by R. B. Conroy
A voice shot out from the darkened pathway. “Don’t shoot. It’s Pedro Rubios. I need to talk to Paco.”
“Hold your fire!” Paco jumped up. “That is indeed the voice of Pedro Rubios.”
The men soon surrounded their unexpected guest and led him into camp.
“Pedro, I did not expect to see you so far from home.” Paco approached the visitor as Rubios dismounted, and the two men quickly embraced. “Come in and sit down,” Paco ordered as he pointed toward the campfire.
Pedro approached the group cautiously and took a seat by the fire. Soon the others were finding their places around the dancing flames. Rubios looked warily at the motley crew.
Paco spoke to his men. “This man and I ride together many years ago—he is fearless and a good shot.” He smiled at Pedro.
Pedro smiled nervously.
“A glass of rum, my friend?”
“Gracias. Sounds good, mi amigo.”
The leader gestured for one of the men to get a cup of rum as he returned to his spot by the campfire. “What brings a man like you down to the border? It’s a long ride from El Cabrera.” The bandito handed him a cup of rum.
“I come to see you at the orders of my boss—”
The bandito interrupted. “Señor Stanton?”
“Yes.”
“And how is Señor Stanton?”
“He’s not so good right now. He had too much to drink the other night and fell out of his buggy onto some rocks. He’s pretty messed up.”
“Hmmm…is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah. He’s a pretty tough hombre.”
Paco grinned.
“But his injuries are the least of his worries, mi amigo. The miners have organized and turned his goldfields near El Cabrera into an armed camp. With the help of a man named Jon Stoudenmire, they are attempting to steal the mines away from Señor Stanton and deprive him of what is rightfully his. As you may know, Mr. Stanton has very grandiose plans for the future. These men want to ruin these plans.”
“What does your Señor Stanton want from me? Surely a little old Mexican boy like me can be of little help to a man of his stature,” Paco said coyly.
“He thinks you can, Paco. Two of his best men have been shot down by Stoudenmire just in the past week. He needs fresh guns, and he needs a man who is not afraid to fight Stoudenmire. You are that man, Paco. He’s willing to pay you a hundred dollars a week and your men fifty a week if you bring your guns to El Cabrera.”
Paco grimaced. “Hmmm…you get right to the point, amigo. And I must be honest, your offer has taken me a little bit by surprise.”
Pedro pushed on. “You and I go back a long way, Paco. We rode together when I was just a pup. I come to you now because I need your help. Mr. Stanton feels it is important that Jon Stoudenmire be killed.”
The dark bandito paused and thought for a minute. “The heat has been on pretty good around here lately. The rangers have been sent to the border by the governor to take me out. Several of my men have been killed or quit in the past year. We number only five now, and we have to…what you say? ‘Look over our shoulder’ all the time. A temporary change of scenery might be nice right now, but what you ask is risky, amigo, very risky. I have heard of Señor Stoudenmire—he is a very dangerous man.”
Pedro squinted through the smoke of the campfire. “Señor Stanton wants to be governor of all of California one day, but Stoudenmire and his men stand in his way. If you help out and Mr. Stanton becomes governor, he will see to it that all charges pending against you are dropped, and you will be free to conduct your business in peace. There would be no rangers to bother you—the border would be yours.”
“All charges—that’s a lot!” Arturo shouted as laughter filled the camp.
Paco raised his hand for quiet. “No rangers, drop charges, that’s good.” He rubbed the thick stubble on his chin as he paced in front of the fire.
“I will come for two hundred a week and one hundred for my men.” He paused. His black eyes looked hard at Pedro. “And when I kill Señor Stoudenmire, I want five hundred more.”
“Five hundred!” Pedro exclaimed.
“Like I say, amigo, he is a very dangerous man.”
“So are you, Paco. People cower in fear at the mention of your name.”
The evil bandito’s face broke into a smile. “My final offer.”
Pedro frowned as he slowly stood and stared at Paco. Raising his cup of rum, his face broke into a grin. “It’s a deal.”
“Gracias,” Paco replied as the two men touched cups and sipped the rum.
“We have unfinished business to take care of here. Tell Señor Stanton the five of us will be there on the first of the month. And tell him that we want pay for the first week in advance as soon as we arrive.”
Pedro nodded.
“I hope you will sleep with us tonight, mi amigo.”
Pedro nodded again.
Paco raised his cup. “Now let us celebrate our new partnership.” His pocked face broke into an evil smile as the two men touched cups again. “Long live Pedro Rubios!” he shouted.
“Long live Pedro Rubios!” the other men shouted in unison. Laughter and conversation filled the air as the happy banditos and Stanton’s messenger emptied their tin cups and took their places by the warm fire once again. The cold, dark night settled around the isolated camp as the men celebrated their unholy union well into the night.
- - - - -
Pedro said his goodbyes to Paco and his men early the next morning and hurried off on his journey back to El Cabrera. He was excited to tell George of his success in obtaining the services of the fearsome bandito and his men. Although forced to pay more, George had given him leeway to up the ante to two hundred a week. The five hundred for killing Stoudenmire was not discussed with George and would not be well received by him. He dreaded telling him.
- - - - -
His long ride over, Pedro arrived at Stanton’s fortress. “Open up!” he shouted. “It’s me, Rubios.” A man ran out to greet him; the iron gates creaked open as Pedro spurred his horse toward the hitching post by the front door. He dropped off of his steed and quickly tied down. “George here?” he asked.
“Yes. He’s out back on the veranda. He said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back.”
Pedro hurried around back, anxious to tell his boss the news. He found Stanton sitting alone, staring out at his garden.
“George!” he shouted.
Stanton glanced up at the returning envoy. “Yes...yes, Pedro. Glad you’re back safely. Sit down, please.” Stanton pointed to a wooden chair across from his own as he slowly sat up; he was obviously still in some pain.
“How are you doing, boss?” Pedro asked as he plopped in the chair.
“Oh fine…fine. My ribs are still a little sore. But I’ll live.”
“Glad to—”
He was interrupted by Stanton. “Enough about me. Go on, did you find Paco?”
“Sí, I did, George. He was still using one of the old hideouts he used when I rode with him years ago.”
“Good. What did he say, man? Go ahead!”
“Things are not good for him right now along the border. The Governor of California has the rangers after him. He’s really feeling the heat.”
“And…” an impatient George replied.
“So sorry, señor. He agreed to ride with us, but he wants two hundred a week and a hundred for his men.” Pedro looked nervously at George.
“That son-of-a-bitch!” George bawled. “He knows he has me over a barrel, and he’s squeezing me for more money.” George grabbed his side and grimaced as he stood up and began pacing the veranda. “But I told you that you could go to two hundred. So I’ll have to live with it,” he mumbled. “What else did he say?” George continued to pace as he stared down at the clay tiles on the veranda floor.
A very nervous Pedro replied, “Well, uh…I…uh, told him about Stoudenmire.”
“Yes…and?”
“He
’s heard of Stoudenmire.”
“Okay, man, what the hell did he say about Stoudenmire?”
“He said he’s a very dangerous man.”
“Yes, yes, we all know that. Did you tell him that I would like to have Stoudenmire killed?”
“Yes…I…uh, told him.” Pedro frowned and looked down at the ground.
“And…!” an incredulous Stanton shouted.
“He said he wanted five hundred dollars to kill him.” Pedro closed his eyes as he awaited George’s response.
“Five hundred! Why, that no account outlaw. I hope you said no!” George screamed.
Pedro fiddled nervously with the gold ring on his little finger as he stood and walked to the edge of the veranda, his back to Stanton. “We need him badly, señor. There’s no other way with Stoudenmire and the others against us. We have to have his help!” he murmured.
“My God, have we all gone crazy around here? Five hundred dollars!” George winced in pain as he kicked a wooden chair off the porch. He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing gingerly back and forth. “Suppose you told him I’d pardon him also?” The stocky leader shot a hard look at his loyal friend.
Pedro stared at the ground.
“That’s what I figured,” George mumbled.
George stopped pacing and spoke quietly. “You’re right, my old friend. Things are getting out of hand, and we need the bastard. But I don’t like it one bit. And he better deliver, or he won’t get a dime.”
Pedro was speechless.
“When’s he coming, Pedro?”
“Uh…he…uh, said he had a few loose ends to tie down near the border. He said that he and his men will be here on the first of the month, and he said he want his first week pay in advance.” Pedro’s eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of George’s answer.
“In advance? Why that…!” George shouted. “I may kill the bastard before he has a chance to kill Stoudenmire.” He walked over and dropped carefully in his chair.
“You make good decisions, boss. He will be mucho help to us. We lucky he is coming.”
George spit on the ground. “I guess sometimes you have to deal with people like him to get what you want,” he grumbled. “And you’re right, Stoudenmire has to be stopped. I will give Paco what he wants. I will deal with your old friend.”
Pedro smiled and turned toward George.
“Hungry?” George asked.
“Si senor.”
“Estela!” George turned toward the house and shouted.
A small, brown-skinned woman hurried to the veranda. “Yes, Señor Stanton, what can I do for you?”
“Please set two places with my finest china in the dining room for me and my friend Pedro, and tell Alonso to prepare two of my best t-bone steaks for dinner. Announce to us when dinner is ready. In the meantime, my friend and I will enjoy some brandy.”
Estela hurried off and returned shortly with two snifters and a bottle of brandy. She carefully placed a glass in front of each man and filled them.
George lifted his snifter and pointed it toward Pedro. “To you, my friend!”
Pedro smiled broadly as he lifted the delicate goblet and gently touched it against George’s. “To our future governor!”
Stanton’s square face broke out in a big smile. “Our future does look bright, my friend, very bright.” Born a poor kid and raised on the mean streets of New York City, George learned early on the power of intimidation. After the death of his father, the two-fisted youngster moved west to find his fortune. Coming from such meager beginnings, the thought of becoming the Governor of California intoxicated him. The two men drank brandy and talked quietly of their plans of conquest as the orange sun sank slowly behind the distant landscape.
Chapter 16
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee smelled great as Jon sat alone in the corner of the Dead End Saloon. Jake set down a cup and splashed it full. “Waitin’ on someone?” he asked.
“Yeah, Cliff and Ned Sloan should be here shortly. Thanks again, Jake, for helpin’ me out with Barton the other day.”
“No problem, Jon.”
“Lou still out of town?”
“Yeah. I got a wire today from Escondido. Seems the love bug has struck the boss. Said he was going to take a little trip to Los Angeles with his lady friend. Won’t be back for a couple of weeks.”
“Couple a weeks. Sounds serious.” Jon blew on the hot coffee; the steam scattered above his cup.
“Yeah, weddin’ bells will probably be ringing before long.”
“You’d better have a talk with him,” Jon laughed.
“Maybe so,” Jake chuckled as he went back to the kitchen.
Jon was alone with his thoughts as he sat in the dark corner of the nearly empty saloon. Morning was a slow time at the Dead End. The late night gamblers were getting a little shuteye and wouldn’t show again until late afternoon or evening, and the noontime gamblers hadn’t arrived yet. Jon felt his anger growing at George Stanton. The usually friendly Maggie was not at her check-in counter again this morning when he left Callahan’s. Jon figured she was still recovering from the beating she’d received from Stanton and was spending more time in her quarters. A gentleman by nature, the beating of a woman was a hard thing for Jon to reconcile. The whipping he gave Stanton wasn’t enough in Jon’s eyes. The man was trying to bust the dreams of all the miners and wine growers in the area for his own personal gain. Jon detested men like him, especially women beaters. He wanted to put George Stanton in his grave in the worst way. Suddenly the batwing doors burst open; Cliff and Ned hustled in.
Jake stepped out of the kitchen and pointed them toward the corner. The men hurried over to Jon’s table.
“Sit down, boys. We got plenty to talk about,” Jon said quietly.
The men circled the table and sat down.
“What’s up?” Cliff asked.
“Seems as though Stanton’s got his eye on some bigger fish.”
“The wineries?” Ned asked.
Jon frowned and nodded. “‘Fraid so,” he replied.
Chapter 17
“Why we ride so fast, Paco?”
“We have some business to take care of near the border, Arturo. Then we will stop at Rios and visit our loved ones before we make the long ride to El Cabrera,” the deadly bandito shouted over the horses’ pounding hooves.
“What business?” Arturo yelled.
“Señor Jim Johnson and Señor Will Collins.”
“Ah, the ones who gunned down Ambrosio and Carmela.”
Paco reined hard to a stop; his white quarter horse pranced nervously in the dusty road as the other men surrounded him.
“Yes, Arturo, we must say goodbye to mis amigos before we leave for El Cabrera. If they find we’re gone, they may try to visit our families.” The evil man spit on the ground and spurred his horse forward; the others closed in behind.
- - - - -
“You sure you want to go through with this, Will?” Ranger Johnson tossed another log on the fire. Night was falling; a cool breeze blew through the young rangers’ camp.
Rubbing his arms, Will scooted nearer to the fire. “Go through with what?”
“Marryin’ that little filly over there in San Diego.”
“Well, I reckon I better. Her folks sure been doin’ one heck of a lot of plannin’.”
“What’s the date?”
“The first Saturday of next month.” The shy Will snatched a small stick from the ground and scribbled nervously in the dirt by the fire.
“I’m glad our stint’s up this month, or you’d have an awful lot of disappointed people up there in San Diego,” Johnson laughed.
Will playfully tossed the stick at his good friend. “Well guess what, Jim.”
“What?” Jim ducked. The stick bounced off of his shoulder.
“I actually knew that. I actually knew I’d be finished this month.” Will grinned and shook his head.
“You did?” Jim exclaimed. “You’re actually smarter�
��n I thought ya—” he suddenly stopped in mid-sentence; his eyes went wide. “Did you hear that click, Will?”
“Sure enough did, partner.”
Suddenly, loud gunshots rang out from the dark night.
“Ahhh!” Will murmured as his body slumped over and fell onto the cold ground. Another bullet ricocheted off of the metal coffeepot atop the fire. A small dark circle of blood quickly spread across the back of Will’s tan shirt as he lay on the ground.
“Will!” Jim screamed.
- - - - -
“Good shot, boss,” Arturo barked as he and the men charged into the camp and quickly surrounded the two rangers. Paco elbowed the men out of the way; the flames illuminated his square, dark face as he stopped by the fire.
“Your eyes are wide with fear, mi amigo,” he growled.
Jim scanned the evil man’s face. Moments earlier he had been talking of pleasant things with his close friend Will, and now he was facing a brutal killer while his friend lay dying on the ground.
“I wonder if you were this frightened when you gunned down my friends Ambrosio and Carmela in the valley near San Bonito, señor?” Paco lifted his rifle and slammed the butt against the young man’s head; he fell hard to the ground. Blood began to spill from his ear.
Jim looked over at Will lying next to him on the ground. Will whimpered as he tried to raise his head.
“Finish him,” the cruel Delgado ordered.
Arturo cocked his six gun, aimed it point blank at Will’s head and pulled the trigger. The hot lead blasted into the young man. His head bounced violently off of the ground and fell still.
“Bury him where he won’t be found, and cover the grave. Then tie the other one to that tree over there where we can see him.” Paco pointed to a nearby oak tree. “Our young amigo may want to talk with us as we enjoy the warm fire.”
Two men dragged the limp body of Will Collins away from the camp toward a nearby stream to bury him. Arturo lifted young Jim to his feet and lugged him over to the large oak tree. He pushed him up against the trunk as another man wound a rope around him several times. A dark stain of urine showed on the front of his jeans as he dangled near the fire.