Chapter 47
El Paso Texas
The young cowboy rode slowly down the deserted streets of El Paso. The sun was high in the sky and the heat was unbearable. The sweat ran like a river down his back soaking through his filthy shirt as he looked to his left and then his right. It had been a long day. He just finished riding through the west Texas desert for the past three hours and he was eager to water his horse and give him some grain. He was anxious go to the saloon and wash the Texas dust out of his mouth and see if ol’ Juanita brought in any new whores from Mexico.
He found a hitching post that was in the shade in front of the Cantina del Rio. Two other horses were tied there. He pushed them to the side as he wrapped his reins around the post while his horse dropped his head to greedily drink some water. He loosened the girth on the saddle so his horse could expand his belly. He bent over and cupped some water and threw it on his face, noticing his image in the water trough. His leather vest and shirt were soaked with sweat and caked with dirt from his week long ride through Texas. He could smell himself and he didn’t like what he smelled. His dull gray eyes were sunken in his face with dark circles showing his fatigue. His week old growth of whiskers was sparse, belying his youth, which bothered him because some didn’t take him seriously. That was their mistake. Dust from the trail covered his face giving him a pallid look and his lips were cracked and dry from the desert sun. He noticed that the dust on the crown of his hat had turned to mud from his sweat when he heard a strange noise behind him, like someone was dragging something along the ground.
“Wonder what that could be,” he thought, when he heard a voice ask him:
“You just come in from the Wyoming Territory?”
“Depends, who wants to know?” the young cowboy answered without turning around. The voice was Mexican, which was not unusual in El Paso.
“I’m looking for a wrangler coming from Wyoming”, the stranger said in a steady voice.
The young cowboy straightened up, placing his hands in the small of his back to massage the stiffness out, he slowly turned around.
The young cowboy could make out a dark silhouette standing in front of him. The stranger was standing with the sun at his back, making it difficult to see his features; he had his hat pulled down low covering the top part of his face and part of a deep scar that ran down his left cheek. It looked like a young face from what the young cowboy could make out, probably younger than he was. The stranger had dark skin, definitely Mexican.
The young cowboy saw a trail in the dust behind the stranger that lead from the far side of the street. He now knew what the odd noise was that he heard before. It was the stranger dragging his useless leg.
A cripple, he chuckled.
The stranger was smaller than the cowboy and wore a white duster that reached down to his scuffed and well worn boots. He noticed that his left hand was inside the duster, probably holding a gun. He knew he could draw down on this Mexican and drop him in his tracks before he could get off a shot. He also wondered what in the hell this stranger wanted and what it had to do with him.
The stranger held his eyes steady on the young cowboy’s as he asked again.
“You just come in from the Wyoming Territory?”
“I heard you the first time and I said, who wants to know?” the young cowboy replied.
“I’m looking for a wrangler who drove cattle out of the Circle L Ranch outside Bosler, the stranger said. It’s been a long time since I saw him.”
“I might have, but I sure as hell don’t know you”. The young cowboy spit out the tobacco he was chewing and it landed between the stranger’s legs.
The stranger didn’t move, keeping a steady gaze on the young cowboy he said, “You know a Major Frank Walcott?
The stranger saw the surprised look come over the young cowboy’s face as he slowly nodded his head.
“Are you known as the Texas Kid?”
“You bet your sweet ass I’m the Texas Kid,” he replied.
The stranger pushed back the brim of his hat with his right hand revealing the rest of the scar and the hole where his left eye used to be.
“I made a promise to the Major I would find you.”
“Well, ya found me Beaner and you’re going to regret ya did.”
The young cowboy was lightening fast as he slapped leather bringing out both of his .45 Colt pistols at the same time. But he wasn’t fast enough. The stranger was holding a cocked and loaded shotgun under his white duster and the blast from both barrels knocked the young cowboy off his feet and he landed spread eagle on the steps of the Cantina del Rio, leaving a hole the size of a prairie dog in his chest where his black heart used to be.
The blast from the shotgun scattered the horses and brought people out on the street to see what happened. When they saw the body lying on the steps, they quickly retreated back indoors out of the afternoon heat.
The stranger limped over to the young cowboy’s motionless body. The morning light showed the terrible witness of death in his lifeless and glassy eyes as a pool of blood poured from the gaping wound. The stranger broke down the barrel of his shotgun, ejecting the shells on the blood soaked ground.
Looking down, he spit in the Texas Kid’s dusty and dirt caked face and turned around and grabbed the reins of the horse that the Texas Kid rode into town. Leading him, he limped across the street, dragging his useless leg behind him.
“Come on, the Major will be glad to have you back Bandit,” he said as he tied the horse up in front of the hotel.
The beautiful young Mexican girl came over and put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Come Rosita,” Enrico said, and they walked into the El Paso Hotel closing the door behind them.