CARRANZA GAPED IN amazement at the bloody procession entering the yard of the hacienda. The man called Hawk was in the lead, flanked on both sides by vaqueros with levelled pistols. There was a drag rope slung from his saddle to the halter of the first horse behind, then shorter lengths linking the other animals. Carranza counted four of them. And each one carried a body lashed over the saddle.
‘We found him on the eastern pasture, jefe,’ said Raul Villa. ‘Where the new bull is. He said these men,’ he pointed a thumb at the corpses, ‘were planning to kill Joselito. He said he was bringing them to you.’
‘That’s about it,’ grunted Hawk. ‘All right if I climb down?’
Stunned, all Carranza could do was nod his head and watch the gunfighter dismount.
‘Is the bull all right?’
‘Sí.’ Raul nodded. ‘He is with the cows.’
‘Bueno.’ Carranza breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Watch the gringo.’
Raul and Bernado Diaz both swung to the ground, holding their guns tight on Hawk. Carranza waddled over to examine the bodies.
He saw Jaime Agusto’s staring eyes and the blood on his face. Saw the traje de luces with the horn holes in the chest and back and groin. Saw the torn muleta and the bent sword. When he looked at the other bodies, all he saw were bullet wounds, or … in the case of Angelo Zorro … a bloody hole that was clustered thick with flies.
He produced a handkerchief that he pressed to his nose as he ushered Hawk inside the house.
‘Raul, you stay here. Watch him. If he moves … kill him. Bernado, you get rid of those men. Now, Señor Hawk, you had better explain.’
He sat down behind his desk, tugging open the drawer that contained the stubby-barreled Merwin and Hulbert: there was something about this godforsaken yanqui that made him very nervous.
‘Like I told you,’ said Hawk; calmly now, ‘they stole the bull. Then they came back to kill it. I don’t know why, but the stuff in their saddlebags says they worked with a matador called Felipe Angels. He was the one got gored in Matanza, so maybe they figured they had a score to settle. The bull killed the guy in the pretty suit, and I killed the others. Just before they had a chance to shoot the bull.’
‘¡Dios!’ Carranza poured himself a brandy. ‘They were going to shoot Joselito?’
‘All set,’ shrugged Hawk. ‘I got there just in time.’
‘¡Jesu Cristo!’ Carranza emptied his glass and poured another. ‘So you were telling the truth all along.’
Hawk said nothing. Just stared at the little fat man. Carranza drank more brandy while he sweated out his relief, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief. Then he motioned for Hawk to sit down, and told Raul to go.
‘I owe you an apology, señor. But surely you can see my position? Who was I to believe? They had all the papers while you had nothing.’
‘No sweat.’ Hawk watched the Mexican wipe his forehead and upper lip, where fear was threatening to spoil the careful waxing of the moustache. ‘We all got what we wanted. You got the bull. I got my money. I got the payment on the bull.’
‘So there is no problem?’ Carranza began to look relieved. ‘I gave them five hundred American for the wagon and the horses.’
‘Not my worry,’ said Hawk. ‘You want to do me a favor, there’s gonna be three men waiting in Mexico City sometime today. You could send a man to fetch them here: they’ll decide about the horses.’
Carranza nodded enthusiastically and shouted for a servant to fetch Raul back in. When the vaquero appeared, he was detailed to ride fast for the city and bring Luis, Tonito and Julio back to the ranch. Meanwhile, Hawk was invited to stay over. He accepted the offer.
‘It is a sad business.’
Luis ground his cigarette into the sand of the yard and looked up at the clear, bright sky.
‘Good men have died. Too many.’
‘Bad ones, too,’ grunted Hawk. ‘An’ there’s still the one who gave Guerrama the money.’
‘I thought you might have forgotten that,’ said the Mexican. ‘It’s over now, after all.’
‘No.’ Hawk shook his head. ‘I got hired to do a job. It doesn’t finish until I know who tried to stop me.’
‘You delivered the bull.’ Luis hooked his thumbs into his belt and stared down at the ground. ‘Why take it further?’
‘I made an enemy when I got the bull down.’ It was difficult for Hawk to explain. ‘Whoever paid Guerrama to kill the thing won’t like that. And I don’t like leaving enemies behind me.’
‘Not live ones,’ murmured the old man.
‘No,’ said Hawk. ‘They’re the dangerous kind.’
‘But this one will be in front of you.’ Luis rolled a fresh cigarette. Lit the tube. It glowed in the night. ‘Perhaps with more money to spend on a different killing.’
They reached the corral and Hawk leant against the wood with his elbows folded and his chin on his gloved wrist. Luis leant back, hooking a boot heel over the lowest spar as he blew smoke into the night. The lights of the hacienda shone bright, and from inside there came the sound of music and the echo of laughter.
Outside, the night was warm and quiet.
‘You talking about anyone in particular?’ asked Hawk.
‘I don’t know.’ Luis plumed more smoke. ‘Maybe.’
Hawk began to tap the rails, attracting the attention of one of the big horses. When it came over, he stroked its velvety muzzle, blowing softly into its nostrils. The horse nickered softly, enjoying itself. It draped its massive head over the fence and rubbed gently against Hawk’s face.
‘What you doing about these?’ he asked. ‘You letting Carranza keep them, or you taking them back?’
‘We’ll take them back,’ said Luis. ‘Carranza can have the wagon. You can always build another wagon: you can’t build horses like these. Any more than you can build a bull like Joselito. I have already settled the matter.’
‘You’ll want this, then.’ Hawk reached inside his shirt and pulled out five hundred dollars. ‘Or Carranza will.’
‘Thank you.’ Luis slipped the notes inside his jacket. ‘It will take us a while to deliver them. We’ll travel slower than you.’
‘What I thought,’ nodded Hawk. ‘Maybe better that way.’
‘Yes,’ said Luis. ‘I think so. I don’t think I want to be there when you find out who it was.’
‘Victoria?’ Hawk went on stroking the horse’s nose. ‘It couldn’t be anyone else. Could it?’
‘I work for Don Bavispe,’ said Luis. ‘No one else. He told me to get the bull down here and bring the horses back. That’s all I know.’
‘Guerrama worked for Bavispe, too,’ said Hawk. ‘But he took money from someone else.’
‘He was very close to Victoria.’ Luis flicked his cigarette away. It made a tiny trail of sparks through the darkness. ‘And she has a lot of money. But I don’t know: I work for el jefe, and I don’t want to know anything more.’
He pushed away from the corral and walked slowly towards the house.
‘Come on, Jared. They’ll miss us.’
‘I won’t,’ murmured Hawk, following the old man. ‘Not this time.’
The next day he left the Carranza spread. Luis, Tonito and Julio chose to stay over a few more days to rest the horses before starting the long drive back. Hawk guessed the old man had planned it that way, and was grateful for the decision: a lone rider could move faster than four men herding a team.
Carranza gave him supplies and ammunition; and together with Luis, outlined a map of the route, pointing out the shortcuts he could take that had been denied the bulkier wagon.
He left at dawn. Julio and Tonito were still sleeping off their hangovers, so the only people who saw him go were Luis and Carranza.
‘Thank you for saving my bull,’ said the fat man. ‘I owe you a debt of gratitude for that. If ever you need help in Mexico, just call on me: Emiliano Carranza.’
‘Thanks,’ said Hawk, reaching down from the saddle to shake hands. ‘I’ll remember that.’
Luis was less effusive.
‘God go with you,’ he said. ‘And remember that parents love their children, whatever the wrong.’
They didn’t shake hands, but Luis smiled.
It meant more.