Don Federico smoked his pipe while wandering to the opening of the cave and leaned on the cold rocks, away from the drizzle. He gave thanks for the blessings of the day, concentrating on the moments that had brought him to this situation. His thoughts were of his family and his concern for his sister Josie, who was with child. What was going to become of her? The silence was deep and somber, broken only occasionally by the mournful howl of wolves somewhere in the distance.
*****
When the first beam of sun shone upon the four men, sounds of thundering hooves rocked the area. Augustin, who had woken up earlier, had made the coffee and had been seeing about the mules and picking up pieces of dry wood for the campfire inside. He rushed into the cave shouting, "Horses, horses are coming!" He dropped the pieces of dry wood on the cave floor and grabbed his rifle. The rest of the sleeping men ran for cover, grabbing ammunition and their guns. The rain had ceased and drifts of fog were starting to rise and thin out.
Pedro was the first one out of the cave. He ran behind an old piece of iron pump equipment and lay down on the ground in the wet grass, staring toward the mountainous trail, seeing the figures of men and horses between the thick, low fog. "Two gringos!" he yelled. "They have Tejanos hats." Augustin rushed out with his rifle and hid close to Pedro, next to a decaying wooden wagon. Don Federico with his gun and Jorge trying to load his rifle ran and hid behind a tramcar, still full of ore that had been left to rust in the environment.
From the clearing up ahead on the trail, without warning, a bullet zipped over Augustin's head. Several bullets began popping, one hitting the wagon and the other close to where Don Federico and Jorge were hiding. Another bullet hit the entrance of the cave.
"I'm going to confront these hombres," said Don Federico to his companions. "We won't get anywhere shooting and killing each other. I'm responsible for the mine, and I don't want any of you men killed."
"Don't be a fool, Señor!" cried Jorge, who was the closest to Don Federico, lying low on the ground, looking for the two riders sitting on their horses. "These men aren't here to talk, they mean business. And there is going to be some killing."
"Hanson!" hollered Don Federico from his squatting position. "Is that you?"
"Yeah!" he replied. "Put your guns down." Hanson turned to face his companion, and raised his arm up in a false truce and began approaching the cave very slowly on his horse. "For a moment, I thought you fellers were Bandidos!" He began laughing insanely as if the joke was on him. "We've been hangin' around these mines for two days, dodging sonsabitches' bandits."
Don Federico got up slowly, still holding onto his pistol, then put it in his holster. He began taking steps towards Hanson. He turned and spoke softly but in a commanding voice to his vaqueros. "Hold onto your triggers. I’ll handle this," he said. He was not going to take any chances, especially with a known killer who respected no one.
There stood Hanson, as sure as God had created poisonous rattlers, with the young Ranger Smith holding onto another saddled horse. Don Federico kept eyeing the horse, a mare that looked strangely familiar, and he recognized what he was up against. His blood froze.
"Juelson," remarked Hanson, grinning and displaying his ugly brown teeth. He leaned forward on his horse. "I want you to see who's with me."
"Who?" answered Don Federico, approaching Hanson with shrewd confidence, standing at close range, as hate-filled memories began to be rekindled in his mind.
"The meanest, the roughest, the best son-of-a-bitch this side of the Rio Grande," roared Hanson, with a loud guffaw. "And he wants to see you." He continued talking with much profanity.
A tall Texan, dressed in an old cowhide leather jacket, appeared from behind a large pinos tree, wearing a large, beige Stetson hat covering his white hair. He wore two cannons on his hips. A retired Texas Ranger, known to be a killer and a hero in the McNelly War, he was extremely prejudiced and hated the Mexican people as a whole.
Don Federico swallowed hard, but regained his composure. These were the real Devil’s people, he thought. In other words, a flock of vultures. "Taking time out of your busy schedule to come to Mexico, Hobbs?" said Don Federico coldly.
"I was running out of greasers to kill in the Valley, so I decided to join in with Hanson's schemes, make a fortune, and look elsewhere," answered Hobbs in a feisty way, holding his gloved hand's inches away from both of his pistols. He burst out laughing and Hanson joined in.
"So what brings you to the mines?" snapped Don Federico with contempt. "Are you planning to fix anything inside the gold mine? You're claiming it is all yours. So take care of it and fix it! It is full of water and no work can be done until it is drained. No gold and no profits!"
"Surprised, Juelson? Well, Hobbs and I made a deal several months ago, back when you told me you were going to ditch me out from my gold mine. Do you want to hear about it, Mister Big Shot?" sneered Hanson, as he began dismounting from his horse.
"From you, Hanson, nothing surprises me. Go ahead and speak. Tell me!" said Don Federico, as the climax of a pointless, contemptuous dispute was coming to a climax. Up to this point, he had never heard Hanson say what he planned to fix, how he would repair the mine, or how he expected any gain. The mine, as it stood, was irreparable for the time being until the water was drained, and it would take hundreds of dollars to fix it and get it into operation again in order to make any profits.
"I gave Hobbs half of my part in the mine if he would get rid of you," said Hanson, grinning and coming closer to Don Federico as he puffed his cheap cigar. His cold, black, demon eyes were fixed on the great Don. "Now, how do you like those apples?"
"And just how do you plan to do that?" questioned Don Federico with a scornful frown. "First of all, you have no claims to the mine, and in Mexico, you must have ownership, which you and Hobbs have none. These mines were first owned by General Del Calderóne, then sold to my father-in-law, and later, my father took over, and it belongs to our family. The two of you have no claims to anything in Mexico. You two have no money, and the mine needs fixing before it goes into operation."
"We have a sworn statement from your father, signed in Judge Parker's office, giving me ownership. I appointed Hobbs to be my partner," Hanson boasted.
"Sounds just like you, Hanson! Always getting someone involved in your cunning schemes, always getting someone else to do your dirty work. All for evil and the love of money! Well! How do you plan to get rid of me? The same way you killed my father?" Don Federico was trying to keep his temper under control, and not rise to the demon's bait.
"Right now, don't move!" The order came from behind a tree and behind the back of Don Federico. "Put your gun down! Quickly! Pronto!" demanded the stranger. The other rider with Hanson dismounted.
Don Federico dropped his gun and turned to face a tall, lanky, ragged stranger named Jones, a ruffian that Roy in years past had fought with over a tramp in a saloon in Harlingen, Texas. "How many did you bring to kill me?" questioned Don Federico. "What did you promise them, pure gold coins?"
"Several!" he said. "Why don't you shut up?" Hanson instantly pulled out his pistol and demanded that Don Federico raise his arms. He yelled to the rest of his vaqueros to come out from hiding.
Jorge, the youngest vaquero, dropped his rifle, throwing it out in front of Hanson, but he carried a pistol in his vest and made a sudden grab for it. A loud explosion erupted, and the ex-Texas Ranger pumped him full of bullets, faster than winking an eye. "We said, don't move, goddamn it! You dirty, cockroach Mexican!"
The older vaqueros surfaced from behind the wagon with their hands up in the air and began to shake. Augustin gazed down at his compadre bleeding to death on the ground. He replied nervously, "But we haven't done anything, Señor!"
"You have done plenty! You goddamn greasers! Just being a Mexican is a good excuse to pump you full of lead too," answered Jones.
"What do you plan to do with the rest of us?" questioned Don Federico. He kept waiting for Juan's plan to materialize. What had happ
ened? What had gone wrong?
Hanson, Hobbs, and Smith laughed. The other rider sneered.
"You know too goddamn much, already, Juelson! If you made it back to good ole' Texas, do we think you'd blab about this? Well, you would!" Hanson grinned again, displaying his brown teeth. "Do we think for one minute you are not going to tell on us and what we are doing down here in Mexico? If Cameron County finds out about me and my deals with the gold mine and what I am doing, I'll be in hot shit. I'll be in a heap of trouble, especially with my job. I'll be fired and my reputation ruined, especially with the State of Texas.
"Your reputation is already in the shit house. You should have thought of that earlier," said Don Federico coldly, his nerves at raw ends. "You're gonna have to answer to the United States Marshal as soon as you get back to good ole' Texas."
"Well, now! How's that?" snapped Hanson in a fit of bulldog rage.
"Does the name Tom White mean anything to you? Does the Pinkerton Agency sound familiar?" replied Don Federico. He kept eyeing the gray mare. It was Tom White's gray mare. He remembered seeing Tom riding the horse the last time he spoke with him at the fork in the road near La Villa. The initials T.W. were branded on the horse and saddle, and Tom White never went anywhere without his horse. Matter of fact, he had a special train car for his animal when he was on assignment. "Didn't even bother to take the saddle off or hide his initials on his saddle, did you, Hanson? You have the gall!"
"He was a drunkard and a fool." Hanson laughed in Don Federico's face. The three others snickered nervously, but they could see that Hanson was twitching and beginning to sweat.
"What did you do with him?" asked Don Federico hotly, as he stood his ground. "Did you find out that White was an informer and had your number?" He said it with a good deal of animosity, tantalizing Hanson to blurt out the truth.
"What do you take me for, a fool?" spat Hanson in a state of frenzy. "White was pretending to be a drunk until I put him to the test with some real whiskey, and I realized that he couldn't take the stuff. When he really got drunk, he confessed what he was doing."
The younger Texas Ranger laughed and spoke out of turn. "Yeah! With a little help, 'cause you were suspecting him of something, and you tied him to a chair and forced him to drink the bottle of whiskey, with a gun to his head. Remember, I was there!"
Hanson's face turned red with anger. His brains already fried, he faced the young Ranger and yelled, "You shut your goddamn trap of a mouth! You may not have a job when you get back! You stupid, dumb bastard! Remember who gave you your job!"
Hobbs and Jones grinned. Smith's face flushed from embarrassment and humiliation, and he became quiet.
"So what did you do with him?" questioned Don Federico again, holding onto his courage. "I guess I know the answer. You killed him like you killed my father—for greed, and this gold mine, for money—and you're not getting away with it. You're not getting this mine either. And even if you kill me, everyone else knows the real truth. The United States Marshal has all of the important papers they need to convict you of my fathers' death, José Esquibel's killing, and now White. Your ass in Texas is naught; and your ass, too, Hobbs."
Hanson's anger sent him spiraling into a state of violent temper. "You hired him to spy on me, you sonsabitches. You have the money, the power, and influence, but it won't do you a bit of good now, since you're not going back to Texas, at least not alive. I should kill you right now!" He went into a state of insanity and raised his rifle, hitting Don Federico on the right temple with the butt of his gun, using all the force that a two-hundred-fifty-pound individual could.
Don Federico moaned and fell backward to the ground, holding his head. Blood was pouring from his temple, and he reached for his handkerchief to stop the bleeding. The kind young Ranger Smith stepped forward and handed him his bandana.
Hanson went into a wild rage. "What the hell are you doing?!" he screamed at the young Ranger. "Shit for brains! We're here to kill this son-of-a-bitch and you're helping him?" The two other men found it amusing and began laughing out loud, not realizing that they were being watched.
While Don Federico was trying to regain control of his emotions and trying to get up from the ground, the click of a hundred guns sounded behind them.
"Ah! Buenos días," commented a rugged looking individual sitting on his horse. It was the same leader of a group of bandits that had stormed in, killed some miners, and raided the mines on previous occasions. "Señor!" he said. "Please put your guns down. Pronto! Throw them down to the ground right now, or we will kill all of you immediately. Put your hands up! I'm an impatient man. Pronto!" he hollered.
"Where in the hell did you come from?" commented Hanson, clearly confused. "I didn't hear any horses." He stood frozen and, in shock, dropped his gun. The other three did the same.
"I see that you are not laughing anymore, Señor!" the bandit answered. "We all have been observing you and your little circus, from the trees up there. See!" He pointed with his rifle to a group of trees above them. "But what difference does it make now? All of you are dead men anyway." He laughed, and his companions, sitting on their horses with large machetes at their sides and crisscrossed cartridge belts on their chests, began laughing also. The bandit's eyes were like two hot black coals. "Have you got any money? Have some silver or perhaps some gold?” he said. "No? It will be too bad, hombres! It's going to be very unfortunate for all of you if you don't!" The bandit then nodded his head and gave the order to the others to get off their horses and search the gringos.
The Bandidos wasted no time, taking guns and ammunition, stripping the men of their money, belts, and knives, even ransacking the packs on the horses. Others went into the cave, taking what was left inside, including the rest of their food, pots, and pans. Of course, they would take blankets, saddles, the wagon and the mules.
The bandit leader was Máximo Castillo, notorious for terrorizing the border towns. He was well known for his brutal and unreasonable actions, killing men of all nationalities, Mexicans and white, raping the women, and stealing everything in sight. He was of medium size, and thin, with black hair and a long black mustache that matched his hard, cold, carbon-black eyes. He was a commoner with no education, but he knew his business well. He was hated by the Texans, but mostly by the Díaz faction.
Regaining his feet, Don Federico was able to gather his thoughts and managed to find another handkerchief inside the pocket of his leather jacket. He placed it on top of the one that the young Ranger Smith had given him because blood was still flowing from his temple. Was this the bandit that Juan had hired? If so, he was a brute of a man. Surely not, thought Don Federico. If Juan had chosen Máximo Castillo for the hired bandits, everyone would be killed, including himself. He wished now that he had never plotted the conspiracy. All of them would be killed. Both factions were killers by trade and he was caught in between. These men were all bloodthirsty, craving for action, and all desperate for some kind of a get-rich-quick plan. He could feel his mind going crazy with thoughts, but he was still conscious that the whole idea was senseless.
"Very little money," said a disgusted Castillo. "This is not enough for my time and effort!" Grinning, he showed several of his few and uneven brown teeth, which were big and ugly, like him. The rest of the soiled Bandidos sported identical smiles, for among them was not even one full set of dentures. "Come! Muchachos," he commanded. "Bring these outlaws down to the valley below the mines. I want to teach these gringos a lesson." He bellowed a loud guffaw. The rest of the bandits laughed aloud. He continued, "You pinche, ponchos from Tejas, eh! Coming to Mexico to rob us! You have already been in our country too long. You bastardos! We will kill all of you and send your sorry asses back in a pine box!" He kept on talking, not making any sense with his uncouth language.
Still holding the handkerchief to his head, Don Federico was dumbfounded by the unfortunate turn of events. He could see the dead vaquero. How was he going to explain his death to his family? He had been responsible for bringi
ng him home safely. He approached Castillo and explained, "Señor, these two men are Mexicans. They are from the Hinojosa Hacienda and are Mestizos, people like you, and are also very poor. They have families and children. They are only peasants. They have done nothing wrong, only helped me and guided me to this area. Do what you will with us, but please let them go."
"Silence! You fool! You idioto! No one tells me what to do! I'll decide who comes and goes!" He was raving mad and showed no sympathy, not even to his own people. "Here, I give the orders. What do I care what rich hacienda they are from?"
"You can't get away with this," yelled Hanson, taking verbal pot shots at the bandit. "The Texas Rangers will be coming to get your ugly, brown ass. You bastard! Who the hell do think you are anyway?"
"Silence! You pendejo! There is no law up here in these mountains. I'm the only law now. And if you think you can come to Mexico and tell us what to do, you're crazy." Castillo gave a nod with his head to the other twenty Bandidos. He thought, then stared at Hanson and replied, "Since you are so smart, Señor, take off your clothes. We need your clothes to keep warm." He glared at the rest of the captured men. "All of you!" he ordered. "Take them off!"
"Malditos gringos!" shouted the other bandit, who were now hot on the gringos' heels. All of them were ugly, dirty, smelly, and armed to the teeth with weapons and ammunition.
Hanson, reeling from the shock to his overblown ego, turned to face Castillo. "What did you say? Take our clothes off?"
"I'm not taking my clothes off!" Hobbs said. "It's too goddamn cold!"
"Silence! Do as I say, or be killed like dogs, like your friend here! Do you want the same?" He pointed to the dead vaquero lying like a rag doll on the ground in a puddle of blood. "Hurry," Castillo raged, still sitting on his fidgeting horse. "We haven't much time!" He began swinging his rifle like a baton. "We will take them down to the village so that everyone can see them, especially the old women. To remind them of what they are missing. So they can see the white gringos and how powerless they are, without their guns and money. They are just like we are." He turned and viewed Hanson. "Now, how do you like these apples?" Castillo mimicked Hanson and broke into a hilarious laugh.
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