Edge: Ten Grand

“If you just put the rifle down, old man,” he said, “I may not kill you. If you do not drop it I am going to count to three and: then I will kill you.  I’m not old, and I am very fast.”

His tone was low and easy, his voice just carrying to the barn where the old man strained his failing hearing to make sense of the words.  Age, the effects of the tequila, and a fear of Edge caused his hands to shake, so that the rifle muzzle wavered.

“You talk tough, Americano,” he said, and the shake was audible in his voice.

“One,” Edge called and drew in a blur, squeezing the trigger of the Remington.

With a yell of alarm Luis threw the rifle into the air and in the instant the revolver’s firing mechanism slid into movement Edge altered his aim. The bullet smashed into the rifle’s stock, kicking the big gun into a spin before it thudded to the ground.

“You said three,” Luis called, affronted.

“Sometimes I tell lies,” Edge answered, holstering the revolver, kicking the bucket into the well as his horse finished drinking.

“Americanos have no honor.”   

Edge grinned coldly, lifted the chestnut’s reins and led her towards the shade of the barn. “Honor is for the young who want to die that way. I figure to live a long time.” 

He grimaced when he smelled the man, moved to one side of him and glanced out of the shadow into the body littered square.

“El Matador?”

Luis nodded. “That is what his men called him. Very small.” He held up a hand, indicating the height of the bandit chief. “But a big leader. Many men. They come quietly, like mountain lions stalking prey.  Then, boom, boom. The people do not know what is happening until they are dead,” He grinned. “Except for, the girls. The bandits, they let the girls live for a little longer.  For just long enough, you know?” He winked and leered knowingly.

Edge eyed him coldly and the look withered the old man’s enjoyment of the memory, “You’re all that’s left?”

Luis spat. “Like you, señor, I wish to live many more years, I hide and I watch. I know the ways of bandits.  Once I was a bandit.  We were the most feared in all Mexico.  Fast, like you, I was.  I have killed many men.  Had many women. More than El Matador will enjoy, for he is careless.  After a thing like San Murias, nobody should be left alive to tell the tale.”

Edge did not appear to be listening.  He had drawn his knife and was idly paring his nails. Then his eyes found Luis’ face. “What’s your name?”

“Luis Aviles, señor,” came the reply. “I rode with …”

“You saw it all?”

“Everything, señor.”

“And heard?”

His eyes shone. “The shooting. And the screams of the girls.”

“Must have been fun,” Edge said drily. “Did you hear any words?”

“Words, señor?”

“Did they say where they were headed when they left here?”

An enthusiastic nodding of his head. “They ride for Hoyos, señor. I heard El Matador say this.  For Hoyos.  Señor, you wish to follow the bandits?”

“I ain’t in Mexico for my health,” Edge replied, speaking more to himself than to the old man. “Where is Hoyos?” 

Luis pointed a crooked finger towards the south.  “Many miles, señor.  In the mountains, high up. An evil place where many bandits have lived. I lived there once.  Sometimes the soldiers come and there is much fighting.  But always the bandits return.  A man has to be a brave one to go to Hoyos alone.” 

“I ain’t going alone, Luis,” Edge said and turned on an icy grin when he saw the look of bewilderment on the other’s face.

“Señor?”

“Following tracks is tiring work, Luis,” Edge explained.  “You know where Hoyos is, so you can take me.”

Luis shook his head emphatically. “I do not want to go, señor. It is a bad place. El Matador is a bad man.”

Edge finished working on his nails and held the knife out in front of him, turning it so that the blade flashed sunlight.  Luis squinted his eyes against the dazzle.     

“My Spanish ain’t so, good, I guess,” Edge said. “You don’t understand, Luis. I wasn’t asking you to come along . . . I was telling you, amigo.”

“Please . . .?”  Luis implored.

Edge looked about the square. “There’s nothing here for you. I couldn’t leave you here like this.  In a village of the dead there is no place for a man who lives.  I’d feel obliged to kill you, Luis, You coming?”

“I think I come with you, señor,” Luis answered, and now his nod was as emphatic as the head shaking had been. “I will lead you to Hoyos and then you will be grateful and release me to go my own way.”

“Where would you go, Luis?”

“To a place I know where there is much money, señor,” came the reply, and again a memory animated the crinkled face. “Money that is all mine.” Then something triggered a stronger recollection and he stared with glowing eyes at a crudely designed ring on the third finger of his right hand. “Ten thousand, American,” he said in a hushed tone of reverence. 

Edge swung himself into the saddle and looked down at the old man without emotion. “Get your burro, old man,” he said. “When we get to Hoyos I will decide whether to let you go in search of your dream.”