The Legend of El Duque by J. R. Roberts Page A

your chance,” she said. “Instead of going to Mexico City, you can stop that money from coming here. And get it!”
    â€œI am not a thief!”
    â€œYou would not keep the money for yourself,” she said. “You would hand it over to my husband. That would prove your loyalty to him.”
    â€œAnd if he finds out we are sleeping together?” he asked. “Would that prove our loyalty to him?”
    She smiled.
    â€œDon’t you worry about my loyalty,” she said. “Just do as I tell you.”
    Montero turned to face her, and there was nothing amorous about his attitude.
    â€œThat is what your husband keeps telling me.”
    â€œCarlos,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm, “I value you as a man, and as an ally. Does my husband do that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd what I tell you to do,” she said, “is for the both of us.”
    He thought a moment, then said, “All right. What would you have me do?”
    â€œListen carefully . . .”
    * * *
    They broke camp, having ridden together for three days. Mano kicked sand on the fire, then turned to go to his horse.
    â€œHold on,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s time for me to see how you handle that gun.”
    Mano looked down at the gun in his holster, then put his hand on it.
    â€œDo you want me to draw?”
    â€œDo you fancy yourself a fast draw, Mano?”
    â€œI am pretty quick, I think.”
    â€œLet me see.”
    Happily, Mano dropped his hands to his side, then went for his gun. He had barely touched it when he found himself looking down the barrel of Clint’s weapon.
    â€œWha—” He had not even seen Clint draw, it had been that fast.
    â€œIt’s not always the fastest draw that keeps you alive, Mano,” Clint said, holstering his gun. “Being accurate is more important than being fast.”
    â€œI think I am accurate,” Mano said, but he did not sound as sure as he had a few moments ago.
    Clint looked around, then said, “Okay. See that dead tree over there? The branch sticking out?”
    â€œYou want me to hit the tree?”
    â€œI want you to hit the branch, but I want you to cut it in three. Start at the end, make three shots, and by the time you’re done, the branch should be gone.”
    Mano studied the tree for a few moments, then turned to face it.
    â€œNo fast draw, Mano,” Clint said. “Just show me what you can hit.”
    â€œSí, señor.”
    He took a deep breath, drew his gun, then sighted down the barrel.
    â€œDoing that, you’re sure to miss,” Clint said.
    â€œB-But I must take aim.”
    â€œDon’t aim,” Clint said, “point.”
    Mano pointed his gun, but then dropped it.
    â€œWhat you ask cannot be done.”
    Clint drew and fired three times rapidly. The branch grew smaller with each shot, and finally was gone. He quickly reloaded his gun before holstering it.
    â€œMadre de Dios,”
Mano said.
    â€œNever holster your gun until you’ve replaced the spent shells,” Clint said, “or someday you’ll draw your gun and find the hammer falling on an empty chamber.”
    â€œSí, señor.”
    â€œAll right,” Clint said, “just hit the trunk of the tree.”
    Mano nodded, then drew his gun and fired three shots, all hitting the tree dead center.
    â€œNot bad.”
    Mano replaced the spent shells and holstered the weapon.
    â€œBut that’s different from shooting at a man,” Clint said.
    â€œWhen the time comes,” Mano said, “you will be able to count on me,
señor
.”
    â€œI hope so, Mano,” Clint said, “for both our sakes.”
    As Clint turned away Mano said, “Clint?”
    â€œYes?” Clint turned back.
    Mano took a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. Clint drew without hesitation. He fired three times. The coin jumped