The Lawman

Chapter Two

Decker had been to Mexico on many occasions, and he took the same route each time. He knew which small towns to stop in for a meal and a bed, where the waterholes were when a town wasn’t nearby and what homesteads willingly offered meals to travellers.

What you never knew about Mexico from trip to trip was who was in power, and who was fighting to get them out of power.

Actually, Decker didn’t care who was in power, just as he didn’t particularly care who was the present President of the United States. He didn’t care for politics at all, and ignored it unless it was totally impossible.

Decker wanted to live his life his way, at his pace, and to hell with everything else.

Of course, living his life his way meant hunting down men who had broken laws—laws sent up by politicians—but he chose to ignore this tenuous political connection between politicians and his chosen profession.

Bandidos were always a problem in Mexico, but again Decker had made enough trips to that side of the border that many of the bandit bands knew enough to leave him be.

He liked Mexico, and often thought that if he ever had enough money, he’d settle there.

Decker had bank accounts in banks in different parts of the country. He probably could have retired now if he wanted to, but he was too young to retire. He wasn’t thirty-five yet, and what would a man that young do if he retired?

And who was to say when you had enough money?

How much is ever enough?

It was just getting dark when Decker topped a rise and looked down at the adobe ranch house. It was fairly large, and he knew that inside there were four rooms. Though there was no stock in the corral next to it, the corral itself was in good shape, which indicated that perhaps someone still lived there.

Tomàs.

He rode down towards the house, and before he reached it the front door opened and a man stepped out.

It was Tomàs de la Vega, holding a rifle.

“Tomàs,” Decker said, “it’s been a year, but have I changed that much?”

Vega frowned, stared and then his face relaxed and he lowered his rifle.

But he did not smile.

“Decker.”

“You remember.”

“Of course. Step down.”

Decker dismounted.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Tomàs asked.

“A hot meal and a night’s sleep is what I am after, Tomàs.”

“You have it, then. Tend to your horse, and I will tend to dinner.”

Decker took his horse over to the corral, wondering why Tomàs and not his wife, Estralita, was cooking dinner.

He found out soon enough.

When he entered the house dinner was already on the table. Tortillas, rice and beans, bread, a pot of coffee and a bottle of tequila.

Decker looked around and saw that the house had fallen into a sad state. There were clothes everywhere, torn curtains on the window, and dust, layers of dust, which Estralita would never allow, unless…

“Estralita died eight months ago, amigo,” Tomàs said, sitting opposite Decker.

Looking closely at Tomàs now, Decker could see that the man was in as bad shape—or worse—than the house. There were dark circles under his eyes, he hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, his shirt dirty and he looked sixty rather than forty.

“I’m sorry, Tomàs. How did she die?”

“Three men came while I was away on business. They raped her and killed her.”

That jolted Decker. Estralita had not been a beautiful woman, but she had been vital and energetic, and it made you feel alive just to watch her move. She had not only died, she had been violated and murdered.

“Tomàs—”

“I hunted them,” Tomàs said with no emotion in his voice. “I found two of them, one after the other, and I tortured them, and killed them. I never found the third man. I came back here to…to live and to wait.”

If you could call this living, Decker thought. From what he could see his friend was simply surviving.

“Eat, there is plenty,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps tonight so much will not go to waste.”

Estralita always cooked more than enough, and it seemed that Tomàs had continued to do so in her absence.

“Tomàs, the ranch—”

“It is not a ranch anymore, my friend. No cattle, no horses. I stay here, that is all.”

“Tomàs, this is no way to live.”

“I wait for death, so I can go and join my beautiful Estralita.”

Decker put down his fork and said, “So why not just end it yourself. Put a gun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger.”

Tomàs stared at Decker across the table, and then suddenly huge tears fell from his eyes. The man sobbed and put his head down in his arms. Decker waited uncomfortably, eating slowly.

Finally, Tomàs picked up his head and wiped his eyes with his sleeves.

“That is the—the first time I cried for her, Decker,” he said, bitterly. “I could not before.”

“Before crying would not have shamed you. If you expect me to pity you because you cried in front of me, you are mistaken.”

“I want no pity”

“Then why did you wait for me to arrive before you cried? Eight months you’ve waited and when I arrive you cry. Why?”

“Perhaps you are right,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps I am looking for pity”

“Well, don’t look here.”

Once Tomàs de la Vega had been a hunter of men, a lawman and then a bounty hunter. Then he met Estralita Gomez and fell in love. They settled here, and whenever Decker came to Mexico he stopped in on them.

They finished eating in silence, Decker wishing he had never come, never seen his friend like this.

“What brings you to Mexico now?” Tomàs asked.

“I’m hunting.”

“Who?”

Decker told him, hoping that the questions indicated a possible change in Tomàs’s attitude. If he was curious, maybe he was starting to come around.

“I have not seen such a man. He must not have come this way.”

“Maybe he went by while you were drunk.”

“I am drunk at night. During the day I am awake, and I hear everyone who goes by. I am waiting…waiting for the third man.”

“You will grow old and die waiting.”

“So be it.”

After dinner they opened the bottle of tequila and drank directly from it, passing it back and forth.

“I will be leaving in the morning, Tomàs,” Decker said. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“We can search better together than I can alone. I will be checking all the likely routes across the border. We can cover more ground together.”

Tomàs stared at the bottle of tequila and shook his head.

“I must stay here.”

“And rot?”

Tomàs shrugged.

When Decker went to sleep Tomàs was opening another bottle of tequila.

Amazingly, in the morning the man was awake and almost sober, even if he did look like death warmed over.

Once he was mounted Decker rode back to the house, where Tomàs stood in the doorway.

“Come with me, Tomàs.”

“Vaya con Dios, my friend”

Tomàs de la Vega backed into the house and closed the door.

Decker felt very sad, and cursed Red Moran for bringing him to Mexico to see this.