The Lawman

Chapter Eighteen

That same afternoon Jose heard Raquel calling him from her cell. Since he’d been thinking about her ever since they had put her in the cell, he got up and hurried back.

“It’s very hot, Jose,” she complained. Her shirt was open and he could see her breasts very clearly. They were large and firm and they glistened with her sweat. A large knot formed in his throat.

“I am sorry—”

“Please, if I could just have a bath—”

“That would mean I would have to take you over to the hotel.”

“Well, you are the sheriff, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can do it if you like.”

She came right close up against him so that the bars were all that separated them.

“And since we will be at the hotel anyway, with all those beds.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “I have not had a man in a long time.”

Jose backed away quickly, banged into the wall, hurried out to get the cell key, and then came back in and unlocked her cell.

“I will have to stay with you while you take your bath,” he warned.

She smiled at him, ran her finger along his jaw-line and said, “I would not have it any other way.”

It was two hours later when she finally returned with the cell keys. Although bedding the sheriff had successfully scratched the itch she’d been feeling, she was sorry that it had not been Decker, instead.

“It took you long enough,” Gilberto complained as she unlocked his cell.

“I had to wait until I was in bed with him to catch him off guard,” she said innocently.

“Sure, you just had to see what he had inside his pants before you killed him, eh?”

Gilberto came out of the cell, followed by his other three men.

They all went out into the office and found their guns. Raquel had used the sheriff’s own weapon to kill him. He had been totally unaware of what was happening, because she chose the very moment he had climaxed to pull the trigger. She felt that this was probably a fine way for a man to die.

“What do we do first?” Raquel asked. “Teach the town a lesson?”

“To hell with this town,” Gilberto said, strapping on his gun. “I want that bastard gringo! I want to hang him up by his balls.”

“I would like to see that,” Raquel said.

“I am sure, little sister, that you would—and you will get your chance.”

They left the jailhouse by the back door, went to the livery, killed the boy who worked there and took their horses.

Decker was trailing Red Moran.

And Gilberto and Raquel Diaz were trailing Decker.

After Decker had left the home of his friend, Tomàs de la Vega, the Mexican had continued to drink. He drank until he ran out of whiskey, and when he sobered up he thought of some of the things Decker had said to him.

He didn’t like them.

He packed a few of his things into his saddlebags, went outside and saddled his horse, then left the horse a safe distance fron the house. That done, he very methodically set fire to the house where he had lived with his beautiful wife, walking around it with a torch, making sure that it would burn evenly and completely.

That done he put out the torch and stood back to examine his handiwork. He watched it burn for a while, then turned and mounted his horse. He rode away and did not look back once. As he was riding away he wondered just how far ahead of him Decker was.

In his past, most men would have died on the spot for the things Decker had said to him, but Decker was his friend, and had said those things out of friendship. Of this Tomàs was very sure.

When he found him, however, he still owed him at least a punch in the nose.

Tomàs de la Vega was moving back among the living.