The Legend of El Duque Read online

  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 . . .”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “We’re lost,” Tibbs said, “ain’t we?”

  “No,” Steiger lied.

  “Well,” Jerome said, “then we don’t know where we are.”

  “Look,” Steiger said, “we know where he’s goin
’, so let’s just go there.”

  “Mexico City?” Tibbs asked.

  “Near Mexico City,” Steiger said. “The Rancho Sandoval.”

  “If he’s so famous,” Tibbs said, “everybody should know where he lives. All we have to do is ask.”

  “We will,” Steiger said, “when we get closer. All we got to do now is head south.”

  Tibbs looked at Jerome, who shook his head and shrugged.

  “Look,” Steiger said, “we’re just adjustin’ to the situation, that’s all.”

  “Well,” Tibbs said, “we better get this job done, is all.”

  “We will,” Steiger said, turning his horse south. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Days passed without incident, which suited Clint. They were camped one night and he asked Mano, “How far to Queretaro?”

  “A day or two,” Mano said.

  “Depending on?”

  “On how fast we travel.”

  “I don’t want to push the horses too hard,” Clint said. “We can keep up the pace we’ve been traveling at.”

  For a few days, they’d been living on beans and coffee, and Mano was hankering for something more.

  “Can we buy some bacon at the next town?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yeah, sure,” Clint said. “Bacon and beans would be a welcome change.”

  “You have not told me if any of my father’s stories about you are true.”

  “And I won’t,” Clint said. “That’s up to your father to tell you.”

  “Bien,” Mano said, “then tell me this.”

  “What?”

  “The story about the time my father fought five Juaristas and defeated them single-handedly without weapons. Is that true?”

  Clint studied the younger man across the fire, then said, “Well, yes, that’s true.”

  “Ha ha!” Mano cried out. “That old man! He told me it never happened.”

  “Well, I suppose your father may have become . . . modest in his old age.”

  “What about the women?”

  “What about them?”

  “All the women my father is supposed to have had,” Mano said.

  “How many is that?”

  “Many,” Mano said, “many, many over the years.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I think maybe that is something I’ll leave to your father to answer.”

  “He does have a young wife,” Mano said. “I suppose the women could have been attracted to his money.”

  “Just remember,” Clint said, “your father didn’t always have money.”

  “That is true.”

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Clint said, intentionally changing the subject.

  But instead of going to bed, Mano wanted to hear more stories. Or ask about them.

  “What about the time with the three nuns?” he asked.

  “What?” Clint asked. “Who? Me or your father?”

  * * *

  Carlos Montero wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing.

  He had gone to Mexico City, as Don Pablo had wanted, but he had also collected some men to help him with the gringo when he arrived, as Antonia wanted him to do.

  The gringo was projected to arrive any day. So Montero decided to take his men to Queretaro and intercept him.

  Now he was sitting in a cantina, drinking beer, while his men were in back rooms with two of the cantina girls.

  What if the gringo bypassed Queretaro? What if he went directly to the rancho? It was too bad he did not have the gringo’s name.

  But how many gringos would be riding through, carrying a large some of money and looking for Don Pablo Sandoval’s rancho?

  “Señor, you would like some company?” a cantina girl asked. She was young, busty, with a wide, beautiful mouth that promised many things.

  But Montero had enough problems with women, since he was sleeping with the patrón’s daughter as well as his wife.

  “No, thank you,” he said, “but I will have another cerveza.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Clint and Mano rode into Queretaro the next morning. Clint decided he needed a bath before he presented himself to Don Pablo to buy his bull. The man was a Spanish aristocrat, so manners and hygiene were probably as important to him as the money.

  “A bath?” Mano asked.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you either,” Clint said as they rode in.

  “But it is not Saturday night.”

  “That’s okay,” Clint said, “nobody is going to hold it against you.”

  “Well,” Mano said, “this is a fair-sized town. Must be plenty of pretty señoritas who would like a man who has just had a bath.”

  “There you go,” Clint said. “We’ll spend one night in a hotel in a real bed, have a bath, and then tomorrow we’ll move on to the Rancho Sandoval.”

  “That suits me,” Mano said.

  “You might even send your pa a telegram and tell him where we are and how we’re doing,” Clint said. “I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

  “I will do so, señor,” Mano said. “He will be happy to hear from both of us.”

  They rode up to a hotel and reined in. Clint dismounted and handed Mano his reins.

  “I’ll get us a room, and you take the horses to the livery. You better warn them to take special care of Eclipse. And watch he doesn’t take off any fingers.”

  “I will.”

  “You mind sharing a room?”

  “I do not mind,” Mano said, “as long as we don’t have to share a bed.”

  “Nope,” Clint said, “sharing a bed is not something I’m hankering to do either.”

  They split up there, and Clint went into the hotel lobby carrying his saddlebags and rifle.

  * * *

  Carlos Montero was starting to think he’d been a fool to let Antonia talk him into this. How was he going to identify the gringo with the money without knowing his name or what he looked like? Don Pablo must know the man’s name—why had he never mentioned it to Antonia?

  Montero was drinking in a small cantina when the two men he’d brought with him came in.

  “Carlos,” Mendez said, “two men just rode in. One is a gringo.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “One went into a hotel, the other to the livery stable.”

  “We need to find out if this is the gringo with the money,” Montero said, getting up. “We will go to the livery and ask the other man.”

  “He is pretty young,” the other man, Ibanez, said. “He should talk if we pressure him.”

  “Well, we will pressure him, all right,” Montero said. “We will pressure him.”

  The three of them left the cantina and walked toward the livery stable.

  * * *

  Clint checked them in and went upstairs to look at the room. It had two small beds, with mattresses that were barely better than sleeping on the ground.

  He went to the window and looked out, saw three men leaving a cantina down the street. One of them pointed to the hotel, then pointed somewhere farther along. The three men exchanged some words, and then continued up the street.

  Clint had a bad feeling, and left the room.

  * * *

  Montero, Mendez, and Ibanez came out of the cantina, and Ibanez pointed to the hotel.

  “The gringo went in there,” he said, “and the other man went that way.” He pointed toward the livery.

  “All right,” Montero said, “let’s go to the livery and see what we can find out.”

  * * *

  At the livery, Mano spoke with the farrier about Clint’s horse, Eclipse.

  “Do not worry, señor,” the older man said, “I would only take good care of such an animal.”

  “Just be careful of him,” Mano sa
id. “He likes fingers.”

  The man held up his left hand, which was already missing part of a finger, and said, “Do not worry, señor. I have been bitten before.”

  “I can see that.”

  The man took the reins of both horses and walked them farther into the barn.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Montero and his two men approached the livery, and then stopped.

  “All right,” Montero said, “you two go in and find out what you can.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I will stay out here and watch,” Montero said. “I do not want you to be interrupted.”

  Mendez and Ibanez exchanged a glance, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the barn.

  * * *

  Clint left the hotel, looked around, determined that he was not being watched. The three men may have had nothing to do with him, but he still had a bad feeling, and over the years had come to depend on his instinct.

  The three men were up to no good.

  * * *

  Mano turned to leave the barn, but his path was suddenly blocked by two men.

  “Excuse me, compadres,” he said. “You are blocking my way.”

  “Just take it easy, chico,” Ibanez said. “We have some questions to ask you.”

  “I do not know either of you,” Mano said. “Why would I answer your questions?”

  “It would be much better for you if you do,” Mendez said.

  “Do not force us to be unpleasant,” Ibanez added.

  Mano had his saddlebags over his left shoulder, and his rifle in his left hand. That left his gun hand free, and he let it hang down by his gun.

  “I do not want to talk to you,” he said. “Stand aside.”

  But neither man moved, and Mano knew he could not avoid trouble. What he didn’t know was whether or not this had anything to do with Clint Adams.

  “What question could you have for me?” he asked. “I do not know you.”

  “The gringo you rode in with,” Ibanez said. “Who is he, and why is he here?”

  Well, Mano thought, that answers that question.

  * * *

  Clint approached the livery and saw one man standing outside, two standing in the doorway. He assumed Mano was inside. That meant the man outside was a lookout.