The Lawman

Raquel knew she could, but she also knew better than to answer that question.

“Well,” she said instead, with a sign, “what kind of trouble can they get into out here?”

They both wore wide sombreros and sported carefully trimmed mustaches and sideburns. They were both smiling, and one of them had one gold tooth on top, almost right in the center of his mouth. Both had worn gunbelts on their hips with equally worn-looking Colts. Decker was sure, however, that the Colts were in fine working order.

“Can I help you?” Decker asked.

“Perhaps it is we who can help you, senor,” one of them said. “Is it possible that you are lost?”

“No,” Decker said. “It’s not possible at all. Now maybe I can help you boys?”

“Si, senor, if you would,” Gold Tooth said. “Do you have any tobacco or whiskey?”

“I don’t smoke,” Decker lied, “and I don’t carry whiskey.” He did have cigars but he wasn’t about to part with any of them.

Besides, tobacco and whiskey weren’t what these two were after.

Decker’s instincts told him that these would-be bandidos were alone at the moment but were probably part of a larger group.

“Well then,” Gold Tooth said, “do you have any American money?”

“Oh, sure, I’ve got some of that.”

“Bueno,” said Gold Tooth, who was obviously the spokesman. “We would like some of that, then.”

“How much?”

“Well,” the man said with a wide smile, “all that you have, senor…por favor.”

“No.”

“Oh, senor…” the man said, shaking his head sadly as if that had not been what he wanted to hear at all.

“No,” Decker said, again.

Gold Tooth clucked his tongue, as if Decker had now said something he should be ashamed of. The other man backed his horse up a few paces, as if he suddenly realized he shouldn’t be so close to his compadre.

That’s better, Decker thought.

“Senor, please, you are being insulting.”

“Not yet,” Decker said, “but I’ll be getting there soon if you and your friend don’t ride…now!”

“Ayyay-yayyay” Gold Tooth said, shaking his head at the gringo’s folly.

His compadre was obviously watching Gold Tooth closely, for when the leader made his move for his gun, so did the other man.

Decker never even pulled his sawed-off, cut-down shotgun from its holster. He simply swiveled the holster up and fired that way. The cloud of double-o came out and spread just enough to catch both men. Had they remained side by side he might have missed one, but in moving back the second man had positioned himself not perfectly, but certainly more helpfully, giving the shot pattern time to spread. At the proper distance, a shotgun is simply a devastating weapon that not only kills, but disfigures and dismembers as well.

Gold Tooth caught most of the blast in his left arm and shoulder, and was torn from his horse while his arm was torn from his body. The second man was hit in the right shoulder, but the wound was not fatal.

Rather than fire the second barrel, Decker pulled his rifle from his scabbard, levered a round and fired, striking the second man square in the chest. He fell from his horse and landed hard on his back, but he never felt it.

Decker levered another round, dismounted and walked over to Gold Tooth. The man’s arm was gone, and blood was pulsing from his shattered shoulder.

“Aye, senor, mercy,” the man cried, blood foaming on his lips. “For favor, senor.”

The man would die soon enough, but Decker knew what the man was asking. He placed the barrel of the rifle against the man’s forehead and fired.

Both of the Mexicans’ horses had run off, but Decker decided there was probably nothing on them that he would have wanted. He ejected the spent shell from his shotgun, and replaced it with a live one. He then turned away from both men, remounted and rode off at a gallop.

If they were from a larger group, then no doubt someone would be along to check out the shots.

He didn’t want to be around when they got there.

Chapter Five

The bandits led by Gilberto Diaz and his sister, Raquel, rode towards the sound of the shots and slowed only when they saw the bodies of the fallen men.

“Spread out,” Diaz ordered.

He, Raquel and five other men rode towards the bodies while the other twenty men fanned out to see what they could find.

“Ramon,” Diaz said.

While he scratched his unshaven face, Ramon Muniz dismounted and went to examine the men.

“They are both dead, Gilberto.”

“I know that, fool! Check their guns!”

Ramon bent to check them, then straightened and asked, “Check them for what, Jefe?”

“Stupido! Check to see if they have been fired!”

Ramon nodded, bent and checked both men’s guns and then stood up.

“They have not been fired, Gilberto. They are both still in their holsters.”

“Miguel and Santos,” Diaz said, staring down at the two brothers who, until very recently—maybe fifteen minutes ago—had been members of his band. “They were good men.”

“They were fools,” Raquel said. “I told you not to send them together. They picked on the wrong person, Gilberto, and this is what they got for their trouble.”

“They knew how to handle a gun,” Gilberto said, looking at his sister, “and yet they were both killed before they could touch them.”

“A better man,” Raquel said, laughing. “One would not be hard to find.”

“Silencio.”

Raquel fell silent, but a mocking smile remained on her lips. Ramon looked up at her, felt a rush of desire that knotted his stomach and heated his loins, then looked away before Gilberto could see.

“Shall we bury them, Gilberto?”

“No. Strip them of their guns and anything else they have of value.”

While Ramon was doing that three of Diaz’s men came riding up to them.

“Gilberto?”

“Si.”

“A trail, leading that way,” one man said.

“How many men?”

“One.”

“One man killed them,” Diaz said, shaking his head in disgust.

“A better man,” Raquel reminded them.

Gilberto threw her a murderous look, but did not say anything.

“Get the rest of the men,” he told the three who had just ridden up. “We will follow the trail and find out who this man is.”

Gilberto and Raquel rode a bit further on, away from Ramon.

“From the wounds I would say a shotgun was used, and then a rifle,” Raquel said.