Book of Secrets by Chris Roberson

away, and kicked them into a gallop. In moments, they had disappeared from view. La Mano Negra holstered his jet black pistols, and swung from the saddle. His boots hitting the dusty ground, he strode over to stand beside the Mexican. Jin Ti, dropping his Winchester in a saddle holster, followed suit.
      The Mexican, his gratitude writ in a wide grin across his face, extended his hand to La Mano Negra.
      "Gracias," the Mexican effused. "Gracias. You have saved my life."
      "Don't need to thank me," La Mano Negra answered, taking his hand. "Anyone would have done the same."
      "No señor, they would not. Only the great La Mano Negra, and his faithful Chinee aid." The Mexican next took Jin Ti's hand, and pumped it with a hearty shake. "I am Alberto Cuellar," he announced, "and I would be honored if you would take your dinner with my family tonight." 
      "Well…" La Mano Negra answered, seeming unsure.
      "And you are welcome to stay the night," Cuellar added. "As long as you like."
      "I don't know, Señor Cuellar," La Mano Negra replied. "We usually don't stay too long." "I don't know, Heishou," Jin Ti commented. "It would be nice to eat indoors for a change, and to sleep between sheets instead of rattlesnakes and scorpions."
      "Well, Jin Ti," La Mano Negra joked, "why don't you just put on a dress while you're at it?" 
      "Please, Señor Negra," Cuellar pleaded. "I insist."
      La Mano glanced from the entreating Mexican, to his weary companion, and then back again. "Oh, alright," La Mano Negra relented. "But just for tonight."

    2
    W ithin the hour they had reached Cuellar's home, not five miles from the Rio Grande, and were now seated around a wide table. Cuellar himself was at the head, La Mano and Jin Ti at either elbow, and Cuellar's young children, two daughters and a son, seated beside them. Cuellar's wife, a plump and happy young woman, was at the stove, completing preparations for their meal.
      La Mano, settling back in his straight backed chair, noted to himself that Cuellar's home was much more inviting inside than it had appeared outside. A rough structure, more stone and earth than wood, was held together more by good wishes than by design, but inside before a blazing fire it was as comfortable as any home the vigilante had seen on the range in many a year.
      Jin Ti, sitting across from him, was quietly sipping water from a battered metal cup Cuellar's wife had produced from some unknown corner, but his quiet air told La Mano that his Chinaman friend was at ease.
      Finally, Cuellar's wife ferried the food to the table: tamales, barbacoa, rice and beans, and flour tortillas. She set a plate before each of the guests, and invited them to tuck in.
      With a glance to Jin Ti, who caught his eye, La Mano casually reached up and, with an easy ges ture, removed the mask covering his face. He let it fall, revealing the features hidden behind its rough cloth. All motion ceased around the table, and all eyes turned to him, all except Jin Ti, who looked on with a quiet smile.
      "Can't eat with the damned thing on," La Mano answered to their questioning stares, and then turned to Cuellar's wife. "Excuse my French, ma'am."
      "De nada," Cuellar's wife answered quietly.
      Without another word, La Mano forked a pile of rice and beans onto a tortilla, and fell to eating. Cuellar made a noticeable effort to relax, and motioned his family to eat.
      Cuellar's oldest daughter, all of eight, kept staring at La Mano, her fork held motionless in the air above her plate.
      "Señor," she finally said in a small voice, "if you are La Mano Negra with the mask on, who are you with the mask off?"
      "Terese!" Cuellar barked. "Do not bother our guest!"
      "Ain't no bother, amigo," La Mano calmly answered. "See, little lady, in my line of work it don't pay for everybody to know who you are, cause they might just come gunnin' for your family, or else catch you unawares in your sleep or just