“Now, tell us what you saw last night, anything that involved the defendant.”

  Slocum told what he had seen. He described the mysterious veiled woman, the dancing, the fatal shot. He said that he saw the woman hand the smoking pistol to the defendant.

  “So, a woman shot Mr. Granby?”

  “Objection,” Richards interjected. “If the person wore a veil, the witness could not know for sure if Luis Delgado was dancing with a woman or a male accomplice.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Wyman said, his face a mask of inscrutability.

  “Did you see the person hand the pistol to the defendant?” Davis asked.

  “Yes. I did. And it was a woman. And she then ran out of the dining room.”

  The prosecutor was on his feet with another objection.

  “Sustained,” the judge said. “Strike the phrase ‘And, it was a woman.’ ”

  “Your Honor,” Davis said, “this is crucial testimony from an eyewitness.”

  “He’s not an expert on gender,” the judge said, glancing at Richards.

  “Well, he damned well may be,” Davis said.

  The judge pounded his gavel on the block of wood sitting on his bench.

  “That it, Emory?” Wyman asked.

  “Your witness,” Davis said. He walked to the defense table and sat down. Richards got up and walked up close to Slocum.

  “Mr. Slocum,” Richards said, “are you a drinking man? Do you imbibe strong spirits upon occasion?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I just did. Answer the question, please.”

  “Yes. I sometimes imbibe strong spirits.” Slocum’s mouth curved in a wry smile.

  “And were you drinking spirits last night when you saw the defendant dancing with someone?”

  “I had a drink or two.”

  “Were you drunk?”

  “No,” Slocum said.

  “Did you see someone shoot Mr. Granby?”

  “I did.”

  “It happened fast, did it not?” Richards said.

  “Pretty fast.”

  “Perhaps too fast for you to see who fired the shot.”

  “No, I saw the woman fire the shot into Mr. Granby’s heart. She was very deliberate.”

  “I move that the court strike the last response,” Richards said.

  “I object,” Davis said, rising to his feet. “The witness is testifying under oath. The court should recognize that Mr. Slocum is speaking the truth. And that truth is evidence.”

  “I’ll decide what is evidence,” Judge Wyman said, and Slocum knew that the trial in the case of Del Rio versus Luis Delgado was going downhill. Delgado was sweating and so was his attorney, Emory Davis.

  Somewhere in the wings, Slocum knew, the hangman was waiting.

  8

  Slocum listened to the attorneys wrangle with the judge for several minutes and was once again reminded of why he had fled Calhoun County in his native Georgia after shooting, in self-defense, a crooked judge who had stolen his land. He knew he’d get no justice if he’d been arrested.

  He also knew that a man like Luis Delgado, all alone, falsely accused, stood little chance of getting justice in a town like Del Rio where Mexicans were treated worse than second-class citizens. He had seen many border towns, and they were all pretty much the same. The white townsfolk treated Mexicans and others with darker skins, little better than dogs. Slocum was getting a very bad feeling about Del Rio and its court, presided over by Judge Andrew J. Wyman.

  Finally, the issues were resolved by the judge and Slocum faced the prosecuting attorney, who proceeded to try and destroy the eyewitness testimony even further.

  “Mr. Slocum, when a firearm is discharged, there is considerable smoke issuing from the muzzle, is that correct?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What do you mean sometimes?”

  “It depends on the load, the amount of powder behind the bullet.”

  “Does a small pistol produce a lot of smoke?”

  “Sometimes, depending on the caliber.”

  The defense attorney objected.

  “Mr. Slocum is not a firearms expert,” Davis said.

  The judge turned to Slocum, looked at him for several seconds and then turned back to the defense attorney.

  “Overruled. Mr. Richards, why don’t you ask Mr. Slocum if he’s an expert on firearms?”

  The prosecutor smiled at this small victory.

  “Mr. Slocum, are you an expert on firearms?”

  “No, sir. Not an expert.”

  “But you have discharged a number of firearms, haven’t you? Weren’t you in the war? Didn’t you learn to shoot a Colt .45 when you were a cavalryman with Quantrill’s Raiders?”

  The defense objected.

  The judge overruled.

  “Answer the question,” Wyman said to Slocum.

  “I learned how to use the Colt .45, yes.”

  “And when you fired that Colt, it made a lot of smoke, right?”

  “There’s always smoke when you burn powder,” Slocum said.

  “Now, to last night. Is it possible that when the shot was fired that killed Mr. Granby, there was so much smoke that you could not tell who fired the pistol?”

  “No,” Slocum said. “That’s not true. I saw the woman fire the shot that killed Granby. Then she gave the pistol to the defendant there.”

  “This mysterious woman?”

  “Yes. She wore a veil. I could not see her face.”

  The prosecutor snorted in derision and waved an arm through the air as if dismissing all of Slocum’s testimony.

  “I have no further questions of this witness,” he said and sat down.

  “You may step down, Mr. Slocum,” Wyman said.

  Slocum left the witness stand and sat in the courtroom next to Carmen.

  “Call your next witness,” Wyman said to the defense attorney.

  “I have no further witnesses,” the defense attorney said.

  “Very well, then. Mr. Prosecutor, you may proceed.”

  “I call Cordelia Granby to the stand.”

  The bailiff left the courtroom. When he reentered, Mrs. Granby followed him. She was escorted by Bill Hardesty. In fact, she had her arm in his. He gave her arm a squeeze as she walked up behind the bailiff to the witness stand. Hardesty sat in the front row. Slocum wondered if he was just being kind to the recently widowed woman or if there was something more between the two. Cordelia sat down and was sworn in, but her gaze remained fixed on Hardesty. And, unless Slocum was mistaken, her look was laden with lust.

  The prosecutor took Cordelia through the usual qualifying questions and then asked her if she had seen the shooting. She said she had not actually seen the shooting, but she said when her husband was struck with the bullet that killed him, she had looked up and seen the Mexican man standing there with a smoking pistol in his hand. She had not seen a woman wearing a veil.

  Slocum thought she either must have been coached by the prosecuting attorney, or she was lying through her teeth.

  The defense attorney couldn’t shake Cordelia from her testimony and Cordelia was dismissed. She sat down with Hardesty and they moved very close together, one of his hands on her leg, and her hand in his, as if they had been longtime lovers.

  The prosecutor called several other eyewitnesses, who said that the Mexican, Luis Delgado, had shot Granby. These were waiters and diners who said they had been at the Del Rio Hotel the night before, but Slocum knew damned well that none of them had been anywhere near Granby when he was shot.

  Slocum leaned over and whispered in Carmen’s ear. “I’ve seen railroad jobs before, but this one takes the cake.”

  “What is this railroad job?” she asked.

  “For some reason, the judge, the town—somebody—wants to hang your brother. This is not a fair trial.”

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Slocum said. “In some states, I think you can appeal the death penalty. Del Rio is so far off the beaten path, and Judge Wyman seems to have such control, that his decision is probably final and can’t be changed.”

  Carmen’s eyes misted over and she grabbed Slocum’s arm, squeezed it tightly.

  “Dios mio,” she said. Then she crossed herself and Slocum breathed a deep sigh.

  “The court finds the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree,” Judge Wyman said.

  “Will the defendant stand up?” the bailiff beseeched. “You will now hear the sentence of the court.”

  Slocum shook his head at the swiftness of the decision. He studied Wyman’s face to see if there was even an ounce of compassion or understanding in the man. Wyman’s face was a rigid noncommittal mask. Only his eyes flashed a warning that the sentence was bound to be harsh.

  Wyman pounded his gavel to silence the ripple of murmurs in the courtroom.

  “The court hereby sentences you, Luis Delgado, to death. You will, at noon today, hang by the neck until you are dead. May Almighty God have mercy on your soul.”

  Delgado crumpled in his chair. His head dropped down to his chest in defeat. His body shook with sudden sobs. Carmen began to weep as well. She turned to Slocum and buried her head on his chest. He put an arm around her and held her to him while she vented her grief and anger.

  The courtroom came to life, then, as Judge Wyman left the bench and returned to his chambers. The defense attorney got up and shook the prosecutor’s hand, but there was no warmth in the gesture. Then, Emory Davis turned back to his client, who was now sitting up straight, wiping his eyes. The bailiff appeared behind him with a pair of handcuffs and tapped him on the top of the head.

  Delgado stood up and put his arms behind him. The bailiff cuffed him. Luis turned and looked at his sister, his lips moving with a silent message. It was in Spanish, but Slocum knew what he was saying. “Lo siento.” “I am sorry,” Luis said.

  “I love you, my brother,” Carmen replied in audible Spanish, and then watched helplessly as her brother was led away.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Slocum said.

  “I will go to see my brother now. It is not long until they will hang him.”

  “No, you go ahead. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  His voice trailed off as Carmen stood up, her eyes wet with tears, her face strained. But she stood proudly and walked out of the courtroom alone. Slocum arose from his seat and looked over at Bill Hardesty and Cordelia Granby. They both were smiling and they embraced as if they were celebrating a victory.

  Slocum looked around for Lorelei, to see if she had been in the courtroom, but he saw no sign of her. He wondered if she knew that her father was with Cordelia, and if she did know, he wondered if she approved of their relationship.

  It was not his business, Slocum knew, but he wondered now if Cordelia herself had had anything to do with her husband’s death.

  Hardesty saw Slocum and waved to him. Jubilantly, Slocum thought.

  Slocum turned away and walked from the courtroom, an anger blazing in him that had, in the past, turned dangerous for many of those who had incurred his wrath.

  Hardesty and Cordelia caught up to Slocum outside the courtroom.

  “John,” Hardesty called, “wait up.”

  Slocum stopped and turned to face Hardesty.

  “What do you think?” Hardesty asked.

  “About what?”

  “About the judge’s decision. The sentence.”

  “I thought it was about right for a kangaroo court down in backwoods Georgia.”

  Cordelia, who stood beside Hardesty, glared at Slocum. Her eyes were cold, lifeless. Her lips pursed slightly and drained of color.

  “But justice was served,” Hardesty said.

  Slocum’s eyes narrowed to dark slits.

  “Was it, Hardesty? For whom? Certainly not for that poor innocent Mexican who was set up for that murder last night. All he gets out of this is a rope he doesn’t deserve.”

  “Mr. Slocum,” Cordelia said. “That man murdered my husband. I want to see him hang for his crime.”

  “Ma’am,” Slocum said. “I’ll bet you’d like to put the rope around his neck, wouldn’t you?”

  “How dare you,” Cordelia exclaimed.

  “That’s enough, Slocum,” Hardesty said, turning cold. “See you at the hanging.”

  “I’ll be there,” Slocum said.

  “And then you’ll be on your way, out of Del Rio,” Hardesty said.

  Slocum fixed him with a frosty stare.

  “Not by a long shot, Hardesty. I aim to stick around and get to the bottom of this. Maybe you ought to be the one to ride out of Del Rio. While you still can.”

  Hardesty grabbed Cordelia by the arm and the two strode away angrily.

  Slocum watched them go.

  But he knew he had struck a nerve.

  9

  Slocum waited outside the jail. When the bailiff emerged, he approached the man, who stared at Slocum with undisguised belligerence.

  “A word with you, Bailiff.”

  “We got nothing to talk about, Slocum. Trial’s over.”

  “You’ll talk to me, Rufus Early, unless you want to eat about six inches of gun barrel.”

  “You threatenin’ me?”

  “As I would any thick-necked bully wearing a badge and totin’ a billy club,” Slocum said, his gaze unwavering, his jaw set to a granite hardness.

  “Well, what in hell do you want? I got things to do before the noon hangin’.”

  “I want to know why you picked up Luis Delgado and paid him to go to the Del Rio Hotel last night.”

  “I didn’t do no such thing.”

  “If you lie to me, I’ll seriously consider giving you a drubbing right here and now.”

  “Damn you, Slocum. What I do is none of your damned business.”

  “It’s my business when I see a man railroaded in a courtroom and sent to his death without just cause.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Judge Wyman.”

  “I’m taking it up with you, Early. Now, who paid you to pick up Luis Delgado?”

  The bailiff broke out in a sweat. Beads of moisture filled the furrows on his forehead and streaks of perspiration coursed down from his sideburns, glistened in the sun like streaks of liquid mica.

  Slocum took hold of the man’s right arm at the elbow and ushered him to a space between the jail and another building. There, he reached down and grabbed Early by the scrotum. He squeezed.

  Veins popped out in the bailiff’s neck and he grunted in pain, doubled over. Slocum increased the pressure.

  “Now, let’s hear the truth,” Slocum said. “Who paid you to pick up Delgado and bring him into town.”

  “Stop,” the bailiff pleaded. “All right. I’ll tell you. But I know nothing else.”

  Slocum released his hold on the bailiff’s testicles and stepped back. Early straightened up, his face now covered with a sheen of sweat, his shirt soaked through with perspiration.

  “Let’s hear it, Early.”

  “All I know is the hangman’s wife asked me to invite Delgado to meet her at the Del Rio. She said she’d pay him to dance with her.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Pandora.”

  “Pandora?”

  “Pandora Fernandez. She’s married to the hangman, Carlos Fernandez. You’ll see ’em both at the hanging. You can ask her about it.”

  “If she’s the one who danced with Luis Delgado,” Slocum said, “then, she’s the one who murdered Granby.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “No, you probably wouldn’t and that’s why I’m not going to beat you within an inch of your life. You can go now, but you haven’t heard the last of me.”

  “Slocum, I know you’ve already had a passel of advice, but here’s some more for you.”

  “Make it quick.”

  “Del Rio looks like a nice town, but it’s got an ugly underbelly. There are people here you just don’t want to cross. And people you don’t want to deal with. There’s a lot at stake here and Granby’s murder might just be the first of others.”

  “What in hell are you talking about?” Slocum asked.

  “That land Granby wanted to buy. It’s blood land and there’ll be more spilled before it’s over.”

  “Blood land?”

  “That’s all I’m going to tell you. That’s all I know. Granby wasn’t the onliest man who wanted to buy it. And he didn’t even know what was on it.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. But there’s something about that land that will get a man killed if he finds out what it is.”

  Slocum swore.

  “You watch yourself, Slocum. It won’t be me comin’ after you. But mark my words. Somebody will if you keep pokin’ your nose into this business.”

  Slocum let Rufus Early go and then stepped out from between the two buildings, into the sunlight.

  A few blocks away, he heard voices rising in pitch. He saw people walking toward the center of town. They looked, he thought, like people going to a pie social. They were in no hurry, but they were all streaming to the town square, the place where Luis Delgado would hang by the neck until dead.

  Slocum walked down the street to a general store, went inside and bought a dozen cheroots. Outside, he lit one and then walked slowly toward the middle of Del Rio, taking his time. He puzzled over what he had learned from Rufus Early and wondered how Bill Hardesty fit in to the intrigue he had wandered into the night before. One thing was sure. Granby’s widow, Cordelia, was in it up to her neck. And now, the hangman’s wife, Pandora, who must have some connection to both Cordelia Granby and Bill Hardesty.

  For a moment, Slocum considered just walking away, riding back north and leaving the mess in Del Rio for others to untangle.

  And then he thought of Carmen Delgado and knew that, for her sake, he had to find out the truth.

  Just before noon, the main street of Del Rio began to fill with people who had heard about the hanging of Luis Delgado.

  Slocum strolled onto the edge of the crowd, a striking figure in his black frock coat and tall, lean figure. He saw Mexican women wearing black dresses with their rosaries in gnarled hands, saying their beads, their lips moving silently in prayer. There were seedy-looking men with gaunt, unshaven faces and dirty shirts, sipping from flasks, their eyes out of focus and watery from whiskey and sleeplessness. And there were men and women who were dressed well, a woman with a parasol shading her young scrubbed face and the man next to her in a banker’s suit, with not a wrinkle in it, and a derby perched atop his head.