Ryan turned to face Mateo. “Just who do you think you are?” he snarled.
Before he could answer, Frank Connors drew his gun and fired. Mateo wasn’t expecting it from him, as his focus was on Cade Ryan. The man was drunk, and a good thing for Mateo as he felt the bullet whiz by his face. Drawing his pistol he returned fire hitting Connors directly in the chest, the bullet knocking him down. Ryan turned to look at his friend lying there on the ground already dead.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” hollered Ryan, his hands out in front of him away from his gun. He started to stoop down by his friend.
“Don’t move!” ordered Mateo. Ryan seemed not to have heard. Mateo fired into the ground between the two men. “I said, don’t move.”
Ryan, visibly shaken even though in a partial stupor, stood back up. “With your left hand slowly remove your gun,” commanded Mateo. “Use your thumb and finger only.”
Despite the shape he was in, Ryan was able to complete the action. Mateo then nodded toward the man lying on the edge of the boardwalk. Ryan moved down to check on his partner.
“Alejo, go fetch Doc Jones!” ordered his father. He didn’t hesitate, but took off running, meeting the doctor about half-way down the street.
By the time Doc got to the scene, Mateo had picked up both of the guns. He didn’t seem to be shaken, but almost in a trance. Before Doc even stooped down to pronounce the man dead, he went to Mateo. “Come on, man, snap out of it!” barked Doc Jones.
Mateo jerked, then vigorously shook his head several times. Doc gave him an intense look, then went to the man on the street. He felt for a pulse knowing that there would be none then looked at the man on his knees by the dead man. “Is he dead?” questioned Ryan.
There was a small crowd gathered around. Doc Jones glanced up pointing at a man. “Go get Parker!” He stood up waiting for Ryan to get up instead the man threw himself over the body and began to weep. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m sorry.”
Enrique had moved over to stand by his brother, Alejo and Mateo walked over to them giving them both a big hug. Reaching down, Doc Jones picked up Ryan under the shoulder helping him to his feet. He looked around, spotting Mateo with his two boys and walked over to them. It was then he saw the badge on Mateo’s shirt.
“Sheriff, can I have my gun back?”
“You leaving town?” returned Mateo.
Ryan gave a slight nod. “I’ve no place to take him for burial. Will you see that it gets done properly? There’s some money in his vest pocket to pay for it. His name was Frank Connors.”
Mateo emptied the cartridges from the pistol before handing it back to Ryan.
Ryan reached out, took the gun, and holstered it. “Am I under arrest?”
“Leave town,” came Mateo’s reply.
* * * *
I got off the train at the last stop before Socorro and rode in just a few hours before sunset. Taking Fred over to the livery I paid for a stall and feed. After getting him settled I took my saddlebags walking up the street looking for a place to stay. A youngster strode out toward me. “Senor, may I help you?”
I said youngster, but he was up in his teens. A good-looking kid, thin, hair combed and seemed good-natured. “I need a place to stay, and then some good food.”
He smiled then pointed. “There are two hotels across the street from each other. I would recommend the one on this side,” he said pointing. “No bedbugs. As for a place to eat,” his smile seemed to broaden. “If you like Mexican, I would go to Miguel’s cantina. His wife is a mucho good cook.”
Flipping him a quarter I started to walk off, when he pulled at my shirt sleeve. “Senor, I do not accept your gracious gift,” he said, handing me back the quarter. He stared at me for several seconds and then our eyes made contact. There was something special about this boy. I nodded, taking the money and putting it in my vest pocket.
I continued on up the street, and coming to the hotel I went to one he advised. After checking in and getting my room, I came out to find him standing, leaning against the hitching rail. “Let me introduce you to Miguel,” he said to me. “That way he might add some extra frijoles to your meal.”
We walked to the cantina and he took me up to Miguel. “This is Miguel,” he said beginning his introduction. “And you are?”
Miguel already had his hand out to shake mine. “Name’s Miles Forrest, and I hear you have good food.”
“Si,” he responded, then pointed to a table.
Walking over to it, I sat, then pointed at the kid and ordered, “Sit, and order us something good.”
He smiled, took a chair and said, “I will order the best of the house…