A voice from the shadows of the livery stopped Clint just as he hitched his foot into the stirrup. “Who’s there?” He called out.

The middle-aged bartender emerged from the darkness. “It is I, Senor, Pablo. I come to warn you.”

Clint lowered his foot and arched an eyebrow. “The bartender?” With a wry grin, he said, “I thought you no hablo ingles.”

Speck grunted. “Yeah.”

With a slight shrug, the thin Mexican replied. “Sometimes, Senor, one most forget ingles. But, now, I speak the ingles good.”

“All right, so you speak it good. What do you want with us?”

“If you seek Senor Cooper, Senors, the sheriff will have you...” He searched for the word. “Ah--” He snapped his fingers two or three times in an effort to remember the right word. “Ah, matado, senor. Killed.”

“What?!” Speck exclaimed.

“You know where Cooper is?” Clint demanded of the Mexican bartender.

Looking into the dark shadows of the livery fearfully, he nodded. “Si. The east road to the Pueblo Pecos. Where the road forks beyond the playa. That is the way to his rancho, but he is not there.”

Clint frowned. “Not there? Where is he? How do I find him?”

Pablo smiled slyly. “Do not worry, Senor. He will find you, but it is not wise to take the road to the Pecos. They will wait for you on the road.”

“They?”

“The men of the sheriff. Even now, the two in the cantina are watching. They will wait on the road. Quien sabe,” he added with a shrug. “Perhaps, many, muchos mas.”

Speck frowned at Clint. “How many jaspers does the sheriff have working for him?”

Pablo held his hands out to his side. “Mucho. The sheriff and el alcalde, Senor Rawlings, they have many gringo vaqueros.”

Clint scratched absently at the scar on his cheek. “The mayor’s job too, huh?” He glanced at Speck. “Looks like the sheriff down in Albuquerque knew what he was talking about.”

“Looks that way,” Speck muttered.

Clint pursued his lips. “Is there another road?”

The bartender shrugged. “There are trails in the mountains, but they are known only by the Indians.”

“Indians? What tribe?”

“Who can say, Senor? Many have been killed. A small band of Piro Pueblos and Tewar Puel Pueblos live to the north. The Zuni and Jemez, they have all fled the gringo.”

“Now what, Clint?” Speck asked, frustrated.

“Now what?” Clint drew a deep breath. A wry grin curled his lips. He scratched at the heavy beard on his face. “Now, I wouldn’t mind laying these old eyes on Ojo Blanco and his boys, but I reckon that’s out of the question, so I figure we got to let the sheriff’s boys see us out for Denver. That way, they’ll figure there’s no sense to watch the road, and then tonight, we can slip back in and take the east road.”

With a wry grin, Speck replied. “Sounds good, but where’s the east road?”

“Por favor, senors. I, Pablo - I show you. Tonight, I wait for you.”

Clint studied the thin Mexican staring up at him hopefully. “Why do you help us?”

Pablo glanced fearfully over his shoulder. “The sheriff, he is not el hombre bueno. He and those with him, they take from my people. If we speak out against them, it is malo for our families. El Patron, Senor Cooper, he is good man.”

Speck studied the small man. “Reckon we should take a chance on him, Clint?”

Rolling his broad shoulders, Clint arched a quizzical eyebrow. “I reckon. Where do we meet, Pablo?”

Shaking his head, Pablo whispered. “Do not worry. I will be waiting when you come back to El Jardin’.”