The Bandit & Others by Loren D. Estleman

Author:Loren D. Estleman [Estleman, Loren D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, westerns
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2014-06-06T04:00:00+00:00

A handful of lights were still burning in Santa Sofia as I rode ploddingly down its only street, leading the second horse with its burden slung across the saddle. As I neared the sheriff’s home, a fresh yellow glow spread from one of the windows. The lawmen emerged carrying a shotgun and struggling to tug his suspenders up over his red-flanneled shoulders. “Señor Deputy!” he called. I kept going.

Another figure came trotting out the door of the cantina. This proved to be Walsh. “Murdock, what is it?” He took hold of my bridle. “What are you doing back? You just left this morning.”

A crowd was gathering. A lantern was produced and the dead man on the other horse was examined. “It is Brother Dale!” someone exclaimed. There was an ominous rumbling.

“You killed him!” Walsh looked horrified.

“He pulled a gun,” I said. “Ten miles north of here. He got off a shot. So did I. I didn’t miss.”

“He has been shot in the back!” said the sheriff.

“His horse panicked. He was turning to rein it back around when I plugged him.” I had to shout to be heard above the furious babble of voices.

The Pinkerton was livid. “You’re not only a murderer, but a liar as well! Where would he get a gun?”

“I wondered about that too. I think Vargas passed it to him last night just before I jumped him. You saw Sykes’s sleight-of-hand trick with the coins. He could have plucked it out of the sombrero just as easily without us seeing him and hidden it out until it would do him the most good.”

“Hogwash! You hated him and took advantage of the first opportunity to kill him. You’ll hang for this, Murdock, badge or no badge!”

“Then why did I come back?” While he was puzzling that one out I drew my revolver. “Let go of that bridle.”

He obeyed. “Where are you going?” “To the mission.”

The whole town had turned out by the time I reached the chapel, shouting “Asesino!” and brandishing machetes and pitchforks. The padre and the two Yaquis were standing in the front. I had to back inside, rotating the gun right and left. I don’t remember if I had cleared the threshold before I collapsed.

Later, Father Mendoza told me he’d taken twenty-seven stitches in the gash Brother Dale’s bullet had carved along the right side of my rib cage.

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