Free Ten Grand by George G. Gilman Page A

little, just before it reached up for the final stretch to the lip of the plateau. Edge dismounted and unbooted the Henry.  Luis remained seated on the burro, trying to control the trembling which shook his body as he watched the American creep forward, peer around a clump of brush that grew thick and thorny at the top of the trail. Once he glanced over his shoulder, contemplated making a run for it.  But he knew he would be either shot or fall off the edge before he could make more than a few yards on the slow beast between his legs. He spat.       
    Edge looked at Hoyos, his face showing no sign of how he felt about the prospect before him.  It stood back from the lip of the plateau, some five hundred yards, concealed from below. And, as Luis had said, the mountains towered behind it, making it impossible to approach from the south. The terrain to the east and west was hidden in darkness, but Edge thought it possible that sheer rock faces fell away to form other natural defenses for the town.  But the pioneer citizens of Hoyos had not been content to leave their protection from attack entirely to the good fortune of nature. All Edge could see of the town was a twenty-feet-high wall of adobe, gleaming white in the pale moonlight, with a yawning gap of darkness which was an open gateway. Through and. beyond he could see nothing, and there was a silence hulking over the walled town, almost tangible in its completeness.
    Edge drew back and turned to Luis. “Get off,” he demanded.
    The old Mexican did as he was bid and when Edge snapped his fingers, led the burro forward. The tall man took the rope reins and urged the beast to the top of the trail. Then he walked behind the animal and jabbed the rifle muzzle hard into its rump.  The burro snorted with injured rage, kicked out viciously with its hind legs and bolted across the open ground towards Hoyos.  Crouching behind the brush, Edge peered towards the gateway and then flicked his eyes along the flat top of the walls on either side. The only sign and sound of life in the whole vista was the angry burro, which bolted through the gateway and was suddenly lost from sight.  Soon, too, the sound of its hoofs disappeared.
    “There is nobody in Hoyos,” Luis said in a hoarse whisper as he squatted beside Edge. 
    “You wanna bet?” Edge asked without breaking his concentrated examination of the town.
    “Señor?”
    “Maybe they all got tired and went to sleep,” Edge said absently.
    “No, señor,” Luis said in all seriousness. “Hoyos never sleeps. It has cantinas with much tequila, many girls.  When the bandits ride in there is a fiesta. Much noise … Drinking, women, some fights. Knives and guns.  Sometimes there is killing. If some sleep, there are always others who are awake.”
    “How long since you been here?” Edge asked.
    “Many years,” Luis said with a shrug.  
    “Maybe the reformers have moved in.”
    “Maybe,” Luis allowed without conviction,
    “Let’s try again,” Edge muttered. “On your feet, amigo.”
    “Señor?”
    “Nobody’s going to waste a bullet on a burro. A man, that’s different.”
    “You would not make me do it,” Luis said, beginning to tremble again.
    Edge Sighed. “Put it this way, amigo. You take a slow walk over to the gate and there’s a chance you won’t be killed. Keep squatting here and there ain’t any doubt of it.”
    There was a rustle of movement and Edge was holding the knife, its point pressed against the old man’s grizzled throat.
    “I do not like you, señor,” Luis said.
    “When I run for mayor, I won’t count on your vote,” Edge told him. “Move it, amigo.”
    Luis, every muscle in his body trembling as from a great cold, got shakily to his feet, hesitated and then stepped from the cover of the brush, began to drag his feet towards the gate. Edge watched him for a few moments, then flicked his attention to the town.
    “I am unarmed!” the old man suddenly shouted, and thrust