Lookout Hill (9781101606735) (11 page)

With him?

Sam saw Lupo stand straight up in the shallow grave, his Walker Colt pointed and cocked toward the lead
rurale
from less than twenty or thirty feet. The charging
rurale
slid to a sudden stop at the sight of Lupo and the big Walker Colt. His eyes widened in recognition as Lupo reached up and snatched the bandanna from his forehead.

“Do not make me tell you again,” Lupo shouted in warning. “Drop your guns and raise your hands.”

“Drop your guns, you imbeciles!” the lead
rurale
shouted over his shoulder. “It is
Coronel
Lupo!” His gun fell from his hand as if it had scalded him.

Coronel Lupo?

Sam looked down his rifle sights, ready for anything. He watched as Lupo pulled himself from the open grave and walked forward, his Colt still covering the lead
rurale
, who stood frozen with fear.

“Are you all right, Ranger?” Lupo asked over his shoulder.

“They’re covered,” said Sam calmly, a bead drawn on the lead
rurale
, just in case things took a bad turn for Lupo.

“Don’t shoot us, Juan Lupo,” the lead man said, shaking. “We did not know it is you!”

“You know it now,” Lupo said firmly, his feet planted shoulder-width apart. He called past the lead
rurale
to the man standing a few yards behind him, his
gun on the ground, his hands held chest high. “Get your wounded man up and bring him here, pronto,” he demanded. Looking to the right in the brush, Lupo spotted three horses hitched to a standing rock. “Bring your horses with you,” he called out.

The second
rurale
hurried to the fallen man and pulled him to his feet. Sam walked over beside Lupo, his Winchester still cocked and ready.

“A bounty hunter, huh?” he said. He eyed Lupo skeptically as the nearest
rurale
still stood frozen in place. Farther back, the other
rurale
walked forward leading the horse, his wounded companion’s arm looped over his shoulder.

“Yes, a bounty hunter…among other things,” Lupo said sidelong to him, keeping his dark eyes on the lead
rurale
.

The Ranger backed away from Lupo as the three
rurales
approached. Lupo stared at them, the wounded man swaying in place, standing on his own now, a hand clasping his bloody shoulder. Both Sam and Lupo noted the Remington revolver in the wounded man’s holster, but Sam wasn’t going to mention it. This was Lupo’s play. He kept his Winchester leveled and cocked.

The lead
rurale
tried to offer a smile, but it only looked stiff and nervous as he lowered his hands a little, keeping them spread in a show of peace.

Before Lupo could speak, the
rurale
rattled quickly in Spanish,
“Coronel Lupo! Mil disculpas, tenido nosotros conocido este hombre estuvo con usted—”

“Speak English, hombre,” Juan Lupo said, cutting him off.

Again Coronel Lupo,
Sam thought, listening closely.

The
rurale
appeared stunned. He gave his two companions a baffled look, then took a breath and turned his eyes back to Juan Lupo.

“I offer a thousand apologies,” he said in labored
English. “Had we known it is you with this one, we would never have fired at him. But we saw him loading a body onto a horse as we rode down to the valley and—”

“What are your names? Where is your
capitán
and the rest of his men?” Lupo demanded, cutting him off again.

The three looked at each other.

“I—I am Emilio Sanchez,” said the nervous
rurale
. “This is Hector.” His hand gestured to the other rider, then to the one with the Ranger’s bullet in his shoulder. “This is Teto.” The wounded man wobbled dangerously to one side, but caught himself at just the right moment. Watching him, Sam questioned how hurt he really was.

“Where are Goochero and the rest of his men?” Lupo asked again.

Emilio appeared to stall for a moment, then gestured back along the trail.

“The captain and the rest of the men are not far behind,” he said.

“I see,” said Lupo. “Then you three are scouting the trail?”

A look of sudden relief came upon the
rurale
’s face.

“
Sí
, that is correct,” he said, “we are scouting the trail for the
capitán
.” He looked at the one named Hector for support.

“That’s right,” Hector said. “We are trail scouts, the three of us.”

“I see,” said Lupo. He eyed them sharply. “I am glad
to hear that, because so many
rurales
decide to desert Goochero’s provincial forces when they get this close to the
putas
and the mescal in Barranca del Cobre.”

“
Sí
, it is true,” said Emilio, working at hiding the guilty look on his face. “But that is not what we do. We are not interested in whores or mescal in Copper Gully, only in scouting the trail for our
capitán
.” As he spoke his hands fell idly to his sides. Sam noted the move; so did Lupo.

“You, Hector,” Lupo said, letting the big Walker Colt sag a little in his hand. “Bring those horses closer. I want to look at them.”

Hector gave Emilio a guarded look before stepping forward with the horses.

“You heard him, Hector,” Emilio said sharply. “Show him our horses.”

Hector pulled the three horses forward by their reins and stepped all the way out of the brush.

Sam noted that Lupo had lowered his Colt. He was up to something, letting his guard down that way. The Ranger had seen that kind of move plenty of times, always by slick gunmen who wanted to put him off guard, make him think they had given up their edge. He had no idea why a man like Lupo would do this, but being Lupo’s backup, he decided to play along. He lowered the butt of the Winchester three inches, and watched and listened.

“They are our regular horses,” said Hector, even as he led the animals forward and stopped in front of Lupo.

“I will be the judge of that,” Lupo said. He jerked the reins from the
rurale
’s hand. “Raise this one’s front hoof. Show me the marking.”

Hector’s eyes slid to Emilio, then back to Lupo.

“Not all of our horses have marked hooves,
Coronel
Lupo,” he said warily.

“But one out of these three better show a mark,” Lupo warned. His dark eyes stabbed back at Hector like a dagger. “Now show me,” he demanded.

“
Sí
,” Hector said, “I will show you.”

He backed up against one of the horses’ rear legs, crouched and raised its dusty hoof between his knees. Lupo let his Colt point away from Emilio as he leaned in closer to Hector to inspect the animal for a hoof marking.

Here goes,
Sam thought, seeing Emilio catch the move and let his right hand drift around toward the back of his belt.

“No mark on this one,” Lupo said to Hector. “Show me another.”

“
Sí
,
Coronel
Lupo,” said Hector. He let the horse’s hoof down and turned to the next animal. But instead of reaching down for the horse’s hoof, he grabbed for a gun behind his back.

As fast as a rattler, Lupo’s big Colt jammed into Hector’s middle and exploded. The shot streaked cometlike through his belly and out his spine. Sam saw Emilio and the wounded Teto make their move at the same time. Going for Teto, the one visibly wearing a gun, Sam fired the Winchester and watched the man fly backward as the bullet’s impact slammed his chest.
As soon as he fired, Sam levered a fresh round and swung the rifle barrel toward Emilio, but his help wasn’t needed.

Lupo’s big Walker Colt roared like some angry giant. Emilio turned a twisted backflip, leaving a red circle of mist in the air as he hit the ground facedown, as limp as a bundle of rags.

Sam watched Lupo swing the Walker from one downed
rurale
to the next, satisfying himself that each man was dead as the spooked horses tried to pull their reins free from his hand. Settling the animals, he let the gun hang down his side and turned to face Sam.

“Well…
bueno suerte
for us,” he said flatly. “Now we have no shortage of horses.”

“
Good luck for us…?
” Sam only stared at him. “You set them up and killed them.”

Lupo stopped cold as he saw the Ranger’s smoking Winchester barrel pointed at him.

“Oh…?” he said, as if disregarding the rifle. “And what did these cowards do? They slipped in on us, to ambush us, kill us and take what money we might have to pay for their spree in Copper Gully.” As he spoke, he slid his Colt back into his belly holster and showed Sam his empty hands. “There, you see, I am unarmed now. I don’t think you will shoot me, Ranger,” he added, “not that it upsets you this much to kill these jackals.”

“Don’t bet your life on it, ‘Colonel’ Lupo,” Sam said. “You’ve got about one second to start leveling with me.”

Lupo let out a breath. He kept his hands chest high, still holding the three horses’ reins.

“All right, it is true I hold the rank of colonel in the emperor’s
federales
,” he said. “But it is only an honorary commission bestowed upon me by
Generalissimo
Manuel Ortega for finding some missing gold, stolen from Mexico City.” He gave a sight shrug as if to dismiss the matter. “Does that clear things up for you?”

“Some.” The Ranger continued to stare at him, but he lowered the rifle butt from his shoulder to his waist. “I saw how these men acted when they recognized you. You didn’t have to kill them. You could have shooed them away like pigeons.”

“Yes,” said Lupo, “and like pigeons they would have flown off somewhere and sooner or later let someone know they saw me here.” He paused, then added, “A bounty hunter does not like for his comings and goings to be known.” He gave the Ranger a look. “Neither does a lawman like yourself, eh?”

“Neither does a spy,” Sam said bluntly.

“A spy?” said Lupo. “That is what you think I am now because I killed these deserters, these ambushers?”

“To be honest, Lupo,” said Sam, “right now I don’t know what you are.” He gestured toward the three horses at Lupo’s side. “Now that horses are more plentiful, I don’t see much need in us riding together.”

“All right, Ranger, you’ve got me,” Lupo said. “Perhaps I am something other than a bounty hunter. Perhaps it is more accurate to say I am a special attaché serving the emperor of Mexico under
Generalissimo
Manuel Ortega.”

“Special attaché…?” Sam said with a skeptical
look. He was squeezing for an explanation, but he wasn’t sure what he was getting for his trouble.

“All right, then, ambassador, if you like,” Lupo said with a slight shrug. Seeing the unyielding look on Sam’s face, he said “An envoy? A public servant?”

“I’m sticking with
spy
,” said Sam.

“Have it your way,” said Lupo. “But I can still show you the way to Colina de Mirador.”

“Or I can still find Lookout Hill on my own,” Sam replied, knowing his words were part bluff. Whatever Lupo was, he was worth riding with if he led them both to the killers they were looking for.

“While we stand here talking about it,” Lupo said, sounding a little impatient, “Siebert and Bellibar ride farther from us. One good hard rain and it will be as if they never rode through these hills.”

“I agree,” said Sam. He let the Winchester droop in his hand and gestured back toward the open graves. “We can finish up here and talk about it on the trail,” he said.

“Yes, that would be wise,” Lupo said. Offering nothing more on the matter, he led the three horses over beside Black Pot and the silver-gray dun. Sam watched as he walked back to the half-dug graves and picked up the shovel. “Meanwhile, you can ask yourself how bad you really want the man who did all this killing, and his companion, Bellibar.”

Bobby Hugh Bellibar had not wasted any time. When he’d shot Hodding “Hot Aces” Siebert and left him for
dead, floating away downstream along a switchback hill trail, he’d ridden Siebert’s roan almost nonstop to Copper Gully.

As soon as he arrived at the booming little mining town—a venture financed and overseen by the Pettigo-American Mining Company—he reined Siebert’s roan and the other two dead outlaws’ horses up to a row of iron hitch posts out in front of a ragged tent cantina.

Just when he started toward the cantina, four gunshots exploded from inside the large tent. Bellibar stepped quickly aside, his hand going to the Remington for assurance as a bloody gunman wearing a frayed red pin-striped suit staggered out through the tent fly. The man stood unsteadily, one hand clutching his chest where blood spurted and gushed from three bullet holes. With his other hand he tried in vain to raise a shiny double-action Colt Thunderer as he fired it repeatedly down at his side.

Bellibar watched as the man shot himself three times in the right foot before pitching face-forward onto the rocky ground. Severed toes bounced like popcorn from his shot-open boot.

Bellibar grinned with perverse satisfaction.

“Bobby Hugh, this is your kind of town,” he said aloud to himself as the three horses nickered in terror at the hitch post.