by Ralph Cotton
On the stone balcony outside the general’s room overlooking the courtyard, one of the bodyguards jumped to his feet and grabbed his rifle and big Remington revolver as he heard Shaw’s voice call out in a rage, ‘‘Titus Boland, you woman-murdering son of a bitch.’’
No sooner had the bodyguard jumped up from his chair than the doors on the balcony burst open. Sepreano and two more guards hurried out onto the balcony. The two guards carried their repeating rifles at port arms. The general stood at the rail and looked down at the remaining Barrows Gang gathered at the well. Since he had been interrupted during his morning shave, a white linen bib hung from Sepreano’s shirt collar. One cheek was still lathered with shaving soap. His personal attendant, razor in hand, had followed close behind him.
The bodyguard on Sepreano’s right said, ‘‘I will go and stop this before it starts, General.’’
But Sepreano would have none of it. ‘‘No, leave them alone. Do nothing until they are finished.’’ He stared down with rapt fascination. On the street below, Rhineholt stepped into view, a rifle in his hands. He looked at the general for orders. But Sepreano deftly waved him away without taking his eyes off Shaw. Rhineholt stepped back and lowered his rifle. He also watched with great interest as Shaw stepped forward, his right arm still in the sling.
Standing by the well, water gourds in hand, Redlow and Eddie Barrows had both turned toward the sound of Shaw’s voice. In disbelief, Titus Boland murmured, ‘‘Shaw . . .’’
‘‘Shaw?’’ said Redlow, also staring in disbelief. ‘‘You said you killed Fast Larry Shaw!’’
‘‘I did kill him,’’ Boland said, unable to work this out in his confused mind. ‘‘I shot him. I saw him fall.’’
‘‘You lied,’’ Redlow said flatly.
‘‘No, I didn’t lie,’’ Boland insisted. ‘‘I swear, I did shoot him. I saw him fall!’’ he repeated.
‘‘Yeah,’’ Redlow said with a sneer, ‘‘you reached down and put two in his head. Ain’t that what he told you, Leo?’’
‘‘He sure did, this no-account sonsabitch,’’ said Fairday, pitching his water gourd aside in disgust. ‘‘I ought to kill you myself.’’
‘‘No, you’re all wrong. This man is not Shaw. I killed Shaw!’’ said Boland. ‘‘I killed him, damn it!’’
‘‘You killed a defenseless woman!’’ Shaw bellowed, not wanting to talk, not wanting anything but to kill, or to be killed. He’d prepared himself for either outcome.
‘‘Brother, I told you not to trust this lousy saddle tramp!’’ said Eddie. As he spoke, he stepped away, taking Redlow by the side of his shirt and pulling him along until Redlow got the message and moved away on his own. ‘‘Let them shoot each other to pieces,’’ Eddie said just between the two of them. ‘‘There’s who we’ve got to worry about right there.’’ He gestured a nod up toward Sepreano.
Redlow glanced quickly up at Sepreano. Then he looked at Boland and said, ‘‘Well, Titus, it looks like you’ll just have to kill him again.’’ He tapped his fingers on the barrel of Luna Gerardo’s little angel still hanging around his neck by its strip of rawhide.
Boland looked at Shaw’s right arm, still in the sling, but his gun holstered on his right hip, set up for a right-hand draw. ‘‘Yeah, I can do that easily enough,’’ he said, taking a step forward.
All around the courtyard soldiers had armed themselves instinctively. In the morning light, Sepreano had jerked the white linen bib from his collar, wiped shaving soap from his face and thrown the cloth aside. He stood rigid, watching the scene unfold below him. To the guards on either side he said, ‘‘We are no longer common banditos. We are civilized políticos , eh?’’ He gave a stiff wink. ‘‘When it is over, kill the one still standing.’’
‘‘Si, General.’’ The two guards nodded. They both raised their rifles and levered them quickly in preparation for their task. Shaw heard the metal-on-metal sound, but didn’t bother looking up. He knew what it was; he couldn’t care less.
Boland cut a quick glance upward, then back to Shaw. He didn’t care either. As soon as Shaw’s body hit the ground, he would make a leap for cover behind the stone wall running the girth of the well. And Shaw’s body would hit the ground, he told himself. He had faced him down once before and shot him—and that was when Shaw had two good arms. All right, Shaw was drunk, he had to admit. But that didn’t matter. He could take him; he would take him.
As if reading his thoughts, Shaw called out, ‘‘I’ve been saving this for you, Boland.’’ He reached down, pulled the sling from his right arm and tossed it back over his shoulder. ‘‘I haven’t fired a shot with my right hand since you caught me drunk and shot me on the street in Matamoros.’’
‘‘I shot you fair and square in Matamoros, Shaw!’’ Boland shouted. ‘‘And I never killed a woman in my life. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but it’s not going to save you. You’re dead!’’
Boland tensed. He made a fast grab for his gun. But the tip of his gun barrel never cleared the top of his holster.
Shaw’s bullet hit him, dead center of his chest. On the balcony, Sepreano blinked as if his eyes had just fooled him. He had heard the first shot and seen Boland stagger backward, but what he had not seen was Shaw’s gun leave its holster. The other thing he did not clearly see was Shaw’s left hand fan three more shots, each one slamming Boland in almost the same spot before the falling gunman hit the ground.
There it is, Shaw thought. That much is done. . . .
Staring straight ahead at Redlow and Eddie Barrows, he opened his Colt, flipped out the spent cartridges, replaced them quickly and held the gun loosely toward the two stunned outlaws. ‘‘Where’s Cray Dawson and Jed Caldwell?’’ he asked flatly, as if any answer they gave him would be the answer that would get them killed.
On the balcony, the two bodyguards had raised their rifles and taken aim, ready to fire. But hearing Shaw’s question, and seeing his lack of concern about the two rifles pointed down at him, was enough to raise Sepreano’s curiosity. ‘‘Wait, don’t shoot,’’ Sepreano said, holding a hand toward the two riflemen.
On the ground, Rhineholt stepped back out into sight. Right behind him on the street, Simon stood staring, his hair disheveled, a frightened, shaky look on his face.
‘‘What is this man talking about?’’ Sepreano called down to the Barrows. ‘‘Who are the two men he speaks of?’’
Redlow seized this as the opportunity to tell him about his brother, Carlos. ‘‘He’s talking about two murdering American lawdogs who were hounding our trail, General,’’ he said. Stepping forward and looking up at Sepreano with his arms spread, he continued. ‘‘We were on our way here—’’
‘‘You were supposed to bring me horses,’’ Sepreano said, cutting him off. ‘‘Where are they?’’ He looked at the six dusty, bedraggled men and the seven overridden horses. ‘‘Where are the rest of your men?’’
Redlow said, ‘‘We had a whole herd of horses for you, General—fine horses from the Bengreen Cedros Altos spread over around Matamoros. But those two lawdogs took them. We were holding them both prisoners, bringing them here to you. We set an ambush for some federales. Things went bad, and while we fought to save our lives, the lawdogs escaped and took off with the horses.’’
‘‘An ambush?’’ Sepreano glared down at him. ‘‘You were told to lie low and avoid the federales. Is that not what I ordered everyone to do?’’
‘‘Yes, I know that, General,’’ said Redlow. ‘‘But we saw they had a cannon and a Gatling gun. We couldn’t resist bringing those to you as a present— call it a token of our respect and admiration.’’
‘‘Oh? And yet, where are they?’’ Sepreano asked, spreading his hands.
‘‘It was a terrible fight, General. Things didn’t go the way we planned. We lost some good men.’’
The general recounted. ‘‘Let me see. You lost the horses you were bringing me. You lost the cannon and Gatling gun you were bringing me. You lost t
he two lawdogs you were bringing me.’’ He paused as if in contemplation, then asked, ‘‘What is it I pay you to do?’’
Redlow’s face reddened as laughter rose from Sepreano’s men. He started to say something in his and his brother’s defense, but before he could, Sepreano settled his soldiers’ laughter with a raised hand. ‘‘Why were you bringing these lawdogs to me? I have no use for these lawdogs.’’ He gave a wicked grin. ‘‘Unless I wished to see them wiggle on a stick above a fire.’’
Shaw was glad he hadn’t been wearing the badge Dawson gave him.
Eddie Barrows cut in, ‘‘Believe me, you’d want to see these two wiggling over a fire, General.’’
Redlow gave his brother a look, silencing him. ‘‘This is the part that grieves me to tell you, General,’’ he said to Sepreano, shaking his head slowly, ‘‘but these two lawdogs killed your brother, Carlos.’’
Shaw waited, not wanting to respond at that moment. He had Simon, a witness if he needed one. But if what Redlow said was true, that Dawson and Caldwell had stolen the Bengreen horses and made a getaway, he wasn’t about to mention Simon seeing the gunfight that had gotten Carlos Sepreano killed. To hell with the Barrows. Now that Titus Boland was dead and Dawson and Caldwell were safe, he was ready to clear out of there.
‘‘Carlos, Carlos . . .’’ Sepreano gripped the stone-balcony railing as if needing it for support. He shook his bowed head in silent grief for a moment. Then he collected himself, raised his head and wiped his fingertips to his eyes. Pointing down first at Shaw, then at each of the Barrows brothers he said, ‘‘You, you and you, get up here. I must be able to look each of you in the eyes as you tell me what happened to my poor brother, Carlos.’’
On the outside chance that he might need Simon after all, Shaw said to Sepreano, ‘‘I need to bring my friend with me.’’ He glared at the Barrows, then said, ‘‘I might need him to tell us what he saw.’’
Sepreano looked Simon up and down, then focused on his soiled and ragged clothes and the look on his haggard face. ‘‘Bring the drunk with you,’’ he said, ‘‘if he knows something about Carlos’ death.’’
Shaw gestured for Simon to follow him. Simon looked as if he’d been struck in the face. ‘‘Oh, por favor, no, Senor Shaw, I cannot go up there and talk to this man. Look at me. I can barely hold my hands in front of me, I shake so bad!’’
‘‘You don’t need your hands,’’ said Shaw, reaching out and grabbing Simon by his ragged serape before he could get away. In a lowered voice he said as he pulled Simon close to him, ‘‘Like as not, you won’t need to say anything. I want you along just in case.’’ He nodded toward the four Barrows men still standing by their horses. The four stared hard at Simon as if already knowing what he’d seen in Agua Cubo. ‘‘Besides, I can’t leave you down here now, not with these four looking ready to eat your liver.’’
Simon swallowed nervously. ‘‘If I only had a drink.’’
‘‘Not right now, amigo,’’ said Shaw, giving a tug on his serape. ‘‘Let’s go.’’
Simon resisted. ‘‘But my hands, look how they tremble so!’’
‘‘Keep them up under your serape,’’ Shaw said, not taking any of his excuses.
Simon made a trembling sign of the cross on his chest and whispered, ‘‘I pray that you are not getting me killed. I want to feel better than this when I die.’’
‘‘You’re not going to die. I’ve got you covered, Simon,’’ Shaw said with a wry smile. ‘‘Don’t forget, I am the fastest gun alive.’’
Chapter 26
Dawson and Caldwell had been riding alongside Captain Agosto and Corporal Duego moments earlier, just inside the narrow rock corridor. When they’d heard the rapid shots from Shaw’s big Colt resounding in a long echo across the harsh terrain, the two lawmen looked at each other in surprise. ‘‘Shaw?’’ Dawson asked. But he already knew the answer. Of course it was Shaw, he told himself. Who else would have been capable of that kind of shooting?
‘‘He’s beaten us here?’’ Caldwell said.
‘‘But how?’’ Dawson said, staring with a puzzled expression across the land, toward the sound of the gunshots. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘‘It doesn’t matter. He did it somehow.’’
‘‘That figures,’’ Caldwell murmured.
‘‘What was that?’’ Corporal Duego asked. ‘‘Was it one shot or several?’’
‘‘Take your pick,’’ said Dawson, a slight smile coming to his face. He was glad to know his friend was still alive and taking care of himself. ‘‘That was our friend, Lawrence Shaw,’’ he added.
‘‘The one you asked our soldiers to watch for on the trail behind us?’’ Duego asked.
‘‘Yep,’’ said Dawson, ‘‘but he’s managed to circle ahead of us some way. From the sound of things, I’d say he’s already taken care of any account he came here to settle.’’
‘‘I hope he did not kill Luis Sepreano,’’ the captain said. ‘‘That is one hombre I myself want to kill.’’
‘‘I’d say those shots weren’t meant for Sepreano, Captain,’’ Dawson said. ‘‘They had Titus Boland written all over them.’’ They hurried their horses forward across the rough rolling land, the castle ruins rising slowly ahead of them in the morning light.
Five hundred yards from the gates of the stronghold, two of Sepreano’s lookouts spotted the column of federales riding toward them. They jumped atop their horses, batted their heels to the animals’ sides and raced toward the shelter of the thick stone walls. But just before they disappeared over a low rise, a sharpshooter’s bullet nailed one of them in the center of his back, knocking him forward and out of his saddle.
The other lookout only glanced back long enough to see what had happened. Then without even slowing, he slapped his reins back and forth on the horse’s neck and raced on. When he spotted the men along the top of the stronghold walls looking out to see what the shot was about, he jerked his hat from his head and waved it back and forth, shouting, ‘‘Federalesare coming! Federales are coming! Open the gates!’’
Atop the wall, one of the men looked far across the land behind the lookout rider. He saw the body of the other lookout and his horse standing a few yards away. Farther away he saw the dust rising behind the column of federales as they rode more clearly into sight. Turning, he quickly waved a hand and called down to the men on the ground, ‘‘Open the gates for Miguel! Quickly! Alert the general! Soldiers are coming!’’
As two men began opening the gates and others grabbed rifles and ammunition, one raced across the courtyard on foot and up the stone stairs to the second floor. Having heard his running footsteps, the two bodyguards stepped out of the room and met him at the door. One guard grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
‘‘You cannot go in there,’’ the big guard said gruffly to him. ‘‘What was the shot we heard outside the walls?’’
‘‘There are federales coming!’’ the man repeated. ‘‘I came to warn the general!’’
‘‘Don’t worry, we will tell the general,’’ the guard said. ‘‘Go find Captain Rhineholt and Manko. Tell them what you told us! Vámanos! Hurry!’’
The man raced back down the stone stairs and started along the building toward where he knew Rhineholt and Manko both had rooms. But before he’d gone fifty feet, he saw Manko running toward him. ‘‘The general’s bodyguards sent me for you and Rhineholt,’’ he said, speaking fast. ‘‘There are federales coming. We are being attacked!’’
‘‘I already know this, you fool,’’ said Manko, shoving the man away. ‘‘Go tell Rhineholt. He knows what to do. I’m on my way to the general.’’ He looked upward toward the empty balcony as he hurried on.
Inside the general’s room, Shaw stood to one side, Simon right beside him. A few feet away stood both Barrows. Across the wide room Sepreano sat upon a large stone chair covered with cushions and blankets, the very throne where the original warlord had sat in years long past. Beside the cushioned throne stood a
bodyguard with a rifle held at port arms.
The Barrows had just finished giving Sepreano their take on what had happened to his brother when the other two bodyguards stepped inside the room and walked over to the throne. One bent slightly and said to Sepreano close to his ear, ‘‘We have soldiers coming. We are under attack.’’
Sepreano nodded. ‘‘Let the rider inside. Then close the gates and prepare for battle. I will be right along. They cannot take this place from us. They will only die foolishly if they try.’’
Shaw listened intently, making out some of the conversation. He’d heard the rifle shot and some of the commotion on the street below. It was time to get this over with and get Simon out of here. He glanced to his side and saw the poor man trembling, his hands quaking beneath the ragged serape. Yeah, enough was enough, he told himself. Simon was kind and brave enough to come here with him, in spite of his drunken, unstable condition. This was no way to treat him.
As the two bodyguards turned to leave, Manko rushed into the room. The two stopped him; but Sepreano said, ‘‘Let him come to my side. This is one man I know who will never betray me. We have been together too long and seen too much, eh, Manko?’’
‘‘Si, General,’’ said the big Mexican, giving Shaw a frown as he spoke. ‘‘I come to make sure your orders are followed, the way we have always done at a time such as this.’’ He glared at Shaw again and said, ‘‘And also to kill anybody you want killed.’’
‘‘Keep that thought in mind, my good friend, Manko,’’ said Sepreano. He turned to Shaw and said, ‘‘I hear what these two say about the two lawdogs killing my brother. Now, it is your turn to tell me what you have to say about it.’’
‘‘These men are lying, General,’’ Shaw said, staring at both Barrows brothers. ‘‘The two lawmen weren’t in Agua Cubo the night your brother was killed. They’re blaming the lawmen for what they’re guilty of doing.’’
‘‘That’s a damned lie!’’ Redlow shouted. Yet, even in his rage he made no move for the gun on his hip, not against Shaw, not after what he’d seen in the street.