“So you see, my young amigo, much depends on you,” Alcazarrio had concluded. “You will determine when we strike. When you see Jessica Colton and Sandra Paxton together in Sweet Apple, you will ride here and tell us the time has come for the attack. Can you do this thing?”
Hector hadn’t hesitated, even for a second. He had nodded and vowed, “Sí, General. I will do this, just as you say.”
And now, as he stood in the general store in Sweet Apple, he was no less determined to carry out his mission than he had been when he arrived in the settlement. The fact that the marshal had taken his part against the gunslinger’s cruelties meant nothing.
Nor could he allow the thing that Alcazarrio had said after explaining everything to deter him. Hector had asked, in all sincerity, “And after you have the ransom, General, you will let the gringo girls return to their families?”
Alcazarrio had laughed harder than ever at that. “Of course not,” he had said, leaning forward to slap Hector on the shoulder. “They are young and beautiful, amigo! And for your service, you shall have your pick of them. At least, you will be allowed to take them first, before the rest of our men.”
Hector had swallowed hard at that. He knew the women would never live through such a fate. When Alcazarrio’s men were through with them, they would be fit for nothing except the coyotes and the buzzards. It was a harsh destiny indeed.
But that did not matter, Hector told himself, not for the first time.
All that mattered . . . was the revolución.
Chapter 14
Since the deaths of the two cowboys named Rusty and Bill, Shad Colton hadn’t tried to keep Esau Paxton’s cows from drinking at the creek between their ranches. The judge had promised a speedy hearing and a decision on the case within a week or two. Colton had decided that he could tolerate Pax cows drinking his water for that long.
Because of that, when his lawyer, Colonel Hugh Addison, drove up to the Double C ranch house in a fine buggy pulled by a pair of magnificent horses, Colton assumed the lawyer was there to tell him that Judge Wilbur had set a date for announcing his decision in the case.
Colton stepped out onto the porch and stuck his hands in the hip pockets of his jeans. “Howdy, Hugh,” he called to Addison. “What brings you out here?” he asked even though he thought he already knew the answer.
The rotund, ruddy-faced lawyer climbed down from the buggy. “Got some news,” he rumbled in his usual growling tones as he pulled a bandanna from his pocket to wipe sweat from his face. “Rather come up there on the porch and sit in the shade to tell you about it, though.”
Colton waved him up the steps. “Sure, come on. I’ll tell my missus to bring us some lemonade.”
“Sounds mighty fine,” Addison said as he climbed to the porch. He tapped his coat pocket with a blunt finger. “And I got a little somethin’ here that’ll go just fine in that lemonade, too.”
Colton grinned, knowing that Addison never went anywhere without a flask on him.
They didn’t talk business until they were both settled down in cane-bottomed chairs with sweating glasses of lemonade in hand. Colton took a sip of his, appreciating the way the addition from Addison’s flask made the cool liquid go down even smoother.
“Now, what’s this news you mentioned?” he asked. “Judge Wilbur ready to announce his decision, is he?”
“Judge Wilbur’s not gonna be announcin’ any decision,” the lawyer replied. “He’s recused himself from the case.”
Colton sat up straight in his chair, confused and surprised by Addison’s answer. “What in blazes does that mean?”
“Means he’s taken himself off the case. A judge usually does that when he’s got some sort o’ conflict of interest, like one o’ the parties is his brother-in-law or something. But this was for health reasons. The judge got knocked down by a runaway horse a few days ago. Broke his right leg and a couple of ribs.”
Colton frowned. “That shouldn’t mean he can’t decide one way or the other in the case between me and Paxton.”
Colonel Addison’s beefy shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “That’s up to the judge, and he didn’t think he was in good enough shape to render a fair and proper verdict.”
Colton stood up and began to pace. “What are we supposed to do then? Wait until he’s better and start the whole damned thing over?”
Addison took another swig of spiked lemonade and said, “No, there’s a federal circuit judge due through these parts in a couple of days, and Judge Wilbur has transferred jurisdiction of the case to him.”
“A federal judge?” Colton was confused again. “Can he do that?”
“Since the case involves water rights, he can,” Addison said with a nod. “Wilbur and this new judge have already been in touch by telegram, and Judge Clark agreed to take on the case. Only hitch is that he wants to have a new hearin’ so he can get the facts straight.”
“You mean we’ve got to go to Marfa and do it all over again?” Colton asked in disgust.
“No, no, since Judge Clark is used to travelin’ around, bein’ a circuit judge and all, he’s agreed to hold the hearin’ in Sweet Apple. Day after tomorrow, in fact.”
That mollified Colton a little. He had been afraid the delays might stretch out to an intolerable length. “Can you be ready for a hearing that soon?” he asked Addison.
The lawyer nodded. “Sure. The facts haven’t changed since last time. All I got to do is present ’em again. And the law’s still on your side, Shad. I’m sure o’ that.”
“Well, then . . . I reckon there’s nothin’ else we can do but go along with this new judge.”
Addison finished off his lemonade. “That’s exactly what I’m advisin’ you to do as your attorney. The hearing will be at ten o’clock in the morning day after tomorrow in the town hall.”
“I’ll be there,” Colton said with a grim-faced nod. “And maybe this blasted mess will get settled once and for all.”
Since the talkative Colonel Addison had stopped in Sweet Apple on his way to the Double C and had a drink at the Black Bull, news of the developments in the legal case was already going around town. Gossip was one of the chief pastimes in any frontier settlement, and Sweet Apple was no different.
Matt and Sam heard about it while they were at the livery stable with Seymour, who had decided that he needed a horse. “Mayor Mitchell and Mr. Heathcote say that the town will provide a mount for me, as long as the cost is reasonable,” Seymour had explained. “I could use some help in picking one out. I’m afraid I, ah, don’t have much experience with horses. I thought maybe the two of you could go with me to the stable . . .”
“Sure, Seymour,” Matt had told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sticking to you like a burr anyway. Might as well go to the stable as anywhere else.”
It was true that Matt and Sam hadn’t been far from Seymour’s side during the past couple of days, following the second attempt on his life. During that time nothing unusual had happened, but neither of the blood brothers were convinced that Seymour was out of danger. Whoever wanted him dead was just waiting for another good chance to strike.
Seymour’s voice had just about lost the hoarseness left over from the bruising of his throat. The mottled red and purple marks on his skin had faded, too. As he stood at the fence of the corral behind the stable, he propped a booted foot on the bottom rail and leaned on the top one, just like a real Westerner.
“How about that one?” he said as he pointed to a bay gelding inside the corral.
The proprietor of the stable, a man named Huddleston, had followed them out to the fence. He chuckled and said, “You’ve got a good eye for horseflesh, Marshal. That’s one of my finest animals, and I can let you have him for only a hundred and fifty dollars.”
Seymour looked over at Matt and Sam, both of whom shook their heads.
“That horse is too fine-boned, Seymour,” Matt said. “Might have pretty good speed startin’ out, but no sand.”
; “That’s the horse you want,” Sam said, pointing to an ugly, hammer-headed, mouse-colored animal with a dark stripe down its back.
“Really?” Seymour asked with a frown. “He doesn’t look like much . . . not that I’d really know.”
Huddleston shook his head. “I don’t know, Marshal. I reckon that dun’s strong enough, but he’s mean. He’ll take a bite out of your hide if you don’t watch him mighty close.”
Seymour looked back at the blood brothers, who nodded. “Could be that’s right,” Matt said. “But he’ll run all day for you, too, and that deep chest says he’s got as much speed as you’ll ever need.”
“You can tell all that just by looking at him?”
Matt and Sam both shrugged. “You wanted our opinion,” Sam pointed out.
“Certainly. And I have no reason to doubt that you’re right.” Seymour turned to Huddleston. “How much for that horse?”
The stable man pursed his lips. “Fifty dollars,” he finally said. “And I feel like I’m cheatin’ you, at that, Marshal.”
“Take it,” Matt advised.
Seymour nodded and stuck out his hand to Huddleston. “You have a deal, my good man.”
They were shaking hands when J. Emerson Heathcote came walking up. “Have you heard about the hearing?” the newspaperman asked.
Seymour shook his head. “What hearing?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be spreading the news verbally,” Heathcote said with a laugh. “I should make everyone wait to read it in the Sweet Apple Gazette. But the rumors are already going around. A new judge has been appointed to settle the dispute between Shad Colton and Esau Paxton, and he’s going to hold a hearing right here in Sweet Apple day after tomorrow. It’ll be the biggest legal case we’ve ever had adjudicated here.”
Matt and Sam looked at each other, and then Matt asked, “I reckon Colton and Paxton will be comin’ into town for that hearing?”
Heathcote nodded. “Of course. They’ll have to be on hand to testify.”
Sam said, “That means you’re going to have your hands full, Seymour.”
“Why?” Seymour wanted to know. “I don’t have anything to do with that court case.”
“Chances are that Colton and Paxton will bring their families and most of their crews with them,” Matt explained. “That means Sweet Apple will be full of proddy cowboys with a grudge against each other.”
“And it’ll be up to you to keep the peace,” Sam said.
Seymour frowned and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it will. Can I count on your help?”
“Sure, we’ll be around for that long,” Matt said. “We may be gettin’ a little restless, but we’re not in that much of a hurry to leave.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Seymour said with obvious relief. He turned back to Huddleston. “Now, I suppose I’ll need a saddle, too . . .”
When they had concluded the deal, they agreed that Seymour could keep his horse and tack at the stable for a nominal monthly fee. Heathcote said, “I’ll speak to the mayor and the rest of the town council about paying for that expense, too, Marshal.”
Seymour nodded. “I’d be much obliged.”
“You’re startin’ to sound like you belong out here, Seymour,” Matt commented with a chuckle. “Next thing you know, you’ll be sayin’ that it’s fixin’ to rain, or something like that.”
The four of them headed back toward the marshal’s office, with Seymour and Heathcote walking together in front and talking. Matt and Sam trailed along a short distance behind. Their eyes roved constantly over both sides of the street, searching for any sign of danger. Even though nothing had happened for a couple of days, neither of the blood brothers believed that the threat was over.
Whoever wanted Seymour dead was bound to try again sooner or later.
They were passing one of the cantinas when Sam said quietly, “Isn’t that the fella Cole Halliday was hoorawing the other day?”
Matt looked and saw a stocky Mexican leaving the cantina. The young man’s face was familiar, but even if hadn’t been, the bullet holes in the crown of his sombrero would have identified him.
“Yeah, that’s him, all right,” Matt agreed. “I thought he said he came to Sweet Apple to buy some supplies. Shouldn’t he have headed back to his farm by now?”
“You’d think so.”
The Mexican—Hector, that was his name, Matt recalled—stumbled a little as he went over to untie his burro from a nearby hitch rail. Matt smiled as Hector started to lead the burro out of town. He said, “I reckon that explains it. I don’t see any supplies loaded on his donkey. He must’ve spent the past couple of days blowin’ his money on tequila.”
“That’s too bad. He’s liable to have a hard time of it now, until he can scrape up some more dinero.”
“That’s his lookout, not ours. Come on, Seymour’s gettin’ too far ahead of us.”
The blood brothers stepped up their pace, not looking back at the raggedly clothed Mexican who was plodding southward out of Sweet Apple, leading the little burro.
It had taken a couple of days of hanging around the settlement, but things could not have worked out much better, Hector Gallindo thought as he left Sweet Apple behind. The developments he had heard about today would play right into the hands of Diego Alcazarrio.
The Coltons and the Paxtons would all be in town for the court hearing, including Jessica Colton and Sandra Paxton. And they would be in one place, making it easier for Alcazarrio to abduct them. The only drawback was that many of the cowboys from the Double C and Pax ranches would probably be on hand for the hearing, too, which meant there could be more opposition to the general’s plans than there might have been otherwise.
But Alcazarrio would never get a better chance to kidnap the two girls, Hector thought. And the way things had turned out, the general would even have time to plan his raid, since it wouldn’t take place until the day after tomorrow.
Each of the past two nights, Hector had checked on the horse he’d left hidden outside of town, making sure the animal had enough water and grass. This time when he reached the arroyo, he changed back into his new clothes, saddled the horse, and rode south, a revolutionary again instead of the poor farmer he had pretended to be for the past two days. He took the burro with him, not wanting to release it so close to the settlement. He didn’t want anyone to come across the animal and wonder what had happened to him. Everyone needed to think he had simply returned to his farm.
Later that day, Hector reached the Rio Grande and crossed it, leaving the burro to fend for itself. As he rode up the bluff, he felt eyes watching him and knew that the lookouts posted by Alcazarrio had spotted him. They had probably already sent word to the general that he was coming.
That proved to be true when Hector reached the camp and found it in a state of suppressed excitement. The men all knew that his return meant something important was about to happen. Knowing that made a good feeling swell up inside Hector. He was important to Alcazarrio’s plans. He had been entrusted with a vital mission, and he had not failed the general.
Alcazarrio and Florio Cruz strode out to meet Hector as he dismounted. “What have you found out?” Alcazarrio demanded curtly, without any greeting.
“The two señoritas will be in Sweet Apple at ten o’clock in the morning, two days hence,” Hector reported. He went on to explain about the legal dispute between Shadrach Colton and Esau Paxton and the hearing that would be held at the town hall.
Alcazarrio grinned and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “You have done a fine job, amigo,” he told Hector, whose heart swelled even more at the praise from his general.
Cruz didn’t look happy, though. Instead, he frowned and said, “Many of the men who work for those gringo ranchers will be there. They will fight.”
“Of course they will,” Alcazarrio agreed, “but they will be no match for us. Also, we will take them by surprise. Their wariness will be directed toward each other, not toward any threat from outside.”
Cruz gave an eloquent shrug. “You are right as always, Diego.”
Alcazarrio thumped his chest and nodded. “Of course I am,” he declared. “Come. We will talk about it and decide exactly how we will attack the gringos. And it must be made clear to all the men that no harm shall come to the two señoritas. That is most important.”
“What about the man Standish, and the two gunfighters, Bodine and Two Wolves?” Cruz asked as he and Alcazarrio turned and walked away.
“Oh, they shall die,” the general answered without hesitation. Hector heard him clearly. Alcazarrio went on. “I wish I could kill them myself. Perhaps I will. But all that really matters is that they not be left alive.”
Hector hadn’t been invited to accompany the leaders of the band of revolutionaries, so he stayed where he was. He heard Alcazarrio’s words, however, and he felt a twinge of regret at them. He remembered how Marshal Seymour Standish had defended him against that cruel gringo called Halliday. He recalled as well how Bodine and Two Wolves had stood ready to step in if necessary. All on behalf of a poor Mexican peasant that none of them knew or had even seen before. A stirring of unease inside Hector told him that they were good men—for gringos—and perhaps didn’t really deserve to die.
But the general knew best, he told himself sternly, and anyway, Fate had no respect for what a person did or did not deserve. Life was capricious and cruel and dealt whatever destiny it wanted to, with no regard for the pain it caused. Every poor Mexican learned that at an early age, the first time he went to sleep at night with hunger gnawing at his empty belly, or the first time he worked for long, backbreaking hours in the hot sun so that someone else could grow rich.
Thus it was, thus it would ever be, and if Seymour Standish, Matt Bodine, and Sam Two Wolves had to die to further the cause . . . then so be it.
Chapter 15
Ride for Vengeance Page 14