The Legend of El Duque

by J. R. Roberts

  He changed his direction, headed for the back of the stable.

  * * *

  Carlos Montero watched as Mendez and Ibanez stopped in the doorway of the livery. He turned and looked behind him, and caught just a glimpse of Clint Adams before he disappeared behind the stable. Montero decided to follow him and see what he did. It might also give him some idea of who the gringo was.

  * * *

  “Why do you want to know that?” Mano asked.

  “We are looking for a gringo,” one of them said, “and we want to know if your friend is the one we are looking for.”

  “Why are you looking for a gringo?”

  “That is not important,” the other said. “Just tell us who he is.”

  “If I tell you who he is,” Mano said, “you might not like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he might turn out to be somebody you don’t want to have anything to do with.”

  “Never mind that,” Ibanez said. “Does he have the money on him?”

  “Ah,” Mano said, wondering when Clint would come looking for him, “this is about money.”

  “Sí,” Mendez said, “it is about money. A lot of money.”

  “Well, then you have the wrong people,” Mano said. “We don’t have any money. Now let me pass.”

  Both men dropped their hands to their guns and tensed.

  “You will not pass until you tell us what we want to know,” Mendez said.

  “Who is the gringo?” Ibanez asked.

  Mano remembered something Clint had told him one night around the fire. That he’d never killed a man without giving him a chance to walk away. That he always tried to convince him to live.

  “All right,” Mano said, “but you won’t like this. His name is Clint Adams, and if you don’t let me pass, you will both end up dead.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Clint found a side door to the livery, opened it, and stepped in just as Mano was introducing him to the two men.

  “. . . both end up dead.”

  “What?” one of them asked.

  “Clint Adams?” the other asked.

  “Sí,” Mano said, “now step aside.”

  Clint eyed the two men and made a snap judgment about them. He thought Mano could handle them, but he made himself ready, just in case. He moved farther into the stable, into a stall alongside a horse.

  * * *

  Montero saw Clint go in the side door, decided he could not follow that way. He went around to the back and entered the stable that way, listening intently.

  “I won’t tell you again, step aside,” he heard someone say.

  He moved into a position from where he could watch.

  * * *

  Mano decided that taking the initiative might be the way to go, since these two seemed slow to make up their minds.

  Mano drew his gun.

  The two men seemed startled, and if he expected them to step aside or run, he was disappointed. They went for their guns.

  “Don’t—” he said, but even as he did, he was firing. He pulled the trigger three times, and the two men fell to the ground.

  “Madre de Dios!” he swore, looking around.

  * * *

  Clint saw Mano draw, and knew what was going to happen. He drew his gun, but Mano reacted quickly as the two strangers went for their guns. The young man fired, then quickly glanced around.

  Clint stepped out and said, “It’s okay, Mano.”

  Mano turned and stared at Clint with wide eyes. Clint stepped past him and checked the two men.

  “Are they . . .” Mano asked.

  “Yes, dead,” Clint said. “Reload and holster your gun. The law should be here soon.”

  “What will we tell them?” Mano asked.

  “The truth, that these two men tried to rob you and you killed them.”

  “Well,” Mano said, holstering his gun, “that is sort of the truth.”

  “Yes, it is. Did they ask about the money I’m carrying?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s when you told them who I was?”

  “Sí,” Mano said. “I thought it would scare them. I did not want to kill them.”

  Clint looked out the door, did not see the man who had been on lookout. The shots probably scared him away.

  “What is it?” Mano asked.

  “There was a third man,” Clint said. “He probably ran off.”

  “So what do we do?” Mano asked.

  “We’ll wait,” Clint said. “The sound of the shots should bring the law. It would in most towns.”

  Mano looked around the interior of the livery.

  “Where’s the owner?”

  “He must have run off, too,” Clint said.

  Mano looked down at the two men.

  “The first time’s always the hardest, Mano,” he told the young man.

  “Actually,” Mano said, “it was a lot easier than I thought, even though I am not Clint Adams.”

  * * *

  Montero heard the name “Clint Adams,” and knew he had to get out of that stable. He hadn’t bargained for having to deal with the Gunsmith.

  He had to get back to the rancho.

  * * *

  Clint turned and looked at the back of the stable.

  “What is it?” Mano asked.

  “I heard something.”

  They both walked to the back. Clint looked around, directed his attention to the dirt floor.

  “Fresh tracks,” he told Mano.

  “Somebody was here?”

  “Yes,” Clint said. “Watching you, or us.”

  “Then he heard who you are,” Mano said, “and he ran.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “yes, you’re probably right.”

  “Just hold it right there, you two!” they heard someone say from behind them.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The sheriff walked Clint and Mano to his office at gunpoint, their guns tucked into his belt. He already had men removing the dead bodies from the livery.

  “Have a seat, caballeros,” he told them as they entered his office, “and start talking. I do not like having men killed in my town.”

  Clint looked at Mano and nodded. The younger man started talking, explaining that they had just ridden into town, that Clint went to the hotel while Mano went to the stable with the horses, where two men tried to rob him.

  “And you killed them.”

  “Sí,” Mano said, “I had no choice.”

  “And are you a pistolero, señor?”

  “I am not,” Mano said. “In fact, those were the first men I ever killed.”

  “And you?” the sheriff asked.

  “I was inside the livery, in the back,” Clint said. “I saw the whole thing.”

  “It happened the way he said?”

  “Just the way he said,” Clint said. “I heard them asking about money.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Did you know those men, Sheriff?” Clint asked.

  “No,” the lawman said, “I never saw them before today.”

  “So they’re not citizens,” Clint said.

  “No.”

  “And it’s our word against . . . well, nobody’s,” Clint finished.

  The lawman took a deep breath, then took their guns out of his belt, and set them on the desk.

  “Take your weapons.”

  They picked them up and holstered them.

  “When will you be leaving town?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Clint said, “and no later.”

  “That suits me,” he said. “Do not disappoint me.”

  Clint nodded and headed for the door. Mano followed him.

  “Where are you headed, señores?” the s
heriff asked.

  Clint looked at him and said, “That’s not part of the deal, Sheriff.”

  Clint and Mano walked back to the hotel, went into their room.

  “Well,” Clint said, “now they know who I am, and where we are.”

  “They know we are coming,” Mano said. “Didn’t they know that anyway?”

  “Yeah, I suppose they did,” Clint said. “Look, we’ve got to get something to eat, and then come right back here. No more trouble.”

  “I agree,” Mano said, “no more trouble.”

  “All right, then,” Clint said. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Montero was on his horse, heading back to Rancho Sandoval. He couldn’t tell Don Pablo that the Gunsmith was coming, because he wasn’t supposed to know that. He could tell Antonia, though. See what she would do with that information.

  The Gunsmith was coming to Rancho Sandoval to buy El Duque.

  One legend was coming to buy another. How could he stop that?

  TWENTY-SIX

  Clint and Mano came out of the hotel in the morning, and walked to the livery. The sheriff was waiting there.

  “Seeing us off, Sheriff?” Clint asked.

  “Just making sure, señor,” the man said, “and I am only doing my job.”

  “Yes, you are,” Clint said, “and very well, too.” Clint was referring to his handling of the shooting incident.

  They entered the barn, saddled their horses themselves, and walked them out.

  “Señor,” the sheriff said, “I hope on the way back, you will take another route.”

  “We will, Sheriff,” Clint said. “I guarantee it.”

  “Gracias, señor.”

  Clint touched the brim of his hat, and he and Mano rode away.

  Sometime later, Mano complained, “You let him run us out of town.”

  “It’s his town, not ours,” Clint said. “He had to save face. It did us no harm to let him.”

  Mano thought about that, then said, “I guess you are right.”

  “You stand your ground or fight only when it benefits you, Mano, and never just to do it.”

  “I will remember.”

  Carlos Montero reached the rancho a full half a day before Clint and Mano would. He went right to the barn and unsaddled his horse. When he turned to leave, he saw Don Pablo standing there, watching him.

  “I do not understand you, Carlos.”

  “Patrón?”

  “I have given you everything,” Sandoval said, “and in return, all I expect is loyalty.”

  “I am loyal, patrón.”

  “Are you back, and prepared to work?” Sandoval asked. “Or will you be running off again on some mysterious personal task?”

  “No, patrón,” Montero said. “I am ready to work.”

  “Then get to it,” Sandoval said. “Do not make me think twice about giving you your high station.”

  “No, patrón,” Montero said, “I will not.”

  Sandoval regarded him for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.

  Montero breathed a sigh of relief, and wondered when he would get the opportunity to speak with Antonia Sandoval.

  Steiger reined in his horse and stared down at the Rancho Sandoval. He finally knew where they were.

  Jerome and Tibbs came up on either side of him and looked down.

  “Wow,” Tibbs said, “that’s a big spread.”

  “Sure is,” Jerome said.

  “You think we beat Adams here?” Tibbs asked.

  “I do,” Steiger said, although he wasn’t sure.

  “Unless we can keep him from reachin’ there,” Tibbs said, “we ain’t gonna get that money from him. We’re gonna have to try to take the bull.”

  “How the hell we gonna get a bull back to Wyoming?” Jerome asked.

  “We’ll let Adams pack the bull up,” Steiger said.

  “But how we gonna get the bull from him without havin’ to face him?”

  “He’ll be concerned with the bull,” Steiger said. “We’ll get the drop on him, either goin’ in or comin’ out.”

  * * *

  “It is over that rise,” Mano said, “about an hour ahead.”

  “All right,” Clint said, “it’s taken long enough. All we need is no more trouble for one hour.”

  As if on cue, they heard riders coming up on them from the east. They both turned and Mano stood in his stirrups to get a good look.

  “Rurales,” he said.

  “Of course,” Clint said. “One more hour was too much to ask.”

  “We can run for it,” Mano said.

  “Run where?”

  “To the ranchero,” Mano said. “Don Pablo will handle the soldiers.”

  “I’m not going to let the man see me for the first time, leading a cadre of soldiers onto his spread.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We just wait right here,” Clint said, “and you let me do the talking.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The rurales approached. There were a dozen of them, with one man at the vanguard wearing captain’s bars. The uniforms were all soiled, indicating these men had been riding for some time—or they were all pigs.

  The captain was a man in his thirties, with dark eyebrows and mustache, lots of dark hair sprouting from beneath his cap, and from his open collar. He had a long, nasty-looking cigar in his mouth. If it had been lit at one time, it was not now.

  “Señores,” he said, “I must ask you please to stand fast.”

  “We already are, Colonel,” Clint said, deliberately promoting the man.

  “It is captain,” he said, “Captain Ortiz of President Diaz’s guardias rurales. And you are?”

  “My name is Clint Adams,” Clint said. “I’m an American. This is Mano de la Vega.”

  “De la Vega?” the captain repeated, giving Mano an appraising look. “You are related to Don Sebastián de la Vega?”

  “I have that honor,” Mano said. “He is my father—and a friend of Diaz.”

  “Indeed,” Captain Ortiz said. He looked at Clint. “And what brings you to our country, señor?”

  Clint could see only one reason to lie. He didn’t trust the rurales, so if he said he had come to buy a valuable bull, they would assume he had money on him. And they might “confiscate” it.

  “I rode down here to visit an old friend,” Clint decided to say.

  “And who is that?”

  “Don Pablo Sandoval.”

  The captain sat back in his saddle, keeping his back straight. Within a minute of each other, he had heard the names “Don Sebastián de la Vega” and “Don Pablo Sandoval.” These were not men to be trifled with.

  “And from where did you come?”

  “Texas,” Clint lied.

  “That is a long way to come for a visit, señor,” Ortiz said.

  “Yes, it is,” Clint said, “but Don Pablo is a very good friend.”

  “And how did the young Señor de la Vega come to be riding with you?”

  “Señor Adams is also friends with my father, as we said,” Mano replied. “My father has been injured, so when we heard Señor Adams was coming to Mexico, he sent me to see him. I decided to ride down here with him.”

  Ortiz eyed Clint suspiciously.

  “Your reputation is well known down here, señor,” Ortiz said. “I hope you are not here to add to it.”

  “Not only am I not intending to add to it,” Clint said, “but I’m sure what you have heard has been greatly exaggerated.”

  “Interesting . . .” Ortiz said. He leaned over a bit to look at Clint’s saddlebags, which were not bulging. Neither was the burlap sack hanging from his saddle, but that seemed to interest the captain. That was okay with Clint, though, as long as they didn’t try to sear
ch him.

  “What is in the sack?”

  “Coffee, beans . . .” Clint said.

  “Alas,” Mano said, “no bacon.”

  “No,” Clint said.

  “May I see?” Ortiz asked, extending his hand.

  Clint hesitated, then said, “Sure.” He handed the bag over. Ortiz in turn handed it to his second in command, who opened it and rooted around in it.

  “Sí, mi Capitán,” he said. “Coffee and beans, and some dried beef.”

  He handed the bag back to Clint directly, who hung it back on his saddle.

  “Captain,” Clint said, deciding to take the initiative, “perhaps you and your men would like to escort us to Don Pablo’s rancho?”

  “No, I do not think so,” Ortiz said, since Don Pablo was not a particular friend of President Diaz. “You and your amigo may continue. Perhaps we will see you once again on your way back to Texas.”

  “Sure,” Clint said, “maybe then I’ll be carrying something you can confiscate.”

  “Ándale, señor,” Captain Ortiz said, “before I change my mind.”

  “Sí, señor,” Clint said. “Vaya con Dios, Capitán.”

  “And with you, Mr. Adams,” Captain Ortiz said, “and with you.”

  “Come on, Mano.”

  Clint and Mano rode away, aware that the captain and his men were watching them. They finally topped the rise and went down the other side, and out of sight.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  They came within sight of the rancho.

  “Well,” Clint said, “that’s impressive.”

  The house was sprawling, mostly wood and white stucco, with a courtyard in the center. There was a huge barn with a corral on either side, and a bunkhouse that would be the main house on any other ranch.

  “It is a nice little place,” Mano said.

  “Little?”

  “You have not been to Rancho de la Vega in a long time,” Mano said.

  “I see.”

  Clint was sure Mano was seeing through jaded eyes.

  “Let’s go down and introduce ourselves,” Clint said.

  They had to ride down a hill and across an expanse of desolate ground. They were still about half an hour away.

  They could have been hit on the way down, but they weren’t.