by Ralph Cotton
In the dim silence, Willis Durant lay slumped against the rock, his horse standing beside him. The horse had only twitched its ears and raised its muzzle toward the two riders as Liam Bowes and Chance Edwards moved past him less than twenty feet away. Perhaps it was the sound of the passing horses that had first caused Durant to drift back toward consciousness. But the riders were well past him and farther into the distance by the time Durant managed to shake his head and feel his senses draw slowly back into focus.
Once the gray veil began to lift from his mind, it took Durant a few more minutes to drag himself up the rock, find the horse’s reins, loosen them, and hand-walk them back to the horse’s muzzle. “Easy, boy,” he said in a thick voice, trying to balance himself on unsteady legs.
He found the saddle horn with a weak hand, then found the stirrup with the toe of his boot. Struggling upward and spilling over onto the saddle, he ran a loose hand down to the holster on his hip, feeling for the pistol butt, making sure it was there. Then he turned the horse, sitting loose and slumped in his saddle, and put it forward into the dusk.
On the trail ahead of Willis Durant, Chance Edwards felt his wounded horse falter and sway to one side, and he slowed the animal down and ran his hand back along its bloody withers.
“He’s done in,” Chance said in a raspy voice, barely making it down from the saddle before the horse beneath him dropped over onto the sandy ground and whimpered in a failing voice. Chance staggered in place with a blood-soaked bandanna tied around his forehead. “I think I’m getting there myself.”
“Give me your hand,” Liam Bowes offered, his own voice weak and gasping. He reached a bloody gloved hand down to Chance Edwards.
Chance shook his head. “No, sir. I think…maybe this is as far as I go.”
“Nonsense, man. We’ll have none of that.” Liam Bowes sidled his horse over and grabbed Chance by his shoulder and pulled up. “Get up here…we’re going to make it to San Carlos…or die trying.”
“Forget it, Bowes…I’ve had it.”
“I said come on!”
Chance Edwards drew a deep breath and got with him, climbing up and clutching with his blood-slick arm as Liam Bowes pulled. Once behind Bowes on the horse, Chance fell forward against Bowes’s back and struggled to say, “Ride on, damn you to hell…how does a man quit this outfit?”
“A man doesn’t,” Bowes said, his heart hammering in his wounded chest, “till I say he does.” They pressed on, the sound of the dying horse fading in the darkness until at length the night consumed it.
By the time they’d made it to the outskirts of San Carlos, the gloom had lifted, lightening to a grainy haze. When Liam Bowes saw the horses at the hitch rail outside the cantina, he nudged Chance Edwards, who lay still and quiet, slumped against his back. Bowes said in a whisper, “Roust up now…we’re here.”
“I…I can’t get moving,” Chance Edwards said.
“Yes you can…one last time, buck up.” He poked Chance Edwards harder. “The Parkers are here.”
Liam Bowes turned the tired horse onto a narrow path that led back between two small adobes. At the sight of the two men, a lank spotted dog had stood up from the ground where it had spent the night. The dog stretched, shook itself off, and stared at the two gray apparitions approaching it. It’s hackles swelled as a low growl rumbled in its throat. But at the oncoming smell of death, and the aura and promise of more death to come, the dog shied back from the soft drop of the horses’ hooves.
“Get out of here,” Bowes hissed; the dog moved off and away with a low whine until it looked back at them once more from a safer distance, then finally it disappeared into the morning’s glare.
In the thin alley, Bowes helped Chance Edwards to the ground. When he slid down beside him with the old man’s sawed-off shotgun in one bloody hand, Bowes palmed the horse on its rump, sending it away. Together, the two men moved to the side of the adobe wall nearest them and leaned against it, gathering their strength.
“We had…a hell of a fine thing going till the Parkers came along,” Chance Edwards panted. He pressed a hand to the wet bandanna around his wounded head, then lowered his hand and looked at it. “Never shoulda took ’em in.”
“New men…” Bowes pulled off one bloody glove with his teeth and spat it to the ground. He nodded, looked at Chance Edwards, and added, “These ones coming up nowdays…there’s no honor in them.”
They stood in silence, looking up the dirt street toward the dim lights of the cantina where a jolt of drunken laughter rose above the sound of breaking glass. A moment later, a woman’s voice called out, pleading in Spanish. Chance Edwards asked Liam Bowes, “Have we still got any interest in the gold?”
But Bowes didn’t answer. Instead, he only looked at Chance Edwards and smiled grimly. Hefting the shotgun from the crook of his arm, he said, “Follow me, Mr. Edwards.” On the dirt street, the first shaft of pale sunlight streamed in from the far horizon.
Chapter 24
Inside the cantina, McCord watched Leo move among the frightened townsfolk, kicking at them, swiping at them with his pistol barrel, and finally grabbing an old man by his thin shoulders and yanking him to his feet. The terrified townsfolk could only watch, ducking their heads and averting their eyes, the old women making the sign of the cross and whispering in prayer to the Virgin Mother.
“You’ll do for starters, you old buzzard,” Leo said, throwing the old man out of the corner onto the dirt floor, where two elderly women sat crying and supplicating beneath their breath. Payton Parker stood in the middle of the dirt floor, chewing on a burnt matchstick between his teeth. Hernando stood rigidly beside him, with the cocked shotgun still against his head. “For God sakes, Payton,” McCord said, banging his empty whiskey bottle on the bar, “do something with him!”
“Why? He’s doing pretty good on his own.” Payton pulled Hernando around with him, facing McCord. “Leo’s hard to stop once he gets wound up.”
“He’s gone crazy, Payton! He don’t have to carry on this way. I’m here for the gold, not this.”
“If you ain’t happy, McCord, leave!” Payton rolled the burnt match to one corner of his mouth, staring at him through feral bloodshot eyes. “I dare you to.” His free hand raised the pistol from his holster, cocking it. Beyond him, Leo stopped and turned also, his eyes a swirl of whiskey-fueled madness.
“Jesus, Payton!” McCord took a step along the bar, raising a hand. “I’m in this thing with you to the end. Don’t get me wrong.”
“Listen, McCord. Leo and me get a kick out of this stuff. If you don’t like it, you never shoulda got in to start with.”
“I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t know what?” Payton sneered. “Didn’t know it was going to get a little bloody? Well, by God, it has. You should’ve thought about it first. That’s one thing about life, McCord…what you don’t know to start with, you damn sure learn before you’re finished.”
“Hell’s fire, Payton,” Leo said, wiping a hand across the seepage on his lips, “let’s get on to the good part.”
But Payton ignored him, still staring at McCord. He jerked Hernando across the dirt floor with him. “Look at this boy here, McCord! Look how scared he is! I’m going to kill him and he knows there ain’t a damn thing he can do to stop it. There’s a lot being said in this boy’s eyes! Open them damned eyes, boy! Look at the last face you’ll ever see.”
“No, no, please, señor!”
Payton shook Hernando. The boy had squeezed his eyes shut, his lips trembling in silent prayer—a prayer his grandmother had taught him when he was no more than a baby and the shadows of a terrible dream lingered near him in the night.
Payton Parker stared at McCord, leaning toward him, the burnt match bobbing between his teeth. “I got you going, didn’t I? You saying you were some kind of rootin’-tootin’ big Texas killer? Wanted to run with el desperados? You mighta killed yourself a few ole boys, got yourself convinced you’re some kind of bad-ass, blood-handed devil
. But right here’s where we are.” Payton Parker jiggled the pistol in McCord’s face.
McCord took another step back. “All right, Payton, easy. I’m with ya here.”
“You ain’t with us yet, but you better get there, damn quick. You better turn some blood, and you better say you love the taste of it. Border Dogs? Shit,” he hissed. “Leo and me ain’t nothing but straight up murderers…always was. Right, brother Leo?”
“As right as you can make it,” Leo said.
Payton pointed his pistol toward the cowering people on the dirt floor. Leo stood among them with his pistol by his side, the old man’s thin arm still clutched in his free hand like the plucked wing of some emaciated bird. “Now you best get your arse over there with him, McCord—grab yourself some hair and skin. Today the axe is down to the stump!”
“Here, take this thing,” Leo said, snatching a woman from the dirt and pitching her to McCord as he dragged the old man along with him and headed for the door. “Let’s go to work now.”
They moved outside the cantina into the dirt street, walking a few feet toward the stable until they stood in plain sight of the foothills. McCord and Leo Parker held the two hostages against their chests, their eyes scanning the land in the growing streaks of early sunlight. Payton Parker stood between them, Hernando out beside him at arm’s length at the tip of the shotgun barrel, his knees weak and trembling in his ragged peasant’s trousers.
“Buenas dias, señoritas!” Payton Parker called out across the hundred-yard span of sandy soil. “We know you’re both out there. We’ve got some folks down here we’re gonna start killing in about five seconds if you don’t answer me! Ya hear? Better say howdy or something, pretty damned quick!”
He stood quiet, waiting and listening. Leo chuckled on his right, boring the pistol barrel against the old man’s ear. McCord held the frail old woman against him, feeling sick as she quaked in his grasp, hearing the whispered plea in her chest quiver against his forearm. “You settle down, lady. Don’t go pissing on me,” he said close to her ear.
“Well, suit yourselves then, I reckon,” Payton Parker called out when no reply came from the barren hillsides. He glanced at Leo and McCord. “Let’s start with the old man first. Get set, Leo. Hold him out when you shoot him—make sure they can get a look at it. Then the woman, McCord. I’ll save this boy for their dessert. What do you wanta bet me that they won’t let things go that far?” He grinned and winked at McCord. McCord swallowed back the sick bile in his mouth.
“Well, you heard him, old-timer,” Leo said. He held the old man out to his side, grinning, squinting one eye shut, making sport of it for a second. “Bet you never figured on going this way, huh?”
“Here we go, ladies,” Payton called out to the hills. “Pay attention up there!” He looked back at Leo and started to nod.
“Wait!” Maria’s voice called out to them from twenty yards up the dirt street. Sunlight mantled her from behind, the rifle butt standing propped against her hip. “Turn them loose. You will have your gold.”
Payton Parker swung toward her first, squinting into the glare of sunlight. “Well, I’ll be—” His words stopped short for a second until his mind caught up to his surprise. Then he smiled, facing her, drawing Hernando around beside him. “See, boys, it didn’t even get started. I was damn sure right.” He chuckled, saying to Maria, “Where’s your friend, the Vanderman woman?”
“She is dead,” Maria said in a flat tone. “A rattlesnake bit her. Let the people go. I’m the one you want.”
“Rattlesnake bite…” Payton looked at the other two in wonder, then back at Maria. “Did you really think we’d believe something like that? Where is she?”
“She is gone. What is the difference where she is? You want the gold. I am the only one who can take you to it. Turn these people loose.”
“Whoa now, little lady.” Payton Parker drew Hernando closer to him. “You don’t waltz in here telling everybody what to do. We might go ahead and kill a couple of these old birds just for the sake of principle—you making us ride all this way, killing ole Delbert and all.” He nodded. “Yep, we’ll go on—at least kill this old man anyway. What do you say, brother Leo?”
“Sounds good to me.” Leo snickered.
“If you kill anyone, you will then have to kill me,” Maria said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Kill me and you will never have the gold. I promise you.”
“Aw, hell, little lady, you ain’t about to—”
“Damn it, Payton!” McCord yelled. “Listen to her, please! She’s not lying. If she’ll take us to the gold, what more do we want? What the hell are we waiting for?”
Payton Parker turned an angry eye to McCord. “You keep your mouth shut, McCord. I call the play here. Leo, if he opens his mouth again, put a bullet in it!”
“Right, brother,” Leo said. He pressed the old man down to ground, keeping a handful of his ragged shirt collar twisted in his hand. Leo moved his pistol back and forth, from Maria farther up the street, to McCord a few feet away from him. “I’ll shoot anybody you want shot—just say the word.”
“You heard him, girlie.” Payton laughed. “It’s all up to me whether you live or die.”
Maria stood firm. She’d stepped out onto the street prepared for whatever outcome fate dealt her this morning. She’d spent the final moments before dawn clearing her mind, watching the first glow of sunlight spread upward along the edge of the earth, as if this coming morning might be her last. Was today a good day to die? But of course it was…
She smiled to herself. Her nerves were surprisingly calm. Her eyes and hands were steady. If her next act would be that final point to where all other actions of her life had led her, then so be it. She took a long breath and tested her grip around the rifle stock, getting ready. The world before her became small, a long tunnel she would now step into and vie for her right of passage.
“You decide only one thing,” she called out in a pointed voice to Payton Parker, her eyes moving across each of the three men. “Whether you want the gold…or whether we kill one another here in the street. All other matters are out of your hands.”
“I like it,” Leo Parker said. He slung the old man to the side, the man scooting across the dirt as he came staggering to his bare feet, then scurried out of sight.
“Go,” McCord whispered in the old woman’s ear, turning her loose and shoving her out of the way. Damn these idiots! If he ever got out of this mess, so help him God.
Payton Parker felt Hernando tug against the rope. “Where you think you’re going, fool? I ain’t turning you loose. I’m still gonna kill ya. I ain’t never turned nobody loose in my life.” As Payton Parker spoke, he kept his eyes on Maria, the sunlight working to her advantage—but not that much, he thought. She’d still go down quick. To hell with the gold. This was what men lived and died for, wasn’t it? Just this. He wasn’t sure exactly what this was, but it wasn’t about gold. It was something much larger than gold. It was…Hell, he had no idea. But it felt right to him. With his hand still holding the rope and the shotgun against Hernando’s head, he leveled the pistol in his other hand toward Maria.
But as he looked at her now, behind her coming out of the golden glow, he saw two dark figures step into view, coming closer. He squinted. Who the hell? As if hearing his question, Liam Bowes called out in a voice as cool and hollow as the updraft from an open grave, “Good morning, Mr. Parker. Thought we’d missed you there for a minute.”
Maria half spun, facing them sideways, seeing the two bloody men walking up the street behind her. Their eyes were glazed, appearing not to see her, or if seeing her, having no interest in her and her small problem of staying alive.
“Son of a bitch…” Payton whispered and looked at Liam Bowes and Chance Edwards for a tense second. But then he blinked, spat the burnt match from between his lips, grinned, and said to Leo and McCord, “Damn, boys, we might have us some trouble here.”
From atop the roof of the cantina, the Ranger had hurried t
o the back of the building and started climbing down the second he saw Maria come walking along the middle of the dirt street. He’d crept into San Carlos under the cover of darkness, those few moments before dawn. Upon hearing the Parkers inside the cantina and seeing through a crack in the door the boy with the shotgun to his head and the people huddled into the corner, he’d pulled back, made his way around the cantina, climbed up, and taken position.
He knew better than to make a move until the Parkers were out in the open. So he’d waited and gritted his teeth. But once he’d heard them walk the people out into the street and heard Payton Parker call out to the foothills, he’d gotten the picture and aimed down from the cantina roof, ready to put a bullet through Payton’s head as soon as he let go of the boy. Up in those foothills, Maria and the Vanderman woman were safe until he could end this thing. Or so he thought.
As his eye trained along the rifle barrel, Payton Parker’s head moving back and forth in his sights, the Ranger had heard Maria’s voice, seen her in the sunlight…and for a brief instant, he thought his mind had played a trick on him. But she was there all right—down there, on the street, one lone woman, armed and ready to stand off with these three killers. He had to get down to her. He had to shift the focus of these men away from her.
So he had hurried; and now as he rounded the dirt street and stopped at the corner of an alley, he looked in one direction at the Parkers and in the other direction at the two wounded men who’d stopped on the other side of Maria. Maria was now right in the midst of a killing zone. One of the men raised a stripped-down ten-gauge shotgun as he spoke, and the Ranger noted how they stood close, side by side, not spread out the way two would do if they entered a gun battle with any hope of coming out of it alive. As the one with the shotgun talked to Payton Parker, the Ranger stepped out in the middle of the street, drawing his big pistol from his holster.