Buchanan's Revenge (11 page)

"Do you mean to say you thought you'd be shot at?"

Buchanan smiled. "I mean to say I make a sizable tar
get," he told her. "And as for pressing my luck against
those three bushwhackers," he added, "I'm one up on
them already."

"How?"

"They don't know I'm coming," Buchanan said.

Cristy had no ready answer to that logic and a pensive
silence fell between them. Buchanan rose from the fire,
got their blankets and set them the same distance apart
as if he were traveling with an6ther man.

"Early start tomorrow. Let's turn in," he said and the girl knew that the time of easy relaxation was over for
him. His mind was back on the mission that was taking
him to the border.

"I'm going to sit here for a while," Cristy said. "I
couldn't possibly get to sleep this early."

"Suit yourself," Buchanan said, sliding beneath his
blanket. "Tomorrow night you can get back to your reg
ular routine."

"What do you mean, my regular routine?" she said
sharply.

. Buchanan raised his head, surprised. "No offense," he
explained. "I just meant you could do as you pleased. Stay
up all night and sleep all morning."

"Is that the kind of life you think I want?" she de
manded.

"Sounds pretty good to me," Buchanan said, lowering
hi
s head again. "Well, good night
—"

The girl got to her feet, came to stand above him.

"I don't want to stay up all night and sleep all morn
ing," she said, her voice intense. "I want to live like other
women. With a man."

"You will," Buchanan said drowsily, getting comfortable on his side. "You'll get whatever you want."

"How do you know I will?"

"Because you're a real fine girl. 'Night."

Cristy stood looking down at him for a long moment
before turning away. She knew that she couldn't have
made it any plainer to him than she had. Nor could he.

They arrived in teeming, rowdy-looking Brownsville be
fore noon the next day. Arrived after nearly four hours'
riding with hardly a complete sentence spoken between
them. Buchanan, not suspecting that he had wounded the girl's pride the night before, got his first hint of her atti
tude when she declined to be helped down from her
horse. And his second when she held out her hand to
him, man-fashion.

"Thank you for the safe journey on the trail," she said
and the man thought there was something wryly mocking in the way she emphasized the word "safe."

"You're welcome," he said.

"And good luck in your man
hunting."

"Thanks," he said, looking around. "This could be a
likely town to start with." When he looked back she was walking away from him, full of confidence, self-reliance,
and even in the tight-fitting pants and shirt he was re
minded again of San Francisco. "So long," he called
after her, but she didn't turn.

Buchanan shrugged, then frowned. The girl's steps had
carried opposite a saloon entrance just as two hardcase
types emerged drunkenly into the sunlight. Cristy moved
around them lithely, kept going. So did the liquored pair,
in the same direction and in obvious pursuit. And Bu
chanan made four.

Cristy, full of her own stinging thoughts, was unaware
of being followed. Unaware, too, of the dark alley loom
ing on her left. An instant later rough hands were clamped
on her arms and she was being forced relentlessly into
the alleyway.

Buchanan moved, swiftly
—but across his path and into the alleyway before him darted a slim man dressed all in
black. The man felled one of Cristy's would-be attackers
with a flat-handed blow at the base of the neck. The sec
ond one obligingly swung around and was struck twice in
the solar plexus and on the point of his jaw. He went.
down soundlessly.

Buchanan stood there, watching in admiration an expert at work. There wasn't anything else he could do but
watch.

"Are you injured, Miss?"

Cristy blinked her eyes at him
—he was hardly taller
than herself—and shook her head bewilderedly. The man
turned, gave Buchanan a brief, appraising glance, and stepped into the street. He put his fingers to his lips and
whistled shrilly, went back into the alley.

Now he raised his black hat to Cristy and bowed his
head. "John Lime, Miss, Sheriff of Brownsville," he said in a courtly voice. "And my deepest apologies for what hap
pened here."

"Nothing happened, really," the girl said. "But thank
you very much
—"

There was a commotion then as three deputies entered
the alleyway from three different directions, picked up the
dazed pair from the ground and carted them off withou
t a
word.

"Did I detect a Southern accent, Miss?" John Lime
said urbanely, offering Cristy his arm and escorting her
past the useless-feeling Buchanan.

"I'm from South Carolina," Cristy said.

"Well! My original home is Virginia."

"Well! What a small world we live in." She smiled at
him. "My name, Mr. Lime, is Cristina Ford, and you
must excuse my strange costume."

"Miss Ford, a lady is a lady no matter what her garb."

"Well, thank you, sir." She glanced over her shoulder.
"And may I introduce Mr. Buchanan?"

L
ime gave Buchanan a longer appraisal, offered his
hand. They shook.

"Are you, ah,
with
Miss Ford, sir?"

"I don't think so," Buchanan said.

"Mr. Buchanan provided me his protection on the jour
ney from Aura," Cristy said and Buchanan noted how
really Southern her voice had suddenly become.

"And you took over from there," Buchanan said. "Some
nice job, too."

John Lime didn't acknowledge the praise. He still had questions for the tall man with the well-worn Colt on his
hip.

"You're in Brownsville on business, Buchanan?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"
"

"I'm not sure yet."

The answer didn't please the lawman. "Are you con
nected with Red Leech?"

"No," Buchanan answered, thinking that the name rang a bell. Who had mentioned Red Leech?

"What is your line of work?" Lime pressed.

"Well, I was in the freight business for about a week," Buchanan answered truthfully. "I came down here to sort
of clear up a few odds and ends."

Lime's unyielding gaze went to the Colt.

"But you are not with the Leech gang?"

"Didn't even know he had one."

"Well, he does. And this town is off-limits to every
member of it. This town is also against lawlessness, no
matter what you may have heard elsewhere."

"I did hear it was lively," Buchanan said.

"Lively and prosperous and growing," Lime told him. "A place of recreation and commerce, the queen city of
the Rio. But law-abiding."

"That's fine with me, Sheriff."

Lime was finished with him and turned back to Cristy.

"Miss Ford," he said gallantly, "I wonder if I might
have the honor of showing you our city?"

"I'd be delighted, Mr. Lime," Cristy said.
"And perhaps you'd dine with me at the Palace Hotel?"
"Thank you very much, but I really couldn't. Not in
this costume."

"Then let's correct that situation immediately," John
Lime said, offering his arm again. "At Madame Maude's
I'm sure you'll find the latest fashions."

"Oh, I couldn't. Really-"

"But I insist. After all, we Southerners must set the
example in hospitality." He nodded to Buchanan. "Good day, sir," he said and swept Cristy away.

Buchanan, suddenly all alone in the alley, moved out
onto the boardwalk, stood there with his hands on his
hips and watched the departing couple. Now there, he
thought, goes one fast-moving gent, and didn't miss no
ticing how passersby opened up a passage for the sheriff
of Brownsville, stood aside and relinquished the right of
way without question. Some punkins, Mr. Lime, he
thought and then smiled inwardly at himself. Man,
alive, don't get sore at him for charming Cristy right out
of her boots. She's the marryin' kind, like you told your
self last night.

Buchanan went off in the opposite direction in search
of a meal.

Eight

L
ash Wall
stood in the courtyard of the hacienda and
watched the last wagon train of party girls and empty
kegs depart for Brownsville. Bronsen and Owens had rid
den out to the palace of fun earlier in the day and been
indelibly shocked at the full-blown orgy they found in full
swing. They'd come to inform Red Leech that the mer
chants were ready to end their embargo and begin the
great smuggling operation.

"Hell, me and the boys are ready, brother!" Leech
bawled at them fuzzily and would have fallen on his beard
had not his bosomy blonde friend pulled him back down on the couch. Wall had taken charge then, ushering the
worried businessmen back to their carriage and assuring them that Leech's army would be in the saddle within
forty-eight hours. Bronsen and Owens looked very doubtful as they rode out.

If you're unhappy now, Lash thought, wait until yo
u
hear about that extra ten per cent you're giving us.

His next task that morning was to roam the three floors of the house and herd the women into the wagons and
buggies. He saved Big Red until last, happily found him
passed out, and bribed the blonde with an additional ten-
dollar coin to depart with her sisters. In the late after
noon, when Leech woke up roaring for food, drink and
companionship in that order, Wall sat down for a council
of war.

"We got to sober up and go to work, Big Red," he told
the scowling leader. "We start pushing their cotton tomor
row night. And we'll be pushing it every night for
next two weeks."

"You mean to say I can't fight Mexicans drunk or so
ber?" Leech snarled belligerently.

"You can, Big Red," Wall said diplomatically. "But the
rest of the boys are only human. And you've got to set
them an example."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. That's why you're running things around here."

"I don't seem to be running this shebang, by God!"

"You will when we mount up," Wall told him. "All I've been doing is the staff work, handling the little details.
Tomorrow night it's up to you whether we do it or we don't."

"I guess you're right, Lash. Like usual." He lumbered to
his feet, tossed the lamb bone he'd been shredding into a
corner. "Put the crew on rations starting now. A quart
a day per man."

"How about half a quart?"

"Jesus! All right, all right! And no more chummin'.
We're a bunch of monks till the job's done^ And Jules
Perrott and everybody else sticks close to headquarters. Anything else you can think of?"

"The boys could check their guns and ammo, Big Red. And look the animals over from head to foot."

"Yeah. Go pass the word. Tell 'em I said so and I'll
break any bastard in two who gives any argument."

Lash Wall passed the word and it was accepted at face
v
alue by all but Jules Perrott.

"My guns are always in good shape," he said surlily.
"And so's my horse."

"Meaning you're planning another trip into town?"

"Meaning I don't like to be ordered around. I can make
my own rules."

"Jules, what's the big attraction in Brownsville? You
got a girl there?"

"I got me a tinhorn gambler on the hook and I don't
aim to let him off."

"How much you ahead?"

"Six hundred. Tonight I'm going to bet the roll and
break
the little son."

"Suppose it's the other way round?"