do not force us to be unpleasant,” Ibanez added.

Mano had his saddlebags over his left shoulder, and his rifle in his left hand. That left his gun hand free, and he let it hang down by his gun.

“I do not want to talk to you,” he said. “Stand aside.”

But neither man moved, and Mano knew he could not avoid trouble. What he didn't know was whether or not this had anything to do with Clint Adams.

“What question could you have for me?” he asked. “I do not know you.”

“The gringo you rode in with,” Ibanez said. “Who is he, and why is he here?”

Well, Mano thought, that answers that question.

* * *

Clint approached the livery and saw one man standing outside, two standing in the doorway. He assumed Mano was inside. That meant the man outside was a lookout.

He changed his direction, headed for the back of the stable.

* * *

Carlos Montero watched as Mendez and Ibanez stopped in the doorway of the livery. He turned and looked behind him, and caught just a glimpse of Clint Adams before he disappeared behind the stable. Montero decided to follow him and see what he did. It might also give him some idea of who the gringo was.

* * *

“Why do you want to know that?” Mano asked.

“We are looking for a gringo,” one of them said, “and we want to know if your friend is the one we are looking for.”

“Why are you looking for a gringo?”

“That is not important,” the other said. “Just tell us who he is.”

“If I tell you who he is,” Mano said, “you might not like it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he might turn out to be somebody you don't want to have anything to do with.”

“Never mind that,” Ibanez said. “Does he have the money on him?”

“Ah,” Mano said, wondering when Clint would come looking for him, “this is about money.”

“Sí,”
Mendez said, “it is about money. A lot of money.”

“Well, then you have the wrong people,” Mano said. “We don't have any money. Now let me pass.”

Both men dropped their hands to their guns and tensed.

“You will not pass until you tell us what we want to know,” Mendez said.

“Who is the gringo?” Ibanez asked.

Mano remembered something Clint had told him one night around the fire. That he'd never killed a man without giving him a chance to walk away. That he always tried to convince him to live.

“All right,” Mano said, “but you won't like this. His name is Clint Adams, and if you don't let me pass, you will both end up dead.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Clint found a side door to the livery, opened it, and stepped in just as Mano was introducing him to the two men.

“. . . both end up dead.”

“What?” one of them asked.

“Clint Adams?” the other asked.

“Sí,”
Mano said, “now step aside.”

Clint eyed the two men and made a snap judgment about them. He thought Mano could handle them, but he made himself ready, just in case. He moved farther into the stable, into a stall alongside a horse.

* * *

Montero saw Clint go in the side door, decided he could not follow that way. He went around to the back and entered the stable that way, listening intently.

“I won't tell you again, step aside,” he heard someone say.

He moved into a position from where he could watch.

* * *

Mano decided that taking the initiative might be the way to go, since these two seemed slow to make up their minds.

Mano drew his gun.

The two men seemed startled, and if he expected them to step aside or run, he was disappointed. They went for their guns.

“Don't—” he said, but even as he did, he was firing. He pulled the trigger three times, and the two men fell to the ground.

“Madre de Dios!”
he swore, looking around.

* * *

Clint saw Mano draw, and knew what was going to happen. He drew his gun, but Mano reacted quickly as the two strangers went for their guns. The young man fired, then quickly glanced around.

Clint stepped out and said, “It's okay, Mano.”

Mano turned and stared at Clint with wide eyes. Clint stepped past him and checked the two men.

“Are they . . .” Mano asked.

“Yes, dead,” Clint said. “Reload and holster your gun. The law should be here soon.”

“What will we tell them?” Mano asked.

“The truth, that these two men tried to rob you and you killed them.”

“Well,” Mano said, holstering his gun, “that is sort of the truth.”

“Yes, it is. Did they ask about the money I'm carrying?”

“Yes.”

“And that's when you told them who I was?”

“Sí,”
Mano said. “I thought it would scare them. I did not want to kill them.”

Clint looked out the door, did not see the man who had been on lookout. The shots probably scared him away.

“What is it?” Mano asked.

“There was a third man,” Clint said. “He probably ran off.”

“So what do we do?” Mano asked.

“We'll wait,” Clint said. “The sound of the shots should bring the law. It would in most towns.”

Mano looked around the interior of the livery.

“Where's the owner?”

“He must have run off, too,” Clint said.

Mano looked down at the two men.

“The first time's always the hardest, Mano,” he told the young man.

“Actually,” Mano said, “it was a lot easier than I thought, even though I am not Clint Adams.”

* * *

Montero heard the name “Clint Adams,” and knew he had to get out of that stable. He hadn't bargained for having to deal with the Gunsmith.

He had to get back to the rancho.

* * *

Clint turned and looked at the back of the stable.

“What is it?” Mano asked.

“I heard something.”

They both walked to the back. Clint looked around, directed his attention to the dirt floor.

“Fresh tracks,” he told Mano.

“Somebody was here?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “Watching you, or us.”

“Then he heard who you are,” Mano said, “and he ran.”

“Yes,” Clint said, “yes, you're probably right.”

“Just hold it right there, you two!” they heard someone say from behind them.