by Mike Kearby
Forty
December 1878 - Bandit Town, Mexico
"What are they doing?” E.B. said with a great deal of impatience.
Nate frowned, petulant. “I don’t know, but something ain’t right over there.”
E.B. kicked at the sandy soil and gestured toward Pure and the caudillo’s powwow. “Shoot Reston in the back,” he snarled.
“If I do, every Mexican in that militia is going to ride across the river for us.”
“I said shoot him, boy.”
Nate raised the Winchester and fixed the sight on Pure’s back.
“Anytime,” E.B. grumbled.
Nate placed the tip of his index finger on the trigger.
“Com’on, boy.”
“No, E.B., wait.”
E.B. curled his lips back over his teeth. “Bedamned, boy, shoot!”
“Look,” Nate said.
The Mexican leader leaned down from the saddle and placed his pistol against Pure’s temple.
E.B watched the scene unfold. “’bout time,” he said.
Nate lowered the rifle.
Across the river, Pure turned his head slightly north and began shouting.
Several seconds later, July rose from a clump of coyote willow.
The caudillo smiled and removed the pistol from Pure’s temple. He motioned with the gun for July to drop his rifle and walk toward him.
July tossed the Winchester to the ground and with long, even strides approached the Mexican leader and Pure.
E.B. slapped his thigh. “That’s right, Reston, prepare yourself for the everlasting sleep.”
The caudillo’s militia eased their horses forward. The riders on each end of the line pulled ahead of the middle riders and soon enclosed Pure and July in a circle of horses.
“What the—?” Nate grumbled.
“Whataya think they’re doing?” E.B. asked.
One of the Mexicans shouted something in Spanish.
“What did he say?” Nate mumbled.
“I don’t know. I can’t see or hear a thing with them horses situated like they are.”
Then the same Mexican shouted louder. The man’s voice carried across the camp. “Ponerse de rodillas!”
“Ha!” E.B. exclaimed.
“What?”
“He told Reston and the colored to get on their knees.”
Nate lifted his hat and dragged a dirty shirtsleeve across his brow. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he said.
Outside the circle, the caudillo holstered his pistol and dismounted. He moved heavily, through the circled horses.
E.B. squinted in disagreeable agitation. “I can’t see a thing,” he swore. After a second, he stretched his neck forward and then crouched trying to see through the blockade of man and horse. His maneuvering was interrupted by two quick pops from inside the circle. E.B.’s expression turned serious. He tossed a quick glance at Nate.
Nate didn’t return his father’s gaze.
E.B. turned back toward the caudillo and his men.
Two of the posse backed their mounts away from the circle. The Mexican leader pushed his way through the opening and strode for his mount. He thrust his pistol back into his holster with his first footfall.
E.B. looked past the caudillo. He bit down on his lower lip and then formed a tight smile.
Behind the caudillo, visible in the opening, lay the lifeless bodies of Pure Reston and July Walker.
Nate let loose with a low whistle. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“We going to ride over there?”
“You do what pleases you. I’m heading back to McMullen County.”
“Don’t you want to make sure?”
“Sure? Sure of what?”
“That Reston’s dead.”
E.B. turned and walked for his horse. “You ride over there, Nate and you’ll end up like Reston.”
“Huh?”
E.B. stepped into his stirrup. “That caudillo and his men don’t like us any better than Reston and the colored.”
“But we paid them for the killings.”
E.B. turned his horse east. “That we did.”
“Well, I don’t see the problem with going to see if the job was completed.”
“Go west then,” E.B. laughed and flipped the rein across his horse’s neck. “But if you do, know that caudillo will want all the money he supposes you to be carrying.”
Nate looked back across the river. The militia men milled about the dead bodies. He turned back to E.B. The old man was already fifty yards away. He inhaled and took a generous glance at the scene.
We should make sure, he thought.
“You coming, boy?” E.B. called out from atop his mount.
Nate turned and looked at E.B. After a minute and some thought, he nodded and hurried for his horse.
Forty-One
December 1878 - Bandit Town, Mexico
One of the caudillo’s men knelt beside Pure’s body and rifled through his pockets.
Pure opened his eyes at the looter’s foray. “Hey!” he said.
The man ignored Pure and glanced back at his leader.
The caudillo lifted his chin at the man.
The pillager shrugged, took to his feet, and joined his fellow despoilers, now plundering the six dead bandits scattered around the camp.
“It had to look real for your friends,” the caudillo said.
July opened his eyes and assumed a sitting position. He looked at the Mexican leader and then Pure. “Are they gone?”
Pure lifted his brow in reply. “Don’t know,” he said and tossed a glance at the caudillo.
The Mexican leader nodded. “Your friends are riding east,” he said.
Pure took a deep breath and jumped to his feet.
July followed Pure’s action. “Now what?” he asked.
“I guess we owe our friend here a thank you.”
The caudillo shook his head and began laughing.
Pure and July watched, confused, and then looked around the camp. The caudillo’s men had all stopped their looting and were looking intently at their leader.
The caudillo wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and continued to laugh. “Did you hear that?” he choked.
The militia looked from man to man and joined in with their own laughter.
Pure cleared his throat and held a hot stare on the caudillo. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I think you, amigo.”
Pure’s face flushed. “How’s that?”
July looked on, concerned.
The caudillo locked eyes with Pure and then broke up laughing once more.
Pure reached into his shirt pocket and removed a stick of gum. “You care to share your joke with us?”
The strongman’s militia slowly took to their feet.
July glanced around at the bunch and uttered a nervous breath.
Pure removed the outside paper from the gum and folded the stick into his mouth.
The caudillo stopped laughing. His expression turned serious. One corner of his mouth twitched slowly. He looked over Pure and whispered, “Careful, friend, I assure you this is no joke, and you don’t have your guns anymore.”
“I thought we had a deal.”
“We do,” the caudillo said.
Pure began to chew on the Snapping and Stretching gum. “Then why?”
The caudillo raised his index finger to interrupt. “I saved your life for one reason only,” he said.
Pure chewed harder. His face glowed red.
“I saved your life in exchange for gold coin.”
Pure lifted his chin and scratched his neck.
“Ten thousand in gold coin is our arrangement.”
Pure stopped the scratching.
“Ten thousand in two weeks, amigo. That is our deal. I don’t need your thanks; I only need your gold.”
Pure took a breath and nodded.
“Two weeks. And just to make sure you return with the gold,
we are going to hold your friend here with us.”
July glanced over at Pure and shook his head.
Pure exhaled. “But I need him to help retrieve the gold,” he said.
The caudillo looked at his men. “Hey,” he said and then motioned toward Pure. “Bring this one his gun.”
“You have my word, we’ll return.”
The caudillo ignored Pure and motioned toward July.
One man hurried over to Pure and handed him the Peacemaker.
Pure took the Colt and cinched the belt around his waist.
Two other men, guns drawn, moved in behind July.
The caudillo smiled. “Two weeks, friend, that’s all.”
Pure tied the holster to his thigh. “I’m going to need a horse,” he said.
The caudillo motioned for one of his men to bring Pure a horse.
“Two weeks.”
Pure began to chew the Snapping and Stretching gum between his front teeth. “I heard,” he muttered.
“If you want to see your friend alive.”
“I heard,” Pure said, louder this time.
The caudillo smiled. “I think you can do this,” he said.
Pure turned back and looked out toward the dead. “I’m gonna need that spur,” he said and pointed toward one-spur’s corpse.
“The spur?”
Pure nodded and held out a hand.
The caudillo tightened his brow and gestured for one of his men to fetch the item. The man shuffled lazily toward the dead man. After unbuckling the spur, the man walked at exactly the same pace toward Pure and handed him the object.
Pure took the spur, held it up at eye level, and waved it in the air. “Hammered by an old vaquero in San Antonio who went by the name Alavez,” he said.
The caudillo lifted his shoulders in indifference.
Pure stepped up in the stirrup and tossed a quick glance at July. “I’ll be back for you.”
July smiled. “No reason you wouldn’t,” he said.
Forty-Two
December 1878 - Bandit Town, Mexico
July and the caudillo sat on a pair of willow stumps. Both men stared east. Pure had been gone for a full day.
“You’re never going see that gold.”
The caudillo turned toward July. “That would be a shame for me and for you,” he said.
“It’s not that he won’t try.”
The caudillo turned his gaze back east. “I think your friend will do more than try.”
July glanced over at the Mexican leader. “But the other two have a whole lot of money to fight him with.”
“So you think these other two will hire some assassins?”
“History usually repeats itself,” July said.
“You’re sure?”
“Once they realize he’s not dead, they will.”
“But your friend has a history also. He has killed assassins before.”
July nodded. “A string of ’em on both sides of the river.”
“So maybe he will kill a few more on that side.”
“Maybe.”
“What else can a man expect in life but the possibility of maybe?”
“Still, if he gets killed, you’re not going to see any gold.”
“As I said, that would be a shame.”
“Even if he kills the two and their assassins, it’s most likely they would have spent most of the gold.”
The caudillo shook his head once. “Then both of us will have an unhappy ending.”
July lowered his head and stared between his legs at the Mexican soil. “Yep.”
After two minutes or so, the caudillo slapped a dirty palm down on July’s back. “How about some mescal? I have a bottle on my horse.”
“Now?”
“What better time, amigo?”
July squinted, thinking. Mescal.
“Well?”
Mescal.
July raised his head.
The caudillo turned and hollered for one of his men to bring the bottle.
July turned and surveyed the bodies littering Bandit Town. On the road leading into the camp, he spied full-bottle.
One of the caudillo’s men approached and handed the Mexican leader a half-full bottle of the mescal.
“This clears the mind of worries,” the caudillo said.
July turned and glared at the Mexican leader. “What if I left you some ballast?”
The caudillo took a long drink from the bottle and then handed it toward July. “What’s that you are saying?”
July took the bottle but did not take a drink. “Coin. What if I left you some coin as collateral?”
The caudillo grinned. “Ah, amigo, you’ve been holding out.”
“Would you let me ride to my friend if I had some coin for you to hold until we return?”
“How much coin?”
“Three hundred, maybe…six-hundred in gold coin.”
The caudillo’s expression changed to surprise. “You have that much gold on you?”
“No, but I have a pretty good idea where it is.”
“Ah, lost gold.”
“Not lost.”
The caudillo looked around the camp around grinning, eyes wide. “Where is this gold then?”
“I ’spect a few of your men are hiding a fair amount of it.”
The caudillo straightened at July’s words. His grin disappeared. “Which ones?”
July pointed toward full-bottle’s body and then to the remaining six dead bandits. “Whichever ones rifled those fella’s corpses.”
The caudillo snatched the bottle back and took a drink. “This is a very serious thing.”
July nodded. “Ask them to show you their pockets. Some of your men are hiding a fair piece of gold coin.”
The caudillo raised the bottle once more. He drank the remaining brackish fluid and then stood. A frown tightened across his face. He stood, stretched his back, and then looked at July. “Come with me,” he said.
Journal Entry - Now once that Mexican General learned that some of his men might be withholding gold from him, well, let’s just say he was none too happy. He gathered all twenty-five of his militia around several piles of clothing and weapons taken from the dead. He poked through the pile of clothing with his boot and asked if anything worth keeping had been found. The seven who had searched the dead all shook their heads no. But this caudillo was a pretty cagy fella. He nodded okay to those men and then looked back at the pile of pistols, knives, and cartridges. He thanked the looters and told the seven that for their hard work they could have the first pick from the gun and knife pile. The men got excited, and all smiled and returned their many thanks for the caudillo’s generosity.
The caudillo smiled and waved his right hand over the piles and told those seven to take whatever they wanted. The men immediately began pulling weapons from the pile, and when they had finished, each man held armfuls of guns and knives. But as they turned and thanked their leader once again…well right then, in an instant, that caudillo’s face changed. I mean it took on a dangerous appearance. His smile disappeared and from deep in his throat he growled, “What about the gold coin you found?”
And those seven Mexican fellas? Well I’ve never in my life seen jaws drop so fast and so hard. Each one, to a man, swallowed a lump of clay. And try as they might, their faces couldn’t disguise their guilt.
It’s a curious thing about men. One of the things I learned during my life was that every man acts different when he senses his own death closing in around him. And those Mexican fellas, well, all of them got excited in a hurry, some denied the caudillo’s claim, while a few others proclaimed they had merely forgotten about the gold during all of the excitement. And one of those fellas… well, he just dropped to his knees and started sobbing.
The caudillo walked up to that fella on his knees and patted his head twice like a man does his favorite dog…then as easy as saddling a tame pony, he put a bullet in that fella’s temple.
Then, the caudillo turned
and gestured for the eighteen who hadn’t taken gold to pull their pistols and deal with the remaining six. And without a second’s thought or a bat of an eye, those eighteen pulled their guns and shot their amigos…men they had ridden with, just shot ’em dead.
The caudillo found three hundred and twenty-five in gold coin hidden on those men’s bodies. I told him he would find another hundred and twenty-five on the bodies buried on the road to Guerrero.
And after that, we both drank mescal. We each took several pulls on the bottle before the caudillo looked at me and said, “Go to your friend.”
I gave him my thanks and promised to return with his ten thousand in gold. He just nodded and had one of his men bring me a horse. I told him I needed two. The caudillo laughed and asked why. I told him that if I was going to catch up to Pure, I would be riding day and night and there was a better than fair chance that in doing so I was gonna kill one of the horses.
Part Three
Unforgiving
(adj). not disposed to forgive or show
mercy; unrelenting.
Forty-Three
January 1879 - Dog Town, McMullen County, Texas
Pure tied his horse to a split rail post outside of Levi Edward’s general store and, knowingly, right next to E.B. and Nate’s horses. The Snapping and Stretching gum bounced lightly in his mouth. He studied the street as he slipped the Peacemaker from his holster and checked the gun’s cartridges.
Six.
Turning back to the store, his hand naturally started the Colt toward the holster only to stop mid-action. He looked down at the pistol and decided it better to enter the store, gun in hand.
Inside, E.B. stood at the counter jawing with Mr. Edwards when the front door screeched.
Pure walked in slow and deliberate. He held the Colt chest-high. Buckshot Wallace’s single spur was tucked into his gun belt. A grim and deadly look painted his expression.
E.B. turned toward the door’s creak.
“Hello, E.B.”
E.B.’s face went from shocked surprise to outrage. “Reston!” he muttered.
Pure’s eyes darted around the small store in search of Nate.
E.B. smiled. “He ain’t here.”
