by Ralph Cotton
‘‘Prew, I swear to God, I didn’t steal your bay!’’ White said. ‘‘I know I never should have rode out of here on it, but so help me—’’
‘‘Why did you?’’ Prew’s hand lay idly on the big Dragoon.
‘‘I sent Hallit to get the horse while I kept an eye on the fellow who’d taken the kid in,’’ said White. ‘‘He brought your bay by mistake.’’
Prew’s eyes cut over to Hallit.
‘‘I was doped and drunk,’’ Hallit offered humbly, spreading his hands, the bottle dangling from his fingertips.
‘‘Things got in a hurry on us and I ended up riding the bay instead of taking it back to the stables and getting my own horse,’’ said White as Prew’s eyes left Hallit and came back to him.
‘‘See,’’ White explained, ‘‘we found out the cleaning girl from the cantina is taking care of the kid— her and that little hairless fellow who slips around here like a ghost. We made the accordion player lead us to them, up there in the old ruins.’’ He nodded toward the hillside.
‘‘Did you kill the kid?’’ Prew asked, appearing detached as he looked back and forth between the two.
‘‘No, we didn’t,’’ White admitted. ‘‘We didn’t get a chance to. There’s an Arizona Ranger guarding him. It’s that ranger who carries the list of names. The one who killed Junior Lake and his gang.’’
Hearing White mention the ranger, Russell and Kerr gave one another a troubled look.
‘‘Oh, I see,’’ said Prew, in a calm, understanding tone of voice. ‘‘I sent you to kill the kid so he can’t tell anybody what we’re up to. But instead of killing him you leave him and my horse with that damn ranger who pokes his nose into everybody’s business?’’ He paused and sucked a tooth as if in contemplation, then shook his head, lifted the Dragoon and said, ‘‘You understand why I’ve got to kill you, don’t you?’’
‘‘Prew, for God sakes! Please give me another chance!’’ White pleaded.
‘‘Yeah, me too,’’ said Hallit. He backed a step as if on the verge of turning to run.
‘‘Stand still, Hallit!’’ Prew cocked the Dragoon toward White. ‘‘I’m not killing you.’’
‘‘You’re not?’’ White asked, looking both terrified and outraged. ‘‘Why not? He brought me your horse!’’
‘‘Because he was drunk and doped,’’ said Prew.
‘‘Jesus, Prew!’’ said White. ‘‘You’re killing me, but not him, because he was drunk? That’s not fair! Not fair at all!’’
‘‘I can see why you might feel that way.’’ Prew took aim.
Before he could pull the trigger, Sway Loden, who’d been watching from the bell tower, called out, ‘‘We’ve got another rider coming. He’s riding in fast.’’
Prew let the Dragoon slump in his hand. ‘‘It’s not the ranger, is it?’’ he called out to the bell tower.
Loden studied the approaching figure and said, ‘‘No. It’s the accordion player from the cantina. He’s—he’s riding your bay.’’
Prew lowered the gun more and rose from his chair. ‘‘Well, now, this is starting to get interesting.’’
Artesano stopped the bay at the edge of town and looked ahead at the men gathered near the fire in the waning evening light. They moved forward slowly, staring at him as he called, ‘‘I come to bring the Señor Prew’s horse to him. Do not harm me, por favor.’’
‘‘You better pray my horse hasn’t been harmed, music man,’’ Prew called out in reply.
‘‘Señor Prew, the horse is fine,’’ said Artesano. ‘‘I would not have brought him back to you otherwise.’’ He paused and looked at the line the men had formed on either side of Prew’s big chair. ‘‘May I bring him to you without fear of harm, señor?’’
Prew slipped the Dragoon down behind his belt and called out, ‘‘Nobody’s going to hurt you, music man, unless you keep stalling around. Now bring my horse to me, ahora!’’ He stood in front of the big chair like a king before his throne.
With trepidation Artesano touched his bare heels to the bay’s sides and put it forward in a walk toward Prew, feeling the cold eyes of the men as he moved past them slowly. These were the same men who had thrown coins to him and bought him drinks for entertaining them with his music. Yet, now, theirs were the eyes of wolves and vultures, he told himself, knowing that with the slightest toss of Desmond Prew’s hand his life would be snuffed out as easily as a candle flame.
Chapter 7
White and Hallit stood staring at the ground while the Mexican musician gave Prew the account of White holding his accordion hostage and the two forcing him to trot up the hill to the mission and take them to Sabio and Caridad. He told of how the ranger had appeared out of nowhere and gotten the drop on them and sent them away on foot without a shot fired. While Artesano related the incident, Prew listened. But at the same time he inspected the bay closely.
‘‘And did you get your squeeze-box back unharmed?’’ Prew asked when Artesano had finished studying each of the bay’s legs and hooves in turn.
‘‘Sí, I left it hidden outside of town on my way here. But I did get it back unharmed,’’ said Artesano. ‘‘For that I am grateful.’’
‘‘Grateful?’’ Prew shook his head. ‘‘You’ve got some guts, music man. I admire that.’’ He grinned, satisfied that his horse had been returned in good condition. Turning a gaze to Hubbard White, he said with a dark chuckle, ‘‘You run this poor sumbitch up the mountain? In the heat of the day?’’
White only nodded without answering.
‘‘I wouldn’t call it a mountain,’’ Hallit cut in. ‘‘It’s more like a—’’
‘‘Shut up, Hallit,’’ Prew said harshly. Turning back to Artesano, he patted the big Dragoon and said, ‘‘Would you like to borrow my gun and shoot White’s head off?’’
‘‘Oh, no!’’ Artesano raised his hands as if to ward the gun off should Prew try handing it to him. ‘‘I am not a violent man. Nor am I a man who seeks vengeance for himself when someone has wronged him. I am a simple musician. I only want to please everyone.’’
Prew looked the musician up and down and decided to believe him. ‘‘Too bad,’’ he said, tapping his fingers on the Dragoon’s handle as he gave White a dark stare, considering his fate. ‘‘Do you believe every man deserves a second chance?’’ he asked Artesano.
‘‘Oh, I do. Sí, I do!’’ Artesano said quickly. ‘‘I not only believe in a second chance, I believe in a third chance, a fourth, a fifth—!’’
‘‘Enough,’’ Prew said, cutting him off sharply. To White he said, ‘‘It looks like the man you nearly run to death has just saved your life, Hubbard. Good thing you didn’t kill him, huh? Or else you’d be laying there dead right now. What do you think of that?’’
White only stared at the ground, relieved for the moment but knowing he wasn’t all the way off the hook. Hallit also looked relieved and took a testing step sideways toward the nearest man holding a bottle of whiskey.
Prew turned away from White and Hallit. Facing Artesano, he asked with an expectant look, ‘‘I suppose the ranger has something he’d like for you to tell me?’’
‘‘Sí, he does,’’ said Artesano, feeling more confident and less in fear for his life now that Prew knew his horse was all right and that nobody had been shot.
‘‘I thought he might.’’ Prew rubbed the bay’s soft muzzle as he spoke. He gave a knowing grin toward the men who had broken from two lines and drawn closer around the front of the big chair. ‘‘All of yas listen up,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s hear what the ranger has to say.’’
Artesano looked around cautiously, then said to Prew, ‘‘His very words were, ‘Tell Prew that I give him what belongs to him. When the time is right he must give me what belongs to me.’ ’’
‘‘Whoa,’’ said Prew, feigning a mysterious look. ‘‘Now whatever might the ranger mean by that?’’ He looked all around at the men. Rubbing the bay’s muzzle he said, ‘‘We see what he had that
belonged to me—but what do I have that belongs to him?’’
A deep contemplative silence fell over the men for a moment until finally Thomas Russell stepped forward and said with a worried look on his face, ‘‘Come on, Prew, we all know what he wants. He’s dogged me and Kerr all the way out of Arizona Territory. Now he’s right up our shirts again. He’s wanting you to hand us over to him. He’s got to be crazy, thinking you’d do that.’’
‘‘Yeah, that murdering sonsabitch!’’ Kerr joined in, stepping forward beside Russell. ‘‘Him and his damned list of names!’’
‘‘I say we all go kill him!’’ Russell called out, hoping for a show of support.
‘‘Take it easy, Hemp Knot,’’ said Prew, almost in a mocking tone. ‘‘Don’t expect everybody here to go after the ranger.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Not if the only ones he’s after are you and Cur Dog. Why would all of us do that?’’
Russell spread his hands. ‘‘Because we’re all together. We look out for one another’s interest, don’t we?’’
‘‘I don’t know—do we? We’re mercenaries,’’ said Prew. ‘‘We all do what’s best for ourselves.’’ He motioned for Cherokee Jake to take the bay’s reins from him as he stepped closer to Russell and Kerr. ‘‘You two showed up here with the law on your tails? Do you call that looking out for one another’s interest?’’ His expression turned dark. ‘‘Now we’ve got a ranger poking around, wondering what we’re up to here.’’
‘‘I meant nothing by it, Prew,’’ said Russell. ‘‘We never thought the ranger would come after us down here.’’ He looked at the other men, then back at Prew and said in a quieter tone, ‘‘There’s not a man here who hasn’t had some kind of run-in with the law.’’ He lowered his voice even more and asked, ‘‘You wouldn’t turn us over to him, would you?’’
Prew purposely let the question hang for a moment while he seemed to consider it. Finally, without answering it, he said, ‘‘Maybe he’s not even talking about you two. Think about that.’’ He tapped a finger to his temple. ‘‘There might be something else I’ve got that he thinks belongs to him.’’ He looked around. ‘‘Anybody here holding something that belongs to Ranger Sam Burrack?’’
The men shook their heads, murmured among themselves and milled uncomfortably.
‘‘Any of yas got your name on the ranger’s list, or any-damn-body else’s list?’’ Prew asked, giving Russell and Kerr a look that could be read different ways, none of which the two found pleasant. ‘‘If you do, you better speak up right now. I don’t want no more surprises!’’
When no reply came from the men Prew said to Russell and Kerr, ‘‘See? Nobody else brought the law down here looking for them.’’
‘‘I promise,’’ said Russell, ‘‘when we get our hands on the ranger, nobody will have to back us up. Right, Cur Dog?’’
‘‘Damn right, that’s right,’’ said Kerr. ‘‘For two cents I’d run him down tonight and be done with it.’’ He made a gesture as if ready to go get his horse and ride out.
‘‘Nobody’s going anywhere tonight,’’ said Prew. ‘‘All of yas are staying put here until we’re ready to go do what we came here to do. Is that clear to everybody?’’ He looked all around, then at Kerr for an answer.
‘‘Yeah, that’s clear,’’ Kerr said grudgingly, as if he regretted not going after the ranger.
‘‘All right then,’’ said Prew to everyone. ‘‘The kid is gone. I can’t help what he might’ve told the ranger, but luckily he didn’t know the captain’s full plan.’’ Giving White another cold stare, he added, ‘‘I’ve got my horse back!’’ He raised a hand as if to celebrate the bay’s return. ‘‘Everybody enjoy themselves tonight!’’ He waved them back toward the cantina, where the women lounged in the doorway awaiting them.
‘‘If we’re through for the night,’’ said Sonny Nix, who had stepped down from his horse and started toward a hitch rail, ‘‘I believe I’ll have some of everything there.’’
‘‘Hold up a minute, Sonny,’’ said Prew, stopping him and Koch. ‘‘We’re not through yet. I got something else I need you to do.’’
‘‘Damn it,’’ said Sonny. ‘‘Why us again?’’
‘‘Because you’re the best scout in this whole damn bunch,’’ said Prew.
Turning to Koch, Nix said, ‘‘Why did you have to tell him I once scouted Apache for the army?’’
‘‘Sorry, Sonny,’’ Koch said drily.
‘‘I still want the kid dead,’’ Prew said.
‘‘They’ll be gone,’’ said Sonny.
‘‘I know they will,’’ said Prew. ‘‘Take some food and whiskey with you. Ride back up there. Follow their tracks and finish the kid off. I told the captain he’d be taken care of, and I meant it. It’s bad business, this kid just riding off like this. It’s a loose end that needs tying down.’’
‘‘And the ranger?’’ Sonny asked with a thin but confident smile. ‘‘Want me to tie his loose end down? Even after him giving you your horse back?’’
‘‘I don’t trust that ranger as far as I can spit,’’ said Prew. ‘‘He gave me the bay for his own reasons. I’m hoping he’s dead before I find out what those reasons are.’’
‘‘I figure he said that about something belonging to him just to get some heads worrying—try getting some suspicion started among the men, them thinking you’d turn them in.’’
‘‘Yeah, that’s what I think he was doing,’’ said Prew. ‘‘Look how worried it made Russell and Kerr already.’’
‘‘Well, we have to admit, the less men still alive and kicking at the end of this job, the more money it is for the rest of us, eh?’’ Sonny gave a slight grin. Koch followed suit.
Prew ignored the comment. ‘‘If the ranger’s still there, kill him too. There’ll be an extra cut for both of you when we finish this job. Nothing else needs to be said about who’s still alive and kicking at the end of the job.’’
‘‘We hear you, Prew,’’ Sonny said in a cool tone.
In spite of the dense trees and foliage engulfing the hills behind them, Jefferies had spent most of the afternoon looking back, as if Sabio and Caridad might appear at any moment. Even when he knew he and the ranger had traveled too far and the night had grown too dark, he continued to glance back now and then in the direction of the old mission ruins. When they stopped for the night and made a small fire for food and coffee, Jefferies stared into the darkness as he spoke.
‘‘Ranger Burrack,’’ he asked, ‘‘do you think she will really be there when I return for her?’’
Sam poured them each a tin cup of coffee and set one steaming cup over on the ground beside Jefferies. ‘‘Did you really mean it, that you would be coming back to her someday?’’
‘‘Oh, yes, I meant it,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I’ll come back for her, just as soon as I can.’’
‘‘Then I expect she meant what she said, too,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘As far as her being there, I’m sure she will. These village girls usually spend their lives where they started out, unless something big happens that forces the whole village to leave.’’
‘‘But somebody else might come along before I get back,’’ said Jefferies.
‘‘I’ll wager she’s not the kind of woman who’d tell you she’ll wait and not mean it,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I suppose any woman could run out of faith after so long. But these hill country women are true to their word.’’ He offered a trace of a smile. ‘‘You’ve got time. I’m sure she’ll wait for you.’’
‘‘I believe you, Ranger. But as soon as Prew and his men are cleared out of here, I’m coming right back,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘That is, as soon as I raise the money for supplies.’’ He looked troubled and added, ‘‘I suppose that could take a while, the way my luck seems to be running.’’
‘‘Your luck doesn’t appear too bad to me,’’ Sam said, raising his hot cup of coffee with his gloved hand and blowing on it before taking a sip. ‘‘You’ve met a young woman you care
a lot for. Sabio Tonto saved your life. You’ve managed to break away from a gang of thieves and killers before they got you in too deep—or killed you, the way they had planned.’’ He looked into his coffee cup. ‘‘Some would say you’re on a pretty strong run of good luck.’’
‘‘I didn’t mean to complain, Ranger,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I know everything you’re saying is true. I realize how lucky I am to be alive. I guess I’ve gotten so used to expecting bad luck lately, it’s hard to recognize good luck right away.’’
‘‘I understand,’’ said the ranger. He paused and sipped his coffee in silence.
They ate hardtack biscuits and jerked elk from Sam’s saddlebags and washed the sparse meal down with hot coffee before killing the fire and turning in for the night. Sam dozed lightly, leaning back against the rough trunk of a large pine tree with a blanket thrown around his shoulders. He’d deliberately positioned himself facing Jefferies across the blackened campfire, his rifle out of his saddle boot and lying on his lap.
Before dawn, while the hillside lay streaked with a silver mist, they drank strong tepid coffee left over from the night before. From a small canvas bag Sam pulled out two more hardtack biscuits and pitched one to Jefferies. They ate dutifully. When they’d finished, Sam wiped his hands and carefully pulled down the bandage from under Jefferies’ wounded arm.
‘‘How’s it looking?’’ the young man asked, unable to bend either his neck or his sore shoulder enough to see for himself.
‘‘Good enough, for today,’’ said Sam, pulling the bloodstained strips of cloth back into place. ‘‘Leave it be today, to make sure it doesn’t start bleeding again. But tonight you’ll need to wash it clean and change this bandage.’’
‘‘He made it stop bleeding by just laying his hands on it,’’ Jefferies remarked.
‘‘So you said,’’ Sam replied, recalling a conversation they’d had the day before on their way up a hillside trail.
Jefferies gave him a questioning look. ‘‘You don’t believe he really did that, do you?’’