AZUL AND HAVEE crossed the border a week behind the Kiowas.
After leaving Simms they had waited out the storm beneath the overhang of a bluff, then cut westwards to Fort Stockton in hopes of getting news. There was none, so they had ridden on to Fort Davis, where the word stayed the same: no sign of the hostile Kiowa, no sign of anyone. It was as though the storm had wiped all trace of the Indians from the ground.
Havee gave in to Azul’s arguments and they cut south, following the line of Azul’s first guess. They reached Mexico northwards of Presidio del Norte, going into a little town called Santa Rosaria.
The place was, if anything, even smaller than Dragonsville. A low scatter of tiny adobe houses eased in towards a cantina, a general store and a federale station. There was a small church boasting an oversized bell and a crumbling cross. The commercial buildings, like the church, faced onto a little square where a tired palm tree and a disused fountain rotted slowly in the heat.
After his last journey into Mexico, Azul was wary of the federales iii but the need for fresh food and fresher news prompted him to take the risk. He reined in outside the cantina and dismounted. He was reaching out to shove the batwings open when they swung hard towards him, knocked outwards by the shoulder of a big man dressed in worn Levi’s and a pink-checked shirt. The man had a wide-brimmed Stetson on his head, and was turning back to shout something to a man called Marty. He cannoned into Azul, spinning the half-breed round.
‘Sorry, pilgrim,’ he drawled, ‘but I’m in kind of a hurry.’
He strode with a sway-hipped gait to the horse tethered beside Azul’s grey, checking it over with professional skill. A Mexican followed him out, and Azul stood back as an old man clutching a battered top hat to his hairless skull came running out.
‘Don’t fergit that rockin’ chair, Ethan! You promised me that rockin’ chair.’
The big man nodded as he turned his horse away from the rail.
‘I ain’t about to fergit it, Mose.’
The Mexican got mounted and followed him out of the square, then the doors flew open and a younger man, dark-haired and clutching a half-eaten tortilla in his hand, came running out.
‘Wait for me, Ethan! Wait for me, damn you!’
He jumped into his saddle and took off at a gallop, still clutching the tortilla. The bald man shook his head, staring after them as he shambled over to a tired-looking pony with a straw sombrero shading its face from the sun.
‘Don’t you fergit that rockin’ chair,’ he mumbled. ‘You promised me that chair, so don’t you fergit, now.’
‘Who the hell were they?’ asked Havee, joining Azul on the sidewalk. ‘Seemed like they was in an awful hurry.’
Azul shrugged. ‘How should I know? Looked like they was searching for something.’
They went inside the cantina, pausing inside the entrance as their eyes adjusted to the dim light.
The place was empty except for a blowsy-looking woman eating a bowl of chili in a side room and the man behind the bar. Azul ordered tequila, wincing as the first taste of the fiery alcohol settled on his tongue.
Havee emptied his glass in one deep swallow and held it out to be refilled. The barkeep looked at them curiously.
‘Bienvenido, señores. What brings you to Santa Rosaria?’
‘Looking for someone,’ said Azul. ‘Maybe you can help.’
The man shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I helped those two you saw leaving and all they did was leave a meal half-eaten and light my fire with tequila.’
Azul dropped a coin onto the stained wood of the bar.
‘We’re looking for a bunch of Kiowa hostiles,’ he said in Spanish. ‘Might be you’ve heard word.’
The Mexican shrugged. ‘There are Comanche out to the south, señor. The big man and his friend just went looking for them, only I think that all they’ll find is a lightening of their hair. Kiowa?’ he shrugged again. ‘I’ve not heard of any Kiowa coming this far down. Maybe you should ask the federales. They’ve been out on patrol for the last three days. They could maybe tell you something.’
‘When did the last patrol get back?’ Azul asked.
‘It didn’t,’ said the bartender. ‘Lieutenant Karloff took nine men out, but they never came back. Captain Jiminez has stayed close to town since then.’
‘Where is he now?’ said Azul. ‘How many men does he have left?’
‘In the station.’ The barkeep nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the northside of the square. ‘He has only ten men now. Eleven, counting himself.’
‘Muy gracias,’ said Azul, turning from the bar.
‘De nada.’
Azul sat down facing the door. Havee pulled up a chair and faced him, his lined features twisted up in a curious grin.
‘You an’ the federales got somethin’ between you?’ he asked. ‘You sounded almighty cagy back there.’
Azul shrugged. ‘I killed some people down here. Some of them were federales, so I don’t reckon on them welcoming me with open arms. Not unless they got guns in their hands.’
‘So how do we check Mahka out?’ grunted Havee. ‘By now he could be anywhere, an’ we could spend the next year huntin’ him. Seems like the federales’d be our best bet if you could talk to ’em.’
‘I aim to,’ said Azul. ‘Right now.’
He stood up and walked over to the door. The old man and his scrubby horse were gone. Across the square a lizard was plastered tight against the peeling stonework of the defunct fountain. The polished bell of the church shone bright in the sun and a yawning trooper was leaning against one side of the portico, idly scanning the front of the federale station.
‘You ain’t gonna just walk in there an’ ask?’ gasped Havee. ‘Not with a price on you.’
‘You got a better way?’ rasped Azul. ‘You can back me or ride away now. Your choice.’
Havee snorted, staring at the guard;
‘They’ll most likely be takin’ a siesta about now,’ he murmured. ‘I guess I could cover from outside if you’re agreeable to leavin’ fast afterwards.’
‘I didn’t plan on waiting around,’ grinned Azul. ‘Let’s go.’
They sauntered across the square, separating as they rounded the fountain so that Havee was walking towards the sentry while Azul headed for the door of the station.
The sentry glanced at Azul and lifted his rifle in a half-hearted way. He was about to call something when Havee stepped up and asked him for a light. The federale looked at the old man, wondering why he should want a light when he didn’t have a cigarette. The movement was sufficient to put Havee’s body between the trooper and the cantina, and by the time the sentry realized that, the old man’s Remington was cocked and tucking into his stomach.
Azul waited as the sentry moved sideways into the alley between the church and the federale office. There was the faint sound of something hard and heavy slamming into flesh, then Havee stepped back round the corner, grinning as he waved Azul onwards.
The half-breed stepped through the door.
The room was heavy with the smell of chili and tortillas, the odor of frying overlaid with the sharper smell of tequila. Behind a cluttered desk, a man wearing the epaulettes of an officer was snoring soundly, feet up on the desk and both hands clutched comfortably over his stomach.
Azul cat-footed over to the desk. Went round it with his Colt lifting from the holster. He got behind the man and nestled the pistol against his neck. The hammer came back with a loud triple click.
The officer woke up.
‘¿Que es? ¿Quien vive?’
‘My name is Azul,’ said the half-breed quietly. ‘I am also known as Breed, which might mean something to you and save us both some time. If you know who I am, you will know that I shall kill you before any of your men can wake up and try to stop me. If you tell me what I want to know, I shall let you live. Do you understand?’ Lieutenant Jiminez’s head strained sideways, his eyes spreading wide as he saw the face above the gun.
‘Sí, I understand. You are el Lobo. What do you want? Why should you come here to kill me?’
‘I didn’t,’ murmured Azul. ‘I came to ask you about the Indians you have been chasing.’
‘The Kiowa? They killed all of my last patrol. They should have stayed in America. Like you.’
‘Where are they?’ said Azul, nudging the Colt a fraction tighter into the soft flesh of the lieutenant’s neck. ‘Tell me.’
‘Thirty miles to the east,’ gasped Jiminez. ‘There’s a spread of badlands where they’ve made camp. We sighted them five days ago. I sent word to Presidio, but they just said to watch them. Karloff tried to make contact, so they killed him and all his men.’
‘Why didn’t you attack?’ asked Azul.
‘My commander in Presidio said they were a problem of the yanquis, not us. That was before they killed Karloff. Since then I’ve been waiting for new orders.’
‘How many of them?’
‘About twelve warriors,’ moaned Jiminez. ‘The rest are women and children.’
‘But they still frighten you,’ Azul sneered. ‘Show me where they are on your fine federale map.’
He kept the Colt hard against the officer’s neck as he eased the man to his feet. The map was pinned against the adobe of the wall across from the desk, and when Jiminez shoved a tobacco-stained finger to the smeared paper Azul could see that the Kiowa camp was set close in to the Rio Grande, an easy day’s ride out of Santa Rosaria.
The problem was getting there without finding a federale patrol on his tail. He had no particular wish to kill Jiminez, but the man would sound the alert as soon as the gun was gone from his neck. Knocking him unconscious was an easy answer, but would still allow the officer time to recover and mount a pursuit. The fact of the situation was that the federales might be more concerned with capturing Azul than in facing up to the Kiowas. And Azul needed time to scout the camp and decide what he was going to do about Mahka.
Like fighting off a wolf pack, the solution seemed to be the removal of the leader. If he took Jiminez with him far enough to strand the man in the badlands, it should leave the remaining Mexicans in a quandary, waiting for orders.
He decided to take that course.
It was unfortunate for the lieutenant that Corporal Sanchez chose that moment to wake his commander.
Azul was backed up close against the entrance when the door to the troop’s quarter flew open and a fat man carrying two cups of coffee came through.
He halted as he saw his commanding officer held by a hard-faced man with long blond hair and a gun in his hand. Then he dropped the cups and gasped. His mouth opened, getting ready to shout a warning as he fumbled for the Colt’s Peacemaker holstered on his left hip.
Jiminez chose to act on the surprise of the moment. Or perhaps he had got over his fright and thought he should put on a brave face in front of his batman. Or perhaps he just acted out of panic, grabbing for whatever chance he thought he might have. Either way, he rammed back against Azul, smashing the half-breed against the half-open door as he ducked his head backwards and tried to grab the muzzle of the Colt.
Azul reacted on pure instinct.
As his shoulders hit the doorframe he squeezed the trigger, slamming his knee up at the same time to shove Jiminez from him. The bullet scorched across the federale officer’s palm, gouging a bloody line before clipping skin from his cheek. The rising knee thudded into the man’s buttocks, propelling him forwards as Sanchez got his gun out and fired wild at Azul.
The shot was aimed wide and low. Had the lieutenant not been falling, it would have splintered woodwork a useless foot to Azul’s left. As it was, the .45 caliber slug came out on a flat trajectory that bisected the downwards angle of the lieutenant’s skull as neatly as a geometric line drawn on graph paper.
Or through it.
It hit his face just below the hairline, glancing off the dome of bone into the lower part of his right eye socket. The thin bone walls shattered under the impact, and Jiminez’s eyeball fell out onto his cheek. The bullet scored down through the roof of his mouth, pulping his tongue so that his scream of pain was cut suddenly off into a choking gargle as the lead tore onwards into his throat. The lieutenant collapsed onto the floor, clutching at his face and writhing in a spreading pool of sticky blood.
Corporal Sanchez stared wide-eyed at his moaning commander and then down at the gun in his hand. By the time he began to look up again, Azul had fired into his stomach.
The shot took the fat corporal neatly over his belt buckle. It lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards into the open doorway. As he fell, Azul fired again.
The second shot caught Sanchez while he was still toppling. It ripped through his windpipe and glanced the delicate bones of his neck before tearing out through the layers of fat cushioning the base of his skull. His Adam’s apple was shattered, filling his throat with blood, before a fist-sized hole punched out below his head. A thick spurt of crimson gouted down the corridor, matched by the fountain pumping clear of the man’s throat at the front. His feet drummed against the plank floor and he fell still, only a horrible wheezing that gradually slowed and stopped telling of his expiring life.
Lieutenant Jiminez was down on his knees, both hands pressed tight against his shattered face. From beneath the right palm there hung a blood-stained pulpy ball that bounced against his cheek as he moved his jaws, trying to scream.
Azul leveled the Colt on the man’s head. He had not meant to kill him, but now there was little else he could do. Jiminez was strangling in his own blood, speechless and blinded. Azul stuck the muzzle of the handgun close against the officer’s skull and pulled the trigger.
Jiminez jumped forwards, the rear of his head exploding inwards to splash grey brain matter and white bone fragments across the office. The front of his face blasted outwards, the already-weakened bone structure torn totally away by the impact of the slug. His mouth opened wide, but above his upper teeth there was only a narrow line of bone connecting his jaw to the massive hole where his nose and eyes had been. He spread his arms wide, skidding over the blood-slickened floor until the top of his head touched Sanchez’s outthrust foot. The weakened cranium gave way under the impact, and the corporal’s boot sank deep into his lieutenant’s emptied skull.
Azul blasted his last shot down the corridor and swung the outer door open.
Havee was waiting with both their horses, clutching the grey’s reins as he held the mustang to a shaking halt.
‘What in the hell went on in there?’ he shouted. ‘It sounded like you was gunnin’ down the whole damn’ Mexican Army.’
‘Trouble,’ snarled Azul. ‘Let’s ride!’
‘You find out what you wanted?’ Havee asked as they galloped clear of Santa Rosaria.
Azul nodded. ‘In the end. The lieutenant didn’t see eye to eye with me, though.’