by Lou Cameron
“Oui, what of it?”
“We’ve marked every raid those guerrillas have made cm the map in the war room outside. There’s not one teeny-weeny X west of that north-south axis. So, like I said, why doesn’t the chicken cross the road?”
Gaston scowled and said, “Don’t look at me. Ask the chicken! Maybe, since he raids from the mountains to the east, he feels safer raiding closer to them. We know he shows a certain shyness around guns, despite his no doubt self-imposed reputation. Moving across the main transportation lines and the crops planted close to it would call for a mad dash across open mais more populated country, non?”
Captain Gringo nodded but said, “That’s what I’ve been buying up to now. But there’s something screwy about the pattern as we keep developing it. I’ve got to work out the tempting targets west of the axis. I already know the guerrillas don’t seem interested in either Hakim’s silver mine or El Presidente’s big fat hacienda. So why are they smoking up so many smallholders to the east?”
Gaston yawned and said, “I don’t know, and it is after one in the morning. I’m going back to bed. Let me know when you’re ready to march out after the tedious chickens who do not cross roads, hein?”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I’ll do that. Once I figure out where they are.”
Gaston frowned and answered, sleepy eyed, “Merde alors, is that a mystery as well? I thought we had all agreed the old sucker of cocks is holed up somewhere in the Colon Mountains, Dick.”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’m not so sure I buy that. Has anyone on our side ever seen this guerrilla hideout in what has to be a pretty soggy rain forest?”
“Obviously not. Mais they call him the old man of the mountain, the Colones are the highest mountains around here, and ... Hmm, I see what you mean. This all-too-rugged part of the world is très lousy with mountains of all shapes and sizes. The rogue could be the old man of many a mountain, non?”
“Or he could hole up between jobs right here in town. Those guys who just jumped me on my way home weren’t wearing spats and top hats.”
Another day and another peso began okay. At ten a.m. Sir Basil Hakim’s tiny love toy showed up with the list Captain Gringo had asked for and an oral message that the other matter had been taken care of. When he asked her just how Hakim had managed to supply so-called strangers with automatic weapons she said she didn’t know but offered to service him with oral sex. It was just as well Gaston was over at the artillery park, drilling his gun crews. He got rid of her before he sent a runner of his own to fetch the Frenchman.
Gaston arrived twenty minutes later to find him seated at his desk, comparing notes. Before he could go into the figures with Gaston a sweaty, dusty, and very pissed-off ranchero burst in to announce he was missing at least fifty head of cattle and ask what the army proposed to do about it.
Captain Gringo rose politely, led him to the smaller situation map on the wall of his inner sanctum, and asked him to put his finger on the problem. Then he made another red X where the overnight raid had taken place and showed the pest out. As soon as he was alone with Gaston again he nodded at the map and mused aloud, “Curiouser and curiouser. Do you see the rabbit hole, yet, Gaston?”
“Merde alors, I thought it was a chicken. Mais once again it did not cross the road. They lifted the no-doubt lonesome cows to the east, as usual, between here and the Colon foothills. So what?”
“So the point of keeping a situation map is to get a handle on the situation. They’ve been raiding a lot in this area, to the northeast, and this other one to the southeast. But look at this funnel-shaped blank space, with the narrow end of the funnel pointed at the railroad, north of town but well south of Hakim’s well-guarded lead-silver diggings. Hakim just gave us a list of all the guns and ammo he’s ever delivered anywhere near here. They were all meant for the military, but we’re short exactly seventy-eight rifles and ten thousand rounds of .30-30. You’ll be glad to know the guerrillas don’t seem to have any artillery at all. Let’s talk about cows.”
“Do we have to? The no-doubt hungry bastards have stolen hundreds of cows by now, no?”
“Yeah, and it makes a guy wonder. Even if we assume the rascals got all the missing rifles, that still adds up to a band of less than a hundred men, right?”
Gaston pursed his lips, nodded, and said, “Oui, but in that case why are we chasing them with a whole army? What could even a good leader do with such a modest force of armed desperados, hein?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Geronimo was able to keep a couple of army divisions busy with less than fifty. You can’t fight ’em unless you know where to look. So about those cows—”
“Sacre goddamn, what about the triple-headed cows? Did not your très amusé Apache run off livestock, Dick?”
“Sure. To eat. They liked to eat army mules even better. But look at the numbers! One side of beef will feed a big family for quite a while. The guerrillas don’t have big families with them in the field. Just the usual adelitas and the more willing girls they’ve kidnapped, right?”
“How should I know? How do you know?”
“Easy. Guys don’t bring girls they just picked up home to the wife and kids. So, okay, let’s say they’re living high on the hog with one or two adelitas to a soldado and wasting a lot of the beef they don’t eat. That still adds up to more beef than this whole army gets issued and I’ve heard no complaints about our guys starving.”
Gaston nodded, but said, “I agree they’ve taken more livestock than they need for themselves. But where could they sell stolen stock, aside from back to the more sedate settlers themselves?”
Captain Gringo took out a cigar, lit it, and blew smoke out his nostrils like a pissed-off bull before he said, “They can’t. There’s nobody else to sell it to, and most of the local establishment goes in more for coffee and bananas. So that narrows it down even more. I’ll have to check that angle out, now that I have my own spy service in town.”
Gaston sighed and said, “I wish you wouldn’t, Dick. Important rancheros, no doubt related to all sorts of important politicos, tend to get upset at foreigners meddling in family business!”
Captain Gringo nodded and replied, “I’ll watch my step. We may not have to fight City Hall. I still don’t see why the leaders of the junta would be working so hard to put El Viejo Whatever out of business if they were in business with him.”
“True, but what about Hakim? Surely you don’t trust him?”
“About as far as I can piss perfume. But cattle rustling’s not his style and it was his idea to hire us. It probably makes a guy mining silver nervous to have armed bands roaming around his investment. For one thing, if they ever rode off with a wagon load of his silver he’d have to list the stolen property as mere lead.”
He turned to blow a thoughtful smoke ring at his wall map. It was beginning to show a pattern, but not a clear enough one to move against yet. There was another knock on the door and when Gaston opened it, the prissy dude sent by El Presidente said Captain Gringo was to report to the presidential palace even faster than poco tiempo because his horseless carriage was right downstairs with its motor running.
It beat walking by a literal mile. But as they drove across town together Captain Gringo couldn’t help wondering how the bush-league government of a comic opera country that exported its produce by occasional paddleboat could afford to act so up-to-date. His stuck-up but not unfriendly driver told him, when asked, that there was in fact a government motor pool behind the palace. It was no wonder taxes were high in Segovia.
The floor of El Presidente’s office was red tile, but Captain Gringo knew he was on the carpet, anyway, when Torrez told him, “We are most disappointed in you, General Walker. We just heard yet another ranchero was raided last night.”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it. Whatsisname’s gone over my head already? The bastard only told me about his missing moo cows a few minutes ago!”
“Don Fernando Or
tega is not a whatsisname. He is a member of a most important extended family. The Ortegas have been here since our republica was founded and I reproach you for your lack of respect. But let us get back to what you intend to do about it, eh?”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I’ve got more than one wheel in motion, sir. Colonel Verrier and I have the army in a lot better shape than we found it and I’ve started a campaign to discredit your home-grown Robin Hood. But we’re not ready to take the field against the enemy yet.”
Torrez scowled and demanded, “Why not? We have given you a free hand for to turn everything upside down and demoralize our whole officers’ corps. You have plenty of men and the best of weapons. Are we to assume you intend to spend the whole dry season doing nothing but inspecting guns and drilling troops into the parade ground?”
Captain Gringo sighed and said, “I see lots of people have been going over my head. I intend to round up those guerrillas for you in my own good time, sir. But it’s a waste of time tear-assing across the savannah after long gone raiders. If we can locate his base of operations, or at least goad him into a stand-up fight—”
Torrez rose as grandly behind his desk as a short man could and snapped, “You are the one who is wasting time! It was not my idea to hire you in the first place. But we were told you were a very good soldier. So now I wish for you to prove it. As your presidente and commander-in-chief, I am ordering you to take the field against El Viejo del Montaña!”
“You know where he is at the moment?” asked Captain Gringo with a crooked smile.
So Torrez nodded and said, “Of course. He must be hiding somewhere in the Colon range. Surely you have the Colones on your impressive situation map at the presidio?”
“I do. I’m not too sure that’s where they hole up between jobs.”
But before he could explain further the little politico puffed, “Get some troops over there for to find out, then! How soon can you be ready for to march?”
Captain Gringo glanced at the wall clock across the room and said, “This close to noon some of my more aristocratic officers will have knocked off early for La Siesta and they don’t report back as early as the enlisted swine. But there’s a full moon tonight and those mountains are a good twelve hours’ march away, so—”
“Bueno,” Torrez cut in, “I shall tell my associates our troops will be attacking the rebel positions at dawn.”
That was too stupid an assumption to answer. So Captain Gringo just saluted, turned on his heel, and left. As long as he was downtown anyway, and since he’d just made observations on the privileges of rank, he decided to join Angelita early for their own siesta. There were at least a few positions they hadn’t tried yet, and he didn’t know when or if he’d ever see her again.
Major Parez and at least three company commanders were dumb enough to get back to the presidio before the sunset gun. So Captain Gringo gave them the junta’s orders, told them to form a mounted battalion, and sent them out to chase bad guys. It never occurred to anyone but Gaston to ask where Captain Gringo would be all this time, and Gaston was polite enough to wait until the imposing but pointless column was out of sight before he turned to Captain Gringo and muttered, “Am I missing something, my sneaky child? I’ve never seen you lead troops from an armchair before!”
Neither one of them was seated in an armchair. But Captain Gringo got the point, chuckled, and said, “Rank has its own rewards. Come on. I want to show you something.”
Gaston followed him to the private situation map upstairs. Captain Gringo told him to bolt the door as he got out a smoke and lit up. Then, using his cigar tip as a pointer, he indicated the last red X on the map and said, “That reported cattle raid was a ruse. I just had a long pillow conversation with a lady who knows everyone in the area who can afford wedding pictures. She tells me the Ortega clan is as important as Torrez said they are. Only they grow more coffee than cows and guess what, they grow it over this way, west of the north-south transportation corridor!”
Gaston whistled and said, “No wonder our adorable guerrillas never seem to raid over that way. May one assume our old man of the mountains is really an old man hiding among coffee trees?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “There are too fucking many trees to look under. The Ortegas alone grow thousands of acres of coffee and, worse yet, all the junta clans are intermarried and tight as thieves. So any number of planters who might not be official Ortegas could be sheltering the sons of bitches. It would take weeks to flush ’em out, even knowing the general area to be searched and, somehow, I don’t think the junta would approve of marching troops and rolling field guns through their crops!”
Gaston lit his own claro, snorted smoke, and said, “Eh bien, in that case it is time to pack. I don’t see why the junta hired us to chase their own domesticated bandits, but since it seems obvious they did—”
“We have to clean this mess up,” Captain Gringo cut in, adding, “I owe it to a lady who’s been very sweet to me. Her friends could use a break, too. Those roughneck riders may know better than to trifle with the big shots, but they’ve been pushing little people around long enough. Aside from that, there’s our own rep to consider. A professional soldier’s supposed to do the job he’s hired to do.”
“Eh bien, my très notorious solver of the impossible. But are we not off the hook when the people who hired us refuse to let us do the job right? It seems obvious now that Sir Basil Hakim, of all people, forced us on the junta. They never wanted their domesticated national emergency caught in the first place, hein?”
Captain Gringo nodded, pointing at the wall map, and replied, “That’s why we don’t have as much time as I was planning on. Notice how this blank area comes to a point, here near the railroad track and north-south wagon trace?”
“You showed it to me before. The Paris police used similar maps to trap the unwary when I was learning to steal in my youth. A bush of the league thinks he is being smart when he neglects to rob anywhere near his hideout. Mais after a time a clever cop tends to notice the only blank space on the neighborhood map, hein?”
“Right. No matter where they hole up between raids they seem to like this crossing, five or six miles from even a ranch house either way. Once across into the country they’ve been permitted to raid, they fan north or south, leaving this funnel-shaped area of law and order.”
“Mais, Dick, regard the latest X, disturbing your grand idea. Ortega just told us his cows were stolen here, near the mouth of the trumpet, so—”
“So that’s proof it never happened!” Captain Gringo cut in. Then he pointed at the crossing point again and said, “They wouldn’t have wanted us patrolling the savannah east of the tracks if the guerrillas had one hoofprint for us to sniff over that way. We were supposed to hunt snipe to the east so the guerrillas could cross from the west later, without fear of accidents. When I didn’t snap at the bait, they took off the gloves and ordered Torrez to order me to act like an asshole.”
“Is not Torrez the one who gives the orders, Dick?”
“I doubt it. He’s probably just another asshole. The real powers that be seldom put one of their own in the public eye. When the public gets pissed off they usually start with shooting the politicos they know. But let’s not worry about the rich pricks playing chess with peon lives. We don’t have much time left to change the rules of this dumb game.”
He took out his watch, nodded, and said, “By now word’s gotten around that the army’s out snipe hunting. The other side will give them time to move too far east to worry about. Meanwhile I’ve been keeping a list of troopers with the brains to unbutton their pants before they piss. Could you get together at least one gun crew, all enlisted men, that would just do as it was told and not ask questions?”
“Merde alors, who ever heard of enlisted men asking questions? But if I may be so bold, how can you be sure the guerrillas mean to cross the tracks tonight, Dick?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Nothing’s sure but de
ath and taxes. But one thing’s for sure. We’re not going to ambush the mothers sitting here doing nothing, with the rest of the outfit on a wild goose chase!”
Four hours later the tropic moon shone down full from directly overhead, painting the waist-high grass of the savannah a soft shade of tarnished silver. El Viejo del Montaña, as he still preferred to be called, rode at the head of his column—slowly, for the machine guns his friends in high places had smuggled to him were hard to drag through the tall wiry grass, even mounted on carts. He reined in on a rise a quarter mile west of the north-south railroad line and told the rider closest to him to ride forward and scout the embankment. The reluctant scout asked, “For why, jefe? The soldados must be far to the east by now, no?”
The sly old man of the mountains shook his sombrero in the moonlight and said, “Madre de Dios, did I not tell you this Captain Gringo of theirs is supposed to be good? He did not ride out with the others. Go with God and make sure he is not relaxing in the moonlight on the far slope of that embankment, eh? I have been told he had a big map at the presidio with my name in red written all over it. Men who can write make me nervous. You can never be too careful with an enemy who knows for how to read as well as for how to fight!”
The scout rode forward, grumbling to himself. El Viejo del Montaña had just lit a smoke and relaxed in his saddle, when the night behind him was shattered by the roar of a machine gun firing full automatic! He cursed and loped his pony back to the cart, roaring himself as he told them to knock it off. When they had he rode closer, ears still ringing, to demand, “For why did you just fire that weapon again, Gordo? Do you have to tell them we are coming? Can you not allow them for to guess?”
The fat boy assigned to the nearest Maxim smiled sheepishly and said, “I was only showing Tico, here, how it worked, jefe. Should I or Luis, at the other gun, fall in battle, it would be well if our other men knew enough for to take over, no?”