eyes were clear and beautiful.
The Kid smiled up at her and slipped her another gold piece. “Your name is Greta?”
“That’s right.” Her voice held just a trace of some sort of Scandanavian accent.
“Well, thank you, Greta. I appreciate it.”
She hesitated, holding the empty tray in front of her. “Mr. Sago said that if you stay here and you want some company later on—”
Still smiling, he interrupted her. “There’s nobody I’d like to get to know better, but I’ve been riding with that stuffed-shirt lieutenant all day, and to tell you the truth, it’s just flat worn me out.”
She smiled back at him, and he saw what he thought was gratitude—and maybe a little disappointment—in her eyes.
“I understand,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
“I intend to.”
She turned and started back toward the bar.
The Kid picked up one of the tortillas, rolled it into a cylinder, and used it to scoop up some of the beans and a chunk of meat. He was about to put the food in his mouth when he heard her cry out in surprise and pain.
Looking up, he saw that the Mexican sitting at the table with the other three men had hold of her wrist and was trying to pull her onto his lap. His other hand roughly caressed her hip.
The Kid sighed, muttered, “Oh, hell,” and set the tortilla back on the plate.
Chapter 15
Greta continued trying to pull loose from the Mexican’s grip as The Kid pushed his chair back and stood up. At the bar, Edwin Sago frowned worriedly. Some of the cowboys and vaqueros began to sidle toward the door, obviously intent on getting out of there before any real trouble started.
Across the table from the Mexican, the redhead watched with great interest. The Kid suddenly wondered if the man had
Whether that was true or not, it didn’t really matter. Greta sounded genuinely pained and afraid.
“What’s the matter,
“I ... I just ...” Greta said.
The man’s face twisted with anger. “You just don’t like stinkin’ greasers, is that it?”
The Kid drawled, “You said it, mister, not her.”
Valdez’s head jerked toward The Kid.
“Let her go,” The Kid went on.
As he did, Valdez came to his feet. “I don’t like anybody tellin’ me what to do, senor.” The Kid got a good look at him for the first time. Valdez’s face was dark and brutal, and broad like his body. He sported a thick black mustache and heavy beard stubble.
The Kid smiled thinly. “You must run into a lot of trouble, if you’re always as much of a jackass as you’re being now.”
From behind the bar, Sago called in a nervous voice, “Listen, gents, I don’t want any trouble here.”
Valdez lifted his hands. “No trouble, senor,” he said without taking his dark eyes off The Kid. “It will be no trouble at all”—his right hand flashed across his body and plucked a knife from a sheath on his left hip—“for me to carve my name in this damn gringo’s hide!”
He charged at The Kid like a maddened bull.
The Kid realized it was a feint as soon as he saw the careful way Valdez planted his feet. He expected The Kid to leap aside from the charge, and was prepared to swerve and slash whichever way he went.
The Kid stayed put, and as soon as Valdez was within reach, he brought his right foot up in a blindingly swift kick that sank the toe of his boot in the Mexican’s groin.
Valdez screamed, dropped the knife, clutched at himself, and collapsed.
The Kid heard a chair scrape and pivoted smoothly. The pale-faced man next to the redhead was coming up and reaching for his gun. He was fast, but The Kid knew he could beat the man’s draw.
But he didn’t have to. The redhead moved fast, and swept a leg around, knocking his companion’s legs out from under him. The man fell heavily on the sawdust-littered floor, and his gun, which had just cleared leather, was jarred from his hand by the impact.
“Stop it, Chess,” the redhead snapped as he held out a hand toward The Kid as if asking him not to kill the man on the floor. “You saw what happened. Lupe brought this trouble on himself.”
The man called Chess glared. His eyes flicked toward the revolver that lay a couple of feet from him, and for a second The Kid thought he was going to make a grab for it.
But then he said, “You’re right, Kelly.” To The Kid, he went on. “I’m gonna pick up my gun and put it back in the holster, all right? Don’t get antsy.”
“I don’t get antsy.” The Kid knew it sounded a little boastful, but didn’t care.
All through the confrontation, the Yaqui hadn’t moved, except for his eyes. They had taken in everything, and The Kid would have bet that if the Yaqui had needed to do anything, it would have gotten done in a hurry.
A deadly hurry.
Chess reached for his gun.
“Why don’t you use your left hand?” The Kid suggested. “Just so nobody gets any ideas.”
Chess glared some more, but he reached over with his left hand to pick up the gun. He set it on the table, then grasped the edge and pulled himself to his feet. The redhead picked up the chair that had gotten knocked over and righted it.
Guadalupe Valdez still lay curled on the floor, hugging himself and whimpering.
The redhead—Kelly, Chess had called him—smiled at The Kid. “Sorry about the trouble. Lupe sometimes forgets he’s supposed to be civilized now. He comes from so far back in the mountains he’s not much more than an animal.”
If Valdez heard that comment, he didn’t give any sign of it.
The Kid said, “Then I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell him to apologize to the lady.”
Kelly shook his head ruefully.
“Not a bit. But I’ll do it on his behalf.” Kelly stood up and took his hat off. He looked at Greta, who stood nearby looking frightened. “I’m sorry for my amigo’s behavior, ma’am. I hope he didn’t hurt you too much.”
Greta lifted her hand and looked at her wrist, then rubbed it against the back of the other hand holding the tray. “No, I ... I’m fine. He just took me by surprise, more than anything else.”
“Lupe is a surprising sort,” Kelly said. “You forgive us, then?”
“Of course.”
“Greta,” Sago called from the bar. “Come on back over here.”
She went, casting a glance at The Kid as she did so. He saw gratitude in her blue eyes, but also worry.
“I reckon you could have killed Lupe if you’d wanted to.” Kelly spoke to The Kid. “I appreciate you just bustin’ him in the balls instead ... although right about now if you asked him, he might tell you he’d rather be dead.”
For the first time, the Yaqui showed some reaction. He smiled. “That one will walk funny for a week.”
“Yeah,” Kelly agreed with a chuckle. He gestured toward one of the empty chairs at the table. “Care to sit down and have a drink with us, Mister ... Morgan, was it?”
“That’s right.” The Kid didn’t really want to have a drink with those men, but Kelly might take it as an insult if he refused and he didn’t want to provoke any more trouble. “Is it all right if I bring my supper with me?”
Kelly grinned. “Sure.”
The Kid fetched the plates from the other table, and pulled out a chair at Kelly’s table.
“Chess, why don’t you help Lupe into a chair at one of the other tables.” Kelly tossed a coin to Chess, who had pouched his iron, but still stood tensely beside the table. “Buy him a bottle of mescal. That’ll take his mind off his troubles.”
