And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 4 – La Hermosa Carmenita

They rode almost silently; even the horse's hooves made little noise as they plodded across the desert sands. Almost exactly two miles north they went about fifteen feet past an abandoned adobe shack and turned west – then proceeded another ten feet to an old dried-up well. Bret pulled his horse to a stop.

"Somewhere down inside this well is a fortune," he explained. "According to Rafael, the gold is buried further down than any one man is willing to dig – that's why there are three of us here who can dig. And Doc – you're the most important part – you're the lookout. But we're going to have to do this at night, and find a way to make it look during the daylight like nothing's been touched. Which means the dirt we dig is gonna hafta be dumped," and here he turned and looked back at the abandoned house, "inside that. It's not gonna be easy, but it's gonna be worth it. We can get started tomorrow if everybody's on board. Bart?"

"Yep."

"Beau?"

"I'm in."

"Doc? You with us?"

Doc sighed. This was one time he was glad his rather frail physical condition would keep him from participating in the actual labor. "Sure – I haven't got anything better to do out here."

"Tomorrow night, then. Soon as the sun's down. Bart, I'm goin' into Santa Pietro for the supplies we'll need to get this done - you comin' along?"

Bart shook his head. "Take Beau. I'll stay back at camp with Doc."

Bret gave his brother a 'what is that for?' look but let it go. "Doc, anything you need? Besides another bottle?"

"No sir, another bottle would be just fine. Unless you could bring a young lady or two in your saddlebags."

Bret almost snorted. "Didn't you have enough of that in Dodge?"

"Son, there is never enough of that."

Bret shifted his gaze from Doc to Beau. "You ready?"

"Sure."

The Maverick cousins both spurred their horses forward and headed west, into the night. Bart turned to Doc, who was watching him with more than idle curiosity. "Why didn't you go with him?"

"And subject you to the rest of the night with Beau?"

Holliday chuckled. "Nothing wrong with your cousin that a good stiff drink wouldn't fix."

Bart gave that a lot more thought than it probably deserved. "I don't think one would be enough."

"What have you Mavericks got against drinking, anyway?"

"Nothing," Bart answered. "As long as it's somebody else doin' the drinking." He'd gotten down from his horse to take a closer look at the dusty, dry well. Digging it out would not be an easy or pleasant task. He turned his attention elsewhere. "Let's go back and take a gander at that." He pointed at the remains of the shelter – three walls and part of a roof. More than enough to disguise the mounds of dirt that would soon be filling it. Doc headed his horse in the direction of the shack, Bart simply kept a grip on the reins and walked his horse back to what had once been home to someone.

The structure wasn't entirely empty, the way it looked from a distance. An old carved wooden table stood on three legs in one corner; a lump of something at the other end of the structure attracted Bart's attention; he went down there and bent to pick up a dirty and bedraggled hand-made doll. One eye was gone and her sewn-on smile was lopsided and half missing, giving her an 'end-of-the-world' look. He wondered how long ago a child played with the toy as he set her down, carefully, against one of the still-standing walls. Bart looked at Doc with a wan smile and thought about his last dream of Caroline and their twins. Would Belle have played with a doll that he made for her? He was brought back to reality abruptly as he realized that Doc had asked him a question.

"I'm sorry, Doc, what was that?"

"Just wondered where you went. You sure weren't here with me."

"Yeah, it's a long story. Anything you want to see?"

"Nope. You've seen one crumbling adobe hut, you've seen 'em all." Doc reached for his flask and took a long drink. "You ready to go?"

"Sure." On some strange impulse Bart bent down and picked up the doll, putting her inside his saddlebags. Doc gave him a questioning look but said nothing. Whatever demons Bart Maverick had were his own, and Doc wasn't about to pry any further into his past than he already had.

They rode in silence back to the makeshift camp, Bart's mind on what-might-have-been and Doc's on his next drink. Bart took both horses and unsaddled them; by the time he got back to the rekindled fire it was beginning to get light. Doc had skinned the rabbits; Bart was surprised to find another unknown talent in his friend. "Learned when I was a kid," Doc volunteered by way of explanation to the curious gambler.

Bart just nodded and started a fresh pot of coffee. Once that was ready he and Doc settled in for sunrise, one drinking black coffee, the other drinking almost straight whiskey with a splash of black gold just for looks. Ultimately Bart broke the silence that hung over them. "Doc, you ever dream?"

"Do nightmares count?"

"No, I mean just plain old 'what if' dreams."

"Nope. What have I got to dream about anyway?"

Bart was silent for a minute, pondering the direction of his next question. "What would you do differently if you could?"

Doc looked at Bart through half closed eyes and asked a question of his own. "You been in my whiskey when I wasn't looking? No? You sure?"

"Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I was."

Holliday set his cup on the ground. "No, it wouldn't. Take my word for it." With one fluid motion he retrieved the cup and drained it. "One drunk in any group is enough."

Bart heard a sermon coming, something Doc did only on rare occasions. "Somethin's eatin' at you, my friend, and it has been for a while, and if you don't find a way to deal with it, you'll end up just like me, only with less of a reason for it. And I'd hate to see someone try to duplicate my success."

There was only one thing Bart could do, and that was laugh. Doc was right. It was time to quit brooding about the past and the things he couldn't change, and look at the future and the things he could. 'See, Bret,' he thought to himself, 'staying here with Doc was the right thing to do.' He spread the fire out and let the flames die, then used his bedroll as a pillow and pulled his hat down over his eyes. "You're right, Doc," he said just before going to sleep, "I have to find a different direction."

XXXXXXXX

Santa Pietro could be considered a hamlet; it was too small to be a town. It had a little general store and an even smaller cantina, along with a cárcel and two or three other nondescript small businesses. Bret gave his list of required equipment to the owner of the general store, who promptly invited the Americanos to enjoy a beverage at the cantina while he gathered the merchandise. Rarely did he have such a large order and he was more than happy to pay for a round of drinks to keep the buyers occupied. Bret and Beau wandered next door to the cantina and ordered coffee. Carmenita served them with her brightest smile and a flirtatious shake of her long black curls.

The gringos were clean and polite, and devastatingly handsome. Both of them. The taller one was dark haired and dark eyed; there was something deep to his soul, she could feel it. The other one had a funny way of speaking and was both lighter in coloring and disposition; he laughed easily and smiled often. She was in love instantly and would have been hard pressed to choose between the two. They talked quietly and something in their manner told her they were related. Too much difference to be full brothers – maybe different mothers, half-brothers or cousins, but comfortable in each other's company.

She heard names – the lighter one was Beau, the darker one Bret. They drank coffee the way the locals drank tequila or mescal – like it was necessary for survival. She caught a third name that came up often in their conversation – Bart, and it sounded like another relative. 'Oooh, how delicious,' she thought, could he possibly be as exquisite as the two sitting at her table were? Once again she came by with the coffee pot; the one called Bret finally smiled at her as he said "Si, Señorita," and it was like someone lit up the darkness.

'Madre de Dios!' was the first thing that crossed her mind. Such a smile. She had to know more than what little she'd been able to overhear. "¿Son ustedes de Nuevo Laredo?"

He smiled at her again and answered her question. "No, Señorita, Texas."

She turned to the other man and waited for his answer to the same question. "Si, Señorita, Texas."

Carmenita sighed. Of course they weren't from Nuevo Laredo. Nobody that looked like that, with those manners, would be from anywhere close to here. Esteban, the owner of the small general store, appeared in the doorway and signaled to the two strangers. He was done with their order. That meant they were leaving, and she was broken-hearted. The dark haired one left money on the table; she picked it up and ran after them. "No,Señor, is paid for by Esteban," she tried to explain to him.

He curled her fingers around the money. "For you, Señorita. Por favor mantenga."

Bret had just made the friend that would prove integral in saving all their lives and their freedom.

Cárcel - Jail

¿Son ustedes de Nuevo Laredo? – Are you from Nuevo Laredo?

Por favor mantenga – Please keep

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