Guns on the Border

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘Might be,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I doubt if I’m the only lawman carrying their names around. Those two have cut a wide and vicious trail.’’

  ‘‘If you’re the one who killed Junior Lake and his gang, you’re the one,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘You also killed a friend of theirs by the name of Ned Sorrels?’’

  Without answering the question, Sam said, ‘‘You heard them talking about the law looking for them and you didn’t realize what kind of men they were?’’

  ‘‘This was after we saw what we’d gotten ourselves into,’’ said Jefferies. He shrugged his good shoulder. ‘‘My uncle had already warned me not to expect a bunch of church deacons, riding with hired-gun mercenaries. But neither one of us was prepared for this bunch of cutthroats.’’

  ‘‘What do you suppose they were up to—Prew and the captain?’’ Sam asked.

  Jefferies hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘‘Ranger, it feels wrong, me informing on the men I was riding with, even if they were on the wrong side of the law.’’

  ‘‘Suit yourself,’’ he said, as if dismissing the matter. ‘‘I’m on the wrong side of the border to do anything about it anyway. Prew is Mexico’s problem until he crosses back into my territory.’’

  Jefferies nodded toward the canvas-wrapped corpse. ‘‘He was in Mexico, wasn’t he?’’

  ‘‘That he was,’’ said Sam. ‘‘But I was on him for what he did before he left my territory. Except for Kerr and Russell, I’ve got nothing on Prew and his men.’’

  ‘‘I see . . .’’ Jefferies paused in thought for a second, then said, ‘‘All right, Ranger. The captain wants explosives, is what I heard from the others. Prew and his men are planning to provide him all he needs— right off the army trains that run along the American side of the border.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ The ranger thought it over for a moment. ‘‘If they let you know this kind of information, no wonder they didn’t want to leave you behind to tell somebody.’’

  ‘‘Like I said, Ranger, me and my uncle didn’t know.’’ The young man looked remorseful. ‘‘If we had, we never would have joined up with these fellows.’’ He looked at Caridad as if offering her an apology. ‘‘I hope you believe me,’’ he said in a softer tone.

  ‘‘Sí, I do believe you, William,’’ she replied in the same tone.

  ‘‘I’m glad. Now if only there was some way I could prove myself to you, Sabio . . . and you, Ranger,’’ he said, still looking into Caridad’s warm dark eyes.

  ‘‘There is,’’ Sam said. ‘‘You can go home and keep yourself out of trouble for the rest of your life.’’

  ‘‘That’s not what I meant,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I mean, I’d like to make up for things some way. I’d like to show Sabio here that my life is worth saving.’’

  ‘‘You need prove nothing to me,’’ Sabio cut in, having seen the way the young American and Caridad looked at one another. ‘‘Do as the ranger has suggested—go home and sin no more. Only then will I feel I have saved a life worth saving.’’

  ‘‘I want to do more than that,’’ said Jefferies, his eyes staying on Caridad as he spoke. ‘‘I want to stay here and make sure you’re both safe. If I thought Prew or his men harmed you for helping me, how could I ever live with myself?’’

  Sam cut in, saying to Sabio, ‘‘I’ll escort you and the young lady to wherever you feel safe, before I head back across the border.’’

  ‘‘Many thanks, Ranger, but do not worry about us,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘I will hide us both at the mission until these wolves are out of Esperanza. No one will see us again until we choose to be seen, eh, Caridad?’’

  ‘‘This is true,’’ Caridad said. ‘‘Sabio knows places to hide like no one I have ever seen. He can disappear into the very wind, as if by magic.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Sabio, ‘‘and where Caridad and I go, no one else is welcome.’’ He gave Jefferies a firm gaze.

  ‘‘So there you have it,’’ Sam said to Jefferies. ‘‘I have a feeling Sabio Tonto knows more hiding places in this land than a fox.’’

  ‘‘You are correct, Ranger,’’ Sabio tossed in. To Jefferies he said, ‘‘You must find your own way. We have done all we can for you. If you stay here you will die. It is that simple.’’

  Caridad, realizing that Sabio was right, only stood silent with a sad look on her face.

  ‘‘I’ll go then,’’ said Jefferies, speaking to Sabio but keeping his eyes on Caridad. ‘‘But when things settle, I’m coming back to Esperanza. I promise you.’’ Turning to Sam, he asked, ‘‘Can I ride back with you, Ranger? You know this country lots better than I do.’’

  ‘‘Yes, as far as the border,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Then you’re on your own.’’ He nodded toward the two horses he’d made the gunmen leave behind and asked Jefferies, ‘‘Which one of the horses belongs to Desmond Prew?’’

  ‘‘The big bay,’’ said Jefferies.

  ‘‘That figures,’’ Sam said, looking at the difference between the big muscular bay and the seedy dun standing beside it. ‘‘You take the dun.’’ He turned to the musician and asked, ‘‘Artesano, are you rested enough to ride?’’

  ‘‘Sí, if that is what you need me to do, Ranger,’’ said the musician, hurrying over and stopping in front of Sam like some soldier awaiting an order.

  ‘‘You’re giving him Prew’s horse?’’ Jefferies said, astonished. ‘‘Riding that horse will get him killed if Prew ever sees him on it!’’

  ‘‘I’m not giving him Prew’s horse,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I’m sending Prew’s horse back to him.’’ He said to the musician, ‘‘Is that all right with you, Artesano? It could be risky.’’

  ‘‘I will take the horse to him, but he will not see me until I arrive. He will know that my intentions are honorable.’’ Artesano grinned. ‘‘Is that how you want me to do it?’’

  ‘‘Yes, that’s it exactly, mi amigo,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Now listen closely to what I want you to tell him.’’

  Chapter 6

  Halfway down the hill on their way back to Esperanza, White stopped and looked out across the jagged hilltops to the north. ‘‘Damn that ranger’s bones!’’ he said to Hallit, who stopped beside him and plopped down onto a rock. ‘‘There’s got to be a trail across there.’’

  ‘‘There don’t have to be a trail anywhere,’’ Hallit replied in an exhausted hangover voice. He plopped down onto a rock, his face, shirt and upper trousers soaked with sweat. ‘‘These Mexicans travel like elk up and down these damn hillsides.’’

  But White wouldn’t be disheartened. His eyes searched the rugged land. ‘‘Naw, there’s a place somewhere out there where a man can steal a horse or a donkey or something fit to ride. We’ve just got to find it.’’ He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead and slumped his shoulders. ‘‘If this heat doesn’t kill us first.’’

  ‘‘What are you saying?’’ Hallit asked. ‘‘Ain’t you going back to Esperanza with me?’’

  White squatted down in front of him and stared into his sweating face. ‘‘Are you sober enough to understand anything yet? Because if you’re not, don’t make me waste my breath.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I’m sober,’’ said Hallit. ‘‘My dope wore off an hour ago.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said White. ‘‘Now listen to me and let this sink in.’’ He continued clearly and distinctly. ‘‘I am not going back to Esperanza, on foot, my holster empty, and tell Prew I lost his horse to a damn Arizona Ranger who’s not even supposed to be on this side of the border. Can you understand why I don’t want to do that?’’

  Hallit looked down and shook his head. Then he forced himself up onto his feet and looked out across the jagged hills. ‘‘There’s got to be something out there, a village, something. . . .’’ He paused, then said, ‘‘I guess we ought to make a try at it.’’

  ‘‘No, not here.’’ White dismissed the hillsides facing them with the wave of a hand. ‘‘A man couldn’t hack his way through ther
e with an ax.’’ As he spoke a black bird with a yellow and red beak rose up from a nearby treetop and seemed to jeer at them as it took flight. ‘‘Laugh, you son of a bitch,’’ he growled. ‘‘If I had a gun I’d turn you into supper.’’

  ‘‘Where, then?’’ Hallit asked.

  ‘‘Farther down I recall a path leading out in that direction,’’ said White. ‘‘Let’s get moving. It’ll start turning dark in another couple of hours.’’

  The two walked on down the winding hillside for the next few minutes until they came to a turn in the trail and heard a menacing voice call out from behind a stand of plush juniper. ‘‘Hold it right there—the next one moves is a dead sonsabitch!’’

  ‘‘Whoa,’’ said White in surprise, the two of them throwing their hands in the air. ‘‘We’ve got no money, if that’s your game!’’

  ‘‘My game is to cut your hearts out and feed them to you!’’ the voice growled. But the growl turned to a deep chuckle as two horsemen stepped their animals into sight. One of them twirled his pistol on his finger before holstering it.

  White let out a tense breath and said, ‘‘That’s real damn smart of yas, Sonny!’’ He looked from one rider to the other. ‘‘You too, Koch,’’ he said. ‘‘What if we had started shooting without giving you a chance to identify yourselves?’’ No sooner than he’d said it, White realized neither he nor Hallit had a gun. His face reddened.

  ‘‘That would have been a good trick,’’ said Sonny Nix, a big ruddy-faced Californian. He stepped his horse forward with a wide grin. ‘‘We saw you’ve both been left shy of any shooting gear.’’

  ‘‘Damn right we have,’’ said White, not yet knowing what sort of story to offer, having been caught off guard. He and Hallit both lowered their raised hands. ‘‘What brings you two up this way?’’ He hoped to change the subject long enough to work up a believable story that didn’t make him look like a fool.

  ‘‘You two,’’ said the burly Californian, pointing at White with a gloved finger. He had one eye closed as if taking aim at him. ‘‘No sooner than we got to Esperanza, Prew sent us looking for you.’’

  ‘‘How’d you find us?’’ White asked.

  Sonny shrugged his broad shoulders; so did Robert Koch, a thin Texan with a scar across the bridge of his crooked nose. ‘‘We come upon two sets of hooves leading out of the stables,’’ said Robert Koch. ‘‘Figured we’d best follow them for a ways, since one of them started from Prew’s empty stall.’’ He stared at White with a flat mirthless grin.

  White felt sick. ‘‘Jesus, Sonny, you’ve got to help me out,’’ he said, looking up at the big Californian with an expression that pleaded for mercy. ‘‘I’ve lost Prew’s horse.’’

  Sonny’s grin widened. He looked at Koch and said, ‘‘See? What did I tell you?’’

  ‘‘You damn sure did,’’ said Koch, with his same mirthless grin. He turned a glare to White and said, ‘‘As soon as we saw yas, Sonny said, ‘Damn, those boys have lost Prew’s big bay!’ ’’

  ‘‘Uh-uh,’’ Hallit said quickly. ‘‘I didn’t lose the bay. He did.’’ He pointed at White, sounding more sober than he’d sounded all day.

  ‘‘Whoa, now!’’ said White. ‘‘You’re the one who brought it to me! Don’t blame me!’’

  ‘‘I’m also the one who told you we ought to take it back to the stable and get yours!’’ said Hallit.

  ‘‘Both of you stop it,’’ said Sonny. ‘‘It’s too hot to argue. Save it for when you get to Esperanza.’’ He gave White a narrowed gaze and asked, ‘‘You were headed back to Esperanza, weren’t yas?’’

  ‘‘Hell yes,’’ White lied. ‘‘Where else do you think we’d be headed?’’

  Koch gave a dark chuckle. ‘‘To the deepest jungle of Africa, if I was you,’’ he said. ‘‘I can’t imagine what you was thinking, taking off with the man’s horse that way.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ said Sonny. ‘‘Hell, you’re supposed to be his new right-hand man. Seems like you’d recall what happened to his last right-hand man and know better than something like this. Ole Hugh died a mean violent death, I was told.’’

  ‘‘This was all a mistake,’’ said White, getting a mental image of Hugh Elberry falling backward beneath a long spray of blood. ‘‘Is he sure I took it?’’ He wondered if he might somehow deny the whole unfortunate incident.

  ‘‘His stall is empty. Your horse is there. We followed your trail here,’’ said Sonny Nix. ‘‘Now what do you think?’’

  ‘‘I think we’re dead,’’ White murmured.

  ‘‘Yep, that’s sort of what I thought too,’’ said Sonny. Beside him Koch nodded grimly.

  ‘‘What if you let me cut out of here, say, out across these hills?’’ White asked, a shakiness in his voice. ‘‘You’d never see my face again.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ said Koch. ‘‘And miss hearing you explain all this to Prew?’’

  ‘‘I don’t think so,’’ said Sonny.

  ‘‘I’ve got nothing to explain,’’ said Hallit, talking fast. ‘‘I was too drunk to know anything. I was minding my own business. He dragged me along knowing I was doped up and drunk. That’s the damn truth.’’

  ‘‘Well, whatever the case,’’ Sonny said, gesturing them forward down the trail, ‘‘let’s get on to Esperanza. Me and Koch have fallen way behind on our drinking because of yas.’’

  In Esperanza, hours after the captain and his men had left town, Desmond Prew sat in a thronelike chair his men had dragged from the church and set up for him in front of the cantina. He ate from a rack of steaming pork ribs one of the whores held for him in a clean white cloth. She sat on one of the wide arms of the large hand-carved chair, naked from the waist up. Close beside her another whore sat quietly washing herself from a pan of water.

  Twenty feet away, in the middle of the square, a cook fire made up of mesquite kindling and broken furniture from the cantina raged. Half of the blackened pig lay sizzling on the edge of the flames. In the west, red sunlight simmered on the horizon.

  ‘‘Prew. Here comes Sonny and Koch,’’ Sway Loden called out from his guard post in the bell tower of the adobe church across the dirt street. ‘‘White and Hallit are both on foot. No sign of your bay.’’

  Prew shook his head and took a long swig from the bottle of whiskey he kept standing between his thighs. He pushed the whore’s hand holding the ribs away from his face and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. He stood up enough to lift the heavy chair beneath him and turn it facing the direction of the hill trail. Reseated, he corked the whiskey bottle and set it on the ground beside his chair. Drawing his big Colt Dragoon, he laid it across his lap. ‘‘This better be damn good,’’ he growled under his breath.

  Around the fire, some of his men stood up and stared toward the far end of town with him. Inside the cantina, others had heard Loden’s voice and straggled out one and two at a time to stand nearby, leaving an empty street in front of their leader.

  ‘‘This is bad luck for White,’’ said Cherokee Jake Slattery, keeping his voice down. He hiked his gun belt and leaned against a rough cedar pole.

  Beside him stood Thomas ‘‘Hemp Knot’’ Russell and Braden ‘‘Cur Dog’’ Kerr. Russell replied, ‘‘Yeah, as far as being the second in command, he didn’t last as long as a fart in a whirlwind.’’

  The two men snickered. Cherokee Jake gave them a look, straightened from his leaning post and moved away from them.

  ‘‘What’s gotten into him all of a sudden?’’ asked Russell, carefully keeping his lowered voice from being heard by Slattery.

  ‘‘Must figure once White’s dead and gone, he’ll just take over as the next new segundo,’’ said Kerr.

  ‘‘Yeah?’’ Russell sidestepped and leaned against the post Cherokee Jake had given up. ‘‘Being the second in charge in this bunch don’t strike me as the most secure position a man might take upon himself.’’ He spit and stared toward the two approaching riders and the two men afoot walking in
front of them.

  ‘‘Being segundo gets paid more than the rest of us,’’ Kerr tossed in.

  ‘‘Yep, it damn sure does,’’ said Russell. He nodded toward White and Hallit. ‘‘Watch real close and we’ll both see how much.’’ Again they snickered among themselves. From his new spot, Cherokee Jake glanced at them, then turned his face away with a look of disgust.

  When White and Hallit stopped in front of Prew’s chair, Sonny and Koch moved their horses to one side and remained in their saddles.

  ‘‘Obliged,’’ Prew said flatly to them, without yet giving White and Hallit so much as a look.

  Sonny nodded and touched his hat brim toward Prew, then crossed his wrists on his saddle horn and watched in silence. Koch followed suit.

  Seeing the big Dragoon lying on his lap glistening in the firelight, White blurted out, ‘‘Prew! You’ve got to believe me, I never meant to steal your—’’

  Prew silenced him with a raised hand. He took the corked whiskey bottle by its neck and pitched it to him. White caught it and stared at Prew with a stunned expression. Hallit’s eyes riveted on the bottle in White’s trembling hands.

  ‘‘Take a drink, Hubbard,’’ Prew said in a mild controlled voice. ‘‘You look like you need one.’’

  White didn’t trust the cordiality, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He pulled the cork and raised the bottle in a long deep swig. When he started to lower it, he considered his dire straits and raised it again for another deep drink. Prew sat watching poker-faced.

  ‘‘What about me?’’ Hallit ventured, seeing the level of whiskey in the bottle getting shorter.

  Prew gave White a nod; White passed the bottle to Hallit’s reaching hand. Hallit raised the bottle and drank deeply. A thin trickle of whiskey ran down his beard stubble and dripped from his chin.

  ‘‘Start talking,’’ Prew said to White as Hallit lowered the bottle and let out a deep whiskey sigh.