Late on a sun-blasted morning without a breath of air stirring out in the dusty plaza, Kendrick and Doc sat in the shade of a rickety porch overhang on backless stools tipped against the rough adobe front of a nameless cantina. Each man was puffing on a long, twisted black cigar and each had a tall glass of beer—Mexican beer, unfortunately, from Kendrick's perspective—balanced on his thigh.
Exhaling a stream of dark gray smoke, Doc said, "Seems to me we've done this before."
"Sort of," Kendrick allowed. "But not exactly."
"Different place, sure. But otherwise the same."
"Uh-uh … up in New Gleanus, they had way better cigars."
Doc chuckled. "True enough. I'm not so sure these dreadful things weren't partly rolled with droppings out of one of those goat pens down the way."
"Just don't think on it too much … and I'd appreciate it if you didn't share that kind of speculatin' with me, thanks."
They sat quiet for a time, smoking.
After a bit, Doc said, "You plan on riding out soon?"
"Expect so. Startin' to get that feeling … Long about tomorrow mornin', most likely."
"What about Estraleta?"
"I'm pretty sure she knows it's comin' on. Besides, in case you ain't noticed, she hasn't been hangin' around me all that much lately."
"Spends a lot of time helping out over at that infirmary we got set up."
"Uh-huh. Spends a particular lot of time lookin' after young Bernardo."
"Yeah, I've noticed. Nasty shoulder wound he's got there."
"Must be. For a tough young hombre he's sure takin' a long time to heal."
"You jealous?" Doc wanted to know.
Kendrick rolled the cigar around in his mouth, took a minute before answering. "I was a little bit, in the beginning … Pride, I reckon, more than anything … But who the hell was I kiddin'? Estraleta and I both knew—and you did, too—that I was never gonna stick around here very long once the shootin' was over." Kendrick shrugged. "Well, the shootin's over. It's time for me to move on … Time for Estraleta to move on, too, in her own way."
"This could be a good place to live, if it stays like it is now," Doc said.
"You think that's possible? You think Mexico City is gonna allow it?"
Now it was Doc's turn to take his time answering. When he did, he said, "Yes, I do. Maybe I'm biased by so badly wanting to believe that. But with all the recent killing and all the corruption and violence that preceded it … after so much wrong that's already been done here … Only a fool would risk a return to that kind of turmoil by attempting to retaliate too severely. Especially with both leaders lying in the ground. Given that, it should be easy enough to declare compassion for what could rightfully be called mere followers."
"But, whether Mexico City knows it or not, there are no 'mere followers' left here anymore. Not after Hunt Bradley showed 'em how to live—and how to die, if they had to."
Doc nodded somberly. "Amen to that."
They were quiet again for a spell, sipping beer and puffing on the god-awful cigars.
At length, Kendrick said, "We ain't had much of a chance to talk about it before now … But you know, don't you, that he purposely killed himself on that grenade?"
"Yes. I know," Doc replied.
What the two men were referring to had to do with the detonation design of a Ketchum grenade. The explosives inside the egg-shaped ball could only be set off when the plunger on one end was depressed. When thrown, the grenade was supposed to be lobbed in a high arc so that, when the plunger end struck the ground, it triggered the charge. The quill-like "tail" on the opposite end was meant to act as a stabilizer in flight to help the ball land properly.
The fact that the grenade thrown into their midst on the day of the battle had not gone off on impact was a pretty clear indicator it had landed wrong and likely wouldn't have gone off at all. During the war, Southern troops had discovered that un-detonated Ketchums were stable enough to be picked up and thrown back at the Union lines.
This could only mean that, recognizing the Ketchum thrown by the Rurales and realizing its landing had been a dud, Bradley saw in it an opportunity for achieving that blaze of glory he so desperately wanted. So he threw himself on it, purposely hitting the plunger once his body had it covered, and went to a place where he would be free from the final ravages of his cancer while at the same leaving behind the inspirational legacy he hoped would carry his cause even after he was gone.
Only Kendrick and Doc would ever know the truth.
"We must never speak of it further," Doc said now.
"Goes without sayin'," Kendrick agreed.
"He's in a better place, and so are the people of Bordados … at least for the time being."
Kendrick dropped the stub of his cigar in the dirt and ground it out with his boot heel. "I'll hold out a sincere hope it stays that way. I truly will," he said. "But, as already stated, I won't be stickin' around to see it first hand."
"You'll be missed around here."
Kendrick raised his glass of beer but paused with it only part way to his mouth. He squinted across the dusty plaza. "That's a good thought. It purely is. Don't reckon I've left too many places behind me that I can make that claim about." He tipped up the glass and drained it. After lowering it again and grimacing for a second, he said, "What about you, Doc? Won't you be ridin' out pretty soon, too?"
"No, not for a while," Turpin answered. "Leastways not until somebody from Mexico City shows up and I get a feel for which way the wind is going to blow on that. I've been known to possess quite a silver tongue when I care to put it to use. Might be the folks here could use a touch of that when it comes to presenting their side of things."
Kendrick cut him a sidelong glance. "You ain't figurin' on maybe stickin' here, are you?"
Doc seemed to consider the question for a moment and then half of his mouth curved in a smile that reminded Kendrick for all the world of that strange, thin smile that Bradley used to exhibit. "You never know. Like I said before, this could be a good place to live … Hunt saw something when he came here after the war. Maybe if I hang around for a bit, I'll see it too … Man needs to find a place to put down roots sooner or later, Bodie."
"I'll have to take your word on that. Me, I never been anyplace yet where I've felt the urge to plant my toes."
"Maybe that's because you never stopped in any one place long enough."
"Could be." Kendrick shrugged. "What about that reward money you got pilin' up back in New Gleanus? You're gonna ride out after that one of these days, ain't you?"
"One of these days, sure. You headin' that way when you pull out tomorrow?"
"Damn betcha."
"You be sure and tell Banker Keithington to hold on real tight to my money until I show up to claim it. Tell him that I would be highly displeased should I discover a shortage of any kind."
Kendrick grinned. "I might put it in plainer words, but I'll see to it he gets the message."
"You do that."
Kendrick stood up and stretched. "Reckon I'll go start puttin' my stuff together, see what I need to stock in the way of supplies. I want to hit the trail early in the mornin'."
"Think you'll ever swing by this way again?"
"Always the chance."
"You never had that drink of scorpion tequila with me, you know."
"Aw, don't start that again," Kendrick groaned. "I ain't ever gonna have one, either. Not of that stuff. No matter how often I might stop by."
Doc jerked a thumb at the cantina directly behind him. "Come on. I'll make arrangements for the bartender here to stock some and keep a bottle set aside especially for you."
"Do whatever suits you," Kendrick said, stepping out into the sunlight. "But I'll guarantee you right now that poor bottle's gonna get mighty lonesome waitin' for me to come along and ever take a swig out of it!"
About the Author
Wayne Dundee lives in the once-notorious old cowtown of Ogallala, on the hinge of Nebraska'
s panhandle. He relocated there after spending the first fifty years of his life in the state line area of northern Illinois/southern Wisconsin.
A widower, retired from a managerial position in the magnetics industry, Dundee now devotes full time to his writing.
To date, Dundee has had thirteen novels, five novellas, and over two dozen short stories published. Much of his work has featured his PI protagonist, Joe Hannibal (appearing most recently in Goshen Hole - 2011). He also dabbles in fantasy and straight crime, and lately has been gaining notice in the Western genre. His 2010 Western short story, "This Old Star", won a Peacemaker Award from the Western Fictioneers writers' organization. His 2011 novel DISMAL RIVER won a Peacemaker in the Best First Western Novel category.
Titles in the Hannibal series have been translated into several languages and nominated for an Edgar, an Anthony, and six Shamus Awards. Dundee is also the founder and original editor of Hardboiled Magazine.
Blog: http://fromdundeesdesk.blogspot.com.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/wayne.dundee
Twitter: @wddundee
If you enjoyed RIO MATANZA, be sure to check out these other works by Wayne D. Dundee:
Westerns
HARD TRAIL TO SOCORRO (the Bodie Kendrick series)
DISMAL RIVER (the Lone McGantry series)
RECKONING AT RAINROCK (the Lone McGantry series)
MANHUNTER'S MOUNTAIN (the Cash Laramie series)
THE GRAVE OF MARCUS PAULY
O'DOUL
THIS OLD STAR
Joe Hannibal, PI
THE BURNING SEASON
THE SKINTIGHT SHROUD
THE BRUTAL BALLET
AND FLESH AND BLOOD SO CHEAP
THE FIGHT IN THE DOG
THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY
GOSHEN HOLE
All available on Amazon, as by Wayne D. Dundee under "Books" or "Kindle Store"
Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2) Page 18