Ignacio, the leader, chuckled, “Some bandido you are, Senor Angel! Perhaps your reputation far exceeds your talent.”
“Oh, damn! That hurts,” Rafe groaned, climbing awkwardly to his feet, his wrists firmly secured behind him.
“Enough of thees!” Ignacio roared, waving one of his guns in the air. “We mus’ get thees horses to Sacramento City and sell them before someone recognizes the brand.”
“Si. If not, we weel be the ones dangling from the lynch man’s rope, not Senor Angel,” Pablo added.
Glancing to the side, Rafe saw Sancho grinning with self-satisfaction, despite the blood that continued to stream down to his chin. He must feel real good about having bested a much younger, more athletically fit man. Me!
Rafe used that opportunity to rush forward, head first, and butt the jerk in his flabby stomach. Sancho sank to the ground on his tail with a loud “Oomph!”
Rafe started to smile, but his pleasure was short-lived. Ignacio kicked him in the back, forcing him to the ground, face first in the dust, with his spurred boot pressed to his shoulder bones. Helen tried to come to his aid, but Pablo still held her hands behind her back.
“Do you give up now, you bastard?”
“Up yours!”
The bandit ground his boot harder, and Rafe stilled, deciding to choose his battles more wisely in the future. “I give up,” he conceded. For now.
Finally, laughing maliciously, Ignacio allowed him to rise agonizingly to his feet. It was clear the leader of this band of misfits took great delight in Rafe’s pain as he twirled his drooping mustache, probably contemplating some new torture. “Murietta weel surely let us join his gang now that we have caught his rival. He weel see that we are great bandidos, worthy of riding with him.”
“Are you talking about Joaquin Murietta, the famous outlaw?” Rafe scoffed.
“Ciertamente. The greatest outlaw of them all.” Ignacio sighed, then turned to his pals. “Perhaps, if we are stopped on the way to Sacramento City, we can blame El Angel and his whore for stealing the horses.”
“Si, we could say they are the horse thieves and we are just bringing them to justice,” Sancho added enthusiastically.
“And they would believe us because there ees a price on the head of El Angel Bandido,” Pablo said, “and everyone knows Elena ees his woman.”
“I’m not the Angel Bandit,” Rafe said.
“I’m not Elena,” Helen said at the same time.
“You’re not Elena?” Ignacio’s face sagged with disappointment. “Es la verdad?”
“No, my name is Helen Prescott — ”
“Helen, Helena, Elena… there ees no difference!” Pablo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
“And I’m not a whore,” Helen asserted.
“Now that I cannot believe, senorita.” Ignacio stepped closer. “You travel with El Angel Bandido. You have the red hair. You are Elena.” He boldly scrutinized her body from head to toe and sneered, “Besides, a woman who wears trousers ees not a Sweet Betsy from Pike, as Los Americanos call their gentle women. No, you are a puta, for sure.” He flicked the tip of one of his revolvers over her breast for emphasis.
Helen inhaled sharply with indignation. She probably would have clawed Ignacio’s eyes out if Pablo wasn’t still restraining her hands. Instead, Rafe could see she was about to spit on the stupid outlaw as she struggled against Pablo’s restraining hold.
Chivalry had never been one of his strong suits, but Rafe couldn’t let Helen suffer the consequences of antagonizing the brute. Who knew how he would retaliate.
So, he spit on Ignacio himself.
And turned the gorilla’s fury on him.
BAM! Just like that, Ignacio shot at him, barely missing his ear.
Rafe threw himself to the ground to avoid a second shot, which luckily didn’t come. Instead, Ignacio gave him another kick, this time in the thigh.
“Heh, heh, heh!” Ignacio chortled. “It weel give me much pleasure turning you over to Los Americanos. I hope they weel torture you before your death. And as for Elena… Well, she weel give us much pleasure with the corkscrew before we sell her services to the men in Sacramento City. They are starved for a woman’s company, those lonely prospectors, but a woman who can do the corkscrew… Ah, we weel become very rich, muy pronto. Eh, Pablo? Eh, Sancho?”