Nobody answered.
Arroyo saw that someone had wedged a rolled scrap of paper into the lock. He pulled it out and unrolled it. Another message from the gringo.
It read, in English:
Today you tried to have me killed. I always hope that those I have dealings with will conduct themselves honourably, but all too often I am disappointed, as now. Once again I have been forced to take measures I would otherwise prefer to avoid.
Arroyo’s English was reasonably good, but he had difficulty understanding some of the words. When he’d finished reading the message he stood and stared at the scrap of paper, wondering what the gringo meant.
The man who had earlier garrotted the occupant of room number 27 with a length of cord said, ‘Look, señor!’
He was pointing at the ground.
Arroyo looked at where the man’s finger was pointing. ‘What?’ he said. ‘I don’t see anything.’
Then the man crouched and lifted the thing he had been pointing at.
It was a wire. It had been covered over with dirt and sawdust.
The evening was warm, but suddenly Arroyo felt very cold.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After sending the message to Arroyo’s home, Payne had gone to the warehouse.
There had been two men guarding the warehouse, and like guards everywhere, they spent much of their time in a state of acute boredom.
The two men often played poker to pass the time. Nobody had ever broken into the warehouse at night, and they had no reason to suspect anybody would break in tonight either.
Payne had his own set of pick-locks, and he used them to unfasten the padlock that kept the back door closed. Having crept in through the back door, Payne opened the leather satchel he was carrying and pulled out a hotel pillow.
When the men saw him, their hands were full of cards. They had just enough time to drop their cards, stand up, and get their hands on their guns before Payne shot them, the pillow muffling the sound of the gunshots.
The warehouse was full of contraband of various kinds, most of it Payne had no use for. He was only interested in the dynamite, and the items necessary for detonating it: blasting machines, detonating caps and wire.
The blasting machines were square metal boxes, with a T-handle poking out of the top of each box. If you pushed down the handle you’d set a dynamo spinning, and that generated a charge of electricity. The charge travelled down a wire, and at the other end of the wire was a detonating cap, pushed into the dynamite.
Payne had brought a mule and a cart with him. He put a crate containing a dozen sticks of dynamite into the cart, followed by a couple of the blasting machines, a box of detonating caps and a thousand-foot spool of wire. He found several boxes of regular fuses, so he took some of those too.
He trotted the mule and cart a safe distance away, then set up Arroyo’s surprise. There were still five boxes full of dynamite inside the warehouse.
He pushed a detonating cap into a stick of dynamite inside one of the boxes, attached a wire to it, and ran the wire outside, across the deserted road and around the side of the warehouse opposite.
This road was all warehouses, hardly anybody around this time in the evening.
Payne twisted the other end of the wire around the contact on top of the blasting machine and waited.
He wanted Arroyo to read the note he’d left. He wanted Arroyo to know why he was being killed.
Watching from the shadows between the warehouses opposite, Payne saw Arroyo remove the note from the lock, then retreated to where he’d left the blasting machine. He pushed down on the T-handle.
The explosion tore the warehouse apart, sending bricks flying into the air. It was so loud that Arroyo’s wife heard it several miles away, in her pleasant, white-painted house on the outskirts of Piedras de Negras.
Payne did not return to the hotel. He had brought everything he needed with him.
He removed the dynamite from the wooden crate and wrapped each stick in a cotton shirt to keep it cool, and to soak up any nitro that might leak out. Then he placed the dynamite, the two blasting machines, the detonating caps and wire and assorted fuses into a big leather trunk he’d bought.
He took off the peasant garb of cotton shirt, pantalones and straw sombrero and put on more expensive clothes. Now he looked like a moderately well-to-do Mexican businessman.
In the morning Payne took the train back to Durango.
‘My people tell me he has left Durango,’ the Queen told Jack Tanner. ‘He is dressed like a Mexican businessman. He has brought a leather trunk with him from the north. We think he spent a few days in Piedras de Negras.’
‘What’s in Piedras de Negras?’ asked Jack.
They were in the Queen’s apartment, on the top floor of the large building on the town square.
‘It is on the Texas border,’ said the Queen. ‘You can buy anything there. Back in Durango he purchased two mules and a small covered wagon. The next morning he was seen leaving, heading west.’
‘Back here,’ said Jack. He studied the map spread on the table between them. ‘He’ll have reached the Sierra Madre Occidental by now.’
Jack had spent a lot of time examining the map, specifically the route that the Queen’s armoured wagon would take, from Meseta de Plata to the bank in San Ignacio.
When the Queen had told Jack that she believed Payne would try to rob the coach the next time it made its run, Jack had said, ‘Have people tried to rob the coach before?’
‘Of course. But they were never locals. They were Americanos, or people from the far south of Mexico, who did not realize that to attempt to rob the coach in the usual way – with guns and horses – means almost certain death. The coach is plated with steel, and there are horsemen riding escort.’
‘Doesn’t Payne know that?’
‘He does. He saw the coach when it left on its previous trip – the day before you came here – and when it returned. But I do not think he plans to steal the money in the usual way. He is a clever one. And once he has stolen it, I believe he intends to disappear, possibly travel all the way down to South America.’
‘That’s a load of money to transport.’
‘I am sure he will find a way to do it.’
The last time the armoured coach had made the journey to San Ignacio it had carried the money that Amos Payne had brought with him to the plateau, plus the fifteen thousand dollars another outlaw had brought to the thieves’ town three days earlier. This time it was carrying the money that Jack had brought to the town, plus the money that a gang of outlaws from Texas had brought with them.
The gang, six men in all, had arrived together at Meseta de Plata two days before Payne had left. Their saddle-bags had bulged with stolen cash, and Payne knew that each man must be bringing at least ten thousand dollars with them, because that was the minimum you had to bring with you if you wanted to live here in safety. Which meant Payne knew that the next time the armoured coach made the run to San Ignacio it would be carrying a sizeable amount. Even if you subtracted spending money to be kept in the town bank, it would still mean the carriage would be transporting close to seventy thousand dollars at the very least, and possibly a whole lot more.
‘There are many places along the route where he could attempt to rob the coach,’ said the Queen.
‘How many people in Meseta de Plata can you trust to help us, besides your guards?’
‘None of them. They would stab their own mothers for a silver peso.’
If Jack wanted to go out there and find Payne, he had to do it with only the Queen to help him. Her guards would be busy either protecting the coach, or keeping order back here in town.
‘You could keep the coach here,’ he said. ‘Not make the run to San Ignacio this month?’
‘No!’ she said. ‘I shall not be intimidated by this man Payne. Everybody in Meseta de Plata will know that I am afraid, and I cannot allow this!’
The armoured coach set off as usual to San Ignacio. It
was pulled by six horses, on account of the weight. There were eight outriders: four in front, four behind.
Jack and the Queen had left three hours before, Jack scouting out the land south of the route, the Queen scouting out the land north of the route, looking for the tracks of Payne’s two mules and covered wagon.
Amos Payne watched the armoured coach through his telescope. In a few moments it would pass through the ravine below him.
He’d left the wagon and the mules some way behind him in the pine forest. He lay on the edge of the ravine. His beaver felt top hat sat on the ground next to him, and next to that were the two blasting machines.
He had changed back into his usual black clothes, shaved off the goatee, and returned the derringer to the holster sewn inside the top hat. He’d discovered that he just didn’t feel right if he wasn’t wearing that outfit.
Five sticks of dynamite were buried in the side of the ravine about a hundred yards to Payne’s left, and another five were buried in the side of the ravine about a hundred yards to Payne’s right.
The coach and outriders were now in the ravine, kicking up a load of dust. Payne waited till the coach was directly beneath him, and pressed down the T-handle of the first blasting machine. The generator inside the box whirred and crackled, and a moment later there was an almighty boom from over to his left, and a ton of rock spilled down into the ravine.
He pressed down the second T-handle, and another boom came from over to his right, and another avalanche of rocks tumbled down.
The coach and outriders were trapped between the two rockfalls. They couldn’t go forward or back.
Payne got to work with his rifle. He was a very good marksman, and in his position, shooting down from above, it was easier for him to hit the men on horseback than it was for them to hit him.
He also shot the coachman and the man riding shotgun, who unfortunately for them had been seated outside the coach, not inside, where they would have been safe.
It took less than three minutes for Payne to kill all ten men. They lay dead on the ground while the horses charged around in a panic, bucking and whinnying. But soon they settled down, and all was silent again in the ravine.
The only people still alive down there were the two men inside the armoured coach.
The road was seldom used. If anybody did happen along, they would see the ravine was blocked, would think it was due to a natural rockfall, and find a way around.
Payne’s plan was to wait two, three days, till the men inside the coach had run out of food and water, and were either dead or too weak to fight. Then he’d go down there, finish them, if they were still alive, and take the money.
Opening up the coach wouldn’t be a problem. A sliver cut off the end of one of his two remaining dynamite sticks would open it like a can of beans.
Payne reckoned the men inside the coach might wait till nightfall, then try to get out, see what was happening. If they tried to leave the coach he’d shoot them. They couldn’t climb out of that ravine without him seeing them, even at night. They had big, bright, high moons here in Mexico, and lots of stars. If the men left the coach and tried to climb out of the ravine he’d shoot them dead before they got halfway.
But it wasn’t night yet. There were still several hours to go before sundown.
He thought about all the money he would have in just a few hours. After he’d loaded the money into the covered wagon he would make his way to the coast, then take a boat down to South America where he’d live like an oriental potentate. And nobody would be able to touch him. Not the United States government, not the Pinkerton Detective Agency, not even the goddamn so-called Queen of Meseta de Plata.
Payne watched the coach through his telescope, trying to figure out if anybody was peering through those slits.
When he heard the noise behind him he thought it was one of the mules.
The voice said, ‘Put down that telescope and place your hands on top of your head.’
Payne did as he was told and waited to see what would happen next.
The voice said, ‘Get up and turn around.’
Payne got up and turned around. He recognized the man pointing the rifle at him. He was an Americano, maybe not quite thirty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. Payne had seen the man before. ‘I’ve seen you in Meseta de Plata. You’re a thief, like me,’ he laughed. ‘Verily, there is little honour among the outlaw brethren. I steal from the Queen, you steal from me. I wonder if some other felonious serpent will, in his turn, steal from you? And so the wheel turns. . . .’
‘Save the fancy talk,’ said Jack. ‘I ain’t after the money. I’m after you.’
Payne scrutinised the younger man. ‘You a bounty hunter?’
Jack said, ‘Never mind what I am. Lower one hand real slow and unfasten your gun belt.’
Payne unfastened his gun belt.
‘Kick it away from you.’
Payne did that, too. He said, ‘You ain’t a bounty hunter. If you were, you’d have killed me by now. I’m worth as much dead as I am alive, rotten-hearted scoundrel that I am. . . . You some kind of lawman, perchance? But why would a lawman go to all the trouble of following me down to Meseta de Plata? It don’t make sense. . . .’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I got it! It’s revenge! It’s personal! But you’re a lawman besides. That’s why you can’t bring yourself to just shoot me!’
‘Smart as a whip, ain’t ya?’ said Jack.
‘It’s a good thing you didn’t shoot me,’ said Payne. ‘What with the dynamite I’ve got concealed about my person. Fire a bullet into one of them sticks, we’ll both be blown to kingdom come!’
Jack thought about that for a moment. ‘Thanks for telling me,’ he said. ‘If I decide to shoot you, I’ll be sure to aim for your legs and head.’
Payne laughed. ‘I like you, young fellow. It’s a shame we couldn’t have met under more pleasant circumstances. We could have been partners, you and I. Bosom friends. . . . Pray, tell me – why exactly have you gone to all this trouble to take me prisoner? What do you imagine I’ve done?’
‘I don’t imagine anything,’ said Jack. ‘I know. You killed my pa.’
Payne thought back. ‘The ranch house!’ he said at last. ‘I remember. The gang I was riding with decided to raid the house for food. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They were starving, you see. It was such a shame what happened to those poor, brave folk. . . . Who told you I killed your pa, anyway? One of the others? You can’t believe the word of those heathens.’
‘Bull,’ snapped Jack. ‘You were the leader of the gang. They did what you told ’em to do. You fired the gun that killed my pa, and I’m taking you back to Arizona to stand trial. Now stay still while I tie you up.’
Payne sighed. ‘Very well, I can see that you cannot be reasoned with. I hope you don’t mind if I put my hat back on? It’s been in my possession for many years, and I am somewhat attached to it. I shall reach for it slowly. No careless shooting, now – remember the dynamite. . . .’ Payne reached down and picked up his hat, all the time a grin plastered on his face, his eyes locked on Jack’s.
‘One more stupid move like that, I’ll shoot you in both knees,’ Jack said.
‘I’m sure you will,’ said Payne, holding his top hat against his belly. ‘No more stupid moves, you have my word. . . . How did you find me, anyway?’
‘Somebody told me you’d try to rob the coach,’ said Jack. ‘I was also told that you’d ridden to Durango, and gone north-east by train. I guessed you’d be back. And sure enough, a while later I heard you’d headed out here in a covered wagon, pulled by two mules. I found your trail, and here I am. A little too late to stop you using the dynamite and shooting those guards, but not too late to catch you.’
Jack hadn’t seen the man’s hand slide into the hat. He didn’t know that at that moment Payne’s fingers were curling around the butt of a derringer.
Payne shook his head. ‘You did remarkably well to track me. I congratulate you, sir.
It’s quite a gift you have. I declare, you must be part redskin.’
‘My pa was a quarter Comanche,’ said Jack.
Payne nodded. ‘That may explain it,’ he said. ‘By the way, what has happened to the rest of my confederates?’
‘Your gang, you mean? All dead, or in jail, waiting for the hangman.’
Payne raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Then I am the last?’
‘You are,’ said Jack.
‘And may I ask the name of the man who’s finally bettered me?’
‘Jack Tanner. Now get that damn hat on your head and stay still while I. . . .’
The gunshot sounded very loud in the still air of the hot Mexican afternoon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Payne had spotted the Queen of Meseta de Plata a fraction of a second before she’d pulled the trigger.
She had appeared from the shadows between the pine trees, about fifteen feet behind Jack Tanner. The Queen knew about Payne’s trick hat. So when she’d seen Payne holding his hat that way, she’d known what was about to happen. And so she’d fired.
Payne dodged to one side as she squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him in the belly the same moment he fired the derringer.
Payne’s .22 calibre bullet missed Jack, but grazed the side of the Queen’s head.
Jack blasted Payne in the leg, just above the right knee. The tall man hit the ground, and the derringer fell from his hand. Jack stepped forward and kicked it away.
Payne lay moaning, clutching his injured gut. Blood poured from the wound, forming a pool on the dry earth. The way it was pouring out, Jack reckoned the man didn’t have long.
Jack turned and saw the Queen doubled over. She was also bleeding, the blood coming from a groove the bullet had scored along her scalp.
Jack ran over to her.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she told him. ‘The hijo de puta has given me a new parting, is all. It takes more than a bullet from that tiny pistol to kill me!’
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