Gunmen of the Desert Sands

In the grainy darkness, Paco saw the girl walking along the dirt street. She moved quietly in the dark shadows, trying to remain unseen. ’’Crazy muchacha ," Paco said to himself. He ducked out of sight behind a mule cart and waited until she passed in front of him. ’’Ah, there you are," he said, jumping out quickly and grabbing her before she could bolt away from him. ’’Now what do you do for yourself?" he said under his breath, holding her firmly, yet not too firmly, by her arm. ’’What if this was not me? What if it was one of the drunken hombres from the cantina?"

Speaking just above a whisper, Francisca said, ’’I would do this." As quick as a whip she spun free of him, took a step back and kicked him solidly in his groin. ’’Then I would turn and run away, as quick as a rabbit," she added. ’’I would kick like a rabbit and run like a rabbit."

Caught completely by surprise, Paco had jack-knifed at the waist and grabbed himself with both hands. ’’Oh Dios mio," he groaned in a strained and injured voice.

’’Sí, I am . . . just fine," Paco said, struggling to catch his breath. He tried without success to hide the deep throbbing pain in his lower belly.

’’Call me Paco," he managed to say. Struggling, he began to regain his breath and straighten upright. ’’No, little one . . . you did good," he said. He breathed deep and collected himself. ’’But the point is . . ." He stopped, took another deep breath and continued. ’’You have been told to stay off these dark streets." He raised a gloved finger for emphasis, his other hand still pressed to his aching groin.

’’If I were one of those hombres, a kick down there would not have stopped me." He paused and considered it. ’’But it is good that you know how to defend yourself."

Looking at her, Paco wondered if Shaw had told her where he was going. ’’Why are you out here tonight?" he asked, probing to see what she knew.

’’That is the only reason you are out here tonight, of all nights?" Paco asked, eying her closely in the dark, grainy light.

’’Sí, why else would I be out here?" she asked, giving a shrug, she herself watching his face for any sign that he might know what Shaw was up to.

’’Never mind," Paco said, deciding that even if she did know, it was still not a good idea for him to confide in her. Shaw would be back any time now. He would wait and keep his mouth shut. He’d already stuck his neck out too far by agreeing to cover for Shaw. He hoped he wasn’t about to get himself killed over this girl and her dirty peasant family.

’’Shhh, yes," said Paco, ’’be quiet." The two looked in the direction of the small adobe church and saw the silhouettes of two riders, their horses outlined against the purple night sky.

’’Wait!" said Paco. But his words went unheard; the girl raced off along the darkened street. ’’Muchacha loca!" Paco whispered under his breath, hurrying along with a slight limp from the kick in his groin.

At the rear door of the church, Shaw had helped Nito down from the horse and looped his arm around his shoulder when Francisca ran up and threw her arms around her father. ’’Papá! Papá!" she said, tears streaming from her eyes. ’’You are home! Thank God! Mr. Angel has brought you home to me!"

’’Easy, little lady," Shaw said, seeing that Nito was so exhausted and sick he didn’t seem to recognize the girl. ’’Your father is awfully sick. Let’s get him inside, see what the priest can do for him." As Shaw spoke to the girl, his eyes went to Paco and conveyed a look of hopelessness.

’’Here, you stay with me, little one," Paco said gently, putting his arm around the girl’s shoulder as the old priest came out and helped Shaw take the sick man inside.

’’What is wrong with him?" Francisca asked, the two of them following Shaw and her father inside the church, then stopping as the priest closed a heavy curtain.

’’I don’t know," said Paco, ’’but the padre is wise in these matters. He will know what to do." He patted the child’s shoulder and kept her close beside him. On the other side of the curtain they heard Nito’s weak cough and his shallow gasping for breath. ’’Papá! It is me," Francisca said to the curtain drawn between them. ’’Can you hear me?"

Leaning down over Nito, Shaw and the old priest saw a glimmer of recognition come to the man’s eyes. This time, hearing his daughter’s voice, Nito struggled to raise himself up on the cot where they had laid him. ’’Francisca, mi hija. Is it possible?" His weak hand gripped Shaw’s wrist.

’’Yes, it’s Francisca," said Shaw. He started to ask the priest if it would be all right for the girl to come inside the curtain. But before he could, Francisca was beside him, leaning down over her father, sobbing and holding his head cradled in her arms.

Shaw stepped back. The old priest leaned in between the daughter and father long enough to lay a hot, wet herbal poultice on the man’s emaciated chest. Then he stood up, stepped back beside Shaw and whispered to him, ’’Perhaps someone should go bring Ramona here."

Shaw slipped back through the curtain and over to where Paco stood near the rear door, keeping watch on the darkness through the open slit of the door. Casting a glance at Shaw over his shoulder, Paco said, ’’Three times today, Madsen asked me where you were. I told him you were asleep. Then I told him you were with a woman. Then I said you were drunk and in a foul mood."

’’Madsen is with the woman, but by now he is probably passed out," Paco said. ’’I will go to the back window and tell her to get here quickly." He paused, then said, ’’But she knows I am one of Madsen’s men. How will I get her to—"

’’Show her this," Shaw said. He held out a strip of rawhide that held a small tarnished silver ring. ’’Nito gave it to me, in case he didn’t make it back here. He’d lost so much weight it wouldn’t stay on his finger." He dropped the ring and its rawhide strip into Paco’s hand.

’’Santa Madre," Paco whispered. ’’Madsen has starved this poor man to death in order to rut with his wife." He gave Shaw a look, then said, ’’I used to think of myself as an evil man."

’’I think it would not be evil if I killed Madsen before this night is through," he said as he slipped out the door and half closed it behind himself.

’’You might have to beat me to it," Shaw said to himself under his breath, watching the Mexican disappear in the darkness toward the Gomezes’ small adobe.

Ramona sat at the table with her head in her hands. When the door opened, she turned toward it expecting to see Francisca. But she rose half out of her chair when she saw Paco step inside with his Colt drawn and pointed at her. ’’Do not make a sound," he whispered. Raising a finger to his lips, he allowed her to see the string of rawhide hanging from his hand, the small silver ring hanging on it.

’’You have seen Nito?" Ramona asked breathlessly. She cut a guarded glance toward the bedroom where Madsen lay sleeping, an open bottle of tequila at his side.

’’Don’t worry, he is asleep," said Paco. ’’I looked in through the window." He lowered his gun a little. ’’Your husband is at the church. The padre said to bring you quickly." He hoped to convey the urgency without coming out and telling her the man was dying.

But she read the look in his eyes. ’’Is he . . . ?" Her words went unfinished. She stepped forward, grasped the ring and held it to her bosom.

Grabbing a frayed shawl from a wall peg, the woman hurried out, giving only a short wary glance back toward the bedroom doorway. On their way through the darkness, she said, ’’You are one of his men. Why are you doing this? If he knew, he would kill you."

’’I am one of his men, sí," Paco replied, ’’but that does not mean I like what I have seen Madsen doing to you and your family."

’’Then why do you do something now? Where were you when he sent my husband away and began to shame me and my daughter? Were you so afraid of him?"

’’I fear no man," Paco said. They hurried along in silence for a moment. Finally Paco said as if confiding in her, ’’I don’t know why I am doing this now. But I am glad that I’m doing it."

The two looked at each other as they turned the dark corner toward the rear door of the church. ’’The one my daughter calls Mr. Angel? The one she says is the answer to our many prayers?"

Watching through the narrowly opened door, Shaw stepped to the side and let the two in. Ramona looked at Shaw, but only in passing as she hurried through the thick dark curtain to her husband’s side.

’’Nito, oh, my Nito, what has he done to you?" Ramona wept, seeing the thin, frail shell of what had been her husband.

’’He lied to me," said Ramona, caressing her husband’s forehead, holding his cold skeletonlike fingers in her warm hands. ’’He told me he was feeding you good, taking extra good care of you! I—I believed him." She sobbed openly. ’’He said only today that you gave your permission for Francisca to stay with one of his men."

’’No ... it is not so," said Nito. ’’I have not ... seen him or any of his men . . . until Senor Shaw came for me."

Outside the curtain, Shaw and Paco looked at each other, realizing how terribly Madsen had treated these people. ’’Let’s go out back," Shaw whispered, gesturing toward the door.

Outside in the darkness, Paco gripped his Colt handle tightly. ’’I have never wanted to kill a man so badly as I want to kill Madsen. No man does another man this way. He got what he wanted—to use the woman until he was through with her. Why was that not enough? Damn him to hell."

’’Using her wasn’t enough," Shaw said. ’’He had to keep coming up with more ways to use her. Deceiving her was one more way of satisfying himself. He liked making her think that sleeping with him was gaining better treatment for her husband, when all the while Madsen was killing him slowly."

’’And giving the girl to Deacon Lucas was just one more way of using these poor people," said Paco, shaking his head slowly in dark speculation.

’’Yeah, and all the while telling the woman that her husband had given him permission to do so," Shaw said. ’’That takes one truly cold-blooded son of a bitch." As he spoke he gazed toward the Gomezes’ adobe, where Madsen lay sleeping in Nito’s bed while Nito gasped for his dying breath.

’’No, I believe you’ll kill him if that’s what you make up your mind to do," said Shaw. ’’But right now, I still don’t think you’ve made up your mind to do it."

Paco raised a finger toward him and wagged it. ’’Do not think that you know my mind so well, mi amigo. Because you do not know what it is I am thinking."

’’Not word for word, I don’t," Shaw said. ’’But I know it’s got something to do with what you are going to do after you kill him. I’m betting you’re wondering where you are going to make the kind of money you make riding with Madsen and these border raiders."

Paco stood in silence. Finally he said, ’’All right, maybe that is true. But now that the husband is here, there is nothing more holding the woman and the girl to Madsen. Perhaps I will wait and watch for the right opportunity, then kill him when the time comes."

’’Yes," said Paco, ’’I took the horses of Bo Phelps, Cero Stewart and Tommy Layton, the three men you killed. So no one will notice them missing right away."

As they stood in the dark, the old priest slipped his bald head out the door and said in a lowered voice, ’’Nito is dead, may his soul rest in peace." He made the sign of the cross on his chest. Behind him came the sound of quiet weeping. ’’Please take them both away from Zarco. I will see to it Nito is buried properly."

’’Gracias, Padre, for all your help," said Shaw. He turned, facing Paco, saying, ’’Let’s go get their horses for them while Madsen’s asleep. They can slip out of here and get a lot of ground behind them before sunup."