“Yes,” Slocum said. “I see it.”

  “Now, Bill Hardesty owns land up along San Felipe Creek, and the land that Mr. Granby wanted to buy borders the Rio Grande and runs at an angle that connects it to the creek. This parcel here is around one hundred thousand acres. It’s worth a great deal of money.”

  “Why?”

  “The Spaniards who settled on this side of the border founded Del Rio, but it was just a settlement until after the Civil War. Then, as Americans took up residence here, they realized that water in this part of Texas was in short supply. But they discovered, only recently, that San Felipe Springs, which feeds the creek, produces a bountiful water supply. Now some people, Hardesty among them, want to develop that stretch of creek and lure settlers here who will pay a premium for the land. They want to dig ditches and canals and irrigation aqueducts all along there. So the land represents a fortune for someone who is able to buy that one hundred thousand acres.”

  “I see,” Slocum said.

  “But that’s not all. I’m afraid that there’s another reason Hardesty wants to buy that land, and this just came up within the last few weeks—days—even.”

  “Before you say anything else,” Slocum said, “why are you telling me these things? I don’t live here. I have no stake in Del Rio.”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Davis said. “I’ll try and give you an answer.”

  Slocum waited while Davis collected his thoughts. Slocum could tell that the man had been worrying over this bone for some time, like a dog gnawing to get to the marrow.

  “All towns are corrupt,” Davis said. “And Del Rio is no exception. But the layers of deceit and corruption are so thick, so elaborate, that virtually nobody in town can see the decay underneath; and those that can don’t want to see it. They just want to live in happy ignorance while the thieving and the lying washes over them like dirty water running down a gutter.”

  “You can spare me the philosophy, Mr. Davis.”

  “Please. Call me Emory. I’ll get to the point, John, if I may address you that way.”

  Slocum nodded his approval.

  “I watched you in court. I listened to you. And I checked up on you. You’ve got somewhat of a shady past, but you impress me as being an honest man. More than that, I believe you’re a man with a code of honor that is rare in these parts, or anywhere else for that matter.”

  “You don’t have to lay on the soft soap, Emory. I know who I am.”

  “Yes, of course.” Davis paused, then went on. “Sometimes, a stranger can see things that the locals can’t. You’ve landed in the middle of an ugly situation. By all rights, you should get on your horse and ride out of Del Rio and never give any of us another thought. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Slocum said.

  “I think your sense of justice compels you to stay.”

  “Or curiosity.”

  “No, it’s more than curiosity, I think. Somebody wanted Delgado dead, John. Somebody tried to kill you.”

  “Do you know who that might be?” Slocum asked.

  Davis shook his head.

  “No, but I think you might find out. Sooner or later. Here’s what I want you to know. What I found out. A few days ago, after Granby had expressed a strong interest in that one hundred thousand acres and planned to move his cattle operation from Colorado down here to Del Rio, a map and some documents surfaced. Well, they didn’t surface, exactly, but Bill Hardesty stumbled on a strongbox buried on that property. He was looking it over for Granby, supposedly, and he found this strongbox. Inside, there was a map and a description of some gold buried by the Spaniards when they owned Texas.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “The documents and the wording on the map were all in Spanish. A Spanish that is no longer spoken here and hasn’t been spoken in a century or more on either side of the border. I am a scholar of Spanish history and the language. So, he came to me.”

  “And what did the documents and the map reveal?” Slocum asked.

  Davis leaned forward and beckoned for Slocum to do the same.

  “Hardesty swore me to secrecy, John,” Davis whispered. “But because of what they did to Luis Delgado, I no longer feel bound by the oath I took.”

  “Go on,” Slocum said.

  “I translated manifests, lists, bills of lading and other lists, along with an account of how the gold came to be buried in dozens of different places along the Rio Grande, all on that one hundred thousand acres. But the directions for finding the gold were in the form of an intricate scheme that amounted to a puzzle. That puzzle has not been deciphered yet, but I know Hardesty wanted that land.”

  “Did Granby know about the gold?”

  “No, not at first.”

  “How did he find out?”

  “In an odd way,” Davis said.

  “Tell me,” Slocum said.

  “Hardesty went to Frank Rankins, the banker, and said that he wanted to buy the land, that he didn’t want Rankins to loan Granby the money for the purchase. Rankins refused, because he didn’t think Bill could pay such a large debt. Granby, Rankins said, was a good financial risk for the bank.”

  “That must have made Hardesty pretty mad.”

  “He let slip just enough to make Rankins suspicious. Hardesty told Rankins that once he owned the land, he would be able to pay it off within months, perhaps weeks. That made Rankins suspicious and one day he walked in on me while I was working on those translations and he saw enough to make him want in on the deal. Not with Hardesty, but with Granby, who knew nothing about the treasure buried on the property.”

  “So, the circle widens,” Slocum said.

  “I finished the translation and was trying to work out the exact locations of the buried gold, in bullion form, when Hardesty demanded the documents be returned to him. So I surrendered them. I told Hardesty that he’d never find any of the gold, if it was still there, unless he could crack the code. Unknown to me, until after Hardesty left, was that someone was listening outside my window to our conversation. I had heard someone come in and then leave quickly.”

  “Do you know who it was?” Slocum asked. “Who was eavesdropping?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I heard someone running away and I caught a glimpse of a long black skirt and when I went outside, I saw footprints outside my window.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yes. A woman had overheard and now knew about the buried gold.”

  “Cordelia Granby?” Slocum offered.

  Davis shook his head.

  “No, it was not Cordelia. I checked my appointment book. No clue there. But I remembered a conversation I’d had the day before.”

  “And?”

  “Pandora Fernandez had said she was coming to see me about something, and I completely forgot about it until that moment when I saw the shoe prints of a woman outside my window.”

  “So you think it was Pandora,” Slocum said.

  “I can’t prove it. But, yes.”

  Slocum leaned back in his chair. The circle of those who knew about the gold had indeed widened. If Pandora knew about it, perhaps she had approached Hardesty with a scheme.

  “What are you thinking, John?”

  “I’m thinking that I know why Luis Delgado was set up for the murder of Granby.”

  Davis let out a long sigh.

  “If you do, your life is in even more danger than it was this morning, or last night.”

  “I know,” Slocum said, taking a drag on his cheroot.

  He had the feeling he was living on borrowed time.

  12

  Slocum stood up to leave Davis’s office.

  “Too bad you weren’t able to keep copies of any of those documents,” he said to Davis.

  “Oh, but I did, John. They’re right there in that safe.”

  Davis pointed to the safe. Slocum looked at it as if it were a bomb ready to explode.

  “Isn’t that taking a big risk, Emory?”

  “I think I’ve almost got the riddle solved. When I do, I’m hoping you’ll take the risk out of my hands.”

  “You hope too much,” Slocum said.

  Davis smiled and made a tent out of his hands as he leaned back in his chair.

  “I’m betting you’ll want what I have before you’re through here in Del Rio. I’ve already contacted a friend in Austin, also a lawyer. We’re preparing a case that will not only remove Judge Wyman from office, but get him and his fellow conspirators a long prison sentence.”

  “You think Wyman was in on the Granby murder?”

  “I’d bet money on it.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Davis smiled.

  “Not yet. But I also think you might be able to provide that proof.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” Slocum said, wryly. “Since you seem to be a betting man.”

  “We’ll see, John. Good luck. We’ll meet again, I’m sure.”

  “It seems to me, Emory, you’re sure about too many things that are very uncertain.”

  Davis opened a desk drawer. Slocum heard the wood creak and whisper. He handed Slocum a folded piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” Slocum asked.

  “That’s a map of the one hundred thousand acres. It shows the Rio Grande and San Felipe Creek. In case you want to look around when you’re not dodging bullets.”

  “Emory, I sense a frustrated man of adventure beneath that lawyer’s suit you wear.”

  With that, Slocum put the folded map inside his frock coat pocket and left the attorney’s office. He walked back to the hotel, went up to Lorelei’s room. She opened the door and Slocum was shocked at her appearance. She seemed to have been crying. Her face was streaked with the tracks of tears, her hair disheveled and her clothing wrinkled, as if she had been lying down fully dressed.

  Next to her, on the floor, was her bulging valise.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I was just leaving.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back home. To the ranch. I can’t talk now. Your things are on the bed. I was going to tell the desk clerk when I checked out.”

  She looked distraught, distracted. She wouldn’t look him square in the eye.

  “What’s wrong?” Slocum asked.

  “I—I can’t talk now. Please. I’m in a hurry.”

  “You weren’t at the hanging,” he said.

  She flared up at him, her eyes wide and wild as if he had touched a nerve.

  “That disgusting spectacle? No. Now, please get out of my way.”

  “Are you mad at me, Lorelei?” Slocum asked, stepping aside from her doorway.

  She swept by him.

  “No, not at you,” she said, then broke into sobs. She doubled over for a second as she walked down the hall toward the stairs. Slocum started to go and help her, but she straightened up, held her head high and stormed away, leaving him confused and bewildered.

  He waited, listening to her footfalls as she descended the stairs. They gradually faded away and Slocum shrugged, then entered the room. His gear was on the bed as Lorelei had said. He grabbed his bedroll, rifle and saddlebags, then walked from the room. He stopped at the desk in the lobby.

  “Leaving us, Mr. Slocum?” the clerk said.

  “Yes, but I wonder if you could answer a question for me.”

  “If I can,” the clerk said. He was a man in his fifties with a bald pate, wearing a loud red vest and garter bands on his sleeves. He looked more like a gambler than a desk clerk.

  “Can you tell me where the Hardesty ranch lies?”

  “Why certainly. Miss Lorelei Hardesty just checked out. If you hurry, you might catch up to her.”

  “No, just give me the general directions on how to get to Bill Hardesty’s ranch, if you would, please.”

  The clerk told him in a few sentences. In his mind, Slocum could picture it with the Rio Grande forming one border and the ranch crossing San Felipe Creek. Very close to the prime land that Granby had wanted to buy before he was murdered.

  Slocum walked down to the stables, paid his bill and saddled up Ferro.

  “You leavin’ us, Slocum?” the stableman said.

  “For a while. I might be back.”

  “Saw you at the hangin’. Was I you, I’d keep on ridin’, right out of Del Rio.”

  “Oh? You know something I don’t know?”

  “No, sir. Just talk is all. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of the judge and looks to me like you done did it.”

  “What’s your name, feller?” Slocum asked.

  “Raleigh Newsome. Raleigh as in Sir Walter.”

  “Well, Raleigh, maybe you can tell me about Judge Wyman and why I’m in his disfavor.”

  “No, sir, I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause people who buck the judge have a way of turnin’ up at the end of a rope.”

  “Are you saying that the judge uses his office to kill his enemies?”

  “Nope, ain’t sayin’ that at all, Mr. Slocum. It ain’t the judge anyways. I mean, he stays to hisself. But he has others who do his dirty work for him.”

  “What others?”

  Newsome looked around the barn as if to make sure nobody was listening to them. Still, he lowered his voice and stepped two paces closer to Slocum.

  “Fernandez,” he whispered, “and that bitch wife of his.”

  “The hangman? That’s all he does, isn’t it? Hang people?”

  “He’s hungry,” Newsome said. “But that Pandora. She’s even hungrier. She likes to watch men dangle at the end of a rope.”

  “Are you saying . . .”

  “I’m saying, she’s the one. She’s the one who finds the victims. She sets them up. Wyman sentences them. And Carlos Fernandez carries out the sentence. So Pandora can watch.”

  Slocum swore under his breath.

  “There have been others?” he asked.

  “I can tell you some,” Newsome said.

  “Tell me.”

  “There was a Mexican caught stealing a cow. Only he didn’t steal it. The cow was staked out. It had a brand. The Mex was leadin’ the cow back to the ranch where it belonged. Suddenly, out of nowhere, here comes the sheriff, Curt Blandings, and his deputy, Smitty. They arrest the Mex and he hangs.”

  “Anybody else?”

  “A drifter. I don’t remember his name. He blew into town and got into a game of cards at a cantina. Pandora was there. She slipped a card into his pocket. The man was accused of cheating and somebody drew on him. The drifter shot, in self-defense. He was hanged, same as the others. One after another. A hanging a week. For months. And they all mentioned Pandora when they were being tried. Maybe not by name, but they said there was a woman there. The Mex said a woman told him about the cow what was staked out. Interestin’, huh?”

  “It’s like watching a snake go after a mouse,” Slocum said.

  “You got that right, Slocum.”

  “Hasn’t the town caught on? I mean, doesn’t anyone speak up about these . . . these criminals?”

  Newsome shook his head.

  “One man did. A lawyer. He was convicted of murdering a little boy. They found the boy in his house, his throat cut. Nobody’s spoke up since.”

  Slocum swore.

  “I can hardly believe all this,” he said.

  “It’s like a fever with them folks—Wyman and the Fernandezes. They got a taste of blood and they want more and more. I’m tellin’ you, Slocum, they enjoy what they’re doin’.”

  “I can see that there’s never going to be any justice in this town as long as Wyman is judge and Fernandez is the hangman.”

  “And don’t forget that Pandora. She’s evil, that one.”

  Slocum said nothing. He said good-bye to Newsome and mounted Ferro.

  “You comin’ back or ridin’ on?” Newsome asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably be back to board Ferro here.”

  “You’ll stay at the Del Rio Hotel?”

  “No. I don’t know where I’ll stay.”

  “Maybe out there at the cemetery, if you ain’t careful.”

  “If it’s my time,” Slocum said and put the spurs to Ferro’s flanks.

  He knew he would stay around if for no other reason than to attend the wake for Carmen’s brother. She said she’d send someone to get him and take him to the Mexican settlement, but now he knew he’d have to find it on his own. He didn’t want to stay at the Del Rio again. He wanted to find some place out of the way, where it would take time for anyone to find him. And it would have to be a place he could defend easily, a place where he could see someone coming from a long way off.

  One thing was sure. He wasn’t going to let Hardesty, Wyman, Fernandez or any of the others involved get away with murder.

  If he didn’t stand up to the town, who would?

  Nobody.

  Slocum rode out of town by way of the backstreets so that he stood less chance of being seen by watchful eyes. He headed north along the Rio Grande. He wanted to see the land that Hardesty wanted to buy and take a look at his ranch. The first element of his plan to bring justice back to Del Rio meant learning the lay of the land. He knew he had enemies in town and maybe he would have to hide out for a time until he could gather enough evidence to send the murderers to prison.

  And if he couldn’t get the evidence, he would just have to draw everyone involved in the illegal hangings out in the open.

  In the end, he knew he might have to play a waiting game—and then see who cracked first.

  13

  Slocum saw the name over the gate when he passed Hardesty’s ranch. There was a symbol of a Rocking H brand beneath an arch that had the name Hardesty in big wooden letters over it. From the road, he could not see the ranch house, but the lane leading to it was plainly visible.

  There were a few grazing cattle, almost as motionless as statues. In the air, there was the pungent aroma of alfalfa and lespedeza and the faint scent of clover. The sky was a yellow blaze on the western horizon, but clouds were building to the south, fluffy white ones that floated high above the river and the plain. A pair of swifts darted by on silent wings, and mourning doves whistled through the air like winged darts. It was a lonely, desolate place, for all that, and Slocum wondered why anyone would come to such a place and settle, so far from the hubs of commerce to the west and east.