A little stung by the lack of confidence, he moved off the porch. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make do.”
The contemptuous voice of Pagan Reeves followed him. “You won’t last a day.” Reeves stood with his hand close to his holstered pistol. “I remember you now. You’re the Army courier. Scout. Supposed to be a real tough man.”
Reeves mocking voice was pushing it and Trent didn’t want anything to happen here because of the women. Too many get hurt in shootouts, and not necessarily the people doing the shooting.
“You’ll be dead in a day.” Reeves continued taunting him. “Maybe I should just save the boys in town the trouble and run you off right now.”
Coldly angry, he turned suddenly and, his earlier caution gone, faced Reeves. “Why don’t you do that? You run me off. You have a fancy auto-loader pistol and probably have at least fourteen shots to my six. Come on. Use it.”
Their eyes locked and he kept getting closer. Finally, they were facing each other with less than a foot of space between them. “How about it, Reeves? You gonna pull that shooter?”
Pagan Reeves was sweating. Any gunplay now would get them both killed. Neither could miss. He was desperately looking for a way out when a stern voice interrupted them.
“Enough of this.”
Moving into his line of vision, Trent saw the man who had escorted them to the house. He was holding a large bore Smith and Wesson as if it was part of his body. He pointed it at Pagan.
“Sure, anything you say, Chico.” Pagan said immediately, trying to regain some of his bravado. He backed off slowly, trying to leave the impression he was reluctant to move. Looking maliciously at Trent, he mounted his horse. “Trent. You come to town and you’ll die. Big Springs is mine. I have the town, and the men to hold it. But you come on ahead, Marshal. You just come on.”
Reeves whirled his horse and rode away in a cloud of insignificant threats and dusty bravado. He was gone in seconds flat.
Trent turned to face the Mexican, the pieces of his memory finally clicking together. “Chico Cruz.”
The man slightly inclined his head as he holstered his pistol. “The same.”
“I’ve heard many things of Chico Cruz.” Trent said evenly, his gaze trying to match up what he’d heard with what he saw.
Chico grinned at him. “And I’ve heard a good many things of the courier, John Trent.”
Katie broke in. “If this mutual admiration society could break up, it’s time we left. It’s getting dark, John.”
“All right, Katherine.”
“John?” Consuelo had walked up to them. “John, is it? And Katherine? He calls you Katherine?” She looked at Katie, who was turning several shades of red, holding her hand to her mouth. “Now I see. I’m so sorry, Katie. Now I know why you were getting so mad.” Connie giggled softly in her hand. “Please, both of you. Stay with me tonight.”
Katie shrugged. It was impossible to stay mad at Consuelo. “All right, we’ll stay, if it’s all right with John.” He nodded, strangely pleased that she asked but wasn’t surprised that she never stopped talking. “Let’s go inside, Connie. We have some catching up to do.”
“Why was Reeves here?” His abrupt voice threw the question out for anyone to answer. He was examining puzzle pieces and none of them fit.
Consuelo regarded him for a moment. “Very simple. He wants me. He wants my land—my cattle, really. Mostly, he just wants. Up to now, it’s been easier to put him off and humor him than to fight him.” She looked over at Cruz with a troubled gaze and her eyes softened a little. “We may have to fight him, now.”
After the women went inside, Cruz turned to him. “He is a dangerous man, Pagan. You shouldn’t underestimate him.”
“He’s got some yellow in him.” He tried to dredge up with any information on Reeves, other than what the colonel told him, and came up blank.
“Yes, but he’s all the more dangerous for it. With him, you always have to watch your back.”
He finally breached the question that had been burning inside him. “Last I heard, you were Jeremiah Starking’s second in command. Your name’s on every army bulletin board in the territory.” He smiled at Chico. “All, two or three of them.”
The humorous glint in his eyes belied his serious words. “So. Do you now challenge me, Marshal Trent? We have always been on opposite sides, my friend, but we know of each other and are very much alike, I think. There would be no gain for either of us, if we fight.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes there is no gain. I’ve been given a job, Chico. It’s a thankless one, but like the village idiot—I took it. Now, I wear a badge. That doesn’t impress anyone yet, but I’ve been thinking about it and I like the idea. It’s a job that needs to be done if people are to survive. I decided I’m going to do the job that goes with the badge. If I do it well, then the badge will gain respect. If I can do this, then the next man to wear the badge will have respect. I may not have a choice where you are concerned.”
“There are always choices, my friend.” Cruz scraped a line in the dust with his boot. “See? Between us is a line. You are on one side. I am on the other. What separates us, Trent? You have killed. I have killed. Now, suddenly, you have a badge. Do you now think your killings are somehow official? If you decide someone should die, you will perform your duty. There are no questions asked. If I decide someone is to die, and kill them, I am a criminal, and a murderer. I am wrong simply because I don’t have a badge. My question for you is this? Does the badge make you right, Trent? Or, is this badge simply the horse you ride to get what you want?” Chico Cruz stood straight in the evening sunlight, a tall man burned brown by the sun. “Don’t show your badge to me, and expect me to honor it. I won’t. But I’ll honor the man, and judge you by your actions.”
Both men had turned and were leaning against the fence railing of the corral. Trent watched as the horses nipped and played in the evening coolness, thinking of what Cruz said. The problem was, Trent liked this man, and of course, he was right. He respected him as one fighting man does another. All he had ever heard about Chico Cruz was that he was a tough man in any kind of fight, and never a word about senseless killings or brutality. But he had been Starking’s right-hand man. And Starking was raider. Was his opinion of Starking wrong, too?
Here, standing in the approaching gloom of evening, in a ranch yard he’d never seen before, he felt he’d found a kindred soul. Both men understood each other as can only happen when the same ground has been covered, the same battles fought. Each had tasted the blood and dirt of their wins and losses.
He took his time. He wanted Cruz to understand. “Chico, ever since I joined the army, I was about seventeen I guess, I always tried to do the right thing. I have a deep feeling for what is right. I guess we can call it the law. Not laws written by legislators and congressmen—hell they’re all dead anyway—that are written on a whim and can’t be enforced. There’s an older law. The one most people are born with.
“From the first time man sprung from the well of life, he has had a sense of right and wrong. Someone has to stand up against those that take advantage of weaker people. I guess that’s where I’ve always tried to be.”
“But now, you have a disadvantage.” Cruz flipped the stub of the cigarillo into the corral. “Now that you have the badge, and if you honor it, you must be right, and just. Above all, you must be sure. Sure of your position and what you do. You must be all these things before you pull your gun, my friend.”