The Legend of El Duque (11 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was Antonia who showed Clint the new young bull. He was kept in a covered stall out behind the barn.

“He's not as big as El Duque,” Clint said.

“My husband says he will grow,” Antonia said.

“Has he a name?” Clint asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “After El Duque leaves, they will move him into his stall, and give him a name.”

“You don't agree with your husband selling El Duque, do you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “I think he should have sold this one and kept El Duque.”

“Any sentiment in that opinion?” he asked.

She laughed and said, “No, I am not like Katerina. I do not consider El Duque a pet. But he is proven, and this one is not.”

“What does Don Pablo say to that?”

“He says he can tell by looking at him,” she said. “That he is a good judge of these animals.”

“Well, he has the experience.”

“For his sake, I hope he is right,” she said.

They turned as they heard someone coming up behind them. It was Mano and Katerina. The young people were holding hands, but when they saw Clint and Antonia, they quickly dropped them.

“Well, hello, you two,” Clint said.

“Hey, Clint.”

“Señor Adams,” Katerina said.

The two women did not greet each other.

“Is that the new bull?” Mano asked.

“That's him,” Clint said.

“He does not look as big.”

“He's not,” Clint said. “But he will grow. This one probably weighs about twenty-two hundred pounds. El Duque is about three.”

“I wonder why Don Pablo did not sell this one,” Mano commented.

“Well, as I understand it,” Clint said, “Don Pablo is a good judge of bulls.”

“We had better get back to the house for supper,” Katerina said.

“Why don't you ladies go ahead,” Clint said. “Mano and I need to talk a little.”

“About what?” Mano asked.

“Come along, Katerina,” Antonia said, “we'll let them talk. Besides, your father has been looking for you.”

“Is he angry?” she asked.

“Your father is always angry,” Antonia said. “Isn't he?”

“I better go back and help Cook,” Katerina said to Mano. “I will see you later.”

Mano nodded, then turned to Clint.

“What's on your mind?”

“Her.”

“Katerina?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “Her father's got plans for her.”

“She has her own plans, Clint.”

“That may be,” Clint said, “but we're leaving tomorrow, and she has to stay here and live with her father.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that there's something going on here that maybe you shouldn't get in the middle of,” Clint said. “Something between a father and daughter.”

“She wants to leave, Clint,” Mano said. “She wants to see more than just this rancho.”

“Well, she's not coming with us,” Clint said.

“Then,” Mano said, “I might not be going with you, Clint.”

“That's up to you, Mano,” Clint said, “but you will have to explain that to your father, and to her father.”

Mano seemed to give that statement some deep thought.

“We better go and have supper,” Clint said. “You can tell me in the morning what you've decided to do. I'll be leaving with the bull early.”

Mano nodded, and they went inside.

* * *

The meal was a tense affair, with light conversation that masked what was really going on beneath the surface. The only one who wasn't feeling any of the tension was Clint. He knew what he would be doing the next day, and he knew what his intentions were.

After dinner he went out to the barn to talk with Ramon.

“Sí, señor,”
the man said, “I will have El Duque loaded onto the wagon, and the team hooked up. All will be ready for you.”

“Ramon, has anyone been showing any interest in the bull lately?”

“Señor?”

“I mean any of the vaqueros, or perhaps even Montero?”

“No,
señor
,” Ramon said, “I have not seen any such activity.”

“All right,” Clint said. “I'll be out here early, even before breakfast.” Clint intended only to have some coffee before he left. And he'd be able to carry more supplies than he had on the trip down, since he'd be driving the wagon with Eclipse tied to the rear.

“Very well,
señor
,” Ramon said.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Clint woke up in the middle of the night with a sudden thought. What if they were giving him the wrong bull? But El Duque would certainly be the older of the two, and he had seen both bulls. It was obvious which of them was the older. And while he wasn't an expert specifically on bulls, he could tell that El Duque was a magnificent animal. No, he was getting the right bull.

He settled back down on his mattress when he suddenly heard a sound from the hall. He realized then that it wasn't only the thought that had awoken him.

He eased his gun from the holster on the bedpost, left the bed, and moved to the door. Yes, he definitely heard someone moving in the hall. Maybe somebody wasn't waiting for him to get on the trail—they were going to make a try for him right now.

He waited for the right moment, and when he thought the person would be right in front of his door, he jerked it open.

“Oh!” Antonia said, her hand going to her chest. “You frightened me.” She was wearing a frilly, filmy nightgown that left very little to the imagination. He was fairly sure she didn't usually creep around at night dressed like that.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Coming to see you,” she said. “I told you I would find another way.”

“Isn't your husband going to miss you?” he asked.

“We do not share the same bed, Clint,” she said. “In fact, we don't even share the same room.”

“That may be, but—”

“Do you really want to discuss this in the hall?” she asked. “Anyone could come along and see us.”

As far as he was concerned, the only “anyone” who mattered at that moment was her husband—and perhaps her stepdaughter.

“Oh, all right,” he said, “you better get in here.”

With a big smile, she stepped inside.

“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked. “To keep me from ravishing your body?”

“Look,” he said, walking to the bedpost and holstering the gun, “the tack room was one thing—and a mistake—but this is crazy. This is your husband's house.”

“I know where we are, Clint,” she said. “But you're leaving tomorrow, and this is our last chance.”

“No.”

“Really?” she asked, cupping her breasts through her gown. “You can say no to this?”

“I can, and I am.”

She pulled the gown down to her waist, baring her lovely breasts. He licked his lips. She cupped them again, this time touching her nipples with her thumbs.

“Maybe,” he said, “I
should
shoot you.”

“Clint—”

“You better leave, Antonia.”

She stared at him, then pulled her gown back up to cover herself.

“I could scream,” she said.

“What would that accomplish?” he asked. “Unless you're hoping I'll kill your husband when he comes bursting in?”

“No,” she said, “no, of course not.”

She left his room, first checking the hall to be sure it was empty. He had to give her credit, she left with dignity, and with no sign of embarrassment.

He went to his door to make sure it was locked, but before he could do so, he heard a sound in the hall again. Was she coming back? Without retrieving his gun from his holster, he swung the door open again, catching Mano right in the midst of sneaking down the hall.

“Buenas tardes,”
Mano said.

“Mano,” he said, “are you coming from or going to Katerina's room?”

“Uh . . . coming from.”

“Well, get back to your room before someone sees you, and do it quietly.”

“
Sí
, I will do so.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

He closed the door, wondering if Mano had seen Antonia sneaking out of his room.

He went back to bed.

THIRTY-NINE

Clint came down the next morning and went right to the kitchen. The cook turned as he entered.

“Café?”
she asked.

“
Sí, por favor
,” he said, exhausting most of his Spanish.

She poured him a cup and handed it to him.

“Gracias.”

He took the coffee out to the dining room, as Mano appeared.

“Are we having breakfast?” the young man asked.

“No,” Clint said, “that is, if you're coming with me, we're not.”

“I am coming,” he said. “I told my father I would help you, and I will finish. Then I will come back here.”

“Suit yourself,” Clint said. “Get some coffee before we go.”

“Sí,”
Mano said, then went into the kitchen and came out with a cup.

They were finishing their coffee when Don Pablo came down.

“Will you stay to breakfast, gentlemen?” he asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Clint said. “We'd better get under way.”

“Very well.”

The three men went outside, where Ramon was waiting with a wagon—a cart, really—and a team. Inside the cart—fully enclosed within—was El Duque.

“There are supplies beneath the seat,” Ramon told Clint. “Your horse is tied to the back. He almost bit my hand off.”

“Didn't get a finger, did he?” Clint asked.

“No,
señor
,” Ramon said, “I was too swift.”

“Good.” Clint turned to Don Pablo and stuck his hand out. The older man took it. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank you,
señor
, for your . . . cooperation.”

Clint wasn't sure what Don Pablo meant, but then the man looked over at Mano and he knew. Don Pablo thought Clint had talked Mano into leaving his daughter alone.

“You're welcome, Don Pablo.”

“And I wish your employer luck with El Duque.”

“I'll pass it on to him.”

Clint climbed up on the wagon, picked up the reins. Mano walked behind and mounted his horse. Together they left the rancho.

* * *

“Steiger!” Tibbs yelled.

Steiger looked up from his coffee at Tibbs, who was at the top of the rise. Tibbs pointed. Steiger dumped his coffee in the fire and ran up the rise to join Tibbs.

“They just left,” Tibbs said.

“All right,” Steiger said. “Keep an eye on them. Jerome and I will saddle the horses. Make sure they go north.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We'll give them a few miles,” Steiger said, “and then we'll hit them quick, before they know what's happening.”

Tibbs nodded, and Steiger went back down the rise to wake Jerome.

* * *

Behind the Sandoval house, Antonia met with Carlos Montero.

“Do you have your men ready?” she asked.

“I do,” Montero said.

“And a place for the bull?”

“Sí.”

“Okay then,” she said, “let them get a few miles away, and then take the bull.”

“
Sí
, Antonia.”

“And then let me know where it is,” she said. “I'll come.”

“We will take it to the mission.”

“The mission?”

“There is room there.”

“All right, then,” she said. “The mission.”

He turned to walk away, then looked back.

“Do you want them killed?”

She hesitated, then said, “Just take the bull, Carlos. However you can.”

“
Sí
, Antonia.”

She watched him walk away, then hurried into the house.

* * *

Katerina came out from hiding, not believing what she had heard. Her stepmother and her father's
segundo
, plotting to steal the bull from Clint and Mano. Should she tell her father? Would he believe her? Or should she warn Mano and Clint Adams?

She hurried to the barn.

FORTY

Clint reined the team in. They were good, strong horses, could pull the cart all day if need be. But there was no way they could ever run, not while pulling a three-thousand-pound bull.

Mano rode up alongside and asked, “What is it?”

“We're being followed.”

“By who?”

“Three men,” Clint said. “They were watching when we left. Don't look around!”

Mano had started to look, but stopped when Clint snapped.

“What do they want? The bull?”

“No doubt.”

“So what do we do? Wait for them?”

“Well,” Clint said, “there's no way to outrun them.”

“When will they come?”

“I don't know,” Clint said, “but we'll be ready, Mano. We'll be ready.”

Mano leaned over and took a look into the back of the cart.

“El Duque looks okay,” he said.

“We haven't even gotten started yet,” Clint said.

Clint looked ahead. The terrain rolled. He wished it were flat, but they'd have to make do, be ready for somebody to pop up out of nowhere.

“Be ready, Mano,” he said. “Don't wait for me to shoot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clint shook the reins at the team and they got started again.

* * *

“We'll get ahead of 'em,” Steiger said. “Find some cover to spring up from.”

“Then what?” Tibbs asked.

“Then start shootin',” Steiger said. “Don't stop until the Gunsmith is lying on the ground, dead.”

“Okay,” Jerome said.

“But remember,” Steiger said, “don't hit the bull. You hit the bull, then we got nothin'.”

“We could go back, get the money that he paid,” Tibbs said.

“You wanna ride into that ranch, with all them hands there?” Steiger asked. “Be my guest. Me, I'm gonna get my money for this bull.”

“And then split it with Sheriff Lane?” Jerome asked.

“Naw,” Steiger said, “he ain't been out here with us, ridin' around in this dust all this time. And he ain't gonna face the Gunsmith's gun. Naw, we ain't gonna split it with the lawman.” In fact, Steiger thought, he wasn't going to split it with anyone.

They could see the wagon up ahead, but they were going to circle around and wait for them. Wait for them in a likely spot. The only way to be sure the Gunsmith was dead was to ambush him.

Men like that—like Adams, and Hickok, and Jesse James—you had to shoot in the back.

* * *

Carlos Montero sat his horse, looking ahead at the wagon, and the three men following it.

“Who are they?” Quentin asked. He had his reins in one hand, his rifle in the other. A big man, his big hands were no use for firing a pistol, but he was a dead shot with a rifle.

“I do not know,” Montero said. “But we better watch them carefully. They might do our job for us.”

“If I don't use my rifle,” Quentin said, “I still get paid, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Montero said, “you will be paid.” He turned in his saddle, looked at Montgomery and Volquez. “We will watch awhile,” he said.

They both shrugged. They didn't care as long as they got paid, too.