The Morgans

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “I don’t see how you can stop him from doing that,” the Kid said.

  “He cannot waste all that gold,” Antonia said, “if he is not alive.”

  The Kid said nothing. He knew he should have been shocked and horrified by the calm way the girl spoke about her father’s potential death, but somehow, he wasn’t. This was just one more step in his true understanding of who and what Antonia Ramirez really was.

  She expected him to respond, though, so after a moment he said, “It sounds an awful lot like you’re saying you’ll spare my life if something happens to your father.”

  “Not if something happens, Señor Callahan. When. And your life depends on making certain that it does.”

  If she wanted blunt talk, he would give it to her. “You want me to kill your father.”

  “Tonight, you will be taken out to be executed. My father will be there to witness your death. But you will have a gun, and your hands will be bound in such a way that you can get free.”

  He didn’t bother asking her how she was going to accomplish that. Probably a dozen men, or more, inside this compound would do anything she asked them to, and wag their tails like happy little puppies while they were doing it, if only she would favor them with a smile. A touch, a kiss, would purchase their very souls.

  She confirmed that by continuing, “When my father dies, men who are loyal to me will deal with those who are not. Once there is no one to oppose us, we will load up the gold again and leave this haunted place.”

  “Haunted?” the Kid repeated, recalling the story that Ezra Dawson, the old liveryman in Saguaro Springs, had told him about how the man who started this ranch had murdered his partner and gone mad because of it. “Have you seen some strange things around here?”

  “Never mind that,” Antonia snapped. “Do you agree, Señor Callahan?” She took hold of one of the bars in the window and added tenderly, “Juan?”

  “What happens to me after you get what you want?”

  She shrugged prettily. “You come to Mexico with me and help me spend all that gold, no?”

  The Kid didn’t believe that for a second. She’d probably put a bullet in his head as soon as possible after he’d done the dirty work of killing her father for her. Her nature would demand that. Snakes had to strike, and scorpions had to sting.

  But for now, agreeing with her was his best way out of this dungeon, his best opportunity to seize a fighting chance for life. He smiled and said, “No man could resist an offer like that, señorita.”

  “Antonia.”

  “Antonia. I’ll do what you want.”

  “Bueno”. Her face came closer to the bars. “We should seal the bargain . . .”

  She didn’t have to suggest that twice. The Kid leaned close. Their faces pressed against the bars from opposite sides, and their lips met between the two iron cylinders. If he hadn’t known how cold and merciless she really was, the Kid would have enjoyed the kiss. Her lips were warm and sweet and urgent. He didn’t let himself forget the truth for an instant, though.

  She broke the kiss and whispered, “From the moment I first saw you, Juanito, I knew you were the man to deliver my heart’s desire to me.”

  “Your heart’s desire being a pile of gold?”

  “And a good man to help me spend it.” She laughed softly. “You shall see. Just do your part, and you will have treasures beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “I don’t know. My dreams can be pretty wild.”

  “I cannot wait to find out.”

  He had bantered like this with many women in the past. Seldom had it ended well. This probably wouldn’t, either. But it was his only chance, so he smiled and kept his true feelings hidden as Antonia eased back from the door and then started toward the far end of the corridor where the stairs were located.

  He heard her speak to the guard there and wondered if the man was one of those who had promised to turn on Ramirez and give his loyalty to her. More than likely he was, otherwise he would have run to the general and reported that she had been cozying up to the prisoner instead of coming up with ways to torture him.

  Maybe that was what she would claim if her father or anyone else ever confronted her about what had just happened. She could say that she had been offering him false hope in order to make his torment more painful later on. Most men wouldn’t believe such a story, but Ramirez might. It seemed like Antonia could do little wrong in his eyes.

  And one way or another, that was likely to be the general’s downfall, the Kid thought as he sat down again with his back against the wall and waited for the showdown.

  Chapter 32

  The mixed-blood Apache’s name was Tomás. He was a dour, wiry, dark-faced man who listened in silence as Frank explained the plan. Then he nodded and said, “I can do this.”

  “It’ll be more dangerous than what you did last night,” Frank cautioned. “There weren’t any guards right above the spot where you planted that keg of blasting powder, but there will be at the gates. They have loopholes to watch through, and they’ll be listening mighty hard, too. Ramirez is probably expecting an attack of some sort.”

  “No one will see or hear me unless I wish it,” Tomás said with complete confidence.

  Frank nodded and said, “I’ll take your word for it, then. We’ll make our move as soon as it’s good and dark, before the moon comes up.”

  That information had circulated through the settlement, so the volunteers knew when they had to be ready to go. Ezra Dawson had rounded up enough horses and mules so that all the men could ride. Jonathan Trammell, who owned the general store, had handed out ammunition until his shelves were nearly empty. Harold Griffith, owner of the Cactus Saloon, had provided free drinks . . . but only one per man, according to Frank’s strict orders, because he didn’t want to have to keep a bunch of drunken fools in line and go into battle with them. One drink might settle the nerves of a man who wasn’t used to risking his life, though.

  Julio Hernandez and his wife kept the meals coming in their café all day, at no charge to the volunteers. Frank had warned the men not to eat too heavily, either. A fella didn’t need too much food weighing him down during a fight.

  For some of these men, however, it might well be their last meal . . . although Frank didn’t want to point that out. He assumed a lot of them might be making love to their wives today, too, just in case, but that was none of his business.

  As for himself, he stayed on the move during the afternoon, checking on the defenses around the settlement, offering words of encouragement to everyone he spoke to, listening to reports from men who had been out spying on the bandit stronghold. They didn’t have any news. Ever since the group that had ventured below the border had returned late that morning, the hacienda and the other buildings of the old rancho had just squatted there in the hot sun with no movement visible from outside.

  “I have to tell you, though, Señor Morgan,” one man said as he mopped his sweaty face with a bandanna, “I do not like it out there on the edge of the desert. Something about it feels . . . wrong. Like there is something foul in the air. And there were times . . .” He hesitated, then went on, “Times that I felt as if someone were watching me, but when I turned around, there was no one. And no place for anyone to hide, either.”

  Frank recalled the unnerving yips he had heard while he and the others were riding through the wasteland the night before. He had felt a little like he was being watched, too. But nothing was out there. The desert was lifeless except for snakes and lizards and bugs, wasn’t it?

  “Just knowing that Ramirez and his men are out there is enough to give a man the fantods,” he said.

  “Sí, señor,” the man said. “If you say so. These fantods I have, of that there is no doubt.”

  Late in the day, Florita found Frank as he stood on the porch of the hotel, having talked briefly to Henrietta and Peggy Cole a few minutes earlier. The blond mother and daughter had assured him that when this was over, he would have the best room in the hotel
for as long as he wanted it.

  When Florita came up to him, she said, “Tía Luciana wishes to see you.”

  “What about?” Frank asked.

  Florita shook her head. “No one questions la Mariposa.”

  “I’ll go and talk to her. But before I do, how are you feeling, Florita?”

  She shrugged, but winced a little at the pain the gesture cost her. “My mother knows many healing herbs. She has taken care of my back. There will be scars, but it will heal.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I would do it again if it meant removing the threat of Ramirez from this town.” She paused. “You will kill that man Kern, Señor Morgan?”

  “Somebody will,” Frank said. “He’ll be dead before morning. You can bet a hat on that.”

  He nodded to Florita and headed to the cantina to see what Luciana Hernandez wanted.

  She was waiting for him and led him into the back room where he had gotten some sleep earlier. She had two cups of coffee waiting there and said, “I spoke to Señor Griffith at the saloon. He told me you refused a drink earlier and said that you were not much of a drinking man. So instead of tequila, I thought I would offer you coffee instead. Unless you would rather go with me to my brother’s café and have a meal . . . ?”

  “Coffee’s fine,” Frank assured her. “To be honest with you, I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”

  “A nervous stomach before a battle? I would not have expected that of you, Frank.”

  He shook his head and said, “I’m not nervous for myself.” He paused for a second to consider, then went on, “It’s possible that my son is in that stronghold and is Ramirez’s prisoner.”

  Her finely arched eyebrows rose higher in surprise. Frank could tell she was curious, so he explained briefly about Conrad, the relationship between them, and the fact that he had seen his son inside the hacienda.

  “He’s posing as a gunman named Callahan,” Frank continued. “According to Beatriz, he was one of the men Ramirez sent to hold up that train. But the men keeping an eye on the place said that when those bandits returned, one of them had his hands tied behind his back. From the description I got, the prisoner could have been Conrad.”

  “But you do not know this for certain?”

  “No, I don’t,” Frank admitted. “But it’s the uncertainty that has me a mite worried. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anybody about this, though. My first responsibility is to put a stop to Ramirez’s plans and end his spree around here.”

  “A man’s first responsibility is to his children,” Luciana argued.

  Frank shook his head and said, “Most of the time, sure. But now and then something bigger comes up, something that makes you realize how much is riding on it, and that changes things. What we do tonight could change the future of a whole country. Two countries, maybe, because if Ramirez ever does seize power in Mexico, I don’t believe he’ll be satisfied. From what I’ve seen of him, sooner or later he’ll get ambitious again, and he’s liable to turn his sights on the United States.”

  “You believe he would attack the Americans?”

  “It could happen,” Frank said. “Unless we stop him now. I promise you, though, if Conrad’s in danger, I’ll do everything in my power to save him, unless it means letting Ramirez go. Conrad wouldn’t want me to do that. Once he would have been selfish enough to feel that way, but the boy’s grown up a lot over the past few years.”

  Luciana smiled and said, “He sounds as if he is no longer a boy.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. He’s a man, a good man. As fine a man as I’ve ever known. I ought to remind myself of that a little more often.”

  She thought about everything he had said, then she slowly began to nod.

  “I will say nothing to anyone. This is a private matter.”

  They had been sipping coffee as they talked. Frank drank the last of his now and stood up.

  “Reckon I’d better get back out there,” he said.

  “It is still several hours until nightfall.”

  “I’ve been checking on the defenses—”

  She was on her feet, too, and stepped closer to rest both hands on his chest.

  “I have been told that everything in town is ready if we must defend Saguaro Springs from attack,” she said. “You have done everything that can be done for now, Frank. Why not ease your mind for a time, while you have the chance?”

  “I’m not sure how I’d go about doing that.”

  “Oh,” she said, leaning even closer so he felt the soft, rounded warmth of her breasts as she smiled up at him, “I can think of several excellent ideas . . .”

  * * *

  The Kid looked up when he heard several sets of footsteps approaching the cell late in the day. A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. Diego Ramirez, still wearing his gaudy green uniform and plumed hat, strode into the stone chamber followed by Kern and Bracken, both of them holding drawn guns. They trained the revolvers on the Kid.

  Kern looked tense and eager, as if he wanted any excuse to pull the trigger and blast a hole through the prisoner. The Kid expected such an attitude from the sadistic Bracken, but Kern was usually cooler headed than that. Right now, though, fires of rage burned in the segundo’s eyes, and the Kid had to wonder why.

  He didn’t have long to think about it, though, because Ramirez announced, “My daughter has decided how you are to die, traitor. You will be flogged until life has departed from your body.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I expected something more creative from her. One of my men who is part Yaqui claims that with a sharp-enough knife, he can remove every bit of a man’s skin without that man dying until hours later. I thought perhaps that might be your fate.”

  “Reckon we’ll both have to live with the disappointment,” the Kid said dryly.

  Ramirez’s face hardened with anger.

  “You will not be so clever when the whip has fallen for the twentieth, or the fiftieth, time. However many lashes it takes to kill you.” Ramirez nodded toward Kern. “Señor Kern will deliver the strokes.”

  “And I’ll enjoy each and every one of them,” Kern said with an unexpected vehemence in his voice.

  What the hell?

  Then a possibility occurred to the Kid. He knew that Kern was sweet on Antonia Ramirez. If he had found out that she’d been down here talking to the Kid alone, he might be jealous, even though she had sentenced the prisoner to death.

  Surely Antonia knew how Kern felt about her. Somehow, women were always aware of these things. The Kid wondered why she hadn’t approached Kern to get rid of her father instead of him. Maybe she didn’t believe he would ever double-cross his leader. Some men were pretty stiff-necked about such things as loyalty and honor, even when faced with the temptation of a beautiful woman.

  “If you would like a last meal, now is the time,” Ramirez went on. “I hesitate to offer such a courtesy to someone who attempted to betray our cause, but I am not a barbarian, after all.”

  “I don’t think I have much of an appetite,” the Kid said.

  Ramirez spread his hands and said, “Very well. If such is your decision, so be it. Tonight, when darkness has fallen and the moon first appears in the sky, your death will begin, Señor Callahan . . . but it may take a long, agonizing time.”

  He turned and strode out of the cell, leaving the two gunmen to cover the Kid as they backed out and locked up.

  Before they left, though, Bracken said, “Hey, Kern, you reckon we ought to make some bets on how long it’ll take him to die?”

  “I’m not going to gamble on it,” Kern said. “I’ll take my pleasure in other ways.”

  Chapter 33

  Frank knelt on the back side of a small, sandy rise about half a mile from Diego Ramirez’s stronghold. Tomás was on his right, holding a bundle of six sticks of dynamite obtained from Jonathan Trammell’s store. Trammell had been happy to donate them when he found out what Frank i
ntended them for. Dynamite would be easier than using another keg of blasting powder.

  The sun had set half an hour earlier, but an arch of fading red and gold remained in the western sky. Behind Frank, to the east, a deep, deep blue that would soon darken to black spread through the heavens. Before too much longer, stars would begin to pop into view. Then darkness would close down over the landscape, relieved only by faint starlight until the rising of the moon half an hour later.

  Tomás was confident that he could reach the stronghold and plant the dynamite to destroy the gates before the moon rose.

  “We’ll be creeping closer behind you, so when the gates are blown, we’ll be able to rush in before Ramirez’s men know what’s happening,” Frank said quietly, referring to the forty men with him. A dozen more had been left in Saguaro Springs to join the women and teenage boys in defending the settlement if they needed to. Some of those men were unhappy about not being included in this force, but Frank had picked those with the largest families to stay in town, unwilling to risk their lives unless absolutely necessary.

  Frank went on, “Is that fuse long enough to give you time to get away?”

  “Too long and they may see it burning,” Tomás said. “It must be short enough that they will not have time to open the gates and put it out.”

  Frank nodded, knowing the man was right. Tomás would be running the biggest risk starting out, but all of them would be in danger of losing their lives before this night was over. That was the price of freeing the settlement from Ramirez’s grip and making sure that he didn’t go on to do even worse things.

  Frank turned to Ezra Dawson, who had also been a soldier during the Civil War, although for the Federals rather than for the Confederacy. After so many decades, Frank didn’t care about that anymore. Dawson was serving as his second-in-command.

  “Pick ten men and spread them out in front of the compound,” Frank told the liveryman. “Pick the best marksmen you can find, because we’ll need them to be sharpshooters. When the dynamite goes off, they’ll concentrate their shots along the top of the wall so any of Ramirez’s men who are up there will have to keep their heads down. It’d be a good idea if all ten men are armed with repeaters, so they can keep up a steady fire.”