Free Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) by Georgina Gentry

coming in for some tequila, hombres, when I stopped to talk to this Texas pistolero.”
    The half-dozen drunken men stumbled forward to surround the pair, frowning at Bandit. “ A tejano! We don’t have much use for tejanos! We are pleased to let the Indians rip into their soft, southern underbelly!”
    Bandit smiled back at them. Relations between Texas and Mexico had always been strained but the Mexican War waged a quarter of a century ago had created even more tension between that country and the United States. It was stupid to fight if he could use his charm to wriggle out of trouble like he’s so often done. “Compadres”— he grinned and made an open gesture—“I was thinking of buying everyone some cerveza .”
    But even as he spoke, they crowded in close around him, jostling him, making it almost impossible to draw. Then a bearded one seemed to see the horse for the very first time. “Holy Mother of God! It is the horse!” he shouted in Spanish. “This hombre has the stallion!”
    They were too close for him to draw. He’d have to bluff his way free of this crowd. “That’s the Flying Eagle brand from up near the Red,” he began, “and—”
    “You lie!” Half a dozen voices shouted in drunken anger, the men so close now he smelled their sour mescal breath, the stench of sweating bodies. “That’s el patrón’s missing stud! The reward!” one shouted.
    “No, compadre, you’re mistaken,” Bandit drawled. “That’s the Flyin’ Eagle brand—”
    “Romeros!” another yelled, “you’re old Don Falcon’s foreman for many years now! Is that not the famous Falcon brand? Is that not the fine overo pinto stolen from el patrón for which he has offered a reward?”
    Before Romeros could answer, the mob shouted back. “Sí! Remember the reward for its return—or for the head of the man who stole it!”
    Even as Bandit tried to back away from the drunken crowd to get himself room to maneuver, they crowded in, overpowering him as he went for his pistol. What in the name of blue blazes have I ridden into?
    He fought to get loose, hit one man on the chin. But he was grabbed again, his arms twisted behind his back as he cursed and struggled.
    A man stuck his head through the swinging doors of the cantina. “Hey, hombres, what is all that noise about?”
    One of those holding Bandit’s arms yelled back at the one in the doorway. “We have caught ourselves a horse thief to amuse us, and tomorrow, we claim the big reward!”
    Immediately a crowd came out of the cantina. Curious, they gathered around the struggling cowboy. Bandit’s arms hurt from being twisted cruelly behind his back but he still fought and struggled, dragging those who held him out into the dustry street as he fought them.
    “A rope!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Get a rope for the neck of this horse thief!”
    The foreman, Romeros, leaned against a post, chewing his match as if considering whether to take any action or merely watch the lynching.
    Out of the corner of his eye, as Bandit battled, he saw a vaquero take a lariat from his saddle, throw it up over the sign that hung before the cantina. He swore in furious border Spanish. “You can’t just lynch me without a trial!”
    “Yankee!” a man bellowed. “You’re in Mexico and under our laws! We’ll do anything we please!”
    Someone else took up the cry. “ Sí! A rope right now is good enough for this horse thief! We’ll deliver his body tomorrow to the old don for the reward!”
    Bandit had faced death many times, but never had he had to deal with a drunken mob bent on lynching him for entertainment. As he fought to get away from his captors, he felt the cold sweat of fear gather in his armpits, run down his muscular body.
    He craned his neck, saw the ebony-haired Romeros still smiling as he chewed his match. Yet as a vaquero slipped the rough, braided rawhide over Bandit’s head, Romeros moved suddenly, pushing through the crowd. “No, compadres! ” he