“I guess so.”
“Unless we can get him to switch.”
“None of us know him,” Carter said. “Donovan does. Why would he switch sides?”
“Money?” Long asked. “Lots of people switch sides for money, don’t they?”
Carter frowned. Was Long digging at him?
“We’ll see,” he said. He got up, took his beer, and walked over to where Donovan and McCall were sitting. He sat with them.
“What’s with this Mex?” he asked.
“You want somethin’ to eat, Henry?” Donovan asked.
“No, I ate,” Carter said. “Who’s this Mex and why is he gonna ride with us?”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Donovan said, “and he’s ridin’ with us because I say so. You got a problem with that?”
“No, no, Andy,” Carter said, “I don’t have a problem. Some of the boys was just wonderin’ if he was in for a full share.”
“He’s in for a share of any job we pull while he’s with us.”
“Are we pullin’ a job in Mexico?”
“I’ll let you know,” Donovan said. “If the men are finished eatin’ and drinkin’, get them ready to ride. We’ll head out as soon as I finish my meal.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Carter got up and walked over to the men.
“You push him and he’ll join them when they turn on you,” McCall said.
“He’s already joined them,” Donovan said. “When the time comes, we’re gonna have to kill him, too.”
“And what about Rodrigo?”
“He’ll fight with us.”
“You sure?”
“I am.”
McCall washed down his food with a swig of beer.
“So I’m supposed to ride into Casa Madera and take a look at their bank?”
“Take a look at everythin’,” Donovan said. “Like you always do. You can head out now, and we’ll follow.”
McCall regarded Donovan over his half-finished beer.
“You’re finished with your meal, right?”
“Yes,” McCall said, putting his beer down, “I’m done.”
Donovan leaned forward as McCall stood up.
“Remember, Jimmy,” Donovan said, “this is your last one. After this you can go home to your kids.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy McCall said, “if I live that long.”
* * *
The first town Clint and Willis came to was Alvarado. The tracks of the gang showed that they’d skirted the town, but Clint decided to stop. Willis needed some time out of the saddle.
“We’ll stay here the night,” Clint said. “Get something to eat, some sleep, let the horses rest.”
“You mean let me rest,” Willis said. “I’m holding you back.”
“Nonsense,” Clint said. “There’s no need to push the horses. By the tracks I can see we’re only a couple of days behind them.”
“So if we push—”
“If we push it, you and your horse won’t make it,” Clint said. “And you have to make it, Lou. You represent the town.”
They reined in their horses in front of a cantina and went inside.
THIRTY-ONE
They ate and drank well in the cantina, but discovered there was no hotel in the town. But they were able to bed down in the stable with their horses, as there were no other strangers in town.
They each made themselves a bed of hay in an empty stall.
“Comfortable?” Clint asked.
“More so than I was on the hard ground these past nights,” Willis said.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” Clint said, reclining in his stall. “It’ll be back to the hard ground tomorrow night.”
“Hopefully I’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight, then.”
“We both will,” Clint said. “Tomorrow we’ll be refreshed.”
Willis ached from head to foot, and doubted he’d be refreshed by morning. But maybe he wouldn’t hurt so much by then. Fording the river had taken more out of him than even he thought.
* * *
In moments Clint heard Willis snoring. He hoped the night’s sleep would help the man stand up to the rest of the trip. It was true he could have moved faster without him, and he didn’t know how much help Willis would be in a gun battle, but he’d started to like the man. Leaving him behind, alone, didn’t appeal to him. Though he could have left him right here in town and picked him up on the way back.
Maybe he’d make that very offer to the man in the morning.
Within moments, he was asleep as well.
* * *
In the morning they returned to the cantina for breakfast, and Clint made his offer.
“Why don’t you stay here,” he said.
“And do what?” Willis asked.
“Just wait,” Clint said. “I’ll pick you up on the way back.”
“So then I can tell the mayor I went with you and helped you get the money back?” Willis asked. “That’d be a lie. I can’t do that, Clint.”
“I wouldn’t think any less of you.”
“I would think less of myself,” Willis said. “No, I have to go with you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“If you tried to leave me behind,” Willis told him, “I’d follow you.”
“All right,” Clint said. “We won’t discuss it anymore.”
“Fine.”
* * *
They finished their breakfast and went to the stable to saddle their horses.
As they rode out of town, Willis realized he did feel somewhat better. His butt was getting used to the saddle, and his muscles didn’t ache so much.
“So what are we going to do when we catch up to them?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Clint said. “It’ll depend on where we catch up to them, and how many of them there really are.”
“So, in other words,” Willis said, “we don’t have a plan.”
“No, Clint said, “we don’t.”
“And you’ve done this before?”
“Done what before exactly?”
“Hunted men with no plan as to how to capture them,” Willis explained.
“Once or twice.”
“And has it turned out all right for you?”
“Once or twice.”
“Well, then,” Willis said, “I can earn my keep on this ride.”
“How?”
“I’m a lawyer,” he said. “Making a plan is what I do.”
“I see,” Clint said, “so you’ll come up with a plan to capture them?”
“Or kill them,” Willis said. “I will.”
Clint leaned over and clapped his hand on Willis’s shoulder.
“If you do that,” he said, “then you will have earned your keep.”
“Then while we ride,” Willis said, “I’ll give it some thought. And by the time we catch up to them, I’ll have a plan.”
“I’ll count on it,” Clint said.
THIRTY-TWO
Jimmy McCall rode into Casa Madera, the new town the Donovan gang was going to hit, and saw that Donovan had been right. Just riding down the street, he saw several other gringos walking about. For this reason he did not attract that much attention as he rode in.
He saw that the town had two hotels, and a rather large jail. In addition, more than one cantina and several cafés. Finally, he saw the town’s bank, an impressive adobe structure with bars on the windows. It looked more like a jail than the actual jailhouse did.
He stopped at the livery stable, arranged for his horse to be taken care of, then carried his rifle and saddlebags to the closest hotel.
The clerk handed him a key with a smile and said, “Enjoy your stay wi
th us, señor.”
“Thanks,” McCall said. “I will.”
He went to his room, tossed his saddlebags onto the bed, and leaned his rifle in the corner. Then he walked to the window and looked down at the town’s main street. This was a growing community, and would be a good haul for the Donovan gang.
But McCall was still upset about the last job they’d pulled, because people had been killed that day. When they’d hit the Windspring bank, McCall didn’t see any reason for the killing. Booth had simply gunned down a teller for no reason, and Long reacted by shooting the bank manager. People who had their hands in the air and were not resisting at all.
When they got outside the bank, naturally the sheriff and deputy were there to greet them, so they had to be killed as well.
Now, more than ever, McCall wanted out. He wanted his money, and he wanted to go back to his kids. But he knew if he tried to leave now, Donovan would kill him. He could have ridden out now, and Donovan would come and find him and kill him. And if his kids were with him, Donovan would kill them, too.
So he had to do this last job, and get his money. If the gang members turned on each other, he’d have to try to come out in one piece and get away.
But that was for later. Right now he needed to go out, familiarize himself with the town, and with the bank, so he’d have all the information Donovan needed when he got there.
* * *
“What about help?” Willis asked Clint. “You know a lot of men who are good with guns. I mean, I assume that you do.”
“I do,” Clint said, “but it would take too long for them to get here.”
“What about getting some men here?” Willis asked. “And deputizing them?”
“We’re in Mexico, Lou,” Clint said. “We don’t have any authority here to deputize.”
“Well, hell,” Willis said, “how the hell can the two of us surround a whole gang?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “I thought it was your job to come up with a plan.”
“Yeah, but—okay, I’ll keep thinking about it,” Willis said. “I guess I need to approach it more like a legal problem.”
Clint didn’t know how the lawyer intended to do that, but at least it would keep him busy.
They continued to ride, to follow the tracks left by the gang, who continued to skirt around towns and villages until they came to a small one called San Angel. Here, it looked as if the entire gang had simply ridden right into town.
“Let’s see what they were up to here,” Clint said as they rode in.
* * *
It only took minutes for Clint to discover there was no law in San Angel, and that it was more of a village than a town.
“With no law this would have been a perfect stop for them,” he said.
The streets were empty as Clint and Willis walked their horses over to the cantina.
“Aren’t too many places they could have gone here,” Clint said. “I’ll check in the cantina, you go over to that hotel.”
“Okay. What do I do if I find them?”
“You won’t find them,” Clint assured him. “They’ve been here and they’re gone. Just find out what you can about what they did while they were here, and where they might have gone.”
“Okay.”
Lou Willis left his horse and walked over to the hotel.
Clint went into the little cantina and walked up to the bar. There were a few men in the place, and one black-haired Mexican woman working the floor. Instead of the bartender approaching, the woman came over. She had seen better days, but they were far in her past. Up close he could see the lines of age on her face, and the sag to her body.
“I am Rosalita. Somethin’ I can get for you, señor?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “Or do for you? Perhaps you are lonely?”
“I’m not lonely, thanks,” Clint said. “I’d just like a cerveza.”
“Miguel!” she yelled. “Cerveza for the gringo!”
The bartender, a big guy in his thirties who scowled at Clint, came over with a beer and set it down.
“Anythin’ else, señor?” she asked.
“I have a question or two.”
“About what?”
“About a group of men who rode in here about two days ago,” he said. “All gringos.”
“Sí,” she said, “I remember them. One of them interrupted me and Rodrigo when we were, ah, how you say, doin’ business?”
“He did, huh?” Clint asked. “Was he the leader? A big man?”
“Sí.”
“And this Rodrigo. Were they friends?”
“Sí, señor. When the gringos left, Rodrigo rode with them.”
“Any idea where they were going?” Clint asked.
She shrugged.
“Rodrigo did not tell me.”
“Were all the gringos in here?”
“Sí, señor.”
“Did they stay awhile?”
“No, they did not.”
“So you did not have time to, uh, do business with any of them?”
“No, señor,” she said. “They ate, they drank, and they rode out.”
“Interesting.”
Rosalita put her hand on his arm and said, “If you want to do business while you are here, señor, you let me know.”
“I will,” Clint said, wondering if she was the only whore in the village. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”
She rubbed her hand up and down his arm, then moved away.
THIRTY-THREE
Across the street Willis found the desk clerk asleep with his head down.
“Excuse me,” he said as he approached the desk.
The man didn’t move. When he reached him, Willis didn’t hear any breathing, and he wondered if the man had passed away.
“Señor?”
Excuse me?”
Nothing.
There was an open register book near the man. Willis reached out and slammed the book closed.
The clerk jerked his head up and stare wild-eyed at the lawyer.
“Oh, señor!” he said. “I was havin’ a bad dream.”
“Looked to me like you were sleeping pretty soundly,” Willis said.
The clerk sat back and wiped his face with his hands. He was in his fifties, a weathered-looking man with a bushy mustache.
“What can I do for you, señor?”
“I want to ask you some questions about a group of men who rode in here a couple of days ago.”
“Ah, the gringo outlaws,” the man said. “You are the law, chasing them perhaps?”
“I’m looking for them, yeah,” Willis said. “Did they stay overnight?”
“No, señor. They went to the cantina, and then left town. But Rodrigo, he went with them.”
“Rodrigo?”
“Sí. He came here about two days before them, stayed in one of our rooms, spent time with Rosalita. When the outlaws came, they went to his room and chased Rosalita out. She ran through the lobby naked, señor.” The man shuddered. “Señor, it was not a pretty sight. Rosalita is not a young girl anymore.”
“I see.”
“You should ask your questions at the cantina, señor,” the clerk said.
“Yes, I will,” Willis said. “Thank you.”
“De nada, señor.”
Before Willis got through the door, the clerk’s head was back on the desk, and he was asleep.
* * *
When Willis walked into the cantina, Clint waved at Miguel for two more beers. The big bartender had them on the bar when Willis reached it.
“Anything?” Clint asked.
Willis told Clint what the desk clerk had told him.
“That’s pretty much what I found out here,” Clint
said.
Willis looked across the room at the woman, who was staring at him.
“Is that Rosalita?” he asked.
“It is.”
“I can see what the clerk meant.”
“Yeah.”
“So what do we do now?” Willis asked. “We’re not going to stay here, are we?”
They both looked across the cantina at Rosalita, and Clint said, “No, we’ll move on, keep following the tracks. I was just hoping we’d have an idea where they were headed so we wouldn’t just have to follow.”
“What about food?” Willis asked.
They turned their back on Rosalita and leaned on the bar.
“We’ll get some enchiladas to take with us,” Clint said.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rodrigo was on watch, and Donovan came over and joined him. They were far enough away from camp where the other men couldn’t hear them.
“Rodrigo, by now you’ve figured out what’s goin’ on, right?”
“Sí, señor,” Rodrigo said. “Your men, they are going to turn on you.”
“Yeah, but not ’til after this job,” Donovan said. “Can I count on you when the time comes?”
“Sí, señor,” Rodrigo said, “I am with you, but who else is with us? Even your segundo, Carter, is ready to kill you.”
“That’s what I thought,” Donovan said. “We can count on Jimmy McCall.”
“Are you sure, señor?” Rodrigo asked. “That man, I do not think he likes you so much.”
“That’s okay,” Donovan said. “Jimmy’s loyal. We go back a long way. He don’t have to like me to help keep me alive.”
“If you say so, señor.”
“Besides,” Donovan said, “after he helps us kill the others, we’ll kill him.”
“And split the money two ways?”
“You bet.”
Rodrigo looked at Donovan.
“Señor, you are not thinking perhaps you will kill me then and keep the money for yourself?”
“Rodrigo,” Donovan said, as if taken aback, “we go back even further than me and Jimmy. Look, I’ve got to trust somebody, and that somebody is you.”
“Gracias, señor.”
Missing Patriarch (9781101613399) Page 9
