Elmore Leonard - The Bounty Hunters

St. Francis would have pleaded for the life of the Apache boy. I know that, Hilario Esteban thought. But what can be done with a man like Lamas Duro, who is in such agony with his fate that he directs his anger to those beneath him?

In the beginning, Hilario had prayed for Duro's soul. He had felt honest sorrow for him. Now his prayers were less frequent. It was easy to despise Duro, but hard not to be afraid of him. Still, he opposed Duro because his conscience directed him to. A man cannot disobey his conscience. Perhaps when Anastacio returns things will be better. It is very lonely here without Nita, he thought.

Across the narrow street, on the wall that joined Anastacio's house, a faded poster advertised a bullfight in Hermosillo. Anastacio loved the Corrida, and had posted the sheet there more than a month ago. On their way to Willcox for a reunion, he had planned to stop in Hermosillo and take the entire family to the Corrida.

From the window, Hilario read the poster again. How many times have I read that? he thought. I can see it in my mind clearly. Even that which I cannot read now. The lower part is torn, but it said at one time: Sombra-3 pesos…Sol-1 peso. Boletos de venta en todas partes.

He wondered then if Anastacio had taken enough money. How much…three pesos times eighteen…so that the family could reach the Corrida from the shade. He went into the rear room then to lie down. There was nothing more to see on the street.

One of the rurales awakened at the sound of the horses, but the other remained asleep, propped against the door. He opened his eyes to see the two Americans astride the horses, looking down at him and he nudged his companion awake as he heard one of the Americans ask, "This is the house of the alcalde, isn't it?"

The rurale nodded, but did not rise.

Flynn swung down then and approached the door. "What are you, the guard of honor?"

The rurale grinned at his companion and then toward Flynn. "More the guard of dishonor," he said.

"Where is the alcalde?"

"Within."

"Would you move, so I can knock on the door?"

"No one enters," the rurale said, rising. He held his rifle diagonally across his chest. His companion rose then. "Nor does the alcalde leave."

Flynn felt a sudden anger, but he waited until it passed. "Why?" he said.

"Because the teniente orders it!" the rurale said angrily.

"What did the alcalde do?"

The rurale smiled lazily at Flynn. "You ask many questions." He glanced at his companion who moved up next to him. "He asks many questions, doesn't he?" Then to Flynn he said, "Are you another of the great hunters of Apaches? Soyopa is honored." He bowed mockingly. His companion grinned, but he moved uneasily.

Flynn studied the two rurales. Crossed bandoleers over the gray uniforms that were worn slovenly. Shirts open at the throat and wide-brimmed sombreros off their foreheads. The one stood with his hip cocked and fingered his rifle eagerly. The other was not so sure of himself; it was apparent.

"I'm going to ask you one more question," Flynn said. He unbuttoned his coat and opened it enough to show the butt of his pistol. "Are you going to get out of the way?"

For a moment the rurale only stared. Then his elbow touched his companion's arm. "Perhaps this is something for the teniente. Bring him!" He glanced after his companion as he moved off hurriedly, then back to Flynn. "Man," he said, "your pistol is not as large as you think it is."

Hilario Esteban saw the rurale pass the window, beginning to run. He looked out now, frowning, as he heard someone speak, then his entire face wrinkled into a smile.

"Senor Flin!"

The rurale was startled. He brought the rifle around abruptly. Flynn's head turned, but there was another movement close to his chest. And abruptly the rurale's eyes widened and his face muscles went slack. First he felt the barrel press into his side, then the click of the hammer.

Close to his ear, Flynn said, "You're all through, soldier. Drop the rifle and go sit down."

Hilario disappeared from the window, but the door opened almost immediately and he was standing before them. "David!" His face beaming. "What a day this is! When did you arrive?" He saw the pistol then and the smile left his face.

"It's all right, Hilario," Flynn said. "He didn't know we were friends." He glanced at Bowers, who was holding their horses. "Hilario Esteban, this is Lieutenant Bowers."

Bowers said something in a low voice and he looked at Hilario embarrassedly.

Flynn looked at Bowers curiously. Then it came to him. You forgot! he thought. How in hell could you forget! As they rode in he had been ready. Preparing himself all morning as he listened to the creaking of the wagon wheels. Now he felt suddenly self-conscious, as if Hilario was already reading it in his face.

He heard Bowers say quietly, "Why don't you two go inside and talk things over."

Flynn wanted to tell him now, quickly, with Bowers there, but the presence of the rurale bothered him oddly. "Maybe we'd better," he said.

Hilario stepped back to let Flynn enter first, his gaze following the scout with a frowning, puzzled expression. Bowers had not moved his position, but now he lifted his pistol and turned it on the rurale as the two men passed into the room.

Once, Flynn rode into Fort Thomas with four men straggling behind him. Four returning out of twelve…and one of the eight dead was the patrol officer; so Flynn made the report. "Major"-it had not been Deneen then-"there are eight men back there in a draw, being hacked to pieces right now, because a wet-nosed lieutenant wanted to see how fast he could make a brevet." He told it bluntly because he was angry. The major knew he was sorry-sorry for the men, and sorry because the lieutenant wasn't there to learn a lesson. And after that, young officers fresh from the Point listened to him before entering quiet, peaceful-appearing draws. The major saw to that.

Another time he listened to an officer tell a woman that her husband did not return with the patrol. He listened to the man hesitate and falter and say "I'm sorry…" more than a dozen times. But none of the I'm-sorrys did any good. The woman went on crying with her shoulders quivering and her mouth twisted pathetically. The two children in the next room cried because they had never heard their mother do this before.

Another time. Another soldier's wife. She waited until they left before breaking down. While he and the major were there, she cried only within, but only a little, because she was still telling herself that it could not be true.

Flynn started at the beginning, telling Hilario about missing the family in Contention. He told him everything, each detail, speaking the words quietly without hesitating. And he watched Hilario's face change-from a smile at first to a dumb stare, an expression that meant nothing. He listed those they had brought back in the wagon, painfully aware of what his words were doing to the old man; but there was no other way. He told him that it had been Apaches-because there was no sense in going into the other now-and there was a chance Nita was still alive. He didn't say maybe it would be better if she were dead. And finally, when he had finished, he said the inevitable, "I'm sorry"-for what it was worth. He thought it might be easier to tell a man, but it was the same.

Hilario did not cry. He sat staring with nothing in his eyes, telling himself that it was not true. Picturing them alive, because he didn't know how to picture them dead.

Flynn stood near the window, waiting for the old man to speak. He wanted to say again that he was sorry and he tried to think of other ways to say it; but all the words were without substance, and probably the old man would not even hear them. He looked across to the poster which advertised the bullfight in Hermosillo.