With his back turned to the bitter smoke, he set out up the hillside.
“Hans, he never came to the house last night,” the Schumaker woman said, wringing her hands fretfully. “We think we heard far-away screams all night, but they might have been coyotes.”
“They weren’t no coyotes,” the brave-faced boy of perhaps eight said, looking up at her.
“You don’t know,” she said to silence him. “With her dead—” The woman sobbed into her hands, and Burt slipped off his horse to go and comfort her.
“We’ll go look for him.”
“He says you hate him.” She never looked up when he tried to hug her shoulders to reassure her, only shook her head.
“Sorry, but his senseless killing of her upset me, Mrs. Schumaker.We’ll go look for him.”
“He might be in the pasture—” She pointed to the northwest. “He went to see about a heifer going to calf about dark last night.”
Burt nodded and climbed back in the saddle. A head toss to One-Eye, and they headed in that direction.
“I’ll open the gate for you,” the boy said, and escaped his mother, racing barefooted across the yard to help them.
“Donny, you come back here,” she ordered, but the youth already held the gate open.
“Paw’s probably helping that heifer, huh?” he asked Burt when he rode by him.
“Probably,” Burt said.
“Paw won’t ever leave one.”
“See you, Donny, thanks,” Burt said, and pushed the dun on.
“Sure, Mr. Marshal, you tell Paw breakfast’s sure getting cold, huh?”
“We will,” Burt said over his shoulder, and rode off into the live oaks and up the grassy valley.
“Buzzards.” One-Eye pointed to the circling black birds.
The two men trotted up the valley and found the dead heifer with the calf half out of her. One-Eye studied the rain-softened ground and soon nodded. “He took him that way.”
“He’s already got him?” Burt shook his head and let out a large sigh. Deuces never wasted any time getting over there, which meant they probably were too late—damn. They headed through the thick brush and at last were forced to dismount and lead their ponies as One Eye tracked them.
At last, on top of the ridge, One-Eye wrinkled his nose. “Smoke.”
“Campfire?” Burt asked.
“No, bad smell.”
“I can smell it now, too. Damn, we better get down there and see. You take a look for signs of where he’s gone, but have your gun ready. He might still be around here.” He swung in the saddle and headed for the source of the bitter smoke.
One-Eye rode off, and Burt pushed his dun through the brush into an opening. The sight of the twisting black corpse was not pleasant. Burt rode in and cut him down into the still-smoldering ashes. Then, gathering up his strongest will, he dismounted and dragged the burned clothes and the stinking corpse out of the fire. That completed, he undid his bedroll and took off the ground cloth.
Swallowing his own sourness, he fought throwing up the whole time until the dead man was tied in his shroud. Then he looked up as One-Eye rode back in.
“See any sign?”
“Some. He’s headed west. I would say he was going home.”
Burt nodded that he heard him. “Give me a hand loading him on my horse.”
They dug a grave for her, and in the late afternoon they buried Hans Schumaker. A few neighbors gathered for the simple ceremony.
“My mare came home with a bay horse today,” Hatfield said, acting taken aback by the turn of events. “Our gray mare. She looked good. ’Course, no sign of my saddle.”
“You might search around near that pass. I think they were camped up there somewhere close by and got caught up in the outlaws’ capture and all those horses stampeding,” Burt said.
“I’ll do that. I ain’t going to ask why—but that Deuces never bothered anyone before, save steal a horse. Then he comes back and does this.” The man ruefully shook his head.
Burt looked around to be certain they were out of the hearing of others. “Deuces killed another man for cutting his wife’s nose off and causing her to commit suicide. This time, he needed revenge for her death.”
“I wasn’t there, but I thought Schumaker just made a mistake. Him thinking she was one of the rustlers.”
“It wasn’t,” Burt said, and nodded to One-Eye that he was ready to go. He spoke briefly to the widow and then tipped his hat to the ladies with her. He and the scout rode away.
Chapter 19
HOLDING HIS HAND TO HIS SIDE WHERE THE BULLET had passed through, Pedro glanced at the star-flecked sky for some heavenly intervention.
“Mother of God, Virgin Mary …” he muttered. His back pressed hard against the stuccoed wall in the alley’s darkness, he tried to gather his wits and catch his breath. Torres must have got word to his cutthroats in Tucson to be on the lookout for him. Pedro’s four-day ride over the desert from the mountain village back to Arizona on the green broke mustang had worn him out. But before he rode out to the Green ranch, he felt obligated to learn all he could about the outlaws’ activities by checking with some amigos in the barrio.
The two bandits jumped him when he came outside the Mia Linda cantina. Things had happened too fast in the night. Angry men swearing at him. Red-orange flashes of gunfire in the darkness. The impact of the bullet that spun him around—then somehow he managed to run away from the would-be killers.
He turned an anxious ear to listen for sounds of their pursuit. They might be only a short ways behind him. Fear hurled him down the dark alley. The wound burned like a flaming sword in his side.Worse yet, when struck by their bullet, Pedro’d dropped the outlaw’s six-gun he’d carried out of Mexico.
Filled with fears over being unarmed, he glanced back over his shoulder. No sounds of any pursuit, but he couldn’t be too careful—hey’d track him down to be certain he was dead. Damn, he hurt.
Not everyone in Tucson was his enemy. But he needed to get a few blocks over and not be discovered by anyone. Juanita’s sister lived in a small jacal over on Frio Street. If she was home, Carla would help him. He stopped and pressed his forehead to the rough plaster on the building. Damn. His whole right side felt on fire.
Sticky blood ran through his fingers. On the move again, he’d still not heard or seen any sign of pursuit. Perhaps he had eluded them. They might fear he was still armed, too.Waves of hot lightning shot up into his chest and made him stagger.
His breathing ragged, he fought his way to Carla’s place. It was long past midnight when he rapped on her door.
“Come back tomorrow!” a sleepy voice answered his knock.
“Carla, it’s me, Pedro,” he hissed, slumped against the wall.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, and cracked the door. Then she jerked it open and, dressed only in a skimpy nightshirt, moved underneath his arm. “What’s happened to you?”
“Torres—back shooter. You’ve got to get dressed and go find Morales. I need to know what that ban—dit—Torres plans to do.”
She helped him onto the bed.
“I’ll get it all bloody,” he protested.
“Quit worrying about it, and lie down before you fall over. I’ll go get a doctor.”
He reached out and caught her arm. “No, no, go locate Morales and find out—”
“I know, I know. You want me to learn what Torres is doing.”
“Yes.” He relaxed for a second, then the pain returned, and his body stiffened.
“You have any money?”
“No. But tell him—”
“Oh, damn, he won’t take any credit.” She shook her head as if at wit’s end.
“Then do what you can. I can repay you when Burt returns.”
Busy tying her skirt on at the waist in the dark room, she sighed out loud. “I am tired, and it is late. I am sorry about your wound, but I am not going to bed with that dirty old man to learn about what this Torres will do next.”
“Just find out,” he said, anxious about his wound and also about what he needed to know about the outlaw’s plans.
“I am going now to find this Morales and what you want to know.” Her voice rang with impatience. “You don’t want no doctor.Well, you better not die here while I am gone.”
“I’ll be fine—”
“Sure, bleed all over my bed—makes no sense.” She left, swearing in Spanish about him.
After the door closed, he fainted. Sunlight was coming in the open window when he awoke. The sharpness of a sword in his side made him arch his back against the fire. In the street outside, he could hear the peddlers. Why wasn’t she back?
Soon he heard the front door open and Carla say, “This way. I hope he is still alive.”
The man behind the glasses must be a doctor, Pedro decided. He forced a smile for him, but words were hard to speak. “You came back.”
“Of course, I came back,” she said impatiently. “All I learned was that Torres and his men are not in town.”
“Easy,” the doctor said, seated on the edge of the bed and trying to remove his shirt to see the wound.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“I guess making raids.”
“Damn. Doctor, hurry and bind me up—I must ride for the ranchero.”
“From the looks of you, you’d fall off a horse if you tried to ride anything.”
“No! I must get to the ranch.”
“In a few days, and then only if that bullet didn’t perforate your intestines.” The doctor stood up and removed his coat, then methodically rolled up his sleeves. “This could be a very serious wound. Bring me some water to wash it with.”
“Sí,” she said, and rushed off.
“Can you roll over on your side?” the physician asked.
The movement pained him, but he managed, and the medic peeled away the shirt’s material. His cleansing, poking, and then at last pouring powder into the wound wearied Pedro. Carla conversed in the background with the doctor as if Pedro wasn’t even present. The laudanum he gave him made him sleepy, though he fought it. If Torres was out there, he might already be raiding the ranch. Somehow he must get there and help Obregón defend the place—he had promised Burt Green. Then he lapsed off into sleep.
“You are safe—you are safe.” Carla was shaking him.
“Huh?” His side felt as if a mule had kicked him. His hand flew to the bandages to press on the pain. “What about Torres?”
“I know nothing more. I have been here all day. You have been screaming his name, if that will help.”
“Señora, yes, the señora has a buggy at the livery. Get it, and take me to the ranch.”
“What can you do out there?”
“Help them protect the place,” he managed with his teeth gritted. “Go get the buggy.”
“Everyone does not love this bandit Torres. I can get some amigos to go with us.”
“Hurry,” he said, and, out of strength, slumped down on the bed. Dizzy-headed, he soon fell asleep.
Someone had lit a candle on the bedside table. His eyes flew open to see the giant shadows on the ceiling. The room was filled with women, and they were chattering like magpies.
“Carla?” he managed to say out loud, though the hoarseness in his voice shocked him.
“Lie down,” she said, coming through the women. “A dozen men have gone to the Green ranch to guard it. Now, you must lie down.”
“Good ones?” His head swarmed, and he couldn’t clear it.
“Yes, your friends Romano, Juan Rodriguez, Felipe, his cousin, I don’t know all their names. Stop worrying and rest.”
“Burt Green will pay them.”
“They won’t worry about that. That ranch is safe.”
He squeezed her hand and made a smile. “You are a wonderful sister-in-law.”
She shook her head as if embarrassed by his words of praise. “No, my sister has a brave husband.” Then, in surrender, she bent over and kissed his forehead. “Now, sleep some more.”
“I will,” he said, and shut his eyes.
The second morning with no word from the ranch or the men, Pedro made Carla go after the señora’s buggy and horse from Pasco’s livery stable.When she returned with it, she assisted him onto the rig.With her pushing on his butt, he made the seat. Exhausted, he watched her run back for a blanket to cover him with.
She took the reins, and the fresh horse set into a long trot. They soon were north of Tucson and crossed the wide dry bed of the Rillito Creek. On the far side, she let the horse rest for a few minutes.
He huddled under the blanket despite the sun’s heat. Still groggy and dazed, he wished the horse had wings despite her quick time so far.
“Where is the señor?” she asked with a frown.
“In Texas, looking for some escaped Indian scout.”
“Where have you been?”
“Sonora. Looking for Torres.”
“Get up,” she said to the horse, and he took the bits. “Did you find him down there?”
He went on to tell her about his experiences below the border. When he finished, she shook her head. “You’re lucky to even be alive.”
“When I get well, I will find the back shooter who did this to me and wring his neck like a chicken.”
She looked over at him and grinned. “I imagine you will.”
“I will.”
He felt better when he could see the ranch house in the distance. No signs that anyone had burned it or the outbuildings. Maybe he had sent help in time. He hoped so.
Felipe waved from the roof of the house when Carla pulled up.
“Any trouble yet?” Pedro shouted to him.
Felipe shook his head. By then, both Juanita and the señora rushed out of the house to greet them.
“How are you, Pedro?” the señora asked with a look of concern on her face.
“Oh, I am fine,” he said, stepping off the buggy, only his sea legs would not hold him up. He collapsed on the ground to the screams of three women.
The men carried him inside and laid him on a pallet set up by the women.With his blurred vision, he shook their hands. “No bandits?” he asked in his gravel voice.
“Romano is trailing them. They struck the Anchor ranch and the Bar Nine. Stole horses and shot some people.”
“They haven’t left the country yet?” Pedro asked, disturbed by the news. To not run to the border after a raid was unlike Torres.Was he getting bolder?
“What does Romano think?”
They turned up their palms and gave him a blank look.
“Don’t worry about those bandits. These men are staying until the danger is past,” the señora said, and held out a tablespoon of laudanum for him. “Take this and rest.”
He obeyed and soon felt sleepy, with his head in the lap of his lovely Juanita. Oh, how he had missed her, the quiet, efficient woman in his life whose hands petted him. Unlike her vocal sister Carla, his Juanita spoke few words, but she could always comfort him in his darkest hours, and he closed his eyes again.
Part of his strength came back by the third day. He sat up and ate at the señora’s table, listening to the scouting results of Romano and Guillermo Salazar.
“They have maybe a dozen men. Some are just boys, but they are all armed and are camping with the stolen horses west of here.”
“How many horses?” Pedro asked, before sipping the rich coffee.
“Maybe thirty.”
“How could we take them?” he asked.
Romano looked across at him and frowned. The barrel-chested man with his handsome swarthy face was well respected in the Tucson barrio. Likewise Guillermo, the thicker-set man, was a no-nonsense hombre.
“We could take them at night. They never post good guards. They fall asleep all the time.”
Romano nodded to his partner’s words. “But we have to make you stronger.”
“I’ll be able to ride. Why have they not raided this ranch?”
“They don’t know t
hat Burt Green is gone, I would bet money,” Romano said.
Guillermo agreed.
“In two nights, we raid their camp.” Pedro waited for their agreement, and, satisfied, he began to eat the food before him. He would need all of his strength to ride with them.
The two men excused themselves, and the women rejoined him. Carla had taken the buggy back to Tucson and promised to listen for any news about the gang,
“Shouldn’t you wait for the patrón?” Juanita asked.
“Yes, Burt could lead you,” the señora agreed.
“We don’t know when he will return. These bandits will take more horses in the next few days, shoot more people, and then ride off to Mexico. No, we need to capture them and give the horses back.”
“You are still weak,” Juanita protested.
He agreed between forks of food. “But I am healing.”
“Because you are resting,” the señora reminded him.
“Tomorrow night, we will get them.”
Both women looked at each other and then shrugged.
“It will be your death,” Juanita said, and began to gather the dishes.
“Oh, señora,” Pedro said. “I will need a pistol.”
“I’ll get you one.” Leaving the room, she shook her head in disapproval. Pedro watched the long tresses of her honey-colored hair falling to her shoulders. Burt Green had married a beautiful woman; more than that, she possessed a powerful way about her.
Already, he began to dread the hours he faced in the saddle. Never mind, he needed to bring down this bandit before he hurt any more people.
Chapter 20
REPORTS OF THE PUBLIC SIGHTINGS OF DEUCES dropped off to a trickle. Burt wired the U.S. attorney general notifying him that his services in Texas were no longer needed and he was headed home. Before he left Uvalde, he went by and spoke to Sheriff Grimwell in his office.
“Well, Green, if I ever need a real lawman in my jurisdiction, I’ll have them send for you.” He stood up, and they shook hands.
“I may need the work.”
“I doubt it. Once again, my apology—”
Deuces Wild Page 16
