Read Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747) for Free Online Page A

knife flat across his throat, an inch below his chin. A strong forearm tightened around his forehead and pulled his head back at a sharp angle, giving him a clear but shaky view of the yellow moon, the purple sky and the endless stars.
    A warm breath moved across his ear from less than an inch away.
    â€œWhat are you doing in our desert?” a voice whispered.
    â€œI—I—!” Hector found it impossible to speak without gagging with his head at such an angle. Having lost all control of his hands, he let his shotgun fall to the ground.
    â€œHe can’t talk, Clyde,” another voice said, this one coming from atop the dark silhouette as it moved into the circle of firelight, its rider straightening up in the saddle. “You’ve got his Adam’s apple in a knot.”
    The tightened forearm loosened a little on Hector’s forehead, enough for him to gasp and swallow and form words. The long blade stayed against his throat as if to remind him who was in charge.
    â€œPlease, señors !” he gasped. “I am Hector Pasada . . . from Rosas Salvajes!”
    â€œHec-tor,” said the man at his throat. “You look more like a Pancho to me.”
    â€œPlease,” begged Hector, “I am only here to find a man . . . to deliver a message to him!”
    As soon as he’d spoken, the forearm tightened again, drawing his eyes back up to the starlit sky. He’d caught only a glance of the dark figure swinging down from his saddle.
    â€œOh, from Wild Roses,” said the man.
    â€œIs that why you smell so sweet?” the man with the knife to his throat said into his ear. He sniffed around Hector’s collar.
    Smell so sweet . . . ? Sante Madre!
    The other man walked his horse over and stopped near the fire. He stooped down, picked up a piece of rattlesnake and put it into his mouth. He sucked on the bite of warm snake flesh. Then he spit it out at his feet. “This rep-tile needs something. Pepper . . . ? Sage . . . ? Something . . . ,” he said.
    â€œWhat?” Hector managed to gasp hoarsely.
    â€œHe’s saying you can’t cook for shit, Pancho ,” the man behind him whispered in his ear, his grip still tight.
    At the fire, the other man stood and wiped his fingertips on his ragged, blackened doeskin coat.
    â€œAnd who is this man you’re looking for?” he inquired.
    The arm loosened for a second, long enough for Hector to reply.
    â€œSonora Charlie . . . Charlie Ring,” Hector said quickly, knowing the forearm would soon cut him off again. “The Frenchman sent me from Rosas Salvajes to—”
    The forearm tightened.
    â€œ I am Sonora Charlie Ring,” the man by the fire said. He wiped snake from his fingers onto his trouser leg.
    The forearm loosened.
    â€œYou—you are Sonora Charlie?” Hector gasped.
    â€œWhat did I say?” the voice said coldly.
    The forearm tightened instantly, then loosened. “Listen up, Panch o—”
    Hector gasped. “You said that you are—”
    The forearm tightened again. The knife blade pressed just hard enough to keep Hector terrified.
    â€œI know what I said,” said Sonora Charlie.
    â€œPlease, seño r—” Hector rasped again in spite of the knife against his throat.
    Sonora Charlie looked the terrified man up and down, seeing the dark streak of urine that spread down both of his trouser legs.
    â€œClyde, take your pigsticker from Wet Hector’s throat, turn him loose. Let’s hear what the Frenchman wants.”
    â€œYou mean you don’t want me to cut Pancho open?” the voice behind Hector asked.
    â€œMaybe later,” said Sonora Charlie. “We’ll see.”
    â€œAw, hell!” Clyde Jilson shouted in disappointment. He turned the Mexican loose suddenly, shoving him from behind. Hector flew forward and landed at his horse’s hooves, gasping and clutching his throat for a moment to make sure it