NINETEEN

In Los Ninos, Jamie Dolan had to admit that Mexico was different from the U.S. It was also very different from Ireland.

“All these dark-skinned, black-haired women,” he said to Santee.

“Mexican women are the most beautiful in the world,” Santee said.

“I like me some Indian women,” Ed Grey said. “Nothin’ like a squaw with a big butt.”

Billy Ludlow said, “I like me some redheads. They got a lot of fire.”

“Blondes,” Dolan said, “big-titted blondes—but little ones, ya know?” He looked at Santee. “But I’m willin’ to try a Mexican woman.”

At that moment two young Mexican girls crossed in front of their horses, exchanged looks with the four men, then went off, giggling.

“Not those,” Santee said.

“Why not?” Grey asked.

Santee looked at Grey.

“They are children.”

“To you, maybe,” Ludlow said. He and Grey were in their twenties, while Dolan was a good ten years older, Santee more than that.

“You want a woman,” Santee said, “not a girl. I will show you.”

“This is Santee’s country, boys,” Dolan said. “He’ll show us where to find some real Mexican women.”

“Them two look fine to me,” Grey said. “Come on, Billy, let’s follow—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Dolan’s huge right arm swept him from his horse’s back. Grey fell to the ground, all the air going out of his lungs as he hit hard with his back.

“Wait for him to get his breath back,” Dolan said to Ludlow, “and then meet us up the street.”

“Where?” Ludlow asked.

“The cantina,” Santee said.

Ludlow nodded, dismounted, and went to help Grey, who was gagging, his face turning blue as he tried to catch his breath.

“What was wrong with those two gals, Santee?” Dolan asked as they rode on.

“One of them was my daughter,” Santee said.

 

James McBeth was a hunter, not a tracker.

He did not read sign. He put himself in place of the hunted, tried to figure out what his prey would do.

He knew Dolan would cross into Mexico from El Paso. That much made sense, otherwise why go to El Paso at all?

He searched for Dolan in El Paso del Norte for a day, and then left and headed deeper into Mexico.

Now he had two options. Keep going, or double-back along the Rio Grande and look for a place where Dolan and his men might have crossed into Mexico.

From information he had gleaned along the way, he knew that the Dolan Gang consisted of two men in their twenties and an older Mexican. It was the presence of the Mexican that convinced McBeth that Dolan was not going to cross back into the United States—not yet.

The Mexican would take them into Mexico, show Jamie Dolan his country. McBeth knew Dolan would want to see some of Mexico before he left it.

Dolan never did anything without a reason. If he was in Mexico, he’d stay awhile.