FIRE STIRRED IN the open grate, moved by the wind that blew down the room as Cade Onslow opened the door. Flames jumped high as he shut it hard to and stepped down to where McCloud sat waiting for him.
Onslow slapped both arms sideways over his chest, bringing warmth back to his body.
‘Cold as all hell out there!’
‘What you get for ridin’ so early, most like.’
Onslow grunted and pulled out a chair, turning it sideways so that he could rest its back against the wall; keep his face to the fire—and the door. It never did to sit with your back unguarded. Not a man out west hadn’t been brought up with the memory of what had happened to Wild Bill Hickock drummed into him.
‘Just gettin’ exercise?’ asked McCloud.
‘Not exactly.’ Onslow peered at the half-eaten contents of McCloud’s plate. ‘That any good?’
The Southerner pulled a face. ‘It’s hot and tastes of somethin’. Ain’t sure what.’
Onslow laughed. ‘You and your fine Southern palate. You got yourself spoiled some as a kid and that’s the truth. Why a ...’
‘A dozen years in the Army would have sorted me out and put some more backbone into me. Isn’t that what you were goin’ to say?’
Onslow looked at him. ‘Something like.’
‘Yeah, well ...’
A small Mexican girl, scarcely fourteen, came to the table, wearing an apron and holding an empty tray.
‘Señor?’
‘Can you get me some ham and eggs?’
‘I think, señor.’
‘Okay, scram!’
The girl bobbed in something like a bow and ran off.
‘Saw somethin’ mighty interesting this morning.’ Onslow leaned his left arm down onto the table and inclined his head towards McCloud.
‘Yeah?’
‘Men. Horses. Tents. Three or four miles west of here.’
‘Federales?’
‘Yes.’
McCloud wiped a piece of corn bread round his plate and pushed it into his mouth. ‘What you reckon they’re doin’ here?’
‘Can’t be sure. But none of the rebels have got themselves this far over. Town’s near enough to being in Federal hands—as near as a border town ever can be.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ain’t you got anything else to say this morning?’
McCloud smiled. ‘Yeah!’
‘Damn it! I ...’
Onslow stopped as the girl came back with the tray, a big plate of ham and eggs on it this time; she was having trouble keeping it balanced. Onslow reached out and took it from her, putting it down before him. She passed him a knife and fork, made her little bow and scurried off.
‘Well?’
‘Met a man last night.’
‘Uh-huh.’
The ham was rather fatty and tough, but the eggs were fried to perfection.
‘Said about the federales ...’
Onslow flashed McCloud a quick look.
‘What they might be doin’ there.’
‘Go on.’ Onslow let his knife and fork rest across his plate.
‘Says there’s a big shipment of arms comin’ down by train. United States supplies.’
‘For the Federal Government?’
‘That’s what he says. Federales are there to guard it down to Mexico City or wherever.’
‘Damn me! You think he was telling the truth?’
‘Don’t see why not? ’Sides, it must be possible to check.’ McCloud pushed his own plate away and took a cigar from his pocket. He went to the fire and bent in front of it, lighting it from a burning piece of wood.
‘Could be what we’re looking for.’
‘Save us payin’.’
‘Yes.’
Onslow went back to his breakfast. Three Mexicans came in, looked round and took seats at the far end of the room. When the girl reappeared, McCloud called down for her to bring coffee for Onslow and himself.
‘This man,’ said Onslow, ‘who was he?’
‘Name’s Madden. American. Not from the South. Arizona, maybe. Somewhere like that. Carries a gun and uses it well. Got into an argument with the poker dealer—dealer went for his gun before this Madden turned round. Only took one shot. Colt automatic.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Now that’s all you’re sayin’.’
‘That’s ’cause I’m chewing this damned ham. And I’m thinking.’
‘’Bout Madden.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wonderin’ how he found out about the arms shipment?’
‘Amongst other things.’
McCloud waited while the girl set down cup and saucers and a pot of coffee.
‘Reckon we ought to talk to him some?’
‘I do.’
‘Yeah.’
McCloud poured himself a cup of coffee. It was steaming and black; smelt strong and bitter even through the smoke of his cigar and the sweeter smell of woodsmoke from the fire. ‘Tell you what I was thinkin’.’
‘Okay.’ Onslow put the last piece of ham into his mouth and reached over for the enamel coffee pot.
‘This Madden. He looks a good man. Maybe we could use him.’
Onslow put the pot back down, his cup only two-thirds filled. ‘You short of company, McCloud?’
‘No, but, hell!’
‘We got us a fourth partner, remember, back down south. Waiting on us.’
‘I didn’t mean nothin’ ’bout Strong. I was just thinkin’ of now. With the train an’ all ...’
Onslow tasted the coffee; it was as bitter as it looked. ‘We’ll see,’ he said slowly. ‘We’ll see.’
Onslow climbed back onto his horse. He had spent the past half-hour higher up amongst the trees, using his field-glasses, scribbling notes and little sketches down in the note book that was now in his side pocket.
It seemed the best place.
Less than a day’s ride south of Matamoros, where the bridge ran over the tributary of the Rio Bravo. Flat plain to the west and the hills, wooded, here on the east. Beyond them the gradual descent towards the sea.
Cade Onslow recalled for a moment their time aboard the Sparrow; shuddering as he felt again the coldness of the black water as it sought to claim him. Hating the sea as a man of the land was bound to. Alien to him. This was what he was about. Sitting there astride a strong horse. The feel of potential power between his thighs. A gun at his hip, a second by his left side; rifle resting under his left leg.
Yes: this was what life was about. Now that Linda ...
He looked down at the expanse of bare plain—bare no longer. He brought the field-glasses up to his eyes. A lone rider on a black horse, taking his time. Head moving from time to time to check his surroundings.
Onslow kept him in focus. A tall man who rode straight in the saddle; a dark brown Stetson shielded the upper part of his face so that Onslow could not see the color of his eyes, nor if his face bore the scar that McCloud had mentioned.
But he did not doubt that it was the one.
Onslow put his glasses back into their case and clicked with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His horse pricked up its ears, and at the merest touch of the reins began to pick its way down the hill.
‘Madden!’ Onslow’s voice sailed out over the flat of the land, the military briskness of it clearly evident.
The other rider brought his horse to a halt and pushed back his Stetson, waved his left hand.
Careful, thought Onslow, careful—not the right.
He moved on until he could see the scar across his left cheek, that and the eyes, like slate exactly as McCloud had described them.
‘You’re Onslow?’
‘Yes. Madden?’
‘That’s me. McCloud said to ride out, said you wanted to see me. Some kind of proposition.’
‘Could be.’
Madden shifted the angle of his hat again. ‘Man doesn’t like to ride all this way for nothin’.’
‘You got that much else to do?’
Madden grinned, a somewhat lopsided grin. ‘No.’
‘McCloud said you had some information about an arms shipment for the Mexican Government?’
‘I might know a little.’
‘You’re being damned cagey!’
Madden’s horse shifted sideways, made nervous by the sudden rise in Onslow’s voice.
‘Man has to be careful. Guess you know that. I don’t know who you are ...’
‘McCloud told you.’
Madden gestured with his left hand. ‘Men have been known to lie.’
‘For what reason?’
Madden grinned once more. ‘All kinds of reasons.’
‘And sometimes you have to throw down your cards and trust. Ain’t that the way it is?’
The hat shifted. ‘I guess that’s why I took the trip out. It sure weren’t to view the country.’
‘Good.’
Onslow let his horse wander a little closer, still careful to keep his right side towards Madden.
‘The arms shipment. I want it.’
Madden whistled. ‘All of it.’
‘All of it. To start off with.’
‘For the rebels?’
‘Maybe that’s my business.’
‘Maybe.’
Madden looked away to the hills at the darker clouds that were blowing westwards from the sea, carrying rain. ‘What’s in it for me?’ he said.
‘Depends. So far you haven’t offered very much.’
‘My contact. He’s with the railroad. I can tell you when she’s comin’ through. To the minute.’
‘That’s better. How much will it cost?’
Madden glanced at Onslow hastily. ‘There’s one hell of a lot of arms on that train. No way you’re goin’ to be able to handle ’em all.’
‘I’ll be gettin’ help. There’s Mexicans interested in those guns as well as the customer I’ve got in mind.’
‘Even so.’
‘State your price.’
‘A crate of rifles. One of small arms. Ammunition. Enough for one man to trade.’
Onslow considered it—but not for long. ‘We got a deal.’
He stretched out his hand and Madden took it and gripped it firmly. It was the handshake of a man who you could trust.
Madden pointed over towards the iron rails as they ran towards the river. ‘That your spot?’
Onslow shook his head. ‘I ain’t saying. Maybe my mind ain’t made up yet. Not for certain. Riding back to town?’
Madden grinned, not believing him but sensing it was foolish to push the matter further right then. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘afore that blasted rain comes.’
Both men looked up at the sky and saw the thickening, hurrying clouds, driven by the wind. They set off across the plain, back to Matamoros.