Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  Hector let his guns lower a little more, but upon hearing the sound of boots enter the cantina door behind him, he swung around and aimed both guns at the man who entered—Teto Torres.

  “It is not there!” Teto exclaimed to Luis, staring at Hector with a smoldering glare on his face. Behind Teto stood Sidel Tereze, wearing nothing but a wrinkled gray bedsheet.

  The money!

  Hector understood instantly. While Luis and these men had kept him talking, Teto had gone around and searched his living quarters.

  Hector started to swing back around toward Luis Torres and the other gunmen, but before he could do so, Luis stepped forward and slammed his rifle butt into the back of his head.

  The gunmen gathered around Hector as his consciousness spiraled downward and away.

  As he went down, Luis kicked both of Hector’s guns across the floor.

  Filo raised his Colt, cocked it and said, “Want me to put a couple of hot ones in his head?”

  “Back away, Filo,” said Luis. “Your stupidity is starting to get on my nerves.” He looked across the cantina as Sidel Tereze walked forward, her breasts cradled in her arms behind the bedsheet.

  “What about it, Tereze?” he said. “Did you see him take the money?”

  “I saw nothing,” Tereze said, looking down at Hector. “I didn’t even know the money was there until Teto came in and pulled up the floor planks.”

  “All right,” Luis said to the men, “tie him to a chair. This squirrel wakes up, I don’t want him getting away.”

  Chapter 22

  The Ranger knew when Erin Donovan had once again left in the middle of the night. Like the time before, he’d lain quietly in his blanket and listened as she’d saddled her horse and led the animal away. When he was certain she was gone, he stood up, picked up his saddle and blanket and walked over to his dun. Seeing him step in closer, the coppery dun chuffed under its breath and sawed its head up and down.

  “I know,” said the Ranger, as if defending the woman’s actions to the watching horse. “She’s just scared—unsure of herself.”

  He rubbed the dun’s muzzle and looked off in the direction Erin had taken down along the hill trail.

  Rosas Salvajes . . . , he said to himself. She’s headed right back to where we started in Wild Roses.

  He couldn’t say he was completely surprised, but it would have been good to see her do what she’d told him she was going to do—take a ship out of Tampico, go home to Ireland, put the Mexican badlands behind her.

  Careful of the wolves . . .

  He recalled his words to her when she’d first mentioned leaving. Maybe that was the only advice he had a right to give her, or anyone else here in this wild, merciless land.

  But so much for that. . . . She was an outlaw’s woman. What had he expected her to do?

  Anyway, he reminded himself, his work was cut out for him in Rosas Salvajes.

  He took the lead rope from the dun’s muzzle and slipped the bridle up into place. Letting the reins hang free, he pitched the saddle up onto the dun’s back and cinched it for the trail.

  He hadn’t pressured the woman into any particular direction; he had made up his mind early on not to butt into her personal business—not even to question her story any more than necessary for his own safety’s sake. Where she was now headed, she was headed of her own free will.

  To the father of her unborn child?

  Yes, he believed so, he told himself. And from everything he’d heard and seen and discerned of her and her situation, that man was Teto Torres.

  He let out a deep breath as he finished cinching the saddle and laid the stirrup down the dun’s side.

  He could make no sense of a beautiful young woman like Erin Donovan taking up with the likes of an outlaw like Teto Torres.

  But who am I to say? he asked himself, picking up his Winchester from where he’d left it leaning against a tree. Would life treat her any better had she chosen to spend it with a lawman, a man like himself?

  Would the trail have been less rocky, the sun less scorching, the narrow line between life and death any less precarious had she taken up with a man like himself? How thin was the line separating an outlaw from the badlands and a lawman from Nogales?

  Stop it.

  He checked the rifle and shoved it down into his saddle boot—a little harder than usual, he noted. He didn’t know why, but it bothered him somehow, her being gone. Even though there had been no suggestion of anything between them, it had felt good being near her. Her presence made him feel more like a man and less like a lawman.

  Was that a good thing? he asked himself. Here in this time, this place?

  He led the dun closer to the glowing ember remnants of the fire. Dropping the horse’s reins, he walked over and rubbed the fire out with his boot. He stood staring out across the night sky in a silence as lonely as death until the dun ventured forward almost shyly in the darkness and stuck its nose to the side of his neck.

  “I’m all right,” he said, turning, adjusting his big Colt in its holster. He rubbed the horse’s long jawline and patted the side of its head. He took up the reins from the dirt, swung up into the saddle and turned the dun toward the trail.

  Erin kept her horse at a safe pace until she reached a wide, flat plateau stretching three hundred yards across the hillside.

  “Please, Blessed Mother, no more wolves,” she whispered to the dark sky, collecting the horse beneath her.

  In the pale moonlight, she batted her heels to the horse’s sides and brought the animal up into a gallop. With the night wind whipping her hair and clothing, she kept the quickened pace until she reached the other side and started down the trail leading into a steep, narrow canyon.

  She brought the horse to an abrupt halt and sat for a moment staring into the mouth of the canyon. Raising the big Starr from her lap, she looked at it for a moment, knowing it wasn’t loaded. Hefting the gun by its barrel, she weighed its value as a club.

  It would have to do, she told herself. She lowered the gun back onto her lap, still grasping the barrel, and nudged the horse forward. She searched the darkness for the faintest sound of man or beast on the rock walls flanking her on either side.

  She rode three miles deep into the canyon, hearing nothing but the slow, steady rise and fall of her horse’s hooves.

  From sixty feet above, on the edge of a rocky overhang, three of the Gun Killers lay in wait.

  One of them, a gunman named Wade Carrico, sat up from against a rock and listened closely for a moment to make sure his ears weren’t misleading him. When he heard the sound again, growing closer, he raised his rifle from across his lap.

  “Pssst, wake up, Jete. Wake up, Nells,” he whispered to two dozing gunmen lying a few feet from him, their hats tipped down over their eyes.

  “What the hell?” said Brolin, coming awake startled.

  “I hear a rider down there,” said Carrico.

  Jete Longley sat up too, tipping his hat up into place on his forehead.

  “I hear it too,” he whispered. “Sounds like only one horse, though.”

  “I don’t hear nothing,” said Brolin, rubbing his face.

  “That’s because you’re half-asleep,” Longley said critically. “Wake the hell up and pay attention.”

  “I’m awake, damn it, Jete,” Brolin growled. “This ain’t my first time ever covering our back trail.”

  “Then act like it,” Wade Carrico snapped at him, still in a whisper.

  The three rose into a crouch, rifles in hand, and slipped away to where they had left their horses hitched to a scrub juniper farther back away from the ledge.

  “One horse means something,” Carrico warned as they unhitched their horses.

  “Yeah,” Longley said with a chuckle, “it means one of them might have killed the other.”

  Carrico continued, saying, “It means we best keep on our toes, make sure we don’t kill the woman by mistake. She’s still one of us, don’t forget.”

 
“According to Hedden, she might very well be thrown in with the lawman,” said Brolin.

  “We’re not the ones deciding that,” Carrico reminded them both. “Teto said don’t hurt her till we all see where she stands. We’re playing this thing his way.”

  “Suits me,” said Longley.

  “Me too,” said Brolin, grudgingly. The three mounted their horses and moved away toward a thin game trail leading down the steep canyon wall.

  When they reached the narrow trail below, they spread out and took cover behind rocks, hearing the horse’s hooves draw closer and closer.

  “I’m moving in,” Carrico whispered. “Get ready to fire when I call out to you.” He slipped away from the other two and waited behind a tall boulder at a turn in the trail.

  “What the hell is this?” said Brolin as he and Longley watched Carrico step out onto the trail in the moonlight as the horse clopped around the turn, its saddle empty.

  “Stray horse,” said Longley, already standing, his rifle lowering at his side.

  In the middle of the moonlit trail, Carrico saw the empty saddle just as he raised his rifle to his shoulder. He’d started to issue a warning, but he stopped himself.

  “Damn it,” he said, feeling a little foolish. He took the horse by its bridle and halted it in the trail. “It looks like somebody got left afoot tonight,” he called over to the other two gunmen.

  Brolin and Longley both walked toward him.

  “Hold up,” Carrico said. “This could be the lawman’s trick.”

  “Lucky for all three of you, it’s not,” Erin said, stepping into sight from the other side of the boulder where Carrico had stood in hiding. “He would have killed the lot of you.”

  “Damn it, Erin,” said Carrico. “We were being careful not to hurt you—here you come sneaking up on us.”

  “I heard your horses from farther up the trail,” Erin said, grateful to have run into the three familiar faces. She lowered the big Starr she’d held out at arm’s length until she’d recognized the three.

  “You were going to start shooting at us?” Carrico asked.

  Erin started to tell them the big Starr was empty, but she thought better of it.

  “We’ll never know, will we?” she said with a smile. She lowered the useless revolver and shoved it down into her trousers. “Let’s get on to Wild Roses. I’m worn out from riding these hills.”

  “Can’t do it,” said Carrico. “Teto and Luis has us waiting here to kill the lawman as soon as he shows his face.”

  “We’ve got a dead-sure spot for an ambush up there,” Brolin said. “We heard your horse from a long ways back.”

  “Yes, I see,” said Erin. She gazed up along the ledge sixty feet above them. The gunman was right, she thought. This was the perfect place to kill Sam Burrack. As she thought about it, she saw his face, his smile—warm, easygoing, a little sad at times, she thought. She pictured herself the night the wolves had dragged her out from under the rocks like some varmint, for their dinner. And there was Sam, just in time....

  “Well, you can save yourselves the wait. He’s not coming,” she said. “At least no time soon.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Carrico. “Did you kill him in his sleep?”

  “I would have,” she lied, “but he was too smart to let himself get caught off guard. So I did the next best thing. I stole his horse—left him afoot.”

  “Afoot in country like this? Stealing his horse might be worse than cutting his throat,” said Brolin with a grin.

  “That’s what I decided,” said Erin, returning his smile.

  Carrico looked all around, then said, “If you stole his horse, where is it?”

  “I killed it and ate it,” Erin said flatly.

  “The whole horse?” Jete Langley said, his eyes widening.

  “Just its lips, Jete,” Erin said with the same flat tone.

  “Jesus, just its lips?” Jete said.

  Carrico and Brolin shook their heads and chuckled under their breath.

  “Damn it to hell!” Jete said, embarrassed.

  “I turned it loose along a high trail,” Erin said. “There’s wolves prowling everywhere. I thought the horse might draw them away from me. I was right. By now it’s dead and picked clean.”

  Carrico looked at Brolin, then at Jete, who still stood shaking his lowered head.

  “Like as not, so is the lawman,” said Brolin, satisfied with her story.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Carrico said, also satisfied. “Let’s ride.”

  At daylight, Hopper Truit walked in through the front doors of the Perros Malos Cantina and looked back at Teto and the Gun Killers, who stood gathered in a tight circle. At their feet, Hector Pasada lay covered with his own blood, tied to a wooden chair that had fallen over onto its side.

  “Fellows, you’ve got company coming,” Hopper called out.

  Teto gave her a nod of acknowledgment. Then he stooped down and wiped the back of his bloody hand across Hector’s torn and bloodstained shirt.

  “Listen to me, Pancho,” he said, moving in close to Hector’s purple, battered face. “You have been a tough little pinchazo. But now the easy part is over for you. Now I turn you over to Filo, to carve on as he sees fit.” He motioned for Filo to step in closer. The wild-eyed gunman did so, first drawing a long knife from his boot well.

  “Not yet, Filo,” Teto said quietly, raising a hand to hold the eager gunman at bay. He reached down, grabbed Hector by his hair and jerked his head around so he could appraise his cut and battered condition.

  The thing he did not want was for the tough little Mexican to die just yet, not until he revealed where he’d hidden the money. So far, Hector hadn’t admitted to knowing anything about the money, let alone hiding it.

  But Teto was certain he was lying. And if he wasn’t lying, it didn’t matter. Once they finished with Hector and nailed his body to the front of the cantina, whoever had the money or knew anything about it would give it up when it came their turn for questioning.

  “Start with his fingers!” Teto said to Filo, loud enough for Hector to hear him. He shook Hector by his hair, but Hector gave no response.

  “He’ll wake up once I commence cutting,” Filo said, ready to get to work with his knife.

  Teto dropped Hector’s head in disgust.

  “No, let him wake up first,” he said. “Carry him back to the room. Give him some water. Let him have time to think about what awaits him.”

  “Then start cutting and hacking?” Filo asked hopefully.

  “Yes, then start cutting,” he said, “but be careful he does not die on us. For now, this ardilla is valuable.”

  “You’re the jefe,” said Filo, the knife hanging in his hand.

  Teto stood up and walked to the front door, most of the men following him.

  “All right, Squirrel,” Filo said, reaching down and pulling the knocked-out Mexican’s chair upright. “You heard him, no fingers lopped off until you’re awake enough to know I’m doing it.” He roughed the hair atop Hector’s limp head. “Not everybody would be that nice, would they?”

  A young Gun Killer named Ludlow Blake who, along with Teto, had done most of the beating, looked closely at Hector’s cut and swollen face, assessing his brutal handiwork.

  “Crazy sumbitch,” he commented to Filo. “I like money as much as the next man, but damn! I’d given it up before I’d take a beating like this, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Lud,” said Filo, “but why don’t you shut up and help me move him? We can talk about it later.”

  Chapter 23

  Out in front of the cantina, Teto and a group of Gun Killers stood watching as Erin and the three gunmen rode in a gallop, their dust trailing high in their wake. To the east, the sun had begun its climb upward into the breaking morning sky.

  Teto smiled to himself. From around the edge of the cantina, Luis walked up and stood beside his brother.

  “So, she comes back to us now,” Luis said, th
e two of them staring out at the riders entering the town.

  “She comes to me, my brother,” Teto said, watching Erin bobbing easily atop the dingy gray. “Once a woman has been with me, she cannot help herself. She has no choice but to return for more, eh?” He nudged his brother with his elbow.

  Luis backed away in silence.

  “Look at you, my darling!” Teto called out as Erin slid the gray to a halt, slipped down from the saddle and ran to him from the hitch rail. They spun in an embrace. Luis looked away; the other gunmen catcalled and whistled as the couple’s lips met in a fiery kiss.

  Ending the kiss, Teto held her away from him at arm’s length.

  “Let me look at you, my bold and naughty Irish princess,” he said. “What did you do to get the lawman to set your free? Or do I dare ask such a question?”

  “No, Teto,” Erin said teasingly, “perhaps you should not.”

  “Uh-oh, now I know I must kill him!” Teto said, feigning rage. “Unless you tell me he is already dead?”

  “No,” said Erin, “I can’t say for certain that he’s dead. But it’s a good bet that he is by now.”

  “Oh . . . ?” Teto studied her eyes with a questioning expression.

  “She stole his horse, left him afoot in wolf country, Teto,” Wade Carrico cut in with a dark laugh. He stepped down from his horse, the other two gunmen doing the same beside him.

  “Did you hear any shooting?” Teto asked.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean much,” said Brolin. “These Mexican lobos are known to jump a man so fast he can’t even get a shot off.”

  “Don’t tell me what a pack of lobos can and cannot do, Brolin,” Teto said, glaring at the gunman. “I was born in wolf country. Were you?”

  “Sorry, Teto,” Brolin said meekly.

  Teto continued to stare at the gunman with fire in his eyes.

  To change the subject, Carrico quickly cut in, saying to Teto, “She damned near threw down on us with the big Starr when we surprised her on the trail.”