“Now,” Clint said, “or they’ll come back.”
“But . . . we had them fooled with all the guns, right?” Piper asked.
“We did,” Bean said, “but that Montoya, he was losing his temper. I think he’d come back in shooting.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Clint said.
“Then,” Harker said, finishing his beer, “we better get mounted.”
Clint turned to Judge Roy Bean and extended his hand.
“Thanks for the help,” he said.
“Well,” Bean said, “I tried to help.”
“I know,” Clint said. “But this is for the best.”
“If you live through this,” Bean said, “come back and let me know, will you?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll have that steak,” Bean reminded him.
Clint smiled, and followed the others out of the saloon.
* * *
After Clint, Piper, Autry, and Harker had ridden out of Langtry, Leroy came into the saloon. Judge Bean was still standing at the bar, holding a beer.
“Leroy.”
“Judge.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Well . . . I rode out like you told me, Judge, watched the Mexicans ride out,” Leroy said. “I thought you’d like to know what happened.”
“I would,” Judge Bean said, “very much. Come have a beer and tell me about it.”
FORTY-FOUR
Clint and the mercenaries rode out of Langtry, reined in soon after.
“How far out will they be waiting, do you think?” Harker asked him.
“The county border,” Clint said. “Judge Bean told him how far it was.”
“And you’re gonna tell us?” Piper asked.
“I am,” Clint said, “but I don’t think we should ride up on them together.”
“Split up?” Autry asked.
“Four ways?” Harker said.
“Yes,” Clint said. “I’ll just keep going, but you three can circle around.”
“Okay,” Piper said, “now how about you just tell us where we’re circling around to?”
* * *
“You can’t blame them,” Francisco said.
“I can,” Inocencio Montoya said, “and I do. They are family, and they are supposed to stand with family.”
“They’re cousins,” Francisco said, “second and third cousins at that.”
“Still . . .”
“We have enough now,” Francisco said, “to do the job.”
“Yes,” Montoya said, “we do . . . or we should.”
“He’s coming, señor,” Del Plata said.
“What?”
“Clint Adams,” Del Plata said. “He’s coming . . . alone.”
Montoya looked, and saw.
* * *
When the group of Mexicans came into view, Clint was surprised. Their numbers had dwindled considerably.
He counted as he approached.
Montoya, his son, Francisco, his two sons, Del Plata, and his five men. Eleven. Quite a difference from the twenty-five they had come with. Clint doubted that Montoya had sent the family home. It was more likely they all decided to go back to Mexico. That probably made him a very disappointed man.
However, with eleven against five, the odds were still in the favor of the Mexicans.
Clint looked around, saw the other men, his mercenaries, approaching from the other three directions. But the attention of the eleven Mexicans was solely on him.
Which was good . . .
* * *
“Spread out,” Del Plata instructed.
His men obeyed, but the Montoya family stood together, clustered around their patriarch, Don Inocencio.
Bad move.
Or good?
* * *
Clint rode up to them, stopped about twenty feet away.
“Surprised to see me?” he asked.
“Surprised to see you alone, Señor Adams.”
“Well,” Clint said, “it looks like you lost a few people, too. Family decide to go home?”
“They did,” Montoya said, “and I will take care of them when I return. But I have enough men here to do the job.”
“So do I.”
Montoya frowned, but when Clint gestured, Montoya looked around, as did Del Plata.
“Conyo!” he heard Del Plata mutter.
“Señor Montoya,” Clint said, “you and your brother still have time to make sure your sons do not die.”
“If they die, they die for the family,” Montoya said.
“No,” Clint said, “they die because your son, Juanito, was stupid. Pablo?”
Pablo Montoya’s head jerked as Clint said his name. His eyes went wide.
“Do you want to die because your brother was a fool?”
Pablo swallowed.
“And you, Señor Montoya,” Clint said to Francisco. “Do you want to lose your sons because his son was a fool?”
Francisco looked at his two sons, who were looking very frightened at that moment.
“Inocencio—” Francisco started to speak.
“Basta!” Montoya snapped. “Do not listen to him.”
“Papa—”
Montoya turned his head and glared at Pablo.
From the corner of his eye, Clint saw Roberto Del Plata draw his gun, and then his men followed.
“Okay,” he said, and drew his own weapon.
* * *
Piper, Harker, and Autry were in place, also twenty feet from the group. All they had to do was make sure they didn’t catch any cross fire from each other.
But they were pros.
They wouldn’t miss like that.
* * *
Clint’s first bullet took the top of Roberto Del Plata’s head off. The other fighting men were hurriedly drawing their weapons, but in close fighting like this, they were no match for the American mercenaries. They were used to fighting at a distance, or from ambush. Inocencio Montoya had hired the wrong men.
* * *
The Montoya family froze. Francisco spread his arms about to keep his sons from drawing their weapons.
Inocencio Montoya drew his weapon, his face contorted by hatred. Clint had no choice. The last shot he fired killed the patriarch of the Montoya family, and christened a new one.
* * *
It grew quiet.
“Drop your guns,” Clint said.
“Please, señor,” Francisco said, “do not fire.”
“You’re the new head of your family, señor,” Clint said. “Tell your sons and your nephew to drop their guns.”
“Baja tus armas,” Francisco said, waving his arms.
The three young men dropped their guns to the ground, as did Francisco. Clint noticed that Pablo was bleeding from an arm wound. He didn’t seem to notice, though. He bent over his father’s body.
“Papa,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Clint said.
Nobody acknowledged his apology.
Piper, Autry, and Harker moved among the bodies, and then came over to Clint.
“They’re all dead,” Harker said.
“So is Montoya,” Clint said.
“Is it over?” Piper asked.
Clint looked at Francisco.
“Is it over, señor?”
“It is over,” Francisco assured him.
“Then take your family home.”
Francisco nodded. He and the boys lifted the body of Inocencio Montoya onto his horse, and then they headed for Mexico.
“What about these boys?” Autry asked.
“We’ll bury them,” Clint said.
“They deserve it,” Harker said. “They were fighting men.”
“When we’re done, we’ll go back to Langtry and spend the n
ight,” Clint said.
“That Judge Roy Bean,” Harker said, “he’s kind of crazy, you know?”
“Oh yeah,” Clint said, “I know.”
“They got a bank in that town?” Piper asked. “That Langtry?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said, “but if they don’t, or if I can’t get the money there, we’ll go to Fort Stockton. Don’t worry, boys. You’ll get paid.”
“We ain’t worried,” Piper said.
Harker looked at Autry, who nodded and then said, “Naw, we ain’t worried at all.”
Watch for
A DIFFERENT TRADE
396th novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove
Coming in December!
The Three Mercenaries Page 13