Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  “A hundred thousand . . . ?” Hector managed to chuff. His voice seemed to gain strength. “It is three hundred thousand dollars—I counted it.”

  Erin clenched her teeth and stared away in anger.

  “The bastards!” she hissed, realizing why Teto wanted no one else to see the money until it first went through his hands. She knew that Teto and Luis were both in on shorting everybody. The dirty bastards!

  Upon hearing the sound of boots crossing the walk plank outside the door, she gave Hector a startled look. He threw his hands behind his back and let his head slump back to the side.

  Erin backed away from him and stood next to a small table as Luis walked in, rifle in hand. He looked over at her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing an expression on her face that she had not been able to shed quickly enough.

  “Nothing,” Erin said. She stood perfectly still as Luis stepped over closer to Hector.

  Looking down first at Hector’s battered face, then at the loose rope on the floor beside the chair, Luis stiffened. His thumb went over his rifle hammer, ready to cock it.

  Seeing Luis through the swollen slits of eyelids, Hector tried to hurl himself forward and grab him. But Luis sidestepped him, threw his rifle up to take quick aim.

  Hector hit the floor facedown and braced himself, knowing he’d hear the sound of the shot rip through him at any second. Yet, instead of a gunshot, he heard a deep grunt followed by a long gasp. Rolling onto his side, he looked up and saw the wooden handle of a large bread knife standing where Luis’ ribs met in the center of his chest.

  Luis staggered backward a step, his rifle slumping at his side, his eyes wide in disbelief. Staring down at the big knife that had been lying atop the wooden table where Erin had stood, he shook his head slowly.

  “Why . . . ?” he asked Erin in a failing, muffled whisper.

  “One hundred thousand dollars?” Erin said. “Does that tell you why?”

  “I . . . didn’t . . . know,” Luis managed to say as Erin reached out and jerked the rifle from his hand. But she could tell he was lying.

  Coldly she said, “Yes, well, now you do.” She reached out with the rifle barrel and pushed him backward to the floor.

  Hector stared up at her, stunned, as he struggled to rise onto his knees.

  Erin pointed the rifle down at his forehead and cocked it.

  “I don’t know how you did it, Pancho,” she said tightly. “But you got loose and got your hands on the knife. You killed poor Luis . . . then I shot you dead. It’s that simple.”

  Hector hung as if frozen on his knees, staring up at her through his swollen eyes. His hands spread. A tense silence imposed itself on the room. There was no doubt she would kill him; there was no doubt she could let him live.

  “What must I do?” he finally rasped.

  “Take one guess, partner,” Erin said drily.

  “It’s—it’s out back,” said Hector. He tried struggling to his feet but couldn’t make it. “You’ll have to help me.” He reached a hand up to her.

  “Don’t worry, Pancho. I’ll get you out of here,” she said. “I’m going to take good care of you. You have my word.” Leaning the rifle against the chair, she pulled him to his feet, looped his arm across her shoulders and led him out the back door.

  From his spot on the low rise, the Ranger lay with the big Swiss rifle assembled, the butt of it resting against his right shoulder. With the scope mounted and adjusted, he scanned back and forth once again along the dusty street. He’d recognized Luis Torres as the gunman walked around the side of the Perros Malos and entered the side door of the attached living quarters behind the cantina.

  All right, there was one of the brothers, he told himself, getting an idea of where to find everybody once the shooting started. He scanned the rifle to his right, taking in two gunmen who stood talking to one of the cantina doves in the narrow shade of a tall flowering cactus. Through the scope, he saw their lips move in conversation. The young woman opened the loose front of her blouse, jiggled her bare breasts, taunting the two men, then jumped back in silent laughter as one of them reached out and tried to grab her.

  Sam moved the scope away from the gunmen and the dove and scanned farther to his right, at the end of town closest to him. Two riflemen were partially hidden beneath a ragged canvas awning out in front of a weathered shack, keeping watch along the trail. Scanning back to his left, he counted a dozen horses lined up along the hitch rails out front. At the edge of the cantina, one man stood alone sipping on a bottle of rye, rifle in hand. At the far end of town, two more men stood guard. It was clear the Torres brothers had the town covered from either end.

  He did a quick head count. Two at either end of town, one at the edge of the cantina, two with the dove—Luis in the living quarters. Eight men accounted for, he told himself. That meant Teto and three others were either inside the cantina or off somewhere in town. There could even be others whose horses were inside the barn, he cautioned himself.

  But his count was close enough. It was time to get to work, he told himself, ready to aim at one of the two guards nearest to him and make his first shot.

  Wait. What’s this?

  Something had caught his eye. He moved back with the scope and homed in on Erin and the Mexican limping away from the back door of the adobe living quarters attached behind the cantina. His shot would have to wait, he told himself, watching the two hurry as best they could through a stretch of sand, dried brush, cactus and broken rock. He kept the circling scope on them, seeing them as if they were right in front of him until they both moved down out of sight. He relaxed his shoulder, but kept watch through the scope. He would wait.

  In the brush fifty yards behind the cantina, Erin eased Hector down onto a rock and lifted his arm from across her shoulders.

  “Wake up, Pancho!” she said, keeping her voice lowered but firm, seeing that Hector had begun to fade out on her. “Which one is it?” she asked as his swollen eyes tried to focus on her.

  It took all of Hector’s strength to raise his arm enough to point at a broken rock ten feet away. “It looks stuck . . . but it’s not . . . ,” he said, his words trailing.

  “Goodness, I hope not,” said Erin, appraising the heavy-looking rock, stepping over to it in a crouch.

  She put her shoulder to the rock and shoved hard. Surprisingly, the rock rose off its flattened bottom, rolled a full turn and stopped. Erin’s eyes widened in delight, gazing down at two burlap feed sacks lying crushed into the sandy ground. She sank to her knees, opened one of the sacks and looked inside.

  “Oh yes . . . ,” she purred, seeing the bundles of bills and loose gold coins.

  She checked each bag in turn, dragged them up from the indentation of the rock and set them on the ground beside her. She sighed and looked at Hector.

  Through swollen eyes, Hector saw her hand go to the big Starr shoved down in her waist.

  “Now you . . . have the money,” he said. “Do you . . . kill me?”

  “Kill you?” she said incredulously. “A deal is a deal, Pancho. If it wouldn’t hurt you so bad, I’d be kissing your swollen mug this very minute!” She adjusted the Starr in her waist and gathered the two sacks.

  “Gracias,” Hector said weakly. “Take the money and go.”

  “No,” said Erin, “we both go. I gave my word to get you out of here. That’s what I’ll do.”

  Hector only stared at her.

  “We have to get the money closer to the barn,” Erin said. “I’ll get in and get us some horses. Then we’ll cut out. How far is it to your house?”

  “Two miles . . . straight out the land-wagon trail,” Hector said.

  “Are you up to it?” Erin asked.

  “Get a horse between my legs . . . I can ride,” Hector said. He struggled upward; Erin reached out and helped him. She steadied him onto his feet.

  “But can you walk?” she asked, turning him loose, seeing that he didn’t fall.

  “I can walk. L
et’s go,” he said.

  Erin picked up a feed sack in either hand and swung them both back over her shoulders. She walked in the direction of the barn a hundred yards away, across broken rock and loose, sloping hillside. Hector struggled along behind her.

  Sam watched the two from the low rise, through his scope, seeing the Mexican’s battered condition as they struggled along toward the livery barn. He noted the two feed sacks hanging back over Erin’s shoulders, knowing that money was the only thing that could be inside them. What else would be so important under these circumstances? he reasoned, watching Erin bound across the hillside toward the barn. Watch out, he cautioned her, knowing she couldn’t see that one of the gunmen had spotted her from the street and started walking toward her, his rifle in one hand, a bottle of rye in the other.

  Halfway to the livery barn, Erin heard Hector go down and begin sliding on the loose hillside. He didn’t call out for help, but she dropped the sacks and ran to him as he stopped in a pile of brush. The money sacks slid along behind her, following her like slow-witted friends.

  “I—I can walk,” Hector insisted, grasping her forearm.

  “No, you can’t. This is no good, Pancho,” Erin said, looking off toward the livery barn. “You stay right here with the money. I’ll come back for you with horses.”

  The gunman, a young killer named Adle Price, stood at the corner of the livery barn and stepped out in front of her as Erin ran toward the big wooden doors.

  “Well, well,” he said, blocking her way. “What are you doing out here running around all by yourself?”

  Erin saw the bottle of rye and smelled the whiskey on his breath. She thought of the Starr pistol stuck down in her waist, but if she were to reach for it, the gunman had only to grab her hand or smack her with his rifle butt, standing this close.

  “I’m looking for you, Price!” Erin said, making up her story quickly. “Something terrible has happened! Teto said tell you—”

  “Huh-uh,” the gunman interrupted her, “I just saw Teto at the cantina. Nothing’s happened.” He gave her a suspicious look. “Maybe you best come with me.” He reached out to grab her arm. “We’ll see what Teto has to say—”

  “Stay away . . . keep your hands off me!” Erin said, pulling against his grip. But just as she tried to yank free, she saw a large red hole blow out from the center of Price’s chest. She gasped.

  Price’s head whiplashed back and forth from the impact; a gout of blood, meat and bone matter splattered her face and shirt as it jettisoned past her. Then she heard the sound of the shot catch up to the bullet and resound across the rocky terrain.

  Sam stared through the scope and watched Erin dive to the ground as if the next shot might be meant for her—but it wasn’t.

  “Get up and get out of there,” Sam whispered under his breath. “It’s commenced.” He bolted the spent shell out of the big Swiss rifle and replaced it with a fresh one.

  Chapter 25

  Inside the cantina, Teto heard the rifle shot and immediately ran to the front door. He listened to the young dove scream and saw her run away from the gunmen she’d been talking to, her face covered with blood. Her open blouse billowed back behind her; her blood-streaked breasts bounced wildly. One of the gunmen stood clinging to the large cactus, its dag-gerlike spines pinning him as if he’d been crucified. A large hole poured blood from the center of his back.

  “Stay back, Teto!” the other gunman shouted, having hit the dirt and crawled quickly around the cactus for cover.

  Teto jumped back inside just as a large chunk of adobe and wood exploded from the spot where his head had been only a second before.

  At a window, Filo and Blake peeped out, then looked over at Teto.

  “Teto, are you all right?” Filo called out to him.

  “Hell yes, I’m fine,” said Teto, keeping the thick front wall of the cantina between himself and the outside world. “Can you see where it’s coming from?”

  “I saw smoke up on the rise!” Blake called out, taking a quick look and ducking back away from the window. “But whoever it is, they’re too far out of range for us to shoot back!”

  “That damned Ranger!” Teto bellowed. “I knew I should have killed him myself and been done with it.” He clenched his teeth. “Now he has us pinned down—like rats in a hole.”

  The rear door swung open; the three gunmen spun toward it, guns ready to fire.

  “Don’t shoot, it’s me!” said Wade Carrico.

  “Jesus, Wade!” said Teto, he and the others letting their guns slump a little.

  Carrico stepped inside and shoved Erin in ahead of him. Her face and chest were covered with blood. She staggered and caught herself on a chair back without falling.

  “Look who I found trying to steal a horse from the barn and get her knees in the wind,” Carrico said.

  “I wasn’t trying to go anywhere,” Erin said. “I was rattled! I was being shot at!”

  Teto hurried over to her.

  “Are you hit? Are you bleeding?” he asked, grabbing her, looking her up and down.

  “No, I’m not hurt,” said Erin, pulling herself away from him. “It’s Price’s blood, not mine. He’s lying dead back there. His heart blew out all over me,” she said, a terrible look coming to her blood-smeared face, recounting the scene in her mind. “It was awful!”

  “Listen to me, Erin,” Teto said calmly. “Does the lawman carry a long-shooter?”

  “I—I believe he might,” Erin said. “He has a wooden case that he carries beneath his bedroll—”

  “It’s him,” Teto said, cutting her off. “Damn it to hell.”

  “Yeah, it’s him sure enough,” said Carrico, “and she’s the one who said he wouldn’t be coming along behind us.”

  “And I was wrong, Carrico,” Erin said, convincingly. “How would I know he found himself a horse somewhere?” She stared at Teto for understanding.

  “Wrong, ha!” said Carrico. “If you ask me, she’s in with that lawman. She spent all that time on the trail with him. Who can say what they—”

  He shut up when Teto swung his Colt toward him, cocked and pointed.

  “Go gather the men, Carrico,” said Teto. “It will keep me from killing you where you stand.”

  “What’s the difference?” said Carrico. “If I go out there, the long-shooter is going to kill me.”

  “As you wish,” Teto said, leveling the Colt toward Carrico’s chest. Carrico’s hand tightened around the butt of his holstered Remington.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Erin shouted, coming very close to stepping between the two of them, but stopping short. “If we turn against one another we will all die! Is that what you want, either of you?” She looked back and forth. Her hand went to the big Starr revolver in her waist. “Fine, then. Let’s all kill one another!”

  Carrico was the first to flinch. He let his hand rest down away from his Remington.

  “I’ll go gather the men,” he said quietly. “What’s the plan?”

  “We gather up and charge him,” Teto said.

  “Jesus!” said Blake, standing over by the window beside Truman Filo. “You mean we’re going to charge a long-shooter like that? We’ll be dead by the time we get into shooting range.”

  “He has to reload,” Filo said, more optimistic. “He can’t kill us all.” A grin split his face. “We just can’t slow down and enjoy the view along the way.” He tipped a half bottle of rye toward the others as if in salute, then threw back a deep drink.

  Wade Carrico stepped over, snatched the bottle from Filo’s hand, threw back a long drink himself and handed the bottle on to Blake.

  “Damned if we ain’t all crazy,” he cursed under his breath, turning, heading out the open back door.

  “Watch for us!” Teto called out behind him. “When we run out, we’ll send the horse down the street toward you.”

  Blake whispered sidelong to Filo, “We’re going to die right there at the hitch rail.” He raised the bottle and took a deep d
rink.

  “Not all of us,” Filo said, grinning like a madman. “I feel lucky as hell today.”

  Teto put his arm around Erin’s waist.

  “What did the squirrel tell you about the money?” he asked just between the two of them.

  “That’s what I was coming here to tell you,” Erin said, “before Price got himself shot all over me.” As she spoke, they began to hear and feel the swelling rumble of horses’ hooves moving toward the far end of town.

  Teto looked off toward the sound, then back at her, expectantly.

  “The squirrel killed Luis and got away,” she said quickly, both of them interested in the rumble of hooves growing stronger.

  “Luis is dead?” Teto exclaimed, raising his voice above the sound of the approaching hooves.

  “Yes,” Erin said louder.

  “She’s . . . lying,” Luis Torres growled, staggering in through the rear door, the knife handle standing in his chest. He wobbled in place, the front of him covered in blood, his Colt hanging in his bloody hand.

  “Luis!” cried Erin, stunned at the sight of him.

  “Jesus!” said Blake.

  “Riders coming!” Filo shouted, staring at Luis.

  “She . . . stabbed me,” Luis said, using all his strength to raise the cocked Colt toward Erin. “She carries . . . my child.”

  “No, brother, no!” Teto shouted, seeing what Luis was attempting to do. He swung his Colt up and fired shot after shot into Luis’ bloody chest, each bullet sending him farther out the open rear door.

  The hooves rumbled louder. Teto grabbed Erin and ran to the front door to look out. Blake and Filo peeped out from the edge of the window toward the far end of town, mindful of the Ranger still atop the low rise with his big rifle.

  “What was Luis saying?” Teto demanded. “Did you stab him? Are you carrying his baby?”