.44 Caliber Man (5 page)

‘
Sure they can,’ the driver snorted, bristling at the insult to
his highly-prized team. ‘We won’t be able to make fast time
though.’

‘
Know who it was jumped us, Lou?’ the Kid inquired
mildly.

‘
Can’t say as I do. We never got interduced formal like. Acted
like raw yearling stock. Who was they?’

‘
That’s Adàn Flores,’ the Kid told him, jerking a thumb in the
direction of the appropriate body.

‘
The hell you say!’ Temple spat out and Jeanie threw a startled
glance at the corpse, then to Colin. After looking around, the
driver went on, ‘None of ’em got away, did they?’

‘
No. But their hosses lit out. We’d best get ready to
move.’

‘
And pronto,’’ Jeanie put in, joining the men. ‘I’ll borrow the
scatter, Lou.’

‘
Sure,’ the driver replied. ‘Come on, mister. Let’s dig out
your rifle.’

Going to the
rear boot, Temple unfastened its cover and pulled out a long
mahogany box. Colin unlocked and raised the lid. Inside it lay what
looked like two twin-barreled shotguns, a Henry rifle, a powder
flask, two leather bullet pouches and four boxes of .44 cartridges
for use with the repeater. Taking out the Henry and a box of
cartridges, Colin relocked and replaced the box. While waiting,
Temple kept scanning the surrounding country with worried eyes. The
driver did not hide his relief when the box was replaced and the
cover secured. Between them, the man wrapped Simcock’s body in a
spare boot cover, lifted it on to the roof and fastened it
there.

‘
How about the other bodies?’ Colin inquired when Temple sat on
the driver’s seat.

‘
We’ve only three hosses to haul the stage,’ the Kid pointed
out. ‘That much extra weight’d kill them afore we’ve made three
miles. The army or law’ll come out to collect them.’

‘
You’d best stop up here, Kid,’ Temple suggested.

‘
I figured to,’ the Kid replied, ‘Hand up my rifle, Jeanie-gal.
Then all you get aboard, we’re moving.’

Turkey vultures
gathered in the sky, circling the scene of the abortive hold-up.
Almost two hours had passed since the stagecoach continued its
interrupted journey, but so far none of the black-winged scavengers
had gathered sufficient courage to descend and begin their grisly
work.

Topping a rim
to the east, a rider reined in his horse at the sight of the
hovering birds. From them, he dropped his gaze to the stage trail.
For a moment he sat and stared, then turned in his saddle. Taking
off his sombrero, he waved it over his head in a signal.

A few minutes
went by and more men joined him. Then they urged their horses
towards where the bodies lay. Twenty in number, they were
well-armed, savage-looking Mexicans. Though most of them dressed
after the fashion of vaqueros, nobody who knew the Rio Grande
border country would have taken them for cattle-herders from a
hacienda.

Best mounted of
the party, and with a greater concern over what they saw, the
Flores brothers drew ahead of their men. Riding in a shallow V
formation, the brothers glared about them with all the caution of
much-hunted lobo wolves. If the bodies had been left to lure them
into a trap, they intended to locate it before it could spring on
them.

As usual,
Tiburcio formed the point of the V. Tall, swarthily handsome and
slim, he gave the impression of rapier-steel strength. Although
travel-stained, his clothing had the look of costly elegance.
Silver glinted in the band of his white sombrero, decorated his
short brown leather jacket, saddle and bridle. Around his waist
hung a gunbelt of shining black leather, supporting an 1860 Army
Colt with fancy Tiffany grips in a fast-draw holster on the right
and a long-bladed fighting knife at the left. He could use either
weapon with considerable skill. Sitting his black and white tobiano
stallion with easy grace, he studied the scene ahead with cold,
calculating intensity.

To Tiburcio’s
left rode Vicente. Youngest of the brothers, he dressed as
stylishly as any rich haciendero’s favorite son. Lines of
dissipation and evil already marred his handsome features, hinting
at the true, merciless nature underneath. Silver sparkled on his
clothing, horse’s rig and traced patterns on the ivory handles of
the two Navy Colts riding butt forward in the holsters of his
gunbelt. His bayo naranjado
^v
gelding moved gracefully, if
nervously, for he used spurs, quirt and ring bit impartially to
enforce his will.

If his brothers
might have passed for high-born Spanish Mexicans, the same did not
apply to Matteo. Middle-sized, thickset, he had a face which even a
mother would find hard to love. A jagged knife-scar down the left
cheek did nothing to improve the effect of a receding forehead,
sunken eyes, a crooked nose and thick, surly lips. He had a scarlet
bandana bound about his head and his sombrero trailed by its
storm-strap on his back. A filthy white shirt hung open to show a
hair-matted chest. Dirty white pantaloons covered his lower regions
and bare feet rested in the stirrups of an Indian saddle. Only the
Dragoon Colt in an open-bottomed half-breed holster and heavy,
long-bladed machete hanging from the other side of his weapon belt
showed any sign of care or cleaning. He slouched afork a runty
buckskin that looked like it was waiting for the turkey vultures to
feed on it and could out-run any horse in the gang.

‘
It looks as if Brother Adàn tried to rob a stagecoach,’
Vicente commented. ‘And did as well at it as at every—’

‘
Shut your mouth and use your eyes!’ Tiburcio barked, head
turning from side to side as he searched for any hint of danger.
‘What do you think, Matteo?’

Before
answering, Matteo looked up at the vultures and then examined the
land around the bodies. Knowing his brother’s thoroughness and
ability in such matters, Tiburcio was content to wait for an
answer.

‘
There’s nobody around,’ Matteo decided.

‘
The birds haven’t come down to feed yet,’ Tiburcio pointed
out, although willing to accept the verdict.

‘
Maybe whoever he tried to rob have only just gone,’ Matteo
answered. ‘Indians might be able to hide around there without me
seeing them, but no white man could.’

Satisfied that
there was no danger of them riding into an ambush, Tiburcio kept
moving. However, he did not go straight to the bodies, but led his
party on to the trail some distance from where they lay. He wanted
to learn how Adàn came to be killed. So he kept the horses away
from where they might trample over tracks or other signs that would
tell so much to trained eyes. Although there was no immediate
threat, he did not forget to take the basic precautions against
being surprised.

‘
Two of you go each way and watch the trail,’ he barked,
halting the tobiano and dismounting.

While two of
the gang rode off in each direction, Matteo and Vicente swung from
their saddles. Leaving their horses standing ‘ground hitched’ with
trailing reins, the brothers walked forward. Without as much as
glancing at the other bodies, they approached Adàn. Matteo’s eyes
raked across the ground, noticing every bent-over blade of grass
and reading its message. So did Tiburcio and a puzzled frown crept
on to his face.

Going to the
body, Matteo knelt by it and turned the head to look at the wound.
A perplexed expression creased his face and he made the sign of the
cross as he studied the burning caused by the muzzle-blast.

‘
How could it happen?’ Matteo breathed.

‘
Adàn was always stupid—’ Vicente answered.

‘
Not stupid enough to let a man walk up and put a gun against
the side of his head,’ Matteo interrupted.

‘
His gun’s been fired,’ Tiburcio went on, having picked up the
Starr and checked its condition. ‘There’s no sign that he hit
anything.’

While the
brothers devoted their attention to Adàn, the rest of the gang
fanned out to examine the other bodies. Enough of them could
read-sign and tell roughly what had happened. However, their main
concern was to search the corpses, not to worry over why the
robbery had gone wrong. One of the men reached the side of Temple’s
victim and made a discovery.

‘
¡Patron!’ he yelled. ‘Arturo’s alive!’

Thrusting the
Starr into his waistband, Tiburcio strode rapidly towards the
speaker. His haste sprang from a desire for information rather than
interest in the wounded man’s welfare.

Pain from the
hoof-graze had combined with the two buckshot wounds to render
Arturo unconscious. In his hurry to leave before the rest of the
gang arrived, the Kid had not made a close examination of the shot
bandidos. So the fact that Arturo lived had gone undiscovered.
During the time Arturo had lain insensible, the wounds continued to
bleed. So he regained consciousness too weak to do more than lie
and make feeble movements which prevented the cautious vultures
from landing. Shortly before the gang appeared, he had fainted
again.

‘
Bring water and tequila,’ Tiburcio called to the men by the
trail, looking down at Arturo’s haggard features. ‘Move
your—’

‘
Si, patron,’ the bandido answered. ‘And when I come back, I
will have the woman who killed him.’

‘
We’ll know where to find her by then,’ Tiburcio promised.
‘When we get to the Creek, Matteo, we’ll send a man into town to
fetch Arnaldo Hogan out to us.’

‘
He’ll know all there is to know,’ Matteo agreed. ‘Let’s
ride.’

‘
¡Patron!’ Arturo gasped, watching the brothers turn away.
‘What about my wounds?’

‘
See to them for him Vicente,’ Tiburcio ordered.

For once the
youngest brother accepted an order without question or hesitation.
Drawing and cocking his right-hand Colt, he swung back towards the
wounded man. Neither Tiburcio nor Matteo looked back as the shot
cracked out. Walking over to the waiting men, Tiburcio told them
what he wanted done. Vicente joined his brothers, holstering the
smoking Colt.

‘
His wounds don’t trouble him now,’ the youngster
said.

‘
Let’s ride.’ His eyes met those of Manuel and he went on. ‘The
sooner we’ve done this, the sooner we can get our
revenge.’

Colin
Farquharson was a worried, puzzled man as he left his room at the
Grand Hotel to go downstairs for a meal. Born and raised in the
Scottish highlands, he found difficulty in understanding the casual
manner in which the law enforcement officer in Fort Sawyer reacted
to hearing of the attempted armed robbery and killing of five
men.

Once the
stagecoach had started moving with its depleted team, Colin found
himself with time to think. He began to wonder what would happen
when the local police, or whatever they might be, learned that he
had killed a man.

Seeing that he
was concerned, April had set about diverting him. With the deft
ease of a professional hostess, she got him talking. Remarking that
she had left Galveston to take a better job in a Fort Sawyer
saloon, she inquired what brought Colin to Texas. Only too pleased
to have his thoughts taken from the killing, he told her how his
uncle had been a major in the Confederate States cavalry and had
spoken in such glowing terms on his return to Scotland that Colin
had decided to see the Lone Star State for himself. A cousin lived
in Fort Sawyer, so Colin planned to visit him before starting on a
hunting expedition.

For her part,
Jeanie had made it plain that she did not want to join in the
conversation. Nursing the dead guard’s shotgun, she had answered
the few questions directed at her in monosyllables and showed that
she wished to be left alone. Colin had put the girl’s reticence
down to annoyance at how he had treated her, while April regarded
it as no more than a ‘good’ woman’s snobbish objections to
travelling with a saloon-worker. As long as daylight lasted, Jeanie
had repeatedly leaned out of the window and looked back along the
trail. She showed considerable relief when the Ysabel Kid called
from the roof that the lights of the town were in sight.

Night had
fallen as the coach passed through the Mexican section, went along
the main street and came to a halt before the stage depot. Although
Colin’s appearance had attracted some comment among the crowd
awaiting the coach’s arrival, news of what had delayed it took
their attention from him.

On his arrival
the county sheriff had asked questions, most of which the Kid and
Temple answered. Much to Colin’s surprise, the paunchy,
miserable-looking peace officer accepted all he was told and did
not offer to take down written statements. He had expressed
satisfaction on hearing of Adàn Flores’ death and stated that Colin
did not need to worry about the other brothers seeking revenge
while staying in Fort Sawyer; a comment which brought a low grunt
of disapproval from the Kid. Promising that he would take out a
posse to collect the bodies in the morning, the sheriff told the
passengers that they could go about their business.

After repeating
his warning that Colin should watch out for the remaining Flores
brothers, the Kid collected his saddle and disappeared along the
street in the direction of the army post. For a moment Jeanie had
stood staring at Colin, seeming on the verge of speaking. Then she
turned and walked away in the opposite direction to that taken by
the Kid. After reminding Colin to come over for a drink later,
April had crossed the street and entered the Black Bear Saloon.