The Lawman

“I wouldn’t know, sweetie. I don’t know what you did, but it still seems to me we’re better off calling it Crystal’s. Has sort of a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I suppose it does.”

“Then we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.”

He put his hand out for her to shake and she said, “You gotta be kidding,” and pushed him back down on the bed.

Chapter Twenty

“What do you mean ‘we lost him’?” Raquel demanded. “We have been following his trail for better than four days, how could we lose him?”

“I am not a trailsman,” Gilberto said, testily “I have sent Juan, Martinez and Orlando on ahead to try and pick up the trail again.”

“Ha!” she laughed, derisively. “We will be lucky if they can find their way back to us.”

“Raquel, there are times—”

“Just remember the times that I have gotten you out of jail, my brother, and forget about all the other times. If it wasn’t for me, you would be sitting in a jail cell right this minute.”

That was hard to argue with, so Gilberto simply sat and sulked.

When they were alone there was an amazing switch in personalities. In the company of their bandido band there would never have been any question that Gilberto was the dominant sibling, but if anyone had ever seen them alone there would have been no doubt that Raquel dominated him. Although Gilberto was the older by almost five years, it had been Raquel who had brought her older brother up after their parents died.

It was Raquel who was taking charge now.

“We will stop studying the ground in vain and simply travel south. We should be able to find out whether he has passed through the next town or not.”

“And then?”

“And then the town after that!” she snapped, testily. “We will find him, ’berto, and then you can play big tough bandido leader again—unless some chubby puta pushes herself in your face again.”

“Raquel…” Gilberto said, feebly.

Sometimes Raquel thought that her brother should have perished in the same fire that claimed their parents. They might both have been better off.

Chapter Twenty-one

The uncomfortable feeling of being followed was gone, for the first time in four days.

Decker’s hunter’s instinct had been telling him that while hunting he might have also somehow become the hunted. It could have been another band of bandits, or it could have been Gilberto and his sister, somehow escaped from jail. Now, however, after four days, the feeling was gone, and he didn’t miss it at all.

There was a signpost up ahead announcing a town called Rio del Gato, or River of the Cat. There was also the scent of water strong in the air, and when Decker finally came within sight of the town he stared in surprise.

Rio del Gato was a fairly large town as adobe towns went, and it seemed to have been built right along the shores of a large lake. Decker frowned, for it seemed an odd location for a lake, but then he had never really been this way before.

He rode down to the town and along the main street, and the smell of the lake was strong, fresh and clean. He sure couldn’t argue with that. He’d been in enough foul-smelling towns to appreciate the scent of this one.

He’d passed through three small towns in the past four days where Red Moran had been recognized, so he knew he was on the right track. This town was the most appealing by far, as far as he was concerned. He wondered how appealing it would be to a man whose saddlebags were bulging with money.

The entire town seemed to be made up of adobe buildings, including the livery stable, which looked as if it might have once been a church.

A woman with a face so weathered and leathery that her age couldn’t be guessed came out of the livery to meet him.

Decker dismounted and handed her the reins.

“How long will you be staying, senor?”

Decker looked at the sky and saw that it was late afternoon.

“Perhaps the night. Rub him down good and feed him.”

“Si, senor, but if I may say so…”

“Yeah?”

“This caballo, he looks like he could use several days’ rest.”

Decker cast a critical eye over the animal and saw that he did indeed look worn.

“Do you have any horses for sale?”

“Si, senor, in the corral on the back.”

“Then perhaps I’ll be back to talk to you about one.”

“At your leisure, senor.”

Decker took his saddlebags and rifle from his saddle. The lateness of the day and the probability of having to haggle over a horse made him decide that he would indeed be spending the night.

He asked for and received directions to the hotel, which was a two-story adobe structure to which a wooded porch had been added. As he approached it a man stood up from a straight-backed wooden chair and greeted him.

“Buenos tardes, senor.”

“Afternoon. Are you in charge here?”

“Si, senor. I am Emilio. You are looking for a room?”

“I am.”

“We have several.”

“Do you have one from where I’d be able to see the lake?” Decker asked.

“But of course, senor. This way, please.”

Decker followed the man inside, where the clerk presented him with the hotel register. Decker put his saddlebags and rifle down and signed in, then checked the names for the past two weeks. He had to go back half a week further than that before he found Red Moran’s name. He’d lost several days on Moran, then, and would surely need a fresh horse in order to pick up the pace.

Moran was apparently so confident that no one would follow him into Mexico that he had no qualms about signing his real name in the book.

Idly, Decker wondered if Moran even knew that the bank manager had died?

“Gracias, senor,” the clerk said, accepting the book back. He was a tall, elegant- looking man in sweaty, faded clothes that had probably once been elegant, as well. A fallen aristocrat, perhaps.

“Here is your key, senor.”

“Gracias.”

“You would perhaps like a bath?”

“I would love a bath.”

“We take the water directly from the lake. It has amazing soothing properties.”

Although the man spoke English slowly and precisely, he did not speak with a very heavy accent. He had probably spent a lot of time in the United States at one point in his life.