.44 Caliber Man (3 page)

Agitating
briefly, the rear part of the ‘rock’ began to rise. It proved to be
a blanket covered with dust until the same color as the real rock.
Swiftly the man under the blanket stood up and flung it aside.
Dressed in the style of a vaquero, he was bareheaded and his face
showed more Indian than Mexican blood. Gripping a fancy-looking
Navy Colt in his right hand, the man sprang towards the coach.

At the same
moment, on the right of the trail, a tall, slim Mexican lurched
into sight. He had been crouching behind a small rock, covered with
cuttings from the nearby bushes. Not far from him a tumbleweed
began to move, although there was hardly any wind and it had
previously been motionless. Thrusting it aside, a third man
appeared from a hollow in the ground over which it had been lying.
Shorter and more stocky than the Mexican, he was of the same race.
They wore fancy, expensive charro clothes and were alike in the
expressions of evil and lust on their faces. Leading four horses, a
rider came from the distant draw and headed for the clump of
mesquite which sheltered the man with the rifle.

Aware that he
had achieved his ambition and become involved in a hold-up, Simcock
thrust himself erect. Cursing himself for not drawing the shotgun
earlier, he wasted no time in trying to do so. Instead he sent his
right hand fanning to the butt of the Army Colt holstered on his
belt. Even as he made his play, he remembered that a rifle had
killed the horse. Neither of the men on the right could have used
it, for they had been hidden within twenty yards of the trail.

Before Simcock
could draw his Colt, the rifle spat again from among the mesquite.
Lead ripped into the guard’s body. Giving a cry of pain, he twisted
around and tumbled over the left side of the box. Fully occupied
with controlling the team, Temple could do nothing to try to fight
off the men. Springing in from the left, the half-breed jerked open
the door at his side. While the taller man lined a Starr Navy
revolver at Temple, his companion approached the body of the
coach.

Looking into
the barrel of the half-breed’s revolver, the Kid eased himself from
Colin. Then the right side door jerked open and the smaller
Mexican’s Navy Colt ended any chance of immediate resistance.
Jeanie wriggled off April’s lap and darted a glance at the
Winchester then to the Kid. Giving an almost imperceptible
headshake, the dark youngster awaited developments.

‘
Don’t kill them unless you have to, Indio,’ the stocky Mexican
ordered, in Spanish. ‘Somebody’ll maybe pay to get some of them
back.’

‘
Si, Jaime,’ the half-breed answered. ‘If they make a wrong
move I’ll only kill them a little bit.’

‘
Is the guard dead, Indio?’ called the taller man, without
turning his Starr away from Temple’s direction.

‘
Looks like it, Adàn,’ replied the half breed, glancing down
and back into the coach too quickly for the Kid to take advantage
of it. ‘He’s not moving and bleeding bad.’

‘
Get them out so I can look at them, Jaime,’ ordered
Adàn.

‘
Com’ out here, peoples,’ Jaime said, using English for the
first time. ‘You don’ make trouble and we don’ hurt
you.’

Which was, as
the Kid for one of the passengers well knew, a lie. The only reason
they had not been shot immediately was that the bandidos wanted to
see if any of them would be worth holding for ransom. Once that had
been established, the worthless male passengers and driver would be
killed. Hardened to the worst aspects of life though he might be,
the Kid did not care to think about the fate of the two women
before death finally claimed them.

Yet he knew
that resistance at that moment would be suicidal. Even outside
there would be small enough chance, but being in the open offered
more opportunity than did the confines of the coach.

Trained from
birth to think fast, analyze situations and rapidly work out
solutions, the Kid put his lessons to good use. There was one way
he might get a break. Slender, risky as hell, but a whole heap
better than no chance at all.

‘
Do what he says, ma’am,’ the Kid said, looking at
April

‘
Have we any choice?’ the blonde answered, rising and picking
up her vanity bag from where it had lain between her and Colin.
‘Don’t let us women-folk stop you making a move. We both know what
they’ll do to us—and it’s no pleasure that way.’

Backing off,
still covering the door of the coach with his Colt, Jaime watched
the blonde come to it. If April felt any concern, she managed to
hide it. Showing surprising agility, she swung herself down from
the coach.

‘
¡A la deracha!’ Jaime ordered, and April moved to her right,
halting by the rear wheel.

‘
I’ll go next,’ the Kid decided. ‘Then you, friend. You’ll be
the last one out, Jeanie-gal.’

‘
Sure, Kid,’ the girl answered, before Colin could
speak.

‘
Pappy had a Henry and I’ve used it.’

‘
That’n works the same way,’ the Kid told her and went to the
door. ‘Don’t do nothing rash, gal.’

While dropping
to the ground, the Kid glanced around and felt relieved at what he
saw. During his border smuggling days he had gained an almost
encyclopedic knowledge of Mexican bandido gangs. Probably he had
never heard the words modus operandi, but he knew what they
implied. The killing of the lead horse from a distance, followed by
the appearance of men hidden close to the object of the robbery,
had always been the way in which the Flores brothers’ gang
worked.

One glance at
the taller Mexican confirmed the Kid’s guess. He was Adàn Flores.
The other brothers, Tiburcio, Matteo and Vicente, did not appear to
be on hand. In fact only five of the gang showed themselves; three
by the coach and the horse-holder waiting for the rifleman to mount
up over by the distant clump of mesquite. Five, not twenty or more;
and commanded by Adàn, by far the least efficient of the family.
Given just a smidgen of good Texas luck, something might be done
about busting up the robbery.

Recognition was
mutual. Taking his eyes from Temple, Flores looked the Kid’s way,
grinned and said, ‘Hola, Cabrito. We not know you were on the
coach.’

‘
You should have asked before you stopped it,’ the Kid replied,
speaking Spanish with the accent of a border-country Mexican and
moving to stand at April’s side.

Flores let out
a bellow of laughter. ‘You hear that, Jaime?

‘
We should have asked before we stopped it. Cabr—Madre de dios,
what’s this?’

The sight of
Colin framed in the doorway brought the words popping from Flores’
lips. Remembering his own feelings when confronted unexpectedly by
the kilted Scot, the Kid had been counting on Colin’s appearance to
distract the bandidos. The hope only partly materialized. While
Flores and Jaime ogled with bugged-out eyes, the latter still kept
his Colt pointed straight at the Kid’s belly. There was also Indio
in the coach and the two approaching riders to be considered. So
the Kid stood still.

On the driver’s
box, Temple had managed to quieten down his team. Seeing Flores was
no longer watching him, the driver started to edge cautiously along
the seat towards Simcock’s shotgun.

After the Kid
jumped from the coach, Indio started to enter. However, the
half-breed gave Jeanie no chance to grab the rifle. His eyes raked
her from head to toe and his thick lips separated in a slobbering
lecherous grin. Dull-witted and bestial, Indio thought only of the
fun he would have with the women passengers and did not look in
Colin’s direction. Shooting out his left hand, he caught Jeanie by
the arm.

‘
Hey, little one,’ he said. ‘You real pretty. I think I take
you if Adàn don’t want you.’

Desperately
Jeanie forced herself not to struggle. The half-breed would kill
her at the slightest show of resistance. While death would be
preferable to being carried off alive, Jeanie aimed to hold on
until there was no hope of escape. Unless she missed her guess, the
Kid had something in mind. So she must do nothing to spark off
trouble before he was ready to make his play. The fingers left her
arm, rising to stroke her face. Although she shuddered, Jeanie made
no attempt to move away. Outside the coach, voices rose and she
heard laughter.

‘
What is it a man or a woman?’ Flores whooped as Colin dropped
to the ground. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘
Or me,’ Jaime went on, ‘Hey, Cabrito, what does he wear under
that skirt?’

‘
Why don’t you look and find out?’ the Kid asked.

‘
You watch them,’ Flores told Jaime. ‘I’ll do it. You, gringo,
come here.’

‘
He means you, friend,’ the Kid said to Colin. ‘Watch how you
go, he’s bad mean and a killer.’

Although Colin
guessed that the bandidos had commented on his appearance, he had
not understood their words. However, he knew better than to argue
in the face of the guns and so walked towards Flores. Having
followed the conversation, April began to pull open the neck of her
vanity bag.

‘
He looks real fancy, Jaime,’ Flores declared as Colin came to
a halt before him. ‘I bet you he wears drawers like a
saloon-girl.’

With that
Flores stepped closer to Colin. Drawing the hammer of his Starr
back to full cock, he placed its muzzle against Colin’s ribs. Then
the bandido bent forward at the waist and took hold of the kilt’s
hem with his left hand. Grinning a little, Jaime turned his head to
satisfy his curiosity. Catching April’s eye, the Kid nodded
slightly. She slipped her right hand into the bag. For his part,
the Kid stood in a relaxed-seeming slouch but his right hand turned
palm out close to the butt of the Dragoon Colt.

Hot indignation
ripped through Colin as he realized what the Mexican planned to do.
With a growl of fury, he brought his left hand from his side. He
struck the bottom of the Starr, meaning to push it away from him,
forcing it inwards and up. The result was all, and more, than the
Kid had hoped for.

Adàn Flores had
never been a quick thinker, so the Scot’s reaction took him by
surprise. Feeling the Starr struck, he reacted far too slowly. By
the time his brain flashed its message to the right forefinger, the
gun’s barrel was no longer pointing in Colin’s direction. Carried
up by the Scot’s hand, the Starr’s muzzle aimed towards the side of
its owner’s head.

Just an instant
too late Flores realized the danger. His finger tightened on the
trigger. The Starr had a double-action mechanism, but could be
cocked manually. When this was done, a slight pressure on the
trigger freed the hammer. So it proved. At Flores’ tug, the hammer
drove downwards and struck the waiting percussion cap. Flame
spurted from the barrel, singeing the bandido’s hair as the bullet
ploughed into Flores’ temple. Shock and disbelief momentarily
twisted at Flores’ face as he jerked erect. Then he reeled sideways
and sprawled to the ground.

After which all
hell tore loose by the halted stagecoach.

Jaime started
to turn his revolver in Colin’s direction, then realized the danger
of such a move. One could not give Cabrito, the Ysabel Kid, that
much of a chance and live to boast about it. So he swung his
attention back to the black-clad young Texan. Only just in time,
for the Kid’s right hand had already gripped the Dragoon and
started to pull it from the holster.

At Colin’s
first hint of movement, the Kid folded his fingers around the
walnut butt and hooked his thumb over the hammer spur. He began to
lift the gun, drawing back the hammer so as to complete the cocking
by the time the barrel cleared leather. Unfortunately Jaime’s
attention did not stay on Colin and Flores for long enough to let
the Kid complete his draw.

Seeing the
Kid’s predicament, April brought her hand from the bag. In it she
held a Remington Double Derringer, .41 in caliber and deadly at
close quarters. Going by the way she cocked and aimed the little
hide-out gun, April had taken the trouble to gain proficiency in
its use. The Derringer’s upper barrel cracked and a hole appeared
in Jaime’s forehead. Dropping his Colt, he staggered around in a
circle and then collapsed. There was no time for the Kid to express
his gratitude at being saved.

At the sound of
the first shot, Indio thrust Jeanie on to the seat and swung to
face the right side door. As the half-breed started to lunge
forward, the girl drew up her legs and drove her feet as hard as
she could into his back. Much of Jeanie’s life had been spent
riding horses, an exercise noted for developing sturdy leg muscles,
so the kick packed some force when it landed. Caught unexpectedly,
Indio pitched through the door faster than he intended. In going,
he fired his gun involuntarily. Although the bullet flew harmlessly
across the range, the sound of the shot alerted the Kid to the
fresh danger.

Spinning
around, the Kid completed his draw. Cocked already, the big Colt
slanted upwards from waist level as Indio made his precipitous
departure from the coach. The Kid did not hesitate in his actions;
under the circumstances he dare not. With a deep bellow, caused by
forty grains of powder igniting in the cylinder’s uppermost
chamber, the Dragoon coughed a .44 caliber, round soft lead ball
along its seven-and-a-half inch barrel. Struck in the head while
still in mid-air, Indio’s body jerked under the impact. Although he
landed on his feet, his legs buckled under him and he crashed
forward, spraying blood and brains on to the ground.

Some thirty
yards away, the two riders saw the trouble begin and brought the
horses to a halt. Whipping up his Spencer rifle, the man who had
shot Simcock tried to lay his sights on the Kid. At the same time,
the other bandido dropped the reins of the three horses he led and
grabbed at his holstered revolver.