The Legend of El Duque (6 page)

SEVENTEEN

“I don't like it down here,” Tibbs said.

“What's wrong with it?” Jerome asked. “The women are fine.”

“It doesn't feel right down here,” Tibbs said. “Hell, we're in another country.”

“So?” Steiger asked.

“This ain't America,” Tibbs said.

They were sitting their horses on a hill, overlooking the flat desolate Mexican landscape.

“So?”

“What do we do if we run into the law?”

“Nothin',” Steiger said. “Right now we ain't doin' nothin' illegal.”

“We ain't expectin' him to just come ridin' up on us, are we?” Jerome asked.

“No,” Steiger said. “We'll have to find him.”

“What? Down here?” Tibbs asked.

“Down here.”

“Do you even know where we are?” Jerome asked Steiger.

“Of course I do,” Steiger lied.

* * *

They left Nogales, riding side by side.

“My father told me about you,” Mano said. “I mean, over the years, he's talked about you.”

“He has?”

“Is it all true?”

“Since I don't know what he told you, I can't answer that question.”

Mano studied Clint for a few moments, then said, “I won't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I think maybe I will find out during this ride.”

“You might at that.” Clint looked behind him.

“Are we being followed?”

“No.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The word went out that I was carrying a large sum of money,” Clint said. “I can't believe that nobody is going to try to take it.”

“Then if they're not following us, where are they?” Mano asked.

Clint pointed ahead of them.

“Out there maybe.”

“In front of us?”

“Best way not to be spotted following someone is to be ahead of them.”

Mano reined his horse in. Clint rode a few feet on before stopping and looking back.

“What is it?”

“It is very easy to get lost in Mexico,” Mano said. “Especially if you are a gringo.”

“So?”

“If they are out there,” Mano said, pointing south, “we should go there”—he pointed west—“or there”—he pointed east. “Let them try to find us, then.”

“Lead the way,” Clint said. “You're the guide.”

Mano turned them west.

“If the word is out that you have a lot of money,” Mano said, “then there are probably men on this side of the border looking for you, too.”

“You're probably right,” Clint said. “And they won't be getting lost, will they?”

They rode until dusk, avoiding the few small towns they came within shouting distance of.

“Should we make a fire?” Mano asked.

Clint thought a moment, decided in favor of it—mostly because he wanted coffee. But also because a fire out here wouldn't necessarily belong to them. There had to be other people setting up camp.

Clint built a fire, prepared coffee and beans, then passed Mano a plate and a tin mug.

“Hijo de un cabron!”
Mano swore, after sipping the coffee.

“What is it?”

“That part of my father's tales is right,” Mano said. “Your trail coffee is strong.”

“The way I like it.”

Mano put the mug down between his feet, scooped some beans into his mouth with a wooden spoon.

“He also said you were a great trail cook,” Mano said, “and if you ever wanted to hang up your gun, you could run a fine chuck wagon.”

“Not with the trail drives drying up,” Clint said.

“My father would hire you,” Mano said. “We still drive cattle down here.”

“No thanks,” Clint said. “For as many men who like a cook's food, there are that many who don't. You can't please everyone.”

“Well . . . I like these beans,” Mano said, holding the plate out to Clint. “More, please.”

EIGHTEEN

Carlos Montero pulled on his boots and looked over his shoulder at Angelina Sandoval, lying naked on the bed. Her skin was dappled with perspiration.

“Where does he want you to go?” she asked.

“You should know.”

“He does not discuss his business with me,” she said. “I am only his wife.”

“Mexico City,” he said. “To the bank there.”

“Why you?”

“I am the only one he trusts to carry money,” Montero said.

“That must make you very proud.”

He stood up, grabbed his gun belt, and strapped it on.

“It did once. But he still treats me like just another vaquero.”

She sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees.

“And you want to show him you are more, right?”

“That's right.”

“Well, now is your chance,” she said. “Instead of going to Mexico City, you can stop that money from coming here. And get it!”

“I am not a thief!”

“You would not keep the money for yourself,” she said. “You would hand it over to my husband. That would prove your loyalty to him.”

“And if he finds out we are sleeping together?” he asked. “Would that prove our loyalty to him?”

She smiled.

“Don't you worry about my loyalty,” she said. “Just do as I tell you.”

Montero turned to face her, and there was nothing amorous about his attitude.

“That is what your husband keeps telling me.”

“Carlos,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm, “I value you as a man, and as an ally. Does my husband do that?”

“No.”

“And what I tell you to do,” she said, “is for the both of us.”

He thought a moment, then said, “All right. What would you have me do?”

“Listen carefully . . .”

* * *

They broke camp, having ridden together for three days. Mano kicked sand on the fire, then turned to go to his horse.

“Hold on,” Clint said.

“What?”

“It's time for me to see how you handle that gun.”

Mano looked down at the gun in his holster, then put his hand on it.

“Do you want me to draw?”

“Do you fancy yourself a fast draw, Mano?”

“I am pretty quick, I think.”

“Let me see.”

Happily, Mano dropped his hands to his side, then went for his gun. He had barely touched it when he found himself looking down the barrel of Clint's weapon.

“Wha—” He had not even seen Clint draw, it had been that fast.

“It's not always the fastest draw that keeps you alive, Mano,” Clint said, holstering his gun. “Being accurate is more important than being fast.”

“I think I am accurate,” Mano said, but he did not sound as sure as he had a few moments ago.

Clint looked around, then said, “Okay. See that dead tree over there? The branch sticking out?”

“You want me to hit the tree?”

“I want you to hit the branch, but I want you to cut it in three. Start at the end, make three shots, and by the time you're done, the branch should be gone.”

Mano studied the tree for a few moments, then turned to face it.

“No fast draw, Mano,” Clint said. “Just show me what you can hit.”

“Sí, señor.”

He took a deep breath, drew his gun, then sighted down the barrel.

“Doing that, you're sure to miss,” Clint said.

“B-But I must take aim.”

“Don't aim,” Clint said, “point.”

Mano pointed his gun, but then dropped it.

“What you ask cannot be done.”

Clint drew and fired three times rapidly. The branch grew smaller with each shot, and finally was gone. He quickly reloaded his gun before holstering it.

“Madre de Dios,”
Mano said.

“Never holster your gun until you've replaced the spent shells,” Clint said, “or someday you'll draw your gun and find the hammer falling on an empty chamber.”

“Sí, señor.”

“All right,” Clint said, “just hit the trunk of the tree.”

Mano nodded, then drew his gun and fired three shots, all hitting the tree dead center.

“Not bad.”

Mano replaced the spent shells and holstered the weapon.

“But that's different from shooting at a man,” Clint said.

“When the time comes,” Mano said, “you will be able to count on me,
señor
.”

“I hope so, Mano,” Clint said, “for both our sakes.”

As Clint turned away Mano said, “Clint?”

“Yes?” Clint turned back.

Mano took a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. Clint drew without hesitation. He fired three times. The coin jumped in the air three times before hitting the ground.

“Jesucristo!”
Mano said.

He hurried to the coin and picked it up. It had a chunk taken out by each bullet. He turned to see Clint walking away.

NINETEEN

Clint and Mano finally had to stop for some supplies, so Mano recommended the town of Merced.

“It is small, and has a trading post,” he said. “And no sheriff.”

“Why is that important?”

“Around here the law reports to the soldiers,” he said. “And we do not want to encounter the soldiers,
es verdad
?”

“It's true.”

“Then a town without law is better.”

“For now,” Clint said.

They rode into Merced, reined in their horses in front of the trading post.

“I'll go inside,” Clint said. “You can keep an eye on the horses.”

“But I can order,” Mano said. “You cannot speak Spanish.”

“I can point,” Clint told him. “You watch the horses.”

“Sí, señor.”

Clint went inside.

* * *

Across the street, three men watched Clint and Mano ride into Merced.

“Know them?” Armando Masilla asked his two companions.

“No,” José Cruz said.

“I do not,” José Reyes said.

Because both of his men were named José, Armando referred to them by their last names.

“A gringo will have money,” he said.

“How do you know that?” Cruz asked.

“Because all gringos have money when they come to Mexico,” Armando said. “It is why they come here, to hide, and to spend their money on whiskey and our women.”

“Sí,”
Reyes said, “our women.”

“And the other man?” Cruz said.

“He is no one,” Armando said. “A sidekick.”

“Sidekick?” Reyes asked.

“Compañero,”
Armando said.

“Ah.”

“You take care of him,” he told Cruz. “Reyes and I will take care of the gringo.”

“When?” Cruz asked.

“Now,” Armando said, “right now. When the gringo comes out.”

“Bueno,”
Cruz said. “We can use the money.”

“Sí,”
Armando said, taking his gun out and checking it, “we can use the money.”

The two Josés also took their guns from their holsters and checked them.

* * *

Clint bought some coffee, beans, beef jerky, shells, and a couple of sticks of hard candy. He and the clerk had no trouble making the other understand. He paid with U.S. money, which the clerk did not mind at all.

He stepped outside, carrying the supplies in a burlap sack, except for the two sticks of candy. He handed one to Mano.

“Do you think I am a child?” Mano asked.

“No,” Clint said, “I thought maybe you liked candy.” He put the other stick in his mouth. “I do.”

Mano thought about it, then said, “
Sí
, I do, too,” and put his stick in his mouth. It was peppermint, his favorite.

“Let's mount up,” Clint said.

“We might have some trouble,” Mano said.

“What do you mean?”

“Across the street,” the younger man said. “Three men, who have been very interested in me since we got here.”

Clint looked.

“And now they seem to be interested in me as well,” he said. “I see what you mean.”

The three men wore sombreros and bandoliers across their chests.

“Bandits,” Mano said.

“It would seem.”

“And you are a gringo,” Mano added. “To them, that means you have money.”

“And I actually do have money.”

“
Sí
, but they do not know how much,” Mano said.

“So you're saying this is a coincidence,” Clint said. “That they don't know who I am or what I'm carrying, it's just that I'm a gringo.”

“Sí,”
Mano said, “that is what I am saying.”

“Fine.”

The two men sucked on their candy and waited. Finally, the three men pushed off from the building they had been leaning against, and started across the street.

“Take the man on your right,” Clint said, “and do not fire unless I do.”

“Sí,”
Mano said, “you are the boss.”

TWENTY

Clint moved to his left, away from the horses, and Mano followed.

As the three men approached, Armando was in the center, with Reyes to his left and Cruz to his right.

“Amigo,”
Armando called out.

“Are you talking to me?” Clint asked.

“We give you a chance to ride out, gringo,” Armando said. “Put your money on the ground first.”

“And why would I do that?” Clint asked.

“So that you may ride out of town alive,
señor
.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I'm not putting my money on the ground, and I expect to ride out of town alive anyway. What do you think, Mano?”

“That sounds like a good plan,
señor
,” Mano said.

“There you go,” Clint said, “my friend approves of my plan.”

“Your friend is very young,
señor
,” Armando said. “Perhaps we should give him a chance to think over his answer, huh?”

“He's very young,” Clint said, “but he doesn't need time to think. And I don't have time to play games with you or try to save your lives. So if you're going to do something, do it.”

That seemed to surprise Armando for a moment, and disconcert his other two men. They were wondering why the gringo wasn't a little more afraid.

“If not,” Clint said, “we will mount up and ride out and you can wait and rob the next gringo.”

The three Mexican bandits didn't move, so Clint walked slowly to his horse and mounted up. While he watched the three men, Mano also mounted.

Clint started to back away with Eclipse, while Mano turned his horse to ride out of town. That was what Armando was waiting for. He was smarter than Clint thought.

Once Mano's attention was diverted, Armando went for his gun. His two compadres followed. Effectively, Armando had turned a three against two situation into a three against one.

Clint drew, pointed, and fanned his gun, exerting enough pressure downward to keep the barrel from jerking. The three Mexicans danced in the street for a moment, then fell. Clint quickly reloaded as Mano turned.

“What happened?”

“It's over,” Clint said. “Keep riding.”

He holstered his gun and followed Mano out of town.

* * *

A couple of miles out, Mano reined his horse in and turned to Clint.

“What happened?”

“They waited until your back was turned to draw.”

“But I was ready,” Mano said, “ready to—how do you say?—back your play.”

“I know you were, Mano,” Clint said.

Mano shook his head.

“I still need to prove myself to you.”

“The time will come,” Clint said. “As a gringo in Mexico, I'll attract more attention. You'll get your chance.”

Mano stared at Clint for a few moments, then said, “I think perhaps all of the stories my father told me about you are true.”

“Maybe,” Clint said. “The next time I see him, I'll have to ask him what he told you.”

“I can tell you that,” Mano said as they gigged their horses. “After all, we need to talk about something.”

“Mano—”

“There was the time you faced the James boys . . .”