“That’s right.”
“This man,” Garcia said, “he was in my town?”
“He was.”
“Señor,” he said, holding his heart, “I am mortified, I am embarrassed, I am wounded…señor, you are wounded.”
Now that Decker was out of the tub Garcia had noticed his shoulder wound.
“Did this man do that to you?”
“No, I got this from somebody else.”
“Señor, you lead a very dangerous life. Are you perhaps a man of the law?”
“I am a bounty hunter.”
“Ah, I have heard of such men. And this bounty you seek is this…” Garcia checked the poster. “Two thousand five hundred dollars?”
“That’s right.”
“And this man was in my town?”
“He was, two and a half weeks ago.”
“Santa Maria!”
“Could I have my poster back, please?”
“Oh, si, señor.”
Twenty-five hundred dollars was a lot of money to anyone, but especially to a sheriff with delusions of grandeur in a small Mexican town.
Decker got dressed with the sheriff watching. As he strapped on his gun he asked, “Is there something else I can do for you, Sheriff?”
“Uh, no, señor.”
All of the man’s swagger was gone now and he was slouching.
“I apologize for having interrupted your bath.”
“That’s all right, Sheriff,” Decker said, finding himself feeling sorry for the ridiculous-looking lawman. “You were just doing your job.”
That seemed little consolation to the man as he slunk out of the room.
Undoubtedly, the man was thinking of all the silver ornaments he could have bought with twenty-five hundred dollars.
As Decker came into the hotel lobby Emilio gave him a sheepish look.
“Señor, I hope you did not mind—”
“That’s all right, Emilio. Your cousin was right, you are very observant.”
“Gracias, señor. I was the sheriff before my cousin got the job.”
“And what did he do before he was sheriff?” Emilio smiled and said, “He ran this hotel.” “That figures. Where’s a good place to eat, Emilio?”
“The cantina down the street, señor. Excellent tortillas.”
Decker closed his eyes. He didn’t think he ever wanted to eat another tortilla. He’d keep seeing those bandidos clutching their throats and slumping to the floor.
“I hope they can make something else.”
“Oh, si, señor. They have a very wonderful cook. Roberta. She is—”
“Your cousin?”
Looking sheepish Emilio said, “Si, señor.”
“I hope she was never sheriff.”
“No, señor,” he said, “Ernesto beat her by one vote in the last election.”
“One vote, eh? Listen, Emilio, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course, señor.”
“Take a look at this.”
Decker took out the poster on Moran and passed it over to him.
“Do you recognize that man?”
Emilio studied the drawing closely and then shook his head.
“I am sorry, no, señor.”
“He stayed in the hotel about two and a half weeks ago. His name is John Moran, but he signed in as Red Moran.”
“I am sorry, señor,” Emilio said, passing the poster back. “I do not remember him.”
“Okay, thanks,” Decker said. He folded the poster back up, tucked it in his pocket and started to leave.
As Decker started to leave Emilio called out, “Excuse me, señor?”
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering, señor,” Emilio said, “this evening, would you be wanting any…female companionship?”
“If I do,” Decker said, “I’ll arrange it for myself, Emilio.”
“Of course. Please, enjoy your meal.”
Chapter Twenty-three
After dinner—enchiladas and rice—Decker went over to the livery to talk to the leathery-faced woman about a horse. She took him out back to show him what she had.
There were three horses in the corral.
“Is this all you have?” he asked.
“I have three horses, señor,” she said. “That is two more than anyone else in town.”
“Jesus,” Decker said, “I’m surprised you aren’t the mayor.”
“My cousin is the mayor.”
He stared at her, then ducked underneath the corral fence to look over the horses.
There was a bay mare that was too heavy, a rangy roan and a small pinto with bowed tendons. The roan was the best of the lot, with no apparent infirmities.
“How much for the roan?”
“One hundred.”
“That’s crazy,” Decker said. “I’ll keep the horse I’ve got.”
“That horse will drop dead if you ride him another twenty miles.”
“Then I’ll walk,” Decker said. “I’d rather walk than pay a hundred dollars for that roan. How much for the mare?”
“A hundred dollars.”
“She’s overweight.”
“Ninety dollars.”
“How much do I get off for the pinto’s bowed tendons?”
“The pinto is seventy-five—”
“Forget it. I’ll give you my horse and twenty-five dollars for the roan.”
She shook her head.
All through the dickering the expression on her face never changed. By the time they were done Decker had the roan for thirty-five dollars, his horse, and five of his cigars. He had decided that the woman was over fifty.
That done he took a walk by the water. While he was there a woman and a little boy came along, and the woman watched the boy play in the shallow water.
She appeared to be about thirty or so, pretty, big-bosomed and wide-hipped. Some men would say she was built for childbearing.
Decker figured she was built for making love.
He walked over to where she was sitting and said, “That’s a fine-looking boy.”
“Thank you.”
She pushed some hair out of her face and looked up at him.
“How old is he?”
“Five.”
“Is he yours?”
“He is my son.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ricardo.”
“Named after his father?”
“His father had no name,” she said. “His father was a gringo who rode into town and rode out again. I never saw him again.”
“I’m…sorry” Decker said, awkwardly.
The woman had hiked her skirt up to get some sun on her legs, and he stared at her strong thighs and calves.
“Would you mind if I sat?” he asked.
“The sun will be going down very soon.”
“That’s all right. I’m not here for the sun.”
She stared at him and he hoped that hadn’t sounded to her the way it had to him.
“Sit, then.”
He sat in the sand next to her.
“Why are you here?”
“In town?”
She shrugged.
“I’m here by the water for the peace and quiet, I guess. I’m justing passing through town. Why do they call this lake Rio del Gato?”
“The lake is called the river of the cat because years ago there was a big cougar who liked to come and drink from it.”
“That’s all he did? Just come and drink?”
“Yes. After they built the town someone saw the cat one day, but all he did was drink and leave. Soon, the cat would come to the lake even if people were around, drink and then leave.”
“He was gentle, then?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“Somebody shot him.”
“What happened then?”
“The cat’s body was thrown into the water, and now some people believe that his spirit lives on, protecting the town.”
&nb
sp; “Has it protected the town?”
She shrugged again.
“We have never had any trouble with bandidos, or bad men of any kind.”
Decker figured it sure wasn’t the town sheriff that was keeping them away, so maybe there was something to be said for the spirit of the cat.
“They also say that the water has healing properties.”
“How true is that?”
She looked at him and said, “No one gets sick in Rio del Gato.”
“Is that the name of the town, too, then?”
“It is all known as ‘the River of the Cat.’ I have also heard some gringos call the town ‘Cat River.’”
“This is a lake, though.”
She shrugged, as if that had very little to do with anything.
“Are you staying at the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Are you lonely?” She looked at him and he saw that she had very big, dark, liquid-looking eyes—or was the lake reflecting off of them?
“Not…lonely, exactly”
He had turned down two women in the past week, plump and pretty Juanita and the beautiful Raquel. Both would have been trouble of their own kind.
This one would be no trouble.
They agreed that she would come to his hotel room after eight.
“I must find someone to babysit for Ricardo.”
“All right.”
“The sun is going down,” she said, standing up. “Ricardo!” She shouted something in Spanish and the boy waved and ran out of the water. Decker saw that he had no shoes on, and his pants were rolled up over his ankles.
“Hello, Ricardo.”
The boy did not answer him. The woman got up, took the boy’s hand and walked away.
Decker watched her until she was out of sight, then took off his boots and rolled his pants up over his ankles.
He spent a couple of hours showing the poster around, but there was no one in town who remembered seeing Red Moran, and yet his name was in the register.
All right, so he had been there. Even though no one had seen him, he’d been there and Decker was on the right trail.
He went to the saloon for a drink, then walked back to his hotel.
“How did you enjoy the food, señor Decker?” Emilio asked from behind the desk.
“The food? Oh, the food was fine, Emilio, just fine. Gracias.”
“Will you be leaving in the morning?”
“Yes, early in the morning.”
“Have a good night, señor.”
The tone of Emilio’s voice and the look on his face told Decker that the woman from the beach had kept her appointment.
It was after eight o’clock.
In the morning the woman was gone, and so was the money he had left out for her. She had been very quiet when she arrived, very eager in bed, and then quiet again afterward. He figured she’d use the money to buy little Ricardo a new pair of shoes or something.
Decker got up to dress and was surprised to find that his shoulder was not bothering him very much today. Could it have been the water from the lake?
That was silly.
He finished dressing and went downstairs to pay his bill.
“We hope you have enjoyed your stay, señor,” Emilio said, smiling broadly.
“It was interesting, especially the stories I heard about the lake.”
“Yes, about the cat. It is nonsense, really, but some people believe it.”
“Well, people have to have something to believe in.”
“Corne back again, señor.”
It had been an interesting stay, but somehow Decker didn’t think he’d be returning.
He walked to the livery where the woman had the roan saddled and ready for him. With a fresh horse under him he hoped to be able to catch up with Moran within two weeks, especially if the man had found a town he wanted to hole up in. It was Decker’s theory that if the man came to Mexico after every job, then he must be coming to the same town. In all probability, it would be a small town that would not attract a lot of people, or attention. All Decker had to do was find that town.
When he left the town he rode along the water’s edge for as long as he could, and when the waterline turned away he continued on.
There was something about the cat’s spirit being in the water that made him uncomfortable.
He wondered what had happened to the man who shot the cat?
Chapter Twenty-four
When Gilberto and Raquel Diaz reached Rio del Gato, they discovered that they were four days behind Decker.
They realized this when they saw his name in the register.
They asked about him at the hotel, and were told by Emilio that he was a “very nice gringo.”
At the livery they were told that he bought a new horse, a roan, and “practically stole it.”
They also heard the stories about the lake and thought it was nonsense.
Ernesto was in Raquel’s room when there was a knock on the door. When Gilberto opened the door and saw the “sheriff” he started laughing.
Ernesto, confused, looked down at himself and then asked, “Pardon, señor, are you laughing at me?”
“You are the only one standing there in that ridiculous outfit, aren’t you?” Gilberto asked.
“What ridiculous…?”
“Is that badge for real?” Gilberto asked, touching the star on Ernesto’s chest.
Ernesto backed away from the touch and said, “Please, señor. I am the sheriff.”
“Raquel, look what we have here,” Gilberto said, standing to the side. “The sheriff of this silly town.”
Raquel came to the door and Ernesto’s eyes popped at the sight of her. His cousin, Emilio, had been right. This woman was a beauty!
“Señorita—”
“This is my sister Raquel, Mr. Sheriff,” Gilberto said, correcting any wrong assumptions the man might have made about them being in the same room.
“I beg your pardon, señorita—” Ernesto said, executing a bow.
“What can we do for you, Sheriff?” Raquel asked.
“I, uh—” The sight of Raquel had reduced Ernesto to stammers and stutters.
“Is it not clear?” Gilberto asked. “The sheriff heard you were here, sister, and came to have a look.”
“Is that true, Sheriff?” Raquel asked, giving him an innocent look that started his heart pounding. “Did you come here to see me?”
“I, uh, well, the clerk downstairs, he is my cousin—”
“Maybe you could help us, Sheriff,” Gilberto said.
“Si, señor, it would be my honor to help the señorita—uh, to help you.”
“We’re looking for a friend of ours.”
“What is his name?”
“Decker.”
“Oh, señor Decker. Yes, he was here—uh, four days ago, I think.”
“Yes, that is what it indicated on the register downstairs.”
“Then, how may I help you, señor?”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“You are friends of his?”
Raquel moved closed to the sheriff and said suggestively, “Señor Decker and I are very special friends.”
“Truly?” Ernesto said, eyes wide.
“Yes, truly.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Gilberto asked again.
Ernesto looked around as if someone might hear them and then said in a low voice, “He said he was looking for a man with a price on his head.”
“How much of a price?”
“Two thousand five hundred American dollars.”
“And the man’s name?”
“Moran, Red Moran. I would never forget that name.” It was indelibly etched in Ernesto’s mind.
“Señor Decker is a bounty hunter?” Gilberto said.
Raquel looked at him and shrugged.
Ernesto, for all his fascination with Raquel, suddenly became a sheriff again, and frowning suspiciously, looked at them both.
�
�If you and señor Decker are such special friends, as you have said, why is it you did not know he was a bounty hunter?” he asked.
Raquel looked at Gilbert, who simply shrugged.
“I think we had better leave instead of staying overnight,” he said, ignoring the sheriff. “We still have some daylight and can camp on the trail.”
“Agreed.”
“We can find the others in the cantina.”
They picked up their gear and pushed past Ernesto into the hall. He watched helplessly as they went downstairs leaving him standing there, and then his pride began to sting and he went after them.
Downstairs he found Emilio in an agitated state.
“What is wrong?”
“Those two left,” Emilio said indignantly, “and refused to pay for their room.”
“They went to the cantina,” Ernesto said, hitching up his gunbelt. “I will go and confront them. I do not believe they are what they pretend to be.”
In the cantina Gilberto and Raquel found their three men and told them they were leaving.
“I would like a drink before we go,” Raquel said.
Gilberto agreed, and they were sitting at a table with a beer in front of them when Ernesto entered. The other three men were standing at the bar.
“Señor, I must speak with you,” Ernesto announced.
“Not now,” Gilberto said.
“Señor, I must insist.”
Gilberto looked at the sheriff, and then at his men, who were looking Ernesto up and down in disbelief.
“Look, Sheriff—if you really are the sheriff—I do not have time for you now.”
“Señor, I am in authority here—”
Raquel stood up and Ernesto stopped talking as she faced him.
“Look, be a very good boy and go away, all right?” she said sweetly. “Otherwise you might get hurt—or worse yet, your silver might get dirty.”
The three men at the bar laughed, as did even the bartender.
“Impossible,” the sheriff said, firmly, “no one gets hurt here. The spirit of the cat would not allow it.”
“That story of the cat again,” Gilberto said, shaking his head and looking at his sister. “The clerk told us about that. It is utter nonsense.”
“Please, señor, do not speak so of the spirit. You will anger it.”
“Look,” Gilberto said, standing up. The man was truly beginning to annoy him, and besides that, the wound in his thigh was throbbing. “My sister has asked you nicely to go away. So go away!”
The Lawman Page 8
