So now there were three men standing against the twenty-five Mexicans.
Now,” Roy Bean said, “we ain’t gonna take too kindly to it if you shoot up our town.”
“Then we will take Adams with us,” Montoya said, “and kill him outside your town.”
“Ah, but you’ll still be in my county,” Bean said. “Also wouldn’t take kindly to murder in my county.”
Montoya started to do a slow burn.
“Then we will take him back to Mexico.”
“I can’t allow that,” Bean said.
“Why not?”
“Mr. Adams is my guest.”
Montoya leaned forward in his saddle and said, “Then we will kill him, and burn your town down around your ears . . . Judge.”
“Naw,” Bean said, “I don’t think yer gonna do that.”
“Why not?”
This time the sheriff spoke up.
“Meet my deputies.”
Suddenly, gun barrels appeared from doorways, windows, and rooftops. Montoya could hear live rounds being levered into them. Clint thought that Judge Roy Bean must have deputized the entire town population.
“You’re covered from all angles, señor,” Benson said. “You try anything and a lot of your family ain’t gonna be goin’ home.”
“Your move,” Clint said.
* * *
Del Plata turned to Montoya and said, “We can do it, patrón. We still have numbers on our side.”
“You are a fool,” Montoya said. “They have position. They would cut half of us down before we could get our guns out.”
“Señor,” Del Plata said, “my men will fight.”
“And die,” Montoya said.
“So what do we do?” Del Plata asked.
“I don’t know,” Montoya said, “yet.”
FORTY
“What are you thinkin’, Señor Montoya?” Judge Roy Bean asked.
“I am thinking that you have some sort of bargain to make, señor,” Montoya said.
Bean laughed.
“I might at that.”
“What do you propose?”
“Well, first I propose that you turn and ride out and forget all about Clint Adams.”
“That I cannot do, señor.”
“No,” Bean said, “I didn’t think you’d agree to that. Well, then, I suggest you dismount and come into my court.”
“Am I on trial?”
“No,” Bean said, “but I don’t only hold trials in my court. I also mediate disagreements.”
“Mediate?”
“I listen to both sides of a disagreement, and then I propose a way for both parties to be satisfied.”
“Ah, I see.”
“So, I invite you and Clint Adams into my court.” Bean indicated the batwing doors behind him. “Whataya say?”
Montoya leaned over to talk first to his brother, Francisco, and then to Del Plata.
“I agree,” Montoya said, “but I would like to bring two men with me.”
“Not a problem,” Judge Roy Bean said. “Dismount.”
Montoya began to dismount when Del Plata grabbed his arm, stopping him. He leaned over and said something into the man’s ear. Montoya nodded his understanding, or his agreement.
“Judge, we will not give up our weapons.”
“Not a problem,” Bean said, “neither will we. If you want to start something inside, it’ll end in a bloodbath.”
“We only wish to be able to defend ourselves,” Montoya explained.
“Well,” Bean said, “nobody could argue with that, could they?”
“No, señor.”
Montoya, his brother, and Roberto Del Plata all dismounted. They handed the reins of their horses to other men. Clint noticed that Montoya handed his reins not to his son, but to another man, possibly his foreman.
As the three men mounted the boardwalk, Clint stood up from his chair.
“Gentlemen,” Roy Bean said, allowing the three Mexicans to enter.
“Señor,” Montoya said, waving Bean to go first.
“Ah, you’re suspicious,” Bean said. “You think I have a bunch of guns inside?”
“I am just being careful, señor,” Montoya said. “No one could blame me for that, eh?”
“Nope,” Bean said, “nobody could.”
He entered the saloon first, confidently, and was followed by the three Mexicans, who were in turn followed by Sheriff Benson and Clint Adams.
* * *
The man Montoya had handed his reins to was, indeed, his foreman, Enrique Mejías.
Montoya’s son, Pablo, leaned over and said, “We should do something.”
“What do you suggest?” Mejías asked.
Pablo looked around, said, “We outnumber them, and the Gunsmith is inside.”
“Sí,” Mejías said, “and so is your father. At the first sound of a shot, Adams will kill him.”
“He has Del Plata with him.”
“Del Plata is no match for the Gunsmith.”
“Truly?” Pablo asked. “You believe that?”
“I do.”
“Then what do you suggest we should do?”
Mejías looked around at all the guns that were pointed at them, then turned and looked at his own men before leaning over and replying to Pablo.
“We do exactly what the patrón told us to do,” he said. “We wait.”
“But, Mejías—”
“We wait!” Mejías said again.
FORTY-ONE
Inside the Jersey Lily, Montoya saw there was no one else present.
Judge Roy Bean went around behind the bar, raised his gavel, and brought it down on the bar.
“Court’s in session!” Sheriff Benson said in his capacity as bailiff. “The honorable Judge Roy Bean presiding.”
“Mr. Adams, will you sit there, please?” Judge Bean said, pointing. “And Señor Montoya, you and your men there. Thank you.”
From the look on Montoya’s face, Clint thought he was finally starting to believe that this was a real court. He sat at a table with his men, and removed his hat. Tentatively, his brother and mercenary also removed theirs.
Sheriff Benson took up position on the outside of the bar, his rifle held ready.
“Now then,” Judge Bean said. “Señor Montoya, you are the one who has a grudge against Mr. Adams. Suppose you tell the court what happened?”
“It is very simple,” Montoya said. “Clint Adams shot my oldest son, Juanito.”
“I’m afraid I’m gonna need some more details from you, señor,” the judge said from around his cigar. Clint could see that the man was enjoying himself. He loved holding court.
“It is simple,” Montoya said. “Clint Adams is a professional gunman, and he shot down an innocent boy.”
“Innocent boy?” Clint said. “What the hell—”
Judge Bean slammed his gavel down, cutting Clint off.
“You’ll have your chance to speak, Mr. Adams,” Bean said. “Don’t make me hold you in contempt.”
“Sorry, Judge.”
“Go on, Señor Montoya.”
“I have no more to say.”
“Why did Adams shoot your son?”
“I do not know,” Montoya said. “And it does not matter.”
“Well, it matters to the court,” Bean said. “What was your son doin’?”
“I was not there.”
“Where did it happen?”
“In the livery stable.”
“Was there a witness?”
“Not to the actual shooting, no. But my son told me—”
Bean slammed his gavel down.
“I can’t listen to you tell me what your son said,” he announced. “It’s hearsay. Is your son here to testify?”
“Of course not.”
Bean slammed his gavel down.
“Enough!” he said. “Mr. Adams? Tell me your side.”
“Well, Judge, I was there, so there’s nothing hearsay about this,” Clint said. “That boy pushed me, and he wouldn’t back down. He tried it earlier, in a cantina, but his father stopped him. But when he cornered me in the livery stable, his father wasn’t there. Just him. He wanted to try me, and he didn’t give me a choice.”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“A man drew on you and yon didn’t have to kill him?”
“He wasn’t half as good with a gun as he thought he was,” Clint said.
“I see.” Judge Bean looked at Montoya. “How is your son, Señor Montoya?”
“He is recovering.”
“He’s in no danger of dying?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see the problem, señor,” the judge said. “It sounds to me like you owe Mr. Adams a debt of gratitude for not killing your son.”
“I did thank Mr. Adams for not killing my son,” Montoya said.
“But you still want to kill him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He must pay.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have a reputation to protect,” Montoya said. “I cannot have such a thing go unpunished.”
“Then I suggest you punish your son,” Roy Bean said. “Seems he was the one who did something stupid.”
“We are not in Mexico,” Montoya said, “or you would understand.”
“No, we are not in Mexico,” Bean said. “If you want to kill Clint Adams and get away with it, you’ll have to wait until he once again goes to Mexico. It’s not gonna happen in my county. Or in Texas. Understand?”
“This is ridiculous!” Montoya said, jumping to his feet.
Sheriff Benson immediately pointed his rifle at Montoya. Del Plata reached out to stay his employer’s hand. Montoya did not move.
Judge Bean slammed his gavel down repeatedly on the poor, scarred bar top.
“It’s time for you to get out of my court, Señor Montoya,” the judge said, “out of my town, out of my county, and out of Texas. If any harm comes to Clint Adams in Texas, you’ll have to deal with the Texas Rangers.”
“May I speak?” Roberto Del Plata asked.
“Who are you?”
He stood.
“My name is Roberto Del Plata. I work for Señor Montoya.”
“As what?” Judge Bean asked.
“Um . . . well, in your language you would say I am a . . . fighting man.”
“And what do you have to say?”
“I have a suggestion.”
“And what’s that?”
“Mr. Adams has some professional guns working for him,” Del Plata said, “and Señor Montoya does also.”
“The court stipulates to that fact,” Bean said. “What is your suggestion?”
“I suggest that his gunmen and Señor Montoya’s gunmen solve this on the street.”
“How many such men do you have?” Bean asked.
“Counting me, six.”
“And you?” Bean asked Clint.
“Counting me, five.”
“Seems almost fair,” Bean said. “Señor Montoya? Would you abide by such an arrangement?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Someone from my family must be involved.”
“So . . . you want your own son to take part in this . . . this duel?”
“No,” Montoya said, “my brother.” He pointed to Francisco.
“And you go along with this?” Judge Bean asked.
Francisco looked at his brother, then at the judge, and said, “Sí, Judge.”
“Well,” Bean said, “I’ll have to take this under advisement. If you’ll all wait outside, I’ll call you in when I’ve made a decision.”
They all seemed somewhat confused by that so Sheriff Benson said, “Court’s adjourned for ten minutes. Wait outside!”
FORTY-TWO
When they went outside, Montoya, his brother, and Del Plata went and joined their men in the street. Clint found Harker standing on the boardwalk in front of the saloon.
“What’s goin’ on?” Harker asked.
“The judge is going to rule.”
“On what?”
“We’ll find out.”
“You think Montoya will go by his ruling?”
“No. Where are Piper and Autry?”
“On the roof.”
“What about all these other guns?”
“You don’t wanna know,” Harker said. “Those two across the street, in that window? Two little girls.”
“Christ,” Clint said.
“If they start shooting,” Harker said, “we’re gonna get these people slaughtered.”
“Well,” Clint said, “Bean did come up with an idea . . .” Clint told Harker about it.
“That’d be five against seven,” Harker said. “Would you accept that?”
“It’s better than five against twenty-five,” Clint pointed out. “And it’s better than getting these people killed.”
“I suppose,” Harker said, “but where would this showdown take place?”
“Maybe the judge will have a suggestion about that, too.”
“Let’s hope . . .”
* * *
Sheriff Benson came out ten minutes later.
“The judge is ready,” he called.
They filed back into the saloon, Del Plata bringing up the rear. They sat back down in their chairs.
“Here’s my ruling,” Bean said. “Mr. Adams had no choice but to do what he did. You owe him your son’s life, because he could have killed him very easily. You’ve got no reason to want to kill him.”
“You said you have a ruling,” Montoya said. “You also said this was a . . . what did you call it?”
“Mediation,” Benson said.
“Sí, a mediation,” Montoya said. “That means you do not rule, you suggest a solution. Correct?”
“Technically correct,” Bean said.
“Technically?”
“Like I said,” Bean told him, “my town, my country, I’m the law. So I’m gonna rule.”
“You cannot—”
Judge Bean slammed his gavel down.
“You will quiet down or I’ll throw you in a cell for contempt,” he barked.
Montoya subsided, but he was livid.
“You and your men will go back to Mexico,” Bean said. “If you don’t, I’ll call in the Texas Rangers.”
“You cannot do that,” Montoya said. “You do not have enough time.”
“On the contrary, señor. They are already on standby,” Bean said. “During the last ten minutes I sent them a telegraph message. If they don’t hear from me again in fifteen minutes, they’ll be on their way.”
Montoya pointed outside.
“My men can reduce this town to ashes before then!” Montoya hissed.
“Try it!” Bean said. “It’ll burn to the ground with you in my jail cell.”
Don Inocencio Montoya stood up, and his body shook with rage. He clenched his fists at his sides. Del Plata and Francisco stood up next to him.
Sheriff Benson pointed his rifle at them, and Judge Roy Bean was seconds away from drawing his own gun.
Clint stood, as well. They could probably end it all here and now. But when the shots were heard outside, who knew what could happen?
“No,” Clint said, “wait.”
The other men in the saloon looked at him.
“
What is it, Mr. Adams?” Judge Bean asked.
Clint looked at all four men in turn, and then said, “I think I have a better idea.”
FORTY-THREE
Montoya led Francisco and Roberto Del Plata to their horses. They mounted up, and then all twenty-five Mexicans rode out.
When Piper, Autry, and Harker came walking in, Clint was at the bar, drinking a beer with Judge Roy Bean. Sheriff/Bailiff Benson was back behind the bar in his capacity as bartender.
“Beers?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Harker said, “all around.”
“What happened?” Piper asked.
“They just . . . left.”
“Oh, they’re not gone,” Clint said. “They’re . . . waiting.”
“Are you sure about this?” Judge Bean asked him.
“Sure as I can be that I don’t want this town and the people in it to pay a high price for backing me,” Clint said.
“I can get the Texas Rangers here,” Bean said. “I may have lied about already contacting them, but I can get them here.”
“No,” Clint said. “This is personal. No point in getting the whole state of Texas involved.”
“What’s going on?” Piper asked.
“We’re back where we started,” Clint said. “Us against them. Or me against them. I don’t expect you fellas to ride into a hailstorm of lead for me.”
“Hey,” Autry said, “the whole point was that we would be riding into a hailstorm of lead with you, the Gunsmith.” He raised his beer. “Make us all famous, right?”
“I don’t know about that,” Clint said, “but it could make us all dead.”
* * *
Outside of Langtry, Montoya reined in his horse, turned to look at his family and his employees. Quickly, he explained what had happened in Judge Roy Bean’s court, and he told them all that they could make up their own minds about what they wanted to do, stay or go back to Mexico.
He was surprised by the response.
* * *
“So we what?” Autry asked. “Ride out to meet them?”
“That’s right.”
“Outside of town?” Piper said.
“Yes,” Clint said, “and outside the county.”
“When?” Harker asked.
The Three Mercenaries Page 12
