Missing Patriarch (9781101613399) (10 page)

THIRTY-THREE

Across the street Willis found the desk clerk asleep with his head down.

“Excuse me,” he said as he approached the desk.

The man didn't move. When he reached him, Willis didn't hear any breathing, and he wondered if the man had passed away.

“Señor?”

Excuse me?”

Nothing.

There was an open register book near the man. Willis reached out and slammed the book closed.

The clerk jerked his head up and stare wild-eyed at the lawyer.

“Oh,
señor!”
he said. “I was havin' a bad dream.”

“Looked to me like you were sleeping pretty soundly,” Willis said.

The clerk sat back and wiped his face with his hands. He was in his fifties, a weathered-looking man with a bushy mustache.

“What can I do for you,
señor?”

“I want to ask you some questions about a group of men who rode in here a couple of days ago.”

“Ah, the gringo outlaws,” the man said. “You are the law, chasing them perhaps?”

“I'm looking for them, yeah,” Willis said. “Did they stay overnight?”

“No,
señor
. They went to the cantina, and then left town. But Rodrigo, he went with them.”

“Rodrigo?”

“
Sí
. He came here about two days before them, stayed in one of our rooms, spent time with Rosalita. When the outlaws came, they went to his room and chased Rosalita out. She ran through the lobby naked,
señor
.” The man shuddered. “
Señor
, it was not a pretty sight. Rosalita is not a young girl anymore.”

“I see.”

“You should ask your questions at the cantina,
señor
,” the clerk said.

“Yes, I will,” Willis said. “Thank you.”

“De nada, señor
.
”

Before Willis got through the door, the clerk's head was back on the desk, and he was asleep.

*   *   *

When Willis walked into the cantina, Clint waved at Miguel for two more beers. The big bartender had them on the bar when Willis reached it.

“Anything?” Clint asked.

Willis told Clint what the desk clerk had told him.

“That's pretty much what I found out here,” Clint said.

Willis looked across the room at the woman, who was staring at him.

“Is that Rosalita?” he asked.

“It is.”

“I can see what the clerk meant.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do we do now?” Willis asked. “We're not going to stay here, are we?”

They both looked across the cantina at Rosalita, and Clint said, “No, we'll move on, keep following the tracks. I was just hoping we'd have an idea where they were headed so we wouldn't just have to follow.”

“What about food?” Willis asked.

They turned their back on Rosalita and leaned on the bar.

“We'll get some
enchiladas
to take with us,” Clint said.

THIRTY-FOUR

Rodrigo was on watch, and Donovan came over and joined him. They were far enough away from camp where the other men couldn't hear them.

“Rodrigo, by now you've figured out what's goin' on, right?”

“Sí, señor,”
Rodrigo said. “Your men, they are going to turn on you.”

“Yeah, but not 'til after this job,” Donovan said. “Can I count on you when the time comes?”

“Sí, señor,”
Rodrigo said, “I am with you, but who else is with us? Even your
segundo
, Carter, is ready to kill you.”

“That's what I thought,” Donovan said. “We can count on Jimmy McCall.”

“Are you sure,
señor?”
Rodrigo asked. “That man, I do not think he likes you so much.”

“That's okay,” Donovan said. “Jimmy's loyal. We go back a long way. He don't have to like me to help keep me alive.”

“If you say so,
señor
.”

“Besides,” Donovan said, “after he helps us kill the others, we'll kill him.”

“And split the money two ways?”

“You bet.”

Rodrigo looked at Donovan.

“
Señor
, you are not thinking perhaps you will kill me then and keep the money for yourself?”

“Rodrigo,” Donovan said, as if taken aback, “we go back even further than me and Jimmy. Look, I've got to trust somebody, and that somebody is you.”

“Gracias, señor.”

“And you gotta trust somebody,” Donovan said, “and that's me, right?”

Rodrigo studied Donovan for a long moment, then said, “As you say,
señor
.”

Donovan slapped Rodrigo on the back, then turned and looked over at the camp, where the men were sitting at the fire.

“I'll get somebody to relieve you in a few minutes,” Donovan said. “I'll feel a lot safer if you're in camp with me.”

“As you wish,
señor
,” Rodrigo said. “You are
el jefe
.”

“Yes, I am, Rodrigo,” Donovan said. “I'm the
jefe
.”

*   *   *

They were camped a few miles outside Casa Madera, where Jimmy McCall was still doing his reconnoitering.

Just outside of town was a mission, and McCall went there last. He walked into the church and sat in one of the pews, staring up at the crucifix above the altar.

He heard somebody behind him, turned, and saw a priest coming down the aisle toward him.

“Is there something I can do for you, my son?” the Mexican priest asked.

“I don't think so,
Padre
,” McCall said. “I think I'm beyond your help.”

“And God's help?”

“I'm beyond that, too.”

“That cannot be, my son,” the priest said. He had gray hair, but wasn't that old, maybe forty. He had his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. “None of us is beyond the help of God.”

“I hope you're right,
Padre
,” McCall said. “I got four kids countin' on me.”

“Perhaps you should go to them.”

“I wish I could,
Padre
,” Jimmy said. “I just can't right now.”

“Well, my son, I do not know everything that is weighing heavily upon you,” the priest said, “but I am here if you need to talk further.”

“Thank you, Father,” Jimmy said. “I appreciate it.”

“I am Father Francisco,” the priest said. “I am always here.”

McCall nodded, and Father Francisco withdrew.

*   *   *

Jimmy McCall was not a religious person. He had gone into the church simply to find a quiet place to sit, and think. He didn't think anyone—priest or no priest—could help him with this problem. He needed to get away from this gang, away from Andy Donovan, alive, with money, to go back to his kids. It seemed like a heavy task at the moment.

He left the church and headed back to town. He had spent the day scouting it thoroughly, and now it was time to take a look at what kind of law Casa Madera had to offer.

THIRTY-FIVE

Clint and Willis sat on the trail and ate their
enchiladas
and
frijoles refritos
.

“Are we camping here for the night?” Willis asked.

“I don't think so,” Clint said. “We still have a few hours of daylight ahead. We might as well put them to good use.”

Willis put the last of his
enchilada
into his mouth, then scooped up the rest of his beans.

“Well,” he said, licking his fingers, “after that meal I'm ready to ride.”

Clint finished his own food and stood up, brushing his hands together.

“Let's take the horses over there to that watering hole and let them drink,” he said.

They grabbed the reins of their horses and walked them to the water. While the animals drank, they filled their canteens. As Clint was putting his back on his saddle, he saw the dust in the distance.

“We got company,” Clint said.

“Who?” Willis looked around.

“I don't know, but there are a few of them,” Clint said.

“The gang?”

“Only if they're coming back,” Clint said. “Might just be some riders coming for water. Let's wait and see.”

“Shouldn't we get out of here?” Willis said.

“Just stand fast, Lou,” Clint said. “Don't panic. Let's see who it is.”

As the riders came close, they were able to see the uniforms.

“Soldiers?” Willis asked.

“No,” Clint said,
“Rurales.”

“Which are?”

“Local police,” Clint said.

“That's good, right?”

“Depends on if they look at us,” Clint said. Abruptly, he took the badge from his pocket and pinned it to his shirt. “Let's see if this helps.”

“I hope it does,” Willis said. “How many are there?”

“Looks like half a dozen.”

“They'll respect the badge, right?”

“I don't know, Lou,” Clint said. “I don't know.”

As the riders came closer, they could hear the sounds of their swords clanking. They were armed with blades, pistols, and rifles, and several of the men wore bandoliers across their chest. Clint didn't want to tell Willis the truth, but many times the local
rurales
were made up of men who were at one time bandits. And some of them used their authority as a license to steal.

They let their horses drink as the
rurales
approached them.

“Señores,”
the leader said. He had two stripes, while all the rest had one. He was not an officer, or a sergeant, but he was in command there.

“Good afternoon.”

“If you do not mind,” he said, “we will water our horses with you.”

“Not at all,” Clint said. “It's more your water hole than it is ours. It's your country.”

“Sí, señor,”
the man said, “it is.” The man smiled, showing a mouthful of golden teeth. He said something in Spanish to his men, and they moved their horses to the water while they remained mounted. Clint didn't like that. It gave them an advantage, which they seemed anxious to keep.

He was ready.

THIRTY-SIX

The leader kept his eyes on Clint. It was either because of the badge, or because he instinctively knew that Clint was more of a danger than Willis.

Willis stood beside Clint, who could feel the man's nervousness. He just hoped the lawyer wouldn't do anything foolish. That ranged from going for his gun, to possibly running. Anything could have set off an already volatile situation.

“I see you are wearin' a badge,
señor
,” the leader said.

“That's right, Corporal.”

“Are you in my country in pursuit of someone?”

“We are.”

“You understand that your badge gives you no authority here.”

“I do understand that,” Clint said. “Unfortunately, we had no choice but to follow the trail where it lead us.”

“I understand.”

Clint was looking at the boots the men were wearing. While they were in uniform, their boots were worn and did not seem to match.

While their horses drank, the mounted men watched Clint and Willis closely. The corporal was the only one who dismounted. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.

“How far are you going,
señor
?” the corporal asked.

“We don't know,” Clint said. “As far as the tracks go, I guess.”

“What direction are these tracks leading?”

“South, so far.”

“Perhaps the men you seek are going to Mexico City?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mexico City is a very expensive place,” the man said. “Perhaps the men you are chasing are bank robbers?”

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Clint replied.

“Perhaps you and your
compadre
have some money on you?” the corporal said. “There are, you know, travel taxes that must be paid.”

“Taxes?” Willis asked.

“Sí,”
the corporal said, “and we are authorized to collect them.”

“I'm afraid I'm not authorized to pay them,” Clint said.

“In that case,” the man said, “I am afraid you cannot go any further.”

“Is that right?”

“In fact,” the corporal said, “you should not even be watering your horses.”

“Too late,” Clint said.

“Ah, well, if your horses have already drunk, and you have already filled your canteens, I am afraid we must insist on the taxes.”

As if to back his words, several of his men put their hands on their guns.

“Corporal, I understand you have faith in numbers,” Clint said, “but if any of your men go for their guns, you'll be the first one killed.”

“
Señor
, as a lawman yourself, you would kill a member of the
rurales?”

“I'm afraid I don't believe you and your men are
rurales
,” Clint said. “I think you're bandits who happened to come across a group of
rurales
,
killed them, and took their uniforms.”

“You have proof of this,
señor?”

“I'll bet if your men turned around, we'd see some bullet holes in the backs of those uniforms.”

“Señor . . .”
the corporal said warningly.

One of the mounted men made the mistake. He went for his gun, drawing a pistol from his bandolier. Clint drew quickly, shot the man from his saddle. A second man grabbed for his rifle, but Clint shot him as well.

Willis drew his gun from his holster, but wasn't sure what to do next. He looked to Clint, who was pointing his gun at the corporal.

The corporal, in turn, was holding his hands out to Clint, palms out.

“No, no,
señor
,” he said, “there is no need for that.” He waved an arm at his remaining men and said,
“Basta!”

The remaining men took their hands from their guns. Clint looked down at the two fallen men. They had landed facedown, and he could see the bullet holes in the backs of their uniform shirts.

“
Señor
, you are very good with your gun,” the corporal said. Not that he really was a corporal.

“He should be,” Willis said. “His name is Clint Adams.”

Clint could see by the look on the man's face that he recognized the name, but Willis didn't know that.

“He's the Gunsmith,” Willis said.

“I recognized the name,
señor
,” the man told Willis.

“You and your boys better be on your way,” Clint said. “And pick up your dead.”

“We want no trouble with you,
señor
,” the man said. He spoke to his men in Spanish, and they dismounted, picked up the dead men, and draped them over their horses.

The man in the corporal's uniform mounted up and waited. When all the men were once again mounted, he looked at Clint.

“I suspect,
señor
, that you are looking for the seven or eight men we passed yesterday.”

“That could be.”

“Just to show you there are no hard feelings for you killing Julio and Cesare, I will tell you that they are camped outside a town called Casa Madera.”

“How far is that?” Clint asked.

“One day's ride,” the man said. “I suspect they have sent another man into town to scout ahead. That is what I would have done.”

“What kind of town is Casa Madera?” Clint asked.

“A growing town,
señor
,” the man said.

“And the bank?”

“Full.”

Clint had the feeling these
bandidos
had probably considered robbing that bank themselves, but they were outnumbered by the Donovan gang. Maybe this gang wanted Clint and Willis to remove the Donovan gang from their path.

“Much obliged for the information,” Clint said.

“De nada, señor. Buenas suerte.”

Clint and Willis kept their guns in their hands until the gang of
bandidos
was out of sight.

“Jesus Christ,” Willis said.

“Holster your gun, Willis.”

“I'm sorry I didn't back you—”

“But you did,” Clint said. “You drew your gun, you were ready. If there had been more shooting, you would have been there.”

“I can't believe how quickly you shot those men out of their saddles.”

“I had to make an impression so that there wouldn't be more shooting.”

“Well, you did. How did you know they weren't real lawmen?”

“Their boots,” Clint said. “They didn't go with the uniforms.”

Clint and Willis backed their horses away from the water hole and mounted.

“You think they'll be waiting for us up ahead?”

“Maybe,” Clint said, “but I have the feeling he told us about Donovan and his gang for his own reasons. They probably want Donovan and his men out of the way so they can rob the Casa Madera bank.”

“So they'll be around waiting.”

“I'm sure,” Clint said. “But right now, we're going to ride for Casa Madera and see if they were telling the truth.”