Chapter Twenty-nine
“Riders coming in from the south,” Red said.
Buttons Muldoon used his lifted hat to shade his eyes against the sun, stared into the shimmering distance, and then nodded. “Four of them, coming in at a walk.”
Buttons took the shotgun from the stage and tossed it to Red. “Keep it handy. They look friendly, but this close to the border, you never know.”
Red lifted the lid of the steaming coffeepot to check its progress, but he kept eyes on the riders. “Looks like they’re going to stop by for a visit,” he said.
“They might be sociable folks, but they might not,” Buttons said. “I don’t plan on making any judgments until they’re closer.”
It was Hannah who first recognized two of the riders as women. “Two females all right,” she said. “And they don’t look happy.”
“Hard to say,” Red said. “Buttons, keep a sharp eye.”
“And you, Red.”
The reason for the women’s unhappiness became obvious a short time later. They were young, mounted on nags, and had their hands tied in front of them. Their two male companions each held a lead rope and they looked well-fed and prosperous. They rode good horses and wore ditto suits, with celluloid collars and striped ties and bowler hats. The older of the two affected yellow kid gloves.
Red saw no sign of revolvers but suspected shoulder holsters under the suit coats.
Both men drew rein, and the older said, “Good day to you. I am Mr. Telfer, and this is my business associate, Mr. Miles.”
Red nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” His eyes went to the women, both young, pretty, and Mexican.
Hannah stared hard at the visitors, not liking what she saw. Near her, Latimer seemed perplexed, trying to make sense of what was happening, and Mr. Chang looked on, his face inscrutable.
“Smelled your coffee from a ways off,” Mr. Telfer said. His eyes moved to Hannah, and his gaze explored her body. “Ah, maybe we can do business here today,” he said. He looked around at the ruined station. “Not an ideal location, but I’m sure we can reach an amicable agreement.”
Buttons spoke for the first time. “What kind of business?”
“We deal in commodities, sir,” Mr. Miles said. “Yes, I say commodities. In our case indentured servants. May I ask if the young lady in the strange costume is a servant? And if she is, would you consider selling her?”
Hannah said, her anger flaring, “She’s not for sale, and you don’t deal in servants. You’re nothing but a damned slave trader.”
Mr. Telfer fixed a small, humorless smile on his mouth. “My dear lady, slavery was abolished in this country during the late War Between the States, and even indentured servitude is not at all what it once was.” He waved a hand in the direction of the Mexican women. “In five years, these señoritas will be freed with a considerable sum of American dollars. They can then return to Mexico, marry and”—his smile widened—“live happily ever after.”
“Who will hire them as servants?” Hannah said.
“Why, whatever business or respectable home needs their services,” Mr. Telfer said.
“Like the brothel business?” Hannah said. “Houses of prostitution?”
Mr. Telfer’s face stiffened. “Young lady, why do you care what business needs them? They’re only Mexicans, for heaven’s sake.”
“I care. Why are their wrists tied?” Hannah said.
“For their own protection,” Mr. Telfer said. “It wouldn’t do for them to wander off into the wilderness and die of starvation or get eaten by wild animals, now would it?”
To everyone’s surprise, Latimer spoke up, his voice clipped. “I’ve listened to what you have to say for yourself, and I believe that you, sir, are a bounder,” he said. “Untie those women at once.” And he surprised everybody a second time when he took a Remington derringer out of his coat pocket and pointed it at Mr. Telfer. “I mean now!”
“How dare you!” Mr. Telfer said. “These women are my property. I bought them in Durango for a considerable price to sell for a small profit in San Antonio or Austin.” He scowled. “I’m a respectable businessman, and you are heavy-handed, sir, and a foreigner to boot. I’m sure the Texas Rangers would love to have words with you.”
“That’s telling him, Mr. Telfer. The impertinence of the fellow is beyond belief,” Mr. Miles said. “It’s obvious we’re not welcome here, so we’ll ride on.”
“Not with the women, you won’t,” Latimer said.
“Are you threatening us?” Mr. Miles said.
“I’ll tell you once again, and then I won’t repeat myself,” Latimer said. “Free those Mexican girls.”
Mr. Telfer’s hand reached under his coat, but he froze when he heard the hammers of Red’s Greener click back and looked into muzzles as big as train tunnels. “You heard the man,” Red said. “Drop those lead ropes.”
Mr. Telfer hesitated, and Mr. Miles looked angry. So did Buttons Muldoon.
“You’re not riding out of here with the two Mexican women,” Buttons said, his eyes blazing. He had his gun in his hand. “Drop the lead ropes like my shotgun guard told you. Now, the next few seconds will be almighty tense, and things will play out much better for you gents if no mistakes are made.”
“Damn you,” Mr. Telfer said. “Damn all of you to hell.”
John Latimer sprung another surprise. “Hannah, use your knife to cut those women free.” He looked at Mr. Telfer. “Now, give me your wallet.”
“No, and be damned to you,” the man said.
“Give me your wallet, and yours too, Mr. Miles,” Latimer said.
“Go to hell,” Mr. Miles said.
“You insist on making me repeat myself,” Latimer said. There was a half-smile on his lips. “I won’t have it. It’s very rude.”
He raised the Remington and put a .41 caliber ball into Mr. Miles’s shoulder.
Two events followed the sharp crack of the derringer . . .
Mr. Miles shrieked like a stuck pig. And Mr. Telfer hurriedly produced his wallet.
“I will not stand idly by while women, children, or animals are abused,” Latimer said. “I will not tolerate it. Now your wallet, too, Mr. Miles, if you please. Thank you. And now you may dismount.”
Latimer removed money from the wallets and gave it to the Mexican women, who cried and thanked him and made such a fuss that he found it mildly embarrassing. He helped the grateful women, girls really, into the saddles of the horses recently vacated by Mr. Miles and Mr. Telfer and said, “Go home. And good luck.”
Red Ryan shook his head. “Seems like we give every Mexican we meet money and a horse. Maybe we should make it part of the Patterson stage’s official policy.”
Buttons smiled. “Not a bad policy at that.”
After he watched the Mexican girls gallop away, Latimer turned his attention to Mr. Telfer and Mr. Miles. “You can ride the ponies you gave the women. Mr. Miles, I suggest you seek medical attention for your wound as soon as possible.”
“San Antone is nearest,” Buttons said, never taking his incredulous eyes from the Englishman. “But you boys probably know that already.”
The two men climbed onto the bare backs of the nags and Mr. Miles looked at Latimer and said, “When I see you again, and I will, I’ll kill you.”
“You may try at your earliest convenience,” Latimer said. He gave an elegant bow. “I’m at your service.”
* * *
Buttons Muldoon slapped John Latimer on the back and grinned, “Damn it all, you never cease to surprise me, Limey. Where the hell did you get the stinger?”
“I took it from the vest pocket of a dead man after the Gatling gun fight. He had no further use for it, and I thought it might come in handy.”
“You were right to shoot that ranny,” Red said. “I’m sure he was reaching for a hideout.”
Latimer smiled. “So am I. I’ve seen shoulder holsters before.”
Hannah Huckabee retained a coolness that revealed itself by her tone of her voice as she said, “You did well to free those women, John. It was the act of an English gentleman.”
“Thank you, Hannah,” Latimer said. “You are very kind.”
An awkward silence followed . . . stretched . . . until Red snapped it. “Well, the coffee’s on the bile,” he said. “Find yourself a cup, ever’body, and let’s have at it.”