Page 52 of A Good Prospect

Alistair stepped up to Tyke and held his hand out for the weapon.

“This is mutiny, you black-balled son of a heifer!” Tyke yelled at his own compañero.

Sal said quietly, “Not unlike you coming onto my land and trying to take it over with your lawlessness.”

Tyke’s eyes narrowed so viciously they seemed to disappear into his head. He took a step toward Sal, seething, “You goddamned son of a greaser.”

Sal stepped forward too, halting Tyke, and even backing him up a step. “My father was a Boston sea captain,” he said pleasantly.

Alistair eased the pistol from Tyke’s grip. Sal took it and nodded at him. “Gracias, señor. Can you do me another favor? Go check on that fire. I’d appreciate it. And check on Miss Tamasin. Tell her we’re fine. She’ll give you something to eat.”

Visibly relieved, Alistair chose to tear down the stairs, as the doors were guarded by the revolutionary Frenchmen.

Attempting a smile now, Tyke held up his empty hands and revealed his twisted teeth. “Now, listen here, Mr. Palomares. Let’s be reasonable. I didn’t come here to take your land. I came here seeking freedom for every, ah, every freedom-loving American who wishes to mine the land that us Americans won from the Mexicans, am I right? I’m not outside the law.”

Silently, Sal raised his revolver to Tyke’s forehead and cocked the hammer. Almost imperceptibly, he leaned closer to the outlaw as he stared levelly at the marsupial face. Tyke shrank back another foot, but continued to babble.

“I mean, let’s talk about this, hombre! Why don’t we just make a deal. You’re a reasonable businessman.”

Sal pressed his revolver’s muzzle to Tyke’s forehead, flipping that annoying smashed hat down the ore shaft behind him. “You weren’t too interested in making deals when you came to steal my cows and my land. And you’re not a fellow American, McCarthy. How long ago did you make a break from that Botany Bay jail?”

Tyke’s claw grappled for the banister, where in normal times men leaned while dumping their wheelbarrows of ore. From there, the ore fell onto the “grizzly” grates that separated the coarser rocks from that which required no further breaking. Larger rocks were fed to the rock breaker. “All right, let’s make a deal, Palomares!” Tyke was becoming frantic now, as his toes could probably feel the ledge of the ore shaft. He held onto the banister for dear life, his bony ass swaying over the cavern of the chute.

“No. Deals.”

“We can deal, Palomares! I’ll tell my men to back off! Just let us return to Hornitos, and I promise you we’ll never trouble you no more. Live and let live is my good old motto.”

“No.” Sal shoved the forehead with the pistol’s muzzle. It wasn’t enough to dislodge the bandit, so he shoved harder, and wedged the pointy toes of his boot under Tyke’s toes. “No. Deal.” His free hand gripped Tyke’s shoulder like talons, and Tyke only hung on to the banister by his fingernails now. Sal whispered malevolently, “I want a new alcalde!”

When he stressed “new,” he shoved Tyke sharply while lifting up with the toe of his strong zapatone boot.

“You bastard!” cried Tyke. He flailed in midair, suspended for a brief moment before plummeting down the chute.

Sal leaned forward with satisfaction as Jules and Henri rushed to look down. As Sal had planned, Tyke was not small enough to fit through the grizzly grate, and he bounced like a thrashing wildcat, scrabbling to grip onto one of the bars. The descent was too steep, and he bounced right over the bars and into the jaws of the rock breaker. When Sal leaned as far as possible clutching the banister, he could see both of Tyke’s boots sticking from the bin at odd angles, the toes turned inward. There was no movement.

“Viva los Americanos!” shouted Sal.

“Home or to the mines!” added Henri happily.

The three men paused. Sal straightened and holstered his revolver. If he had a cigarrito, he would have lit it. He told the Frenchmen, “Mill men prefer to have the ore broken to a medium coarse size instead of pulverized fine. It feeds better and causes the battery to work more evenly.”

“Maybe we should pull him out of the machine, then,” said Jules. “We would not want him to clog up the battery.”

Salvador shrugged. “There’s no rush.”

Sal had many more important things to do than to pull Tyke McCarthy out of his rock breaker.

Like get back to his house, and find Tamasin and Ophir.