“I’m looking for someone,” he said.

  “Ah, I thought as much. May one be so bold as to inquire—”

  “He calls himself Dancer. Charlie Dancer. As far as I know, he’s well ahead of me. I was laid up for a spell. I’m not even sure that I’m on the right trail now.”

  “This Dancer, he is a friend of yours?”

  “He was. Once.”

  “I might know something about Dancer,” said Vicenti. “But I would like to know your intentions regarding him.”

  “They’re simple,” said Slocum. “I mean to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “I, too, would like to kill the son of a bitch,” Vicenti said.

  “Then he’s been through here?”

  “Sí. Not too long ago.”

  “What did he do?” Slocum asked.

  “I had a son, señor: a very healthy, handsome, promising young man—before Dancer came through here.”

  “How come you let him get away?”

  “I was not in Chekov when it happened. The word was brought to me just recently, and I am here, ready to go after this man.”

  “I see,” said Slocum.

  “And you, señor? May I ask why you want to kill this man?”

  “He shot me,” said Slocum. “Without warning. But that’s not the main reason. He made me kill a young man, just a kid really.”

  “Your reasons are strong like mine. Shall we join forces? Shall we see who gets to kill this son of a bitch?”

  “Partnering up always seems to end up in disaster for me,” Slocum said. “I think I’ll just go my way.”

  “If you are on the right trail, señor, and I think you are, you’ll find that almost everyone you meet along the way from here on will be Mexican. You might be able to get some information from them. I know that I can. I also know this country.”

  “But we don’t know that I’m on the right trail.”

  “Give me just one day, señor,” Vicenti said, “and I can find out.” Slocum looked at Vicenti again for a long moment. “Waiting one day here to find out for sure will save you time in the long run. Besides, you said that Dancer shot you. I can tell that was recently. A day of rest won’t hurt you at all.”

  “If I wait here a day for you, then you’ll want to ride along with me. Is that right?”

  “That would be my deal with you, Señor Slocum.”

  “And when we find Dancer?”

  “We’ll see who can shoot him the quickest.”

  “All right,” said Slocum. “It’s a deal. I’ll wait here for you till this time tomorrow morning. If you’re not back by then, I’m moving on alone.”

  “That is fair enough, señor. I’ll be on my way.”

  Vicenti got up and left Chekov’s without any more formalities, and Slocum sat alone wondering if he had made the right decision. In another minute, Chekov came back with the coffeepot.

  “You recall a man named Dancer?” Slocum asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Chekov. “A killer, that one. He killed young Vicenti. The son of the man you’ve been talking with. That Dancer, he provoked it, too.”

  “Thanks,” Slocum said. Chekov had just confirmed everything Vicenti had told him. Maybe he had made the right choice after all. He wanted his revenge on Dancer as bad as ever, but then, so did Vicenti, and Vicenti’s reason was just as good as Slocum’s, maybe better. And two against one was better odds.

  Slocum drank some more coffee, then went outside to practice shooting. He was almost back to normal: still a little slow, but not much. He went back inside and had a Mexican lunch. Vicenti was right about one thing. The Russian’s Mexican cooking was his best. For the rest of the day, he hung around the place smoking and drinking coffee. When things got slow, Chekov came around to talk to him. Slocum had supper and decided to switch to whiskey.

  He was on his third glass when Vicenti came back in. He went straight to Slocum’s table and sat down. “You’re back early,” Slocum said. “Have a drink?”

  “Sí.”

  Slocum called for another glass and poured Vicenti a drink. The vaquero drank it down and had a second poured.

  “You’re on the right trail,” he said.

  “How far?” asked Slocum.

  “He’s maybe four days ahead of us. But he’s not going anywhere just now.”

  “How could you take a half a day’s ride and come back with that information?” Slocum asked.

  “I told you, didn’t I, that Mexicans live all along the way on this trail? The word passes from one household to the next. I did not have to travel far to find out what we need to know. Dancer is staying at a place called Janos. It’s a small town, but not so small as Chekov. The population is almost all Mexican. Dancer has a room in one of the two hotels. He’s been seen in the company of Miguel Torrino, a notorious bandido. My friends are afraid that he might be joining up with this man.”

  “He hasn’t yet?”

  “It seems not.”

  “Then the faster we can get to him the better,” said Slocum. “We don’t need to try to tangle with a whole gang of bandidos. Not if we can help it.”

  “I agree. Are you ready to ride?”

  “Now? It’ll be dark soon.”

  “I know the trail well. We can ride it safely in the night.”

  Slocum turned down his whiskey. He dug in his pocket for some change as he stood up.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s ride.”

  The two men did not talk as they rode. Now and then Vicenti said something about the trail up ahead of them, but that was about all. They passed several small homes along the trail and rode through one small settlement, but by the time they did, it was all rolled up tight for the night. They kept riding. Finally, Vicenti turned off the trail and pulled up at a small stream.

  “We should rest and water the horses,” he said. “This is a good place for it.”

  Slocum dismounted and let the Appaloosa drink. Vicenti did the same for his mount. Slocum took a cigar out of his pocket and held it out toward Vicenti, who took it.

  “Thank you, señor,” he said.

  Slocum took out another for himself, struck a match and held it out for Vicenti. Then he used the same match to light his own. He sat down beneath a large tree and leaned back on the trunk. Vicenti squatted on his haunches.

  “Señor Slocum,” he said, “you told me that Dancer had once been your friend. Will you tell me how that came about?”

  “I made a big mistake,” Slocum said. “I saved him from a bunch of cowboys who were fixing to hang him for rustling.”

  “I bet he was guilty.”

  “Well, right now, I wouldn’t bet against it. At the time, I didn’t know him from the president of Mexico. I just don’t like lynching is all. Well, we rode together for a spell, came to a town and got jobs at the same ranch. He seemed to be all right.”

  “I see.”

  “Then this kid got to following him around, acted like he thought Dancer couldn’t do anything wrong. Dancer took him under his wing. Taught him about roping and shooting. The shooting was what the kid really took to. Well, a range war started up between our boss and a neighbor rancher. Dancer and the kid killed some of the neighbor cowhands. The kid seemed to enjoy it. Then he got off with me, just the two of us, and he called me. I wouldn’t draw on him. I tried to talk him out of it, but he went for his gun. I had no choice. I had to kill him. I blame Dancer for that.”

  “But why would the young man try to shoot you? You were on the same side, weren’t you?”

  “I thought so, but later it became clear that Dancer had switched sides. I figured maybe he and the kid switched earlier and just never let us know about it. It’s the only reason I can think of, other than him just wanting to add to his reputation.”

  “And then Dancer did shoot you?”

  “Not right away. We won the war, but Dancer ran off. I went after him, on account of the kid. At a town back down the trail, I stepped into a saloon, and there he was, six-gun out and cocked and pointed. He pulled the trigger almost before I had time to recognize him.”

  “Ay, caramba.”

  “Say,” said Slocum, “why don’t we stay here for a little while? Catch a few winks. Any objections?”

  “No objections. It’s a pretty good idea. A good place for the horses. We don’t have to sleep the night away.”

  They bedded down and slept, but it did not seem long before Vicenti was poking Slocum awake. They saddled up and hit the trail again. Slocum was wondering about this night travel, but when the sun began to peek over the far western horizon, and Vicenti suggested they stop at the next house for breakfast, he decided that the vaquero was right. They had a good start, and they had a good place to stop and eat.

  The Mexican family knew Vicenti and welcomed the travelers into their home. They took care of the horses, and they fed Slocum and Vicenti a good, big breakfast and lots of hot coffee. Vicenti questioned them a little about Dancer in Spanish, and then he told Slocum in English that as far as they knew, Dancer was still in Janos, and he had not yet managed to join up with Torrino. Then he turned back to the family and thanked them in Spanish, and to Slocum he said, “Shall we go?”

  In the middle of the day, they came across two riders, dressed like vaqueros but heavily armed. The two were riding toward them, but they stopped as if they were waiting for Slocum and Vicenti to do the same, to palaver. It would have been difficult to force their way on down the trail past the two, so they did stop.

  “Howdy,” said Slocum.

  Vicenti greeted them in Spanish, and the conversation continued in that language. Now and then, Vicenti told Slocum something in English about what was being said. “They asked where we are going,” he said, and then a little later, “They said they like our horses.” Slocum did not like the looks of the two. He didn’t like the way they grinned and laughed. Then Vicenti said, “I think we are going to have to kill them. I think they belong to that gang I was telling you about.”

  Then the Mexican who was directly in front of Slocum said, “Are you talking about Torrino’s gang? That was a pretty good guess. We are Torrino’s men all right. So you mean to kill us, do you?”

  “Why didn’t you talk English to begin with?” said Slocum.

  “Why should I? I wasn’t talking to you anyhow.”

  Then the two Torrino men went for their guns at almost the same time. Slocum and Vicenti did the same. A bullet tore through the sombrero on Vicenti’s head, but his own bullet smashed the shoulder of the bandido that had fired it. The man screamed in pain, dropping his gun. Vicenti fired again, knocking him from the saddle and killing him. The other man’s bullet missed Slocum completely, and Slocum’s return shot hit him in the face. He jerked and twitched in the saddle, and then he relaxed and slipped off to one side.

  “And I didn’t want to get involved with a gang of bandidos,” said Slocum.

  “Maybe we can still avoid it,” said Vicenti.

  He dismounted, and Slocum followed suit. They dragged the two bodies off the trail and into the woods. Then they unsaddled the horses, tossed the saddles into the woods, on top of the bodies that were already there, and slapped the horses on their rumps to run them off. They stood in the road watching the two horses run north.

  “Maybe they’ll turn around and find their way home,” Vicenti said.

  “Maybe,” said Slocum.

  “If not, no one will ever know what happened to their riders.”

  “Well, let’s just hope that no one knows till we’ve found Dancer and done what we have to do.”

  “Yes, señor,” said Vicenti. “We’ll be hoping that very much.”

  17

  It was early afternoon when they rode into Janos. They saw no sign of Dancer, so they went into the nearest saloon for a drink. Standing at the bar, they were drinking their whiskey when Vicenti said to Slocum, “Don’t look now, but Torrino and some of his pistoleros are at the far corner table.”

  Slocum raised his eyes and looked in the mirror behind the bar. He saw a table with six tough-looking hombres sitting at it. There were a few others in the saloon, scattered here and there around the room. “Okay,” he said. “Ask the barkeep if he’s seen Dancer.”

  The bartender walked back by, and Vicenti stopped him. “Pardon me, señor,” he said. “My friend and I are looking for a man.”

  “Just any man, señor?”

  “A gringo. He dresses in black and calls himself Dancer. We heard he was here.”

  “There has been such a man here.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “I don’t know,” the bartender said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen him today.”

  “You saw him yesterday?”

  “Sí. Last night.”

  “Gracias.”

  The bartender went on his way, and Vicenti translated the gist of the conversation for Slocum. “That means if he ain’t here,” Slocum said, “he can’t be far ahead.”

  “That’s right. But how do we find out if he has left without hanging around and waiting and wasting our time?”

  “Let’s find us a place to have some dinner,” said Slocum, “and think on that for a while.”

  He finished off his whiskey, and Vicenti did the same. Then they turned and walked out of the saloon. Behind them, Torrino and his pistoleros watched them go and whispered to one another. Slocum and Vicenti found a place just down the street, and they went inside and had a good, big Mexican dinner. They washed it down with several cups of coffee.

  “So are you still thinking on it?” asked Vicenti.

  “Let’s check out the stable,” said Slocum.

  They paid for their meals and left, then walked down the street till they found the stable. The man inside spoke no English, so Vicenti did the questioning. When he was through talking with the man, he turned away and walked a few steps. Slocum followed him.

  “He has Dancer’s horse,” Vicenti said. “He’s somewhere in town.” Both men looked warily around the street. They saw no sign of Dancer. “But where?”

  “Where indeed,” said Slocum.

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “Let’s get us a room and then put our horses in the stable here,” said Slocum. “But keep your eyes open all the time. If he sees us first, he’ll shoot us in the back. Remember that.”

  “I know, señor.”

  They checked into the cheapest hotel in town, took their gear up to the room and then went back for the horses. Mounting up, they rode them to the stable, where Vicenti dickered with the man. The deal made, they walked back down the street. They checked each eating place, each saloon, to no avail.

  “Where could he be?” Vicenti asked.

  “With a whore,” said Slocum. “Hell. He could be anywhere.” They walked along a little farther, not saying anything, but watching all around. “Let’s go back in that place where Torrino was at,” Slocum said. Vicenti shrugged, and they made their way back to the place where they had started and went inside. This time, Slocum bought a bottle, and they took it, with two glasses, to a table and sat down. Slocum could see that Torrino and his henchmen were whispering to one another again. He poured two glasses of whiskey and raised one to his own lips.

  One of the men at the Torrino table stood up and walked across the room. When he reached Slocum’s table, he walked around it. That put him on one side of Slocum, and the other five men at Slocum’s back. Vicenti, however, was facing the five men. It looked like trouble. The man shifted his weight a time or two and hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” he said in careful English. “My name is Miguel Torrino. You are strangers here in Janos.”

  “Si,” said Vicenti.

  “Oh, mister,” said Torrino. “Talk English for the sake of your gringo friend. I am talking English. It’s only polite. May I ask what is your business in Janos?”

  Slocum had a smart-ass remark in his head, but he decided to hold it back. He recalled his own earlier statement about not wanting to get involved with a gang of bandidos. He had one purpose, and one purpose only. That was to get Dancer. He did not want to allow anything to get in the way of that purpose.

  “My name’s Slocum,” he said. “My friend here is Manuel Vicenti. We came here on the trail of a man—”

  “Are you bounty hunters then?” Torrino interrupted. “Maybe you know about the price on my head. Are you thinking about trying to collect it?”

  “No,” said Slocum. “We don’t know anything about that, and we’re not interested in you or in bounty.”

  “In who then, and for why?”

  “The man’s name is Dancer,” Slocum said. “We believe he’s somewhere in Janos.”

  “Dancer. Dancer. Hey, compadres,” Torrino said, raising his voice, “do we know someone named Dancer?”

  The other five bandidos all talked at once, saying non-commital things and repeating the name Dancer. Finally they quieted down again.

  “Is there a price on the head of this Dancer?”

  “Not that we know of,” said Vicenti.

  “No? Then why are you looking for him? Perhaps he’s a friend of yours? Perhaps you’re thinking of putting together a gang of pistoleros to compete with Torrino. I don’t care for anyone else operating in my territory. You want to settle it now?”

  “There’s nothing to settle,” said Slocum. “We don’t mean to put anything together. We’re just after Dancer. That’s all.”

  “For what?”

  “He killed my son,” said Vicenti.

  The look on Torrino’s face became serious. “Oh,” he said. “I see. You mean to kill him for that. I don’t blame you. But why is this gringo riding along with you?”

  “I want Dancer for my own reasons,” said Slocum.

  “We are both on the same trail,” said Vicenti. “We decided to ride along together.”

  “I see. Well, perhaps I will find out something for you. Perhaps I will let you know. Are you staying here in Janos?”

  “For now,” said Slocum.

  “You’ll be hearing from me,” said Torrino, and he walked back toward the table where his compadres were still seated.