Ojinaga
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Kid Curry rode slowly down the dry, dusty street of Ojinaga, Mexico, a border town along the southwest edge of Texas. He was road sore, hungry, and in need of a bath and a long night of sleep. He'd been traveling alone for four days, south through Arizona and into Mexico, then east toward the Texas border town of Ojinaga where he was to deliver a certified check from Big Mac McCreedy to a Senor Hector Hernandez, a wealthy Brama Bull breeder.
Hannibal Heyes was doing a similar job for Big Mac, though his destination was north to Montana. The two planned to reunite in Arizona at Big Mac's ranch, where they would both be paid handsomely for their labor.
Curry located the Hernandez ranch a few miles west of the town of Ojinaga. It was a vast, two hundred-thousand-acre ranch. Given the almost desert-like landscape, the grazing of cattle required a massive amount of land, and the wealth of the owner was evident in the well-maintained barns and outbuildings and a house nearly twice the size of Big Mac McCreedy's.
Tying his horse to the hitching post, Kid reached into his shirt pocket for the envelope he was to deliver. He stepped up onto the porch and raised his hand to knock but hesitated when he saw the wreath of black crape tied with white ribbon on the door, a symbol of a recent death in the household. With some reluctance, Kid knocked three times, then took a step back and waited patiently.
A stout but neatly dressed Mexican woman opened the door.
"I'm sorry to disturb you Ma'am, but I have a delivery from Patrick J. McCreedy for Senor Hernandez," Kid explained, displaying the envelope in his hand.
"Uno momento," she replied, then disappeared back into the house.
Moments later, Hector Hernandez opened the door. In his mid to late fifties, Hernandez was short and a little rotund, with noticeable strands of white in his otherwise jet-black hair. He wore a simple but well-tailored black Charro suit that lacked the traditional silver studs along the outer edge of the pant legs. His face was drawn tight with wrinkles, and his dark, black eyes were wrought with the sadness of mourning.
"Senor Hernandez, my apologies for disturbing you, sir. My name is Thaddeus Jones, and I was sent by Patrick McCreedy to deliver this envelope."
Hernandez looked at the envelope Kid held out for him, and it took him a moment to realize what he was being handed. He reached into his pocket for money, but Kid quickly waved him off.
"No sir. Thank you, but Mr. McCreedy has taken care of my expenses. Again, I'm sorry to have disturbed you," Kid said and gently pushed the envelope into the man's hand. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."
Kid didn't wait for a response and instead, he offered a polite tip of his hat, then simply turned and left quietly.
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Ojinaga, Mexico was a small but ancient town with just a smattering of adobe and clay buildings once brightly colored in red and yellow paint that had quickly weathered, cracked, and faded in the arid heat. As he neared the center of town, a quick flash of bright light coming from the roof of one of the buildings ahead of him caught his eye. He recognized the light as a flash reflection of sunlight striking a metal object. Raising eyes, Kid caught the glimpse of a rifle barrel as it disappeared behind the raised façade of the top of the building.
But nothing in the town appeared amiss. Wagons moved slowly up and down the street. People walked the boardwalk, coming and going in shops. Two young boys played at the water fountain in the center of town using splayed hands to splash water that streamed from one of the three spouts. Kid glanced a second time at the roof and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, simply continued down the dusty street.
Finding the livery at the far edge of town, Kid dismounted slowly and gathered his saddlebags and gear before giving the owner specific orders for grain, water, and thorough brushing of his horse that he commonly referred to as Ding-A-Ling.
Hefting his saddlebags over one shoulder, and his bedroll under his arm, Kid rested his sheathed rifle against his free shoulder, his fingers wrapped snugly against the butt of the firearm. He heaved a heavy sigh and made his way down the street to the hotel and cantina where he registered for a room and ordered a bath.
Inside, the hotel was a stark contrast to the dull brown weathered exterior. The red clay brick floor showed some wear as did the bright yellow walls and orange molding trim, but the addition of large potted plants and several scenic paintings brought an inviting warmth to the lobby. Before heading up the stairs, kid took a glance into the cantina before convincing himself that necessity demanded a bath before a beer.
Near sunset, Kid emerged from the room. Bathed, clean shaven, and dressed in a change of moderately clean clothes he walked down the stairs and crossed the small lobby to the cantina for a meal and a couple of beers before retiring for the night. The cantina was quiet with no more than a dozen patrons, most of whom were seated at tables, while one lone man stood at the bar with shoulders slumped and one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, and the other around the nearly spent bottle standing on the bar.
The man was tall and almost spindly with a face blackened by a thick shadow of dark stubble that camouflaged the boney structure of his face. From the mirror behind the bar, Kid could see the man's dark eyes were also focused on the mirror, watching every person, every person and every movement in the room. Strapped to his waist was an old, loose-fitting gun belt and in the holster was a Colt 1858 Frontier Revolver, one of the finest handguns ever made. Seeing that gun, Kid Curry knew exactly who he had been gazing upon, and he knew the man knew him.
Tom Tobin was a legend in his own time. He was a man of many trades, a fur trader, a bounty hunter, and most notably, the man who single-handedly captured and killed the Espinosa Outlaws. The Espinosa brothers were vicious men who had terrified, tortured and killed settlers living in the Luis Valley after the Mexican American War. Tobin was working with the Army at that time to find and capture these two outlaws. One night, Tobin had slipped away from camp and tracked the two brothers on his own. It had been said that after capturing and killing the Espinosa brothers, Tobin beheaded the two men and returned to camp where he rolled the heads across the floor of the Commander's Office. In return for his service, Tobin was presented with the very 1858 Frontier Revolver that Kid now recognized.
Kid Curry had met and befriended Tobin a few years before the legendary incident and his only knowledge of the event was from stories told by drunken soldiers in saloons claiming to have witnessed the gruesome presentation. He and Tobin had met during the time when Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes had parted ways, each seeking to find his own way in the world. Tobin was a good ten or more years older than Kid and had already learned some very hard lessons in life. He had spent a half a dozen years as a fur trader, living a solitary life in the high elevations of the Rocky Mountains where few dared to venture. He'd fought skirmishes with Indians as well as an angry bear or two. He'd worked as a civilian Scout for the Army and spent one summer and fall as a member of the Hole in the Wall gang until he found that outlawing simply did not suit his nature. As a young and easily influenced man, Kid Curry had found himself enthralled by Tobin's stories. It didn't take long for the two men to find a trusted friend in the other and for one long, cold winter, Kid learned the secrets of survival while trapping and hunting with Tobin in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains.
But the time spent with Tobin was more than a decade in the past and the man Kid recognized in the cantina was a mere shell of the man he had known as a mentor and friend. He watched as the man raised a trembling hand to the bottle and poured the last precious drops of his sole companion into the shot glass and downed the golden liquid in one long gulp. He continued to watch as the man pushed himself away from the bar and on unsteady legs, ambled past the Kid without so much as a question of recognition.
Kid considered what to do as he finished his meal. Foregoing a second beer, he counted out some money and placed it on the table, then left the cantina and stopped at the hotel desk. Struggling with the language, Kid tried to determine where Tobin had gone.
"Donde esta los hombre…. Senor Tobin?"
"No compartimos information sombre nuestrous huespedes, Senor," the clerk replied.
While Kid did not understand all the words, he did understand the hotel clerk's intent. Shaking his head, Kid started to walk away, then spied the hotel registry book on the counter. Despite the clerk's protests, Kid quickly turned the book around and scrolled through the names.
"Thomas Tobin, room 319. Thanks," Kid said and took the stairs two at a time.
Kid's room was on the second floor, but he continued up to the third floor and walked down the hall until he came to room 319. He looked cautiously up and down the vacant hall, then tapped lightly on the door. When he got no response, he tapped a second time.
"Tobin, it's me, Jed Curry," he said in a low voice meant solely for his friend to hear.
"Where were you the winter of '78?" Tobin asked from behind the closed door.
"You know where I was, freezin' my ass in a broken down shack west of Pike's Peak with a sorry excuse for a trapper."
"It's unlocked," answered a voice from within the room.
Kid turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door. "Don't shoot. I'm your friend," Kid said softly.
Stepping into the dark room, shadowed dimly by the moonlight, Kid stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. In the shadows he could see Tobin lying on the bed, his torso propped up with his left elbow and his Frontier revolver in his right hand and aimed directly at Kid.
"Fine way to greet an old friend," Kid said calmly while keeping his right hand visibly distanced from his own gun. "Mind if I light a lamp?"
"Be my guest," Tobin replied but kept the gun firmly in his hand.
Kid glanced at the dresser next to the door, relieved to see an oil lamp on the dresser. With two fingers he slowly reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a box of matches. He lit the lamp but kept the light relatively low. Only then, when Tobin could see the man more clearly, did he lower the gun and return it to his holster.
Tobin's movements were slow, perhaps due to the whiskey, but based on the appearance of his sunken eyes and the pasty color of his slightly trembling hands, Kid suspected Tobin's deteriorated health was far more complicated than one bottle of rotgut.
"What the devil are you doing in Ojinago?" Tobin asked and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he could sit. "The last I heard, you was riding with some outlaw gang and gaining a hefty price on your head."
"I've taken to mending my evil ways. And I should be asking you the same thing," Kid replied with a smile. "Been a long time."
The past ten years weighed heavily on Tobin's mind. "Indeed, it has."
Trying to pull himself from his dulled sense of inebriation, Tobin extended his arm to shake Kid's hand. Kid took the few steps across the room and engulfed Tobin's thin hand in his own.
"It's good to see you, Tom," he said with a warm smile.
"And you, old friend. I understand you have earned yourself quite the reputation, or two."
"I can't say I'm particularly proud of that fact, but I'm working on making amends," Kid told him. "And it seems to me, you're a fine one to talk."
"I'm sure you're well aware of how easily the facts grow into fiction, especially when Jack Daniels is influencing the narration."
Kid chuckled. Old Jack does weave a wild tale sometimes."
Tobin rubbed his chin and cheeks with the back of his shaky hand and nodded. "You still ain't told me why you're here."
Kid glanced around the room and spied a spindle-back chair near the window. He pulled it up close to the bed and sat down. "Just passin' through," he explained. "I just did a delivery job for a man in Arizona. I'll be heading back that way in a day or two."
"A day or two? I suppose you decided to extend your stay when you saw me?"
"Maybe," Kid said with slight grin.
"You might want to reconsider that decision, Jed. I ain't nothin' but trouble these days."
"You ain't been nothin' but trouble most of your life. What makes these days any different?"
"Murder, or so they call it."
"What?" Kid asked with shocked concern. "Murder?"
Tobin closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I don't suppose you brung a bottle up here with you?'" Tobin asked.
Kid shook his head.
"Mind getting one before I explain?" Tobin asked.
"You sure that's a wise decision?"
"No, but it is a decision all the same."
Kid hesitated as it was obvious to him that Tobin had already consumed a hardy amount of liquor. Tobin read Kid's mind and uttered a mournful chuckle. "It's better for me… well, easier for me not to feel nothin.'"
"If that's what you want, I can oblige you," Kid replied without judgment. "But leave the door unlocked so I don't hafta announce my return."
Tobin nodded and once again pulled his gun from his holster. With the gun securely in his hand he laid down heavily on the bed and closed his eyes to await Kid's return.
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Ten minutes later Kid walked into the room only to find Tobin's gun again pointed at him.
"Is that how you say thank you nowadays?" Kid asked while locking the door behind him.
"Can't take chances nowadays."
Kid filled two shot glasses with whiskey and handed one to Tobin, then sat back down in the wooden chair. "So, what kind of trouble are you in? You were saying something about murder?"
Tobin nodded and took a swig of his drink. "It wasn't murder by any stretch of the imagination. It was a fair fight, well as fair a fight as can be when a cocky little greenhorn calls out a marksman. The local sheriff saw it all play out and declared it a fair fight. But I'm afraid some arrived at a different conclusion."
"This little town's got a sheriff?" Kid asked.
Tobin chuckled. "Down here he's called an alcalde. His name is Ortiz and he's a meek little man. I think he knows my reputation and didn't want to cross me. In fact, I think he would have called it in my favor even if it hadn't been a fair fight. But I'm telling you the truth when I say I ended it, but I sure as hell didn't start it."
"I believe you, Tom. Afterall, I know what kind of man you really are. I ain't never known you to cower, and I ain't never known you to lie."
The look in Tobin's eyes sent a chill down Kid's spine. "Do you?" Tobin asked, then chuckled. "Yeah, I s'pect you do know me at that."
"So, why's there talk about murder?"
"There are those who think revenge and justice are synonymous. As long as I'm in this town, I'm a dead man walking."
"How you figure that?" Kid asked.
"I didn't exaggerate when I said the boy was a cocky little greenhorn. He looked to be sixteen or seventeen at best. Like most boys that age, and I use you as a prime example, wisdom is not something they possess. My reputation often precedes me, and again, as we both know, a reputation is usually far larger than fact. He recognized me and saw me as his opportunity to prove he was a man."
"So, he called you out?"
Tobin nodded. "The boy's pa owns one of the biggest ranchers in these parts. Being as the sheriff can't arrest me, the boy's father has made an offer of five thousand dollars to the man who can kill me in a fair fight, and because of that minor stipulation, the sheriff cannot intervene."
Kid gave this information some serious thought before speaking. "Then, why are you still in this town?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the picture of good health. Doctor says my liver is giving out on me, from all the years of drinking, I suspect. The irony is, I came down here to die in peace. I figured nobody south of the border was gonna recognize the name Tom Tobin. But I was wrong. That cocky young boy recognized the name."
"And that's why he called you out," Kid concluded aloud.
Tobin shrugged. "Who knows what motivates a boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Maybe he just wanted to make a name for himself or prove to his pa he was a man. Either way, it don't matter now. He's dead and one way or another, I won't be far behind."
"Lemme help you, Tom. I ain't on a tight schedule to get back to Arizona. I could take you to Texas. Maybe there's a doctor there that could help you," Kid suggested.
"You didn't notice the men on the rooftops with their rifles?"
"I seen em when I rode in. I thought maybe I'd been recognized, but when no one took a shot at me, I figured it was best just to keep my head down and pretend I didn't see em."
"Ain't no way out for me. Every man in this town knows me on sight, and every man in town is just waiting for the opportunity to collect that bounty. I ain't been outta this hotel in more than a week. It's fortunate for me that owner is a friend of mine. In fact, he's the reason I chose this town to spend my final days. He was in the Army when I helped his company bring down the Espinosa brothers. He feels obliged to me and has given me a safe haven. With a little luck, I'll just die in my sleep right here in this room, and all those men perched on the rooftops won't collect a red cent."
"And if it don't end that way?" Kid asked.
"Like I said, I'm a dead man walkin,' and if anybody sees you associating with me… well, you'd be best to stay far away from me, or at least, keep an eye on your back."
"I ain't never been one to walk away from a friend in need, and I ain't about to start now. What we need is a plan, and I think it should start with getting you strong enough to travel and then finding a way to get you safely outta town as quick as we can."
"I don't think you've been listening to me. One way or the other Jed, I'm a dying man and I've got just two choices as to how I'm gonna die. I can choose to be out there in the street with a hundred people cheering or here, alone in this room with two friends by me side. I prefer the latter."
"Tom, if you stay here, you're most likely right about dying. But if we can get you back to the States and get you a good doctor, you might be able to postpone your dying, at least for a while."
"I'm not sure I want to…postpone it, I mean."
"I ain't gonna sit here listening to that kinda talk. Now I'm gonna go downstairs and get you some food, then you're gonna get some rest, and as of right now, you're gonna lay off the whiskey. I know you're a stubborn man that's used to doing as you please, but I've been known to give new meaning to the word stubborn, and come hell or high water, I'm getting you back on your feet again," Kid said with adamant conviction.
A weak smile formed on Tobin's face. "Not that you'll succeed, but why would you even want to try to do all this?"
"Because I do know what kind of man you are, and I know you'd never kill someone without do cause."
Tobin uttered a weary sigh. "Alright. I haven't the strength to argue. But no food tonight. I haven't the strength to eat."
Kid nodded agreeably. "It is late Tom, and you need to sleep off your whiskey. I'll go down to my room and come back with some pillows and blankets. Tomorrow we'll see about changing rooms to one with two beds and a view of the street. But, until we find the right time to go, we're gonna be inseparable. And while we're waiting, we'll come up with a plan; the kind of plan my partner likes to call a Hannibal Heyes Plan."
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An alcohol induced sleep came easy to Tobin and when he woke the following morning, he found himself alone in the room. A pillow and two disheveled blankets lay on the floor, so Tobin knew Curry had returned the evening before, but he was not in the room now. The sunlight streaming into the room from the window intensified Tobin's headache and he forced himself out of bed and stumbled across the room to draw the shade. As he glanced outside the window, Tobin's eyes caught the shiny reflection of a rifle barrel glistening in the sun from the roof of the building across the street. He quickly stepped to the side of the window and scanned all the rooftops and saw that there was someone on each roof just waiting for him to step into view long enough for a clear shot.
This realization gave Tobin a new worry. Given his health, Tobin accepted his own impending death, but now he feared his friend might also be facing death by association and that was something he was not willing to let happen. But how could he stop it?
Drawing the shade, Tobin sighed heavily and plodded his way back toward the bed. He stopped suddenly when startled by the sound of a light kick at the door.
"You awake?" came a voice he recognized. "If so, my hands are kinda full."
Tobin opened the door but only wide enough for Kid to slip inside carrying a tray with two plates of food, a pot of coffee, and two empty cups. Once Kid was in the room, Tobin quickly locked the door.
"Don't know how hungry you are after that feast of whiskey last night, but I figured I'd take my chances," Kid told Tobin as he set the tray down on the writing table. "Got our room changed, but we can't move in till after noon. So, for the next couple of hours, this is still home sweet home."
The smell of the food was not particularly appealing to Tobin's queasy stomach, but the coffee was surprisingly enticing. Kid knew a thing or two about hangovers and poured his friend a cup of strong, black coffee but left the plate of food on the table, leaving the decision to eat something to Tobin's discretion. Kid, on the other hand, pulled his chair close to the table and reached for a plate of breakfast.
"I've decided I'm not leaving," Tobin said flatly as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed with his coffee.
Kid paused with his fork inches from his mouth. "Why?"
"I don't plan to start no trouble, but I ain't never run from it, neither. Whatever happens, I'm gonna see this through."
Kid knew as well as Tobin that staying was a suicidal decision. "You set on that?" Kid asked.
Tobin looked Kid squarely in the eyes and nodded.
"I see," Kid replied and slid the bite of eggs into his mouth. "Maybe I'd best let the sheriff know this situation ain't gonna improve anytime soon unless he intervenes."
Tobin offered no response as he knew that in a small, tightly knit town such as this, the sheriff was not likely to take any action that might put him out of a job come election day.
Kid took a sip of his coffee. "By the way, the name's Jones, Thaddeus Jones," he said without looking up.
Tobin smiled. "So, you're still on the lam?"
Kid smiled. "With a little luck, that's just temporary, and I'd like to keep it that way. Jones ain't a name that attracts a lot of attention so, any time you're outta the hotel room, you refer to me as Jones or Thaddeus. If there's trouble, I'd rather not be the one to triple the bounty and I don't want to kill my partner's chance for amnesty."
"So that's it, an amnesty. You must have friends in rather high places. Alright, Jones. I'll try not to take you down with me. We wouldn't want someone cashing in on two birds with one stone, so to speak. But I think the easiest way to assure your safety would be for you to leave Ojinago today."
"I don't plan on either one of us going down, and you can just forget about the notion of me leaving you here. But, I do plan on the both of us riding outta here just as soon as you can travel."
Tobin shook his head. "I just told you I'm not leaving."
Kid nodded. "I heard you, but I'm keeping the option open in case you change your mind, again."
"Jed, you do know we are constantly being watched, don't you?"
"Yep. There's a sharpshooter on every roof, or at least some half-wit cowboy with a rifle, so stay away from windows and open doors, and don't leave this hotel without my knowing."
"Even the shooting talents of Kid Curry can't take on a dozen men with rifles," Tobin replied.
"Don't plan to try," Kid told him. "You said a friend of yours from the Army owns this hotel?"
Tobin nodded.
"What's his name?"
"Will Carson."
"Can we count on him for help if we need it?"
Again, Tobin nodded. "I'll introduce you to him the next time we head down to the cantina."
"I'm not sure the cantina is a place you ought to be frequenting, but we might hafta make an exception cuz the three of us need to sit down and talk. Now what's the name of this rancher whose son was killed?"
"Hernandez. Hector Hernandez."
The surprised look on Kid's face concerned Tobin. "You know him?" Tobin asked.
"Met him. Can't say as I know him. He's the fella I delivered some documents to. He looked… broken when I saw him. How long ago did this shooting happen?"
"Six days ago."
"And the funeral, when was that?"
Tobin uttered a disgusted scoff. "He's holding off on that until his son's 'killer,' is dead as well."
"Sounds like a very vengeful man."
Tobin sighed. "Perhaps, but the boy wasn't more than sixteen or seventeen and he was Hernandez's only son… I might feel the same way if I was in his shoes."
"Empathy for the man who wants you dead. It's easy to see you're the better man, Tom."
Tom shook his head. "Who can honestly know what they would do in another man's shoes?"
Kid let the words linger in the air, but given the situation, he was profoundly struck by his friend's rationale.
"Is there a telegraph office in this town?" Kid asked.
Tobin chuckled but nodded. "You planning on telegraphing the Cavalry?"
Kid smiled. "Maybe, in a manner of speakin.'"
Tobin sighed. "You know you'd be wise to just cut your losses and ride outta town today."
Kid smiled. "I've been called a lot of things in my day, but wise ain't never been one of em. You're a friend. I'm staying."
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Tobin ate very little, and the effort seemed to tire him. When Kid finished his breakfast, he gathered the plates and cups to take downstairs and Tobin again stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes. Spying the empty water pitcher on the dresser, Kid picked it up and put it on the tray with the dishes.
"Is that fountain in the middle of town the source of water for folks?"
Tobin nodded. "This area is almost as dry as a desert. That well is over three hundred feet deep. The ground is hard, bone dry, and rocky. It took the town more than six months to dig till they hit water."
"I guess I'll fill this pitcher while I'm out so you can clean up the next time you're awake. You got the room key somewhere?"
"Top dresser drawer," Tobin said, his speech beginning to slur as he was falling asleep.
"I'll lock the door behind me and let myself back in," Kid told him and headed out the door.
Downstairs, Kid stopped in the cantina to drop off the tray. Taking the pitcher in his hand, he then proceeded through the hotel lobby toward the front door. There, sitting at a small, round table near the entrance, was a man Kid judged to be no more than twenty. He was dressed in black but for a crisply starched white shirt. Strapped low on his hips and tied at the thigh was a gun belt and in the holster was a well-polished Colt 45. Kid recognized the posture and appearance of a gunman wanting to make a name for himself. Without giving the man a direct glance, Kid continued out the door and into the vacant street. He could plainly see men armed with rifles positioned on the roof of most buildings. But for the sounds of birds occasionally chirping, the street was silent and nary a person was shopping or milling about. He reached the fountain at the end of the street and as he lifted the pitcher toward the water streaming from the fountain, a single shot was fired, hitting the ground in a small explosion of dust near the Kid's feet.
Knowing the shot was intended as a warning, and with no available place to take cover, Kid did not cower, but instead slowly placed the pitcher under the running water. He kept his head bent slightly down so the brim of his hat obscured his face from the men on the rooftops and from the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff emerge from his office and stop on the boardwalk to see what was happening.
A second shot fired, and the water pitcher shattered, spewing water in a wide circle and sending bits of the shard porcelain into the base of the fountain.
Without turning around, Kid set the handle and spout of the water pitcher on the edge of the fountain and brushed drops of water from his shirt sleeve.
"Sheriff," Kid called out in a calm voice. "Would you be so kind as to bring me a water pitcher from your jail?"
The sheriff glanced at the rooftops across the street. He obviously wanted no trouble and considered the request before disappearing into the jail and emerging with a tin water pitcher that he carried to the fountain where Kid remained standing. Kid took the pitcher and, inhaling a deep, slow breath, he held the pitched under the running water.
"You'd be smart to leave town," the sheriff said in a low voice. "Ain't nothin' gonna save Tobin. The only thing you might accomplish is getting yourself killed along with him. Is he really worth that to you?"
Kid pulled the pitcher away from the running water. "Nothing's gonna save him?" Kid asked. "Not even that tin star you're wearing? Why ain't you putting a stop to all this and send them men home, or does Hernandez own you, too?"
"Nobody owns me and unless you want to end up in one of my jail cells, you'd best heed my advice and get outta town."
"Well now, if you could see to it that Mr. Tobin and me could do that safely, I don't think you'd get an argument outta either one of us, but as it stands, I think we'll be staying a while. Comprende?"
Kid didn't wait for a reply and instead turned and walked back to the hotel. He brushed by the man dressed in black who was standing just outside the door watching everything that had just occurred and didn't see the man turn to watch him climb the stairs. Kid knew instinctively that the wan was watching his every move and he made sure each step was confident and deliberate.
Reaching the door, Kid slipped the key into the keyhole and gave the knob a jiggle, then slipped inside the room and dropped the key on the dresser.
"That was quite the show of bravery out there," Tobin said as Kid set the pitcher on the table.
"I thought you was supposed to be sleeping."
Tobin smiled. "Too much noise outside. It's hard to sleep when rifles are being fired."
"There's a new man downstairs in the lobby. He looks to be a hired gunman," Kid said with his back still toward Tobin.
"And how would you know that?"
Kid turned around and looked Tobin squarely in the eyes. "I know a hired gun when I see one. I wish you'd reconsider and let me get you outta this town…. I wired my partner yesterday so he's likely on his way. When he gets here…"
"No," Tobin replied before Kid could finish his sentence. "I'll not start any trouble, but I won't run from it either. I'm going to see this through to the end."
"Why?" Kid demanded.
Tobin raised his eyes to meet Kid's eyes. "It's a matter of honor. I didn't murder that boy and I'm not going to let his father lay stake to anything but the truth.'
"Even if it kills you?" Kid asked.
A sad smile floated across Tobin's face. "I told you before, I'm a dead man, walking."
Kid remained silent for a long moment. "You always was a stubborn man, but I never thought you to be a foolish one."
"Practical is the word. Not foolish. We both know we wouldn't get ten miles out of town before we'd both be dead."
Kid couldn't dispute that possibility, so he simply changed the subject. "You best get cleaned up before we meet with your friend."
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Kid busied himself cleaning his gun while Tobin spent the better part of an hour washing, shaving and dressing for the meeting with his friend, Will Carson. Tobin's spruced appearance only brought to light the rapidly declining condition of his health. The shaven face now emphasized the sallowness of his skin and the hollowness of his cheeks against the protruding bony facial structure, and the circles about his sunken eyes told Kid more than he wanted to know. But he offered his friend an approving smile.
"You clean up pretty good, Tobin."
"And you lie as good as a well-worn rug," he replied with a laugh.
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Late in the afternoon the two men descended the stairs and Tobin caught sight of the man in black still sitting at the small table near the door. When they reached the last step, the young man pushed back his chair and stood and tipped his hat with a grand bow.
"Tobin, I'm James Archer, the man that's gonna collect the five thousand dollars being offered to kill you in a fair fight, and the man that's gonna build himself a fine reputation for doing just that."
One corner of Tobin's mouth slanted upward. "It don't garner much of a reputation to kill an man who's already half way to hell, boy."
Archer exhaled a disgusted chuckle. "Any time you're ready Tobin."
Kid had remained silent, but Archer saw Kid's right hand drop to the level of his holster where it remained just inches from his gun. Archer raised his eyes and forced a smile with a grand display of composure but didn't miss the fearless determination in Kid's eyes.
"Come on, Tom, we don't want to be late," Kid said and gestured with an extended a hand for Tom to proceed to the cantina while letting his gaze linger on Archer just long enough to serve as a warning before following Tobin to the cantina.
Tobin walked slowly through the nearly empty cantina, each step becoming more of an effort. A door at the back of the room was ajar, and Tobin could see his friend, Will Carson, seated behind his desk inside the room. Tobin cleared his voice loudly and Wilson looked up from his work, then came to the door and ushered Tobin in. Kid followed.
"Will, this is an old friend, Thaddeus Jones."
Carson gave Kid a nod and gestured to some leather chairs in the room. "Would either of you like a drink?"
Tobin would have liked to accept, but Kid shook his head and Tobin politely declined.
"I'm having your belongings moved to your new room. Don't worry, the man doing so is a very trusted employee and the move will be doe very discreetly," Carson assured them.
Kid gave him an approving nod. "Thank you."
"How long do you plan to let this situation continue?" Carson asked.
"I think that decision rests in the hands of others," Kid replied.
"Does it?" Carson asked, then turned his attention to Tobin. "I've known you to take matters riskier than this into your own hands. Why the hesitation now?"
"I ain't the same man I was when I went after the Espinoza brothers. That was a long time ago and I was a lot more capable back then,"
Carson nodded. "So, what can I do to ease, or better still, to end this situation?" Carson asked.
"Short of convincing the sheriff to do his job, I don't think there's much you can do," Kid told him. A friend of mine is on his way and once he gets here I plan to get Tom out of town as soon as possible. I could get him to the Texas border in a day," Kid told Carson. "Maybe two," he confessed with a concerned look in Tobin's direction.
"How? There are at least a dozen men standing watch night and day and now a hired gun has been added to the mix," Carson replied. "You'd have to leave in the dead of night. I might be able to have two horses saddled and waiting just outside of town, but to get you both from here to there without being noticed…."
Carson paused when an idea struck him. "A supply wagon delivers crates of alcohol once a month. The delivery door is in the back and the wagon backs right up to it. Perhaps, after it's unloaded, we could hide you both inside beneath the straw they use to cushion the crates. No one would expect you to try to leave in broad daylight."
"The best laid plans of mice and men," Tobin mused aloud.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Kid asked.
"I've already told you Thaddeus, I'm sneakin' outta town like some yellow-bellied varmint," Tobin muttered.
"You'd rather die here in the street?" Kid replied.
Tobin's lips pinched together tightly as he chose not to debate the issue.
"When's the next delivery?" Kid asked.
"In three days," Carson told him.
"Let's give Tom a day to think it through," Kid said, knowing that good or bad, the decision was not his to make.
Carson nodded, then took a hesitant look at Tom before he spoke. "Hernandez…well, this isn't typical of the man I know."
"No need to try to excuse him. Like I told my friend here, I might do the same thing in his shoes. The senseless loss of an only son would be a very difficult thing to bear."
Carson shook his head. "Not you, Tobin. You'd never do such a thing for revenge. Never you."
Tobin smiled. You forget the Espinoza brothers?" he asked.
"That was avenging acts of murder against innocent people. This is a wealthy rancher riddled with guilt because money was more important to him than raising his son to be an honest and responsible young man. He wants you to pay for his sins, and he doesn't even see that it will only drive him deeper into that abyss of guilt."
"Sadly, there's a lot of truth in your words Will, but I honestly don't know what I would do in his shows," Tobin replied.
There was a light rapping on the door. Kid instinctively pulled his gun and stepped back behind the door, then nodded to Carson who crossed the room and just partially opened the door.
"Room 224 is ready Mr. Carson," the man said, handing Carson the room key.
"Thank you, Juan."
Carson shut the door and handed Tobin the key while Kid holstered his gun and moved to the center of the room. The three men shook hands and Kid and Tobin headed back to their new room. Passing through the lobby, Kid was careful to walk at Tobin's side as they passed the gunman, still seated at the table with a cigar, and his cold, dark eyes following Tobin's every move.
After entering the room, Tobin lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Despite his fatigue, sleep did not come easy. As the evening darkened into the night, Kid stood next to the window and pulled back the shade just enough to see the changing of the guard on the rooftops. He let the shade fall back into place and walked to the dresser to light the lamp, leaving the wick low so as not to cast any shadows within the room that could be visible to the men on the rooftops.
Seeing his oil and cleaning cloths still on the table, Kid glanced at Tobin's holstered gun hanging from the bedpost.
"When's the last time you cleaned your gun?" Kid asked.
Tobin rested his forearm over his eyes to block the soft light in the room. "I usually clean it after every use," he mumbled.
"That's why I'm asking," Kid replied and crossed the room and lifted the Frontier Revolver from the holster with a slick friction sound of the gun against the leather. "Looks like you've been a little remiss."
Tobin sighed, still showing no interest in conversation. "It's been a while," he confessed.
"Mind if I clean it for you? I ain't ready to try to sleep and it'll give me something to occupy my time."
Tobin consented with a weak wave of the hand near his face.
Kid carried the gun to the table and emptied the chamber, then carefully disassembled the firearm and set to work meticulously cleaning and polishing each piece. He worked on the piece in silence for well over an hour before carefully reassembling the parts and filling the chamber with the six bullets he had removed. He closed the chamber and looked across the room at his now sleeping friend. Getting up from the table, Kid returned the gun to the holster. He once again checked the view of the street from the window, then crossed the room and tested the door to be sure it was locked, before dousing the lamp and settling into his own bed for the night.
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Kid woke to sunlight eking through the edges of the window shade. He yawned and stretched, then raised his head to see if Tobin was yet awake. While Tobin continued to sleep, Kid slipped from the bed and again cautiously checked the activity on the street and rooftops.
The sound of Tobin beginning to stir drew Kid's attention away from the window and he let the shade fall back into place.
"How did you sleep?" Kid asked.
"Better than I expected," Tobin replied. "I couldn't stop thinking about the plan Carson suggested."
"And?"
"And,...," Tobin said with a heavy sigh. "Perhaps you're right. I've been trying to fool myself into thinking I'm the same man I was twenty years ago…. I'm not that man anymore and staying means certain death."
"That's a hard fact to face, and there's a lot of men who couldn't do it. I'm glad you can," Kid told him with honest empathy in his voice.
"Jed… I do thank you for staying and for helping me see things more clearly."
"I know you'd do the same for me. Carson said that shipment wagon will be here in three days. That should give my partner enough time to get here so there will be two of us seeing you across the border. We'll get you there safely. Now to the matters at hand, you hungry?"
Tobin shook his head. "You go get some breakfast if you want, and maybe bring some coffee back with you?"
"I ain't hungry either. I'll go fill the water pitcher and pick up a pot of coffee. Lock the door behind me when I leave."
Tobin nodded as he climbed out of bed and moved to the edge of the window to take a look outside and Kid picked up the pitcher and headed for the door.
At the bottom of the stairs, Kid glanced at Archer who had seemingly not moved from his spot at the table near the door. With his head tilted toward his chest and his hat tipped down low, he appeared to be sleeping. Stepping out of the hotel with the pitcher dangling from his left hand, Kid stepped out into the street and headed toward the fountain, his eyes carefully watching the rooftops as he walked down the street. He saw no one. In the early morning the town was still quiet. Shops had not yet opened and the only living creature Kid saw was a stray dog with his nose to the dirt while investigating some fascinating scent. Kid filled the pitcher with water without incident and returned to the hotel, heading first to the cantina to buy a pot of coffee.
Crossing the lobby, Kid lifted his foot to the first step, but stopped when he heard Archer's voice.
"Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow, but it's gonna be soon you know."
Kid stepped back down off the step and slowly turned to face Archer and could see just an inkling of fear in Archer's eyes.
"You've seen him," Kid said slowly. "You know he's not capable of a fair fight. Is that the kind of reputation you want to build for yourself?"
Archer smiled deviously. "If he shows up on the street with his gun belt strapped to his hip, it's as fair a fight as it was with that boy."
"You know for a fact that was a fair fight? You were there?" Kid asked.
Archer shook his head. "I admit Tobin's easy game, but I ain't so sure about you. I seen you at the fountain yesterday. You didn't so much as flinch when those shots were fired. You know how to handle trouble, and I know you think of me as trouble."
"Well, I'll tell you, I don't go lookin' for trouble ever, but I don't run from it, neither," Kid replied and stood silently letting his words to soak in as the two men locked eyes. "You want a fair fight; I can give you one."
When he saw the recognition of his words in Archer's eyes, Kid turned and started up the stairs, knowing Archer was watching his every step.
"Killing you won't earn me five thousand dollars," Archer snarled.
Kid paused on the steps with his back toward Archer and the corners of his mouth turned upward. Archer couldn't see Kid's expression as he continued up the stairs.
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Kid gave a light kick to the door and almost immediately heard the key in the lock. Tobin opened the door and locked it again once Kid was inside.
"Any trouble?" Tobin asked.
"No. Archer's still downstairs. It's a wonder Carson don't kick him out if he's not paying for a room, but taking root in the lobby makes it easier to keep an eye on him, I s'pose," Kid replied as he set the pitcher on the dresser and the coffee pot on the table, then poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Tobin. "You sure you don't want something to eat? You need food to build your strength."
Tobin shook his head as he carried his coffee to the window and pulled the shade back an inch. He sipped at his coffee as he gazed out the window. "Another hot day, looks like."
It was obvious Tobin's focus was not really on the weather but rather, the number of men doing sentry duty on the rooftops.
"No need checking, they ain't going nowhere," Kid said as he stood by the table with his coffee.
Tobin set his cup on the stand beside his bed and pulled his gun from the holster to examine the cleaning Kid had given it the night before. "You do meticulous work," he said with a smile. "It looks as clean and new as the day I liberated it from the Espinoza brothers."
"A man's gun deserves meticulous care if he expects it to serve him well."
"That it does," Tobin replied, then reached for his empty cup and extended his arm toward Kid. "You mind filling this again?"
Kid set his own cup on the table and took Tobin's, then turned back toward the table to fill the cup.
With Kid's back to him, Tobin shifted the barrel of the gun to the palm of his hand and quickly crossed the room. Without hesitation, and using every last bit of strength he had, Tobin raised the gun above his head and brought it down hard, striking Kid in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The blow knocked Kid unconscious and he slumped to the floor. The coffee cup fell from Kid's hand and shattered, spewing the coffee across the floor.
Tobin looked at his friend lying unconscious in a heap at his feet. He walked to the bed and dropped his gun on the mattress while he strapped on his gun belt. He picked up his gun and callously stepped over Kid to reach the table. There he opened the gun's chamber and let all six bullets fall to the table.
"Goodbye old friend," he said as he slipped the gun into the holster and tied the string about his thigh.
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Only a few minutes passed before Kid began to regain consciousness. He moaned and raised his hand to the lump now forming on the back of his head. Opening his eyes, his focus was hazy, but he managed to roll to his back and watched the room slowly stop spinning. Kid sat up; his hand still pressed against the lump on his head as he looked around the room. Tobin was gone, and so was his gun and holster. Kid's free hand gripped the edge of the table which he used to steady his balance as he brought himself to his feet. There he froze when he saw the six bullets from Tobin's gun scatter about on the table. Grabbing the bullets in his hand, Kid ran to the window and pulled back the shade.
Outside in the street, standing twenty feet apart, stood Tobin and James Archer, primed for the much-anticipated showdown.
Kid raced from the room and dashed down the stairs. Barely reaching the hotel porch Kid came to a frozen stop at the sound of a single gunshot. Gazing down the street, he saw his friend, Tom Tobin, lying face down in the street. Carson reached the porch just in time to see Kid race down the street, his boots kicking up dust with each step. Reaching Tobin, he dropped to his knees and with one hand still tightly clenched, Kid gently rolled the lifeless body to its back.
"I did it!" Archer exclaimed. "I killed Tom Tobin in a fair fight! Five thousand dollars and a mighty reputation is mine!"
People came out of shops to stand on the boardwalk and watch while Archer raised his arms in the air in a show of victory. The men on the rooftops headed for the doors to descend the steps to the street. Only the sheriff moved into the street to approach Kid who was now holding Tobin's lifeless body against his chest.
Kid raised his head, and cold, blue eyes stared at James Archer. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet and extended his clenched hand. As his fingers began to open, six bullets fell to the ground with a quiet thud.
Archer heard the sound and the smile was slowly erased from his face.
"He was unarmed," Kid said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You killed an unarmed man."
The sheriff picked the gun up from the ground and opened the chamber to confirm what Kid had said. He raised the gun in the air to show everyone that Kid had spoken the truth.
"He called me out!" Archer shouted. "It was a fair fight! He called me out!"
"Anybody see or hear Archer call this man out?" the sheriff shouted to the crowd on the street.
Kid didn't wait for an answer. He didn't care in the least what happened to James Archer. Instead, he crouched down and gathered Tobin's lifeless body in his arms and slowly made his way toward the Mortician's Shop. People milling about fell silent and moved out of the way, allowing Kid to pass in silence,
"It was a fair fight!" Archer shouted, the words hanging in the air. "It was a fair fight!"
The crowd cared little about Archer's declaration and dispersed as quickly as it had gathered, leaving James Archer and a shamed sheriff alone in the street.
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Epilogue:
The mortician had told Kid he would have Tobin's body ready for transport the next day. Still numb, Kid walked down a now deserted main street to the hotel where Will Carson stood patiently for Kid's return. Kid reached the porch and stopped beside Carson who wrapped an arm about Kid's shoulders and led him back to his office.
Carson poured two large shots of whiskey and handed one to Kid. He raised his glass to shoulder height. "To Tom Tobin, one of the bravest men in all the West."
Kid stared at the amber liquid in his glass. Without raising his eyes, he took a sip, then wrapped both hands about the glass.
"What now?" Carson asked.
"Gonna take him to Colorado and bury him near Pike's Peak. "I think that's where he'd want to be buried."
"You making the trip alone? That's a long way."
Kid shook his head. "My partner will be here in a day or two."
"You and Tobin must have been very close," Carson said.
Kid frowned and gave his head a subtle shake. "Ain't seen him in ten years till I arrived here."
"You know… sometimes things happen for a reason; a reason we may never understand. Tom died the way he lived… on his own terms."
Kid offered no response. Instead, he set his glass on a table and walked to the door.
"You know he wasn't long for this world, even if this hadn't happened," Carson said.
The words stopped Kid. With his hand still gripping the door, Kid turned back to Carson.
"That somehow exonerates Archer and Hernandez?" Kid asked.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what?" Kid snarled.
"He knew he was dying, and he made a brave choice how to do that. We don't all get that opportunity."
"Like that's some kind of privilege?" Kid asked.
"In the days to come, give that some thought. As his friend, I think you'll come to understand."
The two men stood looking at the other, both firmly committed to their own views. With nothing more to say, Kid pulled on the knob and walked out of the room, leaving the door open and Carson alone with his thoughts.
Kid headed up to the room and once inside he locked the door and lay down on his bed. He clasped his hands behind his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling while silently chiding himself for failing his friend.
Near dusk, Kid was awakened by a knock on his door and a familiar voice softly calling his name. He pulled himself from the bed and crossed the room to unlock the door.
"I was about to pick the lock," Heyes told him as he slipped into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. "I took a train as soon as I got your message. What's the trouble?" he asked, noticing the shards of a coffee cup scattered about the now stained floor.
"It's over, but we're heading to Colorado in the morning."
"Colorado?" Heyes asked as he looked about the room and saw a second bed that had obviously been slept in, as well as clothing he did not recognize draped over the back of a chair. "I have a feeling this is going to be a long story."
"I don't suppose you've got any whiskey in your saddlebags?"
Heyes smiled and handed his saddlebags to his partner. "I had a feeling you'd be wanting something. Now, pour yourself a drink and tell me what happened."
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The next morning Heyes and Kid loaded the wooden casket into the back of the wagon and carefully secured it with rope.
Kid's hat was hanging against his back, and he pulled on the stampede straps until he could grasp the hat and set it on his head. He winced when the sweatband hit against the lump on the back of his head, then lifted the hat and repositioned it to a more comfortable position.
"Mr. Jones!" a voice called out as Kid was climbing into the wagon.
Kid climbed down and turned to see Hector Hernandez approaching.
"Who's that?" Heyes whispered with some urgency.
"It's alright. He's the dead boy's father," Kid replied.
Hernandez stopped just a few feet in front of Kid. He looked directly at Kid with soulful eyes. "I'm sorry. I know now I should have stopped this, given the man's condition."
"No," Kid replied. "You never shouldda started it in the first place. I'm sorry your son's dead, and it makes no difference to me who started that fight, but your boy's dying didn't give you the right to…"
"I know that now," Hernandez said, cutting Kid off before he could finish. "I've made a lot of mistakes with my son and… and I have to live with that fact and that remorse until the day I die."
Kid shook his head. "You're wrong again. You don't have to live with that. You get to live with that. Tom Tobin was a hero. Yeah, he killed two men in his day, but he saved a lot of lives by doing that. You didn't teach your boy respect; likely because you yourself don't know nothin' about it. I pity you, but don't come to me looking for some kind of exoneration cuz I've got none to give you."
Kid turned and climbed up into the seat of the wagon and gathered the reins while Heyes climbed up beside his partner. Without giving Hernandez a second glance, Kid flicked the reins and moved the wagon down the street, leaving Hernandez standing alone and broken on the dusty street of Ojinago.
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Author's Note:
Tom Tobin is a real historical figure and the account of what both he and the Espinosa brothers had done is true. The rest of Tobin's story as told here is pure fiction.
Jack Daniels was first available in 1866.
My apologies as I do not know how to add the ~ to Spanish words on my computer and a Google search was not helpful.
A thank you to Roy Huggins who had a habit of borrowing story plots from other westerns. Some may recognize the source.