Tomàs.
He rode down towards the house, and before he reached it the front door opened and a man stepped out.
It was Tomàs de la Vega, holding a rifle.
“Tomàs,” Decker said, “it’s been a year, but have I changed that much?”
Vega frowned, stared and then his face relaxed and he lowered his rifle.
But he did not smile.
“Decker.”
“You remember.”
“Of course. Step down.”
Decker dismounted.
“How long do you intend to stay?” Tomàs asked.
“A hot meal and a night’s sleep is what I am after, Tomàs.”
“You have it, then. Tend to your horse, and I will tend to dinner.”
Decker took his horse over to the corral, wondering why Tomàs and not his wife, Estralita, was cooking dinner.
He found out soon enough.
When he entered the house dinner was already on the table. Tortillas, rice and beans, bread, a pot of coffee and a bottle of tequila.
Decker looked around and saw that the house had fallen into a sad state. There were clothes everywhere, torn curtains on the window, and dust, layers of dust, which Estralita would never allow, unless…
“Estralita died eight months ago, amigo,” Tomàs said, sitting opposite Decker.
Looking closely at Tomàs now, Decker could see that the man was in as bad shape—or worse—than the house. There were dark circles under his eyes, he hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, his shirt dirty and he looked sixty rather than forty.
“I’m sorry, Tomàs. How did she die?”
“Three men came while I was away on business. They raped her and killed her.”
That jolted Decker. Estralita had not been a beautiful woman, but she had been vital and energetic, and it made you feel alive just to watch her move. She had not only died, she had been violated and murdered.
“Tomàs—”
“I hunted them,” Tomàs said with no emotion in his voice. “I found two of them, one after the other, and I tortured them, and killed them. I never found the third man. I came back here to…to live and to wait.”
If you could call this living, Decker thought. From what he could see his friend was simply surviving.
“Eat, there is plenty,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps tonight so much will not go to waste.”
Estralita always cooked more than enough, and it seemed that Tomàs had continued to do so in her absence.
“Tomàs, the ranch—”
“It is not a ranch anymore, my friend. No cattle, no horses. I stay here, that is all.”
“Tomàs, this is no way to live.”
“I wait for death, so I can go and join my beautiful Estralita.”
Decker put down his fork and said, “So why not just end it yourself. Put a gun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger.”
Tomàs stared at Decker across the table, and then suddenly huge tears fell from his eyes. The man sobbed and put his head down in his arms. Decker waited uncomfortably, eating slowly.
Finally, Tomàs picked up his head and wiped his eyes with his sleeves.
“That is the—the first time I cried for her, Decker,” he said, bitterly. “I could not before.”
“Before crying would not have shamed you. If you expect me to pity you because you cried in front of me, you are mistaken.”
“I want no pity”
“Then why did you wait for me to arrive before you cried? Eight months you’ve waited and when I arrive you cry. Why?”
“Perhaps you are right,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps I am looking for pity”
“Well, don’t look here.”
Once Tomàs de la Vega had been a hunter of men, a lawman and then a bounty hunter. Then he met Estralita Gomez and fell in love. They settled here, and whenever Decker came to Mexico he stopped in on them.
They finished eating in silence, Decker wishing he had never come, never seen his friend like this.
“What brings you to Mexico now?” Tomàs asked.
“I’m hunting.”
“Who?”
Decker told him, hoping that the questions indicated a possible change in Tomàs’s attitude. If he was curious, maybe he was starting to come around.
“I have not seen such a man. He must not have come this way.”
“Maybe he went by while you were drunk.”
“I am drunk at night. During the day I am awake, and I hear everyone who goes by. I am waiting…waiting for the third man.”
“You will grow old and die waiting.”
“So be it.”
After dinner they opened the bottle of tequila and drank directly from it, passing it back and forth.
“I will be leaving in the morning, Tomàs,” Decker said. “Come with me.”
“Why?”
“We can search better together than I can alone. I will be checking all the likely routes across the border. We can cover more ground together.”
Tomàs stared at the bottle of tequila and shook his head.
“I must stay here.”
“And rot?”
Tomàs shrugged.
When Decker went to sleep Tomàs was opening another bottle of tequila.
Amazingly, in the morning the man was awake and almost sober, even if he did look like death warmed over.
Once he was mounted Decker rode back to the house, where Tomàs stood in the doorway.
“Come with me, Tomàs.”
“Vaya con Dios, my friend”
Tomàs de la Vega backed into the house and closed the door.
Decker felt very sad, and cursed Red Moran for bringing him to Mexico to see this.
Chapter Three
Red Moran rode into the town of San Louisa wondering if this time he would stay.
He had just under twenty thousand dollars in his saddlebags. He hadn’t expected to find that much in the Pemberton Bank. He hadn’t gotten that much from any three prior jobs combined.
Perhaps this was enough money.
Perhaps this was the time to settle down.
And perhaps not.
He had found San Louisa after his third bank robbery and after the fourth had gone back there. After the fifth job he tried another town, didn’t like it, and went back to San Louisa again.
The people of the small town knew and respected him, because he always came with money.
The women of the little town made themselves available to him for the same reason.
Red Moran knew they liked his money, but he flattered himself that maybe—just maybe—they would like him almost as much without money as with it.
The first to see him was old Roberto, the liveryman.
“Ah, señor Red, welcome back to San Louisa.”
The old man’s eyes shone for he knew that with Red Moran came many American dollars.
“Hello, Roberto. It’s nice to be back.”
“You will be staying?”
“For a while.”
“Ah, good, good. I will take care of your horse.”
“Gracias, Roberto.”
Roberto watched hungrily as Moran reached into his pocket, came out with some coins and handed them to him. He closed his old hands over the gringo coins, enjoying their weight.
“Welcome back,” Roberto said, “welcome.”
“Thanks,” Moran said. He took his saddlebags and rifle and left the livery.
The old man walked the horse inside, then anxiously opened his hand to count the money.
At the hotel Moran received the same greeting.
The owner of the hotel, Luis Hernandez, came out of his office and warmly shook Moran’s hand.
“It has been much too long since your last visit, señor Red.”
“I agree, Luis.”
“Please, go to your room and rest yourself. I will have a bath drawn and a meal prepared.”
“I knew I could count on you, Luis.”
Hernandez watched eagerly as Moran put his hand in his pocket, came out with some coins and passed them over.