CHAPTER 42
“What about the safety of my daughter?” the old man wanted to know.
“Naturally, I will take that into consideration as much as possible,” Buckhorn answered. “By my reckoning, the best way to make your daughter safe is to make those who rode off with her dead.”
The hint of a grim smile touched Don Pedro’s mouth. “Yes, it is so.”
The exchange between the two men was taking place on the edge of Wagon Wheel’s main street, out front of the general store. A handful of townsfolk were gathered around Buckhorn. A half dozen of Don Pedro’s gunmen, having just ridden into town and still on horseback, were strung out behind him. Overhead, the white-hot, blurred ball that was the sun had barely begun its descent in the afternoon sky.
The old don and his men had shown up only a short time ago, just as Buckhorn was preparing to take out after Wainwright and the small group who’d fled the Flying W. Buckhorn, Sheriff Banning, Carl, and half the townsmen who’d closed on the ranch ahead of dawn had returned to town with Tyrone and Wainwright’s two house servants.
The remainder of the men had stayed behind to put things in some semblance of order and to be on hand in case anyone came nosing around. It had been decided among those making the return trip to town that Buckhorn, alone, would stock necessary provisions and then immediately head out after the fugitives.
That had been imparted to Don Pedro, who’d arrived already knowing about the Flying W being abandoned during the night but was left trying to come to grips with the status of his former partner and what it meant as far as the fate of his daughter. Once the note Wainwright had left was shown to him, the answers to those questions brought great dismay.
Slowly touching Buckhorn and the others before him with a gaze from weary, anxious eyes, the old don said, “I cannot atone, cannot even begin to explain the . . . madness I allowed myself to get caught up in with Wainwright. Nor will I try to lay it all on him. I was very willing, very eager . . . Suddenly, in the emptiness and bloody aftermath that was only a fraction of what would have transpired had we gone ahead with all that we were planning . . . I can but feel ashamed, remorseful.
“To ask forgiveness would be a pathetic insult, but for the sake of my daughter, who had no knowledge about any of what her husband and I intended and played only the part of a pawn—my greatest shame of all—I ask . . . compassion. My first instinct is to send out these loyal men behind me with instructions to hunt down and kill Wainwright in the most savage way possible. But upon reading the words on that piece of paper . . . more madness, bordering on evil, or perhaps the other way around . . . I see that cannot be the way. Perhaps it should never be the way, not the right one. In this instance, no doubt it would only lead to my daughter’s certain death.”
His gaze came back and settled on Buckhorn. “I cannot say why, but something . . . a cold certainty . . . tells me that, yes, you are the right man, the one with the best chance to succeed. To bring my beloved Lusita back alive. I don’t know what that will entail, what else you will have to do . . . I don’t care.”
“I don’t know what I’ll have to do, either,” Buckhorn said, “but, whatever it turns out to be, I’d best get at it. Too much time has passed already.”
Don Pedro nodded. “Indeed. My arrival delayed you.”
“That was only part of it.”
The old don’s gaze went to the sheriff. He gestured to the various citizens up and down Front Street who had paused in the acts of removing barricades and window boards put in place the previous evening. “My apologies if the sight of me and my heavily armed men coming down your street caused any disruption. We came in peace and we will leave the same . . . and we will remain that way in the necessary healing time that lies ahead.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Banning.
“I have heard about the wonder of a new water source that has blessed your town. Water that gushes cold and clean from deep within the earth.” He gazed longingly up the street, toward where Goodwin’s well was. “I had hoped to see this with my own eyes, but I realize that now is not the best time. My new hope is that I will be welcome to return again before too long and view it then.”
“You would indeed be welcome,” Banning told him.
“Only this morning,” Don Pedro added, “I received word that the long-expected revolutionary action outside of Mexico City has dissolved without a shot being fired. Maybe the time for violence and strife is over for a while. Not forever. It never is. But maybe for a while.”
Banning said, “That sounds good, too.”
Don Pedro’s gaze settled once more on Buckhorn. “Vaya con Dios, amigo. I will return to my hacienda and await good news from you.” With that, he motioned his men to wheel about and they rode out the way they’d come in.
“Well, now we know where he stands,” Carl said, watching the fading cloud of dust kicked up by the departing riders.
“And a relief it is, I’d say,” added his sister, standing between him and Banning. Then she scowled. “What I’d really like to know is how the heck he gets his information from clear down in the heart of Mexico. I’ve been waiting for days for a telegram from somebody about what’s going on down there and haven’t heard a single click back yet.”
“Maybe my pursuit of Wainwright will take me down that way and I can find out some answers for you. In my spare time,” Buckhorn said.
“If you don’t get started, you’re not going to make it any farther than Mexville by sundown,” said Banning with a wry grin.
“Well, if everybody’d quit crowding me, I’d be on my way,” Buckhorn told him.
Carl frowned. “Seriously. You really think it’s best for you to tackle going after that bunch alone?”
“It’s the only way—one man dogging ’em, moving by night, closing in cautious. It’s the best chance that gal has. You go after ’em with a posse—never mind the added risk of drawing the attention of the Rurales and the whole legal problem of being on the wrong side of the border—they’d spot a tail from miles away and the whole thing would be queered. If Wainwright means it about what he’d do to his wife, and there’s no reason to think the crazy bastard doesn’t, she’d be dead no matter what.”
“We’ve been over it a dozen times,” Banning pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Carl mumbled. “Damn it. What about just one more man? I could go with you.”
Buckhorn put hand on his shoulder. “In a street shoot-out, Carl, there’s nobody I’d rather have at my side. But that’s the key—the street. You’ve been off the trail too much of the time in recent years. No offense, but town living has made you soft. And the bouts of alcohol haven’t helped. I got no way of knowing how long it’s gonna take to track down that bunch. A couple days on the trail over hard country in this heat . . .”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture,” Carl said sullenly. “You’re right. But I don’t have to like it, damn it!”
“Not a matter of being wrong or right.” Buckhorn cut his gaze over to Justine before adding, “I’ve got priorities. I need to stick to ’em.”