Clay said, “No problem, Maria. I’ve met rude people before.”
The smaller man laid his fork down gently and stood. “Señor, you are treading on, how do you say, dangerous ground.”
Clay looked up at the man. Just what I need. It’s not bad enough I’m chasing four killers, now I have a good chance of alienating the Mexican community. “Sit down, amigo. You haven’t finished your breakfast. You wouldn’t want to miss Maria’s cooking, since that was part of your reason for coming into San Felipe.”
The bigger man said something in Spanish and the man sat down, still angry.
“My friend, Juan, has a short cord.” The man turned to Maria. “How do you say fusible in English?”
“Ahh, fuse,” Maria said.
“Yes,” the man said to Clay, “my friend has a short fuse.”
“I’ve noticed,” Clay said.
“My name,” the big man told him, “is Arturo Ignacio Santiago Torres, and my short-tempered friend is Juan Raul Fernandez Medina. Call me Arturo and he is Juan.”
Clay extended his hand across the table. “Arturo and Juan. I am Clayton Joseph Barlow. You can call me Clay.”
Arturo took Clay’s hand immediately. Clay could tell Juan still hadn’t cooled down, but after a moment, he shook Clay’s hand as well.
The door opened and Rud walked in. He yelled back into the kitchen, “Maria, you leave anything for me?”
She came to the kitchen door. Her face had broken into a big, toothy smile. “Rud, sweetie, there is always a little something for you at my table. Sit down.” She turned to walk back into the kitchen, and Rud slapped her lightly on her ample bottom. She giggled and ran into the kitchen.
“How you feeling, boy? I see you’ve put on the feed bag. You get plenty of sleep last night?” Rud limped over to the chair at the end of table and sat down, his bad leg extending straight out.
“Yes, sir. Like a rock.”
“I see you’ve met Arturo and Juan. Buenos dias, amigos.” Rud’s Spanish was colored with his Texas drawl.
Juan said to Rud, “You know this man?”
“I darned sure do. Only known him for a day, but he strikes me as a good lad. He brought Harly Pinder in over his saddle, and had Milo Reese with a rope around his neck.”
The two men appraised Clay with a new appreciation.
“Those are two bad men,” Juan said. “You know they ride with a gang. The leader is muy malo, very bad.”
“I do,” Clay said. “They killed my folks and a good friend. I’m after them.”
Arturo asked, “What will you do when you find them?”
“Reckon that’s up to them. If I have to, I’ll kill ’em.”
The two friends looked at each other. Arturo said, “We believe they are rustling our patrón’s cattle. If we find them first, we will kill them.”
“You have any idea where they are?”
“No, Señor Clay, not yet,” Arturo said. “But we will. It is only a matter of time, no? Then we find them and kill them. We do know they have taken our cattle across the Rio Bravo and moved them into the Devils River country. That country is very rough.”
Clay thought for a moment. “If I come out to your ranchero, do you think your patrón would mind you showing me where they last crossed the river? I’m a pretty good tracker.”
Juan looked at Arturo. Arturo nodded, “I don’t think he would mind at all, Señor.”
“Good,” Clay said. “When are you going back to the rancho?”
Juan grinned. “We will have a little tequila at the cantina to help wash down Maria’s breakfast and head back today. You are welcome to come with us if you like. That is, if you don’t mind me calling you gringo.”
Clay laughed. “Reckon I can live with that, if you don’t mind me calling you Mex.”
Arturo threw back his head and roared. “I think he has you, Juan. This will be fun.”
Juan grinned. He put his finger and thumb together at the middle of his mustache and ran them across and down each side. “You are a funny man, Señor.”
Rud looked at the three of them. “Something going on I don’t know about?”
“Almost, Señor Rud, almost,” Juan said.
Clay stood. “I’m gonna check on my horses and visit the saloon, if it’s open this early. See if I can find anything else out before we leave.”
“I’ll be along in a bit,” Rud said.
“Maria, if it’s okay with you, I’ll settle up when I come back for my gear.”
Maria came out of the kitchen and moved behind Rud, to massage his shoulders. “That will be fine, Señor Clay. I’ll be here.” She winked at Clay. “Rud, he may also still be here.”
“I just might, boy, I just might,” Rud said, a big smile on his face.
“Arturo, Juan, I’ll see you later.”
The two men nodded. Juan waved as he took a sip of his strong coffee. Clay put his hat on and stepped out the door. The morning sun was climbing above the stable roof as Clay crossed the street to check on the horses. He was halfway across the street when the blue roan tied in front of the saloon got his attention. Clay stopped. Was that Blue? He started walking toward the horse. It stood between two other horses. The horse between Clay and the blue roan moved forward at the rail and exposed the roan’s brand. Rocking A W. That was Blue.
Clay checked both guns to make sure the hammer thongs were off. He moved them in the holsters. They were nice and loose. He whistled softly. Blue’s head snapped up as he looked toward Clay.
Today was a good day, Clay thought. He had slept well, he’d enjoyed a delicious, sit-down breakfast. The warm breeze slipping through the alleys from the west felt good across his neck and face. He had never drawn on another human being. He could hear his pa saying, “You’re ready, just remain cool. Don’t get excited. Don’t focus solely on your target. Remain conscious of what’s happening around you. You can do it.”
He stepped up to Blue and rubbed his neck. The horse rubbed his head against Clay’s shoulder. Clay scratched him behind his ears, then turned and stepped into the saloon.
He saw Hayes sitting at the back table with another man. Hayes was dealing cards. Clay checked the bartender, fifteen feet to his right, wiping beer mugs behind the bar. Two other men sat at a table in the far corner, to his left, no more than twenty feet, each with a beer.
Hayes looked better than he had the last time he saw him. He’d healed pretty quick.
“Hayes,” Clay said, “you killed my family, and you stole my horse and gear.”
Birch Hayes, the handsome, educated man who had already killed several men, turned his head to the door. “Hello, boy. You’re mighty lucky. Last time I saw you, my knife was stuck in your throat and you were bleeding out. Figured you were dead. That was my favorite knife, well balanced. Did you bring it back to me?”
The man with Hayes let loose a loud, tense laugh. He looked to Clay, then back to Hayes. The two men in the corner didn’t make a move. The bartender laid his hands flat on the bar.
Clay watched Hayes stand and motion his partner up. His partner stood and faced Clay.
“Mister,” Clay said, “I don’t know who you are. I figure if you’re with Hayes, you’re probably running with the Pinder Gang. Don’t know if you know it, but they killed my ma and pa. I’m only here for Hayes, unless you feel the need to deal yourself in.”
The man had a scar on the right side of his face that ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth. The scar was pulsing red.
“You can’t take me, boy,” Hayes said. “You don’t have a chance. I’ve already killed three men. Tell you what I’ll do. You turn around and walk away, and I’ll forget all about this.”
Clay didn’t move. He felt relaxed. It was like emotion had drained out of him. His hands felt loose, ready.
Watch their eyes, he remembered his pa saying.
The two men in the corner sat frozen, their only movement their heads swiveling between Clay and Hayes. Clay noticed the bartender start
to edge down the bar. “Mr. Bartender, I wouldn’t move another inch. It won’t be healthy.”
The bartender stopped, his hands still on the top of the bar.
“Hayes, you can start by dropping your gun. Then we’ll talk about all your hideout weapons.”
Hayes smiled. “Boy, you don’t stand a—”
Mid-sentence, Hayes went for his gun. Clay saw his eyes narrow a split second before he drew. Pa was right. Now everything seemed to slow. He could see the other man going for his gun and the bartender reaching beneath the bar. His first priority was Hayes. Clay’s Smith & Wesson New Model 3 .44 caliber American cleared his holster while Hayes’s hand was still moving down to his gun. Clay could see the surprise in the eyes of Hayes, along with the realization that he was a dead man. Hayes’s six-gun had just cleared his holster, the barrel starting to rise, when the first .44 American slammed into his third button. He took a step back and, though slower, continued to bring his six-gun to bear. The second .44 slammed into his chest, no more than a half-inch from the first. His gun stopped rising. The third shot formed a half-inch triangle with the other two. Hayes dropped his gun and fell to his knees.
Hayes’s partner was bringing his gun to bear on Clay when the first shot hit him in the third button, followed quickly by the second. He fell backward against the table, his gun flew out of his hand, and the bottle sitting on the table catapulted across the room.
Clay watched everything happening as if he were a spectator. He watched the bullets slam into Hayes, then the slight change of direction of the muzzle of his Smith & Wesson to cover the second man. He saw that man fly backward as his two bullets struck right where his pa had taught him to aim. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender reach under the bar and pull out a 10-gauge double barrel.
He lunged forward and down, having seen the man was right-handed and knowing it would be harder for him to track to the right. As he dove, he holstered his empty revolver and pulled the one from the crossdraw holster. The blast of the shotgun was even more deafening in the bar. The load of shot passed over him. Clay fired. This time, he rushed the shot. The bullet hit the man just below his left collarbone. He heard his pa say, “Stay calm, Son.”
The man was trying to bring the shotgun up again when the second bullet hit the third button of his shirt, driving shards of the button into his chest. Clay kept shooting until the man dropped the shotgun and slumped across the bar.
Clay glanced at the two men in the corner. They had their hands up, and their faces were white as fresh snow. He quickly snapped open the top break on the revolver and reloaded. The six-gun slid smoothly into the crossdraw holster, and Clay drew the other one and yanked it open. He was reloading it before the ejected cases hit the floor. Then he dropped it back into the holster and took a deep breath while he watched the door.
Marshal Taylor was the first man through the door. He looked around the smoke-filled room. The acrid black powder made it difficult to clearly make out the two bodies in the back of the room. The bartender was clearly visible, hanging over the bar. His shotgun was on the floor in front of the bar. Several people pushed in behind the marshal. Rud, Arturo, and Juan came in with the group. Marshal Taylor walked to the back of the room and recognized Hayes and his partner.
Clay watched Marshal Taylor kneel down next to Hayes. He took out a four bit piece and laid it on Hayes chest, covering the bullet holes. Then he picked it up and walked over to the other man, knelt down and did the same thing. He shook his head and looked back at Clay. Without saying a word, Marshal Taylor walked over to the bartender and rolled him over. He looked at the man’s shoulder and then the three bullet wounds in his chest. Again, he put the now-bloody half dollar over the three holes.
Clay could feel the reaction setting in. He had just gone from never shooting a man to killing three. He took another deep breath. He looked at Rud. The old man nodded and limped over to him. “How you doing, Son?”
Clay spoke low to keep the conversation between him and Rud. “I’m feelin’ a little shaky, Rud.”
“Well, you just hang on. We’ll have you out of here in a few minutes.”
Marshal Taylor turned to the men in the corner. “You boys see this?”
Both men started talking at once. “Yes, sir, Marshal, we seen it all.”
“Never seen such shootin’ in my life.”
“Me neither, Marshal. That there Hayes drew first, he—”
“That’s right, Marshal, Hayes drew first, but he didn’t stand a chance—”
“Who’s telling this, me or you?”
“Me, I seen it all.”
“Well, I seen it all too.”
“Look, Jeb, just shut up,” Marshal Taylor said. “Rube, you look to be the most sober, you tell me what happened.”
“Marshal, like I was saying, Hayes and that other feller drew first. But they didn’t have a snowball’s chance. That boy had his first shot going before Hayes even had his gun out of his holster good. Then that young feller blasted Hayes’s partner, don’t know his name. You know him, Marshal?”
The marshal looked up at the ceiling as if he were asking for patience. “I don’t know him, Rube. So, what about Russell?”
“Marshal, the boy told him to stay out of it. But you know, he and Hayes went way back. So he goes under the bar for his greener. Biggest mistake he ever did make. Reckon he’d like to take it back, don’t you think?”
“I’m losing my patience, Rube. Just tell me what happened.”
“I’m just trying to help, Marshal. Ain’t no sense in you gittin’ on yore high horse. Though all of this talking is sure making me dry.” Rube rubbed his throat and coughed.
“Listening’s makin’ me pretty dry too, Marshal,” Jeb said.
Marshal Taylor said, “Don’t reckon Russell will mind if you fellers get you a drink.”
Both men started to stand up and head for the bar.
“After you finish the story. Go ahead, Rube.”
Both men sat back down, their disappointment obvious. “Like I was saying, Marshal. Russell—dumb, dumb, dumb, Russell—reached beneath the bar for that 10-gauge he likes so much and swings it up over the bar. By that time, this here boy had finished killin’ those two, and started shuckin’ his other pistol out.” Rube stopped for a moment and rubbed his chin, the picture of a man deep in thought. “Yessiree, I reckon he must have seen Russell going for the shotgun. Anyways, he, that’s the boy there, he dives forward, and while he’s in the air, he puts one into Russell. Must’ve been cause he was diving, but he hit him in the shoulder or thereabouts. He hit the floor and kept shooting. Why, it all sounded like one shot. Russell’s a pretty big feller, but nobody can take that much lead and survive. I reckon the boy shot him five, six times. That’s it, Marshal. Now, how about our drinks?”
“Help yourselves, boys.”
The two men rushed over to the bar and started rummaging through the bottles.
Marshal Taylor turned to Clay. “You did a heap of killin’ here today. You’ll need to come down to my office. I’ll need a statement from you.”
“Reckon not, Marshal,” Rud said. “You got all the statement you need from those two. I’ll be taking the boy down to Maria’s. If you need anything, you can come down there.”
The marshal started to object. Arturo and Juan moved to Clay’s side. “He’ll be with us, Señor. I’m sure you won’t mind.”
Marshal Taylor paused, looked at the four men, and finally said to Clay, “Just don’t leave town until I’ve talked to you.”
“Marshal, I’ll be leaving today. If you want to talk to me, you best make it soon. Also, I’ll be taking that blue roan. That’s my horse, saddle, and saddlebags. Hayes stole ’em a while back. I’ll be looking through the rest of his gear to see if there’s anything else of mine. Plus, he took twenty-five dollars of mine, so I’ll be taking whatever money he has.”
Clay watched the marshal process everything. It was obvious he didn’t like being out of control. But
something new for Clay, he saw caution in the marshal’s eyes. The man didn’t want to tangle with Clay, after what he had seen in the saloon.
“All right, take the horse and whatever money you find. Stop by the office before you leave. I’ve got the reward money for Milo.”
Clay started for the door.
“What about the money, aren’t you going to check Hayes?”
“Marshal, if you don’t mind, you’re going to check everything. Just have the money when I come by to pick up the reward.”
Clay walked out of the saloon to Blue. He rubbed the horse’s nose and patted his neck. “Good to see you, Blue boy. I thought I lost you for good.” The horse nuzzled him and rubbed his head against him. Clay untied Blue, and with Rud, Arturo, and Juan, walked down the street to the livery. He took Blue to water and let him drink. “Rud, can you take Blue for a minute? I’ll be right back.”
He hurried to the alley to the south of the livery, walked two paces into the alley, and could hold it no longer. He leaned against the livery wall and threw up every bit of the breakfast he had so enjoyed. I’ve killed three men today. That makes a total of four men dead. They may have deserved it, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. He dry heaved a couple more times, wiped his mouth, and walked back to the trough. He removed his hat and plunged his head into the horse trough. The cool water felt good. Clay shook his head and combed his hair back with his hand. His thick black hair glistened in the sunlight. He put his hat back on and walked into the stable.
“Arturo and Juan went over to the cantina,” Rud said. “We were still at Maria’s when we heard the shooting. How’d you know they were there?”
“I saw Blue at the hitching rail.”
“You doin’ all right, Son?”
“No, not much. I’ve never killed a man before. It was bad enough with Harly, but I shot three men today, and I’ve got to live with it.”
Rud had pulled the saddle from Blue and was giving him a rubdown. “It’s a hard thing. You’re right. You’ll have to live with it. Just try not to add too many more to those three. The more there are, the harder it is. But, feelin’ bad’s a good thing. It means you care. When you stop feelin’ bad about killing, you’ve just crossed the line. Whether you carry a badge or not, at that point, you’ve become a killer. So, don’t feel guilty about feelin’ bad.”
Forty-Four Caliber Justice Page 15
