I moved forward, flashed my friendliest grin, grabbed one his enormous smithy’s hands and shook it. “Good to see you again, Jim,” I said.
Eyes the color of coal flicked a narrow, inquisitive gaze from me, to Boz, and to Glo, then finally landed on Clementine Webb. The big man’s glance lingered on the girl as he said, “Been a spell, boys. You fellers ain’t had much business over this way lately. Ever since y’all went and set up house out yonder on Devils River, don’t think any of you’ve been by more’n once or twice. Not like the old days when ya’ll used to come breezin’ through these parts two or three times a year chasin’ Injuns, rustlers, crooked gamblers, footpads, and killers.”
“Been livin’ the unhurried, leisurely life of gentlemen horse ranchers, Jim,” I said. “Spend most of our time these days sitting on the front porch whittling and spitting. Trying to rest our various hurts and bullet holes.”
Fisted mitts on muscular hips, Big Jim Boston glared at us from beneath a knitted brow. “What’re you ranger boys doing over this way this mornin’ then? Sure as hell ain’t much goin’ on in this dried-up, dyin’ berg.” The massive smithy’s black-eyed gaze zeroed in on Clementine Webb again, then knifed back to me.
I hooked both thumbs over my pistol belt. “Got two, maybe three men drinkin’ over at Mendoza’s, Jim?”
Boston waved a filthy hand at the slab of darkness at his back. “Workin’ on one of ’ems big ole black mount right now. Threw a shoe. Animal’s borderin’ on the most uncooperative, spiteful beast I’ve ever took in hand.”
“Three of them waiting for you to finish up?” I said.
“Sounds right to me. Was five of ’em earlier, I believe. Maybe six. Not exactly sure. Caught a glimpse of ’em ridin’ by when they first came into town. Rough lookin’ bunch, Dodge. That bunch is rougher’n the calluses on a barfly’s elbows. Got myself back inside. Just hopin’ they’d do their drinkin’, leave me alone, then head on out.”
“Appears that didn’t happen,” Boz offered.
“Naw. Think maybe two or three of ’em stopped about long enough to throw down a single shot of Mendoza’s least lethal cactus juice, then they hit the road headed for Del Rio. Leastways, that’s what I figured on anyhow. Made me mighty happy to see them as headed out to leave. Wish the other three had gone with ’em.”
“How long ago?” I said.
Boston rubbed a stubble covered chin with the back of one immense fist. “Oh, be guessin’ at it, but I’d say they’ve been gone two hours or so, maybe a bit more. Seems as though them three what stayed in town set down to some serious drinkin’. Know they ran all of the regulars off pretty quick. Then, one of ’em paid Mendoza’s helper to bring this black devil over here for me to work on. Peon’s sittin’ out front waitin’ for me to finish so’s he can return this monster to its owner soon’s I’m done.”
Rubbed the back of an aching, sunburned neck, then said, “Could you call the man back here so I can talk to him?”
Boston swiveled at the waist and yelled, “Gustavo. Gustavo Morales. Adelante, amigo.”
Barefoot and stooped, a white-haired Mexican, sombrero held against his wizened chest like a shield, shuffled up to a spot near Boston and stopped. “Sí, senor. I am here. Is the demon caballo ready?”
Boston grinned, shook his sweaty pate, waved my direction, then said, “This gentleman’s a Texas Ranger. Wants to ask you some questions.”
Gustavo Morales’s black eyes widened. Lines of worry creased the old man’s forehead when he said, “Sí. Es no problema.”
Pushed the still-dripping hat to the back of my head with one finger. “No need to be afraid, Senor Morales. Simply want you to tell me where the men who sent you here are sitting in Mendoza’s Cantina. As I remember there’s only room enough for four tables inside the joint. So, are they up by the front door, in the middle of the room, or in back near the bar?”
Morales’s darting glance flicked from face to face until it reached the angelic visage of Clementine Webb. Of a sudden, the ancient peon stopped twisting his hat and appeared to relax a bit. As if unable to comprehend the reasons for her presence, he continued to stare at the girl as he said, “Near the bar, senor. Muy borracho. How you say, very drunk. Muy ofensivo. Dangerous hombres, senor. Mendoza is very afraid. He did not say it, but I could tell.”
Boz slapped his good leg with his reins and said, “Be foolish to go in there after ’em, Dodge. Mendoza’s joint is way too cramped for a six-man gunfight. A one-eyed, three-fingered jasper who couldn’t hit a washtub with a shotgun could get lucky. Kill the whole bunch of us in such confined circumstances.”
“Ain’t dat duh truth,” Glo chimed in.
Big Jim Boston ran a hand beneath his leather apron and scratched a tub-sized belly. He said, “Sure you boys have a good reason to be talkin’ ’bout gunfights, killin’, getting’ killed, and such. Mind tellin’ me why you’re after these men?”
I knifed a sidelong glance at Clementine Webb, then said, “Tracked them all the way here from over on Devils River not far from the ranch, Jim. They helped murder this child’s entire family in a stand of cottonwoods where Three Mile Creek dribbles into the river.”
“Jee-zus. Sorry to hear that,” Boston muttered.
“Yeah, well, we’d like to get one of them alive. But I’d be willing to bet they’ll go down shooting. Sons a bitches will fight rather than let us take them in for the most brutal killings any of us have come across in years. Those fellers have an absolutely certain date with a bullet or a piece of short hemp and a long drop.”
Boston stared at Clementine with renewed interest. “Right sorry to hear about your loss, young lady,” he said.
Clementine pulled the dog closer and silently stared at the ground as though she didn’t care for the topic of discussion.
“Gonna have to call ’em out onto Mendoza’s porch, or maybe into the street, if we can figure a way to get ’em to come that far,” I said.
I turned on my heel, strode to my animal, and slipped the Winchester from its scabbard. As though I’d somehow mysteriously lit a hidden fuse, Boz and Glo hotfooted it to their own animals. They quickly armed themselves with their big-barreled blasters, too. In a flurry of activity, the three of us retrieved additional ammunition. Once again, we went through the process of making certain our weapons were ready and in working order. When finally satisfied with the condition of their hardware, Boz and Glo looked to me for instructions.
“Okay, here’s how it’ll go down,” I said. “We’ll spread out. Since we know from past experience that Mendoza’s doesn’t have a back exit, we’ll approach the front in a three-pronged assault. I’ll go at the front door head on. Boz, you move up to the veranda on my right. Glo, you take the left. Want you boys to get around behind ’em by moving to the corners of the cantina’s front façade where they can’t see you. Then stay out of sight until I need you.”
Boz and Glo nodded.
“Once we’re set, I’ll call ’em out. Maybe the Pickett boys are drunk enough by now to think I’m alone. If they get to figuring the three of them can take me without much effort, be willing to bet they’ll come out onto the porch. Once they’re all outside we’ll have ’em in a crossfire. Right where we want ’em.”