Sudden blasts of gunfire off to his right startled Raul as he jumped down to a lower boulder. He turned to face this unexpected assault fully anticipating a death from the impact of dozens of bullets striking his body.
But this new group wasn’t firing at him. These riders, appearing at the entrance to the camp, charged directly toward the bandits. The attackers, numbering close to a hundred, stormed the mob, bowling them over while firing rapidly into the crowd.
Raul, as stunned as the bandidos, stood in shock, then he realized something that made his blood course faster. Two of the riders were wearing serapes bearing the plaid pattern of the Clan MacKenzie. Those could only be his brothers Roberto and Guillermo. And the gunmen with them were loyal vaqueros from Rancho San Andres.
“Beto! Memo!” he called out, using their nicknames. “Soy yo — it is me!”
Roberto spotted him first and signaled to the other Mackenzie. They turned out of the fight and rode up to him. Close, brotherly embraces followed a quick dismounting from their horses.
“I don’t believe it!” Raul exclaimed.
“We were afraid we were too late,” Roberto said. “Frankly we couldn’t figure out what was going on when we didn’t find any guards at either end of the trail up here.”
Guillermo laughed. “We should have known they were busy trying to catch you.”
Raul was still confused. “But how did you know I was here? And what about the treaty?”
“The treaty!” Roberto scoffed. “To hell with the treaty. Once Demonio had captured you and harmed an employee, the treaty was no more.”
“What employee are you talking about?” Raul asked. “Did the bandits hurt one of our vaqueros?”
“Not a vaquero,” Guillermo said. He looked around in the crowd. “I’m talking about that fellow who is riding toward us now.”
The Mexican side of Raul’s temperament almost caused him to weep with joy, but the dour Scottish side maintained control. “I can’t believe it. Angel! Angelito Moreno!”
Angel jumped from his saddle and embraced Raul. “Si, patron. I am still serving you.”
“The bandits told me you were dead!”
Guillermo interrupted. “He damn near was. He staggered into the ranch a few days ago and was delirious. I’ll never know how he managed to find us.”
“The bandidos took away everything I had while I was unconscious,” Angel explained. “Even my boots. They must have thought I was dead. When I finally regained my senses it was dark and I knew they had taken you and the señorita away. I remembered you told me that Rancho San Andres was to the west. So I went west. It seemed I walked for a very long time. Never have I known such heat and thirst, patron.”
“He gave us the whole story, little brother,” Roberto said. “All about the girl, your duel, the bandits, everything. Cristo! You certainly manage to get yourself into the damndest predicaments.”
“You haven’t heard the half of it,” Raul said.
The firing died down and now the San Andres cowboys held the advantage. The bandits, those unhurt, held their hands high as they were herded into a convenient mass. Now they knew how their victims felt when raided and overwhelmed. They had been caught flat-footed, unready and vulnerable with their family and possessions at risk.
Raul watched for a few moments as the vaqueros prepared to burn down the huts. He turned to his brothers. “Excuse me. I have some good news to deliver to someone special.” The ordeal of the previous hours still affected him, but this fresh exhilaration dulled the fatigue and pain. He rushed past the prisoners, threading his way through the hovels and wickiups until he reached El Demonio’s house. He slammed against the side door so hard it splintered as it crashed inward. He entered and saw Loretta, looking up at him. “Raul!”
Raul took her in his arms and kissed her. “We finally made it, Loretta. My brothers are here with men from our ranch. And Angel too. It’s a long story.”
Loretta pressed against him. “But the bandits and Demonio? What about them?”
“Dead or prisoners,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance to check on them.” He took her hand and led her outside. “Come on. I want you to meet my brothers.”
She stopped. “No.”
“Loretta!”
“No,” she repeated.
Now he understood. “You’re heading back to civilization now. It’s time for you to prepare for it.”
Loretta started to protest, but relented, allowing him to take her through the camp. She saw the huddled mesa people, now silent and fearful under the guns of the vaqueros. Raul walked with her up to his brothers.
Roberto smiled at her. “You must be Loretta.” He introduced himself and Guillermo.
Loretta nodded and smiled, clinging to Raul.
Raul looked around. “Is Demonio among the prisoners?”
“No,” Roberto answered. “We can’t find him.”
“Give me some ammunition,” Raul said.
“Wait up, little brother,” Guillermo warned him. “You’re tired and unsteady. We’ll make a search and scour this place until we dig him out.”
“Give me some godamn ammunition!”
Roberto nodded his permission. “Let him have it. It’s something he must do.”
“Wait, patron,” Angel said. He led Borrasca up to him. “Your pistols are in the saddlebags. Take them with you.”
Raul buckled on his familiar guns, then took a bandoleer from Roberto and reloaded the carbine.
“I will wait with Borrasca,” Angel said. “We shall ride out of here together. Si Dios quiere — God willing.”
“Gracias,” Raul said, smiling grimly. Then he turned to face the outer fringes of the camp. He took a deep breath and shouted. “Demonio! This is Raul Mackenzie! I am coming to kill you!”
There was a brief moment of silence, then an answering call came from the high boulders. “Come and die, Mackenzie! Then I will not regret my own death.”
Roberto reached out and laid a hand on Raul’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to go?”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s going to be him or you,” Roberto warned him. “Or both of you.”
“Raul, don’t go!” Loretta pleaded. “You have already won.”
“He must go,” Guillermo gently told her.
“But why?” Loretta asked tearfully. “It seems so senseless.”
Guillermo shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. But right now he’s more Mendoza than Mackenzie.”
Raul, with the carbine at the ready, walked toward the rise in the terrain, then rushed between the last hut and the rocks. Two spurts of dirt kicked up behind him and the ricochets whined off into the air.
“Next time I will not miss!” El Demonio promised from his hiding place.
Raul crept upward along a crevice bordered by manzanita. When he reached the end of the concealed area he waited a beat. He rapidly cranked the cocking lever, and pulled the trigger, going through three firing cycles as he crossed the small space between the rock formations. He settled down to see if El Demonio would make a move.
“Demonio!” Raul yelled. “Come on out and play, eh?”
No answer.
“What is the matter?” Raul asked. “You and I used to be such good friends. Is it something I said?”
No answer.
It was now evident the bandit chief was going to sit tight and wait for a sure shot. That could only mean one thing as far as Raul was concerned. El Demonio was short of ammunition. That gave Raul a very risky idea. If he were unlucky he would catch a bullet…or two…or three. He stood up.
El Demonio sprang into view. His right arm was in a sling, but his left hand held a pistol. The first shot splattered pieces out of a rock at Raul’s side. The second missed.
Raul, knowing he didn’t have time to aim carefully, fired a bullet that flew off into space. El Demonio took a chance of his own, now aiming carefully. The weapon didn’t fire.
“That is it, hijo de la chingada!” Raul yelled, rushing upward.
When he reached the bandit chief, both men stood on the edge of the mesa, the desert floor hundreds of feet below. El Demonio dropped his empty pistol and smiled. “Well, Mackenzie, you have tried and succeeded where an army of Rurales have been failing for years.”
“Do not reach inside that sling,” Raul warned him.
“Do not worry. There is nothing in there but a lame arm.”
Raul motioned with the carbine. “Move down here and we will head back to the camp.”
“I am not going, Mackenzie. And I do not want you to kill me. I would prefer to cheat you out of that pleasure. Adios.”
The bandit chief took two quick steps toward the edge of the vertical tower of earth that formed his mesa, and made a vigorous leap out into the void. Raul rushed to the edge and looked down.
El Demonio fell halfway down the mesa’s height before hitting an outcrop of rocks. He bounced off into a slow somersault as he hurtled downward. When he struck the ground, dust flew up from the impact, then gently settled down on the corpse.