Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

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.”

“So, you think I should throw the badge away.”

The man shrugged eloquently. “The man on the other side of this line we talk of, like Pagan Reeves… has no decisions to make about right or wrong. He knows exactly where he is. And he knows where you are, and won’t hesitate or be bothered with doubts. That gives him the advantage, because you’ll always have to wait that extra second until you know. Until you are sure. The other man doesn’t care if he is right or not.” He reached over and tapped the butt of Trent’s pistol. “When that time comes, you will have to be very fast, my friend, and very, very good.”

“Which side of this line are you on, Chico?”

He thought a moment. “For each man, and each circumstance, I must draw the line.” As Trent raised his eyebrows, Cruz continued. “You wonder about this. We cannot be brave at all times. We cannot even be right all the time. To survive, we must deal with each situation by itself. My job is to protect the Señora Sanchez, and preserve her rancho. This I will do.”

“Then if I yell for help… none will come.”

“I heard about the fight at Caplinger Mills. There were six men? I don’t think you will need much help.”

“Maybe.” He smiled ruefully at the man. “And maybe I bit off more than I can chew.”

The Watcher sat in the shade of an old incense cedar that was twisted and gnarled with age. The shady blanket of needles kept the setting sun from reflecting on the glass of his binoculars.

The women below him, brought into sharp relief by the ten-power lens, were beautiful, full breasted, full of life and vigor. But no, he would have to look somewhere else. These women are worthy, but too well guarded. The pistolero would guard the Mexican girl, and guard her well. The blond-haired woman was with Trent and the Watcher did not want to antagonize Trent. At least, not yet. His eyes went back to the blond woman. He watched her walk across to the corral below and felt the heat stirring within him. She was beautiful. He knew she would be soft in places she needed to be. Would her nipples be large and soft, or small and hard? Her skin would be tight, and part like… he forced his eyes from her. Maybe later. It would be fun… later.