by Ralph Cotton
‘‘What’s your hurry?’’ Prew asked. ‘‘Let’s watch the old brujo make his move.’’ He gave Cherokee a strange patronizing grin and said, ‘‘That way you get to kill two men with your big sharp knife.’’
Cherokee just stared at him, not knowing how he should take his remark. But he settled at the bar and let the big knife slump in his hand. The two watched the crafty interloper move back and forth, bowed at the hearth, stacking some of the wood to one side of the blackened open fire pit and jamming two logs into the glowing embers.
‘‘You called him a brujo,’’ Cherokee said quietly between them, watching the hearth closely. ‘‘Do you think he really is a witch?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Prew, ‘‘but lots of these ignorant townsfolk think he is. That’s all that mattered to him, I suppose. The accordion player told one of the whores that he used to be a priest, but he couldn’t keep his pecker under his robe. Stuck it in anything that moved.’’
‘‘Amen to that.’’ Cherokee chuckled, laying his knife down on the bar top. He watched the hearth as he listened to Prew.
‘‘The accordion player told her that the church hated to lose him because he has some kind of hocus-pocus power or some such nonsense. Instead of getting rid of him outright, they made him a monk and sent him up to live with some other monks in the old Spanish mission. But he spent more time in the women’s bedrooms of Esperanza than he did at doing whatever monks do. They finally tossed him out of the church altogether.’’
‘‘So now he tends fire in the cantina?’’ Cherokee asked curiously.
‘‘I think he just started tending to the hearth tonight,’’ Prew said, giving a knowing grin.
Cherokee looked across the back of the cantina as if searching for Caridad. ‘‘Wonder where that skinny gal is who’s usually with him.’’
‘‘You mean his daughter?’’ Prew said.
‘‘His daughter?’’ Cherokee looked surprised. ‘‘Damn, he sure did keep that thing of his busy.’’
‘‘That’s what the whore said,’’ Prew continued. ‘‘She said he was bedding with a young woman he’d known before he became a priest. He got her fixed up with child, then killed her husband so he could have her and the baby. But then she died too.’’
‘‘A priest killed a man?’’ said Cherokee, staring at the glow of firelight growing stronger in the hearth, bits of fiery ember racing up the stone chimney.
‘‘I wouldn’t put much faith in what a whore says, though, especially one all the way from Mexico City,’’ Prew concluded. ‘‘What would she know about things here in Esperanza?’’
Cherokee tossed back a drink of whiskey and set his shot glass down. ‘‘Brujo, priest, monk, magician— they’re all the same to me. There’s nothing to all that foolery anyway. A man gets what he can take from this world, by gun, knife, or whatever means he has to. If I was God I wouldn’t care what happened to anybody, long as I got what was coming to me.’’ Staring coldly toward the figure stooped down in front of the hearth sweeping up bits of charred cinder, he added, ‘‘Why don’t I ease over there right now and put his fire out for good.’’
Prew threw back a shot of whiskey and said, ‘‘Hell, go on, enjoy yourself.’’
Yet once again, before Cherokee could walk away from the bar, Klevo called out from his guard position in the bell tower, ‘‘Fire in town!’’
‘‘So what?’’ Prew said to Cherokee. ‘‘Let it burn.’’
But no sooner than he’d said it, Clifford Elvey stuck his head in the front door and cried out loudly, ‘‘Fire at the stables!’’
‘‘Damn it, let’s go!’’ Prew shouted, racing for the front door. He stopped at the open doorway and shoved Dan Farr and Matt Harkens back toward the bar. ‘‘You two, stay here. Watch him!’’ He nodded toward Jefferies. Then he turned and ran ahead of the others toward the fiery orange glow above the stables.
As soon as the other men had left the cantina, the barkeeper looked toward the hearth and said in a frightened voice, ‘‘Sabio, you fool, what are you doing?’’
At the open doorway of the cantina, the two men stood craning their necks toward the flames. Upon hearing the barkeeper they turned quickly, in time to see the Colt aimed at them from ten feet away. ‘‘Cut him loose,’’ the ranger demanded, pushing the straw sombrero up off of his forehead. He gave one short nod toward Jefferies sitting slumped in the chair.
Harkens and Farr had raised their hands only an inch after seeing the Colt covering them. They stepped slowly inside the cantina and spread apart a few feet instead of doing what the ranger told them to do. ‘‘Can you really kill a man, Padre?’’ said Farr. ‘‘I mean, pull a trigger and watch the life go out of his eyes. What will God think of you doing—’’
‘‘Damn it, Dan! Don’t you get it?’’ said Harkens, staring at Farr in stunned disbelief. ‘‘He’s no priest! He’s a lawman!’’
Farr looked confused for a moment, then recovered and said quickly, ‘‘Whoever he is, he’s not fool enough to risk shooting that Colt and bringing all the men back here, are you, Padre?’’ He gave a dark grin, his hand lowering to just above his gun butt.
Padre . . . ? The ranger stared at him, his first shot hitting him squarely in the forehead. The bullet sent Farr’s hat and a spray of blood and bone matter spewing above the open doorway. But even as the first shot exploded, the second shot nailed Harkens in the chest as his hand lifted his gun from its holster. He slammed back against the wall beside the doorway and slid down, saying to Farr, ‘‘You stupid . . . son of . . . a bitch!’’
‘‘What the hell is this?’’ Prew said when he arrived at the stables and saw no sign of any fire, but only an orange glow moving away quickly on the other side of the long lean-to stables.
‘‘That’s a wagon!’’ said Cherokee. He stared at the moving orange glow, seeing it get smaller, as if somebody was struggling to extinguish it. ‘‘Want us to chase it down?’’ he asked.
Before Prew could answer, the two shots echoed from the cantina and he turned, cursing loudly in revelation. ‘‘That damn monk!’’ Pistol still in hand, he waved everybody back toward the cantina. ‘‘Come on, hurry it up!’’
‘‘What about the fire wagon?’’ Cherokee shouted, already running along behind him, but staring back over his shoulder.
‘‘Forget it!’’ Prew shouted angrily. ‘‘We’ve been tricked! Two of yas stay here, guard the horses. We can’t lose the horses, not this close to the train job!’’ Behind him Indian Frank Beeker and Niger Elmsly slowed, stopped and turned in the darkness, looking all around the dark shadows surrounding the stables.
In the cantina, behind the bar, the barkeeper helped the ranger cut the rope from around Jefferies and load him up over the ranger’s shoulder. ‘‘I am sorry I called out to you and gave you away,’’ the barkeeper said. ‘‘I truly thought you were Sabio, and that you had lost your mind—his mind, that is.’’
‘‘Don’t apologize,’’ Sam said, moving toward the rear door. He knew that Prew and his men had heard the shots and were by now on their way. ‘‘And don’t take a beating over this. If Prew asks, tell him it was me, and that I took the Kid with me. You don’t know where. Tell him I said Spivey told me everything. He can come on out and face me tonight, in the darkness if him and his men feel up to the job.’’
The barkeeper’s eyes widened as he pulled the rear door open. ‘‘You really want me to tell him this?’’
‘‘I’m obliged if you will,’’ said Sam, knowing that Prew had to weigh his choices tonight. Should he come after him and the wounded Kid, or get ready for the big job that he knew awaited him and his men across the border. ‘‘Gracias,’’ said Sam. He stepped out through the rear door and disappeared into the darkness.
A moment later, as the barkeeper stood behind the bar wiping it with a wet rag, Prew rushed in, his men right behind him. Taking only an unsurprised glance at the empty chair where Jefferies had sat, he said expectantly, ‘‘All rig
ht, what did he say?’’
‘‘First of all, Señor Prew,’’ said the barkeeper, ‘‘I do not like to get involved in troubles between two men who are—’’
‘‘Hey, Hosea! Will you tell him quicker if I lop off a couple of your fingers?’’ Cherokee asked, stepping toward the bar with the big knife gripped firmly.
‘‘Por favor, Señor Prew! He said tell you that Señor Spivey told him everything. He say come face him in the dark if you and your men feel up to the job!’’ the barkeeper said, speaking rapidly in broken English.
‘‘The ranger . . .’’ Prew said in an exasperated sigh.
But on the floor next to the open doorway, Matt Harkens, his hands clasped to his chest, said in a rasping halting voice, ‘‘Yeah, it was . . . that damned . . . ranger.’’
Prew looked down at Harkens in contempt. He noted the smear of blood running down the wall above him. ‘‘Well, thank you, Harkens. Now why is it you’re dying and he’s still alive?’’ In a fit of anger, he drew his gun and shot the dying man four times in his bloody chest.
The men stood staring in silence. After a tense pause Cherokee asked cautiously, ‘‘Want us to get after him?’’
Prew stood mulling it over. Tomorrow at dawn he’d have to have himself and his men on the trail, headed for the border. He looked at the two dead men on the floor, knowing he’d been left two men short. Looking at the barkeeper, he asked, ‘‘Is that the way he said it? He said to tell me to come face him tonight in the dark?’’
‘‘Sí, that is how he said it, señor.’’
‘‘Then that settles it.’’ Prew uncocked the gun in his hand.
Looking uncertain, Cherokee asked, ‘‘You mean we’re all going after him, right?’’
‘‘No,’’ Prew said firmly. ‘‘That’s what he wants us to do. Spivey has jackpotted us.’’
‘‘Yeah, well, let’s go kill the dirty lawdog and be done with it,’’ Cherokee said, seeming puzzled, not understanding Prew’s reasoning.
‘‘And he’ll whittle us down by another man or two,’’ Prew growled. ‘‘And every man we lose fighting him in the dark, that’s one less man we’ll have when we need every gun we can get!’’ He scowled at Cherokee, his revolver still hanging in his hand. ‘‘Use your head, Jake! We’ve got a big job coming up! He knows about it!’’
Cherokee looked surprised. ‘‘So, we’re not going to do anything? We let him walk in here, kill two of us, and take the kid from under our noses. We’re doing nothing?’’
Prew fought back the urge to put one of his last two bullets in Cherokee’s belly. But he took a deep breath and let it out slowly and with it some of his killing rage. ‘‘Yes, we’re going to do something, all right,’’ he said. ‘‘We’re going to get our horses, saddle up and get the hell out of here tonight, instead of waiting till in the morning.’’
Chapter 23
Not wanting to risk Prew’s men finding them at Louisa’s home, Sam carried Jefferies to where he’d left the horses hitched in the cover of trees and brush. On the way there he’d heard Jefferies moan and felt him try to raise his head. ‘‘Don’t worry, Jefferies. It’s me, the ranger,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I’m getting you out of here.’’
‘‘What about . . . Prew?’’ Jefferies asked.
‘‘I don’t think he’ll be coming after us,’’ said Sam. He eased him gently down against a tree near the horses, stepped over and took a canteen from his saddle horn. ‘‘I told him to come face me in the dark,’’ Sam continued as he jerked the bandanna from around his neck and wet it with canteen water. ‘‘He’s got a lot at stake. He can’t afford to lose any more men.’’
‘‘That was . . . good thinking,’’ Jefferies managed to say. ‘‘Now, if I . . . just knew where—’’
‘‘Near Choking Wells at the water tank,’’ Sam said, interrupting him. He stared at the harlequin mask on Jefferies’ face, eased it off over his bruised forehead and laid it aside. ‘‘It all happens four days from now.’’ He pressed the wet bandanna carefully against Jefferies’ swollen eyes.
‘‘That much I overheard.’’ Jefferies groaned. ‘‘Good work, Ranger.’’ He strained to open his purple eyelids and look at Sam. ‘‘Too bad we couldn’t . . . find out who is working with him inside.’’
‘‘Ever hear of a former lawman named Ike Sherard?’’ Sam asked, wiping the young captain’s swollen face gently.
With a moan Jefferies said, ‘‘No . . . but I’m betting you have.’’
The ranger managed a thin smile. ‘‘That’s right. I have. Spivey, the man I caught coming out of town, told me everything I wanted to know about Prew.’’
‘‘Spivey is the one . . . who ruined it for me,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘Is he . . . ?’’ He let his words trail off.
‘‘Yep,’’ said Sam.
‘‘Good work, again.’’
‘‘I didn’t kill him,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I was on the verge of having to, but he slid off of the hillside, landed on a stone ledge.’’
‘‘Well, that’s . . . one more out of the way,’’ Jefferies replied through split and swollen lips. ‘‘I suppose you got the name . . . of the other inside man too?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Sam. ‘‘The other is an army sergeant. Spivey said Sherard won’t let his name out to anybody.’’
‘‘It figures,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘If Sherard let these outlaws know his connection . . . they wouldn’t need him anymore.’’
‘‘Feeling better?’’ Sam asked, noting how Jefferies’ voice had already sounded stronger.
‘‘Yes, I do, just knowing we’re about to get these rats rounded into the same trap.’’ He looked closely at Sam through swollen eyes. ‘‘You stored the dynamite in a good place, didn’t you?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I took care of everything. Are you going to be able to ride come morning?’’
‘‘Nothing feels broken,’’ Jefferies said, laying a hand to his ribs as if checking himself. ‘‘I just took a hard beating. Lucky for me you showed up when you did. I’ve got a feeling things were going to get a lot worse.’’
‘‘Lucky for both of us, Sabio set up a diversion on the other side of the stables, gave me the time I needed to get you out of there.’’
‘‘That’s twice he has saved my hide,’’ Jefferies said in a soft tone.
From the edge of the trees, Sam heard a rustle of brush and swung around toward it, his Colt out and cocked in one motion. ‘‘It is us, Ranger,’’ said Sabio, stepping from the trees into the open moonlight.
‘‘Speaking of Sabio . . .’’ the ranger said. He slipped his Colt back into its holster.
Caridad walked at Sabio’s side. A horse walked behind him, its reins dangling from Sabio’s hand. ‘‘If not for this noisy horse, you would never have heard us coming,’’ he said.
‘‘I know that, Sabio,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Much obliged for your help. I hope all went well for you?’’
‘‘Yes. I built the fire in three whiskey barrels in the bed of a buckboard wagon the way you asked me to. Caridad drove the wagon. By the time I rode away the barrels themselves had caught fire.’’ He stopped and stood with the ranger’s shirt and trousers sagging down around him. His free hand held the loose trousers at the waist. ‘‘Now, I must have my clothes back,’’ he said. ‘‘I have gone so long in a robe and sandals I can wear nothing else.’’
Beside him, Caridad stepped forward. Upon seeing Jefferies’ battered face in the moonlight, she gasped and ran to him. Sam stepped back out of her way as she took the wet bandanna and held it gently to Jefferies’ cheek. ‘‘What have they done to you, mi querido ?’’ she whispered tearfully.
Stepping away from the two, Sam stood beside Sabio, who said under his breath, ‘‘Look. She calls this one her darling.’’ He sighed. ‘‘If my Caridad cares so much for him, he must be a good man.’’
‘‘I believe him to be,’’ said Sam. The two stepped into the trees and exchanged clothing.
> ‘‘I must tell you, Ranger, on the way here I saw Prew and his men riding out of Esperanza,’’ said Sabio, pulling his robe down over him and straightening it.
‘‘So he decided to leave tonight,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Then Jefferies and I need to get mounted and move out ourselves. I don’t want to lose Prew and his men.’’ He walked from the trees to where Jefferies lay with his head cradled in Caridad’s arms.
Catching up to him, Sabio said, ‘‘But he cannot ride tonight. Look at the shape he is in.’’
Jefferies raised his head from Caridad’s lap and said, staring through swollen eyes, ‘‘Oh, yes, I can ride.’’ He sat the rest of the way up and took the wet bandanna from Caridad’s hand. Struggling to his feet, he said to Caridad, ‘‘The fact is I’m a lawman, Caridad. I’ll explain it all to you later. But right now, the ranger and I have to get after these men. They are about to commit a terrible crime against the American government.’’
Caridad stood up too. ‘‘If you go, I am going with you,’’ she said firmly.
‘‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Caridad,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Things are going to get dangerous—’’
‘‘If you do not take me along, I will follow,’’ she said, cutting him off. ‘‘Sabio will not let me go alone. So he will come too.’’ She looked back and forth between Jefferies and the ranger, then asked, ‘‘Why are we wasting time here? If you must go, let’s go.’’
‘‘Sam?’’ said Jefferies, looking to the ranger for guidance.
‘‘Just as far as the border trail,’’ said Sam, looking at Sabio, then at Caridad. ‘‘But you both have to stop there, without any argument about it.’’
‘‘Sí, we will stop and await your return at the border trail,’’ said Sabio.
Helping Jefferies into his saddle, the four rode quietly into Esperanza, where even in the middle of the night, the townsfolk had ventured out warily and looked all around, making sure Prew and his mercenaries had left. When the townsfolk saw the whores from Mexico City walk toward them on the dusty street, many picked up sticks and rocks and stared menacingly at the bedraggled women.