Cathedral Canyon (ePub)

The two riders would be in the saloon. He ran his hand along the flank of the nearest appaloosa. It was cool and dry-they'd been here for a time.
Here it was, then.
The wise move would be to get right back on his horse and ride out-a peace-loving man would do that. Walking into the post with riders that had the town on edge would just be asking for trouble.
He'd changed since the war-he was smarter, less inclined to make rash decisions.
His legs seemed to have a mind of their own and he cursed under his breath as he found himself stepping through the doorway into the dim interior and walking past the storefront to the rear and the saloon.
Sitting at a table with their backs to the wall near the plank bar, two vaqueros watched Steele as he walked in. Steele glanced at them as he walked to the bar and decided he didn't know either one.
"What I get for you?" The barman asked in broken English.
Steele swallowed his surprise. Steele had bought supplies from José for over a year and they had never spoken in English before. The man had been beaten recently-he had some scrapes around his mouth and his right eye was swollen halfway shut.
"Mescal, and a plate of whatever you've got cooking in the back," Steele replied in English.
José nodded slightly and pushed a bottle and a glass towards him, all the while avoiding his eyes. Steele carried the bottle to a table on the opposite side of the room from the vaqueros and chose a chair facing them.
"Is it him?" the younger one hissed to his partner.
"I think so," the older man said quietly. "The age is right and he looks ex-army."
The two men spoke in rapid-fire Spanish and Steele didn't bat an eye-they'd assumed as a gringo he couldn't understand them.
So, the two were looking for him. He hadn't been in the area long and he wondered who they rode for.
Steele poured a shot from the bottle and drank it, then poured another. José had his attention-the bottle was filled with spring water.
The barkeep returned from the kitchen with a plate of beef and frijoles for Steele and quickly disappeared again. Jason was hungry, but he ate slowly, keeping his eye on the two without seeming to.
Steele was under no illusions. If the vaqueros sensed an advantage, they would attack instantly. Some men might talk and work themselves up to the task of killing another man, but he judged these two wouldn't hesitate.
He had seen this kind of thing before-soon they would split up so Steele wouldn't be able cover them both. Their best play might be the younger one walking out the door to the outhouse, and walking back in with his gun drawn...
Whatever plan they cooked up, Steele would lay odds the younger one planned to shoot first. He would be fast, but the older vaquero would take a split second longer to make his shot count.
The young vaquero was drinking steadily and that seemed to make the older man edgy. He was keeping one eye on his partner and the other on Steele.
In the corner of his eye, he caught the slight nod of the older man to his partner. As the younger vaquero with the string of silver studs got to his feet, Steele also stood up and took a wobbly step to his left towards the front of the store.
Not a word had been said, but Steele's sudden move triggered a reaction-the young vaquero's hand streaked towards his gun.
"Not yet!" the older vaquero shouted, but he was too late-the young fool was drawing before they were set, before they had the gringo boxed in. He quickly realized there was no stopping him and he leaped to his feet as he reached for his Colt.
The younger man was fast-Steele's gun had barely cleared leather when the young man's gun blasted.
A red-hot slug screamed past Steele's right ear and powder grains peppered him.
.....