Casca 52- the Rough Rider

by Tony Roberts

  “Yes, boys, that I am. But I have no idea where they are.”

  Carlos pointed off into the wilderness. “They are at the falls of Santa Maria.”

  Casey frowned. “How do you know?”

  “We followed them one day, for fun. They like to hang out there and drink and smoke and, sometimes…”

  “What?”

  Tiago spoke up. “They take girls there and do things to them!”

  Casey wanted to guffaw out loud but resisted the temptation. This was a serious matter. “Alright, boys, thank you for telling me. So how do I get there and how far is it?”

  Carlos waved a hand. “We can take you!”

  “Uh-oh, no way. Its going to be unpleasant, boys, so please, don’t come along. Your family will want you with them now, especially as Maria is hurting.”

  The two looked crestfallen but obediently returned to the house after telling him it was a mile up through the jungle and where a small stream fell in a series of drops to a small pool. It was used by the youngsters of the village as a meeting place for illicit activities. Currently the trio of unlovely men ‘owned’ it and nobody else was permitted to visit there unless they had given express permission.

  They were well known, apparently, for bullying people in the village, and once Jaime had decided Maria was to marry him, he was not having anyone saying otherwise. Casey decided the poor girl would have no life with that kind of man who merely wanted to dominate and bully. She would be beaten into submission and bear him plenty of sons for him to brag about, and she would do all the housework, cooking, cleaning, while he sat outside and got drunk and messed about.

  She would have a better life in Santiago at the university, and maybe make a better life for herself.

  Casey returned to the others and told them to carry on towards the depot, while he and Corrigan needed to do a favor for the villagers. The four others shrugged and walked off towards Siboney, while Corrigan frowned and asked what the hell was going on.

  He fell silent when Casey explained. Then he nodded. “Killing them will be a pleasure.”

  “They’ll be armed; they’re part of the militia here.”

  “Ain’t no problem; a bullet kills Cubans as well as Spanish.”

  Casey agreed, and led Corrigan away from the village up a narrow leafy path that was barely discernible. They could make out that some people had passed this way recently, for there were broken branches, twigs and leaves lying on the ground. Casey indicated to Corrigan that it would be a mile or so and they were to be silent, as neither knew how far sound would travel.

  The two pushed on, through the steamy, hot, humid atmosphere, sweating and cursing under their breath the three who had done the deed. Casey partly blamed himself, but he also knew that was dumb, for he hadn’t asked them to do anything. They had decided it by themselves and so were entirely responsible. But it didn’t stop him having pangs of guilt.

  It made him feel even more sour.

  After an hour or so up the trail, Casey stopped and knelt, waving Corrigan to do likewise. Casey sniffed the air again. He detected tobacco. Someone not far from here was smoking. He waved his buddy on behind him, indicating he keep well back, but to cover him.

  The trail topped a small rise, before running down towards a watercourse. They could clearly hear the waters falling. To the left the ground rose, obviously to where the water was coming from. The eternal mercenary was using his centuries of experience now. It wasn’t the first time he’d fought in jungles or forests, where the enemy could be inches from you yet be unseen. He vividly recalled the jaguar warriors of the Teotec coming out of the jungle at he and his Viking comrades oh-so-long-ago.

  It was slow going, and they made every effort not to disturb branches, twigs or rocks. The water falling masked a lot of the sound, and they got to the top of the rise and crept to the edge, alongside a swiftly running stream that plunged over the top and fell down into a pool below. Here, the pool formed a clearing with rocks to either side and the stream running off ahead into the jungle.

  Around the pool the ground was clear of bushes and undergrowth for about ten feet. Sat on the rocks smoking and joking were three men in the white cotton shirts of the Cuban rebellion, rifles propped up on their butts or lying across the rocks. The remains of a meal lay untidily around a smoldering fire, and a young woman – girl, really – sat by the water’s edge, with her legs bare and her feet in the pool.

  Even as the two watched the girl was spoken to by one of the three and he gestured abruptly to her, pointing to the jungle. She got up with an air of resignation and meekly followed him into the undergrowth, clearly with the knowledge she was there to pleasure him.

  That left two. Corrigan touched his rifle, but Casey shook his head. Shots would cause the one who’d left with the girl to flee. He wanted all of them. Trouble was, he didn’t know how long the girl was going to be used for, and his blood was boiling already. Another woman being used by these pigs was too much.

  “Stay here and cover me. Shoot if you must, but only as a last resort.”

  “What ya gonna do?” Corrigan asked in a whisper.

  “Use this,” Casey pulled out his bayonet. It was a long dagger or a very short sword, depending on how one looked at it. “Less noise.”

  Casey left Corrigan looking down at the scene from his place of concealment and returned the way he’d come, having left his rifle with his buddy. He moved at a crouch, his weapon in his right hand. As he got close to the bottom he slowed and turned towards the pool. He stopped as the clearing came into view. The two in the clearing sat facing one another which would make things awkward. One close by with his back to Casey, the other on the other side of the water, smoking.

  “How long do you think Jaime will be screwing Conchita?” one asked.

  The other snorted. “He likes to take his time, like with Maria.”

  “At least this girl knows not to resist.”

  “Mmm. Maria was too full of stupid ideas. Women should not think they are like us. They are here to do as we say.”

  “I agree. Conchita realizes this, which is why she isn’t hurt by any of us. You think Jaime will let us have a go with her after he is finished? I have the urge.”

  “Juan, you’re always with the urge. You’re like an animal in mating season!”

  “Its always mating season,” Juan laughed. “Just show me a young pretty girl and she will know my touch.”

  Casey had heard enough. He gathered his strength, worked out his strategy, and sprang out of the bushes, bayonet striking up hard through Juan’s back and plunging deep into his chest cavity.

  Santiago, the other one, had faster reflexes than Casey anticipated. He grabbed his rifle even as Juan was thrown aside by a snarling Casey and raised it in one fluid movement.

  Corrigan’s shot blew the young man’s head apart and Santiago crashed to the ground and slid into the water.

  Cursing, Casey now ran hard, leaping over the pool where it narrowed and ran into the jungle where he’d seen Jaime and Conchita vanish. He moved fast, not worrying now about any noise, and came pretty quickly to a small clearing, not much more than a widening of the trail, really, and Conchita lying on the ground, her legs spread, a dribble of blood coming from her mouth. She was dazed and moving feebly.

  Casey knelt by her side. “Senorita, let me help.”

  She groaned and was sat up. Casey covered her womanhood up with her long loose dress that had been thrust up roughly by Jaime, and got her up on her feet. He walked her back to the pool and then saw to her bruising and split lip.

  Corrigan joined them, checking the two downed men. They were both dead.

  Conchita was by now shaking. She haltingly told them of how she had been taken by the three that morning and made to walk with them to this place. They said that if she ever told anyone they would kill all her family and burn her house to the ground with her tied up inside it. She was terrified of them. “Jaime is the worst,” she said. “You must find him an
d kill him.”

  “Do you know where he may have run off to?” Casey asked.

  “Probably a small village called Vasquez,” she said. “It’s no more than a mile in that direction,” she pointed to the right. “Its where the iron railway finishes. He has a woman there, another one, called Felicia.”

  “How many does he have?” Corrigan asked, amazed.

  “One in every village around here. He likes to boast. He thinks he’s a great lover, but all he is in reality is a brute! He beats all the men who try to stop him and subdues the women to do as he wishes.”

  “And nobody stops him?” Casey asked, amazed.

  “His family owns the village. Nobody dares to speak up.”

  “That’s gonna change.” Casey looked at the jungle. “He’s got no rifle. I’m going after him. Al, take the young lady here back to the village. Make sure they all know what’s happened. Time they all realized what an animal he is.”

  “And the two dead?”

  “They can stay here and be picked up by their families.”

  Corrigan grunted and passed Casey his Mauser. Casey shook his head. “No, this is not the time for a rifle; if he’s gone to this Vasquez place, then I’ll need silence. This,” he lifted the dagger, “is all I’ll need.”

  Conchita stood, her arms around herself, shaking. It would take time for her to get over the fact she’d been used by Jaime, but she hadn’t been the first in the village. She just hoped that she was going to be the last. Corrigan slung the Mauser over his shoulder, his own Krag-Jorgenson loosely in his right hand, and his left he assisted the Spanish woman in leaving the clearing and back up the trail for the walk back towards Sevilla.

  Now on his own, albeit with two corpses already attracting flies, Casey refilled his canteen from the waterfall, washing his head and face at the same time for some welcome relief. He wiped his face, rinsed his mouth out and spat onto the ground, then set off through the jungle to the spot he had found Conchita.

  There was a narrow trail that led off north-east and he made his way along that. Jaime had got probably a ten minute start on him and would be making fast time, so Casey guessed it was no good in running now, as he’d never catch the guy. The only good thing was that he knew where the Spaniard was headed so it didn’t matter when he turned up.

  Casey’s only worry was what would those in Vasquez do? Jaime could well spin some tale about being attacked and make them all believe that the American was the bad guy. Casey cared little for that; he knew the truth and the fact that Jaime had to go. He was a bad one and no matter where he went, he would cause pain for the sake of self-gratification. People like him would always have fools to jump to their help, and he’d remain at large to inflict suffering on innocents as a result.

  Casey was set on this course now, and the war was irrelevant. It was over, anyway. The Spanish in Santiago were over a barrel and would have to surrender; they had no other choice. That would mean the entire eastern half of Cuba would be in American hands and the position for the rest would be untenable. Spain would have to give up.

  The jungle pressed in on him oppressively. Sweat soaked him, but he kept on, his bayonet in his belt sheath. He felt much happier with a blade to fight with. After all, that was how he had learned his trade, going way back, and it had only been recently that guns had become much more reliable.

  He still enjoyed the feel of a sword hilt in his hand.

  The terrain levelled out and the jungle ended, and now he was faced with a fence and beyond a field of long grass. He could see in the distance the white stone walls of a village and guessed this was Vasquez. There appeared to be a lot of fencing closer to it and he imagined he could see a railroad. It would be the one then, if that was the case. Vasquez would have a railway station, and he slowly looked over the rooftops.

  He needed to get closer, so he vaulted the fence, having one of those heart-stopping moments when it creaked and cracked, and he landed quickly to avoid being dumped on his ass by a breaking fence. Then he swiftly made his way across the field, much relieved to be able to see where he was going.

  The other end of the field was marked by a row of trees and he leaned against one of the trunks and peered at the village again, this time with nothing to hinder his view. There was a railroad, with the telegraph poles running alongside the track running off to the right. Some of the poles were leaning at an alarming angle and he guessed the wires they held up were the only thing keeping the poles upright.

  The station was at the end of the village, and seemed to be empty. The rest of the village, a few houses and a church, were strung out along a narrow road. Casey approached at an angle, leaning low, and making sure he had something in between him and the settlement. Once he got close he had to stop and check out the lay of the land.

  There was a stream that flowed through the middle, and he made his way along this, the undergrowth growing thickest along the banks. It reached Vasquez in between two buildings and was then spanned by a wooden bridge. There was a rudimentary square beyond with the church along one side and a big building along the other. The rest of the houses were ordinary and poor quality.

  A dog was sniffing about so Casey retreated and squatted on the other side of a bush, and the dog trotted off, following some other scent he preferred; the smell of this human was not to his liking.

  It was becoming late in the afternoon and night would not be long in coming, so Casey crept back to the edge of the houses and looked out through the gap. He picked up a few strands of conversation but heard little of interest to him.

  As darkness began to fall he moved again, this time around one of the houses and looked across the square. His eyes spotted two people, one was male, the other female, and they were making their way to a house on the edge of the settlement. Casey had no idea who they were except that the male, a young man, was wearing the white cotton shirt of the Cuban irregulars and therefore was almost certainly Jaime.

  Now he was sure of the place they were in, he crept across the square to where the house was and sidled up to the front door.

  It opened and a man stood there with a rifle in his hands. It was pointing at Casey. “So, gringo,” he smiled nastily, “you have finally arrived. Took your time.”

  Casey swung his head around but he saw three more men stood with rifles aimed at him. He cursed, caught in a trap!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Casey slowly came to, his head hurting. Someone must’ve whacked him from behind. Shit. He had been in some fixes before but this was one of the worst. Manacled or tied by the wrists to a beam above him, so he was dangling. His wrists hurt from supporting all his body weight, so he straightened his legs. The ankles were tied together, too.

  “So, awake at last, you pig?” a voice from the left came to him.

  Casey turned his head to regard the shadowy figure that stood against the wall. The whole room was dark and smelled of damp. He guessed he was in a kind of cellar. There was one source of light, an oil lamp on a small rickety table before him, out of reach, of course.

  The speaker had been smoking a cigarette, and he now dropped the remnants on the floor and stamped it to oblivion. Earthen floor. One door, Casey noted, way behind him. Closed.

  There were two others here, vague figures of men, one cradling a gun.

  “Nothing to say, you murderer?”

  “What good would it do?” Casey answered. “No point in arguing with you since you’ve already decided I’m to die… so why not kill me already?”

  “To punish you, gringo, that’s why,” the man said, walking around in front of Casey. He was young, dark haired, and had a cold, soulless look to his eyes.

  “For befriending Maria, I suppose,” Casey said evenly. “Your Maria.” I was a safe bet this was Jaime.

  “And for murdering Santiago and Juan. They were unarmed!”

  “Not true; they had rifles and you damned well know it…ugh!” Casey’s protest was cut short by a rammed fist to the guts.

  �
��Shut up you pig!” Jaime snarled, then spat in his face. You come into our village, rape Maria, murder two of my best friends, then rape Conchita. You also burned down Maria’s family’s house!”

  “That hasn’t happened,” Casey groaned, trying not to throw up.

  “But it will and your body will be found close by, with evidence that you started the fire, and a letter on your corpse from Maria accusing you of rape and that she was going to tell the American army, so you burned her house down. Ha ha ha!” he cackled maniacally.

  Casey now knew how unhinged this man was. Completely. “You’re crazy. These two happy to go along with this scheme, are you?” he asked the two.

  “Jaime is betrothed to my Manuela, my sister. I believe Jaime rather than some ugly scarred gringo,” one said, smoking a cigar.

  The other one, the one with a gun, remained silent.

  “And you?” Casey asked him.

  “Leave him alone!” Jaime spat, “he is not able to speak! He is a man of simple ways, but will do as we say! So your words are wasted!”

  Casey looked at the smoking man. “Your sister, Manuela, does she know he was seeing this Maria in Sevilla?”

  “She knows she was a childhood sweetheart but after Maria ran off to Santiago, Jaime here proposed to my sister and they are to be wed. So do not try to turn me against my future brother-in-law.”

  “So even to commit murder, you’re happy to go along with this lunatic?”

  Jaime punched Casey again, three times, screaming in fury. The smoking man restrained him. “Hold, Jaime, unless you want him to die now?”

  “No,” Jaime hissed through clenched teeth, his face distorted in rage. “I want him to die slowly. Cut him up into little pieces and burn each piece in front of him until he is unable to see any more.”

  Smoking Man looked dubious. “I will not take part in any pointless sadism, not even for you. Either kill him now or let him go.”

  Jaime shook himself free and stared hatefully at the dangling prisoner. “I shall take care of him myself. You do not have to see what I do to him.”