The Legend of El Duque

by J. R. Roberts

  THIRTY-TWO

  “We can’t miss him this time,” Steiger said.

  “How do you figure that?” Tibbs asked.

  “We know where he is,” Steiger said, “we know where he’s leaving from, and he’ll have a bull with him. He can’t hide, and he can’t outrun us.”

  “You mean somethin’ might finally go right?” Jerome asked.

  “I mean it better,” Steiger said.

  “It ain’t been our fault, ya know,” Tibbs said.

  Jerome nodded.

  “I ain’t said it’s been your fault,” Steiger said. “I’m just sayin’ this time things will be different.”

  They all stared down at the Rancho Sandoval.

  “So we gonna stay camped out here and wait?” Tibbs complained. “Ain’t even gonna go into town?”

  “We ain’t goin’ no place,” Steiger said.

  “Mexico City’s not that far—” Tibbs started.

  “We’re not leavin’!” Steiger said. “We’re gonna stay right here until Clint Adams drives out with that bull.”

  “What if somebody else tries to steal it?” Jerome asked.

  Steiger turned his head and looked at him.

  “What?”

  “I said, what if somebody else—”

  “I heard what you said,” Steiger said. “What I want to know is, why did you say it?”

  “Well,” Jerome said, “it just occurred to me we might not be the only ones after this animal. Or after Clint Adams.”

  “I don’t care who else goes after him,” Steiger said, “or the bull. We’re the ones who are gonna take it. Tibbs?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make a fire at the base of this rise and put on some coffee,” Steiger sad. “Jerome, you stay on watch up here. Let me know if you see anythin’. Got it?”

  “I got it, Steiger.”

  “Good.”

  Steiger turned his horse and rode down the other side of the rise, where they and their campfire would be invisible from the rancho. He didn’t like Jerome’s question. What if there was somebody else after the bull? Somebody from right there in Mexico? It was a valid question, but Steiger wasn’t going to worry about it too much. After all, they were right there on the spot, and nobody else was.

  * * *

  Carlos Montero knew which vaqueros on the rancho could be trusted, and which could not. And he knew who could be bought and who could not.

  Esteban Volquez was easily the biggest man on the ranch. He was strong and he was reliable, once you got his attention. The problem was, he was dumb as a rock. But he respected Montero, and the foreman knew he could use that to his advantage. And once he had Volquez in place, others would fall in. Like Cruz and the gringo hand, Montgomery. Those two were not happy working as ranch hands. They wanted something more, and with that bull, Montero would be able to promise it to them.

  That would be three men. He needed one more, a fourth, a man who was good with a gun. Not from up close, not for a showdown in the street with Adams, but someone who could hit what he aimed at from a distance with a rifle.

  He needed a crack shot, a man with no conscience, and he thought he knew where to find him. All he needed was the right amount of money from Antonia.

  THIRTY-THREE

  After breakfast Clint took Mano into the barn to show him the bull. They didn’t need Ramon to open the door. Mano was able to look between the slats.

  “Hijo de un cabron,” the young man said. “He is a beast.”

  “That he is.”

  “We will be able to handle him?”

  “We will,” Clint said, “but I thought Katerina was going to show you how.”

  “She is,” Mano said, “this afternoon.”

  “You’d better watch yourself around Don Pablo’s daughter, Mano,” Clint said. “The old gentleman has plans for her.”

  “She has her own plans, Clint.”

  “And do they include you now?” Clint asked. “You two have just met. Tell me, son. You don’t already think you’re in love with her, do you?”

  Mano didn’t answer. Not right away.

  “I have had lots of girls, Clint,” he said finally. “And lots of women. Older women. Women of all sizes.”

  “But this one is different.”

  “You see it, too?”

  “I see . . . something.”

  “She’s wonderful,” Mano said. “She has a mind of her own, very willful, very strong.”

  “I’m sure her father doesn’t like that.”

  “He does not,” Mano said. “He wants her to do as she is told.”

  “Isn’t that what Mexican women are supposed to do?” Clint asked.

  “All women are supposed to do that,” Mano said, “but not Katerina.”

  “I see.”

  “Her stepmother is the same way,” Mano said. “Perhaps you have noticed how beautiful she is.”

  “I have.”

  “Well, Katerina is a lot like her, that is why they do not get along.”

  “You gonna take her away from all this, Mano?”

  “I don’t know, Clint,” Mano said. “She—we will talk about it.”

  “Talk about it, Mano,” Clint said. “Talk about many things.”

  “We will.” He took another look at the bull. “Magnificent.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Have you seen the other bull? The younger one?”

  “No,” Clint said, “there’s no need. This is the one we want.”

  “Well,” Mano said, “I’ll talk to Katerina on how best to handle him.”

  “Among other things,” Clint said.

  “Yes,” Mano said, heading for the door, “among other things.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Mano was gone five minutes when Antonia appeared in the doorway.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  “It’s your barn,” Clint said.

  “Oh, no,” she said, entering, “it’s my husband’s barn. Everything on this rancho is Don Pablo’s. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I’m starting to see.”

  “There’s a tack room in the back,” she said. “Back there.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Join me there.”

  “For what?”

  “For a talk,” she said. “Maybe more. We won’t be interrupted.”

  Her golden hair glowed; her blue eyes were shining.

  “All right.”

  She led him to the tack room in the back, closing the door behind them and locking it. The room was filled with all sorts of equipment, on the floor and hanging on the wall, but there was also a cot there, which made him wonder how much use the room got as something other than a place to store tack. There was no doubt what was going to happen now. Clint felt foolish to let it happen, but when he turned and looked at her again, he saw he had no choice. This kind of woman did not come along every day. She was beautiful, and willing, if not available.

  The dress Antonia was wearing was a simple frock, probably chosen because it was very easy to get out of. She seemed to simply shrug, and it fell to the floor. Her body was breathtaking, full and smooth, pale and pink in the right places.

  “Antonia,” Clint said, “where is Don Pablo?”

  “He is in his office, deeply involved in his paperwork,” she said. “He stays there for hours.”

  The room began to fill with the scent of her, and his body reacted.

  “And the ranch hands?”

  “The vaqueros are out working,” she said. “We will not be interrupted.”

  “Still,” he said, “this is probably not a good idea.”

  She stepped out of her shoes, walked to him, close enough to put her hands on his chest, close enough for him to feel the he
at coming off her body.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  Hoarsely, he said, “No.”

  She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he allowed his arms to encircle her. Her skin was as smooth as silk, and hot. He held her tightly as they kissed intensely. She kissed him the way a thirsty man drinks water when he comes in off the desert.

  She moaned as they kissed, which only served to inflame him more. She struggled with his gun belt, so he stepped back from her to take it off and set it nearby. Next he unbuckled his trousers and dropped them, then sat on the cot while she removed his boots, and the trousers which had bunched around his ankles.

  On her knees she undid the buttons of his shirt, slid her hands inside, and removed it that way, then leaned forward to kiss his bare chest. As she did, her hand encircled his hard cock, stroking it.

  With both hands on his chest, she lowered her head and took his hard penis into her mouth. She moaned again as she sucked him, and he put his hand on the back of her head. She bobbed up and down on him, sucking him wetly. Then abruptly, she released him, climbed into his lap, and sat on his saliva-slick cock. As her heat closed around him, he groaned out load. She put her arms around his neck and began to rock on him. The wetness of her began to cover his inner thighs. She let her head drop back as she rocked, clasping her hands behind his neck. This gave him easy access to her breasts, which he ravaged with his mouth and teeth.

  Abruptly she opened her eyes wide, stopped rocking, and pressed herself tightly down on him as waves of pleasure began to wash over her. She trembled, then suddenly began bouncing on him like he was a fucking bronco. In moments, he exploded into her, and it felt as if it was coming up from his ankles as he spurted his seed.

  “Oh, God,” she said, staring into his eyes, finally coming to a halt after milking him of every drop.

  “You said it.”

  She kept her hands clasped behind his neck and pulled him forward into a long, steamy kiss.

  “Oh yes,” she said, a dreamy look on her face, “I knew it when I saw you.”

  “Knew what?”

  “This,” she said, wriggling her butt. He was still inside, and his cock was still mostly hard.

  She was in no hurry to get off him, and he was certainly in no hurry for her to get off.

  “Now we can talk,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “El Duque.”

  “What about him?”

  “I need him.”

  “For what?”

  “To get away.”

  “Again,” he said, “from what?”

  “Not what,” she said. “Who. My husband. Don Pablo.”

  “At the risk of repeating myself,” he said, “why?”

  “Because I made a mistake marrying him,” she said. “He doesn’t love me. He just wanted to be able to say he married me.”

  “So you didn’t marry him for his money?”

  “God, no,” she said, “but I do need money to get away.”

  “So you want to sell the bull.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I already paid for it.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait a minute, Antonia,” he said. “You don’t want me to give you the bull, do you?”

  “No. I want you to look the other way while I take it.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Then I’ll have to take it anyway.”

  “How do you intend to do that?”

  “I’ll have help.”

  “Oh, Antonia,” he said, “that’s not a good idea.”

  Finally, she slid off him and got to her feet. She started to get dressed, so he followed.

  “So you thought by having sex with me, you could get me on your side?” he asked.

  “Let us just say I hoped,” she said, “but I’m glad we did it anyway. I hope we will have a chance to do it again before you leave.”

  “I don’t see how,” Clint said, strapping on his gun.

  She smiled, fixed her hair, and said, “I will find a way.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Between Rancho Sandoval and Mexico City was a small settlement which had grown up around a mission. So it was called Mission, Mexico.

  Carlos Montero rode into Mission and reined in his horse in front of the mission. As he dismounted, Padre Pete came out. He was a tall, dark-haired man in his forties, fully robed despite the heat.

  “Carlos,” the Padre said, “welcome. It’s been a while since you attended mass.”

  “Padre Pete,” Montero said, “is he here?”

  “He’s inside,” Pete said.

  “Gracias.”

  As Montero started past the padre, the man grabbed his arm.

  “No damage, please. The collection plate has been very bare these days.”

  “I am sure I can get the señora to be very generous, Padre,” Montero said.

  “Bless you, my son,” Padre Pete said.

  Montero went inside. Quentin was sitting in the first row, staring up at the massive crucifix behind the altar. Montero walked down the aisle and joined him. Even seated, the other man was a head taller.

  “Hola, Quentin,” Montero said.

  Quentin looked at him, then back at the crucifix.

  “Do you have my money?” the big man asked.

  “I do.”

  Quentin put his hand out. Montero took out the money and handed it to him. The big man tucked it away in a pocket without counting it.

  “When?”

  “As soon as they leave the rancho,” Montero said. “They will be moving slowly, driving the bull in a cart.”

  “Going in what direction?”

  “South.”

  “How many?”

  “Two men,” Montero said, “but we will settle for just the gringo.”

  Quentin looked at him. He was thirty, looked forty-five, and had very intense, almost black eyes.

  “I will decide that when the time comes,” Quentin said.

  “As you wish,” Montero said.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “All right,” Quentin said. “I will be there.”

  Montero didn’t move.

  “I must finish praying,” Quentin said.

  “Oh,” Montero said, “sí, all right.”

  He stood up and walked back up the aisle. Padre Pete was still standing outside, looking off into the distance.

  “Do you have a place for the bull?” Montero asked.

  “I do,” Pete said. “It will be safe.”

  “Somebody to care for it?”

  “Sí.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Montero said, “just until we can find a buyer.”

  Padre Pete shrugged.

  “Will the Gunsmith be coming here?” he asked.

  “No,” Montero said, “he will be dead by the time we bring the bull here.”

  “You hope.”

  Carlos Montero hesitated, then said, “He should be dead.”

  “You hope.”

  “That is the plan.”

  “Plans do not always go according to plan.”

  Montero didn’t like the sound of that.

  “It must work,” he said.

  Padre Pete shrugged.

  “I am sure if it does not, the señora will come up with another plan,” he said.

  Montero looked at Pete, opened his mouth to retort, but they both knew that the plan was Antonia’s, and not his. So if it didn’t work, yes, she would have to come up with another one.

  “I will see you tomorrow,” Montero said, “with the bull.”

  “Will the señora be with you?” Pete asked.

  “No,” Montero said, “she will be staying away from this.”

 
; “Very smart,” Pete said. “Smart and beautiful.”

  Montero walked to his horse and mounted up. The padre looked up at him. He had a serene, handsome, unlined face, and he smiled.

  “Please tell the señora we miss her at mass.”

  “I will tell her.”

  The padre watched Montero ride away, sure that the foreman was Antonia’s new lover. He knew the señora had left many lovers in her wake, for he was one of them.

  Padre.

  Lover.

  Sinner.

  And he’d still do anything she wanted.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Clint found Don Pablo Sandoval sitting in the courtyard, holding a glass. He immediately felt guilty for what had happened in the tack room, and swore to himself it wouldn’t happen again. He didn’t make a habit of bedding married women.

  “Would you like some?” Don Pablo asked. “It is lemonade.”

  “Sure,” Clint said. “Thank you.”

  Clint didn’t know how, but the cook appeared with a glass for him a few minutes later, after he had seated himself across from Don Pablo.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking it from her.

  “I need your help, señor,” Don Pablo said.

  “With what?”

  “Your young man.”

  “Mano?”

  Don Pablo nodded.

  “I need him to stay away from my daughter.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “we’ll be leaving tomorrow. Is that not soon enough?”

  “They are off together somewhere right now,” the man said. “Do you know where?”

  “No,” Clint said, “but I’m sure they’re not doing anything wrong. Perhaps they went for a ride.”

  “There are no horses missing.”

  “A walk, then.”

  Don Pablo put his glass down on the table near his elbow.

  “I have plans for my daughter, señor.”

  “I imagine most fathers do,” Clint said. “And I’ll bet most daughters have plans of their own.”

  “She is my only child,” Don Pablo said. “I am responsible for her.”

  “Isn’t she an adult now?” Clint asked.

  “She will always be my child,” Don Pablo said.

  “Well, I’m sure Mano is not trying to interfere with that.”