The Legend of El Duque (8 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

The sheriff walked Clint and Mano to his office at gunpoint, their guns tucked into his belt. He already had men removing the dead bodies from the livery.

“Have a seat,
caballeros
,” he told them as they entered his office, “and start talking. I do not like having men killed in my town.”

Clint looked at Mano and nodded. The younger man started talking, explaining that they had just ridden into town, that Clint went to the hotel while Mano went to the stable with the horses, where two men tried to rob him.

“And you killed them.”

“Sí,”
Mano said, “I had no choice.”

“And are you a
pistolero, señor
?”

“I am not,” Mano said. “In fact, those were the first men I ever killed.”

“And you?” the sheriff asked.

“I was inside the livery, in the back,” Clint said. “I saw the whole thing.”

“It happened the way he said?”

“Just the way he said,” Clint said. “I heard them asking about money.”

“Well . . .”

“Did you know those men, Sheriff?” Clint asked.

“No,” the lawman said, “I never saw them before today.”

“So they're not citizens,” Clint said.

“No.”

“And it's our word against . . . well, nobody's,” Clint finished.

The lawman took a deep breath, then took their guns out of his belt, and set them on the desk.

“Take your weapons.”

They picked them up and holstered them.

“When will you be leaving town?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Clint said, “and no later.”

“That suits me,” he said. “Do not disappoint me.”

Clint nodded and headed for the door. Mano followed him.

“Where are you headed,
señores
?” the sheriff asked.

Clint looked at him and said, “That's not part of the deal, Sheriff.”

Clint and Mano walked back to the hotel, went into their room.

“Well,” Clint said, “now they know who I am, and where we are.”

“They know we are coming,” Mano said. “Didn't they know that anyway?”

“Yeah, I suppose they did,” Clint said. “Look, we've got to get something to eat, and then come right back here. No more trouble.”

“I agree,” Mano said, “no more trouble.”

“All right, then,” Clint said. “Let's go.”

* * *

Montero was on his horse, heading back to Rancho Sandoval. He couldn't tell Don Pablo that the Gunsmith was coming, because he wasn't supposed to know that. He could tell Antonia, though. See what she would do with that information.

The Gunsmith was coming to Rancho Sandoval to buy El Duque.

One legend was coming to buy another. How could he stop that?

TWENTY-SIX

Clint and Mano came out of the hotel in the morning, and walked to the livery. The sheriff was waiting there.

“Seeing us off, Sheriff?” Clint asked.

“Just making sure,
señor
,” the man said, “and I am only doing my job.”

“Yes, you are,” Clint said, “and very well, too.” Clint was referring to his handling of the shooting incident.

They entered the barn, saddled their horses themselves, and walked them out.

“Señor,”
the sheriff said, “I hope on the way back, you will take another route.”

“We will, Sheriff,” Clint said. “I guarantee it.”

“Gracias, señor.”

Clint touched the brim of his hat, and he and Mano rode away.

Sometime later, Mano complained, “You let him run us out of town.”

“It's his town, not ours,” Clint said. “He had to save face. It did us no harm to let him.”

Mano thought about that, then said, “I guess you are right.”

“You stand your ground or fight only when it benefits you, Mano, and never just to do it.”

“I will remember.”

Carlos Montero reached the rancho a full half a day before Clint and Mano would. He went right to the barn and unsaddled his horse. When he turned to leave, he saw Don Pablo standing there, watching him.

“I do not understand you, Carlos.”

“Patrón?”

“I have given you everything,” Sandoval said, “and in return, all I expect is loyalty.”

“I am loyal,
patrón
.”

“Are you back, and prepared to work?” Sandoval asked. “Or will you be running off again on some mysterious personal task?”

“No,
patrón
,” Montero said. “I am ready to work.”

“Then get to it,” Sandoval said. “Do not make me think twice about giving you your high station.”

“No,
patrón
,” Montero said, “I will not.”

Sandoval regarded him for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.

Montero breathed a sigh of relief, and wondered when he would get the opportunity to speak with Antonia Sandoval.

Steiger reined in his horse and stared down at the Rancho Sandoval. He finally knew where they were.

Jerome and Tibbs came up on either side of him and looked down.

“Wow,” Tibbs said, “that's a big spread.”

“Sure is,” Jerome said.

“You think we beat Adams here?” Tibbs asked.

“I do,” Steiger said, although he wasn't sure.

“Unless we can keep him from reachin' there,” Tibbs said, “we ain't gonna get that money from him. We're gonna have to try to take the bull.”

“How the hell we gonna get a bull back to Wyoming?” Jerome asked.

“We'll let Adams pack the bull up,” Steiger said.

“But how we gonna get the bull from him without havin' to face him?”

“He'll be concerned with the bull,” Steiger said. “We'll get the drop on him, either goin' in or comin' out.”

* * *

“It is over that rise,” Mano said, “about an hour ahead.”

“All right,” Clint said, “it's taken long enough. All we need is no more trouble for one hour.”

As if on cue, they heard riders coming up on them from the east. They both turned and Mano stood in his stirrups to get a good look.

“Rurales,”
he said.

“Of course,” Clint said. “One more hour was too much to ask.”

“We can run for it,” Mano said.

“Run where?”

“To the ranchero,” Mano said. “Don Pablo will handle the soldiers.”

“I'm not going to let the man see me for the first time, leading a cadre of soldiers onto his spread.”

“So what do we do?”

“We just wait right here,” Clint said, “and you let me do the talking.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The
rurales
approached. There were a dozen of them, with one man at the vanguard wearing captain's bars. The uniforms were all soiled, indicating these men had been riding for some time—or they were all pigs.

The captain was a man in his thirties, with dark eyebrows and mustache, lots of dark hair sprouting from beneath his cap, and from his open collar. He had a long, nasty-looking cigar in his mouth. If it had been lit at one time, it was not now.

“Señores,”
he said, “I must ask you please to stand fast.”

“We already are, Colonel,” Clint said, deliberately promoting the man.

“It is captain,” he said, “Captain Ortiz of President Diaz's
guardias rurales
. And you are?”

“My name is Clint Adams,” Clint said. “I'm an American. This is Mano de la Vega.”

“De la Vega?” the captain repeated, giving Mano an appraising look. “You are related to Don Sebastián de la Vega?”

“I have that honor,” Mano said. “He is my father—and a friend of Diaz.”

“Indeed,” Captain Ortiz said. He looked at Clint. “And what brings you to our country,
señor
?”

Clint could see only one reason to lie. He didn't trust the
rurales
, so if he said he had come to buy a valuable bull, they would assume he had money on him. And they might “confiscate” it.

“I rode down here to visit an old friend,” Clint decided to say.

“And who is that?”

“Don Pablo Sandoval.”

The captain sat back in his saddle, keeping his back straight. Within a minute of each other, he had heard the names “Don Sebastián de la Vega” and “Don Pablo Sandoval.” These were not men to be trifled with.

“And from where did you come?”

“Texas,” Clint lied.

“That is a long way to come for a visit,
señor
,” Ortiz said.

“Yes, it is,” Clint said, “but Don Pablo is a very good friend.”

“And how did the young Señor de la Vega come to be riding with you?”

“Señor Adams is also friends with my father, as we said,” Mano replied. “My father has been injured, so when we heard Señor Adams was coming to Mexico, he sent me to see him. I decided to ride down here with him.”

Ortiz eyed Clint suspiciously.

“Your reputation is well known down here,
señor
,” Ortiz said. “I hope you are not here to add to it.”

“Not only am I not intending to add to it,” Clint said, “but I'm sure what you have heard has been greatly exaggerated.”

“Interesting . . .” Ortiz said. He leaned over a bit to look at Clint's saddlebags, which were not bulging. Neither was the burlap sack hanging from his saddle, but that seemed to interest the captain. That was okay with Clint, though, as long as they didn't try to search him.

“What is in the sack?”

“Coffee, beans . . .” Clint said.

“Alas,” Mano said, “no bacon.”

“No,” Clint said.

“May I see?” Ortiz asked, extending his hand.

Clint hesitated, then said, “Sure.” He handed the bag over. Ortiz in turn handed it to his second in command, who opened it and rooted around in it.

“
Sí, mi Capitán
,” he said. “Coffee and beans, and some dried beef.”

He handed the bag back to Clint directly, who hung it back on his saddle.

“Captain,” Clint said, deciding to take the initiative, “perhaps you and your men would like to escort us to Don Pablo's rancho?”

“No, I do not think so,” Ortiz said, since Don Pablo was not a particular friend of President Diaz. “You and your amigo may continue. Perhaps we will see you once again on your way back to Texas.”

“Sure,” Clint said, “maybe then I'll be carrying something you can confiscate.”

“Ándale, señor,”
Captain Ortiz said, “before I change my mind.”

“Sí, señor,”
Clint said.
“Vaya con Dios, Capitán.”

“And with you, Mr. Adams,” Captain Ortiz said, “and with you.”

“Come on, Mano.”

Clint and Mano rode away, aware that the captain and his men were watching them. They finally topped the rise and went down the other side, and out of sight.

TWENTY-EIGHT

They came within sight of the rancho.

“Well,” Clint said, “that's impressive.”

The house was sprawling, mostly wood and white stucco, with a courtyard in the center. There was a huge barn with a corral on either side, and a bunkhouse that would be the main house on any other ranch.

“It is a nice little place,” Mano said.

“Little?”

“You have not been to Rancho de la Vega in a long time,” Mano said.

“I see.”

Clint was sure Mano was seeing through jaded eyes.

“Let's go down and introduce ourselves,” Clint said.

They had to ride down a hill and across an expanse of desolate ground. They were still about half an hour away.

They could have been hit on the way down, but they weren't.

* * *

Steiger knew he'd made a mistake.

“Let's go get 'em,” Tibbs said.

“We can't.”

“Why not?” Tibbs asked.

Jerome saw it, too, though.

“We're too close.”

“To what?” Tibbs asked.

“To the ranch,” Steiger said. “If we hit them now, the shots will attract attention.”

“We can get the money and get out of here before anyone from the ranch reaches us,” Tibbs said.

Steiger looked at Jerome, who shrugged.

“Your call.”

“I don't think so,” he said.

“Steiger,” Tibbs said, “you made a mess out of this.”

Steiger backhanded Tibbs without warning. The man flew from the saddle and hit the ground with a solid thunk.

“You're probably right,” he said, “but don't say it again.”

Sitting on the ground, his butt feeling bruised, Tibbs wiped the mouth with the back of his hand, came away with some blood.

“Understand?” Steiger asked.

“Yeah,” Tibbs said, “yeah, I get it.”

“You got somethin' to say?” Steiger asked Jerome.

“Like I said,” Jerome replied, “your call.”

Steiger looked at Tibbs again, who was still sitting on his butt.

“Get mounted,” he said. “We'll find a place to hit them when they leave with the bull.”

Tibbs got to his feet and struggled into the saddle. Steiger glared at him, and the man kept silent.

* * *

Clint and Mano rode through the entry arch to Rancho Sandoval. Men working in the corrals stopped to watch as they rode up to the house. When they reined their horses in, no one moved.

They looked around, but no one approached them.

“What is going on?” Mano asked.

“I don't know,” Clint said. “Just sit tight. Let's wait for them to make the first move.”

* * *

Antonia heard the horses approaching, and ran for the front door. Montero had managed to tell her that it was Clint Adams coming to the rancho to buy the bull. This excited her—which suited him, because it kept her from being angry with him. She was determined to be the first to meet him when he arrived, so she had Montero tell the men not to approach any gringo who rode in during the next week.

She reached the front entry of the house well before her husband, and flung the door open.

* * *

Clint was looking around. When the door swung open, it caught his attention. He turned and looked in time to see a beautiful woman come out of the house. It seemed as if she had been running, but when she got outside, she slowed to a walk.

Mano saw her and was transfixed. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She walked up to them, glancing at Mano, but for the most part, her eyes were on Clint.

“Señorita Sandoval?” Clint asked.

She smiled and said, “Señora, actually. Don Pablo is my husband. May I help you gentlemen?”

“My name is Clint Adams,” Clint said, “and I'm here to buy a bull.”

Antonia had a couple of hands come over to take care of their horses, and showed Clint and Mano into the house.

“My husband, Don Pablo, is in the courtyard,” she said. “Please follow me.”

“Lead the way,
señora
,” Clint said.

She showed them through the house, which was very open inside, with few walls. One room just seemed to flow into another.

The courtyard floor was made from slate, and Don Pablo Sandoval looked up as they started across.

“Antonia . . .”

“This is Clint Adams, Pablo,” she said. “He is here to buy the bull.”

“Clint Adams?” Don Pablo repeated, standing up. “You are the Gunsmith?”

“That's right.”

“And you are here to buy El Duque?”

“Right again.”

“And this young man?”

“Don Pablo,” Mano said, “I am Mano de la Vega. My father, Don Sebastián de la Vega, sends his best.”

“Don Sebastián,” Sandoval said. “I have not seen my old friend in many years. You are welcome, Mano.”

“Thank you, Don Pablo.”

“Later you will meet my daughter,” Don Pablo said. “You will both stay to supper, and also stay the night.”

“Don Pablo,” Clint said, “about the bull.”

“You will see him soon,” Don Pablo said, “but it will be dark in two hours. I think you should freshen up for supper, and see the bull in the morning.”

“We'd like to get started back,” Clint said.

“It will take a while to get El Duque ready to be transported,
señor
,” Don Pablo said. “I think you will be here until the day after tomorrow. Why don't you try to relax?”

“That sounds good to me,” Mano said.

“I can have two of the guest rooms made ready,” Antonia said.

“Well,” Clint said, “it seems like I'm outnumbered. Okay, we'll stay.”

“Excellent,” Don Pablo said. “Do either one of you play chess?”

“I've played,” Clint said, “but I can't say I'm very good.”

“So much the better,
señor
,” Don Pablo said with a smile. “I like to win.”