Guns on the Border

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ the young man said, letting his hand fall to his lap. ‘‘I—I feel better.’’ He sounded surprised at the sudden upward change in his condition. ‘‘Is that . . . normal?’’

  ‘‘Talking too much is not normal,’’ Sabio said with a sharp snap in his voice. ‘‘So why don’t you lie there and keep quiet?’’

  Caridad gave Sabio a curious look. ‘‘Why are you being so rude with him? He has done nothing.’’

  Sabio let out a tense breath, then turned and said to the young man, ‘‘I apologize. It is not your fault you were shot. You did not go looking for trouble.

  An accident fell down from the sky and landed on your back.’’

  ‘‘Listen, Preacher, you owe me no apology,’’ said the young man, his voice sounding stronger. ‘‘You saved my life.’’ He looked confused for a second, then said, ‘‘Didn’t you?’’

  Sabio looked at Caridad, then back at the young man and smiled faintly. ‘‘Yes, I laid hands upon you and stopped the bleeding. God acted through me to save your life. Now you must ask yourself, did God and I do the right thing? Is your life worth saving? If it was not, will you now make it so?’’

  ‘‘Sabio, please,’’ said Caridad. Then she said to the young man apologetically, ‘‘It is something he always asks after doing God’s work.’’

  ‘‘It is something I ask, because I want to know if performing a miracle has any value other than to prove that a miracle has been performed,’’ Sabio said bluntly. ‘‘Does saving your life mean I have participated in taking the life of another somewhere in the future? I saw the kind of men you ride with. So I ask you this—’’

  ‘‘Whoa,’’ said Hubbard White, cutting him off, pushing the accordion player into the open courtyard. ‘‘There you go, talking about us behind our backs.’’

  Sabio and Caridad both turned quickly toward the two gunmen who stood inside the open stone doorway, Hallit holding the reins to both horses in his hand. White held his pistol out, cocked and pointed. The accordion player fell to the ground in exhaustion. ‘‘You want to save somebody’s life, you might want to give ole box-squeezer here some water,’’ White said, waving his gun barrel toward the panting musician.

  ‘‘Help . . . me,’’ the man gasped hoarsely in the dirt.

  ‘‘He tuckers plumb out on an uphill run, and that’s the truth of it.’’ White chuckled. He took the grass sack from under his arm and tossed it carelessly to the ground. The musician crawled quickly to it and cradled it to his heaving chest.

  ‘‘What have you done to him?’’ Sabio asked. He picked up a water gourd, hurrying to the musician and stooping down to him. ‘‘Here, drink, Artesano.’’

  White shrugged. ‘‘We didn’t do nothing to him, just kept him mindful of what can happen to an unattended musical instrument out here in the wilds of Mejico.’’

  ‘‘You pigs,’’ Sabio said under his breath. He tipped the water gourd for the musician to drink.

  ‘‘What do you say, kid?’’ White asked, looking past Sabio and Artesano to the wounded American while Artesano gulped steadily from the water gourd. ‘‘You look a hell of lot better than the last time I saw you.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I’m all right,’’ the young man replied. ‘‘This fellow fixed me up, good as new!’’ He tried to sound far better than he felt. Yet, when he tried to stand, he faltered and sank back to the ground, fooling no one. ‘‘I—I just need a hand up,’’ he said. His expression turned worried. Seeing it, Caridad hurried over to him and helped him finish seating himself.

  ‘‘William needs rest,’’ she said quickly, putting herself between him and the two men.

  ‘‘William, is it?’’ White chuckled. He gave Hallit a grin and said, ‘‘Look like Kid Jefferies’ kid ain’t done bad for himself. Maybe you shoulda stayed sober and got yourself shot under the arm. Womenfolk like that sort of thing, you think?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know what womenfolk like,’’ Hallit offered, feeling worse by the minute, his dope and alcohol leaving him flat.

  White turned back to the young man. ‘‘Kid, you know as well as we do why we’re here. It’s not that we don’t like you.’’ He stepped forward as Sabio stood up from beside the musician. ‘‘We just can’t leave you behind.’’

  ‘‘Move aside, ma’am, please,’’ William Jefferies said to Caridad. ‘‘I don’t want you getting hurt over me.’’

  ‘‘No, I am staying right here,’’ Caridad said with determination.

  ‘‘You are not going to kill him,’’ Sabio said, his voice growing strong with the two gunmen even though he himself stood facing them unarmed. ‘‘I did not save his life so he could die by your hands.’’

  ‘‘You can die too, Hairless One,’’ said White, grinning, turning his pistol toward Sabio.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘I will not die and he will not die. But if you try to kill me, you will die in your own blood. This I see, and this I promise you.’’ He pointed two thin fingers at White and shook them as if casting a spell.

  ‘‘I’m through talking,’’ said White. He pointed the cocked gun and took aim.

  From the crumbling stone doorway, the ranger said in a calm voice, ‘‘Lower the gun or you’ll die just like he said you would.’’

  White froze, but kept his Colt pointed and said over his shoulder to Hallit, ‘‘Who’s back there, Riley? Tell me something.’’

  ‘‘It’s a lawman,’’ Hallit said, half turning toward the ranger, raising his hands chest high. ‘‘An Arizona Ranger, from his badge.’’

  ‘‘A ranger,’’ said White. His smug grin returned. ‘‘Well, Mr. Ranger, you’ve got no say-so here. This is Mexico, in case you didn’t check the sign along the trail.’’

  ‘‘Drop the gun,’’ Sam said coolly.

  ‘‘Or what, Ranger?’’ White asked in a confident tone. ‘‘I told you, you’ve got no jurisdiction here! If I come around, I come around firing!’’

  ‘‘One,’’ Sam said flatly.

  ‘‘What’s he doing, Riley?’’ White asked, not turning, keeping his gun pointed at young William Jefferies.

  ‘‘He’s counting,’’ Hallit said.

  ‘‘Yeah, but what else is he doing?’’ White asked.

  ‘‘Two,’’ Sam said in the same tone of voice. He reached his gloved hand out and shoved the big Appaloosa away from him. The horse with Fadden’s body on it followed, its lead rope wrapped around the Appaloosa’s saddle horn.

  ‘‘He’s shoved his horses out of the way,’’ said Hallit. ‘‘One’s got a dead man tied across the saddle.’’ He swallowed a knot in his throat and added, ‘‘I believe he’s getting set to shoot the hell out of you, Hubbard!’’ There was something familiar about this ranger, his gray sombrero, the big Appaloosa. Hallit’s dulled senses couldn’t put it together.

  ‘‘Thr—’’

  ‘‘Wait!’’ White called out, before Sam could finish his count. He lowered the pistol and eased down the hammer, then dropped it. ‘‘All right, I’m unarmed. But I’m telling you right now, what you’re doing is wrong! No lawman comes down here shoving folks around.’’

  Sam looked at Hallit and said, ‘‘Lift yours and drop it too.’’

  Hallit did as he was told. White grew more mouthy and said, turning around, ‘‘You won’t get away with this. We’ve got friends waiting for us in town. Soon as we get there and tell them, we’ll all be storming straight up your back! You can count on it.’’

  ‘‘Then you better get started, if you’re going to tell them before dark,’’ Sam said. As he spoke he reached over and took both horses’ reins from Hallit’s hand.

  ‘‘Hold it, Ranger, damn it!’’ White said. ‘‘You can’t set us afoot! It’s a long hard walk down to Esperanza!’’

  ‘‘Any longer or harder than it was for this man walking up?’’ Sam asked, glancing at the accordion player, who still sat sweating on the ground. Then he gave White a dark lowered gaze. ‘‘Now start walking.’’
/>
  White hesitated, a worried look on his face. ‘‘Ranger,’’ he said, ‘‘I can’t return to Esperanza without that horse. It’s not mine.’’

  ‘‘Saying you stole it?’’ Sam asked coolly.

  ‘‘Hell no, I didn’t steal it!’’ White said. ‘‘It belongs to a man I would not want to steal a horse from.’’

  ‘‘Then you better explain all this to him real careful like,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I’m sure he’ll understand.’’

  ‘‘Damn it, Ranger, he won’t!’’ said White.

  ‘‘Start walking, mister,’’ the ranger said, letting the barrel of his Colt tip down toward White’s boot. ‘‘Before I clip one off.’’

  White argued even as he backed away slowly. ‘‘Shoot me in the foot! What kind of lawman would shoot an unarmed man in the foot?’’

  ‘‘One that’s trying to keep himself from shooting that same unarmed man in the head,’’ Sam replied, tipping the barrel back up toward White’s face.

  ‘‘Come on, Hubbard. He ain’t fooling,’’ said Hallit, his impaired senses finally recognizing the ranger. ‘‘This is the one who carries a list of names of men he’s going to kill. Remember him?’’

  White stared, stunned by Hallit’s information. ‘‘Is my name on that list?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Want me to check?’’ Sam asked.

  White backed off another step, turned with his hands chest high and walked away. Hallit took one last look at Fadden’s canvas-wrapped corpse and followed close behind.

  Chapter 5

  The ranger stood watching as the two slipped through the stone doorway and out through the ruins toward the narrow path leading down to the steep trail. When he was satisfied they were gone, Sam turned to Sabio, the girl and the young American. ‘‘It’s going to take them a good while to get back to Esperanza, but I wouldn’t waste any time getting out of here.’’

  ‘‘Thank God you are here!’’ said Sabio. ‘‘But where did you come from? How did you know?’’

  Seeing the curiosity in their faces, Sam said as he slipped the Colt into its holster, ‘‘I saw what was about to happen from up there.’’ He nodded toward the higher nearby hilltop.

  ‘‘I am Sabio Tonto Montero, Ranger,’’ said the former monk, not forgetting his manners. ‘‘This is Caridad.’’ He gestured a hand toward the dark-haired young woman, then toward the exhausted musician. ‘‘This poor man is Artesano Dello.’’ He gestured toward the young American.

  ‘‘I’m Jefferies, William Jefferies. Much obliged, Ranger,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Yes, thank you for coming to our aid,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘Men like those defile the very ground they walk across.’’ As he spoke his eyes went to the canvas-wrapped body. ‘‘But I see I can tell you nothing that you do not already know about such men.’’

  ‘‘I know more about them than I sometimes care to,’’ the ranger said, touching his hat brim in courteousness. ‘‘I’m Ranger Sam Burrack.’’ He studied Sabio’s name for a moment, then said, ‘‘Sabio Tonto—a wise man and a fool?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I am afraid so,’’ said Sabio, unabashed by the meaning of his name. ‘‘At one time I was simply Sabio Montero. But after years of foolish behavior that neither God nor I could correct, I decided I must name myself after that which best represents me.’’ He took a slight humble bow, saying, ‘‘Sabio Tonto, the wise fool, at your service.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure you’re being hard on yourself, Señor Montero,’’ Sam said politely.

  ‘‘Sadly, I am not, Ranger Burrack,’’ said the former monk, with another humble bow. ‘‘But please call me Sabio.’’ He gave a tired smile and gestured again toward Caridad and said, ‘‘This one is to me the daughter I never had.’’ He again gestured his blood-crusted hand toward William Jefferies. ‘‘Señor Jefferies we do not know, only that he was shot by the very men he accompanied to Esperanza.’’ With a dismissing toss of his hand he added, ‘‘He may be a criminal for all we know.’’

  ‘‘Please, Sabio,’’ said Caridad. ‘‘He is no criminal. Are you?’’ She looked into Jefferies’ eyes. As soon as the two gunmen were gone, she had begun wrapping strips of her torn skirt around Jefferies’ shoulder, carefully drawing it up snug under his armpit. Now, finishing, she patted his bandaged shoulder gently.

  Jefferies returned her gaze for only a second, then looked away as if unable to face her and said to the ranger, ‘‘I’m no criminal. But I have to admit, these men I rode here with are not the most law-abiding I’ve ever seen.’’

  ‘‘So I see. . . .’’ Sabio nodded his lowered head as if telling himself he’d been correct in his assessment of the young man. ‘‘That answers my question about saving your life, and how many people’s lives I have ended by doing so.’’

  ‘‘Wait. Hear me out,’’ said Jefferies, struggling to his feet and this time making it, with Caridad’s help. ‘‘You didn’t do wrong by saving my life. I came along with my uncle. We both thought we came down here to fight on the side of right, to help free these people.’’ He looked at the ranger. ‘‘True, we were doing it for pay, but so what? Nobody else is doing it at all.’’

  ‘‘Who did you come here with?’’ Sam asked, getting a picture he didn’t like.

  ‘‘Desmond Prew and a group he recruited from here and there. Some of them he knew, some he hired through a newspaper advertisement in St. Louis, and Springfield, like the one my uncle responded to.’’

  Sam eyed him closer and asked as if in disbelief, ‘‘You and your uncle came here with Desmond Prew?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘William Jefferies, if that is your real name, there’s some things you need to know about the man you’re riding with.’’

  ‘‘It is my real name,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘And I know what you’re going to say, Ranger—that Prew is a no-good crook. And you’re right. But we didn’t know it at the time, and when we found it out, it was too late. We were already here and saw no way to turn back.’’

  ‘‘There’s always a way to turn back, if you haven’t stepped out past the law and done something that will get you and your uncle hanged,’’ said Sam.

  Jefferies stared down for a moment with regret. Then he looked back up and said, ‘‘I’m afraid it is too late for my uncle. He saw what a mistake he’d made and hanged himself. His body is still hanging from a tree in Esperanza, if nobody’s cut him down yet.’’

  ‘‘Hanged himself over making the mistake of riding with Prew and his mercenaries?’’ Sam asked.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I know that sounds unlikely, but I believe joining Prew was just his last try at chasing rainbows. He told me he couldn’t stand to take another letdown.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘I thought he was just getting it off his chest. I never thought he’d kill himself over it. I think the dope and whiskey had a lot to do with it.’’ He shrugged sadly with his good shoulder. ‘‘Anyway, he’s dead now. Nothing’s going to change that.’’

  ‘‘What about you, young man?’’ the ranger asked. ‘‘Once you’re able, are you going back to Prew and his bunch?’’

  ‘‘He sent those two men to kill me,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I don’t know how welcome I’d be if I went back now.’’ His gaze went to Caridad for a moment. ‘‘Maybe I could hang around Esperanza for a while after they leave.’’

  Before Caridad could say something in response, Sabio saw the look on her face and cut in quickly. ‘‘No! It is not good for you to stay there. Esperanza does not need your kind.’’

  ‘‘Sabio!’’ said Caridad. ‘‘Do not be so rude. It is our way to make strangers welcome. Is that not what you taught people when you were—’’

  Sabio stopped her short, saying to the ranger, ‘‘I was once a monk, Ranger, but I am no longer.’’ He cast Caridad a look of reproach. ‘‘I tell you this not because it is something I wish to have people know, but because it is something a foolish girl cannot keep herself from telling everyone.’’ He took a breath and added, ‘‘Please do not ask
why I am no longer a monk, for I am certain she would tell you without giving it a second thought.’’

  ‘‘I won’t,’’ said the ranger. He quickly changed the subject, looking back at William Jefferies. ‘‘Prew must be up to something big if he’d kill you before he’d leave you behind.’’

  ‘‘I heard rumors of all sorts among the men,’’ said Jefferies, ‘‘but to be honest, I don’t know what we were getting ready to do over here. I know we were awaiting the Mexican army—a fellow named Captain Murella.’’

  ‘‘I’ve heard of Murella,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘He’s nothing more than a thieving murderer in uniform.’’

  ‘‘I sort of figured that out from some of the stories I heard about him among Prew’s regulars.’’

  ‘‘Prew’s regulars?’’ Sam asked, almost shaking his head at the irony of Desmond Prew’s mercenaries being referred to as soldiers. ‘‘And who might they be?’’

  ‘‘White and Hallit—the two you chased away,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘There’s Thomas Russell, Cherokee Jake Slattery, Braden Kerr, Meade Loden . . .’’ His voice trailed off as he thought of others. ‘‘There’s supposed to be more coming any day.’’ He considered it for a second and added, ‘‘There was a fellow named Sibbs, but he’s dead now. Jake Slattery gutted him.’’

  Sam shook his head, thinking of the list of names in his pocket. ‘‘ ‘Hemp Knot’ Tommy Russell and ‘Cur Dog’ Braden Kerr,’’ he said, as if in dark contemplation of the two outlaws.

  ‘‘You know these men?’’ Jefferies asked, looking surprised.

  ‘‘You heard what that one said a while ago,’’ said the ranger, nodding toward the path that White and Hallit had taken. ‘‘I’ve got Tommy Russell and Braden Kerr on a list I carry. They disappeared over the border two years back. Nobody has seen them since. I had hopes they’d met their end down here.’’ He added wryly, ‘‘But we don’t always get what we hope for.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I heard what White said about you carrying a list,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I also heard Kerr and Russell both talking about a ranger who’s been dogging them. They said he had their names on his list.’’ He looked closer at Sam. ‘‘So that’s you?’’