by J. T. Edson
Instead of riding right up to the factory and dismounting, the three men acted in an unusual manner. They swung their horses in a half circle, to halt facing away from the building. Then, leaving the one-piece reins draped over the huge horns of their single cinched saddles, they swung to the ground. With Gomez in the center, they walked towards Viridian. All the time, their eyes were darting about them in a wary fashion.
Standing apparently relaxed, but with his right hand's thumb hooked just to the left of the gunbelt’s buckle, Viridian examined his visitors with considerable interest and growing concern. Even when Ribagorza had been present, he had never felt completely at ease with Gomez. To add to his perturbation, there was something sinister in the way the trio was slouching forward. They looked like men who were expecting trouble.
Wondering what had brought the trio to the factory, for they had never come except when accompanying Ribagorza and a herd of cattle, Viridian noticed that there was a partly healed weal running across Gomez’s left cheek. It looked like the kind of an injury that would be caused by a blow from a riding quirt.
‘Saludos, Senor Viridian,’ Gomez greeted, coming to a halt about two yards away from the burly man. As if sensing that the ridge of reddened flesh had attracted the other’s notice, he raised his left hand towards it. Without completing the gesture or referring to the injury, he darted a glance at the open double doors of the factory and continued in Spanish, ‘My patron sent me to speak with you.’
‘You’ll have to talk English, I don’t savvy Mex,’ Viridian answered, confident that the other did not know he was lying. He had always conducted all his business with Ribagorza in his native tongue, although reasonably fluent in Spanish.
‘My patron said I should come and see you, senor,’ Gomez obliged in broken but understandable English.
‘What about?’ Viridian asked, genuinely puzzled.
At no time had Ribagorza ever allowed even his segundo to discuss business with the owners of the factory. Nor had he, being aware of Gomez’s antipathy towards white men, allowed the other to precede him on a visit.
‘He said I should tell you he’s got maybe five hundred head of cattle down the river a ways,’ Gomez replied.
‘I reckon we might be able to use them,’ Viridian said in a disinterested manner and concealing his elation. With the threat of many ranchers driving herds to Kansas, he believed that it would be advisable to obtain as many cattle as possible.
‘We thought you might, senor,’ Gomez said, in a mocking tone.
‘Why’d Ribagorza send you?’ Viridian demanded, scowling. ‘He’s never needed to let us know he’s coming.’
‘No, senor,’ Gomez admitted with a sly grin. ‘But things aren’t like they was before any more, are they?’
‘What might that mean?’ Viridian growled, although he could guess what was coming.
‘People are saying that cattle taken to Kansas’re going to be worth a lot of money, senor,’ Gomez explained, in the whining voice and exhibiting the pathetic attitude which made him appear to be a nervous and frightened little man.
‘If they can be got there,’ Viridian countered.
‘Colonel Goodnight says they can.’
‘That doesn't make it so. And, anyways, even if you got them there, you'd have to prove how you got hold of ’em. You know what I mean?’
‘Just about, senor,’ Gomez admitted.
‘Ribagorza’ll know, when you tell him,’ Viridian declared. ‘So what's on his mind, huh?'
‘These cattle, senor. We went to a lot of trouble to get them—’
‘No more than any other time,’ Viridian interrupted unsympathetically.
‘And, with them being so valuable,’ Gomez continued as if the other had not spoken, ‘my patron says they’re worth six dollars a head.’
‘Six dollars a head?’ Viridian repeated. That was two dollars higher than the legitimate price and the Mexicans, bringing in stolen cattle, had never received more than a dollar for each animal they had delivered. ‘If this’s Ribagorza's idea of a joke—’
‘Is no joke, senor,’ Gomez put in, looking and acting at his most meek and mild. Which, as Viridian was all too aware, meant that he was more dangerous than ever. He had behaved like that just before killing one of his companions on a previous visit. ‘My patron says he wants six dollars a head. And you’ve got to send him two hundred dollars to show you'll have the herd when he gets it here.’
Cold rage boiled inside Viridian as he listened to the small Mexican. He knew that if he yielded to such a demand, he would be leaving the Company wide open for further abuses. Any sign of weakness would be exploited in full by Ribagorza.
‘So that's what he says, huh?’ Viridian gritted.
‘That’s just what he says, senor,’ Gomez confirmed. ‘So, if you'll give me the money … ’
‘I'll give you nothing!’ Viridian snarled furiously, his normal dislike for Mexicans combining with indignation at the request to make him ignore the menacing attitudes of the men flanking Gomez. ‘You get the hell back and tell him this from me. He’ll get the same price we’ve always paid him and not a thin red cent more. And he’ll get the money when the cattle are in the corrals, not before. If he doesn’t like it, he can try to sell them to somebody else.’
‘If I tell him that, senor,’ Gomez almost whined, ‘he’s going to be very angry. He’s got a lot of men with him. Maybe it’s better you give me the two hundred dollars, so I can take it to him and he don’t get angry at you.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Viridian challenged.
‘Who me, senor?’ Gomez yelped. ‘I don’t threaten nobody. All I can say is my patron’s not going to be happy if a gringo sends him a message like that. He’ll be very angry at you, senor.’
‘I’ll take my chance on it!’ Viridian stated.
‘Maybe if you gave me just one hundred dollars … ’ Gomez began hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t give you a hundred wooden nickels!’ Viridian assured him. ‘So you can go and tell him what I said.’
‘Well, I tried,’ the little Mexican sighed, sounding genuinely distressed. ‘We’ll go and tell our patron what you said. I only hope you don’t be sorry.’
‘I’ll take my chance on it,’ Viridian replied coldly. ‘Just don’t you do anything you’ll be sorry for.’
‘Who me, senor?’ Gomez answered. ‘As if I would.’ Then he addressed his companions in their native tongue. ‘We don’t get the money. Do what I told you.’
Nodding in an apologetically amiable fashion, as if he regretted having to deliver such a message, the segundo swung on his heel towards the waiting horses. His two men also turned and they started to walk away.
Scowling, Viridian watched them go. He was puzzled by the incident. Knowing him, Ribagorza ought to have had better sense than expect that he would yield to such a demand. While he was pondering on the matter, a snort from one of the horses drew his gaze to where they were standing with their rumps turned in his direction.
Why had the trio left their mounts in such a position?
Could it be because they had believed that they might need to take a hurried departure?
If so—
‘Ahora!’ snapped the small segundo, stabbing his right hand to its gun.
Instantly, showing that they had been waiting for Gomez to say ‘Now!’ the other two Mexicans joined him in pivoting to face Viridian with their revolvers beginning to lift from the holsters. They discovered that their surprise attack had not been an unqualified success.
Already diving sideways and down to his left, the burly hide and tallow man was snatching his Remington from its cross-draw holster. For all his size, he was moving very fast.
Realization of his peril had added speed to Viridian’s movements as he too had heard and translated Gomez’s command. Taken with what he had just commenced to think, it had given him enough of a warning to set off his defensive reflexes. For all that, he knew that he was in bad, even desperate, troubl
e. Although his actions had been unexpected by his assailants and despite the fact that he would be the first man holding a gun, he would not be able to deal with the three of them swiftly enough to save his own life. He would certainly down Gomez and might get one more, but the other was sure to kill him.
Oblivious of the impact as his body landed on the ground, Viridian concentrated on lining his weapon. He was determined on two things, to sell his life dearly and to make sure that he took Gomez with him. With the Remington pointed to his satisfaction, while the little man was still in the process of throwing down on him, he squeezed the trigger. Flying upwards at an angle, the .36 caliber bullet entered beneath the small Mexican’s chin. Driving on to pass through the roof of his mouth and his brain, it burst from the top of his skull and caused his sombrero to jerk as it emerged out of the crown. Killed instantly, Gomez allowed his revolver to slip from his fingers. It went off, but the bullet did no more than drill into the ground a couple of feet ahead of Viridian.
Any satisfaction that Viridian might have felt at having settled Gomez’s hash was swamped by the knowledge of how he was himself in imminent danger of getting shot by his victim’s companions.
What the hide and tallow man did not realize was that help was available for him.
Gus Roxterby had been on the point of returning to his work when he had seen the Mexicans approaching. Curiosity had impelled him to watch and listen to what was happening; but prudence had dictated that he remained out of sight so as to prevent Viridian from discovering that he was not attending to his duties. When he had heard the trend which the conversation was taking, he had suspected that it might lead to trouble. So he was not sorry that he had taken the precaution of remaining concealed behind the edge of the door. Although the Mexicans had looked in his direction, he had escaped detection as he kept them under observation. Sharing his employer’s mistrust of Gomez, he had drawn and cocked his Colt. The sound of the action being brought to full cock had been drowned by the various noises which were coming from behind him.
Money, not loyalty, was Roxterby’s reason for being willing to protect Viridian. If he should be killed and Widge was successful in carrying out the two murders, the floor supervisor would have no way to collect the payment he had been promised.
Nor was Roxterby the only person who had taken an interest in the arrival of the Mexicans. Having come into contact with Gomez on previous visits, the corral supervisor, Stack Leathers, had never trusted him and knew that he had a hatred of gringos that was only held in check by Ribagorza’s presence. Seeing the segundo was coming without the restraining influence of his patron, Leathers had decided to keep an unsuspected eye on him. So, collecting the Spencer carbine from the boot of his horse’s saddle, he had moved unnoticed to the end of the building. Staying out of sight, he had listened to what was being said and had just looked out when Gomez’s party launched their attack.
Shock twisted at the faces of the two burly Mexicans as they realized that their leader’s plan had gone completely wrong. Not only had they failed to take the hide and tallow man by surprise, but he had support in defending himself. A tall, skinny gringo holding a revolver appeared at the main entrance to the factory. Swinging a carbine into the firing position, a medium-sized, well-built, bearded man in range clothing stepped into view around the northern end of the building.
Supporting his right hand by cupping the left under it, Roxterby took swift aim along the shortened barrel of his Colt. Unfortunately, he selected the same target as Leathers. Carbine and revolver crashed at almost the same instant. Struck in the breast and the head by the bullets, the man was pitched sideways. Spinning helplessly, he collided with Gomez’s crumpling body and they fell together.
Being unaware of the two supervisors’ intervention, Viridian was trying to select the more dangerous of his remaining assailants. Both appeared to be equally as fast and deadly. Thumbing back the hammer of his Remington, he became aware that they had looked away from him and were displaying considerable consternation. Even as he wondered what had brought this about, he learned the answer. The deep roar of a heavy revolver and sharper detonation of a carbine sounded from behind him, the bullets finding their billets in the man on the right.
There was no time for the hide and tallow man to feel gratitude, or relief. While the surviving Mexican was flustered by the unexpected turn of events, he held a weapon and was still anything but harmless. All that was saving Viridian was the man’s irresolution. Confronted by three enemies, he wavered uncertainly as he tried to work out which of them posed the greatest threat to him. Before he could reach a decision, Viridian had swung the Remington into alignment. It spat and kicked, throwing its load into the Mexican’s right breast. Reeling back a couple of steps, the man neither fell nor dropped his gun.
Seeing that their employer had failed to disable his last attacker, Roxterby and Leathers devoted their respective attentions to him. Working the carbine’s combined trigger guard loading lever, Leathers ejected the spent cartridge case and replenished the chamber with a live bullet from the seven-shot magazine tube in the butt. However, with that done, he still had to cock the big side-hammer manually. So Roxterby fired first, but missed. The bullet flew by its intended mark, to plow into the rump of Gomez’s mount. Down went the stricken animal, kicking and squealing. Already made restless by the shooting, the other two horses bolted as its agony-filled screams assailed their ears. Snorting in alarm, they fled towards the stagecoach trail.
Snarling out curses that were rendered almost incoherent by rage and pain, the Mexican heard the horses running away. He knew that he could not hope to escape, so he tried to aim at Viridian. Even as he was starting to squeeze the trigger, the .52 caliber bullet from Leathers’ Spencer carbine slammed into his right temple and tore away half of his face as it came out of the other side.
Having re-cocked the Remington, Viridian was on the point of firing. He refrained from doing so as he saw the result of Leathers’ shot. Instead, he started to rise. Glaring at the three Mexicans, he ignored the shouts which were raised at the corral and inside of the factory. Not until he was sure that he had nothing further to fear from his attackers did he lower the weapon and turn around. Holstering his Colt, Roxterby was approaching. Glaring about him, in much the same manner as a longhorn bull that had smelled blood, Viridian noticed that men were appearing at the door of the building and running from the corral.
Allowing the smoking carbine to sink from its firing position, Leathers glanced at his employer. Then he swung his gaze to the fleeing horses and a low curse burst from his lips. Hearing some of the men running from the corral, he swung around.
‘Lem, Dink!’ Leathers said, pointing after the departing animals with his left hand. ‘Get after them hosses. Kill ’em if you have to, but don’t let ’em get away.’
‘Sure thing, Massa Leathers,’ replied the tallest of the Negroes and, accompanied by the other man who had been named, he ran to where the horses used for controlling the cattle were tethered to the corral.
Having attended to what he regarded as a matter of the greatest importance, the corral supervisor went to join Viridian and Roxterby. They were looking at him in a puzzled manner, clearly wondering why he had given such an order.
‘Ribagorza’s not going to take it kind, us killing them three,’ Leathers warned in his lazy Texas drawl. ‘So we don’t want their hosses getting back to him.’
Listening to the reason for the corral supervisor’s actions, neither Viridian nor Roxterby needed to have any further explanation. Range-bred horses possessed an uncanny ability to find their way back to their homes, or to rejoin their companions in the remuda when on the move. So the Mexicans’ mounts had to be prevented from returning to Ribagorza. The old saying, ‘A man a-foot is no man at all’, was very true anywhere west of the Mississippi River. Particularly in Texas, where a horse went far beyond being a mere means of getting from one place to another and was a vital necessity for survival, the sight of one re
turning with an empty saddle was cause for alarm.
Looking at Leathers, Viridian nodded with approval. Dressed in worn, but fairly clean, range clothing, with a tinge of gray in his brown hair and beard, Leathers had none of Roxterby’s miserable, hang-dog look. Tough and capable, he was competent if not exceptional in the use of the wooden-handled Colt 1860 Army revolver that rode butt forward in the contoured holster tied to his right thigh.
‘He’ll know for sure something’s wrong when Gomez don’t come back, anyways.’ Roxterby protested, not caring for his employer displaying approbation towards Leathers.
‘Likely,’ the corral supervisor conceded. ‘Only I don’t see any sense in letting him find out about it any sooner than he has to.’
While agreeing with Leathers, Viridian found a fresh source of annoyance as he looked at the Negroes. Relief over his narrow escape had done little to improve his temper. In addition to being furious over Ribagorza’s effrontery and Gomez’s treacherous attack, he realized that the incident might have an adverse effect upon his plans for spending a pleasant period of dalliance with Gianna Profaci. He would be delayed to such an extent that, even if she was still in the woods, there would be little time for him to fully satisfy his lust. What was more, Leathers had raised a point which did not improve matters.
‘Get the hell back to your work! ’ Viridian bellowed, venting his anger upon the colored employees. ‘There’s nothing for you to see or do out here!’
‘Where do you reckon Ribagorza’s at, boss?’ Leathers inquired, as the Negroes returned to their work chattering excitedly among themselves.
‘Gomez reckoned he had his herd down the river,’ Viridian answered. ‘Which doesn’t tell us much.’
‘Nope,’ Leathers agreed. ‘But, way things’ve turned out, we’d best find out for sure just how far off he is and what he’s fixing to do.’
‘You’d best go and see if you can find him,’ Viridian suggested, knowing that the corral supervisor was capable of carrying out the task. He was tougher, smarter and faster with a gun than Roxterby, if possessing less useful contacts. ‘Don’t let them know you’re around and come back as soon as you’re sure he’s headed this way.’
