Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747) (17 page)

“He is back there,” said the other man, gesturing a nod over his shoulder toward the hitch rails. “He is the one without a horse.”

Sam stared ahead, seeing one of the men standing in an empty space at the rails, his hands on his hips. A saddle and bridle lay at his feet. He stared out at Sam. A wide dragline in the dirt reached from the hitch rail to the dead horse being pulled along the street.

“That's not Big Chili Hedden,” Erin said quietly to Sam, staring ahead at the man by the hitch rails.

“No, but I'm betting this
is
his horse,” Sam replied as the dead horse scraped along in a low stir of dust. He nudged his bay forward.

The two rode on and stopped at the hitch rails. As they approached, the armed men spread out a little. The horse's owner stood glaring at the Ranger.

“
Hola, señor
,” Sam said, bringing his horse to a halt. Erin stopped beside him. “Are you the horse's owner?”

“
Sí
, do you wish to
buy
him?” the man said with a sarcastic snap. Fire smoldered in his dark eyes.

Sam ignored the question. He returned the man's stare.

“Did you look him over good,
señor
?” Sam asked.

“I did not check his
fucking
pulse, if this is what you ask,” the man snapped. “But,
sí
, I look him over. Why do you ask me this?” His intense stare turned more suspicious than malevolent.

“Watch your language,” Sam said without hesitation. He gave a slight nod toward the woman beside him.

The Mexican looked Erin up and down, as if determining whether or not she was indeed a lady. Then he gave her a curt nod as a form of apology.

“I ask because I've got a notion it's not your horse,” Sam said.

“No
shit
,” the Mexican said, the contempt returning to his voice. “Do I look like some
yanqui
imbecile to you? Like a man who cannot see when a horse has been ridden to death?”

“Ninguna ofensa,”
Sam said respectfully. He touched the brim of his dusty sombrero. “But I'm not going to mention the language again,” he said quietly, but in a tone that held a warning.

“Excuse me,
señorita, por favor
,” the Mexican said to Erin. He drew a breath, settled himself a little and said to Sam, “No offense taken. I have had a hard night. . . .” His words trailed. “
Mi amigos
and I have a few drinks last night,” he said to Sam. He gestured a hand toward the other men, who stood nodding in agreement.

“
Sí
, a few drinks . . . ,” one of them confirmed.

“We come out and all of the horses are fine, except for
mine
!” The Mexican pounded himself on the chest. “Which is dead—”

He stopped himself short, realizing he was telling his misfortune to a stranger. “Who are you?”

“Territory Ranger Samuel Burrack, from Nogales. I'm trailing the Gun Killer who swapped horses with you.”

“The lawman from Nogales . . . ,” said the Mexican. “I have heard of you. I am Ernesto Merino.” He gave another gesture toward the armed men. “I lead this
tropa
—this volunteer posse of local citizens. We also hunt the Gun Killers—we hunt all desperados who ride across our border to rob and kill and take what is ours.” He looked around proudly for support from the other
rurales.

“I understand,” said Sam. He'd already started to back his black-point bay and turn the dusty animal. There was nothing for him to learn here about Arthur “Big Chili” Hedden. The fleeing gunman had ridden through during the night, stolen a horse and kept riding.

But the posse leader wasn't through talking.

“My country does not need more
Americanos
sticking their noses into our business.” He raised his voice to make sure the other men heard him. “We will take care of our side of the border. You take care of yours.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Sam murmured to himself. He touched the brim of his dusty sombrero. “Adios,” he said, he and Erin turning their horses onto the street.

“Wait! I did not mean for you to turn your back and leave!” the posse leader called out, seeing the Ranger wasn't going to sit still while he put on a show for his men. “I want this man who stole my horse. We will ride with you!”

“You don't have a horse,” Sam called back over his shoulder, not wanting to waste time with this man or his posse.

“I have one coming,” the leader called out. “As soon as it arrives, we will ride together,” he called out as the Ranger and Erin moved away on the empty street. “Together we will stick this man's head on a pole,
you and me
! His blood will flow like water in the streets and gutters, eh, Ranger?”

“Follow my trail,” the Ranger said under his breath. “You'll see all the blood you want.”

When the two had ridden out of the small settlement town and on toward Caminos, Erin turned to the Ranger.

“Thank you for considering me,” she said. “But you really didn't need to correct his language on my account.”

Sam only nodded and offered no reply.

Erin said with a forced smile, “I mean, look at me, a woman living in the outlaw world . . . an outlaw's child growing inside me. You hardly need consider
my
values or defend my virtue.”

Sam looked at her.

“
Virtue
needs no defending,” he said. “What
values
I consider are my own.”

“Then why did you say anything?” Erin asked.

“He was too upset for his own good,” the Ranger said with a trace of a smile. “I saw he needed boundaries—I helped him set them.”

They rode on in silence for a few moments as Erin thought about it.

“What about me?” she said finally. “Is that what you're doing with me—helping me set boundaries for myself?”

Sam looked at her.

“I'm hoping you do,” he said. “But it's your business. You have to decide for yourself what to do, what not to do.”

“I'm still free to go my own way?” she asked.

“Nothing's changed,” Sam said. “You're still free to go.” He paused, then added, “Just be careful of the wolves.”

He nudged the bay forward, picking up its pace. Erin stared ahead at him for a moment; then she touched her heels to her horse's sides and rode up beside him.

 

From the overstuffed chair sitting out in front of the adobe building in Caminos, Art Hedden squinted through the wavering heat and saw the Ranger and Erin appear out of the dust on the horizon. Noting the two were no longer riding double, he grinned to himself, his hand tightening around the stock of a repeating rifle in his lap.

“We've got the sumbitch this time,” he said to Bo Sapp, who stood a few feet away in the shade of an alleyway alongside the public building.

Standing halfway up from the hot, dusty chair, Hedden levered a round up into the rifle chamber.

“Stay back out of sight,” he said to Sapp, who had started to take a step forward.

“You want my help or not?” Sapp asked sharply. Not liking Hedden to begin with, Sapp especially resented taking orders from the big gunman.

“Your
help
?” Hedden chuffed. “So far I haven't seen any
help.
All I've seen you do is hang in the shade like some locked-out house cat.”

“Keep it up, Big Chili,” Sapp said, calling his nickname with contempt.

Hedden ignored the warning in Sapp's tone. He shook his head, spit and looked away toward the two riders drawing closer to town.

“I'm not needing any of your
help
from the looks of it,” he said. “Just try to keep yourself out of my way.” He stepped over and kneeled down behind a water barrel sitting on the edge of the porch.

Sapp gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to raise his Colt and put a bullet in the back of Hedden's head.

“Watch how I pick this fool's eyes out,” Hedden said. “Maybe you'll learn something.” He laid the rifle down across the barrel top, watching the Ranger and Erin ride closer, a rise of dust billowing up behind them.

Sighting down along the rifle barrel, Hedden saw the two ride down out of sight on the roll of the land.

“There went your target,” Sapp said, also watching the two riders from his spot at the corner of the building.

“Yep,” Hedden said confidently, “and as soon as he rides back up into sight, he's not going to know what hit him.”

Sapp stood staring out, his neck craned slightly.

Hedden relaxed for a moment, his finger still on the trigger of the cocked rifle. As soon as the Ranger and Erin rode back into sight, he would take his shot at a hundred and fifty yards. Not a hard shot at all for him, he reminded himself.

A few tense moments passed.

“All right, where is he?” Sapp finally asked. He drew his Colt up out of his holster as if he might need it real soon.

Damn!
Hedden stared out, seeing neither Erin nor the Ranger reappear.

“Something ain't right!” he said to Sapp.

“You're telling me,” Sapp said, stepping onto the street, edging closer to where their horses stood at a hitch rail. “Hell, he's no idiot. He knew some of us would be waiting to kill him!”

“Where do you think you're going?” Hedden asked, seeing Sapp unhitch his horse and start to swing up into his saddle.

“He's too bashful to ride in,” said Sapp. “I expect I'd better go out there and get him.”

“Wait up, I'm going with you!” Hedden said, sounding worried. He looked all around warily as he stood in a crouch and hurried over to his horse.

“It's been over fifteen minutes. No sound of hooves
—nothing
,” he said, unhitching his horse with a nervous hand. “This ain't normal, I'm telling ya!”

“Jesus, Big Chili,” said Sapp with the same contempt in his voice. “Don't wet yourself. He's out there. He's just scared, hiding, waiting until he sees us and knows where we are.” He swung his horse toward the far end of town.

“Hey! You're going the wrong way,” Hedden said even as he turned his horse beside Sapp.

“No, I'm not,” Sapp called back over his shoulder, his Colt still in hand, cocked and ready. “I want to meet this sumbitch face-to-face on
my
terms, not his.”

Chapter 19

While Big Chili Hedden and Bo Sapp had waited for the Ranger to ride into Caminos
,
Sam and Erin had ridden around the small empty town at an easy gait and taken cover beside a half-collapsed plank and adobe shack. Sam stood beside his horse watching the street in the direction of the two gunmen until he heard hooves thundering around a long turn in the street and come galloping into sight.

“Sam, be careful,” Erin whispered sincerely as she saw him drop the dun's reins to the dirt and step out into the dusty street.

Be careful . . .

Sam looked at her, thinking it odd that she should say such a thing—these being two more of the men she and her brother had allied themselves with here in this badlands desert plane.

Yet, Sam touched the brim of his sombrero toward her.

“Obliged, ma'am. I will,” he said, his Winchester hanging in his left hand, his big Colt in his right.

Less than fifty feet away in the empty street, facing him through a swirl of dust, the two gunmen gave each other a heated glance.

“On your terms, huh?” Hedden said to Sapp in anger and disgust.

“Shut up, Big Chili, damn it!” Sapp shouted. “He slipped around on us! I'm not a damn mind reader!”

The two jerked their horses quarterwise toward the Ranger, rifles coming up from across their laps, ready to charge.

Sam waited, watching, his feet spread shoulder-width apart.

“What the hell is it with you, Burrack?” Hedden called out. “You've got no damn business down here, butting your nose in! All you're doing is killing people! It ain't right! It ain't fair!”

The Ranger stood staring in silence.

Sapp turned to Hedden with a strange bemused look on his face.

“Jesus, Big Chili, are you through?” he said.

“Damn it, yes, I am,” Hedden said, staring toward the Ranger in disgust.

“Good,” said Sapp, “because I don't think he's wanting to discuss matters.” He slid down the side of his horse and slapped its rump. “Let's shoot this sumbitch and get on down the trail.”

But Hedden wasn't through talking. He stepped down from his horse and shoved it away. “Get ready,” he whispered sidelong to Sapp. He took one slow step after another toward the Ranger, his rifle in both hands, ready to swing it up to his shoulder and start shooting.