"Oh yeah, I owe you boys big time!" Wilmington vowed.

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Purgatorio, Mexico

The town was alive with outlaws, murderers, and cutthroats who didn't give a damn who they robbed or where their next victim was from. Many a weary traveler had wound up in an unmarked grave because they'd wandered into the town unaware of the danger that lurked there. Dust billowed up as a hot wind swept through the streets. A mangy dog cowered under an open step after being kicked by a man who'd happened upon him.

Several buildings were in need of repair, but the owners knew it would be a waste of time and money because the gangs would simply destroy it before the paint had time to dry. There were no families living in Purgatorio because it was simply a stopping off place for Mexican bandits or murderous thieves who thought to escape into Mexico should the law come looking for them. Many a marshal had been shot dead before he'd announced who he'd come for.

The sickly odor of stale whiskey, spilled beer, urine, and vomit added to the towns unsavory elements. The lone restaurant was stained with grease, the floor covered in dirt and bloodstains from numerous gunfights. Several Mexican bandits sat near the back laughing and teasing two of the town whores while they waited for their leader's return.

Hernando Lopez knew what he wanted and took it. He was fast with a gun and had earned a reputation that made others fear his name. Today, he was searching for news of a man who had once frequented Purgatorio. He had beaten the whore, but not so severely that she could not speak. Her beautiful face remained unmarked, except for lips swollen from the brutal kisses.

"Now, Amora, you are still beautiful, but I will scar that pretty face if you do not tell me about this man."

"I…I do not know who you speak of." Tears rolled down her cheeks when she lowered her head, but Lopez grabbed her chin and squeezed viciously while staring into her dark eyes.

"You lie, Amora, and I do not like people who lie to me. Perhaps you need a little more persuasion." Hernando reached for the sleek knife he kept in a sheath strapped to his leg and pressed it against her right breast. "Now, it would be a shame for me to have to mark you so. After all a whore needs her breasts…needs to be pretty for a man to use her. Now who is this blond gringo that pays to use you?"

"I don't…" Maria cried out when the tip of the blade penetrated her flesh. She gasped when the fetid stench of his breath reached her nostrils and shivered when his free hand stole down between her legs.

"Now, Chiquita, I will ask this once more. Who is the blond gringo who wears nothing but black and is said to be as fast as I am with a gun?"

"Please, God, forgive me," she whispered and looked her tormentor in the face. Chris Larabee had shown her nothing but kindness during his occasional visits and she was about to betray him. For that she would never forgive herself, but there was no choice for her now as the damning words escaped her mouth. "His name is Chris Larabee."

"Chris Larabee," Lopez said with an evil lilt in his voice. "If you see this man before I return, tell him I am looking for him. I will prove to him who is the fastest with a gun."

Maria felt tears in her eyes when he violently took her and wished she had been stronger while hot tears of shame ran down her cheeks. She felt him leave her body and opened her eyes to look at the dark Mexican.

"You are a good whore, Amora, perhaps I shall sample you again after I cut Chris Larabee's heart from his body and return with it to my patron." Hernando Lopez tossed a coin onto the bed and fixed his clothes before leaving the sobbing woman alone. He strode out of her room and hurried across the dust filled street and into the restaurant to find his men waiting for him.

"Did you find out who he is?" Rodrigo Marquiz asked his friend.

"Si," Lopez answered with a grin. "His name is Chris Larabee."

"He is very fast. I heard that he beat Alonzo Valadas without blinking an eye," Marquiz explained.

"Didn't Alonzo work for Don Paulo?" Juan Vargas asked.

"Si, but he was not as fast as me. I will not be…"

"Hernando, our patron wants Larabee brought to him alive," Marquiz observed.

"Si, he was very insistent that if we found out who killed his son we were to bring him to the hacienda and our reward would be great," Vargas agreed.

"Perhaps if I told Don Garcia there was no choice he will still reward us for killing the gringo who murdered his son," Lopez said with a sly grin.

"The last man who thought that is buried to his head in an ant hill," Marquiz reminded them.

"Si, I remember," Hernando said and rubbed at his balls. "Don Garcia had his balls cut so the fire ants could…"

"Don't remind me," Vargas said, shuddering at the thought of Pedro's fate.

"Guess I'll just have to find another way to prove I am faster than the gringo," Lopez said and reached for the bottle in the center of the table. They were celebrating the success of the last raid and Lopez fingered the braid he'd cut from the woman's head before slitting her throat and leaving her in the hot sun. They were about to set out on several more raids before returning to the De Rivera hacienda with their bounty and the news that they had discovered the identity of Alonzo De Rivera's murderer. Throwing the empty bottle across the room the band of Mexican thieves and cutthroats cheered before hurrying outside and mounting their horses. Today was a day they would rejoice in and would see them return home with the honor they deserved.

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Small Homestead North of Purgatorio

New Mexico Territory

Scott and Shannon Doherty had left Ireland in hopes of starting a new life in America. With the deed to a small piece of land they built a home with their own sweat and vigorous labor. The house was a simple one-room dwelling made of wood and built near a small creek that often dried up, but the young couple persevered. The small vegetable patch was alive with the first crop and Scott smiled when his wife walked toward him. The fiery red head was the love of his life from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. She'd taken his breath away with just a smile and he'd proposed on the spot. Her folks had agreed to their marriage, but only after a courtship that led to him meeting her rather large family. Her brothers, uncles, and cousins had given him a passing grade and their wedding took place exactly a month after their first meeting. The move to America had been met with a mixture of joy and sadness, but he'd promised her family he'd look after her and anyone who wanted to join them would be welcome in their home.

The heat was hard on them both, but they'd grown used to it now and with the strength of love and hope they worked together to bring about their dreams, unaware that fate was about to betray them and their dreams would soon be shattered. Scott wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and lifted her high in the air much to Shannon's delight and she giggled like a schoolgirl when he placed her back on the ground. She frowned and turned toward the south when her husband scowled.

"What's wrong, Scott?"

"Looks like we got company, Honey. Go back inside and get my gun," Doherty warned and saw the fear in her eyes. The cloud of dust seemed like a warning and one he heeded as he turned and followed his wife toward the house. He didn't consider himself a coward, but there was no way he could face the large group by himself. He made it to the front porch before the sound of a gunshot reached his ear and the sharp pain exploded in his shoulder. The force of the impact pushed him through the open door and he landed hard against the sofa.

"Scott!" Shannon screamed, but finished loading the weapon even as she kicked the door closed.

"Senor, it would be wise for you to come out here now," Hernando Lopez said, his fingers twisting the ends of his mustache.

"Maybe they do not wish to have company, Hernando," Vargas suggested and smiled when his leader dismounted and strode toward the house.

"Americans love to have callers, Juan," Lopez said. "Isn't that right, Senor?"

Scott made it to his feet and staggered to the window. It was open to let the slight breeze into the house, but today it would offer a way to defend his home and protect his wife. He reached for the rifle and knew Shannon was quickly loading his pistol.

"Get off my land!"

"Your land? No, Senor, this is not your land. It is part of Mexico and no gringo deserves to live here," Lopez said.

"I have the deed…"

"Deed? What is that, but a piece of worthless paper given by a cowardly man who hides somewhere in the north? He does not have the balls to show his face where it doesn't belong."

"I'm only gonna say this once, Mister," Scott warned and tried to ignore the fiery pain in his shoulder. "Get off my land or I'll blow your fucking head off!"

"Scott, there's someone out back!" Shannon screamed and lifted the pistol. She aimed the weapon and fired, surprised when her bullet hit its mark and a bandit dropped to the ground, writhing in the dirt before growing still.

"Hernando, Juan is dead! The woman shot him!" Marquis spat angrily from the corner of the house. The other eight men had taken cover as soon as the first shot rang out.

"Your bitch has killed one of my men and for that she will pay," Lopez warned and nodded to several of his gang to set the house ablaze.

"You come near her and I'll…" Doherty ducked back when a bullet struck the frame of the window.

"Don't be stupid, Senor. There are nine of us and only two of you. How many guns do you have; one, maybe two at the most, and how many bullets? You are at a disadvantage, Senor. Send your woman out and we will spare you."

"Fuck you!" Scott said and fired the weapon at a man who tried to make a run at the house.

"Oh God!"

"Shannon, what's…" Scott stopped when he too smelled smoke and felt the desperate need to protect his wife.

"The house is on fire!" Shannon snapped.

"Is it getting hot in there, Senor?" Lopez asked and motioned with his gun for the others to make their way around the house as the roof lit up with flames. "My offer still stands, Senor. Send the woman out and you can go free!"

"Go to hell!" Scott spat and took the pistol from his wife. He chanced a look through the window and spotted a man racing toward the door. He fired and was rewarded when the bandit grabbed his shoulder and ducked behind the water trough.

"That's two of my men you have murdered and I am not a man to live and let live! You will pay for that!"

"Shannon!" Scott shouted when a man dove through the open window near his wife. He turned to fire, but was too late as the butt of a rifle connected with his head and he dropped to the floor. The Mexicans swarmed in through the open door and Scott fought with everything he had left as Shannon was pulled from the burning house. His rifle was kicked out of his reach, but he continued to struggle until a blow to his gut cut off his air and the world around him faded in and out.

Lopez grinned when the gringo was hauled to his feet in front of him. The man was bleeding from a cut above his right eye and blood stained the white shirt he'd been wearing when they arrived. "You are a very stupid man!"

"Fuckin' bastards!" Scott cursed and felt his hopes and dreams dying around him. The bandits had set fire to the crops in the field at the same time they fired up the house.

"You have such a pretty woman, but not for long," Lopez said, moving back and allowing his prisoner to see his wife. The men had removed her clothing and she knelt on the ground trembling in fear.

"Please, let her go!" Scott begged, but one look at the leader of the bandits told him that was not an option. "Shannon…"

"Scott…help me…" Shannon said when Lopez pulled her to her feet.

"I'm afraid your husband is not the man you thought he was, fair lady, but I will prove that I am even better."

Scott fought with his captors when the dirty Mexican dragged his wife out of sight. He heard her scream and knew in his heart he could not help her. He kicked, gouged, and bit, but there were too many of them. He was pulled toward two trees and his arms were quickly tied to the branches. His shirt was ripped from his body and he panted against the pain slicing through his shoulder. When the men moved out of the way he caught sight of Hernando Lopez as the man wiped his mouth and fastened his pants. Tears streamed from his eyes as another man took the bandit's place. Shannon whimpered when he took her, but there was no other sign of life in her body.

"She was very good, Senor!" Lopez said and reached for the whip hanging on his horse's saddle.

"I will kill you!" Doherty warned.

"No, I don't think you'll live that long," the Mexican said and brought the whip forward in a tight arch that burned a fiery trail down his victims back. Again and again he struck out and continued to talk about what they were doing to Shannon Doherty until the fire left the Irishmen's eyes.

By the time the Mexicans were through, Scott and Shannon Doherty were as dead as their dreams and the fire had destroyed the evidence of their existence. Lopez cut the thick long red braid from the dead woman's body and mounted his horse. With one last look around he turned and headed back toward Mexico before the evidence of his brutality was discovered.

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De Rivera Hacienda

Northern Mexico

Evita watched the man tending the fragile woman lying quietly on the bed. In the three days since his arrival it seemed Maria De Rivera was growing worse and yet she could not question his efforts. Don Garcia had told her she was to do whatever Miguel Delgado ordered. So far she had seen the man do very little. He gave her several herbs too steep in hot water, but there were times when the aroma was enough to make her stomach churn.

"Evita, did you hear what I said?"

"I am sorry, Doctor, I did not. What do you wish me to do?"

"Have you been giving her the herbs like I explained?"

"Si, but she does not take them very well," Evita explained and gently eased a cloth over the pale woman's face. How many times had she done this? How many more days would this poor woman suffer? Her pregnancy was not the problem, but it was adding to whatever caused her misery. This man cared nothing about her welfare and neither did Don Garcia. To him, Maria was simply a vessel to carry his heir, a son to do his bidding. Her thoughts turned to her own son. Luis Martinez was so much like his father and yet the man did not acknowledge the blood tie they had.

"If you are not going to do as I say I will have Don Garcia replace you!"

"No, please, I will make sure she drinks and eats," the woman pleaded.

"See that you do! I need to prepare several herbs for her and will return," Delgado told her and hurried out of the room.

Evita looked into the pale angel she cared for as the eyes opened to reveal a debt of gratitude. She had been with Maria from the very first day she'd come to the Hacienda. She'd often heard the Patron when he violently took his young wife and knew there was no love between them. Maria deserved better, and when she became pregnant it seemed like Don Garcia had finally realized his dream.

"E…Evita," the young woman whispered softly.

"I am here," Evita assured her and placed a wet cloth on her forehead.

"My baby? Is he…am I?"

"Your baby is fine…he will be born strong and make his mother proud," Evita told her.

"You will look after…after h…him?"

"I will help you," Evita smiled and felt the tears in her eyes as Maria grabbed her hand.

"I do not believe I will see my son grow up, Evita, but I w…will go to m…my g…grave with p…peace in m…my h…heart as l…long as I k…know he has s…someone w…who lo…loves him. Please, Evita, promise me…p…promise me y…you will n…not l…let Don Garcia m…make him in…into a…a…"

Evita felt the woman's hand go slack in her own and eased it down on the bed. There was no resentment that this woman wanted her to care for her unborn child. She had long since grown used to her lot in life and her son had grown into a strong man who made her proud. Luis worked the lands that should have been his birthright with no sign that he coveted what would never be his.

Evita walked toward the open doors that led onto the veranda and gave a sweeping view of the back of the property. Her heart was in her throat when she spotted the gathering of field workers at the center of the 'slaves' enclosure. She could see the young man hanging from the posts and knew when this was over he would bear the marks that so many others received. Don Garcia stood in his customary spot, a raised platform that stood in the shade of a magnolia tree. She could not help the mestizo and turned away with tears escaping from her eyes.

TBC