A Hundred Miles to Water

by Mike Kearby

  Full-bottle winced. He looked blankly into Pure’s eyes for a handful of seconds, then answered, “Fifty in gold coin.”

  July whistled and looked over at Pure. “The price on our heads is going up.”

  “Twenty-five up front. The rest when we finished.”

  Pure dropped full-bottle’s chin and stood up. “Finished what?”

  Full-bottle’s expression changed. “Only slowing you fellas down from their trail.”

  Pure placed both hands on his hips and bit down on his lower lip. “That’s it? Just slow us down?”

  “Bust you up too, if we had the opportunity.”

  The Snapping and Stretching gum rolled onto Pure’s bottom lip. “Not kill us?” he asked. His voice betrayed his distrust.

  “Nope, the man never said that,” Full-bottled argued.

  Pure sucked the gum back inside his mouth and began to chew. “Fifty in gold coin and you didn’t have to kill us?”

  “Them boys never said nothing about killing you.”

  Pure looked over at July. “How’s that story sound to you?”

  “About right. You?”

  Pure chewed the Snapping and Stretching gum faster. “About right.”

  July grinned. “Old E.B. sure likes his game to be crippled up some before he faces them head-on.”

  Pure nodded in stark realization of E.B.’s plan. “There’s probably another group waiting down the road.”

  “Reckon so.”

  Full-bottle glanced up. “You fellas gonna kill me?”

  “Still deciding,” Pure answered without a glance at the man.

  “There’ll be another group at the next map’s X.”

  Pure nodded, thought for a second, then shot a hard look at full-bottle. “He leave you a map?”

  Full-bottle winced and shook his head. “Yeah.”

  Pure extended his right hand. “Let’s have it,” he said.

  Full-bottle reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a scrap of dirty pasteboard. He extended the map toward Pure’s outstretched hand.

  Pure snatched the map and studied the charcoal drawing. After a minute, he handed the map to July. “Appears E.B. is leading us back to the Rio Grande east of Guerrero.”

  July looked carefully at the map. A large X was drawn on the Mexican side of the river. He nodded and then thrust the map in full-bottle’s face. “What is this place?”

  Full-bottle’s knees shook uncontrollably. He ignored the map and looked ay July. “You fellas gonna kill me?”

  Pure’s right hand brushed the handle of his Colt. “The man asked you a question.”

  “You can both have the gold coin.”

  “It belongs to us in the first place,” July uttered and then rattled the map once more, violently. “What is this place?”

  “Pueblo bandito.”

  Pure stopped chewing and muttered, “Bandit town.”

  Full-bottle nodded once. “It’s a bad place.”

  “What goes on there?” July asked.

  “It’s the place where American bandits and Mexican bandits exchange stolen cattle.”

  July looked away. “Sounds about right,” he said.

  Pure glanced at July and then back to full-bottle. “Get-up,” he said.

  “You gonna kill me?”

  Pure walked over to full-bottle’s dead horse and removed a length of piggin’ string from a rawhide tie. “Only if you ask me again,” he said. “Put your hands behind you.”

  Full-bottle obeyed reluctantly.

  Pure pushed both wrists together and then expertly tied the man’s hands behind his back. “How many men in this bandit town?” he asked.

  Full-bottle took a second to think. “This time of year? Probably no more than a handful. It gets busier in the spring.”

  Pure lifted up on full-bottle’s bound wrists and roughly guided him toward the rock formation.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Is it a real town?”

  Full-bottle showed a pained expression. “Hey!”

  Pure lifted the assassin’s bound wrists higher. “Is it a real town?”

  No…no, it’s just a bunch of canvas tents.”

  Pure lowered the man’s wrists. He glanced over at July. “Whataya think?”

  “I guess we should ride for the river and take a look.”

  “No, I mean about full-bottle here.”

  Full-bottle’s head turned sharply. He tried to glance back over his right shoulder at Pure. “You gonna kill me?” he asked. A desperate panic sounded in his question.

  July stopped and pushed his eyebrows together. He looked intently at Pure. “Seems to be a pleasant enough fella.”

  “Pleasant enough to try and kill us.”

  “Well, there was that,” July said.

  “We can’t let him go back to Nuevo Laredo.”

  Full-bottle gasped. “Honest fellas, we didn’t sign on to kill you. I give you my word on that.”

  Pure looked around the road at the dead bodies.

  July glanced back toward Nuevo Laredo and the dead assassins. “We could put him to work burying his friends.”

  Pure rolled the Snapping and Stretching gum to the back of his jaw. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “I’ll do that,” full-bottle panted. “Clean it up so that no one would ever know what went down here. I’ll even gather up the coin off these boys and give it back to you fellas.”

  Pure’s face hardened in disgust. “We’re not taking coin off dead men.”

  July glared at full-bottle and shook his head. “That’s bad luck,” he said.

  Pure reached toward his belt and lifted the thick-bladed knife from its scabbard. “And don’t you take any of it either. You bury it with your friends.”

  “And after all that?” July asked.

  Pure cut the piggin’ string and glanced east. “I guess he goes with us.”

  Full-bottle’s expression dropped. His face turned ashen.

  July pursed his lips together and nodded.

  “That way, he can collect the rest of the coin he’s owed from E.B.” Pure said.

  “But…but, I don’t even have anything to ride,” Full-bottle stuttered.

  July glanced around at the carnage of dead men and horses. “He’s right about that, Pure. We did kill every horse.”

  “Well,” Pure smirked. “Then it appears our friend here will just have to ride shank’s mare to bandit town.”

  Thirty-Six

  December 1878 - Bandit Town, Mexico

  E.B. hunched over a lechuguilla mat and cupped his hands around a tin of coffee. Across from him sat a man dressed in tattered wool trousers and a dirty undershirt. The man drank from a similar tin cup but made an irritating slurping sound with each swallow.

  Nate sat slightly to the left of his father. Son and father stared at the man with equal portions of distaste and wonderment.

  As if he sensed the stare, the man glanced up, glared at Nate, and smacked his lips vocally. “Ah!” he said with a fair amount of belligerence.

  Nate made a face.

  The man smiled and then took another loud drink.

  E.B. uncupped his hands from the coffee and pulled at his beard with a rough stroke of his right hand. Good coffee,” he said.

  “I can’t think of the time I’ve ever had bad coffee,” the man answered, still eyeing Nate.

  “Sorta like a woman,” E.B. spouted.

  “Sorta,” the man said, and then motioned at Nate. “This your pup?”

  E.B.’s eyes darted left briefly. “He’s the only survivor from of a litter of six,” he said flatly.

  “I don’t like the way he looks at me,” the man said and curled his lip up. “Like he’s trying to get me angered up on purpose.”

  Nate tightened his mouth and leaned forward. He started to rise.

  E.B. pushed his right arm into Nate’s chest and smiled at the man. “That ain’t how it is, friend.”

  The man pushed the cup to his mouth and m
ade a loud sucking noise. When he lowered the cup, he smiled briefly at Nate and then set his gaze on E.B. “Suppose you tell me then, how it is…friend.”

  E.B. let his arm fall away from Nate’s chest. “Like I said earlier—,”

  The man smiled smugly. “You’re looking to hire some men to git some fellas trailing you to quit trailing you.”

  “Not quit so much as slow down some.”

  “And why would I or anyone else want to help you, friend?”

  “Cause there’s gold coin in it for you.”

  The man stared at his coffee tin and shook his head slowly. A large grin spread across his face. “You’re a brave man.”

  E.B. returned the man’s grin.

  “Not many would have the grit to ride into bandit town and announce they’re carrying gold coin with them.”

  E.B. looked down at his pistol and then back into the man’s eyes. “Wouldn’t have said it were I not pretty good with the pistol.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder. “There are five others here that might be your equal with that pistol.”

  “Might be,” E.B. muttered. “But don’t overlook the boy here.”

  “The pup shoots like his pa does he?”

  “Shoots straight enough.”

  The man twisted his head slightly to the right and made a face. “Still…considering we’re six against your two.”

  “But it ain’t really the shooting is it?”

  “How’s that?”

  “When everything else is stripped away, it’s not about the shooting, only about the killing.”

  “Makes sense,” the man said.

  E.B. lowered his hands.

  “Careful,” the man said and dropped his hand to his Colt.

  E.B. offered a tight smile and lifted the front of his shirt up to his neck. Six circular, red-welts adorned his stomach and chest area. “See these came from shooting.”

  The man lifted his brow in acknowledgment.

  “From a couple of blue-bellies during the war.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But the two of them…well…their shooting didn’t actually do any killing,” E.B. said and released his grip on his shirt. “You see what I’m saying, friend?”

  The man nodded and kept a hard stare on E.B. After five-seconds, he lifted his chin and laughed aloud. “Mister, you’re either the craziest or most dangerous soul I’ve ever met.”

  “My pa always said I was little bit of both.”

  The man lowered his head and exhaled a gush of breath through his nose. His expression took a sudden turn to serious. “So what’s your proposition?”

  “You slow down the men following us.”

  “You don’t want these fellas killed?”

  “Nobody said nothing about me not wanting these men killed.”

  The man wrinkled his brow. “You trying to be funny, mister?”

  “No.”

  “Well what’s this talk about hiring us to slow down some fellas you want killed but don’t want us to kill them?”

  “The boy and I’ll kill them when the time allows that it is right to do so.”

  The man pushed back from the table. “Well that’s all fine and dandy, friend, but what if these fellas decide they want to kill us?”

  E.B. glanced around the camp. “Like you said, there’s six of you.”

  The man’s face flushed. His eyes narrowed into tiny dark slits. “And how many of these fellas?”

  “Same as us.”

  “Two?”

  “Yep.”

  The man took a breath and scratched his chin. “Mister, what kinda game are you running here?”

  “No game.”

  The man leaned forward and rested his elbows on the lechuguilla mat.

  E.B. shrugged. “Pays a hundred per gun.”

  The man stared deep into E.B.’s eyes. “For not killing?”

  “That’s my offer.”

  “These fellas, they gun hands?”

  “They sure shoot like they are.”

  “Somehow, I figured that.”

  “A hundred per gun.”

  “So you said.”

  “You seem like a man who’s more than capable,” E.B. said.

  “Six hundred for the job?”

  E.B. closed one eye and appeared deep in thought. After five seconds passed, he opened his eye and said, “That’s how I add it up.”

  The man dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Something don’t figure right here.”

  “Nobody’s holding a pistol to your head, friend.”

  The man straightened with a hard jerk. “What’s that suppose to mean?” he barked.

  E.B. looked down at the lechuguilla mat. The atmosphere around the table turned cold. He placed both hands on his coffee tin and spun the cup like a top before looking back at the man. “It means, friend, do you want the job, or do you figure to just waste me and my boy’s time?”

  “Might be easier for me and the boys to just shoot you and the pup.”

  “Might be.”

  “Then we take your gold and never have to worry about not killing these fellas trailing you.”

  “Sounds like a pretty fair plan.”

  The man leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, self-satisfied.

  “The only problem I see in it, is taking the gold.”

  The man tilted his head slightly side-ways. “How’s that?”

  “Well, for starters, it belongs to those two fellas trailing us here.”

  The man slammed both hands down on the table, furious. “You’re bringing the very men that you stole from into our hideout?”

  The spinning tin cup popped into the air.

  E.B. snatched the cup with cat-like quickness. “Pays a hundred per gun in them fellas’ gold coin.”

  “A hundred per gun for slowing these two down.”

  “Half now, half when the job’s done.”

  “Where you two gonna be while we slow these fellas down?”

  “Close by.”

  “How do I know you’ll pay the other half?”

  E.B. didn’t say anything.

  “Mexico’s a big place.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “I need some assurance on where you two will be hiding…close by.”

  “Preparing.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll be preparing to kill these two, not hiding out.”

  “If that’s what you say.”

  “I’ll draw a map.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll draw you a map of exactly where me and my son will be.”

  The man scratched behind his ear and glanced down at E.B.’s boots.

  “I’ll put a big X on it for you.”

  “I’ll be needing those spurs as well,” the man grinned. “Call it collateral.”

  E.B. lifted his chin. “We’ll see.”

  “No, the spurs come with the deal or you two fellas can fight your own battle.”

  E.B. pursed his lips and then clenched his jaw. “Well, I don’t see any cause to negotiate a fairer price than that.”

  The man held out his right hand. “I’ll be taking my coin and spurs now.”

  E.B. reached down and unstrapped his left spur. He lifted the spur from the heel of his boot and held it across the table. “Half now…half when the job’s done.”

  Thirty-Seven

  December 1878 - Near Bandit Town, Mexico

  Pure and July lay in a thick stand of coyote willow situated on the upper bank of a large bend on the east side of the Rio Grande. Pure studied the movement and activity of Bandit Town with his long glass.

  “How many?” July asked.

  “I count six.”

  “E.B.?”

  “No sign of him.”

  “Nate?”

  Pure answered with a quick shake of his head.

  “Whataya figure?”

  Pure lowered the glass from his eye. “I ’spect there’s another map in that camp.”
/>
  July swallowed a half-chuckle.

  Pure made a face. “What?”

  “Well you have to admit that E.B. has pretty much thought out a good plan.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, he’s running us from map to map fighting hired guns along the way.”

  “I suppose that’s right.”

  “Got us using a lot of energy.”

  “And cartridges,” Pure said.

  “There’s that too.”

  Pure pulled the Winchester even with his chest. “Maybe this plan of ours will surprise him a bit.”

  “Hope so.”

  “It will,” Pure said.

  July eased his rifle forward. He narrowed his eyes into a squint and lifted his chin toward Bandit Town. “I ’spect either way we’re fixing to find out.”

  Pure braced the Winchester firm against his shoulder. “Yep.”

  Across the river, full-bottle stumbled straight into the bandit hideout. One of the bandits, gun drawn, rushed out to him.

  July nudged Pure. “Look at that fella’s right boot.”

  The man wore a single spur.

  “Why would a man strap on a single spur?” Pure growled.

  “Most likely belongs to someone we both knew.”

  Pure cursed under his breath.

  “Yeah,” July muttered.

  Full-bottle and one-spur engaged in animated discussion for several minutes.

  “Whataya think they’re talking about?” asked July.

  “I’m hoping full-bottle is telling him that the two men he was hired to kill are on the road just west of Bandit Town.”

  “We’ll find that out in a minute or so.”

  Pure waited.

  Another minute passed.

  The remaining five bandits joined the first man.

  One-spur yanked his pistol and pressed the barrel into full-bottle’s chest.

  A second passed.

  One-spur cocked the pistol.

  Full-bottle lifted his left arm and pointed across the camp and across the river.

  “Uh-oh,” Pure muttered.

  One-spur turned and studied the far bank of the river.

  July placed his finger on the Winchester’s trigger and sighted in on the bandit’s chest. “There goes the plan.”

  One-spur mouthed a string of cursing that echoed across the river.