WITH THE DEVIL, SENOR PROPHET!
He was about to rise and bolt through the gap when he saw the silhouette of a man sitting against the inside of the wall, on the gap’s right side. The guard was hunkered beneath his sombrero, facing the casa. He was sitting on the inside of the wall because the rain was slashing from the opposite side. Obviously, the gang hadn’t suspected they’d been followed down from the border. They’d grown fat, lazy, and careless.
Prophet grinned beneath his dripping hat brim.
He tensed when the guard swung his head toward him. He started to raise the rifle but checked the move. The guard’s lips were moving and Prophet heard him speaking in Spanish. To a man on the other side of the gap and whose back was likely just on the other side of the wall from Prophet.
Again, the bounty hunter grinned. He raised his rifle but before he could click the hammer back, something carved a hot line across the back of his neck before hammering the wall in front of him. Bizarre laughter cackled as though from down a long tunnel, muffled by the rain and thunder.
“Preparese para bailar con El Diablo, Senor Prophet!”