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asked.
    â€œNear Mexico City,” Steiger said. “The Rancho Sandoval.”
    â€œIf he’s so famous,” Tibbs said, “everybody should know where he lives. All we have to do is ask.”
    â€œWe will,” Steiger said, “when we get closer. All we got to do now is head south.”
    Tibbs looked at Jerome, who shook his head and shrugged.
    â€œLook,” Steiger said, “we’re just adjustin’ to the situation, that’s all.”
    â€œWell,” Tibbs said, “we better get this job done, is all.”
    â€œWe will,” Steiger said, turning his horse south. “Let’s go.”
    * * *
    Days passed without incident, which suited Clint. They were camped one night and he asked Mano, “How far to Queretaro?”
    â€œA day or two,” Mano said.
    â€œDepending on?”
    â€œOn how fast we travel.”
    â€œI don’t want to push the horses too hard,” Clint said. “We can keep up the pace we’ve been traveling at.”
    For a few days, they’d been living on beans and coffee, and Mano was hankering for something more.
    â€œCan we buy some bacon at the next town?” he asked hopefully.
    â€œYeah, sure,” Clint said. “Bacon and beans would be a welcome change.”
    â€œYou have not told me if any of my father’s stories about you are true.”
    â€œAnd I won’t,” Clint said. “That’s up to your father to tell you.”
    â€œBien,”
Mano said, “then tell me this.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe story about the time my father fought five Juaristas and defeated them single-handedly without weapons. Is that true?”
    Clint studied the younger man across the fire, then said, “Well, yes, that’s true.”
    â€œHa ha!” Mano cried out. “That old man! He told me it never happened.”
    â€œWell, I suppose your father may have become . . . modest in his old age.”
    â€œWhat about the women?”
    â€œWhat about them?”
    â€œAll the women my father is supposed to have had,” Mano said.
    â€œHow many is that?”
    â€œMany,” Mano said, “many, many over the years.”
    â€œWell,” Clint said, “I think maybe that is something I’ll leave to your father to answer.”
    â€œHe does have a young wife,” Mano said. “I suppose the women could have been attracted to his money.”
    â€œJust remember,” Clint said, “your father didn’t always have money.”
    â€œThat is true.”
    â€œI’ll take the first watch,” Clint said, intentionally changing the subject.
    But instead of going to bed, Mano wanted to hear more stories. Or ask about them.
    â€œWhat about the time with the three nuns?” he asked.
    â€œWhat?” Clint asked. “Who? Me or your father?”
    * * *
    Carlos Montero wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing.
    He had gone to Mexico City, as Don Pablo had wanted, but he had also collected some men to help him with the gringo when he arrived, as Antonia wanted him to do.
    The gringo was projected to arrive any day. So Montero decided to take his men to Queretaro and intercept him.
    Now he was sitting in a cantina, drinking beer, while his men were in back rooms with two of the cantina girls.
    What if the gringo bypassed Queretaro? What if he went directly to the rancho? It was too bad he did not have the gringo’s name.
    But how many gringos would be riding through, carrying a large some of money and looking for Don Pablo Sandoval’s rancho?
    â€œSeñor
, you would like some company?” a cantina girl asked. She was young, busty, with a wide, beautiful mouth that promised many things.
    But Montero had enough problems with women, since he was sleeping with the
patrón
’s
daughter as well as his wife.
    â€œNo, thank you,” he said, “but I will have