“Drop them,” Edge demanded. “Or after the fiesta Montijo will have a funeral.”
The younger man stiffened and Edge knew he was prepared to take his chances. But Manuel was much older and considerably more wise. He sighed and his revolvers clattered to the floor.
“You are too young to die, Ramon,” he said softly. “And I am too old to want to.”
The fight went out of Ramon and his gun fell to the floor. Edge let go of his throat and used his free hand to hook the second gun from the young man’s holster, let it fall. He pushed Ramon away from him, slid his own Colt back into its holster, grinned at the men’s surprise.
“I didn’t bring the mayor a present for his birthday,” he said. “Instead, I give him the lives of two of his relations. It may not be much, but it’s all I have at the moment.”
“It is not a trick, señor?” Manuel asked.
“You already told me I don’t have any finesse,” Edge answered. “Look at the ring and tell me what it means to you.”
Ramon had to ignite the lamp for Manuel to find the fallen ring, and when he did retrieve it the old man carried it close to the light, bent his head close to examine it.
“What made you interested?” Edge asked, sitting on the bare springs of the bed, reaching below and picking up his rifle. He placed the weapon across his thighs, pointing at nothing.
Ramon leaned against the dresser. “I am not,” he answered. “My uncle, he became excited when he heard the story of your ring. He asked me to come to help him. Some help.”
Edge grinned. “Luck of the draw.”
“My eyes are not so good as they once were,” Manuel said, and held out the ring. “Here, Ramon. Tell me what is carved in the metal.”
The younger man crossed the room, took the ring and held it to the light, twisting and turning it, his face showing an expression of disgust for its tawdriness.
“It is worthless,” he said. “Metal junk. A trinket, that’s all.”
“The design!” Manuel said with harshness, licking his lips so that they shone through his white whiskers.
“A snake,” Ramon said with a shrug. “Too badly formed to identify. A jararaca, maybe. Or perhaps a cascabel. I do not know.”
Now the old man’s eyes shone, as well. He shook his head. “It does not matter.” He looked at Edge. “Where did you get the ring, señor?”
“My business.”
This did not discourage Manuel. “From an old man, perhaps? Old like me? A Mexican?”
“Close enough.”
Manuel nodded his satisfaction. “There is a story, señor. Of many bandits who stole much money from the army of the United States. Long ago. Many of the bandits were killed and only three were left when they arrived at Montijo.”
Ramon was suddenly interested, looking from his uncle, to Edge, to the ring. The last was suddenly no longer worthless.
“I heard something like that,” Edge allowed evenly.
Again the nod. “In Montijo one of the bandits was killed. The other two captured. The money was never recovered. The two survivors went to prison. And soon the story died, for the sentences were long and few can survive long terms in the prisons of Mexico. But later, the story re-emerged as something of a legend and there were many romantic tales attached to the legend. One such was that when the three men were captured—one being killed, as I said—each wore a ring and these rings provided the clue to the hiding place of the stolen money.”
“How much money?” Ramon asked with a breathless tone.
Manuel’s tongue flicked out once more and his voice was soft. “The legend has it, ten thousand, American.”
Both Mexicans eyed Edge for confirmation.
“Close enough,” Edge said.
Ramon gasped. Manuel sighed.
“Much money,” the young man said. “Not so much when split three ways.”
Edge now took hold of his rifle, but the muzzle continued to point at a blank wall.
“I ain’t greedy,” he said. “I came south to get back two and a half thousand that was stole from me. I had it and then had to let it go again. I’ll be happy with something near eight hundred dollars profit from the trip.”
Manuel nodded, tugged at the shirt sleeve of his nephew. “This is not Mexico City, Ramon,” he said sagely. “To have something more than three thousand three hundred American dollars in Montijo, makes a man very rich indeed.”
Ramon considered this point for several moments and finally nodded his assent. But, in the spluttering oil lamp, Edge saw that the young man’s greed had not diminished: merely retreated behind a thin veneer of pretense.
“We don’t know where the money is hid yet,” Edge pointed out.
“The ring?” Manuel requested, extending his hand.
Ramon put it in his palm.
“What did you say the design represents?”
Ramon shrugged. “A snake.”
Manuel smiled. “You are perhaps too young to have sampled the delights at the southern end of Montijo,” he said softly. “Or perhaps you are so handsome that you have not found the need to pay for your pleasures.”
For several moments the younger man continued to look at the ring with dull eyes, his smooth face creased by a deep frown of perplexity. But abruptly his features lit up.
“The bordello!” he exclaimed with excitement. “I have been there. El Serpiente. The Snake.”
Edge Sighed. “With Luis, a bordello figures,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALTHOUGH the plaza of Montijo provided the center of the fiesta it was not the only focal point of celebrations to mark the mayor’s birthday. Just as Edge had been approached by Esteban as he rode in from the north, so other young pimps shouted offers as the three men passed through the southern end of town. They went on foot, having stopped off at the livery stable for Edge to collect his horse. Ramon pad been suspicious of this, his uncle appearing to accept Edge’s explanation of a pressing engagement out of town after he had collected his share of the money. But Edge had allowed the men to retrieve their weapons and the confidence of the revolvers convinced the younger man that he was capable of taking countermeasures against an attempted doublecross: despite the speed of action the American had already exhibited to such effect.
All three ignored the offers, not bothering to reply to them and the young brothers of allegedly beautiful sisters did not press. For there was about the trio a latent menace that deterred interference with their determined progress. Edge sauntered along, leading the big white stallion by the bridle, flanked on the left by the strutting Ramon and on the right by the purposeful Manuel.
“There it is, señor,” Manuel said at length and Edge looked ahead with hooded eyes.
They were clear of the main town now and the street had become more uneven with the texture of an uncared for trail. There was more space between the buildings on each side and most of them were small shacks, obviously the homes of the poorest of peons. But one was much larger than the rest, long and low, several yards deep, covering enough ground to allow for many rooms throughout the single story of the structure.
There was no light out here except that provided by the moon, but this pale luminescence was sufficient for the faded white lettering along the front of the building to be read: EL SERPIENTE.
Edge’s narrowed eyes examined the side and front of the building as the trio drew level with it, saw that the windows were boarded up, the doors tightly closed, emitting no light.
“When were you last here?” Edge asked of Manuel.
The old man grinned. “I am not too old to be lacking in all my faculties, señor,” he said. “Last week I gave a good account of myself. It is not closed. The windows are shuttered to discourage prying eyes. El Serpiente only provide exhibition for money.”