It was early afternoon when they rode into Portales. They saw no sign of Cash, so they went into the nearest saloon for a drink. Standing at the bar, they were drinking their whiskey when Valenzuela said to Slocum, “Don’t look now, but Garcia and some of his pistoleros are at the far corner table.”
Slocum raised his eyes and looked in the mirror behind the bar. He saw a table with six tough-looking hombres sitting at it. There were a few others scattered here and there around the saloon. “Okay,” he said. “Ask the barkeep if he’s seen Cash.”
The bartender walked back by, and Valenzuela stopped him. “Pardon me, Señor,” he said. “My friend and I are looking for a man.”
“Just any man, Señor?”
“A gringo. He dresses in black and calls himself Cash. We heard he was here.”
“There has been such a man here.”
“Is he still around?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen him today.”
“You saw him yesterday?”
“Sí. Last night.”
“Gracias.”
The bartender went on his way, and Valenzuela translated the gist of the conversation for Slocum. “That means if he ain’t here,” Slocum said, “he can’t be far ahead.”
“That’s right. But how do we find out if he has left without hanging around and waiting and wasting our time?”
“Let’s find us a place to have some dinner,” said Slocum, “and think on that for a while.”
He finished off his whiskey, and Valenzuela did the same. Then they turned and walked out of the saloon. Behind them, Garcia and his pistoleros watched them go and whispered to one another.
Slocum and Valenzuela found a place just down the street, and they went inside and had a good, big Mexican dinner. They washed it down with several cups of coffee.
“So are you still thinking on it?” asked Valenzuela.
“Let’s check out the stable,” said Slocum.
They paid for their meals and left, then walked down the street till they found the stable. The man inside spoke no English, so Valenzuela did the questioning. When he was through talking with the man, he turned away and walked a few steps. Slocum followed him.
“He has Cash’s horse,” Valenzuela said. “He’s somewhere in town.” Both men looked warily around the street. They saw no sign of Cash. “But where?”
“Where indeed,” said Slocum.
“What do you think we should do?”
“Let’s get us a room and then put our horses in the stable here,” said Slocum. “But keep your eyes open all the time. If he sees us first, he’ll shoot us in the back. Remember that.”
“I know, Señor.”
They checked into the cheapest hotel in town, took their gear up to the room, and then went back for the horses. Mounting up, they rode them to the stable, where Valenzuela dickered with the man. The deal made, they walked back down the street. They checked each eating place, each saloon, to no avail.
“Where could he be?” Valenzuela asked.
“With a whore,” said Slocum. “Hell. He could be anywhere.” They walked along a little farther, not saying anything, but watching all around. “Let’s go back in that place where Garcia was at,” Slocum said.
They made their way back to the place where they had started and went inside again. This time, Slocum bought a bottle, and they took it, with two glasses, to a table and sat down. Slocum could see that Garcia and his henchmen were whispering to one another. He poured two glasses of whiskey and raised one to his own lips.
One of the men at the Garcia table stood up and walked across the room. When he reached Slocum’s table, he walked around it. That put him on one side of Slocum, and the other five men at Slocum’s back. Valenzuela, however, was facing the five men. It looked like trouble. The man shifted his weight a time or two and hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said in careful English. “My name is Viviano Garcia. You are strangers here in Portales.”
“Sí,” said Valenzuela.
“Oh, mister,” said Garcia. “Talk English for the sake of your gringo friend. I am talking English. It’s only polite. May I ask what is your business in Portales?”
Slocum had a smart-ass remark in his head, but he decided to hold it back. He recalled his own earlier statement about not wanting to get involved with a gang of bandidos. He had one purpose, and one purpose only. That was to get Cash. He did not want to allow anything to get in the way of that purpose.
“My name’s Slocum,” he said. “My friend here is Gregorio Valenzuela. We came here on the trail of a man.”
“Are you bounty hunters then?” Garcia interrupted. “Maybe you know about the price on my head. Are you thinking about trying to collect it?”
“No,” said Slocum. “We don’t know anything about that, and we’re not interested in you or in bounty.”
“In who then, and for why?”
“The man’s name is Cash,” Slocum said. “We believe he’s somewhere in Portales.”
“Cash. Cash. Hey, compadres,” Garcia said, raising his voice, “do we know someone named Cash?”
The other five bandidos all talked at once, saying noncommittal things and repeating the name Cash. Finally, they quieted down again.
“Is there a price on the head of this Cash?”
“Not that we know of,” said Valenzuela.
“No? Then why are you looking for him? Perhaps he’s a friend of yours? Perhaps you’re thinking of putting together a gang of pistoleros to compete with Garcia. I don’t care for anyone else operating in my territory. You want to settle it now?”
“There’s nothing to settle,” said Slocum. “We don’t mean to put anything together. We’re just after Cash. That’s all.”
“For what?”
“He killed my son,” said Valenzuela.
The look on Garcia’s face became serious. “Oh,” he said. “I see. You mean to kill him for that. I don’t blame you. But why is this gringo riding along with you?”
“I want Cash for my own reasons,” said Slocum.
“We are both on the same trail,” said Valenzuela. “We decided to ride along together.”
“I see. Well, perhaps I will find out something for you. Perhaps I will let you know. Are you staying here in Portales?”
“For now,” said Slocum.
“You’ll be hearing from me,” said Garcia, and he walked back toward the table where his compadres were still seated. His voice very low, Valenzuela said, “He knows where Cash is. There is no doubt about it.”
“I figured that,” said Slocum.
Back at the corner table, Garcia leaned over toward one of the other five men. “Pedro,” he said, “go find Señor Cash. Come back and let me know where he is.”
“Sí, Viviano.”
The man called Pedro got up and walked out of the saloon. Slocum took note of that, but made no move. He and Valenzuela had one more glass of whiskey each. Soon after that, Pedro returned and went back to the Garcia table. He whispered to Garcia, “Cash is with fat Rosita. He has been there for a while. He should be coming out soon.”
The other men at the table laughed. When the laughter died down, Pedro said, “There’s more, Viviano.”
“More?”
“Sí. The horses of Pablo and Chico have just come into town. They have no riders and no saddles.”
“You’re sure they are the horses that Pablo and Chico were riding?”
“Sí. I’m sure.”
“Then someone has killed them. Go to the stable and check on Señor Cash’s horse. Hurry.”
Pedro left the saloon again.
“I wonder what’s going on with them,” Slocum said.
When Pedro returned again, he was puffing for breath. “Cash’s horse has not moved for two days,” he said.
“Then it was someone else,” said Garcia. “Did you see the caballos come into town?”
“Sí.”
“Which direction did they come in from?”
“They came in from the north.”
Garcia got up and walked back over to the table where Valenzuela and Slocum were sitting.
“Will you buy me a drink?” he asked.
The bartender put a glass on the bar, and Garcia reached over to pick it up.
“Sit down,” said Slocum.
Garcia sat, and Slocum poured his glass full of whiskey.
“Where did you ride in from?” Garcia said.
“From Gorky’s at Broken Leg,” said Valenzuela.
“Ah, from up north.”
“That’s right,” said Slocum. “What difference does it make?”
“Two of my compadres were riding up north,” Garcia said. “Just now, it seems, their horses have come home alone. These two were very good horsemen. I think someone has killed them along the trail—to the north.”
“That’s too bad,” Slocum said. “Do you think we did it?”
“I was thinking maybe you killed them. I don’t know why, but there is really no one else. None of the people who live around here would dare to kill any of my pistoleros. It had to be strangers. I thought about your compadre. Cash. But I checked on him. He hasn’t been out of town.”
“Maybe there’s someone else out on that trail that hasn’t come into town yet,” said Slocum.
“Perhaps,” said Garcia. He drank down his whiskey and stood up. “Perhaps.”
“Anything could have happened out on that trail,” Valenzuela said. “You haven’t even seen any bodies.”
“You are right about that, amigo,” Garcia said. “Maybe they found some whores and were careless and let their horses get away. Maybe their cinch straps broke, both of them at the same time, and they fell off their horses with their saddles. I doubt those things, but maybe it could have been like that. I’ll send some men out to look for the bodies, but before I do that, Señor Slocum, I think I will kill you.”
Slocum glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, don’t worry about them, Mr. Slocum,” said Garcia. “They know I need no help. They won’t move a muscle to help me. Of course, if you should be so lucky as to kill me, then I won’t be able to stop them. I think they would kill you then, because they love me so.”
“I got no reason to kill you,” said Slocum. “Cash’s the man I want.”
“I don’t think you’ll live to see him.”
Slocum shoved back his chair. Slowly, he stood up and moved away from the table. He managed to move just enough that he could see the other bandidos out of the corner of his eye. If he should have to kill Garcia, he knew that he would also have to start shooting at once at the others. He meant to be ready, and he hoped that Valenzuela was as well.
“Well?” said Garcia. “Go for your gun.”
“I told you,” said Slocum, “I got no reason to kill you.”
“Then I will give you one.”
Garcia’s hand went for his gun, but Slocum was in good form. His own hand flashed, and his Colt was out and cocked and leveled at Garcia’s chest by the time Garcia cleared leather. The bandido chief stopped short. He stood in a crouch, his revolver out of the holster but pointed at the floor in front of his feet. He smiled. Then he laughed.
“You have beat me, Mr. Slocum,” he said. “No one else has ever beat me.”
He lowered his gun hand, and then he raised it carefully to drop the gun back into the holster. Slocum, cautious, still held his ready. Garcia raised his hands and walked to the table. He pulled out a chair.
“May I?”
Slocum holstered his Colt. “Go ahead,” he said. He waited until Garcia was seated, and then he sat down again.
“May I have another drink?” Garcia asked.
“Help yourself,” Slocum said, and Garcia reached for the bottle and poured himself a drink. He took a long swig.
“You know,” he said, “I no longer believe that you killed my two pistoleros. Or if you did, they must have provoked you. You made me look death in the eyes just now, but I’m still alive. Tell me, Slocum, am I alive because you knew that if you killed me, my pistoleros over there would have killed you?”
“Maybe,” Slocum said, “but I could have gotten at least two of them before you hit the floor.”
“I would have killed the rest,” said Valenzuela.
Garcia looked from Slocum to Valenzuela with disbelief in his eyes. Then he started to laugh again. When he stopped laughing, he said, “You know, if you instead of that Cash had come to me, and if you had done me the way you did just now, you would already be my segundo.”
“Cash came to you?” asked Slocum.
“Oh, yes,” said Garcia. “I neglected to tell you. He came to me, wanting to join up with me, but I am cautious with gringos.” He looked at Slocum. “Pardon me, Señor,” he said. “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” said Slocum.
“I told him I would think about it. He’s been hanging around town ever since, I suppose, waiting for me to make up my mind.”
“Where is he?” asked Valenzuela.
“Be patient,” said Garcia. “I will see that you get together with him. But will he face both of you?”
“Only one at a time,” said Valenzuela. “If he survives the first one.”
“And who will be first?”
“I will,” Slocum said.
“No,” said Valenzuela. “I will try him first.”
Slocum started to protest, but Garcia interrupted, putting an end to the argument. “I think, Mr. Slocum,” he said, “that you are much too fast for Cash. I think if you face him first, Mr. Valenzuela will never have a chance at his revenge for his poor son. I think I will send for him to meet you, but only if Valenzuela goes first.”