Then Slocum spotted Carmen standing with a small group of people near the scaffold, a black lace shawl covering her head, a rosary in her hand, a flower pinned to her dark blouse. An old woman, her face wrinkled with age, stood next to her, and the two were surrounded by wide-eyed urchins with bewildered, curious faces, as if they had been snatched from some dark room and placed in a sunlit place where the aroma of death was as thick as morning fog along the Rio Grande.

  Carmen beckoned to Slocum, he thought, or perhaps she was just acknowledging his presence with a wave of her hand. He hesitated, unsure of her gesture, wondering whether he should stay where he was or walk over to her and be by her side. Then she made her intentions clear. She held out one hand and opened and closed it, indicating that she wanted him to come over.

  Slocum made his way through the crowd and stood facing Carmen.

  “This is my mother, Remedios,” Carmen said. “Mama, this is John Slocum, the man I told you about.”

  “Con mucho gusto,” Remedios said, pain flickering in her eyes like a smoking candle.

  “I am glad you came, John,” Carmen said. “It is almost unbearable to be here. But I wish my brother to see us here before he goes to heaven.”

  “I’m sorry, Carmen. I know it’s tough. I wish there was something I could do.”

  A dog ran out onto the square and two boys chased it away with sticks. A street vendor passed by, pulling a cart with a burro. He stopped and people gathered around, buying hot tamales, churros and other treats. The sun reached its zenith and burned overhead.

  A murmur arose among the crowd and Slocum felt Carmen tug at his arm. He looked up. A man walked across the street and people parted to let him through. But the man was not alone. A woman walked with him. She was slender and graceful and poised. The man wore a black morning coat and stovepipe boots. And he carried a thick heavy rope coiled up and hanging from his shoulder.

  “That is the hangman,” Carmen whispered.

  “And is the woman with him his wife?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Carmen shaded her eyes and peered at the woman.

  “Yes,” she said. “That is Pandora.”

  Slocum looked hard at the woman as she passed fairly close to them. There was something familiar about her. Her facial structure reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place the resemblance right away. She walked with a slink, as a cougar walks, self-assured, graceful, with no wasted movement.

  At the scaffold, the woman stopped. The hangman climbed the steps and threw the rope over the beam. Then he tied off the bitter end to one of the supporting posts. There was no trapdoor and Slocum wondered why until he saw a man come up with a team of mules and tie ropes to the platform, ropes that were secured to yokes on the mules’ shoulders. Then he noticed the wood blocks under the wheels of the scaffold, chocks that kept the platform stationary.

  So, Slocum realized, the mules would just pull the platform away, leaving the condemned man dangling there with a broken neck. He shuddered at the thought and turned his gaze once again toward the woman he knew as Pandora.

  To Slocum’s surprise, she was looking at him, too. She stared straight at him with piercing eyes, eyes that also seemed familiar to him.

  Pandora stared at Slocum.

  And then she smiled.

  The smile was almost demonic, he thought.

  The smile sent a cold shiver up Slocum’s spine.

  The hangman’s lady. She was enjoying this macabre spectacle of death in a public square.

  And she wanted Slocum to know that she enjoyed watching a man hang by her husband’s manila rope.

  10

  Pandora turned away from Slocum and waited, as her husband joined her. The hangman took his wife to a place near the scaffold, kissed her and then walked toward Slocum as if a meeting had been prearranged. Carmen shrank back, and so did her mother.

  “John Slocum, I presume. Your name keeps coming up. I’m Carlos Fernandez, and I welcome you to the festivities here in Del Rio.”

  Fernandez held out his hand. Slocum didn’t shake it.

  “Very well. I just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to meeting you again, Slocum. At the top of that scaffold there. You have a good long neck. Strong. The kind I like.”

  “What kind of a bastard are you, Fernandez?”

  Fernandez smiled.

  “I imagine the same kind you are, you rednecked piece of southern trash.”

  The smile stayed on the hangman’s face.

  “Maybe we will be seeing each other again,” Slocum said. “Only you’ll be up there on that scaffold by yourself, with one of your own nooses around your neck.”

  “Don’t count on it. I see your kind all the time in my profession. You ride into town and you either die of lead poisoning or I snap your neck like a twig.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see your lovely wife dangling at the end of one of your ropes when this is over.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Is this the pot calling the kettle black?” Slocum said.

  “You go to hell, Slocum. I hope you enjoy seeing a preview of your own grisly death.”

  With that, the hangman turned on his heel and marched back to the scaffold. Moments later, Slocum heard a commotion and turned to see the crowd parting once again as the bailiff and two other armed guards, both carrying Winchesters, both flanking Luis Delgado, walked across the plaza, heading for the scaffold.

  A hush fell over the crowd for those few moments. People in the crowd stretched their necks, straining to see the accused murderer who was about to meet his maker. Carmen grabbed Slocum’s arm and squeezed it with both hands. Her mother began to weep quietly. She crossed herself and her lips moved in a silent prayer.

  Delgado was led up the steps to the platform. Slocum could see that his legs were wobbly and that he was shaking all over. He stumbled at the top step and the crowd gasped as if that were the first of many dramatic moments to come.

  Delgado’s hands were tied behind him and the two guards wrestled him into position beneath the dangling rope. Then, Fernandez climbed the steps and spoke to the hapless Mexican. Delgado’s lips remained tightly pursed. He did not speak. Instead, he gazed down at his sister and mother. Slocum saw tears ooze from his eyes and trickle down his cheeks.

  Then the hangman reached inside his morning coat and produced a black hood, which he placed over Delgado’s head. Carmen let out a soft scream. Her mother sobbed loudly as the hangman pulled the rope down and placed it around the young man’s neck, making sure the knotted portion was just under Delgado’s left ear.

  Next, the bailiff walked up the steps to the platform, carrying a sheet of paper in his hand.

  Rufus Early read the judge’s death sentence aloud to the silent, attentive crowd. He seemed to enjoy his role in the macabre ceremony. When he was finished he descended the steps and stood watching. The two guards, whom Slocum now recognized as sheriff’s deputies, “Smitty” Smith and Larry Jones, nodded to Fernandez and then left the scaffold, joining the bailiff.

  Finally, Fernandez walked down the steps and took a position near the mule driver, who sat on his seat, whip in hand, ready to strike the rumps of the two animals hitched to the platform.

  The crowd went silent again, waiting for Fernandez to give the signal.

  The hangman glanced over his shoulder one last time at Delgado and then raised his arm. He brought it down swiftly and suddenly.

  The driver cracked the whip and snapped the reins across the backs of the two mules and they surged in their traces, jerking the platform forward.

  A collective cry arose from the crowd as the platform rolled away, out from under Delgado. He dropped straight down until the rope stopped his progress. There was a snapping sound as the prisoner’s neck broke and then he was kicking in the throes of death, his body turning around, his head at an angle.

  Carmen collapsed against Slocum and he put his arm around her to hold her up. Her mother dropped to her knees, sobbing and praying, crossing herself, unable to look at the body of her son twisting slowly at the end of the rope, his feet just twitching slightly.

  Slocum looked at Pandora, who stood there, staring at the dead man. She wasn’t grinning, but there was a smile of satisfaction on her face. The sight sent a cold chill up Slocum’s spine.

  The two deputies stood by until the hangman signaled to someone Slocum couldn’t see. A few seconds later, two Mexicans rolled a handcart out from between two buildings and headed for the scaffold. A freshly made pine box rode atop the cart. The two deputies stepped out and walked over to the scaffold. One of them climbed the stairs while the other waited just below the body of Luis Delgado.

  The man atop the platform, Smitty, held onto the rope, while the hangman walked around behind the scaffold and began untying the rope that had secured it to one of the posts. When the rope was slack, Smitty slowly lowered the body until the two Mexicans grabbed Delgado’s sides. Then Smitty let out the slack.

  Jones helped the two Mexicans load the body into the coffin. He was the one who removed the rope from around Delgado’s neck, handling it gingerly, as if it was a poisonous snake. Jones held it aloft until the hangman came and coiled it up neatly, slung it over his shoulder.

  After the cart pulled away, heading for the undertaker’s, Slocum saw the banker, Rankins, for the first time. He had walked over to Hardesty and Cordelia, stood talking to them. Slocum looked around for Lorelei, but he didn’t see her. Perhaps, he thought, a hanging was more than she could stomach.

  “John, will you come to the funeral for my brother?” Carmen asked.

  “Yes. When is it?”

  “Two days from now, I think. It is so sad. I must leave and take my mother home now.”

  “Do you know those two Mexicans who took your brother away?”

  “Yes. They are friends. They will wait until the . . . the body . . . the remains . . . are prepared and bring my brother to our house. You can come by, if you wish. We will have food and drink for those who come to pay their respects.”

  “I don’t know where you live, Carmen.”

  “It is a little village east of town. It is called Hidalgo. I will send someone to the hotel. He will bring you to our house when we are ready.”

  “Fair enough,” Slocum said.

  He watched her and her mother walk through the thinning crowd. Then they disappeared as people wandered to and fro, talking of the hanging among themselves, their voices low and whispery as if the spirit of the dead man lingered on in the very air they breathed.

  Rankins, Hardesty and Cordelia walked toward the bank as if they had a prearranged meeting there, and Slocum started walking toward the hotel. He would have to get another room, or move his gear somewhere else. His bedroll and rifle were still in Lorelei’s room. There were some other things he wanted to do, as well, ask some questions, find out where the land lay that Granby had wanted to buy before he was killed.

  His path crossed that of Pandora and Carlos Fernandez, who were walking away from the place where the scaffold had been. The platform had already been moved back into the space between two buildings, out of sight and out of mind. Neat and tidy, Slocum thought. No sign of the horror that had occurred in the center of town, back to business as usual.

  “Did you enjoy the show, Slocum?” Fernandez said.

  “Fernandez, you remind me of two or three men I knew in the war. These men were in a special classification.”

  “Oh, what classification was that?”

  “We called them cowards.”

  “I am not a coward.”

  “No? What do you call a man who murders innocent men who can’t fight back? What do you call a man who preys on his victims while they’re tied up and can’t hurt him? I call such a man not only a coward, but a man with snakes inside his heart, snakes that fill him with a poison every time his heart pumps.”

  “Slocum, you’re so full of shit, you stink.”

  “You watch out for those snakes, Fernandez. One day, they’ll get loose and crawl all through your innards, clear up to your brain.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you bye and bye, Slocum. Then we’ll see who the damned coward is.”

  With that, Fernandez and Pandora walked away. She shot Slocum a dirty look and then her mouth bent in that smug smile of hers that was as cold as the frozen grimace on a dead woman’s face, as lifeless as a mouth painted on a mask.

  Slocum turned to walk back toward the Del Rio Hotel when he heard a man’s voice call his name.

  “Hold up, Mr. Slocum.”

  Slocum stopped and turned around. Hurrying toward him was a man he recognized, a man he had seen only that morning.

  “A word with you, please, Mr. Slocum,” Emory Davis said. There was an anxious look on his face, which surprised Slocum.

  “Sure,” Slocum said. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Davis?”

  “Will you walk with me to my office? I have some things to tell you.”

  “About Luis Delgado?”

  “No. I’m sorry he was convicted. I feel badly about that young man being hanged when I know in my heart he was innocent.”

  “Well, we have some common ground.”

  “Yes. I think we might have more common ground.”

  Davis looked around furtively as if he were afraid of being overheard, or even being seen with Slocum.

  “It won’t take long. But what I have to say might be important. I know there’s nothing we can do to bring Luis back, but maybe we can . . . maybe you can . . .”

  And then Davis just stopped, as if he was afraid to say any more just then.

  “Mr. Davis,” Slocum said, “are you afraid of something? Or someone?”

  Davis sucked in a quick breath. And then his eyes turned smoky as if some darkness in him had risen up and threatened to turn him blind as a stone.

  “Come with me, will you, Mr. Slocum? We can’t talk here.”

  The smoke in Davis’s eyes cleared and was replaced by a look Slocum knew only too well. In the lawyer’s eyes there was the look of fear, a fear so great it seemed to grip the man’s throat and render him speechless while draining all the color from his face.

  11

  Emory Davis had a small office near the courthouse on a little side street where there were other little adobe offices with false fronts bearing such signs as Abogado, Notary Public, Land and Assayers. There was a county map on the wall and a certificate of the law degree Davis had earned at a university in Tennessee, one that Slocum had never heard of, but which looked genuine. He had a desk, three chairs, a filing cabinet and an old safe piled high with papers. Bookshelves lined the empty wall space and these were crammed full of law books.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Slocum,” Davis said as he sat behind his cluttered desk, which was a flat door propped up by boxes.

  Slocum sat down, pulled out two cheroots. He offered one to Davis, who shook his head. But the attorney pushed a large clay cenicero closer to the edge of his desk nearest Slocum.

  “Here’s an ashtray,” Davis said.

  Slocum struck a lucifer and lighted his cheroot. He blew out the match and placed it in the ashtray.

  “Sorry you lost the case, Mr. Davis. An innocent man was hanged today.”

  “I know. I feel badly about that. I was assigned to Delgado just before the trial. I believed he was innocent.”

  “I know he was.”

  “Unfortunately, your testimony didn’t convince Judge Wyman. But that’s not why I asked you here. What’s done is done. We can’t undo it.”

  Slocum drew on the cheroot and looked at Davis, wondering what was on his mind. The man was nervous, jumpy. As if he expected the door to burst open at any moment with an assassin standing there, gun in hand, to kill him.

  “What, then?” Slocum asked.

  “Just before the trial began, my life was threatened,” Davis said. “The bailiff handed me an envelope.” Davis reached over to a stack of papers and lifted off an envelope. He opened it, pulled out a piece of paper and stood up to hand it to Slocum.

  Slocum read the short note.

  “Lose this Delgado case or die,” the note read. It was unsigned. It was written in flowery Spenserian script. A woman, perhaps? Slocum wondered. He handed the note back to Davis.

  “Well, you lost the case, Davis. So, you’re safe, probably.”

  “Mr. Slocum, this isn’t the first such note I’ve seen.”

  Slocum’s eyebrows arched. He blew smoke out of his mouth.

  “When I started here, I had a partner, Seth Brumley. He was killed a month ago. Murdered. He got a note just like this before he went to trial defending a man we believed to be innocent of theft and murder. The man was acquitted and when Seth left the courtroom, he was killed by a shotgun blast.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  Davis shook his head.

  “A day later, the man who was acquitted was killed in the same way. I’m beginning to think there is no justice in Del Rio.”

  “Do you think Judge Wyman had anything to do with those killings?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I’m jumping at every shadow. I didn’t want to take this Delgado case, but Wyman insisted. He said he would see to it that I lost my license to practice law if I didn’t take it. So I did. But the case felt just like the one Seth handled. Behind both, there was the common denominator of a piece of land that has suddenly, inexplicably, become very valuable.”

  “I’m afraid you have me there. What piece of land is that?” Slocum asked.

  “Actually, there are two pieces of land involved.”

  Davis got up from his desk and turned to the map on the wall, which showed all of Val Verde County and much of that part of Texas, as well. He pointed to the Rio Grande, which ran along the Mexican-United States border.

  “We have to go back a ways, but I think you’ll get the picture, Mr. Slocum. As you can see here, Del Rio is right smack dab at the confluence of the Rio Grande and San Felipe Creek, which runs into it.”