“Your uncle says he misses you,” I said. “He asks that you come back soon, for his house seems very empty without you.”
I was saying the words, but they were just something to keep me in front of her as long as I could. I wanted, even in front of her family, to touch her.
“Thank you,” she said. “You must have come just after I left.”
“Yes. I missed you one day.”
“Ah . . .” she said.
But the don was pulling me down the line and I had to leave. He introduced me to the rest of his daughters, who giggled and carried on something awful. I could still feel Linda just to my right. His sons were twelve and sixteen years old. The oldest couldn’t keep his eyes off my gun. I expected he imagined himself a pistolero.
After we got sat down the don had me served up some brandy and a cigar. The children and the patroness stayed in the same line, but the don and I pulled our chairs out so that we were facing them. He had sherry brought in for his wife and Linda and his oldest boy. We made small talk for a while and then I told him about the bandit attack on the train.
“Yes,” he said. “They’ve been very active. As you know, I sent Linda to my brother, where you visited, and Medina, my next oldest girl, to a kinsman in the south.” He shrugged and smiled. “It wasn’t really necessary, but they had been hoping for a visit somewhere.”
For a time we sat in the living room and made talk. Then the patron took me outside, in the company of his eldest son, to look over the ranch. The don had sent for horses and he had the courtesy to have one of his own sent over for me. If you’re wealthy and have a great deal of stock you don’t insult a man by asking him to ride his own horse to look over your property. Especially if his horse has been taken to the barn and cooled out. But you do put the man’s saddle on your stock. A man prefers his own saddle. I was pleased to see they’d done just that. They’d given me a big bay stallion. I suspected he was one of the top horses on the place and that the patron had given him to me just to show out. He had a tough mouth and wanted a bit of managing with the reins, but he trotted along like he knew he was the cock of the walk. As we rode along I told the patron I expected the stallion I was riding had sired a good deal of fine stock. It pleased him for me to recognize the quality of the horse.
“Ah!” he said. “Yes. Yes, indeed. The horse has been standing at stud for some time. You’re the first to ride him in many months.”
Of course that wasn’t hard to tell. The way he fidgeted around you could pretty well figure he’d been standing in a stud lot for a good while.
It was hard to ride around the ranch and look at what the patron was showing me, knowing all the time that Linda was sitting just a short distance away. But it had been even harder while we were sitting in the parlor, for the patron had completely taken over the conversation and I hadn’t been able to say a word to Linda. She’d sat across from me, so pretty in her blue chair, looking at me, looking at me so hard, and I hadn’t been able to say a word.
But I was going to have to be patient. You just don’t run into the house of a quality family and sweep their daughter out the door. It takes a good while, even, before you dare let them know you’re interested at all. What I had to do first was make the patron believe I was a gentleman of equal standing with him. We rode around for a time, like quality, me and the patron with a cigar stuck in our mouths and the son trailing along a little behind as is proper. Behind us we had his head charro and two or three others just to make a decent escort. We looked at everything, spending most of our time at his remuda corrals, where we examined damn near every horse and made talk about each one’s fine points and breeding lines. I was impressing the patron and I could see it. If there is one thing I’m comfortable talking about it’s good horses. I’ve always had them around and always respected them for what they are. My daddy had had as fine a remuda of blooded Morgans as could be found on a small ranch in the Southwest. During the Civil War he told me that some of them had brought as much as two hundred dollars apiece in lots of tens.
We finally went back in the house. The patron had invited me to stay for supper and I’d naturally accepted. We took it in a room near as big as the sitting room. It had a big, long dining table that could have seated twenty even though there were just seven of us. There was me and the patron and his wife and eldest son and Linda. He’d invited in his head overseers and his head charro, but they sat down at the end and didn’t mix in the conversation. Linda had been the last to come in and, for a while, I thought she wasn’t going to make it. I hadn’t dared ask, but I was hoping awfully hard.
The patron sat at the head of the table with his wife on his left and me the first chair to the right. Linda was on my side and down two chairs. It made it almost impossible to talk with her. I ate, being conscious all the time of her presence so close to me. We had beef and wine and some other stuff. The patron did it up fine, having a servant for damn near every course. It was a strange feeling for me, a bank robber wanted all over Texas, to be sitting there and being treated like quality.
After the dinner was over we got up to got back in the sitting room. The patron said the ladies would pay their respects and then go to their rooms. He led the way, but I could see Linda hanging back, so I did likewise. We had to go down a long hall to the sitting room and the patron went first followed by his wife and his eldest son. The two men that worked for him had vanished. I went into the hall just behind Linda, watching her walk. Suddenly she turned around and looked at me. Ahead I could hear the patron talking as if I were right behind him, but all I could see was Linda. She looked me right in the face.
“I saw you on the square yesterday. At the promenade.”
“Linda,” I said. I put out my hand and just touched her arm. It was the first time I’d ever touched her. “Linda,” I said.
But the patron was calling from the sitting room. “Señor Young! Are you lost? Señor Young?”
She turned and went away from me, walking quickly up the hall and into the parlor. After a second I followed.
“Ah, Señor Young!” the patron said when I entered the room. “I thought we had lost you.” He laughed with good nature.
“No,” I said. “Your fine dinner slowed me, Señor. It was more cargo than I’m used to freighting.”
“Yes,” he said. He laughed and drew on his cigar. “I’m afraid the ladies must leave us now. They’ll bid you good night, Señor.”
I said good night to the patroness and gave her a bow. When I came to Linda I wanted badly to take her hand, but I dared not. I gave her a bow also and she dropped me a curtsy, all the time giving me that look, that look that had haunted me those many nights on the trail.
“Buenas noches,” I said.
“Buenas noches, Señor Young,” she said. “Adios.”
And then she was gone. I watched her walk out of the room until she was through the door and I could see her no more.
“Well, Señor,” the patron said, “let us sit and have a cigar and a glass of good brandy. And perhaps you’ll be kind enough to tell me your plans for living in Mexico.”
We sat and made a lot of talk. Once Linda was gone I was impatient to go, but I knew I’d have to stand in with the patron to have a chance for the girl, so I put on my best. The patron liked me, I could see that. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been able to make people like me. His son sat over in the corner but didn’t say anything and I told the patron of my plan to bring a string of blooded Texas horses into the country and set up a horse ranch.
Naturally I didn’t have no string of horses nor no plans for setting up a horse ranch. My only intent was to impress the don so I could become a welcome guest at his ranch.
He was excited by my talk. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have stock that could be mated with what you will bring in. It might be a fine idea.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
We talked on until about ten o’clock and then I insisted I had to leave. He sent a peon to bring up my filly and th
en walked me to the door with his hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve made a pleasant evening for us, Senor Young. We don’t often see such interesting strangers.”
“Your hospitality was famous,” I told him. I had my hat in my hand and I put it on as we got to the door. It was a clear night outside, moonlit and cool.
“You’re a welcome guest,” he said. “I insist you come often so long as you’re in Sabinas Hidalgo.”
“I will,” I said. We shook hands and then I mounted my filly and rode away from his ranch. I rode away knowing that I’d done a good night’s work with the patron and that the look Linda had given me the first day had not been my imagination. She’d remembered me all right and she’d thought on me. I rode away with my heart singing in my chest. Things were working out very well. They were working out mighty well for a reformed bank robber. I didn’t know how long I could keep up the pretense of starting a horse ranch, but I wasn’t going to worry about it for a spell.
Sabinas was pretty well shut down by the time I got back to town, but I could see a light on in the railroad station as I rode by and I thought I’d go in and see if a message might have come. I doubted it, but I was feeling so good I didn’t want to go to bed.
I tied my filly and went into the office. Both the clerk and the telegraph operator were asleep in their chairs. I stomped a boot on the floor and made them jump.
“Hey!” I said. “No sleeping!”
I was feeling damn good.
They come awake, neither one of them looking guilty. The telegraph operator was a fat fellow with such big hands I wondered how he was able to operate the little telegraph key.
“You got any messages for me?” I asked him.
“Ah, Señor,” he said. “Señor Wilson. We had a wire for you and I sent it over to the hotel with a boy. Unfortunately you weren’t there.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve been out. That’s why I stopped by.”
“I have it here,” he said. “Somewhere in this desk.” He rummaged around for a moment and then finally handed me a piece of paper with some Spanish words on it. I was leaning up against the railing smoking a cigar and I took it and looked at it.
I stood there, staring at the paper, trying to handle what the words were saying. After a minute I dropped my cigar and handed him the paper back. “Put that in English,” I said. My throat was so tight I damn near couldn’t get the words out.
“Oh no, Señor,” he said. “That’s not possible. Neither I nor the man of the railroad speak nor write English. You’ll have to wait until morning.”
I couldn’t talk. There wasn’t much breath left in me enough to speak. I pulled out my revolver and simply pointed it at him. “Get it in English,” I said.
He understood. For a second his eyes got round and he began to open his mouth, but I gestured toward the door. “Go,” I said. “Get it in English.” The railroad clerk had come full awake and was watching us with fear on his face.
“Right now,” I said.
“Seguro,” the telegraph operator said. He grabbed up the message and came scurrying around his little fence and vanished out the door. I didn’t know where he was going or who was going to help him. What’s more I didn’t care. I went over to the wall and sat down. I hadn’t put my pistol up and I kept cocking it and then letting the hammer back down with my thumb. It was making the clerk awfully nervous, but I didn’t care. I didn’t really need the telegram translated. I knew what it said. I just didn’t want to believe it.
The clerk was gone a long time. When he came back he paused in the door as if afraid to enter.
“I have it, Señor,” he said. “The clerk at your hotel . . .”
“All right,” I said. “Bring it here.” I put my revolver up.
It was addressed to me as John Wilson and it was signed by Jack Basset. Onyx Jack Basset was his straight name, but we’d always called him Black Jack. Me and Les and Tod had known him for many years. He’d been a good friend of ours.
CHAPTER 17
Catch the Morning Train
The wire said:
LES LAYING NEAR DYING IN THE NUEVO LAREDO INFIRMARY, CONTACT ME AT THE DEL PRADO HOTEL BUT BE CAREFUL.
I read it again and again. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. I wheeled around on the railroad clerk and asked him what time the next train north left.
“Mañana, Señor,” he said. He and the telegraph operator both was still a little frightened of me. “At eight of the morning.”
“Give me a ticket,” I said. I went to my pocket and began spilling out money. I wanted to go, wanted to leave right then, but it wouldn’t do any good. The train was my fastest way.
I got my ticket and then took my filly to the livery stable and made arrangements to leave her for a time. They promised they’d look after her carefully.
After that I went to the hotel and got ready to leave the next morning. I had my two revolvers and I cleaned them and oiled them and checked their action. They were both in good shape.
I turned in after a time, but I couldn’t sleep. Finally I got up and finished the bottle of rum I had left over from the night before. It wasn’t enough and I went downstairs and woke up the room clerk and made him rout me out another bottle. He didn’t give me any lip. I expect the way I was looking was enough to put anybody off.
I took the bottle back upstairs with me and drank all of it, but it was still a good while before I could get to sleep. Me and Les had rode many a mile together.
It took twelve long hours for the train to get to Nuevo Laredo. It had to stop about every fifty miles to take on water and, when it wasn’t for that, it was stopping to let some campesino and his wife and livestock off out in the big middle of nowhere. I often wondered where those Indians came from and where they went. Riding across country, you’d suddenly come up on one just standing out in the middle of the prairie without a sign of civilization in any direction. That was the way it was on the train. It would suddenly stop and you could look out the window and see this family getting off, the mother carrying a baby, maybe, or a big roll of clothes and the father shouldering a chicken coop or leading a goat. Away off you could see the mountains, but between them and the railroad tracks there’d be nothing but flat, sun-baked Mexican plain. That family would start off walking and, after the train pulled out, you could stick your head out the window and look back and they’d still be trudging along. You had to figure they were heading for the mountains because there didn’t seem to be anything else, but you couldn’t believe they figured to walk all that way. I rode in the chair car and I wouldn’t have minded it except for worrying about Les and being in a hurry. The train wasn’t as crowded as the southbound one had been and it wouldn’t have been too bad a trip. But what with Les and all I was pretty damn impatient by the time we finally pulled in.
The train station at Nuevo Laredo is close to the International Bridge and I could see across the river and into Texas when I got off the train. I didn’t hang around looking, however, as I had business and I didn’t want to be bumping into anybody before I got it tended to.
It was just about good dark, but I went quickly down into the low part of town and went into a saloon to have a drink and let it get a little later. I didn’t know how much law was around or whether they’d recognize me on sight, but I didn’t plan to take any chances. I’d need to find Jack Basset first and after that I’d see what needed doing.
At nine o’clock I walked nearly to the town square and stopped about two blocks short of the Del Prado Hotel. A bunch of muchachos were skylarking around on the street corner and I picked me out a likely looking boy of about twelve and called him over.
“You want to make a peso?” I asked him.
“Si!” he said. “Si, Señor!” It was a lot of money to a poor kid.
“All right, you know where the Del Prado Hotel is, don’t you?” He said he did and I told him I wanted him to go there and find a man named Jack Basset.
“Can you say that? J
ack Basset?”
“Jack Basset,” he said. He was a bright-looking kid.
“All right. I want you to go and tell him an old friend of his is in town and wants to see him. You bring him back to that saloon right across the street there. You got that?”
“Si, Senor. Seguro.”
“Now here’s one peso for right now. If you bring the man back I’ll give you another.”
“Two pesos?”
“That’s right, two. But you be careful and you don’t tell anybody else about me, you hear?”
He scooted off and I walked over to the saloon and went just inside the door and looked around. It was all right. The place was pretty dim and there weren’t but a few customers. There were some tables in the back and just beyond them I could see a door that led to the alley. The proprietor called to me to come in and be served, but I just waved and went across the street and got in the shadows and settled down to wait. I wanted to be damn sure it was Jack that come and that he was by himself.
About fifteen minutes later I seen the kid come tearing around the corner and then stop and motion to someone behind him. After a little a man came around the corner, coming slow and seeming to take it very carefully. I could hear the kid talking to the man. He was telling him it was just across the street and they were almost there. The kid was awfully anxious to get his job done and get him another peso. The street was dark and I couldn’t tell if it was Jack or not. It seemed to be, but I wasn’t going to let on until I knew.
They got to the saloon and the kid went to gesturing for the man to go inside, but he wouldn’t, not right away. He got the kid by the arm and kind of peeked inside, not showing himself, but just kind of looking around the corner of the door. They were just across the street and, in the light that was coming out the door, I could see it was Jack Basset. I walked across toward them. As I got near I could hear Jack telling the kid that the man looking for him had better be who he thought it was or the kid was in trouble.
The Bank Robber Page 21