Brian Garfield by Tripwire

mines petering out, the death of the wise uncle who had managed these estates until his death four years ago from the same malaise that now infected the young Pablo.
    Boag didn’t dislike him but it was hard to find sympathy for him; Don Pablo had too much sympathy for himself, he didn’t leave room for anyone else’s.
    He had contacts in Mexico City, he explained—companions from the days, only a few years ago, when he had been a flippant young blade touring the fandango spots of the city. These contacts knew his good family name and trusted him, or else they were too jaded and cynical to care: in any case they were eager to buy what Don Pablo offered for sale, at a price—the stolen items he traded with the mountain bandits and rebels.
    He had dealt a few times with Mr. Jed Pickett in treasures the Pickett gang had collected in its raids on Apache camps in the Sierra Madre: treasures the Apaches in turn had stolen from ranches they raided along both sides of the Border.
    Four months ago Mr. Pickett had first mentioned the gold bullion. Don Pablo never knew where it came from; he never asked. A tentative price was settled between them, a price by the ounce because Mr. Pickett was not certain how much gold would be involved. The proposition excited Don Pablo because it meant he could cancel all his debts at once and, he said, “Also it would make a little dowry for Dorotea.”
    â€œYour daughter?”
    â€œI refer to the señora. ”
    A dowry for his wife? It was a phrase that made no sense.
    Don Pablo said, “I had to strip myself of what few possessions remained, to raise the cash. Our estimate was on the basis of two million pesos. Much of this I had to borrow of course. I signed notes against my estates to do that—mortgages.”
    Boag didn’t need to hear the rest of it because he had already guessed.
    Don Pablo wheezed into his handkerchief. “When he came here one week ago he had only three companions and one pack mule and I thought the thing had gone bad, but he was in wickedly high spirits. Over the next thirty-six hours his men trickled into this valley from all directions. They all had pack animals. I gathered not a single pack had been lost. The gold was as he had said it would be, a few pounds less than the maximum I had been prepared to pay for. We weighed the gold on my cattle scales and I counted out one million, nine hundred thousand pesos on this table right here. Most of it was in Mexico City scrip, in denominations of one thousand pesos. It was very easy to carry when you compare it with the bullion. It disappeared into the pockets of himself and his men, and you hardly noticed the bulges.”
    Boag was impatient. “And then?”
    â€œI am sure you have guessed by now. They leveled their guns at us and backed away to their horses. They took with them not only the nearly two million pesos in cash which I had paid for the gold. They took also the gold.”

5
    â€œYou are going to say I was a champion of a fool to trust them.”
    â€œIt crossed my mind,” Boag said.
    â€œI did not trust them. My vaqueros were armed and watchful. But vaqueros are not a match for men like his. They were taken by surprise, overwhelmed before they knew it. Four of my people were killed and three others are still under treatment with the doctor in the town of Coronado.”
    â€œYou do any damage to the other side?”
    â€œI think two or three of Pickett’s ladrónes were injured. I saw one whose arm flopped very loosely, I am sure it had been broken by a bullet above the elbow.”
    â€œBut they took the cash and the gold bullion both.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAny idea where they went from here?”
    â€œIt is a large world, Señor. ”
    â€œThen Mr. Pickett didn’t drop any hints.”
    â€œNo, he is too clever for that.”
    â€œWhich way did they ride out?”
    â€œTo the south. It means nothing of