The Border Empire (24 page)

“I can't argue with that kind of thinking,” said Wes. “Where are they taking us?”

“To a place of safety, where your wounds can heal,” Tamara said.

Wes, El Lobo, Tamara, and Renita trotted their horses into the creek, and the wagon rattled along beside it. They rode for what seemed like many miles before there was finally a dim light somewhere ahead. There was the braying of numerous mules, which suggested this was more than just a
peon's
cottage. At the bidding of their hosts, they left the creek and approached an enormous barn. Adjoining was a six-rail.high corral in which more than a dozen mules picked at hay. The light they had seen from a distance proved to be a single lantern hanging near the barn's entrance. The two
Mejicanos
climbed down from the wagon box and approached the barn on foot, while Wes, El Lobo, Tamara, and Renita waited. A Mexican hostler came out of the barn and the teamsters spoke to him in rapid Spanish for a few moments. The teamsters then mounted their wagon box and drove away. Approaching the riders, the Mexican hostler spoke.

“Señors, señoritas,
I am Pablo. Ride your horses into the barn. I will see to them. But first we must conceal you from the
Diablo
dragon. Then Shekeela will care for your wounds.”

The center of the barn was open, with stalls down both sides, and Pablo paused at one of the stalls at the very end. Kicking aside loose hay, he revealed an iron ring in what proved to be a wooden floor. Steps led down into the darkness. Pablo took a lantern from a wooden peg, lit it, and led the way down the steps to a musty room. It was large enough for five bunks. On a table sat a small charcoal stove, and on the floor a bin of charcoal. The bunks were no more than wooden frames with latticed—crisscrossed—rawhide strips several inches wide. There were clean blankets on each of the bunks. Pablo sat the lantern on the table, and from a wooden bucket poured water into a blackened iron pot. He then sloshed a little oil from the lantern on to the charcoal and lit the stove.

“Shekeela come,” said Pablo. “I tend to horses.”

He lifted the door with his shoulders, stepped out, and let the door carefully down.

“Damn,” Wes said. “After those Mex teamsters went out of their way to bring us here, we didn't even thank them.”

“I thanked them,” said Tamara, “but they wanted no thanks. They wish us success.”

“That water will be boiling soon,” Renita said. “If Shekeela's coming to doctor your wounds, you should be getting ready.”

“My shirt's ruined,” said Wes, removing it.

All eyes then turned to El Lobo and the bloody right leg of his trousers.

“Get out of them,” Wes said. “How else can we doctor that bloody hip?”

El Lobo actually blushed, while Tamara and Renita laughed delightedly. The overhead door was lifted, and Shekeela appeared with a medicine kit. Tamara said something to her in rapid Spanish, and she laughed, her dark eyes on El Lobo.

“Desnuda,”
said Shekeela.
“Mucho hombre, eh?”

Sheepishly, El Lobo stepped out of his trousers. He was left with only his shirt, and it wasn't long enough to spare him embarrassment. Shekeela pointed to one of the bunks, and he obediently stretched out on it.

 

Word of the failed ambush had made its way back to Hidalgo and Ximinez, and Picado, one of the hired guns, had brought it.

“Santog is dead,” said Picado. “Kilt by the bar-keep's shotgun, when he was buffaloed by one of the
hombres
we was after. Guigman, Estebanand, and Jaspeado is bad wounded.”

“Five of you,” Hidalgo said in disgust, “and still they do not die.”

“We done the best we could,” said Picado. “There'll be another time.”

“Sí,”
Ximinez said. “These
malo, Diablo hombres
kill the rest of you.”

“I can't speak for the others,” said Picado angrily, “but if you reckon you can do any better, then grab a gun and go after these hell-raisers yourselves.”

A
rriving in Mexico City, Black Bill Trevino did the very thing he had been cautioned not to do. He called on the Senor Hidalgo.

“You have been told not to come here,” Hidalgo said stiffly.

“Yeah,” said Black Bill, “we got to be careful not to dirty your honorable carcass, but we got no time to go through channels. Them hell-raisin'
hombres
is headin' this way.”

Hidalgo laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. “They are here. The Señor Sandlin is offering rewards for them. He pays ten
pistoleros
to find and kill them.
Comico.”

“What's so damn funny about that?”

“These Diablos Pistolas shoot their way out of a cantina and escape. Five of these
malo pistoleros
cannot stop them. One be dead, others wounded.”

“They escaped?” Trevino roared. “Didn't nobody have the brains to trail them?”

“It is dark when they escape,” said Hidalgo, “and they ride south. Come the dawn, there is no trail.”

“By God,” Trevino snarled, “there's
always
a trail. I'll talk to Sandlin.”

“Please do,” said Hidalgo, “and do not return here.”

But Trevino was unable to speak to Sandlin. He had to settle for Jarvis,
segundo
and the second in command.

“Damn it,” Trevino said, “how can this pair keep slippin' through our hands? Are they bulletproof?”

“No,” said Jarvis. “The five gunmen that braced them in a cantina got in some telling shots. The two escaped, but not without wounds.”

“If they're hurt, they'll find a place to hole up,” Trevino said. “We got to ransack all the huts and villages within fifty miles until we find 'em.”

“Denton Rucker and nineteen men arrived from Durango,” said Jarvis, “and they're all fanned out to the south of here, searching. Feel free to join them.”

“I aim to,” Trevino said. “Tell Sandlin it's time to come down off the throne and put an end to this.”

It was after sundown, coming on dark, when Trevino found Rucker and his outfit by the smoke from their supper fire. Rucker hadn't liked the way Trevino had virtually taken over at Durango, and when Black Bill reined up, Rucker said nothing.

“That pair of gun-throwers was wounded,” Trevino said, “and they got to be holed up somewhere. We'll find 'em if we got to rip down every shack, barn, and village.”

“I don't recall asking for your advice or your help,” said Rucker coldly.

“No matter,” Trevino replied, just as coldly. “This threat's got to be stopped or well all get invited to the same ball, dancin' on the business end of a rope.”

It was a sobering thought, and Rucker responded with a little less hostility.

“We reckoned the best way for 'em to hide their trail was to take the wagon road out of town. We follered that, lookin' for tracks leavin' it. Maybe ten miles out, we found the tracks of mules, a wagon, and four horses leadin' down to a creek. The mules and wagon follered the creek, while the four riders took their horses into it.”

“They gotta come out of that creek somewhere,” Trevino said.

“You think we don't know that?” said Rucker. “It was near dark when we picked up the trail. We aim to try again at first light.”

It was a perfectly logical response, and Trevino could think of nothing to say. There was a prolonged silence, and when nobody offered Trevino coffee, he took a tin cup from his saddlebag and helped himself. All of Rucker's outfit knew Black Bill Trevino was close to Sandlin, yet Trevino had told them nothing of the outlaw leader's plans. Bailey said what the others were thinking.

“You ain't told us nothin' about what Sandlin aims to do. We rode in from Durango, an' all we was told was that Sandlin's hired a bunch of fast guns, and that five of ‘em lost their edge in a failed ambush. Jarvis done Sandlin's talkin', an' told us to git out here and beat the bushes for them escaped gunslingers.”

“Hell, you know as much as I do,” Trevino growled. “Jarvis sent me here to join in the search.”

“I've heard talk that Sandlin owns one of them sailin' ships anchored at Tampico harbor,” Rucker said. “Is there any truth to that?”

“I dunno,” said Trevino uncertainly.

“Think about it some,” Rucker replied. “Ever since them
hombres
struck at Namiquipa, things has been goin' sour. If ever'thing just goes plumb to hell, you reckon Sandlin aims to pick up the pieces?”

“I don't know what Sandlin aims to do,” said Black Bill, “but I'm sure of one thing. If your kind of talk gets back to him, he'll have your head in a sack.”

Rucker laughed. “I'll risk it. You won't tell him, because you'll be thinkin' of Sandlin's sailin' ship anchored over yonder at Tampico.”

Trevino said nothing, but his grim expression and the fire in his eyes suggested that Rucker had come painfully close to the truth.

 

“We can't remain here any longer,” Wes said after their second day under Pablo's old barn. “They'd murder Pablo and Shekeela for taking us in.”

“But Palo's leg wound hasn't healed,” said Renita, “nor has the wound in your arm.”

“No help for that,” Wes said. “We'll ride out at dawn.”

“Sí,”
said El Lobo. “They be coming for us.”

“Yes,” Tamara agreed. “They will search every house, every barn, every village. There are hundreds of them.”

But when Shekeela brought them their supper, she didn't share their caution.

“They not find you here,” she protested.

“Sooner or later,” Wes said, “they'll find where we left the wagon road. While we all rode our horses in the water, they'll know we reached the creek following the wagon. They have only to follow the wagon tracks here to the barn. While tracks of our horses were lost as we left the creek, there are four horses in the barn. Pablo is a seller of mules. He couldn't account for the horses. They would know.”

“Sí,”
Shekeela admitted sadly. “They are
Diablos.
They would know.”

 

The four riders left Pablo's barn before good daylight, guiding their horses into the creek. But no sooner had they done so than there was a shout from a distant ridge. They had been seen! There was a clatter of hooves as mounted men charged down the slope. Not quite within range, they began firing, some of them with Winchesters. Slugs kicked up dirt at the very heels of their horses.

“Renita,” Wes shouted, “you and Tamara ride for it. El Lobo and me will hold 'em off to give you a start.”

“No,” said Renita, “I won't leave you.”

“Nor will I,” Tamara said. “I will remain with Palo.”

“God help us,” said Wes under his breath.

They swept over a rise, and of a single mind, Wes and El Lobo swung out of their saddles. Each had a Winchester.

“Ride, damn it,” Wes shouted at Renita and Tamara.

Neither of the women had a rifle, and there was little they could do. They rode on, as Wes and El Lobo prepared to meet the oncoming riders.

“Cut down as many as you can, as quick as you can,” Wes said. “If we empty enough saddles, maybe we can discourage the others.”

Wes and El Lobo held their fire until the riders were well within range. They fired almost simultaneously—once, twice, three times—and six horses galloped riderless. The pair of deadly Winchesters kept spitting lead, and before they got out of range, three more of the outlaws were hit. Lead stung some of the horses, and they lit out wildly back the way they had come. Only Black Bill Trevino charged ahead, a revolver in his hand, but he dropped it when lead ripped into his shoulder. Another slug struck his horse, and he was flung bodily out of the saddle. He was cursing his companions when they finally regrouped and caught up with him.

“By God,” Trevino bawled, “what's with you cowardly varmints?”

“There's just a thin line between brave an' stupid,” said Mannon. “Wouldn't hurt you to look around an' be sure which side of that line you're on.”

Black Bill struggled to his feet, saying nothing. One of the outlaws had caught up one of the riderless horses and passed the reins to Trevino.

“You're welcome to take over this outfit, Trevino,” Rucker said. “There's eight dead men, and Rinks is hard hit. You've just had a little taste of what these two hombres can do, even when they're outgunned. Far as I'm concerned, they're nine feet tall and a yard wide. A man that ain't afraid of dying takes just a hell of a lot of killing.”

“Tell that to Sandlin,” said Trevino.

“I reckon I won't ever get that close,” Rucker replied. “Let him find it out as best he can.”

Trevino didn't respond, for there was the sound of galloping horses, and six hard-eyed riders approached. Looking at Trevino's bloody shoulder, some of them laughed.

“Who the hell are you?” Trevino demanded.

“Ah,
señor,”
said a grinning Mexican, “I am Zopilote. Beside me is Picado and Quemodo. The
Indios
are Shawanna, Barbonsio, and Ryashia. We come to save you from El Diablo Pistolas. The few of you that remain.”

Denton Rucker laughed. “You must be what's left of that
malo
bunch that got shot up in the cantina.”

“I would call you a fool, señor,” said Zopilote, “but I do not esteem you so highly.”

“Somebody get a fire goin' and boil some water,” Black Bill said. “I got a wound that needs tending.”