Widowmaker Jones

by Brett Cogburn

  “Young Cortina had him a little book learning somewhere. Speaks Mex, English, and a smattering of French. That learning has given him the big head, and that’s why we’ll catch him.”

  Newt remembered the confident, almost mocking way that Cortina carried himself. “I’d think a smart man would be harder to catch.”

  “Should work like that, but it don’t always,” the judge said. “The reason Cortina is so cocky is that he thinks he’s smarter than the rest of us. A man don’t ever want to underestimate his enemies, but young Cortina will be lying down there with his sweetheart laughing about how he stole my jaguar hide and me not knowing how to catch him or where he’s at. He’ll have his guard down.”

  “There were several men with him back in Texas.”

  “And that’s why we’ll have to ride careful. His numbers change from time to time, but he’s always got a handful of no-goods riding with him.”

  “Won’t be easy.”

  The judge shook his head. “He won’t want his amigos with him on this romance business. I’m thinking he’ll leave them somewhere close while he goes off courting. That girl’s pretty enough to make him stingy, and he’s every bit as careless as he is bold.”

  “Be easier to kill him on the spot than to try to get him back to your place,” Newt said. “I imagine those men of his will come after us when they get wind we have him.”

  “I’ve thought of that, and don’t get me wrong. I’d enjoy putting a bullet in young Cortina’s brainpan, but it’s a rare occasion to get a chance to hang such a sassy bandit. Folks down here on the border will get the message that you don’t mess with a Bean. No, sir. We stick to my plan.”

  “Gonna be a long ride back to the border, even if we can catch him.”

  “You let me do the worrying. Best we get some sleep.”

  Newt rose from the fire and chose a bare spot of ground between three boulders, picking up the smaller chunks of rock and gravel before spreading his blanket. The judge had no bedroll, nor did he seem inclined to have one or to be bothered by it. He simply lay down on his back as close to the fire as he could, wiggling a depression for his shoulders, legs outstretched, and crossing one ankle over the other. He cocked the pistol tucked behind his belt but left it there with his hand resting on it. Shoving his hat brim down over his face with the other hand was the last of his bedtime preparations.

  “Doesn’t it worry you to sleep with the pistol cocked in your drawers?” Newt asked.

  “I like to be prepared in case some bandit sneaks up on us in the night and wishes a fight.”

  “What if you get to having a bad dream? You might blow off your parts.”

  “I don’t have nothing but good dreams, and old though I may be, I still value my parts as much as the next man.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Like I said, you let me do the thinking. I’ll lead us to young Cortina, and then you can take him by the lip and hold him for me. I’m thinking that’s all you might be good for.”

  “I’ll try not to let you down.”

  “Good. Hush up now. You talk too much, and I’m a light sleeper.”

  Newt rolled over on his side with his back to the fire and the judge and with his blanket pulled up to his ears. He hoped he would get to sleep before the judge, for the old man snored horribly.

  “I’m going to miss Shanghai. I counted him as a good friend, and he served me loyally,” the judge said at the perfect, annoying moment when Newt was about to succumb to sleep.

  Newt rolled over and looked across the fire, but the judge was already snoring.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was no sense in leaving Piedras Negras without knowing which direction Cortina had fled. Surely someone had seen him if he had, indeed, come through the town. The six white horses in his possession were a thing to catch people’s eyes.

  Yet, it took Kizzy most of the day to find a baker woman who had seen the outlaw and his gang. Cortina and his men had spent the night at the hotel, leaving the horses in the livery barn across the street. The livery man told much the same tale, adding that the horses were so beautiful that many had come to his barn the night before to see them. Cortina explained his possession of such fine mounts as the result of a trip far to the north to purchase them from an American horse breeder. Everyone believed him, except for those who had seen the horses when Kizzy and Fonzo had come through town the first time. But nobody contradicted Cortina’s story, in part because he was a known ruffian and his men had many guns, and in part because all there knew that the Americans possessed many fine horses and should be a little more generous by sharing them with their poorer neighbors south of the Rio Grande.

  Kizzy scolded herself for not making a careful search of the town the night before while Cortina was still there. At worst, at least she knew that Cortina had headed west with the horses, even if he had almost a day’s head start on her.

  She wiped at the corners of her eyes, mad that she was crying. Fonzo paced when he was upset, and she cried.

  The baker woman was watching her when she came out of the livery barn, and motioned her back over. She took one look at Kizzy’s wet eyes and clucked her tongue and shook her head.

  “You are very upset, no?” the woman asked.

  “Those horses are all my brother and I have. We are supposed to do a show with them in Monterrey at the end of the month. President Díaz will be there.”

  “Díaz.” The woman spit on the ground. “Benito Juárez should have killed the tyrant years ago when he had the chance.”

  When the woman noticed that Kizzy had no opinions on the politics of the land, she put a hand on her shoulder. “You should not go after Cortina. No good will come of it.”

  “We have no one else to help us. We must go after him.”

  “Well then, many know that he has a woman near Zaragoza. Her father and his vaqueros came here not too long ago, looking for Cortina and wanting to kill him. He is a rich man and will not tolerate a poor outlaw casting a bad name on his daughter.”

  Kizzy wiped at her eyes again. “And this girl lives in Zaragoza?”

  “Her father’s rancho lies north of there on the Rio de San Antonio. Ask for the hacienda of Don Alvarez. All the people in that country work for him and will point the way for you.”

  “Gracias.”

  “De nada. You owe me no thanks. I should be ashamed for telling you and perhaps sending you to your death.”

  “Would Cortina kill a woman?”

  “He does not have such a reputation, but for horses like those I would think his kind might. And some of those that ride with him would not need the excuse of the horses. Their hearts are black and they kill for the fun of it. No woman is safe with them. I hear one of them raped a farm girl at Nava no more than a month ago.”

  “I’ll do what I must.”

  “We all must die, but none of us should hurry to death. It will find us without seeking it out.”

  * * *

  It was dusk before Kizzy made it back to their wagon. Fonzo was waiting for her.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “Cortina was here last night.”

  “I know. Everyone knows, but he is gone now. Gone to the west, but where? We aren’t trackers.”

  Kizzy handed him a half loaf of bread wrapped in a bit of cheesecloth. “The baker woman gave me this.”

  Fonzo tore off a chunk of the bread and spoke with his mouth full. “The bread is good, but what do we do next?”

  “The baker woman said that Cortina has a girlfriend in Zaragoza. She gave me the girl’s name and where she lives. She thinks he is on his way there.”

  Fonzo stood quickly. “I will hitch the team.”

  “No, we don’t know the road to Zaragoza and we should travel it in the daylight.”

  “He’s getting away.”

  “We can’t run him down with the wagon, but if he is going to see this girl we can find him there,” she said. “I’m told her father is rich and
does not like Cortina seeing her. He has many riders on his ranch, and maybe he will hear our story and help us get back our horses.”

  Fonzo nodded, thinking it out himself. “What if this rich man won’t help us?”

  “We will get some sleep tonight and then go to Zaragoza tomorrow. We will see then if he will help. If not, we will think of something else.”

  “It’s hard to sit here and wait when I know Cortina is so close.”

  “Patience. Stay calm and do as I ask.”

  “I will stay calm.”

  The thing happened the moment he said it. The rurale captain came up the street by himself and tied his horse in front of a cantina across from where their wagon was parked. He paused before going inside, noticing Kizzy and Fonzo watching him, and lifted a hand in a mock wave and with a cruel grin on his mouth.

  Kizzy put a hand on Fonzo’s shoulder, as if she could hold him in place. “Forget him for now. It’s Cortina that must come first.”

  “Did you see how he mocked us?”

  “I saw, but you must be smart. Don’t do anything that will put the rurales after us. We can’t have that. Not now.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. How about I cook you some supper?”

  “More beans?”

  “I kept Vlad tied up today, so you wouldn’t feel like a chicken thief.”

  “Maybe I need to rethink my position on that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Something woke Kizzy, and it took her a while to come fully awake and realize what it was. She had fallen asleep on her campstool, leaned back against the side of the wagon with Vlad curled up at her feet. The big, white dog hadn’t growled, nor was he awake.

  Fonzo was gone. The fire had died down to nothing, and she searched the dark around the wagon and then inside the wagon, yet there was no sign of him. Fearing the worst, she checked inside the rear door of the wagon for the shotgun they kept on wall pegs there. When she lit a lantern she saw the shotgun was where it was supposed to be, but her gun rig that hung beside it had one empty holster.

  She ran down the steps and strained to make out the cantina in the distance. There were still lights burning inside, but the rurale captain’s horse was gone.

  She went back in the wagon and took up the shotgun and then untied Vlad. Together, they set out. For some reason, something was telling her to head out of town, and she followed that hunch. They walked for what seemed like a long while, but in reality, they were only a quarter of a mile outside town. The river bridge and the border guards’ lanterns were visible from where she stood.

  Vlad growled, and she reached down and felt him to see where he was pointed and where his attention was focused. To their left, the river made a sharp bend, doubling back far enough to the south that it came near the road for a short stretch. Something was moving in the wild growth along its banks. She could hear the limbs breaking and someone breathing hard.

  She eared back one hammer on the shotgun and waited. The shadowed form coming toward her was already visible. Whoever was coming was leading a horse.

  Vlad growled again, and the person stopped.

  “Don’t come any farther.” Kizzy felt silly warning somebody who might only be coming from the river for a perfectly good reason and meaning her no harm.

  “Sister, is that you?”

  “Fonzo?”

  “Help me.”

  “What have you done?”

  He came to her and fell against her. Something hard bumped her leg, and when she reached down she found her pistol clutched in his hand. The barrel was still hot.

  “Whose horse is that?” she asked, already fearing what he was about to say.

  “I followed him out of town.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I put rocks in his clothes and shoved him in the river.”

  “Oh, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t intend to kill him, but he laughed at me and then he came at me with a knife.”

  “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  “He was drunk and wouldn’t stop when I told him to.” Fonzo was shaking and his voice sounded lost. “He said when he was finished with me he was going to find you and do awful things.”

  “We can’t be caught with his horse.”

  “What can we do with it?”

  “We can hide the saddle and send the horse across the river. It might be a while before anyone finds it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s done is done. Go to the wagon and hitch the team. I’ll be along as quick as I can.”

  “I will stay and help you.”

  “No, I need to you to hook up the wagon and pack our things. We need to get out of here in a hurry.”

  She took the horse from him and waited until he was headed toward their camp before starting for the river. She took the saddle off and hid it in the shallows beneath the eroded roots of a giant tree leaning over the river. Then she led the horse out until she was thigh deep and slipped the bridle off and slapped the horse on the hip. The animal threatened to turn back, but she splashed and stumbled to keep between it and the near bank, waving her arms trying to spook it in the direction she wished. The dog helped, and its barking made her afraid that the guards at the river crossing or the entire town would hear him and come to investigate. After much effort, the horse finally headed for the far bank, swimming in the faint moonlight with only its head showing above water.

  She watched until it went out of sight, and then listened longer to make sure that it had not doubled back. When she heard it splash out on the far side she walked along the riverbank, looking for any sign of the rurale captain’s body. She wished she had a lantern. There was no telling what evidence of his crime Fonzo might have left.

  After she tripped twice and scratched herself in the heavy growth, she gave up and headed back to town, glad that Vlad was with her. Her heart was beating as if she had run a race, and her ears kept telling her that there was someone else’s footstep on the road behind her. She looked over her shoulder often, and was in a run by the time she reached the wagon. Fonzo had their team already hitched to it and was loading the last of their things.

  She helped him and then climbed up onto the wagon seat with the shotgun propped up on the dashboard. Fonzo was soon beside her. He wasn’t shaking anymore, and his breathing was so quiet she couldn’t hear it.

  “They’ll come after us if they find him,” he said. “There’s no way we can outrun them in this.”

  “Maybe they will take the wrong road. That will buy us time.” She slapped the slack reins on the team’s backs, and they lunged forward in the traces. The wagon creaked and the dry wheel and axle squeaked.

  “I thought you greased that axle two days ago,” she said.

  “I forgot. Loud, isn’t it?”

  Any moment, she expected the screeching wheel hub to wake someone and bring them out of their home to see the wagon passing by. She urged the team to a trot, pointing them toward the middle of town.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked. “Maybe we should cross the river to the American side and wait there and see what happens.”

  “You want those horses back, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s supposed to be a road that goes southwest to Zaragoza. That’s where we’ll find Cortina.”

  “If the rurales don’t catch us first.”

  “Yeah, if the rurales don’t catch us first.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The horsemen passed below their camp right after sunup. The judge was still nursing his mug of coffee and carried it with him to a better vantage point. Newt leaned against a boulder beside him and peered over it at the road along the river.

  “That white horse is easy to spot,” the judge said. “Fine-looking horse, but I wouldn’t have him. Pick him out of the brush a mile away.”

  The other of the two travelers rode a normal-colored bay, and they were going down the road at a high lope. Newt wished he had a
set of binoculars or a spyglass, for it was at least three hundred yards to the road. But apparently, the judge had wonderful eyesight.

  “That fat one on the white horse is Miguelito,” the judge said. “I’d know him anywhere.”

  “Is he one of Cortina’s gang?”

  “Yep, and he’s going somewhere in a hurry.”

  “You figure?”

  “He never bought a horse like that. I’d imagine he stole it and is headed as fast as he can away from its rightful owner.”

  “Who’s that other one?”

  “Can’t tell, but if he’s with Miguelito he’s bound to be bad.”

  Newt ran for his horse, but the judge seemed content to watch the bandits ride away.

  “Come on,” Newt said.

  “No hurry. They’ll hit Piedras Negras in a couple of miles. We can have a talk with them then.”

  “I don’t share your calm.”

  “Patience. I don’t have any use for Miguelito, and he’s too fat to haul all the way back to Langtry to hang,” the judge said. “You can kill him when I’m through talking to him.”

  * * *

  The white horse, along with its bay counterpart, was tied in front of the first cantina they came to when they reached Piedras Negras. The town was busy and full of people on the street, and that made Newt nervous for what it was they had to do. He was a foreigner in a strange land, and could only guess how the native citizens would look on a gringo accosting one of their own.

  The cantina was no more than a picket jacal—slim wooden posts set butt-end in the ground with adobe dobbed over the outside of it. The roof wasn’t seven feet off the ground, and a sow and her litter of little pigs were resting in the mud hole off to one side of the door.

  “This Miguelito isn’t picky about where he drinks,” Newt said, pulling up his horse.

  “No. Being picky will get you nowhere in Mexico,” the judge said. “How about you ride around back in case there’s a back door? I’ll go in the front and see if I can talk to these boys.”

  “Why don’t I go in the front with you?”

  The judge rubbed out his cigar on the cap of his saddle horn and put it in his vest pocket. He then took out his watch and checked the time, as if it mattered for what he had planned. “No, Miguelito’s dumb as a box of rocks, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be edgy. He sees me come in the door and he’s liable to start shooting and ask questions later. Especially if you’re with me. Your looks don’t exactly inspire trust.”