The Lawman

“Did this man do that to you?”

“No, I got this from somebody else.”

“Senor, you lead a very dangerous life. Are you perhaps a man of the law?”

“I am a bounty hunter.”

“Ah, I have heard of such men. And this bounty you seek is this…” Garcia checked the poster. “Two thousand five hundred dollars?”

“That’s right.”

“And this man was in my town?”

“He was, two and a half weeks ago.”

“Santa Maria!”

“Could I have my poster back, please?”

“Oh, si, senor.”

Twenty-five hundred dollars was a lot of money to anyone, but especially to a sheriff with delusions of grandeur in a small Mexican town.

Decker got dressed with the sheriff watching. As he strapped on his gun he asked, “Is there something else I can do for you, Sheriff?”

“Uh, no, senor.”

All of the man’s swagger was gone now and he was slouching.

“I apologize for having interrupted your bath.”

“That’s all right, Sheriff,” Decker said, finding himself feeling sorry for the ridiculous-looking lawman. “You were just doing your job.”

That seemed little consolation to the man as he slunk out of the room.

Undoubtedly, the man was thinking of all the silver ornaments he could have bought with twenty-five hundred dollars.

As Decker came into the hotel lobby Emilio gave him a sheepish look.

“Senor, I hope you did not mind—”

“That’s all right, Emilio. Your cousin was right, you are very observant.”

“Gracias, senor. I was the sheriff before my cousin got the job.”

“And what did he do before he was sheriff?” Emilio smiled and said, “He ran this hotel.” “That figures. Where’s a good place to eat, Emilio?”

“The cantina down the street, senor. Excellent tortillas.”

Decker closed his eyes. He didn’t think he ever wanted to eat another tortilla. He’d keep seeing those bandidos clutching their throats and slumping to the floor.

“I hope they can make something else.”

“Oh, si, senor. They have a very wonderful cook. Roberta. She is—”

“Your cousin?”

Looking sheepish Emilio said, “Si, senor.”

“I hope she was never sheriff.”

“No, senor,” he said, “Ernesto beat her by one vote in the last election.”

“One vote, eh? Listen, Emilio, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course, senor.”

“Take a look at this.”

Decker took out the poster on Moran and passed it over to him.

“Do you recognize that man?”

Emilio studied the drawing closely and then shook his head.

“I am sorry, no, senor.”

“He stayed in the hotel about two and a half weeks ago. His name is John Moran, but he signed in as Red Moran.”

“I am sorry, senor,” Emilio said, passing the poster back. “I do not remember him.”

“Okay, thanks,” Decker said. He folded the poster back up, tucked it in his pocket and started to leave.

As Decker started to leave Emilio called out, “Excuse me, senor?”

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering, senor,” Emilio said, “this evening, would you be wanting any…female companionship?”

“If I do,” Decker said, “I’ll arrange it for myself, Emilio.”

“Of course. Please, enjoy your meal.”

Chapter Twenty-three

After dinner—enchiladas and rice—Decker went over to the livery to talk to the leathery-faced woman about a horse. She took him out back to show him what she had.

There were three horses in the corral.

“Is this all you have?” he asked.

“I have three horses, senor,” she said. “That is two more than anyone else in town.”

“Jesus,” Decker said, “I’m surprised you aren’t the mayor.”

“My cousin is the mayor.”

He stared at her, then ducked underneath the corral fence to look over the horses.

There was a bay mare that was too heavy, a rangy roan and a small pinto with bowed tendons. The roan was the best of the lot, with no apparent infirmities.

“How much for the roan?”

“One hundred.”

“That’s crazy,” Decker said. “I’ll keep the horse I’ve got.”

“That horse will drop dead if you ride him another twenty miles.”

“Then I’ll walk,” Decker said. “I’d rather walk than pay a hundred dollars for that roan. How much for the mare?”

“A hundred dollars.”

“She’s overweight.”

“Ninety dollars.”

“How much do I get off for the pinto’s bowed tendons?”

“The pinto is seventy-five—”

“Forget it. I’ll give you my horse and twenty-five dollars for the roan.”

She shook her head.

All through the dickering the expression on her face never changed. By the time they were done Decker had the roan for thirty-five dollars, his horse, and five of his cigars. He had decided that the woman was over fifty.

That done he took a walk by the water. While he was there a woman and a little boy came along, and the woman watched the boy play in the shallow water.

She appeared to be about thirty or so, pretty, big-bosomed and wide-hipped. Some men would say she was built for childbearing.

Decker figured she was built for making love.

He walked over to where she was sitting and said, “That’s a fine-looking boy.”

“Thank you.”

She pushed some hair out of her face and looked up at him.

“How old is he?”

“Five.”

“Is he yours?”

“He is my son.”

“What’s his name?”