Book of Secrets

by Chris Roberson

  "Alright, amigo," La Mano whispered in the dark. "You're with us. Your kin'll be fine if they stay put in here." Cuellar nodded, solemnly, and rose to follow.

  "You got a gun?" La Mano asked. Cuellar nodded, and then walked to the far corner of the room, returning with a battered old double-bore shotgun. "Good enough."

  La Mano glanced at Jin Ti, and then nodded. Without warning, the Chinaman shot his hand forward, and flung wide the door. With a quick look to Cuellar, the two bolted through the door and into the dark night beyond, their guns spitting fire out into the darkness.

  A hasty survey of the grounds told them all they needed to know. The barn was afire, a man standing nearby with a torch in one hand, a revolver in the other. Two other men were horseback, a few yards off, one holding the reins to the torch-bearers mount.

  "Cuellar! Fetch the horses from the barn!" La Mano barked, and the Mexican rushed to comply, pausing only momentarily to glance back to his family inside. He held the shotgun before him in one hand, and made a sign of the cross with the other.

  La Mano and Jin Ti immediately divided up targets, and commenced to firing. The interlopers, startled at first, soon regrouped and returned fire. They had no doubt expected to catch the Cuellar family abed, and not to find two well-traveled gunmen waiting to repel their attack.

  La Mano and his companion split up, running from the door in opposite directions, each sending an unrelenting hail of lead towards the attackers. The dirt at their feet was kicked up in clouds as the shots hit all round them, but not one struck true. La Mano found cover near a roofed well, and emptied his two Colts into the night air, while Jin Ti crouched near a wheel-less wagon, firing and reloading, firing and reloading. One of the attackers, the one afoot, returned fire until he spun on his toes, caught by Jin Ti's shot in his chest. He fell to the ground with a sickening thud, and was still.

  Cuellar appeared on the scene, leading both his dun and the two heroes' mounts behind him, guiding them to safety on the far side of the house, away from the blaze.

  Seeing their cohort fall, the two men on horseback fired final rounds at the two heroes, half-heartedly, and then turned their steeds around, goading them to a gallop, racing off into the dark night. La Mano raced into the open yard to follow, but it was too late. They had disappeared into the inky darkness.

  Relaxing, La Mano and Jin Ti converged in the yard, each confident that the other had escaped harm. They had faced danger together too often for each not to know the others abilities, and this evening's work had been well below either of them. The attackers were well-suited for terrorizing and murdering innocent families, women and children, but were no match for the two heroes of the high plains.

  Together, they strode across the open ground to the fallen man, who even now was bleeding his life blood out onto the dry ground. They stood over him, Jin Ti knocking the hat from his head with the tip of his Winchester. They both knew the face they saw there, the eyes staring lifeless up into the night sky. They were neither surprised. It was Shorty, the swarthy ranch hand from whom they had saved Cuellar earlier that day.

  With a wordless glance, the two heroes confirmed that they shared the same thought. Buck Pierce had escalated an act of cattle thievery into a full-scale range war, and only blood could follow.

  4

  With first light the next morning, La Mano and Jin Ti were high in the saddle, Cuellar riding between, heading from the Mexican's home north to the Pierce Ranch. Cuellar had left his shotgun with his wife, for the protection of her and their children while he was away, but now he cradled a scattergun in his arms, a sawed-off shotgun La Mano had produced from among his tackle.

  They rode on through the morning, as the sun climbed up the eastern sky, hardly saying a word. It had been at La Mano's insistence that they rode, but both Jin Ti and Cuellar had quickly agreed. If Cuellar and his family were ever to know any measure of peace, the range war with Pierce would have to be finished, once and for all. They rode to take the war to Buck Pierce himself, and to put an end to it.

  At the outskirts of Pierce's claimed property, coming over a slight rise, they happened upon a band of armed men. The rancher, it seemed, had expected some sort of reprisal, and had got his henchmen ready to meet it. Five they were, perched on ragged looking horses, each with a revolver or rifle in hand, each a murderous blood lust glaring in his eye.

  Again the lead flew. Having no recourse to taking cover, the trio of La Mano, his Chinaman companion, and the Mexican instead chose to face the fire bravely, letting loose with their own firearms. Jin Ti, a crackshot at twice the distance, took out one of the ranch-hands early, and what La Mano lacked in finesse he easily made up in speed, emptying the chambers of his twin Peacemakers twice over before he was done. Even little Cuellar, ill-used to such action, did his best, though his scatter gun was of little use at so great a distance. Still, though, he fired and fired again, cracked the gun open and reloaded with one hand, fired with the other.

  When all was said and done, four of the five ranch hands lay sprawled on the hard dirt, their horses either scattered or dead beside them. The fifth, turning tail and running, tore off into the distance, all thoughts of the fight left behind him. Jin Ti made to follow, but then La Mano motioned him still. Cuellar had been hit.

  La Mano dismounted, and in long strides crossed the distance to Cuellar's bay. He helped the Mexican down from the saddle.

  "Lemme see," La Mano ordered firmly, placing a gentle hand on the bloody arm Cuellar cradled close to his chest.

  "It is nothing, señor," Cuellar insisted. "Let us ride on."

  "The hell it is, amigo," La Mano spat, inspecting the wound. "That shot went clear through, blew out a hole on both sides of your shoulder. You try'n keep ridin', you'll pass out in a heartbeat."

  "I… will… not," Cuellar replied deliberately, through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to collapse.

  "Listen here," La Mano insisted. "Jin Ti here'll patch you up, and then you just head on home. We'll take things from here."

  "No," the little man near shouted. "This is my fight, not yours. I appreciate your help, but it is my fight."

  La Mano stepped back a bit, and looked the Mexican over from head to foot. In the end, he just shook his head and grinned.

  "I'll be damned if you ain't as ornery as they come, Cuellar," he announced. He thought for a minute, tugging at the edge of his black mask with a gloved hand. As Jin Ti could attest, only when presented with a particular thorny problem did La Mano Negra ever display this little twitch.

  "Alright, alright," La Mano finally said. "Jin'll patch it up fer ya, and then you'll ride along with us. But if you get yourself kil't, that's your lookout. You understand?"

  Cuellar simply nodded solemnly, and then let Jin Ti to his wound.

  "Bet you wish you were back in that bed now, huh Jin?" La Mano asked his Chinaman companion. Jin Ti just shot him a look, and continued work on dressing the wound.

  5

  The three reached Pierce's ranch house with out encountering anymore interference, La Mano and Jin Ti with their guns cocked and ready, Cuellar with the loaded scattergun cradled in his good arm. As they approached the long, low ranch house, they found no sentries posted, no hands awaiting them in the yard. Instead, they saw the stout form of Buck Pierce himself, rocking peacefully on the wide porch, smoking a battered brier, a glass of lemonade in his hand. "Howdy, gents," Pierce called out to them as they pulled their mounts to a stop at the hitching post. "I was expectin' you folks to drop by."

  Warily, the trio dismounted, and lashed their reins to the post.

  "Come on up, boys," Pierce went on. "I got no grudge against you. This has all been a big misunderstandin', y'see. I never meant for things to go like this."

  With a wide, soft hand Pierce waved them onto the porch, and as they stepped cautiously up, their arms still in hand, he motioned them inside.

  "Come on inside, fellahs," Pierce beckoned. "I'll have the wife set us up some dinner, and we can try
to get this worked out. I figure we got no cause for all this scufflin', and we can sure reach some sort of agreement."

  Without another word, Pierce turned, and entered the house.

  Jin Ti and La Mano exchanged quick glances, and by subtle signs communicated that both thought it a trap, but that they were up to the challenge. With Cuellar between them, then, they followed the large rancher in.

  Through the dog-run they followed him, into a well-appointed parlor. La Mano thought it looked like any brothel or whorehouse he might have stepped into over the years, but Pierce seemed to think it showed his civilized nature. Pierce motioned them to take seats on the couches and divans scattered around the floor, and the trio made to sit. He then offered them whisky, which they accepted, though watching for him to drink before they followed suit.

  The whisky finished, Pierce began to pace back and forth in front of them, becoming increasingly animated, trying to explain his situation.

  "What you gents have got to understand," and here it was understood that he was talking to the two gunmen, and not to Cuellar, "is the opportunities available to men like us in this area of the country. Land, as far as your eye can see, and nothing on it but scrub brush and Mexicans. Perfect cattle country, gentlemen, just the thing it needs. Space to graze, water not far off, and no damned dirt farmers to interfere. Well, except for the occasional Mexican, y'know, like your little friend here." At this, he gestured dismissively at Cuellar, who shot him cold looks all the while, clutching his bloodied arm.

  "The Mexican, you see," Pierce lectured, "has never put the land to its proper use. They're as bad as the Indians before 'em. Hell, most of are half-Indian at least, like you couldn't tell. And everybody knows that dark folk don't have a head for this kind of work. Oh, they can work the land alright, with someone tellin' 'em what to do, but leave 'em alone and whatta they do?" Pierce paused. "Siesta," he spat. "Nappin', all the while lettin' the opportunities slip by. I tell ya, gents, only the European man has any hope of makin' anything of this country." He then turned to Jin Ti, and added apologetically, "Present company excepted, a'course. I heard nothin' but good things about your people, Chinaman. I heard you're quite handy at making walls, and we could sure as shit use one of those 'round here."

  La Mano Negra stood, then, facing Pierce.

  "Listen, Pierce," he began, "this here's a free country, so I reckon you got a right to any damn fool notion you like, but that don't mean that you can just ignore the law. This here man," and here he pointed to Cuellar, "tells me you been stealin' cattle all up and down the Valley, and drivin' off families that was here since your European man had his wide behind still back in Europe."

  "Yes, well," Pierce answered nervously, averting his eyes. He then straightened, and met La Mano's eye. "I'll admit, that sometimes we gotta take desperate measures to tame the land, and I ain't proud of it all. But I stand by everythin' I done, and I'd do it again. You can't know the money in an outfit like this, raisin' the cattle here, drovin' em up to Colorado, comin' back down with more money in your pocket than the King of Siam."

  Pierce leaned forward, conspiratorially.

  "Listen," he whispered, "what I'm after is to cut you in on the deal. Hell, even your Chinaman buddy there. You come work for me, and we'll all end up dying richer'n you could imagine."

  "Some of us earlier'n others," La Mano replied evenly.

  "So, whatta ya say?"

  Without saying a word, La Mano shook his head. Seeing Pierce's surprised look, he planted his feet firm on the ground, and spoke.

  "So long as I wear this here mask, so long as I got strength enough to lift up m'head, I'll keep on fightin'. Fightin', to look out for the folks what ain't got nobody to look for 'em, and who can't look out for themselves. Fightin', to keep greedy vultures like you from snatching away the hard work of honest men like this Cuellar here. Fightin', to see that each man, woman, and child, gets ta live their life like they want ta, and not like some other fellah makes 'em." He paused, and eyed Pierce closely. "So, 'Buck', whatta you think m'answer will be?"

  "That's just too bad," Pierce answered, and then turned away from the trio. He made a low whistle, and headed towards the corner.

  At his signal, men rushed into the rooms from both doors, each hefting a club or pistol. It was the ambush La Mano and Jin Ti had expected. The two heroes became whirlwinds, their guns flashing in their hands, shots ringing out in staccato time. The ranch hands, still firing, their shots going wide in the confusion, were cut down like over-ripe wheat. In moments, they had all fallen, leaving only the trio, and Pierce.

  Pierce was crouched on the floor some ten feet away from where La Mano stood, his hand reached out towards a revolver laying on the floor, dropped there by one of the fallen men. He lay frozen, his eyes darting from La Mano to the revolver and back again. Jin Ti took a long step forward, and stood over him, his Winchester trained at the rancher's heart.

  At a signal from La Mano, Jin Ti stepped back, reluctantly, his posture relaxing.

  "You two," La Mano ordered Jin Ti and Cuellar, "git." He jerked at thumb at the door.

  Cuellar protested, calling Pierce a devil, and that he should be stopped.

  "You don't worry none about that," La Mano answered. "We'll get Pierce taken care of."

  Reluctantly, the pair left the room, leaving only Pierce still frozen in the act of reaching for the pistol, La Mano standing over him, his twin Colts drawn. Without another word, La Mano holstered his Peacemakers. He then inclined his head to Pierce, and offered him a choice.

  "I don't much go in for cold blooded murder," La Mano explained, "so I ain't gonna kill ya. I'm gonna turn around right now and walk outta here. You can just sit there still, and once we're gone get this here mess cleaned up, and from now on never make any trouble for them Mexican farmers…"

  Pierce snarled, his lip curled up.

  "Or," La Mano continued, "you can go for that gun. And I'll lay you even odds, fifty-fifty. Either you'll kill me, or you won't."

  Slowly, La Mano turned, and began to make his way towards the door.

  Pierce, a grin of triumph on his face, could not believe his good fortune. He lunged forward, snatching up the gun and bringing it to bear on La Mano's broad back. He began to squeeze the trigger, and fire the shot that would forever end the adventures of that hero of the high plains.

  In the split-second after Pierce first flexed his finger, and before the hammer had fallen into place, Pierce was outmatched. Often the difference between a good shot and a great shot comes down to heartbeat, and this was certainly a prime example.

  As the hammer began its speedy descent, La Mano suddenly crouched, spinning, and drew one of the Peacemakers in one fluid motion, and fired off a single round, which caught Pierce in his shoulder. The shot blew a blood-red bloom into Pierce, and as he jerked spasmodically his shot went wild, missing La Mano's cheek by inches.

  La Mano stood gracefully, holstered his gun, and then turned and walked from the room. Pierce, still alive, lay in agonizing pain on the hardwood floors behind him, clutching his shoulder with his other hand. Pierce would live, but he, at least, of all his kind, would not be troubling innocents again.

  THIRD DAY

  I was up early the next day and, after saying my good-byes to Tan and Cachelle, was on my way. I had people I needed to see back in Texas, and with a seven hour drive ahead of me, wanted to get there while they were still up and around.

  The morning's drive was long and numbing, just straight highway over bayou and through wood, with nothing much to look at and even less to do. Like a Warhol film on wheels. I think I must have nodded off at one point, but dreamt of driving with my eyes open, so it didn't really make much difference. I stopped once in Baton Rouge for cigarettes and gas, and passing a pay phone decided to make a call. It was kind of nice not having a cell phone ringing all hours of the day and night, but it was hell making outgoing calls.

  The long distance operator found the number for me without too much troub
le, and patched me through to the line. After only five or six rings, the line was answered, by a voice that sounded like its owner had far better things to do with his time.

  "KXEN-home-of-Houston's-number-one-newscast-three-years-in-a-row," the script came pouring over the line. "How-may-I-direct-your-call?"

  "Could you give me the news desk?" I asked.

  "Who may I ask is calling?" the voice asked, professional and the polar opposite of friendly.

  "My name is Davis Miles and I'm an attorney representing Mr. J. Nathan Pierce," I spun. "I would like to speak with whomever was in charge of the segment about my client's business interests that aired yesterday morning."

  "One moment, sir," the voice answered, sounding a bit more alert.

  I heard the line click, and enjoyed a muzak version of "Friends in Low Places" for the next fifteen seconds.

  "News desk," came another, more chipper voice. "This is Andy."