.44 Caliber Man (25 page)

On a ridge
almost half a mile beyond the village, two sombrero and serape-clad
figures sat their horses under the branches of a big old cottonwood
tree. They were sufficiently far from the buildings to be out of
the game ahead and there was not enough cover for them to dismount
and sneak back to help their boss.

‘
He could have more men on hand,’ Mark pointed out.

‘
Could,’ admitted the Kid. ‘But I’m betting he hasn’t. He’s
lost some since the hold-up and likely had others quit on him. And
he’d’ve brought every man he had when he jumped the camp. Nope, I’d
say those two’re all the help he’s got left.’

‘
I go along with you, Lon,’ Dusty said. ‘Flores wouldn’t play
it this way if he had more men.’

‘
Then it’s just him and me,’ Colin put in quietly.

‘
That’s how it looks,’ Dusty agreed. ‘On—’

‘
I just saw a smidgen of a flicker down there!’ interrupted the
Kid. ‘Either Flores’s sending mirror signals, or he’s watching us
through field-glasses.’

‘
Mostly likely watching us,’ Mark guessed. ‘There’s nobody
around for him to signal to.’

‘
We can’t go much farther, Colin,’ Dusty warned. ‘But if
there’s any hint of more of them around, hunt for a hole and we’ll
come running.’

‘
A stupid, dead hero’s no use to Jeanie,’ Mark went on. ‘Sides
which, think about us three.’

‘
How do you mean?’ Colin asked, sounding puzzled.

‘
Happen you got shot that ways, it’d be us who’d have to go
back and face her,’ the blond giant explained, holding out a big
right hand. ‘Good luck, amigo.’

After shaking
hands with the Texans, Colin went forward alone. He sat his saddle
with tense alertness, the heavy caliber double-rifle’s butt resting
on his knee and barrels pointing into the air. Riding in his
holster was the ivory-handled Dragoon Colt, while the dirk hung at
his other side.

Approaching the
edge of the village, Colin dismounted. Going into a fight, he
preferred to be on foot rather than riding. So he left the horse
standing with its reins trailing and walked forward. He held the
rifle ready for use and looked along the street. Under the
circumstances, the crumbling buildings seemed extra stark and
almost menacing. However Colin saw nothing of his waiting enemy.
Then he became aware that a man had come from a house at the other
end of the street. With a feeling of shock, Colin realized that it
was Gomez. The man wore neither sombrero not serape but carried a
Spencer rifle.

Amusement
flickered on Gomez’s face as he brought the Spencer to his shoulder
and commenced to take a leisurely aim. Everything appeared to be
going just as Flores had planned. Clearly the dummies, dressed in
spare clothing and mounted on horses picked up during the return
from the fatal attack on the camp, had fooled the Texans—even
Cabrito. More than that, the bandido leader had correctly predicted
how the man in the skirt would be armed. Thinking back to how
Vicente had been killed, Tiburcio decided that Colin Farquharson
would use a shotgun. So he had made his arrangements accordingly,
placing Gomez at the far end of the street with orders to make use
of the Spencer’s superior range.

The bandido
felt no great concern as he saw his victim also raising a weapon.
At something over a hundred yards, the nine balls from the shotgun
would have spread so that only luck might guide one his way. With
that thought in mind, Gomez saw no need to hurry in taking aim and
made the last mistake of his mis-spent life.

Swiftly, yet
carefully, Colin lined the double barrels of the gun on Gomez and
squeezed its forward trigger. A heavy powder charge burned and the
rifle boomed like a small cannon in the stillness of the evening.
Speeding through the air, a .600 caliber bullet glanced from the
barrel of the Spencer and struck the center of the bandido’s
forehead. Lifted from his feet by the impact, his skull a shattered
ruin, Gomez crashed backwards.

Even as he
fired, Colin caught a movement from the corner of his eye. Like a
flash he swiveled around and dropped to his left knee in turning.
Lead slapped the air by his head and he saw Cijar framed in the
window of the nearest building. Finding himself detected and having
missed with his shot, the mestenero jerked back behind the wall. He
was content to be out of Colin’s sight and waited for Tiburcio to
intervene before attempting to show himself.

Again the heavy
rifle bellowed. The large caliber bullet drove through the adobe
wall as if it had been so much paper and struck Cijar. Churning
into his arm, the lead passed through to his chest. Giving a
choking cry, the man staggered in a circle, tripped and fell.

A shot crashed
from along the street and Colin felt a searing pain on his left
arm. Letting the empty rifle fall, he threw himself sideways and
twisted to face his next assailant. Face distorted with rage,
Tiburcio Flores hurled himself into the center of the street. Colin
could see the smoke-wrapped shape approaching and bullets flew
around him. Landing on the street, he brought the Dragoon from its
holster. Even as Flores came to a halt so as to shoot straighter,
Colin fired. Hit in the center of the chest, the bandido fell,
screaming curses.

At the first
hint of treachery, Dusty, Mark and the Kid had set their horses
moving. However they had almost half a mile to cover and by the
time they arrived, the last of the Flores gang lay dying. Getting
back to his feet, Colin shook his left hand and worked its
throbbing fingers. Blood dribbled from where Flores’ bullet had
raked a furrow along his forearm.

‘
He had men with him,’ Colin told the Texans when they
arrived.

‘
And they didn’t do him one lil bit of good,’ replied the Kid.
‘You sure you don’t have Comanche blood, Colin? You sure fight like
a Nemenuh.’

‘
Move aside, you danged Tshaoh!’ Mark snorted. ‘Leave me fix up
this forty-four caliber man’s arm.’

‘
Yes sir, amigo.’ Dusty went on. ‘You’ve earned being called a
forty-four caliber man, Colin.’

Not even the
fact that he had gained what amounted to an accolade from the
Texans equaled the pleasure Colin felt over how Jeanie greeted him
on his return. Rushing forward regardless of the watching
mesteneros, she threw her arms about his neck and had to be
reassured that he was not seriously hurt. With that attended to
Colin went to Ma and took the Dragoon from his holster.

‘
Keep it, son,’ she said, glancing at Jeanie and smiling.
‘Nobody’ll say you’re not man enough to carry it now.’

That night
Jeanie and Colin strolled together along the stream’s banks. After
discussing the hunt which would start the following morning, they
both tried to bring up the subject each wanted to air. Jeanie had
never been long on patience and Colin smiled as he waited to see
how she would handle the situation. At last she reached down to
stroke the rough material of his kilt.

‘
Colin,’ she whispered. ‘What do you wear under
this?’

‘
That’s something a Scot can only tell his wife,’ he replied,
taking her hand in his.

‘
All right,’ she smiled, nestling closer to him. ‘If that’s the
only way I can find out, I’ll marry you.’

‘
I thought you’d never ask me,’ Colin grinned. ‘Let’s go and
tell Ma.’

Walking towards
the camp at the side of her forty-four caliber man, Jeanie gave a
little chuckle. Let him think that he had tricked her into doing
the proposing if it made him happy. She had known the answer to her
question ever since following Colin up the canyon wall.

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