When they arrived downstairs, an older man in a suit was waiting for them. He had a scowl on his face and looked like an angry bulldog.
He reminded Chavez of the judge who has condemned him to hang, after he had been hunted down like a dog just after the Lincoln County War. He decided then that he didn't like this man.
One thing I can tell you about Chavez, is that he could tell a good man from a bad one, just by the way he talked. But this man, hell, he didn't to utter a word for Chavez to figure out that he was dealing with one nasty son of a bitch.
Chavez looked at the man flatly as he leaned on Ms. McCormick's small frame.
"I'm gonna guess that you're Mr. Moody?"
The old man's scowl deepened as he barked "No! Hurry up and get him to Mr. Moody, girl! The man's waiting!"
The old man watched as Ms. McCormick did her best to get Chavez down the hall as quickly as possible. Chavez tried not to grunt as they moved along. His ribs were hurting now and he was deeply irritated at the way the old man had spoken to him and the woman who was helping him down the hall.
Chavez's angry thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of a large wooden door, which, now that he was looking, apparently lead into a small but well-furnished and decorated library.
The walls were covered in patterned red silk and the shelves and chairs were made of some dark wood. Also, in the corner of the room, sat a figure in a chair with its back turned and its head bending close to the surface of a carved mahogany desk. Above the figure hung the portrait of older man, with neatly combed hair and a hard look on his face.
The figure turned around to face them as they entered the room. He turned out to look much like the man in the painting. Only much younger and with a less shrinking look in his eyes.
The man flatly gave a forced smile and greeted them.
"Ah. I see you've meet Jean. And I'm sure you've been acquainted with Mr. Anthony," he said as Ms. McCormick helped Chavez into a chair.
"Anthony?"
"The man we meet out in the hallway," she whispered.
"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my butler. He's a bit bitter sometimes towards strangers and well... people in general."
Chavez looked at the man with a cocked eyebrow.
"And you would be..."
The man's fake smile broadened. "Why, I'm W.L. Moody of course. And I welcome you to my home my dear sir."
"It's Chavez, and in speaking of that, why am I here?"
With that, Mr. Moody stood up and started pacing around the room as he spoke.
"Ms. McCormick, who you've already meet, she's my children's nanny you see. She found you on the beach being beaten by a group of men. Those men just so happen to be... acquaintances of mine. Very dangerous they are. But useful. You could be useful yourself."
Chavez let out a soft chuckle as the man continued to speak.
"You see I am a powerful man Mr. Chavez. And powerful men do have friends..."
He sat back down and looked him in the eye.
"... but they have enemies as well."
Chavez straightened himself up in his seat.
"A few months ago, a neighboring cattleman appeared at my doorstep. This man's name is Howard Griffin. And he raises 15% of the cattle butchered here in the state of Texas every year."
Texas. Chavez couldn't believe it. Somehow he had ended up on the Gulf of Mexico in Texas. The first thing that came to Chavez's mind was the spirit world. He must have accidentally traveled from New Mexico to Texas through the spirit world.
"Making him quite the adversary," Mr. Moody continued.
"When he arrived on my porch he accused me of stealing 87 new born calves from his ranch. At the time he had two ranch hands with him. Seeing that I raise champion horses, not cows, I'm sure you could have easily understood why I found it so funny that he would accuse me of stealing cows. But, the point is, Mr. Griffin didn't find the matter so tickling. Before I could even catch my breath from laughing so hard one of his ranch hands dismounted and shot my dog. He then proceeded to shoot at me. I of course ran for cover and heard Griffin threaten to come back and really hurt someone if I didn't return his cattle. But of course I have no cattle to return. The man simply won't listen to reason. Just last month his men shot and killed one of my own farm hands. The rest simply left. They were terrified that if they did stay that they would suffer the same fate."
"And..."
"And I was impressed by you Mr. Chavez. Impressed that you were not killed by the first kick. Like I said those men are dangerous. Any normal Mexican wouldn't..."
"Mexican-Indian," Chavez interrupted.
Mr. Moody sighed.
"Any normal... Mexican-Indian... wouldn't have lasted as long as you did. Probably not at all. Nearly all of my men are gone now and I need someone of your durability to protect my horses and my family."
Chavez lightly chuckled at the word 'durability.'
"I am willing to supply you with room, board, weapons, a horse, and a monthly salary of $42, in exchange for your services."
Chavez looked at him sarcastically and asked "And these services would include...?"
"You would join my last few farm hands and assist them in herding the horses into the pastures to graze every morning. You would then accompany Ms. McCormick and my children on any activities and excursions as a body guard. Any sign of trouble from Griffin and his men and you will be expected to hold your ground. If needed you will of course receive medical attention."
Chavez could hardly hold in his laugh. Partly because he saw Ms. McCormick roll her eyes as Moody spoke, and partly because this man had no idea who he really was and what he had done. Much less the fact that he had ridden with Billy the Kid.
He was about to turn down the man's offer, when he felt an all too familiar pang in his gut.
Chavez realized that he probably hadn't eaten in the past 72 hours. He also remembered that he had no money and no longer had any weapons. Not to mention that the men who attacked him had probably taken his horse.
While Chavez sat, thinking about what to do, Mr. Moody sat back in his chair and waited patiently.
He ended up accepting his offer, which made the man smile widely. This time for real.
Mr. Moody ordered Ms. McCormick to help Chavez back up to his room and to make sure that he was feed well and given a hot bath. As Chavez and Ms. McCormick slowly exited the library, Mr. Moody called in Anthony and told him to prepare a room for Chavez on the ground floor of the house. With his back turned, Chavez heard the butler leave the library and could feel his angry gaze burning on his neck as the old man watched them slowly move down the hall.
Chavez couldn't help but crack a crooked smile.