Brian Garfield by Tripwire

“Captain, Mr. Jed Pickett must have somebody around Sonora he deals with when he’s got something to sell. You wouldn’t have no notions about that, would you?”
    â€œI don’t follow you.”
    â€œWell Mr. Pickett’s got something that belongs to me and I expect he aims to sell it somewhere. Now how would you tote that?”
    â€œWell I think you’re a damned fool to pursue this, Boag, that’s the way I tote it. But there’s a man named Almada down the Rio Conceptión a few miles the other side of Caborca, owns a big ranch and a hacienda, and a good many of our rebel bandits go there to trade loot. You might try Almada.”
    â€œMuch oblige.”
    â€œI’ve got to be moving,” Captain McQuade said after he looked at his pocket watch. “We’ve got a train to meet. If you finish what you’re doing alive, come over to Caborca and ask for Hector Veragua. He can always tell you how to get in touch with me. Any time you want that job.”
    â€œThank you Captain.”
    â€œWell I’ve got to gather my children and be on my way. Why don’t you buy yourself another drink? You may as well, while your money’s still some good to you.” Captain McQuade shook his head and strode to the door. “ Vamanos, muchachos, ” he said in a ringing cavalryman’s voice, and banged out followed by his hulking warriors.
    Boag heard the horses mill around while their riders got mounted, and then there was the call of Captain McQuade’s command-voice and the hoofs drummed away until distance absorbed the sound.
    The bartender said, “You wish something more, Señor? ”
    â€œ Nada, grácias. ” Boag finished his coffee and settled the tab and went outside. The night was sharp with chill. He thought about bedding down for the night but the juices were running in him. He went back inside; the bartender was going around the room blowing out the lamps. Boag said, “Hey amigo, how do I get to Caborca?”
    â€œThrough the pass to the south and down the mountain until you find the river. That is the Rio de la Conceptión. You go downstream and you will come to a town with many tall palm trees.”
    He heard the barkeep latch the door behind him. He was tired and his bad leg was bothering him a little. Ought to sleep it out, but the juices were still pumping and he cinched up the sorrel and rode out toward the pass.

chapter four
    1
    He heard gunfire, a lot of it. From a hilltop that commanded several thousand acres of desert flats he had a long-distance view of people flitting from rock to rock, powder smoke drifting in tufts, a long line of uniformed troops lying along the parapet of a low bluff shooting down into the flitting figures, riderless horses prancing nervously. Evidently a troop of federals had ambushed a rebel column.
    Boag didn’t hang around to see how it turned out. The federals were setting up a hand-crank Gatling gun on its wheeled cart and when he rode back behind the hill he heard the thing begin to stutter viciously. Not much chance for the rebels there.
    Long rays of morning sun slanted across the hills. The racket of battle receded behind Boag; once, a mile or more to the north of him and running parallel with Boag’s course, a horseman riding low to the withers raced through the cuts and gullies and finally disappeared into the ridged badlands—a rebel messenger dispatched for help, Boag judged. It wasn’t going to do them any good, there wasn’t time to bring reinforcements. He gave that outfit back there half an hour to get cut to pieces by the Gatling gun. There wasn’t enough cover in the ambush-ground the federals had picked; the federals had set it up with first-class tactical talent.
    The old woman back on the Colorado had been right; the regular troops would win this one, there wouldn’t be any overthrow of the provincial government. Governor Pesquiera not only