man’s future should be destroyed by one mistake. We’re going to help you.”
“How? What can you do?”
“I want you to ride out of here. Go north, go south, go anywhere, but whatever y ou do, come up with a reason you’ve been there. Be gone two hours, then ride back into town.”
Jennings started to speak again, but Stewart interrupted, “Lloyd I want you to trust me. When a man gets into trouble, that ’s when he has to trust his friends. You’re in no position right now to be asking questions.”
Jennings hesitated, glanced at the body lying on the ground and quickly made his decision. He reached down and gathered the reins of his horse and stepped into the saddle.
Look ing down at Stewart he said, “Thanks Tom, I won’t forget this.” He turned the horse west and spurred out of the yard.
Jennings rode to the main road and headed south toward Mexican Town. He wanted it to appear he had ridden directly there from town so no one could place him in the vicinity of Two Mile Meadow that day. After traveling a short distance on the road, he saw Victor Ortega approaching in his wagon. Trying to act casual, despite the emotions he was still feeling, Jennings kept his horse at a walk and pretended to semi-doze in the saddle. His intention was to greet the Mexican politely with a nod and continue on past, but Ortega gestured him to stop. “Señor Yennings, I have news for you. You ask me, I help.” He patted his heavy chest proudly.
“What?” said Jennings.
“Jeff Havens, I found Jeff Havens, I think.”
Jennings was interested. He now wanted very much to find Jeff Havens as a way of repaying Stewart and of wiping away some of his indebtedness.
“Where is he?”
“Emelia Diaz, she is taking care of someone who was hurt. Havens, I think.”
“Where is her house?”
Not at her house,” said Ortega, “Dan Fitz . . . Fitz...,-” he struggled with the name.
“Dan Fitzgerald ’s house? Jeff Havens is at Dan Fitzgerald’s house?”
“Yes, Se ñor Yennings, Emelia ees very sneaky, she tell nobody. Want nobody to know. Why you look for Havens? What he do?”
“He killed a man.”
“Steal horses?”
“No,” said Jennings, his interest piqued even more, “but somebody is stealing horses . Why, what do you know about that?”
Ortega hesitated before speaking. “Maybe Se ñor Stewart can buy saddles, or adobes, maybe ollas for kitchen.”
“I think I can talk to him about it,” offered Jennings, “and if you can provide information about who ’s stealing his horses, I would expect he’d be very grateful. Mr. Stewart is a good man.”
“Nobody weel know who tol ’ you?”
“I won ’t tell anyone but Mr. Stewart. Who is it, Ortega?”
“Amado Lopez .”
“Lopez? I thought he had left the country.” Jennings ’ brow furrowed pensively for a moment. He compressed his lips and nodded. “Lopez and Havens, they go back a long way.”
Ortega nodded and smiled with the smugness of a businessman who has just clinched another deal.
“Anything else?” asked Jennings.
“No, Se ñor, you talk to Stewart, tell him I give good prices.”
Jennings nodded. He wheeled his horse and headed back at a run.
When Stewart and Fogarty left Julio Arroyo’s shack, they had in tow Julio’s old burro with the blanket-wrapped body of its dead master draped over its back. Soon after reaching the main road and turning toward town, they were surprised to see Jennings emerge from a small thicket of trees on the roadside.
“Lloyd, you shouldn ’t be here,” protested Stewart, “the plan was. . . ”
Jennings interrupted, “I know, but I have some information about Havens. He ’s alive and I know where he is. Quickly he told them what he had learned from Ortega, not omitting Ortega’s request that Stewart purchase goods from him.
“This is good,” said Stewart. “Alright, Lloyd we’ll head into town now. You ride in about twenty minutes after we do. That’ll give us
“How? What can you do?”
“I want you to ride out of here. Go north, go south, go anywhere, but whatever y ou do, come up with a reason you’ve been there. Be gone two hours, then ride back into town.”
Jennings started to speak again, but Stewart interrupted, “Lloyd I want you to trust me. When a man gets into trouble, that ’s when he has to trust his friends. You’re in no position right now to be asking questions.”
Jennings hesitated, glanced at the body lying on the ground and quickly made his decision. He reached down and gathered the reins of his horse and stepped into the saddle.
Look ing down at Stewart he said, “Thanks Tom, I won’t forget this.” He turned the horse west and spurred out of the yard.
Jennings rode to the main road and headed south toward Mexican Town. He wanted it to appear he had ridden directly there from town so no one could place him in the vicinity of Two Mile Meadow that day. After traveling a short distance on the road, he saw Victor Ortega approaching in his wagon. Trying to act casual, despite the emotions he was still feeling, Jennings kept his horse at a walk and pretended to semi-doze in the saddle. His intention was to greet the Mexican politely with a nod and continue on past, but Ortega gestured him to stop. “Señor Yennings, I have news for you. You ask me, I help.” He patted his heavy chest proudly.
“What?” said Jennings.
“Jeff Havens, I found Jeff Havens, I think.”
Jennings was interested. He now wanted very much to find Jeff Havens as a way of repaying Stewart and of wiping away some of his indebtedness.
“Where is he?”
“Emelia Diaz, she is taking care of someone who was hurt. Havens, I think.”
“Where is her house?”
Not at her house,” said Ortega, “Dan Fitz . . . Fitz...,-” he struggled with the name.
“Dan Fitzgerald ’s house? Jeff Havens is at Dan Fitzgerald’s house?”
“Yes, Se ñor Yennings, Emelia ees very sneaky, she tell nobody. Want nobody to know. Why you look for Havens? What he do?”
“He killed a man.”
“Steal horses?”
“No,” said Jennings, his interest piqued even more, “but somebody is stealing horses . Why, what do you know about that?”
Ortega hesitated before speaking. “Maybe Se ñor Stewart can buy saddles, or adobes, maybe ollas for kitchen.”
“I think I can talk to him about it,” offered Jennings, “and if you can provide information about who ’s stealing his horses, I would expect he’d be very grateful. Mr. Stewart is a good man.”
“Nobody weel know who tol ’ you?”
“I won ’t tell anyone but Mr. Stewart. Who is it, Ortega?”
“Amado Lopez .”
“Lopez? I thought he had left the country.” Jennings ’ brow furrowed pensively for a moment. He compressed his lips and nodded. “Lopez and Havens, they go back a long way.”
Ortega nodded and smiled with the smugness of a businessman who has just clinched another deal.
“Anything else?” asked Jennings.
“No, Se ñor, you talk to Stewart, tell him I give good prices.”
Jennings nodded. He wheeled his horse and headed back at a run.
When Stewart and Fogarty left Julio Arroyo’s shack, they had in tow Julio’s old burro with the blanket-wrapped body of its dead master draped over its back. Soon after reaching the main road and turning toward town, they were surprised to see Jennings emerge from a small thicket of trees on the roadside.
“Lloyd, you shouldn ’t be here,” protested Stewart, “the plan was. . . ”
Jennings interrupted, “I know, but I have some information about Havens. He ’s alive and I know where he is. Quickly he told them what he had learned from Ortega, not omitting Ortega’s request that Stewart purchase goods from him.
“This is good,” said Stewart. “Alright, Lloyd we’ll head into town now. You ride in about twenty minutes after we do. That’ll give us
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