Like A Hole In The Head by James Hadley Chase

as most Westerns do. As the credit titles came up, I switched off.
         "Let's go to bed."
         "Is it all right to leave everything open?"
         I knew she was thinking of Raimundo.
         "Why not? I'm here."
         We went into the bedroom. We took turns in the bathroom and then we lay on the bed with the view of the moon lighting the sea and the palms outlined against the dark sky.
         My jaw still throbbed, but I was being brave about it.
         "What's going to happen tomorrow, Jay?" she asked out of the darkness and in a small voice.
         I slid my arm around her and pulled her to me.
         "Why worry about tomorrow?" I turned her so she could see over my shoulder as I held her. "Look at the moon."

C HAPTER F OUR

         I was at the gallery a few minutes to nine o'clock and I didn't have to wait long. As the minute hand of my watch moved on to the hour, I saw Raimundo and Timoteo coming across the sand.
         I watched them come. Raimundo walked with his usual swagger. Timoteo, his head bent, shuffled along, a step or two in the rear. He was wearing his sun goggles and his shirt was already sticking to him.
         I had the rifle ready. I didn't know what to expect and I wasn't in a relaxed frame of mind. My jaw was sore and the bruise was turning black. I still couldn't believe a slob like Timoteo could have punched that hard.
         When they were within ten yards of me, Raimundo said something to Timoteo who stopped short and stood like an ox waiting for the yoke. Raimundo joined me.
         "Take him," he said. "He'll do what you tell him. Get him shooting, soldier. Don't chat him up. Just get him shooting."
         I beckoned to Timoteo. I decided to treat him like an Army recruit : nothing personal and all business.
         Without looking at me, he walked slowly and heavy-footed into the lean-to and stopped, looking helplessly at the distant targets.
         "Get those goggles off !" I barked.
         He flinched, but took them off. As he was about to put them in his shirt pocket, Raimundo moved forward.
         "I'll have them."
         Timoteo hesitated then handed them over. Raimundo took them, paused while he looked at Timoteo, then he dropped the goggles on the sand and trod on them. I wouldn't have done that, but I was glad it was done. The goggles were to this goon as a rag is to a kid who thumb-sucks.
    "The rifle is loaded," I said. "Get shooting."
         He took the rifle. There was a dumb, broken look on his face. I suddenly thought : suppose he turns the rifle on me or Raimundo? What a couple of jerks we'd look ! Seeing the way he stood, wavering, the rifle in his hinds, brought me out in a sudden cold sweat, but it was all right. I could see the thought had never entered his head. He turned and went to the shooting rest.
         This was the first time he had looked through the telescopic sight. I saw his back stiffen as the target seemed to leap at him.
         "Take your time," I said in my instructor's voice. "Get the cross wires on the bull. Don't pull the trigger; squeeze it." I gave him a couple of seconds to get ready. "Shoot when you want to."
         Another couple of seconds crawled by, then the rifle banged.
         Both Raimundo and I looked towards the target. He had hit the bull dead centre.
         "Good shot," I said. "That's the way. Now keep on shooting." With that telescopic sight, unless you had Parkinson's disease, you couldn't fail to hit a bull, but with his next ten shots he only hit the bull twice.
         I kept him at it : reloading for him, handing the rifle back without looking at him.
         Raimundo sat on one of the benches and smoked. After the first shot, he didn't bother to look at the target, but he sat there and I knew his presence was keeping Timoteo shooting.
         After an hour, and after he had scored ten bulls out of sixty shots, I said, "Okay