A couple of days earlier, Red and Harry Fleming arrived in Poco Diablo, stopped in to see the sheriff right away.
“Ah, mis amigos,” Sheriff Pedro Arroyo greeted them. As always, he had a big smile dotted with gold teeth. “Welcome back to Poco Diablo.”
Red walked to the desk, dropped some money down on it.
“Ah, gracias,” Arroyo said. He swept the money off the desk top and into a drawer. “What can I do for you, señor? It has been some time since you were here last.”
“You been here before, Red?” Harry asked.
“A few times, Harry,” Red said. “Now just shut up a minute.” He looked at Arroyo, who seemed to have aged ten years since he’d last seen him. He knew the man had to be near fifty, but he looked almost seventy.
“I just need you to stay out of the way, Pedro,” Red said, “as always.”
“Si, señor,” Arroyo said, “that is what you always want.”
“Well, we’re gonna need it now more than ever,” Red said. “See, we’re gonna kill us a couple of American lawmen, here.”
“Aieee,” Arroyo said, sitting back in his chair. “That may take a little more of your American money, Señor Red.”
“Why?” Harry demanded. “They ain’t lawmen here.”
“But someone will come looking, no?” Arroyo asked.
“Possibly,” Red said. “Don’t worry, there’ll be more money.”
“Ah, excellent!”
“Are there more gringos in town?” Red asked.
“Si, señor,” Arroyo said, “they are in the cantina. They said they were waiting for you.”
“They said right,” Red said. “Thanks, Pedro.”
“Si, señor.”
Red turned to Harry. “Come on, the rest of the boys are here.”
Harry didn’t know his brother was taking him to Poco Diablo to meet more men. That was Red’s plan all along, to lure the lawmen further into Mexico, and kill them there.
There were four men waiting for them at the cantina when they got there. They greeted Red boisterously, with lots of slaps on the back. Harry didn’t know any of them.
“Is this him?” one of them asked. “This is the little brother?”
“That’s him,” Red said. “Harry, meet Tom Gareth. We’ve worked together on and off for more than ten years.”
Gareth slapped Harry on the back. “Glad to meet ya, son.” Gareth was about Red’s age, ten or twelve years older than Harry.
Gareth pointed and said, “That’s Cutler, that’s Shaw and that’s Tutt.”
The three men, all in their thirties, waved with one hand, held beers with the other.
“You got my telegram?” Red asked Gareth.
“Got it,” Gareth said. “Killin’ two lawmen and gettin’ away with it will be worth the long ride down here. Besides, I love Mexican women.”
“All right, then,” Red said. “Let’s get a drink and we’ll go over the plan. They’re probably a day behind us, maybe less . . .”
“So we’re just gonna sit here and wait for ’em?” Gareth asked, some time later.
Red looked at the man over his glass of tequila. “No, we’re gonna wait across the street. By the time they ride in, they’ll be ready for a drink. Their first stop will be this cantina.”
“And then it’ll be their last stop, right?” Harry asked.
Red looked at his brother. “It will be if we do this right and nobody jumps the gun.”
“Whataya lookin’ at me for?” Harry complained.
“Because you get excited, Harry,” Red said. “You’re gonna hafta stay calm, and not fire until I do. Understand?”
“Sure, I understand, Red,” Harry said. “I ain’t stupid.”
“You sure act it sometimes.”
“Hey!”
Red reached out and mussed his little brother’s hair.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I’m just jokin’.” But the look he exchanged with Gareth said he wasn’t joking. Red knew his brother was stupid and acted rashly, because that’s how they got into this mess in the first place.
“So whatta we do in the meantime?” Gareth asked.
“You go ahead and enjoy your Mexican women,” Red said. “Let’s just put a man on watch so we get a warnin’ when they’re approaching town. And, oh yeah . . . keep your men sober!”
Gareth looked over at the other table, where his men were passing around a bottle of tequila.
“Don’t worry,” he assured Red, “that’s their last bottle until after it’s over.”
“It better be,” Red said.
A full day later, Harry Fleming got excited when he saw Thomas Shaye’s back and fired too soon . . .