Slocum and the Bandit Durango, page 14
“Yeah, well, you’ll see when he brings his men up here.”
“How many men? Five or six?”
“I’m telling you, don’t mess with Durango.”
Slocum shoved him back in line. “I’ve got to go pay my Apaches.”
“Well, that’s fifteen dollars I owe you,” he said as the Apaches rode up, and held out his hand with the money.
The older one took it. “More come to boom party?” he asked. Slocum and his friends called him Padre and the younger Red Boy since their Apache names were too hard to say.
“They may. Run them this way,” Slocum said.
“Apaches can do that.” He raised his older-model Winchester skyward with his right hand and went to coyote-yipping. The two rode off down the mountain.
“Hell,” Dyke said. “Them red devils are having themselves a ball.”
Slocum agreed.
When all the prisoners were tied up, Slocum asked them where Durango was at. They all sulked and no one answered.
“I want some answers. You better speak up or I’ll let them Apaches roast your balls.”
When they did not immediately answer him, he went over and kicked the nearest outlaw in the leg.
“Hell, he was asleep when we left this morning,” the short one said.
“Someone delivered him a note this morning. Any of you hear about it?”
Heads shook.
“You know a Mrs. Valdez?”
“Yeah, we worked three days fixing a fucking school for her.”
“A what?”
“She’s his pet. Rich bitch, she must screw real good. He quit the mayor’s wife over her.”
Heads nodded in agreement. Were she and Durango having an affair? Did Valdez know about the school? No telling. Slocum needed to go down there and find Enrique and Doña. He was tired of the mountaintop and worried about his people.
“What do you think?” Buck asked Slocum when they walked away from the prisoners to talk it over.
“He don’t send any more reinforcements up here soon, I’m going in there tonight and see what I can learn.”
“Count me in.”
“You better stay here and help Dyke. I’m not satisfied with this Valdez business. Something’s fishy there.”
“We’re in a trap. Six prisoners now and no one but us to guard ’em.” Buck shook his head in disgust.
“I’ll ride in and come back out. If those Apaches weren’t afraid of the dark, I’d take them along.”
“Would they stay and guard the prisoners?” Buck pointed to a large golden eagle soaring out over the canyon.
“That’s an idea.” Slocum watched the eagle coast on the updrafts. “I wish we had wings so we could fly down there.”
“You’re worried about Enrique and Doña?”
“Yes, and not knowing a damn thing don’t make it easier.”
“You going to ride down and ask them Apaches?”
“Naw, they’ll be up here before sundown. Then we can decide what we’re doing.”
“You thinking like I am, Slocum? That by this time, if he ain’t answered all those blasts and his men going off that shift not returning, he’s not going to come up here?”
“Hard to imagine what he thinks. Durango is sly in many cruel ways, and whatever he’s doing, I sure don’t know. He may have packed up already and taken a powder, or maybe he has more traps set up for us to stumble into like the landslide he planned for here.”
“What are we doing now?” Dyke asked in a low voice, glancing back at the prisoners.
“Slocum wants to go down there tonight and learn what he can about our two friends,” Buck said.
“What do we do with the prisoners?”
“Get the Apaches to watch them until we get back,” Slocum said.
“Why, the prisoners’ll shit all over themselves if we leave them with the Apaches.”
“Aw, hell, let ’em do it.”
“Jokes aside. There’s something wrong, or Enrique or Doña or both would have been back here by now,” Slocum said.
“You’re probably right,” Dyke said. “That boy busted his ass to get you two to save those people down there. Doña’s straight as an arrow.”
“I may start down there now,” Slocum said. “I’ll send the Apaches back and then you two can follow. I’ll meet you around midnight north of the cantina at that spring that flows into the stream.”
“Be careful,” Buck said.
“Yeah, we’d both hate digging a damn grave,” Dyke said, and laughed.
Slocum started for the dun horse and stopped. “Tell those Apaches not to trust Valdez. I’m not certain of his part in all this, but he worries me.”
Buck agreed, and so did Dyke.
Slocum rode off down into the canyon, the whole time imagining the avalanche of rocks and boulders that would cascade down on anyone on the trail when the charges were set off. The trail soon joined the stream that was fed by other streams as well as by springs to form the lifeline for the small community below.
The Apaches rode out of a side canyon and met him on the trail. He quickly explained his plan, and they agreed to guard the prisoners. Satisfied the matter was handled, he rode on as the sun sank casting long shadows over the land. The two bucks raced off to replace his men as guards. Riding along, he about chuckled over Dyke’s concern that those outlaws might be that scared. Serve them right after all the murdering that had gone on.
He took a less-used path away from the stream in case there was a guard on the road. The way proved rougher, but also offered more cover in the brush and trees. Twilight was fading when he crossed the spring branch he planned to meet Buck and Dyke at. Soon he was riding in starlight and trying to remember the canyon where the old funeral vault was located.
After two false starts up wrong canyons, he found the right one, hitched the gun on his hip, and set the dun horse up the path. Letting the dun pick his way through the tall pines, he passed through some places that were dark as a mine. Then he rode into the open again in pearl light that bathed the towering walls.
He spotted the yawning mouth of the vault. It appeared to be open. Damn. Off his horse, he dropped the reins. The dun was ground-reined and would remain there. Slocum hurried up the slope and found the door of the vault wide open. Too late.
Lighting a match, he looked over the interior. A disassembled Gatling gun was piled on the floor, along with several rounds of ammo for it. Then he struck another match. The well-made wooden box had stamped on the side the Spanish words for Federal Mint of Mexico. That must have been Durango’s source of funds.
Durango had fled the coop. Damn, Slocum should have come sooner. Everyone should be grateful—the butcher of Antonio was gone.
Where were Enrique and Doña? If Durango had killed them, Slocum would search the entire earth for his rotten soul. Meanwhile, he’d better go back and meet the others.
19
How long would it take Slocum to bring his army over the pass if his plan to blow up the mountain failed? Durango scratched his ear. Something was wrong—no one had come back. His army was assembling outside—five sleepy men. Those five and the three on the south gate were all he had left. Where was Tomas?
Looking for spies. Durango stomped outside and asked if any of them had seen his man in the past hour. They shrugged.
“Get on your horses, spread out, and find him. We have much to do and little time. Also, when you come back, bring every stout pack animal there is and bring all the packsaddles, too. We have much to haul.”
They began to move, and he went to find the stable boy. He told him to put packsaddles on all the horses left. Then he went back to the cantina, leading his gray stallion Eagle, and hitched him to the rack.
“Bring me mescal, José, and some lunch,” he said, seated at a table. He was uncertain if he could eat, but he knew it might be his last chance to do so for some time.
“Mescal and a glass, patrón,” José said, setting both on the table. “Nalda is taking a siesta, but I will wake her.”
“Do that. Where did Tomas go?” He drummed his fingernails on the tabletop.
“I am not sure.”
Durango nodded. He watched the man rush off to wake the puta that worked for him. Where was Tomas?
He heard a horse clambering across the rocks and the stream. He rushed to the doorway. Miguel leaped off his horse and ran up the steps. “Durango, Durango. Tomas is dead!”
“What? Who did it?”
“We don’t know. We are asking everyone.”
“Madre de Dios, who would have killed Tomas?” He mounted his horse, sick to his stomach, and set out with Miguel, who was pounding his heels on his slower horse to keep up.
There were shots ahead, and Durango cross-whipped Eagle with the reins. He could see one of his men lying facedown on the ground. It wasn’t Tomas. Another sat in the road holding his bloody arm. Durango drew his pistol and rushed forward. A man charged out of the doorway to shoot at him, but his pistol clicked on empty.
Durango fired over Eagle’s head, and his second shot spun the man around as he was reloading in the doorway. Durango reined Eagle up and shot the man again. This time his bullet struck him in the face; he jerked back and collapsed. Then, out of the house, came a short woman with a small pistol shooting at him. Her first shot smacked into Eagle’s neck. The stallion reared, and two more shots from her pistol slapped into his horse. Eagle fell sideways and crashed down, pinning Durango’s leg under him with a shock of pain that jolted him so hard he was unable to move.
Then he saw her angry face as she advanced on him, aiming the pistol. With the hammer cocked and pointed at him, she spit out, “Die, you killer of children.”
Then rifles and pistols from all around cut her down, and despite the sharp pain in his leg, Durango breathed again. That was too close.
“Who was she?” he demanded as his men rushed over to get the horse off him.
“We don’t know her. The one you shot in the doorway was Enrique Jimenez. He was from the village,” Martinez said. “One of the rebels.”
“Go easy, you are killing my leg,” he shouted as they tried to pull the dead stallion off him with reatas tied to then saddle horns of two of their horses.
Durango broke into a sweat. Pain made his sight fuzzy. “Where did that bitch come from?”
“I guess with Jimenez.”
“Ah,” Durango moaned in pain as Miguel moved around him trying to lift or roll the horse off his leg. The other two men were on horseback trying to find a way to help.
“We will need the guards from the south end,” Durango said. “Send a boy after them. How is the wounded one over there?”
“His arm is shattered. He’ll lose it.”
“Damn, how long have those two been here?”
Miguel shrugged. “Only God would know, Señor.”
“You are certain that Tomas is dead?”
“He is lying on the ground up the road. Yes, he is dead. We found those two had hid in that jacal.” Miguel strained to help lift Eagle’s weight from him, and the ropes grew taunt as the horses dug in.
Durango let out a cry. Their efforts were killing him. Then, at last, the weight of the horse was off him and he bent over in sharp pain to hug his leg. It was broken.
He sat on his butt. Slocum and his army were coming. He must leave. Tomas was dead.
“Get some sticks and bind my leg.” Jolts of pain ran over his face. He dropped back on his hands. “Miguel.” He motioned him close.
“We must load all we can from that crypt in the canyon. Here is the key. You know what to load. If we must leave things, leave the Gatling gun and any explosives.”
“I can handle that. Do not worry, we will care for you.”
Durango pulled him down by the sleeve. “This was the work of that bastard Slocum. Someone warned me these fucking spies were here—I never thought they would kill Tomas—hurry, that bastard is coming . . .”
Miguel nodded and ran for his horse. He rode out of there whipping the horse in a trail of dust. With no way to stand, Durango sat on his butt and fretted. Could Miguel load all the treasure and get back to him in time? Who was this bitch who about shot him? He’d never seen her before that he could recall.
An older woman brought him a weaved rug that she spread out for him on the ground. He thanked her, and moved over to it on his butt and hands as he dragged his leg.
“I need my leg splinted.”
She nodded. But he wasn’t certain from her blank face if she knew what he meant. Without a word, she nodded again and went off. He eased himself down on his back, but that was no way to escape the throbbing in his leg.
In a short while, three women came with a bundle of sticks and some rope. A hawk-faced woman looked at his foot like a butcher did a chunk of meat to see how to chop it up. He sat up and put his arms behind him to brace himself.
“I will try to set it,” she said, on her knees at the end of the rug. “I must pull off the boot. Your foot is already swelling.”
“Yes.”
Lifting it into her lap, she began to try to get the boot off. Beads of sweat popped out on his face. Her efforts hurt worse than removing the horse. She stopped.
“Maybe I should cut it off?”
Through his fuzzy vision, he nodded at her to go ahead and do that. To be so helpless, seated on his butt in the middle of the road in horrific pain. They could take the treasure and ride out without him. And Slocum could find him sitting there with three old women doctoring him. Maybe he should do like that puta Marisel did—put the gun in his mouth and blow his brains out. Time was short.
She split the boot down the side with a sharp knife, and he could feel relief in his lower leg and foot as she worked down. When the boot was cut open and his swollen calf popped out, the other two women sucked in their breath in shock.
Then she eased the boot off and set it aside. Her coal black eyes looked hard at him. “Now I must set the bones.”
He closed his eyes. “I know. Do you have anything? Mescal? Laudanum?” He looked from her to the other two. The first old woman, who’d brought him the rug, squatted down beside him. She smelled of wood smoke and a strong woman’s musk. From her apron pocket, she took out something and held it between her forefinger and thumb.
“What the hell is it?”
“Peyote.”
For a minute, he hesitated. Then he nodded, and she put it in his mouth. It tasted like dirt. Gritty-tasting like ground sand on his molars as he chewed it. Pinpoints of bright light began to dazzle his vision like fireworks. Powerful stuff—he looked down at her—she was a mile away from him. He hoped she could hear him. “Set the leg . . .”
20
Slocum waited in the dark, hearing horses coming from the direction of the pass. At last. That must be them. Sitting on the dun, he whistled.
“Slocum?” Buck called out.
“Yes. Come on.” He pushed his horse out into the clearing. “He may have flown the coop. That burial vault is empty save for a Gatling gun, ammo, and some blasting explosives.”
“He left, huh?” Dyke said, looking around in the night. “No sign of Enrique and Doña?”
Slocum shook his head. “I’m not sure what’s happened, but we can wake up the man who owns the cantina and see what he knows.”
“Cantina operators know everything,” Dyke agreed.
“Let’s go find him,” Slocum said. His heart was heavy. If Durango was gone, where were Enrique and Doña?
“His name’s José,” Buck said. “Unless there’s a new one.”
“That was it,” Slocum agreed.
They dismounted at a distance and hitched their horses. Checking their revolvers, they headed for the dark cantina. Slocum slipped into the dark side room where the man slept and moved to the bed. The small figure under the blanket was not a man.
Slocum looked around in the darkness. There was no one else in there. He clamped a hand over the woman’s mouth and whispered in her ear, “Be very quiet.”
Her eyes flew open, and even in the dim light he could see she was shocked. “Where is José?”
“Outside in a hammock. Who are you?”
“Slocum.”
“We heard you were coming. Durango is gone.” When he released her, she sat up naked to the waist. In the dim light, her flabby breasts looked flattened.
“There were two friends of mine,” Slocum said. “Enrique Jimenez and a girl named Doña.”
She crossed herself and scooted toward him. “I am sorry, Señor, but they may be dead.”
“Dead?”
“Sí. They say Enrique shot Tomas, Durango’s man, and then died trying to kill Durango.”
“Doña?”
“She tried to kill him, too, they say. All the bodies are at the church.”
“Bodies?”
“Sí, they killed another of Durango’s men besides Tomas in the shoot-out.” As if she’d decided he had no interest in her body, she began to pull on her skirt.
“What’s happened?” Buck asked from the open door.
“The lady—”
“My name is Nalda. I work here.”
“Buck’s mine. That’s Dyke.”
“Nalda says she thinks both of them were killed in a gunfight here.”
“Aw, hell,” Dyke swore.
“I knew something was wrong yesterday,” she said, fighting a knit sweater over her head and then covering herself. She lit a candle, which dimly illuminated the room. “A boy brought Durango a message in the morning about those two spies being here.”
Slocum exchanged a look with Buck and Dyke, then turned back to her. “Was he a boy of twelve or so?”
She laughed and nodded. “He was so scared, he rode off before Durango’s man could talk to him.”
“You read the note?”
She shook her head. “I can’t read. Neither could Durango. Tomas told him. Two spies. Trouble in the pass.”
“Not a word about ransoming a woman?”
“No. Here is José.”
The sleepy-eyed man shuffled into the room, scratching his belly through his shirt. “What can I do for you?”
“Did you read the note that Durango received yesterday from the boy?”
