CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The three riders came on at a walk, tough, capable, well-mounted men with the flint-faced stamp of the outlaw about them. All three wore belt guns, but to Dan Caine’s relief their rifles were still in the scabbards. They drew rein at revolver distance, and a man who wore a back frockcoat and pants, frilled white shirt, and black hat, rivaling even Cooley’s gambler finery, was the first to speak. And what he said surprised everybody.
“Howdy, Cooley,” he said. “You on the scout?”
“Not hardly, Duran,” Cooley said. “I’m riding for the law.”
James Duran smiled. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Cooley said. “I’m what they call in these parts a vigilante.”
Duran’s gray eyes moved from Cooley to Dan and then the others, lingering on Estella for a few moments before dismissing the rest.
“Cooley, there was a time you rode in better company,” Duran said.
“They’ll do,” Cooley said, knowing he lied through his teeth. The sun was warm on his shoulders and he sweated a little, aware of the tightness in his belly. James Duran was a named pistolero and demanded, and got, five thousand dollars for a contracted kill. He’d fought in a dozen range wars, great and small, and in victory he was the wrath of God, in defeat as fierce and dangerous as a wounded bear.
Duran said, “Did you know that Five Ace Phil Coates died?”
“No, I didn’t,” Cooley said. “Sorry to hear it.”
“Are you?”
“Not really.”
Duran said, “Took him a six-month, but he finally turned up his toes. Your bullet was still in him all that time.” He smiled. “He died cursing you, Cooley. Maybe that’s when your luck turned bad.”
“Could be,” Cooley said. “I’ve been through it ever since.”
“Still,” Duran said, “you get credit for the kill.”
“Coates was notified. You know that, Duran. Hell, you were there,” Cooley said. “His cheating was too obvious. Marking the cards with his thumbnail was a greenhorn’s trick.”
“He didn’t listen that day, as I recollect,” Duran said.
“He should have,” Cooley said. “What do you want from us?”
“First you tell me why you’re here. This is a robber’s roost, and if you’d been on the scout, you’d have been welcome. But your welcome ran out when you mentioned vigilantes. That’s a bad word around these parts.”
Dan Caine said, “To sum it up, we aim to arrest a man by the name of Clay Kyle for murder and then hang him. And his cohorts.”
Amid laughter from his two companions, Duran pointedly ignored Dan and said, “Tell me why you’re here, Cooley.”
“You heard the deputy,” Cooley said.
“Sure, I heard what the rube said, but I can scarce believe it.”
“Believe it,” Cooley said.
Duran shook his head and grinned. “Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and Kyle will laugh himself to death.”
“He won’t laugh at me,” Cooley said.
“No, I guess he won’t,” Duran said. “As for the rest of you . . . what’s the saying? Ah, yes, lambs to the slaughter.”
“Right, you’ve had your say, now will you give us the road?” Dan said.
“No . . . deputy . . . I won’t. but I’ll give you some advice . . . turn around and head back to where you came from. Lawmen, even your kind, ain’t welcome in the Sierra del Carmen.”
Cooley could’ve done it of course, maybe Fish Lee, but it was young Holt Peters who pushed it. He kneed his horse forward, pointed his Winchester at James Duran and said, “Mister, give us the road or I’ll blow you right out of that saddle.”
The youngster’s muzzle didn’t waver and his jaw was set. He obviously experienced a whole range of emotions in that moment, but fear wasn’t one of them.
James Duran was as surprised as the rest. “Hell, Cooley, what are you feeding this kid? Gunpowder?”
“Duran,” Dan Caine said, “like the rest of us he’s been eating fire and brimstone since we saw what Kyle and his vermin did to the Calthrop ranching family up Concho County way.”
Duran grinned. “Steal a maverick or two from them Calthrops?”
“Murder, torture, rape and kidnapping . . . a whole family wiped out. Try that on for size,” Dan said. “And take the grin off your face or this rube will blow it off with a bullet.” Suddenly his Colt was in his hand. “Maybe I’m two shades meaner than you think, mister.”
The time for grinning was past, and Duran knew it. “You heard of Dave Shannon?” he said.
“Can’t say as I have,” Dan said.
“I work for him. And he’s pushing Kyle out of these mountains because his kind attracts lawmen. If he hasn’t found a grave here, and I’d say that seems mighty unlikely, wait across the Rio Bravo until he leaves and grab him then.”
“If you want rid of Kyle so bad, why don’t you assist us?” Dan said.
He holstered his gun, a thing Cooley noted. He moved his own hands closer to his Bulldogs.
“Is there a reward?” Duran said.
“Not that I know of,” Dan said.
“Well, it doesn’t matter a damn. Dave Shannon won’t hand one of his own kind over to the law,” Duran said. “If he did, news of his treachery would get around, and he’d never be trusted again by the outlaw fraternity. That word means brotherhood, if you don’t know. Sure, he’ll probably kill Clay Kyle, but that’s just good business, a whole different matter than selling him out to a bunch of tinhorn vigilantes.”
Dan said, “All right, Duran, you presented your case. Now let us pass.”
“I’ll ask you one more time . . . will you leave?” Duran said. “Come now, state your intentions.”
“I intend for you to give us the road,” Dan said.
Duran’s eyes shifted to Estella. “You look like a smart young lady. Can you talk sense into him?”
Estella shook her head. “Jenny Calthrop is my friend, and Clay Kyle took her captive. I want her back, and I want to see Kyle hang.”
“Then it’s done and done,” Duran said. “The next time we meet, hot lead will do my talking.”
James Duran pulled his horse aside and made a show of a sweeping bow from the saddle. “The road is now yours,” he said.
As Cooley rode past, Duran said, “Clint Cooley, I’m glad your onetime mistress, the beautiful and charming Countess Celeste de la Cour, isn’t here to see how far you’ve fallen since the gaming tables of New Orleans. I’d say I’m sorry to see you sunk so low, but I’m not. You were always arrogant and lucky.”
“Now all that sounds just like you, James,” Cooley said. “You made a habit of mistaking skill for luck and that’s why you were such a rotten poker player. When, or perhaps I should say if, you see Celeste again, give her my love.”