Buchanan's Revenge (19 page)

Leech looked at his lieutenant for a long moment. "And
you all figure I made a deal with the Mex here?" he
asked.

"That's how it seemed, Big Red."

"All right!" the red-haired giant conceded. "Pack the
scudder onto a wagon and let's roll!" He mounted to his
saddle. "But I'm puttin' out a warnin'!" he said then.
"This is the last vote that goes agin me! The last one
.
"
He raised his great fist. "Next time you can disagree with
this!" and it looked very much like he shook it at Buch
anan.

It was just a dull ride after that to San Bernadino, over
to Linares, down as far south as Ciudad Victoria. Both
the waiting Americans and their Mexican customers were
overjoyed to see them arrive and quickly unload the goods.
The Mexicans, for their part, were getting nearly twice
as much cotton for the same money. The Americans
were doubling their profits. It was, undoubtedly, a good
deal for everyone but the Governor of the State and his
cronies.

Lash Wall was all for turning the empty train around
pronto and going back across the river for the next load.
Big Red, spying a cantina still open for business at two
o'clock in the morning, overruled him.

"We earned some money tonight!" he said boisterously.
"Now let's spend a little of it!" So in they went to the
oasis, startling the half a dozen natives who were practi
cally asleep in the place. Leech led the way to the bar with a clomp of bootheels that set the overhead chan
delier swaying perilously.

"Set 'em up, amigol" he told the old bartender. "J
ust
put the bottles out and we'll do the honors!"

"Yo no sabe, senor," the ancient said, shaking his head
at Leech and the whole hard-bitten crew.
"No
sabe
ingles."

"Whisky!" Leech bawled at him, and then a female
voice spoke.

"Licor por los hombres," she translated. "Las bofellas."
A black-haired, black-eyed girl in a short skirt and cotto
n
blouse, she walked into the center of the room with a
saucy swing of her torso.

Big Red slapped his palms together, beamed down at
her like an expectant wolf.

"Well, come over here!" he said juicily. "Ain't you a
flower in the desert!" She came right to him, smiling.
"For the wheesky," she said. "You got the dinero, no?"
Hell, yes, I got dinero," Leech said. "Whatta you take
me for, a deadbeat? Lash, put some money on the bar!"
Wall reached into his moneybelt, dug out two ten-
dollar coins and laid them down. The girl scooped them
up, bit them hard between her gleaming little teeth,
smiled again and handed them to her grandfather.

Big Red roared his enjoyment at her distrust, uncorked
a bottle of the Taos lightning and handed it to the lady.
She shook her head.

"How much you pay," she asked him, "eef I show you
dance?"

Leech roared again. "Depends how much you gonna
show!" he told her and the rest of the gang laughed with
him. Even Buchanan, who lifted a second bottle and a
glass from the bar, turned and walked with it to a quiet
table in a dark corner.

The girl raised the skirt above her shapely knee. "I
dance flamenco," she said tauntingly. "How much you
pay?"

Big Red reached down to raise the hem of the skirt
h
igher. She jumped nimbly out of the way.
"You pay," she told him, "then you see."
"What?" Leech said. "Me, buy a pig in a poke?" His
vo
ice was a bellow of good humor.

The girl shrugged. "Then you no see," she said and
abruptly turned away, started for the door.

"Hey, come on back here!" Leech ordered. "Let's see
that
dance of yours."

She stopped, looked back over her shoulder. "How
mu
ch?"

"Five dollars!" he told her. "But it better be worth it
.
"

"Ten," she said.

"For a dance?"

"The flamenco," she said.
"

"I'll chip in a dollar," Frank Hancock said. "Whatever
the hell a flamenco is."

"Me, too," another gunman said. "Sounds special."
Leech raised his hand and scowled at them. "This is
my party and I'm payin'," he said. "Lash, hand over an
other coin." Wall sighed, but did as Leech said. The girl
took the gold and dropped it into the neck of her blouse.
She went around behind the bar, then, came back with a
Castanet and a tambourine, moved to the center of the
dimly lighted wooden floor and kicked off her flat-soled shoes. A silence fell over the place as she stood there with
the Castanet held above her head, body poised and erect.

The Castanet clicked, clicked again, began a smooth,
rhythmic rattling. Her bare shoulders moved, then her
breasts and her slim hips. She raised up on the tips of her
toes and gave the tambourine a staccato whap! That began the dance. She glided sideways, as if on air, moved back
again, came toward Leech provocatively, retreated when
he made a playful grab for her. She did that one more time
then pirouetted. The skirt ballooned outward, showed
enough of her legs in a brief instant to whet Big Red's
appetite for more. Now she increased the tempo with
the castanet, struck the tambourine on her elbow, her
knees, her backside, began writhing and wiggling her body
in wild abandon.

Not so wild, though, that she didn't manage to keep
out of Big Red's reach. She spun away from him, skirt flying above her thighs, and Leech began to stalk her
around the room, grinning wickedly and egged on by his
gang at the bar. The dancer whirled around faster and
faster, her figure almost a blur in the dimness, and Leech
closed in.

The dance, or whatever it was, came to an abrupt end
when the girl spun herself down into Buchanan's big lap,
threw her arms around his neck in friendly fashion.

"Hola, guapo.'" she told him.

"Hello, yourself," he said.

"You take care of Rita, no?"

"Well . . ." He raised his glance to the hovering figure
of Big Red Leech.

"Hand her over, brother!" Leech demanded.

"No, no!" Rita answered. "Dance ees over. I'm weeth
heem now."

"Like hell you are!" Leech reached down for her and she
put a bare foot in the center of his belly, pushed hard.

"Dance ees over!" she yelled sharply. "Go way now
.
"

Buchanan, the innocent bystander, took a casual pull at
his glass of whisky.

"I'm gettin' more'n that for ten dollars!" Big Red
stormed down at the girl in his lap. "Leggo that wench,
bucko!"

Buchanan showed him the drink in one hand, the other
holding nothing. The girl settled closer against him, tight
ened her grip around his neck.

Leech, infuriated, took a swipe at the glass. The whisky splashed into Buchanan's face and the glass went flying across the room. Leech bent down quickly, wrapped his
hands around the front legs of the chair and upended-it.
Buchanan went over onto the back of his head and the
screaming Rita with him. He lay there for another mo
ment gazing quietly upward at the fiercely grinning red
headed man.

"Move out of the way," he told the girl and she rolled
to one side, scampered to her feet. Buchanan rolled the
other way, made the mistake of taking his eyes off Leech.
Big Red's size-14 boot caught him behind the ear, flat
tened him out on his face this time. Buchanan lay still
again, silently bawling himself out for his carelessness,
feeling the thirst for battle rise sweet and warm through
his chest.

Leech was laughing down at him, mockingly. Buch
anan, with his back to the standing man, began to rise a
second time, very slowly. Suddenly he dropped back down.
Leech's boot grazed the top of his head, and as it went
by Buchanan grabbed it and shoved.

Leech came down and Buchanan got up. Big Red, half-strangling on his rage, started to rise again immediately.
Buchanan waited patiently, then drove his fist into the
middle of those red whiskers. And stared respectfully. For
all Leech did was shake his head to clear it and come
wading on in. Buchanan took careful aim, cocked his fist
and threw it against Leech's broad nose. The bridge made
a loud popping noise but Big Red's forward momentum
was unchecked. Buchanan tried him down below, buried his left fist to the wrist in Leech's belly. The man grunted
and laid a sledgehammer along Buchanan's jaw. His other
hand got into Buchanan's thick hair, gripped it tight and
yanked hard. Buchanan's lip slammed against the top
of Leech's bowed head. White lights dazzled his brain
and his knees buckled. Knees. He brought the right
one up, drove it home, and Leech abruptly let go of his
hair and quit using him for a battering ram.

The two men stood back from each other, as if by some
signal, and filled their lungs with air. Then Leech jammed
his boot down onto Buchanan's instep, brought up an uppercut that was intended to stretch Buchanan's neck,
followed with a roundhouse left to the ear that started
bells ringing. Buchanan didn't pause to listen to them, punched a straight, shoulder-powered right into the red blob that was Leech's freely bleeding nose. Did it again and Big Red gave ground. Buchanan jolted him a third
time with a chopping left that set up the bewhiskered
jaw for the hardest punch the West Texan had ever
thrown in his life.

Leech took it, stood there with his arms at his side,
swaying back and forth and smiling foolishly through his
split lips and broken teeth. Buchanan reached out, put
his hand on the redhead's great chest and pushed gently.
Leech went down with a crash that knocked the bottle from the table. Buchanan retrieved it, hoisted it by the
neck and let it pour for a full and wonderful five seconds.

They came away from the bar, their voices hushed,
their faces reverent, and stood looking down at Big Red
as if this was his wake. Lash Wall broke the silence.

"Well, Buchanan, you did it," he said. "And even
though I see him there I don't believe it." There was deep
regret in the man's voice, the sorrow they all felt for a
fallen champion.

Including the weary, battered, blood-smeared victor, who
wouldn't know until the aching began that his own nose
was broken again and the three knuckles on his left hand
dislocated.

From the floor came a growling sound as consciousness flowed back into that massive figure. Big Red opened his
eyes, stared all around, settled his gaze on Buchanan's
face.

"You're boss now," he said solemnly. Buchanan
reached down with his hand.

"Grab hold," he said. Leech took the grip and Bu
chanan lifted him to his feet again. Their hands stayed
locked, by mutual consent.
"I got one favor to ask," Buchanan said.
"What's that?"
"Don't ask for a rematch."
Leech tried to grin. "Might lick ya, next time."
"No mights about it, Big Red. You're the bossman
here."

"Well," Leech said, "at least I got my ten dollars worth of somethin'J"

That reminded them both of the bone they'd been
fighting over and they looked around the barroom. But
the dancing girl had departed into the night, fled with her
ten-dollar gold piece at that point in the battle royal
when Buchanan seemed to be the certain loser.