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CHAPTER 25

      WHEN PETRIE told Brennan that Rand was still alive, the old man had reacted like a scalded cat.

      When he finally quit yelling at Petrie and came down off the ceiling, he fell into an icy calm. He knew from experience that words had little effect on Petrie. While he would dearly love to give Petrie a good sharp rap on the head with a fence post, he thought would only make Petrie angry and seek revenge. Besides, the only fence post available was sunk in the dirt and was holding up three strands of barbed wire.

      "This puts us both in a hell of a spot," Brennan said. "Rand is still out there, and for all we know, he's blabbin' to Joe Navarette about the hay-truck driver and the Mexican right now. Now, what do you think you ought to do?"

      Even Petrie didn't have a hard time figuring that out. "I'll go back and kill him myself."

      "Can you?"

      "Sure, I done it all right with Bobby Diggs, an' I can do it with Rand."

      Brennan eased himself into one of the porch chairs and stared into space across the desert, reviewing his options, looking for a way to make lemonade out of the big bitter lemon Petrie had brought him. Finally he said, "Maybe it's good that Rand wasn't killed. He may know something that could be important to us."

      "Like what?"

      "Like where the gold is located. Ever think that maybe Rand set up the robbery on the orders of Mrs. Hood, and stole the gold back from us?"

      Petrie shook his head.

      "It's somethin' to consider. And I'd also be interested in whether Hood left behind a map or something that would tell where in the mountains he found it. I just wish I could have followed him that day I saw him heading out there. We could all be rich and living up in Ruidoso in cabins by the creek, among the pine trees."

      For a few moments Brennan was quiet, then he said, "I'm going to send the missus away to visit her momma in Lordsburg for a couple of days. I'll tell her to get packed up now, and then I'll get Benedict and Doak to drive her, and they can spend the night in a tourist court there before returning. That'll give us two days without anybody here but us, so we can do together what has to be done without anybody knowing."

      "What's that?" Petrie asked.

      "Question Rand, and then kill him. I want you to go to town and find out where he's staying. Now, got any ideas how you're going to do that?"

      "I already asked everybody. I think he's stayin' at the Hood place, or maybe with Pritchard."

      "You didn't know what his car looked like then. Now you know. Drive around until you either see it parked or find him drivin' it."

      "I get it!" Petrie said.

      "Suppose you was to wait until he came to get into the car, and you sort of coaxed him into the truck, like, say, stickin' your gun up his nose? Why then you could take him right out here and we could get on with our business."

      "Yeah," Petrie said.

      Brennan smiled at Petrie. "Take the truck, and don't bring Rand back here for at least an hour. That way I'll be sure the Missus and Benedict and the kid are away from here."

      Petrie left the porch. He got into the truck and started back to town. He was relieved that Brennan didn't get tough with him. He'd expected much worse.

      Hector Guzman, Tonio Ramirez, and Alberto Pacheco left Juarez in Guzman's Ford about one o'clock Juarez time. In the car with them were two pistols and a double barreled shotgun. One of the pistols belonged to Pacheco. The other pistol and the shotgun belonged to Guzman, who hadn't fired either of them for more than 20 years.

      They were in high spirits, partly from the cold beers they had consumed along the way, partly because of the promise of gold. Tonio cared little about the gold because he couldn't imagine himself profiting from it, but he thirsted for revenge. He remembered seeing his father rise in the air on the rope, the big gringo pointing the gun at his face. He wanted revenge so hard it almost ached. A pleasant kind of ache.

      It took them a little more than an hour to drive to Las Cruces, and they had a stop in Anthony, which straddled the New Mexico-Texas border for two gallons of gas and to relieve themselves. The tank was still more than half empty as the pulled away. It was scorching hot and Guzman and Ramirez had removed their coats and neatly put it on the back seat next to Guzman, who took up almost all the space in the back.

      When they got to Las Cruces, Guzman eased the car into a filling station and told the young Mexican who came out to fill it up.

      In Spanish, Guzman said. "It's a hot day, isn't it?"

      The boy agreed as he worked the lever that pumped up the gas from the underground tank and put the hose nozzle into the car's gas tank.

      "I am looking for a good veterinarian," Guzman said dolefully. "I have a cow that is dying from this heat. Do you know of one?"

      "A doctor of animals?"

      "Yes."

      "Follow Main Street to Las Cruces Avenue and turn left. After a couple of blocks, you'll see a sign."

      Guzman thanked him and got back in the car, and paid for the gas with American dollars. He tipped the boy a nickel. As they drove off, he said, "You see how simple it was."

      Following directions, he drove through a fine old residential neighborhood, with big two story red brick homes that would have looked more at home in the East than in Las Cruces. Before one of them he saw a sign that said "Elton Carr, Veterinarian."

      After combing his hair and putting on his jacket, Guzman climbed the steps and rang the bell. After a long wait, the doctor answered the door, wearing a bloody apron and rubber gloves.

      "Dr. Carr?" Guzman asked.

      The doctor nodded. He was a wizened little wisp of a man, obviously impatient to get back to his work. Beyond him, in a large room off the hall, Guzman saw an operating table under a huge movable light that held a dog. A peculiar looking mask made for a dog's head carried merciful ether to the animal, which was unconscious.

      "I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but yesterday a gentleman from Las Cruces came to my house in Mexico to see about buying a dozen calves. I talked to him for a long time and wrote down his name and address, but like a fool I lost it."

      The doctor's expression indicated that Guzman was indeed a fool.

      "He is a rancher near Las Cruces. I thought surely a veterinarian would know who he his."

      Carr was already shaking his head.

      "He had a white beard that spread out on his chest," Guzman said.

      "Tall, thin man?"

      "Yes."

      "Name Brennan ring a bell?"

      "I think so. Where does he live."

      "Follow Main Street out of town and keep heading North on the way to Alamogordo. About five miles out there will be a dirt road angling off to the right - a la derecha. There's a sign there with an arrow at it pointing toward Brennan's place. Name's the Lazy B. That's the letter "B" that's laying on its side. Follow that sign about a mile and you're there. Comprende?

      Guzman bowed and said, "Si, Seņor. Mil Gracias."

      "De nada" Carr said.

      The dog on the table twitched and let out a soul-piercing moan. "I've got to get back to my patient now," The doctor said, easing Guzman out the door.

      When Guzman got back to the car he was grinning. "It is done!" But, because the sign pointing the way to Brennan's place had fallen down behind some yucca plants and couldn't be seen, Guzman overshot the turn and an hour later, he found himself in the mountain's foothills, almost ten miles where he should have been. They started retracing their steps.

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