by Ralph Cotton
In Esperanza, Jefferies drank in the cantina with the rest of the men, yet he kept himself in check, managing to drink only one shot of whiskey to everyone else’s third and fourth glasses. When the others began to get drunk and more talkative he managed to get in a couple of questions about who provided them information on the army munitions shipments. But he soon began to realize that these men had no idea. Prew kept his contacts close to his vest, he decided, and he ceased asking rather than draw suspicion to himself.
‘‘Now that you’re up and feeling fit,’’ said Loden in a loose whiskey-slurred voice, ‘‘why don’t you shinny up that tree, cut your dear departed uncle down and give him a fit burial?’’
Jefferies made an effort to appear as drunk as the others. ‘‘I’d do about anything for kin. But I don’t climb trees. I leave that for monkeys.’’ He tipped his shot glass as if in a toast and only sipped it.
The Russian, Klevo, with his forehead swollen and purple, said in a drunken surly tone, ‘‘If you were any kind of rifleman, you wouldn’t have to climb like the monkey. You would stand on the ground and cut it with a bullet.’’
‘‘Hey, that ain’t a bad idea, come to think of it,’’ said Loden. ‘‘You want your uncle down—here’s a good way to do it and at the same time show the rest of us you can handle a gun.’’
Jefferies tried to wave it off. ‘‘Naw, I’m too drunk today,’’ he said, knowing he would allow them to talk him into it.
‘‘Oh, too drunk? Maybe you are not so good with the rifle, eh, Kid?’’ Klevo said in his thick accent.
‘‘Or maybe you don’t care as much for your uncle as you let on?’’ Loden said.
Hallit joined in. ‘‘If it was my uncle I wouldn’t leave him hanging up there.’’
‘‘Neither would I,’’ said White, still dejected and angry over Prew dropping him as his second in command. ‘‘As much trouble as you’ve caused me and Hallit and some of the others, I think we’ve got a right to see what you’ve got when it comes to shooting.’’
Hesitating a moment longer as if contemplating the matter, Jefferies finally said, ‘‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll cut him down with one shot or the drinking is all on me the rest of the night.’’
‘‘Hell yes!’’ said Hallit with a grin. ‘‘Now that’s being a sport.’’
‘‘Let’s get to it right now,’’ said White.
‘‘But’’—Jefferies drew everybody’s attention, his finger raised for emphasis—‘‘if I cut him down with one shot, you fellows have to dig the grave for me to bury him in.’’
‘‘Like hell,’’ White growled.
‘‘What’s wrong, White?’’ Jefferies asked. ‘‘Are you afraid of a little bet?’’ Now it was him doing the needling. ‘‘You’ve never seen me shoot. How do you know I’m not bluffing? If you turn down the bet you’ll never know for sure, will you?’’
Slamming his hand down on the bar top, White said, ‘‘Damn it! I’ll take that bet! Get your rifle and let’s go see what you’ve got, Kid.’’
Sonny Nix cut in. ‘‘Let’s all make sure we understand the bet. If the Kid loses, he pays for all the drinking. If he wins, Hubbard White digs a grave for the Kid’s uncle.’’ He looked all around and asked, ‘‘Right, everybody?’’
Heads nodded and murmured in agreement.
‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said White in protest. ‘‘I don’t dig it by myself. Everybody helps.’’
‘‘That’s not how I heard it,’’ said Sonny, shaking his head.
‘‘Yeah, Sonny’s right,’’ Hallit said to White. ‘‘You agreed to dig it, not us.’’
‘‘All right, then, damn it, I’ll dig it by myself!’’ White fumed. ‘‘What’s the difference, he ain’t going to hit it anyway, first try.’’
‘‘Are you, Kid?’’ Loden asked, sizing the Kid up.
‘‘That’s the bet,’’ Jefferies said. He tossed back the rest of his drink and walked out front, the men on his heels. At the hitch rail stood Rance Hurley’s horse where Jefferies had hitched it when he’d brought it from the stables. A Winchester stood in its saddle boot. Jefferies pulled the rifle out, checked it, and levered a round up into its chamber. ‘‘From the middle of the street suit you?’’
‘‘Middle of the street.’’ White chuckled darkly. ‘‘Well hell yes.’’ He eyed the distance up to the limb above the hanging body, judging it to be over fifty yards. ‘‘Take a couple steps closer if it makes you feel better.’’
‘‘Middle of the street will do,’’ said Jefferies. He took five steps to the middle of the street while White turned and said to the men with a laugh, ‘‘Hope everybody here’s as thirsty as I am. Kid here will have his part of this deal spent before we ever even cross the border and—’’
The single blast from Jefferies’ rifle shut White up. The man flinched and turned quickly, in time to see the body drop from the tree and hit the ground like a bag of dirt. ‘‘Jesus!’’ White shouted, taken aback by the suddenness of it.
‘‘Good shot, Kid!’’ said Loden.
‘‘Damn good shot,’’ said Sonny Nix.
‘‘Wait!’’ said White. ‘‘I didn’t even see it!’’
‘‘You should’ve been watching,’’ said Nix, ‘‘instead of running your mouth.’’
‘‘That ain’t fair!’’ White protested. ‘‘I didn’t see him shoot, how do I know he did it?’’
‘‘Oh, really?’’ said Loden. ‘‘What do you think, he has somebody hidden up there? They cut the rope, or what?’’
‘‘I didn’t see it, how do I know?’’ said White. He looked around for some support, but found none.
The Kid levered another round into the chamber and said flatly, ‘‘Are you saying I cheated?’’
Before White could reply, Loden cut in. ‘‘Hey, Kid, we all heard him. He’s going to crawfish out of this. He bet and he lost.’’ He turned to White. ‘‘Now get yourself a shovel and start digging, else we’ll tell Prew when he gets back and let him be the one to decide.’’
White cursed under his breath, then said, ‘‘All’s I’m saying is I didn’t see it, that’s all!’’
‘‘That’s because you looked slower than he shot!’’ said Loden, not backing off. ‘‘Now shut up about it, or take the next step you need, to get the taste of it out of your mouth!’’ He clamped his hand around his gun butt.
White raised his hands chest high to show he wanted no fight with Loden. Jefferies, Loden and the others watched him stamp off toward the stables. ‘‘Come on, Kid, we’re buying you a drink. I have to admit I was hoping you’d miss so we could all drink this cantina to the ground on your dollars.’’ He gestured a thumb toward White. ‘‘But nobody likes a poor sport.’’ He and the others escorted Jefferies to the cantina.
Late in the afternoon, Robert Koch, from the bell tower, spotted Prew leading the column of men up the last hundred yards of winding trail toward Esperanza.
‘‘Here comes Prew! Pass along the word!’’ Koch shouted down to Sonny Nix, who sat out front of the cantina with a half-naked whore on his lap.
‘‘You heard him, sweetheart,’’ said Sonny. He stood up from the straight-backed chair and the whore fell to the ground. With a shriek, she regained her footing and ran away cursing, covering her naked breasts with a forearm.
Stepping over and sticking his head inside the cantina, Sonny called out to Loden, ‘‘Koch says the boss and the others are riding in. Grab a bottle for the boss. Everybody get out here and welcome them back.’’
Standing next to Jefferies at the bar, Loden grinned and said, ‘‘It’s about damn time!’’ Waving to the bartender for a fresh bottle of whiskey, he said to Jefferies, ‘‘Come on, Kid, stick with me. I’ll be talking to Prew on your behalf.’’ He took the bottle from the harried bartender and turned toward the door.
‘‘Obliged,’’ said Jefferies. He finished the shot from the glass in his hand and followed Loden out to the street.
When Prew and Cherokee
led the men onto the street from the dusty winding trail, Jefferies stood back and observed as Loden and the others croweded around Prew’s horse. From where he leaned against a cedar post he watched Prew take a long swig from the bottle Loden handed him, then pass it on to Cherokee Jake.
The bottle of whiskey made its way from Cherokee to Dick Spivey and Indian Frank, who’d ridden double the last few miles. They passed it along, the bottle going from hand to hand until it hit the ground empty. Jefferies watched coolly as Prew stood listening to Loden, the two with their heads together in secrecy. Finally, Prew looked toward Jefferies as he raised a hand to settle his men.
‘‘Kid,’’ he called out, causing all eyes to turn toward Jefferies, ‘‘I see you’re up and around.’’
Straightening from against the post, Jefferies stepped forward and said in his young, inexperienced-sounding voice, ‘‘Howdy, Mr. Prew. Yes, sir, I’m up and around and ready to do whatever my job calls for.’’ He added humbly, ‘‘If that’s all the same with you, that is.’’
‘‘Oh, it’s fine with me, Kid,’’ said Prew. ‘‘I’ve checked everything out. We’re ready to ride.’’ As he spoke he looked around with a grin, seeing the excitement his words caused among the men.
‘‘Whooo-ee!’’ bellowed White, throwing back his head like a varmint howling at the sky.
‘‘All right!’’ shouted Sonny, waving his battered hat in the air.
Raising his hand again to settle the men, Prew said to Jefferies, the two stopping with ten feet between them, ‘‘So I’m needing all the good men I can get, Kid. How’s the shoulder?’’
‘‘Never better, Mr. Prew.’’ Jefferies rounded his shoulder to show its fitness. ‘‘I’m game for whatever the job takes. Just count me in.’’
‘‘I’ll say he’s game and able,’’ Loden cut in. ‘‘We all just saw him stand there where you’re standing and cut his uncle down with one shot!’’ He pointed toward the body of Rance Hurley lying on a pushcart a few yards away at the edge of a small cemetery.
Prew looked over at the tree where Rance Hurley had hanged himself. ‘‘You cut the rope from here?’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ said Jefferies, ‘‘I did.’’
‘‘First shot?’’ Prew asked. He was trying not to look impressed, Jefferies thought.
‘‘First shot, only shot!’’ Loden called out drunkenly, spinning a finger in the air.
‘‘I want you to shut up,’’ Prew snapped, with a harsh stare at him. He looked back at Jefferies. ‘‘Well, Kid?’’
‘‘That’s right,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘One shot.’’
Prew nodded. ‘‘Not bad.’’ He stepped in closer to Jefferies. ‘‘Look, Kid, about me sending those two looking for you. I want you to know it was nothing against you. I run a tough business. It requires that some things be handled a certain way.’’
‘‘I understand, sir,’’ said Jefferies, being the polite kid now, showing his youthful manners. ‘‘If I’d had any ill feelings, I wouldn’t have come back. Me and my uncle came to do a job.’’ He nodded toward the body in the pushcart. ‘‘My uncle didn’t make it. But I’m sticking until the job’s finished.’’
‘‘That’s what I like to hear, Kid,’’ said Prew. ‘‘You stick through this job, we’ve got plenty more coming.’’ Looking around at the men, he said, ‘‘As you can see, four men didn’t come back with us. They decided they didn’t have the stomach for making big money. So we left them behind.’’ He grinned and added, ‘‘But I don’t expect any of yas here have any objection to getting rich!’’
Around them the men hooted and cheered. ‘‘See what I mean, Kid?’’ said Prew. ‘‘These men will tell you, living by the gun is the only way to live.’’
Having slid down from behind Indian Frank’s saddle, Dick Spivey stood holding the reins to his injured horse in one hand and a bottle someone had passed to him in his other. Raising the bottle to his lips as he listened to Prew and Jefferies talk, he glanced at the body in the pushcart, then at one of the horses standing in line at the hitch rail. His expression turned curious as he looked back at the body, then at the horse and shook his head as realization set in.
‘‘What’s your uncle’s name, Kid?’’ he called out, loud enough to bring attention to himself. The men fell silent.
Jefferies looked at him and said expectantly, ‘‘Ward Tidrow, sir. And who are you?’’
Also taking on a curious look, Prew said, ‘‘This is Dick Spivey, a friend of mine from across the border.
His business is information. He rode down here to tell us it’s time to go.’’
Spivey passed the bottle on to one of the men and wiped a hand over his mouth. ‘‘Yeah, and I’ve got some more information,’’ he said, looking with suspicion at Jefferies as he spoke. ‘‘The body laying there belongs to Rance Hurley, the most awful jackpotting sonsabitch I ever knew.’’
‘‘My uncle was no angel, mister,’’ Jefferies countered quickly. ‘‘He might have gone under lots of other names, for all I know. But he never jackpotted nobody in his life.’’
‘‘Rance Hurley never went under any other names. Last I heard he was selling everybody out to the government. I think there is something slippery afoot here.’’
‘‘You’re calling me a liar?’’ Jefferies asked, taking a step toward Spivey.
‘‘I expect so,’’ Spivey said. He pulled back his riding duster and revealed his holstered Colt. ‘‘Unless you can prove otherwise.’’
‘‘Whoa! Everybody cool down!’’ said Prew, raising a hand toward the two. He looked at Spivey. ‘‘I’ve heard of Rance Hurley. He betrayed everybody he ever rode with. But how can you say this is him, from this far away? Look at this wretch, his eyes pecked out, half his face eaten by buzzards.’’
‘‘Because that’s his barb horse,’’ said Spivey, pointing at the horse at the hitch rail.
Jefferies stiffened, his hand ready to make a grab for his Colt. ‘‘Easy now, Kid,’’ Prew cautioned. To Spivey he said, ‘‘Horses are apt to wind up anywhere. What else have you got before you offer this man your apology?’’
‘‘I’ve got no apologies,’’ Spivey said confidently. He pointed toward the pushcart. ‘‘Somebody bring the cart over here, roll that sonsabitch over and you’ll find a stab wound and a scar running half across his back. I know ’cause I put them there, four years ago in Brownsville.’’ He stared hard at Jefferies as he spoke.
Hallit and White had already turned and trotted over to the cart. When they returned, together they tipped the cart instead of handling the half-eaten, odorous remains. ‘‘Damn if Spivey ain’t right,’’ White said after reaching down with his rifle barrel and raising the tattered remnants of a shirt from the dead man’s back. ‘‘There’s the stab, and the scar, what ain’t been et of it.’’
Jefferies saw the men began to spread out, half circling him. Sonny Nix had disappeared from his sight. ‘‘Hold it, everybody, this is crazy,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘I’m here to make myself some money.’’ But as he spoke his hand streaked up with his Colt cocked and ready. Fanning it back and forth he said, ‘‘This man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’’
The half circle of men advanced a step in spite of his cocked gun. Prew took a step to the side and said in a low growl, ‘‘Take him, Sonny.’’
Jefferies started to turn, but he was too late. Sonny Nix’s rifle butt came forward with a hard solid punch to the back of Jefferies’ head. The young lawman crumpled to the ground like a house of cards, his Colt falling from his hand.
Across the street, hidden from sight, Sabio had to grab Caridad to keep her from running out to Jefferies. As three of Prew’s men picked him up and carried him inside the cantina, Sabio lowered his hand from Caridad’s mouth and loosened his arm around her waist. ‘‘Do not try to go to him. It will only make matters worse. If he could he would tell you to stay put and keep away from these men,’’ Sabio whispered.
‘‘But we must help him!�
�’ Caridad said.
‘‘Yes, and we will,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘But first we must ask ourselves how.’’
‘‘With your power!’’ said Caridad frantically. ‘‘Use your power to keep them from killing him! You must.’’ Tears welled in her dark eyes.
‘‘Caridad,’’ said Sabio, trying to calm her. ‘‘My power is gone, child. Can you not see that I have lost it?’’ He gestured toward the men in the street as they filed into the cantina. ‘‘Even if I still had it, the power to do good has never worked for me against evil such as this.’’
Caridad pulled free of him. ‘‘I have come to realize that your power, your gift, works only when you need it to work for yourself!’’
‘‘No, Caridad, that is not so,’’ said Sabio, crestfallen to hear her talk this way. ‘‘I have done too many bad things and it has caused me to lose my power.’’
‘‘I know of these bad things,’’ Caridad said. ‘‘Louisa has admitted them to me. But these things are things people do because they are weak, or frightened or lonely. God does not punish for being weak or lonely or imperfect. That is the punishment we deliver to ourselves.’’
‘‘Louisa has told you—’’ Sabio hid his face in his hands for a moment. But then he raised his face, stared in her eyes and said, ‘‘All right, I will do what I can to save your young man. But if I save him, you must promise me to leave here with him and never return.’’
Caridad took Sabio’s hand between hers and held it to her bosom. ‘‘I will do as you ask, only save him, Sabio. Please save him, mi hombre santo.’’
‘‘Your holy man . . .’’ said Sabio, repeating her words. Reaching his hand up from between hers and cupping her cheek, he said gently, ‘‘Always I have been your blessed holy man, and yet to myself, I have always been the tortured fool.’’ He looked at the dark open doorway of the cantina.
‘‘Don’t worry, my darling Caridad. I will save him, somehow.’’ He spoke silently to himself as he gazed off across the endless hills east of Esperanza. Ranger Burrack, where are you? But he quickly stopped himself from even hoping that the ranger might show up at a time like this. By now the ranger would be far away, in his own territory.