The Legend of El Duque (2 page)

THREE

The sheriff took Clint to a small saloon that had a sign above the door that simply said
SALOON
. Inside they bellied up to the bar and ordered two beers from a sleepy-looking bartender named Ernie.

“What do you know about Bill Werter's family?” Lane asked Clint.

“The last time I saw him, he had a wife and a daughter. I think she was about fourteen.”

“Well, she's about twenty now,” the lawman said, “and his wife's been dead three years.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. How did she die?”

“Fever.”

“So he lost his wife to a fever, and now he's losing cattle?”

“He's had it rough.”

“If I know Bill,” Clint said, “he's making a go of it.”

“He was, until this fever came along.”

“Well,” Clint said, “he'll beat this, too. Maybe he wants me to help him.”

“What do you know about Texas fever?” Lane asked.

“I've seen it. That's about all.”

“Then what could you do?”

“Like I told you,” Clint said. “I won't know 'til I talk to him.”

“Well,” Lane said, raising his mug, “I hope you can find a way to help him.”

“I hope I can,” Clint said.

He only had one beer with the lawman, then left him at the saloon and went back to his room.

* * *

At the ranch several conversations were taking place. In Bill Werter's office, he sat with his daughter, Elizabeth.

“Pa, do you think Mr. Adams will really come?” she asked.

“His telegram said he was on his way. If he doesn't get here today, my money says he'll be here tomorrow.”

“I hope so.”

“Don't worry,” Werter said, “Clint is a man of his word.”

“I remember him being very handsome.”

“Well, that's a young girl's memory,” Werter said. “He's just a man, Lizzie.”

“Well, I guess we'll see. Good night, Pa.”

As Elizabeth left the office, she passed Ed Hagen, who stepped aside and said, “Good night, Miss Werter.”

“Good night, Ed.”

Werter chuckled as Hagen entered the room and sat down.

“Why don't you tell that gal how you feel, Ed?” he asked.

“Whataya mean, boss?”

“You think I can't see how you feel about her?”

“Aw, shucks, boss,” Hagen said. “I'm plumb too old for Miss Elizabeth.”

“Well, why don't you start by just calling her Elizabeth? Or Lizzie?”

“I couldn't do that.”

“Well,” Werter said, “maybe one day. What's on your mind?”

“Doc says we got most of the herd dipped,” Hagen said. “He says if Adams comes back with that bull in a month or more, it should be okay.”

“A month, huh? Might take longer than that.”

“I got somethin' to tell you, boss.”

“What's that?”

“The word's got out about El Duque, and you sending a man to pick him up.”

“So?”

“The word's also out on how much money he'll be carryin'—thousands of dollars.”

“Damn,” Werter said. “That ain't going to make Clint's job any easier.”

“No, it ain't,” Hagen said.

“They'll try to kill him on the way to Mexico for the money, or on the way back for the bull.”

“If he takes the job,” Hagen added.

“Oh, don't worry,” Werter said. “He'll do it. The only question is, will he do it as a favor or as a job?”

“You think he'll turn down the money?”

“I don't know,” Werter said. “It's been five years since I've seen him.”

“But you still think he's comin'?”

“Like I told Lizzie,” Werter said, “he'll be here. That's what his telegram said.”

“Okay, boss,” Hagen said, “like you say.” He stood up. “Night.”

“Night, Ed.”

The foreman left and Werter sat back in his chair, hoping he was right about his friend, even after five years.

* * *

Outside the bunkhouse two hands, Branch and Dunwoody, were talking with their heads close together.

Branch said, “That's a heckuva lot of money.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Werter,” Dunwoody said, “he's the boss.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Well, you ain't thinkin' of tryin' to steal that money, are ya?”

“Hell, no,” Branch lied. “Course I ain't thinkin' of that. I'm just sayin', is all.”

“I got to get to bed, Branch,” Dunwoody said.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Branch said. “Night.”

Branch had talked to four of the men now, and still hadn't found anyone to help him steal that money, but he knew there had to be other men in the crew who felt the way he did. Sooner or later, he'd find someone to help him take that money from whoever Werter trusted with it.

Sooner or later.

FOUR

Clint woke up the next morning, checked out of the hotel, and walked to the livery. The liveryman had Eclipse all ready for him.

“Thanks,” Clint said.

“My pleasure havin' that animal in my barn, Mr. Adams,” the man said.

Clint mounted up and rode out of town, heading for the Big W spread.

* * *

As Clint rode up to the main house, a few hands turned from what they were doing in the corral to watch. Another man came out of the barn at the sound of his approaching horse.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm looking for Bill Werter,” Clint said.

“You Adams?”

“That's right.” He dismounted.

“I'm Ed Hagen,” the man said. “Foreman.”

“Glad to meet you.”

“The boss has been waitin' for you real anxious-like,” Hagen said. “Come on, I'll have somebody take your horse to the barn and I'll take you inside.”

“Okay.”

The foreman waved a man over and handed him Eclipse's reins.

“Watch out for him,” Clint said, “he'll take off your finger.”

“Yessir,” the hand said.

Hagen walked Clint into the house and down a hall to Werter's office.

“Boss,” he said, “Mr. Adams is here.”

Werter looked up from his desk, smiled, and jumped up. He rushed across the room with his hand out.

“Clint! It's great to see you.”

“Bill,” Clint said, pumping Werter's hand.

“You met my foreman, Ed.”

“Yeah, we met.”

“Well, sit down, sit down,” Werter said. “I've been on the edge of my seat waiting for you.”

The two men sat across the desk from each other.

“Boss, you want me to go?” Ed Hagen asked.

“No, Ed, stay,” Werter said. “This concerns you, too.”

Hagen moved over by a wall and leaned against it.

“Where's Lizzie?” Clint asked.

“Upstairs,” Werter said. “She's been anxious to see you, but let's get our business done first. You're gonna stay to supper.”

“Sure,” Clint said, “that's fine. Business first, Bill. I hear you've had some problems with your cattle.”

“Texas fever, but we've got that covered, Clint. The doc has taken care of it.”

“What do you need me for, then?” Clint asked.

“My other problem,” Werter said. “The fever took my prize bull.”

“And?”

“I'm buying a new one.”

“From where?”

“Mexico.”

“From who?”

“Rancher down there, a rich one,” Werter said, “and he's going to be richer after I pay him for El Duque.”

“El Duque?”

“That's the bull.”

“How much are you paying?”

“A lot. I need somebody I can trust with that much money, Clint. Somebody I can trust to go down there, buy the bull, and bring him back. That's why I need you.”

“Why not send a bunch of your men? Then they could watch each other.”

“I think this is a one-man job, Clint,” Werter said. “You'll attract less attention.”

“You think somebody'll try to rob whoever you send down there?”

Werter nodded.

“Either on the way there or on the way back,” Werter said. “The word has gotten out.”

Clint looked over at Ed Hagen.

“I offered,” Hagen said. “In fact, I'm offerin' to go with you.”

“We can talk about that,” Werter said to both of them. “After we agree to terms.”

“I could do this for you, Bill,” Clint said. “I mean, as a favor.”

“No,” Werter said, “this is a job, Clint. I'm going to pay you well. All you have to do is accept.”

“It'll be a long trip, Bill.”

“I know it. But I need that bull.”

“All right, then,” Clint said.

“You'll do it?”

“Sure.”

“How much do you want?”

“How much are you offering?”

Werter looked at Hagen.

“Ed, I think you can go now,” he said. “Clint and I can finish up here.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Tell the cook to add one for supper, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hagen turned to leave.

“And close the door on your way out,” Werter said. “Thanks.”

The foreman nodded, stepped out, and closed the door.

FIVE

In town, Sheriff Lane sat in his office with three men named Tibbs, Jerome, and Steiger.

“I'm pretty sure Adams is here to go and pick up the bull,” he said.

“But where?” Tibbs asked.

“I've heard Mexico, but I don't know what part. That means you'll have to hit him on the way down.”

“If we follow him, he'll spot us,” Jerome said.

“How do you know that?” Lane asked.

“He's the Gunsmith.”

“Don't be scared of his reputation,” Lane said. “This is a lot of cash we're talkin' about.”

“How much?” Steiger asked.

“Don't know,” Lane said, “but we're talkin' thousands.”

“And you're trustin' us to go get it?” Steiger asked him.

“Sure, I'm trustin' you.”

“Why?” Tibbs asked.

“Because if you cross me,” Lane said, “I'll just send three other men to kill you. It's easier to give me my split.”

“And what is your split?”

“Even,” Lane said. “I'm not greedy. The four of us split it evenly.”

“Thousands?” Jerome asked.

“Five,” Lane said, “maybe more.”

“How much is that each?” Tibbs asked.

“At least twelve hundred,” Lane said.

“That's . . .” Tibbs said.

“One thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, to be exact,” Steiger said. “That's the split if it's five thousand.”

“And it may be more.”

The three hired gunmen exchanged glances.

“Whataya say?” Lane asked.

“Why don't you chuck that badge away and come with us?” Steiger asked.

“No,” Lane said, “it's not enough money for me to throw everything away. But it's enough for me to send you fellas.”

“After we kill Adams for that money,” Steiger asked, “you're still gonna wear that badge?”

“Sure I am,” Lane said. “I earned this badge, and every other badge I ever wore. But when you hand me my split, I'll have earned that, too.”

“When is he leavin'?” Tibbs asked.

“Probably in the mornin',” Lane said. “If I find out for sure before that, I'll let you know.”

“Okay,” Steiger said, “we'll be ready to leave in the mornin'. I'll figure out a way to trail him without him knowin' it.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Lane said.

Steiger stood and the other two followed him out. Sheriff Lane sat back in his chair, hoping he'd have more information before the night was out.

Outside, Tibbs asked, “Are we really gonna give Lane a cut?”

Steiger looked at him.

“Let's see how much money we're talkin' about,” he said. “If it's enough to take the risk, then fuck him. Let him stay here with his badge.”

He looked at Jerome, who nodded.

“Let's get a drink,” Steiger said.

* * *

Clint became reacquainted with Elizabeth over supper. She had changed from a gangly fourteen-year-old to a lovely young lady of twenty.

“I'm so glad you're going to help us, Mr. Adams,” she said, passing him a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“When you were fourteen, you called me Clint,” he told her. “Can you still do that?”

“All right, Clint.”

After agreeing on his price, Clint had spent the rest of the day looking over the spread with Werter. It had grown by ten times since he'd last been there. He also met the vet, Doc Tyler, who explained that they had the Texas fever beat.

“Just not in time to save the bull.”

Clint took some potatoes, and passed the bowl to the foreman, Hagen. Then he accepted the platter of sliced beef from Lizzie, took two slices, and passed them on. Gravy, next. This was shaping up to be the best meal he'd had in months.

Around the table were Werter, Lizzie, Clint, Ed Hagen, and Doc Tyler.

“What's this new bull like?” Tyler asked.

“A little younger than the king,” Werter said. “He's got a big rep down in Mexico.”

“Why are they letting him go?” Clint asked.

“Because it's a lot of money,” Werter said, “and because they have another one.”

“A second bull?”

Werter nodded.

“Even younger.”

“What's his name?” Lizzie asked.

“That'll be for Clint to find out when he gets down there,” Werter said, “if he wants to.”

“That doesn't really matter, does it?” Clint asked.

“No,” Werter said. “Only if you're curious.”

“Who are you buying this bull from?”

“Don Pablo Sandoval,” Werter said. “His name's a lot longer than that, but that's pretty much it.”

“Is he very rich?” Lizzie asked.

“Very rich,” Werter said.

“Richer than us?” she asked.

Werter laughed.

“A lot of people are richer than us, daughter,” he told her.

“Well,” Clint said, cutting into his meat, “not really that many.”