Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  I lowered the shift and looked into her face. “Did they hurt you, Sarah?” I asked.

  Silently she shook her head.

  “I’m glad they didn’t hurt you.”

  Then I noticed the faint edging of tears around her dark eyes. I took her hand. “Don’t cry, Sarah,” I said. “I won’t let them do it to you again. I’ll kill them if they try.”

  Suddenly her arms were around me and she was holding me close against her. I could feel her warm breasts against my face and I heard the heavy beating of her heart. She was sobbing convulsively but almost soundlessly.

  I was very still within her arms. All I could think of to say was, “Don’t cry, Sarah. Please, don’t cry.”

  After a moment she let me go. I slipped down to the floor but already she had turned away and was back at the stove throwing more wood chips into the firebox. There was nothing more to say. I turned and went out.

  The house was silent as I walked through the dining room and living room. I went out the front door onto the galería.

  Across the road there was movement. The bandoleros were beginning to wake to the day. The sun was slanting in over the barns and its rays were reaching across the yard toward the house. I heard a faint sound at the far end of the galería. I turned toward it.

  That part was still in deep shadow but I could see the glowing tip of a cigar and the outline of a man sitting in my father’s chair. Instinctively I knew it wasn’t my father. He would never smoke a cigarro this early in the day.

  The face was much clearer when I stepped out of the light into the shadows. The pale-gray eyes were watching me steadily. “Buenos días, Señor General,” I said politely.

  He answered equally politely. “Buenos días, soldadito.” He took another puff on his cigarro, then laid it carefully on the edge of the table. “How are you this morning?”

  “I am fine,” I replied. “I got up early.”

  “I know. I heard you at the window above.”

  “You were up already?” I asked in surprise. I had heard no one.

  His small even white teeth showed in a faint smile. “Generals, like small boys, must be up at sunrise to see what each day has in store for them.”

  I didn’t answer. I looked across the road at the soldiers’ camp. “They were still asleep,” I said.

  A slight edge of contempt came into his voice. “Campesinos. All they think about is food for the day. And they sleep well knowing that it will be provided for them.” He picked up his cigarro again. “Have you eaten?”

  “Sí. Sarah gave me desayuno. She was crying.”

  The cigarro glowed red. “Women always weep,” he said casually. “She will get over it.”

  “I don’t cry.”

  He looked at me for a moment before he answered. “No, you are a man. Men have no time to shed tears for what has already been done.”

  “Papá cried,” I said. “At the cemetery yesterday.” I felt a lump in my throat as I remembered. The fading sun throwing long shadows across the little graveyard behind the house. The creaking of the rusted iron gate. The soft squashy sound of the damp black earth as it fell on the coffins, and the unctuous sound of the Latin of the priest echoing hollowly in the morning air. I swallowed the lump. “I also cried.”

  “That is permissible,” the general replied gravely. “Even I wept.” He put down his cigarro once more and reached for my hand and drew me to him. “But that was yesterday. Today we are men again, and there is no time for tears.”

  I nodded silently.

  “You are a brave boy. You remind me of my own sons.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “One is a few years older than you, the other a year younger. I have also a little girl. She is four.” He smiled and pulled me up onto his lap. “They live in the mountains.”

  He looked over my head at the distant hills. “They are safe there.” His eyes turned back to me. “Perhaps you would like to visit them for a little while? There is much to do in the mountains.”

  “Could I have a pony?” I asked quickly.

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “Not just now. When you are a little older, perhaps. But you could have a surefooted burro.”

  “Will he be my own, my very own?”

  “Of course,” the general replied. “No one will be allowed to ride him except you.”

  “That would be very nice,” I said gravely. “I think I would like that very much. But…” I climbed down from his lap and looked up at him. “But what would Papá do? He has no one but me now.”

  “I think your father would approve,” he replied quietly. “He will be very busy this next year. He will have no time to be here. He will be with me.”

  By now the sun had crept around the corner of the galería and the warmth of the day was beginning to make itself felt. A faint scratching came from beneath our feet, then a sudden slithering sound as if someone had been hiding under the wooden floor. Almost before I could move, the general was on his feet, a pistol suddenly in his hand. “Quién es?” His voice was harsh.

  There was more scratching, then a familiar yelp and whine. I leaped down from the galería and stuck my head down into the opening. A cold nose and familiar tongue slobbered all over my face. I reached in and pulled the little dung-colored dog out from under the galería, and, holding him wriggling in my arms, got to my feet.

  “Perro!” I cried happily. “Perro! He came back!”

  57

  Manuelo held up his hand to halt us, then drew his fingers quickly across his lips. I sat astride the little pony scarcely daring to breathe. I looked at Roberto; he, too, was very tense.

  Roberto was the oldest son of the general, Diablo Rojo. He was almost eleven, two years older than I. I was almost nine but I was taller by a good three inches. He had become very jealous of me, ever since last year when it became apparent that I had grown the faster.

  The others sat quietly on their horses. They were listening also. I strained my ears but could hear nothing above the rustling of the leaves in the forest around us.

  “They are not far,” Manuelo whispered. “We will have to move quietly.”

  “It would be better if we knew how many there are,” Gato Gordo whispered back.

  Manuelo nodded. Fat Cat always made sense. He was a thinker. Perhaps it was because he was so heavy; it was difficult for him to move and he thought much.

  “I will scout them,” Manuelo said, slipping from his horse.

  “No,” Fat Cat answered quickly. “The leaves are dry, the twigs will give you away. Then they will know we are here.”

  “How else can we find out?”

  Gato Gordo pointed over his head. “Through the trees,” he said, “like a monkey. They will never think to look up.”

  “We are too heavy,” Manuelo replied. “A branch might crack under our weight and—poof!—we are dead.”

  Fat Cat looked at Roberto and me. “But they are not too heavy.”

  “No!” Manuelo’s whisper was almost explosive in the stillness. “The general will kill us if anything happens to his son!”

  “Dax can go,” Fat Cat replied softly.

  Manuelo looked at me. I could see doubt written on his face. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly.

  Before he could say any more I reached over my head and grabbed a branch. I pulled myself up out of the saddle and into the tree. “I will go,” I said, looking down at them.

  Roberto’s face was sullen and glowering. I knew it was because I was going and he wasn’t. But his father made very strict rules, and one always obeyed the leader. Roberto didn’t move.

  “Be silent,” Manuelo cautioned. “Merely find out how many there are and what weapons they have. Then come back and report to us.”

  I nodded and, turning, climbed higher into the tree. About fifteen feet from the ground, just before the limbs grew too thin to bear my weight, I started to move from tree to tree.

  I was very quick, having spent much time in the trees like all boys, yet
it took me almost an hour to cover the quarter-mile to their camp. And if it hadn’t been for the smoke from their fire reaching my nostrils I would have been there before I knew it. As it was I ended up almost directly over their heads.

  I clung silently to a limb, my heart pounding, sure that they could hear it even over their hearty conversation. Slowly I inched my way back until I was completely hidden in the foliage.

  From the loudness of their voices I realized that they didn’t suspect anyone was within miles. I counted heads carefully. There were fourteen men, their red and blue uniforms faded and dusty. The evening fire had already been started and occasionally one of them would go over and throw wood on it. I wondered why no one among them had started to cook the evening meal but that question was answered almost immediately.

  A woman came into the small clearing. One of the men who had been lying closest to the fire sat up and spoke to her. From the markings on his sleeve, I could tell that he was a sergeant. His voice sounded harsh in the quickening dusk.

  “Dónde está la comida?”

  “It is coming,” the woman answered in a low voice.

  A moment later two other women appeared, carrying between them a large iron pot. The smell of a meat stew came up to me and I could feel the juices in my mouth begin to bubble.

  The women put the pot down near the men and began to dish the stew out onto tin plates. After each man had been served, the women took what was left and retired a few feet off to eat.

  I took advantage of their preoccupation with the food to move quietly away. I circled the clearing in the trees until I located where the women had been doing the cooking. There were the remains of another small fire about twenty feet away. There were also a few blankets on the ground nearby, indicating where the women slept. I started to work my way back.

  The sun was fast disappearing by the time I arrived. Despite the fact that the others were listening for me, I managed to drop into their midst without a sound. I was very proud of myself when I saw the startled expressions on their faces.

  “Fourteen men under the command of a sergeant,” I said. “They have already made camp for the night.”

  “What weapons do they have?” Fat Cat asked.

  “I saw rifles and two tommy guns.”

  “Only two?”

  “That’s all I saw.”

  “I wonder what they’re doing out here?” Fat Cat said.

  “It must be a patrol,” Manuelo replied. “They are always sending out patrols to discover where we are.” He laughed. “They never have.”

  “Fourteen men and two machine guns,” Fat Cat repeated thoughtfully. “There are only five of us, not counting the two boys. I think we’d better give them the slip.”

  “Now is the time to do it,” I said boldly. “The women have just given them food. They are too busy eating to hear us.”

  “They have women with them?” Manuelo’s voice sounded surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “There are three of them.”

  “Deserters!” Fat Cat said. “They’ve run off into the hills with their women.”

  “Maybe it’s time then,” one of the others said. “The general has the army on the run. La guerra will soon be over.”

  “The army still controls the ports,” Fat Cat replied. “We cannot win until the general captures Curatu. Once we cut them off from the sea the yanqui imperialists won’t be able to help them. Then it will be over.”

  “I heard that we’re marching toward Curatu,” Manuelo said.

  “What are we going to do about the soldados?” Fat Cat asked, bringing the subject back to the pertinent.

  “I don’t know,” Manuelo answered hesitantly. “They have two machine guns.”

  “They have also three women,” Fat Cat said meaningfully.

  “Deserters have no spirit to fight,” Diego Gonzalez added. “It has been a long time—”

  Fat Cat cut him off with a warning look at Roberto and me. “We could use machine guns. The general would reward us.” He looked over at me. “Have they posted a guard?”

  “No,” I replied, “they are lying around the fire eating. There is no lookout. I could have peed right in their cooking pot and they wouldn’t have noticed.”

  Manuelo came to a decision. “We will take them by surprise. Just before dawn when they are in their deepest sleep.”

  I rolled over in my blanket, pulling it around me to ward off the night chill. Next to me I heard Roberto move. “Are you awake?” I whispered.

  “Sí.”

  “I cannot sleep,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “No.” The answer came quickly in a scornful voice. “Of course not.”

  “I’m not either.”

  “I can’t wait till morning. I’m going to kill one of those soldados. We’re going to kill them all.”

  “The women too?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” he answered scornfully.

  “What are we going to do with them then?”

  “I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “Rape them, I guess.”

  “I don’t think I would like that,” I said. “That’s what happened to my sister. It hurts them.”

  “That’s because you’re a little boy,” he replied scornfully. “You couldn’t rape one if you wanted to.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re too small. Your pecker isn’t big enough.”

  “It is so. It’s as big as yours!” I replied angrily. “I’m bigger than you.”

  “But your pecker isn’t!”

  I was silent. I knew what he said was the truth. I had seen his more than once. He used to play with it in the field back of the house and when it was hard it was twice as big as mine.

  “I will rape one anyway,” I said defiantly.

  He laughed derisively. “You can’t; it won’t get hard.” He rolled over in his blanket and pulled it up over his head. “Now go to sleep. Let me get some rest.”

  I lay there quietly. I looked up at the stars. Sometimes they seemed to hang so low in the sky I could reach up and touch one. I wondered which was my mother and which was my sister. My father told me that they had gone to heaven and now they were God’s stars. Could they see me tonight? Finally I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  I came awake quickly at Manuelo’s touch. I was on my feet instantly. “I’m ready,” I said. “I’ll show you where they are.”

  “No.” Manuelo shook his head. “You stay here with the horses. Someone has to keep an eye on the horses or they will wander off.”

  “But—”

  Manuelo cut me off. His voice was firm. “You and Roberto will stay with the horses. That’s an order.”

  I looked at Roberto. He didn’t meet my eyes. He wasn’t so big after all, no matter what he said. If he was, they wouldn’t leave him behind too.

  “It’s getting late!” Fat Cat hissed.

  “You stay here until we come back,” Manuelo warned. “If we’re not back by noon, take the horses and go home. Comprende?”

  We nodded silently and watched the men disappear into the forest. For a moment we could hear the crackling of leaves and twigs under their feet, then everything was silent.

  Roberto looked at me. “We better go see to the horses.”

  I followed him to where the animals were tethered. They were munching away as quietly as if they were in the pasture at home.

  “I don’t see why we have to miss all the fun,” I said. “The horses won’t go far. They’re hobbled.”

  “Manuelo said we have to stay,” Roberto replied.

  I felt suddenly bold and daring. “You have to. But I don’t.”

  “Manuelo will be angry.”

  “He will never know,” I replied. “I can get there faster through the trees than they can on foot.”

  I began to shinny up the nearest tree. I paused on the lowest branch. “I’ll tell you everything that happe
ned!”

  Roberto stared up at me for a moment, then began to run toward the tree. “Wait for me!” he called. “I’m going with you!”

  58

  It didn’t take as long to get there as it had last night because I knew exactly where to go. We remained hidden in the trees until I felt Roberto tug at my arm. He pointed and I saw Manuelo and Fat Cat just at the edge of the clearing. Then they disappeared back into the foliage.

  From our vantage point I could see our men as they fanned out around the sleeping soldiers. I looked down at the camp. The soldiers didn’t stir. They huddled in their blankets around the dying fire. I began to count.

  In the dim light I could make out only twelve. I strained my eyes trying to locate the other two but they were not there. Then I understood. They were with the women. I wondered if Manuelo had noticed.

  I saw a movement at the edge of the shadows. Fat Cat was signaling to someone across the clearing on the opposite side. I turned my head. Manuelo came out of the foliage. I caught the dull glint of his broad machete as Diego appeared beside him.

  Two others were visible next to Fat Cat now. Manuelo gestured with his machete and they ran across the clearing silently. I saw the machetes flash up and down and five of the soldiers were dead before the others had even begun to open their eyes.

  The attack was savagely efficient. Two more were dispatched as they tried to roll over. One died as he started to sit up, another just about made it to his knees before Fat Cat, with a broad slash, almost severed his head from his body.

  Until now there had been no noise, only the movements of the men as they thrashed in the agonized frenzy of death. Then one of the soldiers broke suddenly and on his hands and knees began to scramble toward the brush in a frantic effort to escape. The loud report of a pistol resounded through the forest, and the birds ceased their shrilling song. The soldier pitched forward face down onto the ground.

  The two remaining soldiers threw themselves on the ground, their hands over their heads, screaming for mercy. Their voices sounded thin and reedy in the morning light that was just beginning to filter down through the trees into the clearing. But there was no hesitation in spite of their pleas for mercy.