“Florita’s, too.”
“Juana is my sister, sí,” Luciana said. “And our brother Julio has a café here in Saguaro Springs. He will be here shortly. Meanwhile, many of the other good people of our community have gathered to greet you, Señor Morgan.”
She waved a slender but strong-looking hand at the crowd inside the cantina, and Frank took a good look at them for the first time. Luciana Hernandez was such an impressive woman that he found taking his attention away from her to be difficult. He was somewhat surprised at what he saw when he did, though.
At least a hundred people had assembled here, many of them Mexicans but a significant number of whites, too. A tall, rawboned man wore a black patch over his left eye. Two blond women, one older and one younger, bore a strong enough resemblance to each other that Frank knew they must be mother and daughter. A squat, black-bearded man had such massive shoulders that Frank assumed he was the local blacksmith. Another man wore the canvas apron of a shopkeeper.
Luciana had called them “good people,” and Frank could tell by looking at them that they were. These were the law-abiding, peace-loving citizens of Saguaro Springs that one of his companions had talked about during the ride here, the settlers who simply wanted to live their lives and be left alone, something they had discovered was impossible when dealing with animals like Diego Ramirez and his men.
And yet they had turned out here, very early in the morning when most of them were usually still asleep, to greet him. Frank couldn’t understand why.
So he asked the question that puzzled him, and he asked it bluntly.
“What is it you folks want from me?”
“The answer is simple, Señor Morgan,” Luciana said. “We want you to lead us, and help us kill Diego Ramirez and all the men who work for him.”
* * *
The bandits brought along two packhorses when they set out to hold up the train, but that proved not to be enough to carry all the gold bars they found in the caboose’s safe, after the elderly conductor had been forced at gunpoint to provide the lock’s combination. Once the safe was open, Bracken had put a bullet through the old man’s brain anyway. The Kid hadn’t witnessed that, but he had heard some of the other men talking and laughing about how Kern was annoyed with Bracken for killing the conductor.
The rich men from Monterrey had consolidated their wealth into gold bars so it would be easier to transport, but that also meant it was easier for thieves to carry away. Once as many bars as possible had been loaded on the packhorses, the remaining bars were distributed among the men. Each would carry two or three in their saddlebags. The horses couldn’t move quite as fast with the added weight, but since the telegraph wire was down and the train wasn’t going anywhere until the tracks between the cutbanks were cleared, the bandits weren’t worried about anybody alerting the Rurales.
They tied the Kid’s hands behind his back and lifted him onto the buckskin. Kern said, “Woodson, tie that horse’s reins to your saddle horn. You’re responsible for not letting Callahan get away.”
“All right, Kern.” Woodson gave the Kid a mournful look and shook his head. “I sure didn’t expect you to double-cross us, Johnny. You seemed like a good hombre.”
The Kid didn’t respond. Right now, he didn’t care whether he had disappointed some outlaw. He just didn’t give a damn.
Now he had to worry not only about rescuing his father but also about escaping himself.
He found one ray of hope in this mess. Kern kept referring to him as Callahan, which meant the gunman had still been unconscious when the Kid told the men in the caboose that his name was Kid Morgan. If Kern had heard that, he would have made the connection with Frank right away and would have figured out that the Kid was there to rescue the prisoner being held at the stronghold. He might have even tumbled to the fact that Kid Morgan was really Conrad Browning, although that was less likely.
As long as they didn’t know who he really was, they might believe he had double-crossed them in an attempt to steal all the gold for himself. That might mean they would be a little less alert about keeping him away from Frank.
But he was just fooling himself, he thought bleakly as the gang rode north toward Arizona Territory. As soon as they got back to the stronghold and Ramirez found out what had happened, he would have the Kid whipped to death or tortured in some other way until he was dead. And most of the men would look on and enjoy the spectacle.
More than likely, so would Antonia . . .
* * *
Because of the slower pace, they were nowhere near the border by nightfall. Kern called a halt and had the men make camp in a clearing amid a cluster of rocks. They would arrive back at the stronghold by the middle of the next day. Woodson and another man hauled the Kid down from the saddle and propped him up against a rock.
Woodson stepped back and said, “Sorry, Johnny, but I can’t untie you. Kern gave orders that you was to stay tied until we get back with you.”
“They may not untie me then,” the Kid said. “The general might decide to have me stood up against a wall right away.”
“A firin’ squad, you mean?” Woodson shrugged. “That’d be a damned shame.”
“Probably better than the whip or some other torture, though.”
The other man had wandered off to take care of his horse. Woodson continued looking mournfully at the Kid and went on, “What in blazes were you thinkin’, Johnny? You shoulda knowed you couldn’t make off with all that gold when there were so many of us around. You didn’t really believe you could get away with it, did you?”
“Being around that much gold sometimes keeps a man from thinking straight.”
“Well, I s’pose you’re right about that.” A grin stretched across Woodson’s face. “I know I can’t hardly stop thinkin’ ’bout all that purty yellow gold we’re carryin’. But I know I don’t stand no chance of gettin’ more than my share of it.”
“And as long as you get it, you don’t mind being part of murdering innocent people.”
Woodson’s expression became solemn again as he said, “That’s one thing I figured out a long time ago, Johnny. There ain’t no innocent people. Only them as ain’t been caught yet.”
He walked off, and the Kid let him go. He knew now he couldn’t count on any help from jovial, guitar-playing Sam Woodson.
Kern ordered a cold camp, not wanting to draw any attention with a fire, and when Woodson started to strum his guitar and sing quietly, Kern shut him up in a hurry.
“You know how sound carries out here, especially at night,” Kern snapped. “A Rurale patrol could be moving around somewhere out there, and we don’t want to give them any reason to come looking in this direction. Everybody stay as quiet as possible, and keep the horses quiet, too.”
He came over to the rock where the Kid was sitting a short time later and gave him some water from a canteen, then put a piece of jerky in his mouth.
“Gnaw on that for a while,” Kern said as he hunkered on his heels in front of the Kid. “It’s the only supper you’re going to get tonight.”
“Probably my last supper,” the Kid said around the tough strip of dried meat.
“That wouldn’t surprise me a bit. I haven’t known you long at all, Callahan, but still, I thought you had more sense than that. How were you planning to get away with that gold?”
“Woodson asked the same thing. I reckon I would’ve figured that out when the time came.”
Kern just grunted in disbelief, stood up, and walked off.
The Kid could have used another drink when he finished the jerky, but nobody offered him one so he did without. His position leaning against the rock was uncomfortable, but eventually he went to sleep.
The small sounds of men moving around woke him early the next morning, before dawn. The bandits were getting ready to ride. Kern allowed a small fire to boil a pot of coffee. Caution was one thing, but doing without coffee was downright uncivilized.
Sam Woodson brought a cup over to the Kid and held it where he c
ould sip from it. Woodson had a biscuit with him, as well, from the supplies they had brought along. He broke off pieces of it and fed them to the Kid.
“You’re going to a lot of trouble for me,” the Kid commented. “You could’ve just let me go hungry.”
“Ain’t no reason to do that,” Woodson said. “Things ain’t gonna go well for you when we get back, Johnny, but ain’t no need for you to suffer until then.”
“And you’ll just stand by and let them kill me?”
“Dang, son!” Woodson said. “I ain’t knowed you but about a day. You expect me to get myself killed tryin’ to help you, when it wouldn’t do you no good anyway?”
“You could loosen these ropes on my wrists without anybody noticing,” the Kid suggested quietly, “and you could make sure my horse’s reins aren’t tied as tightly to your saddle horn. Give me a chance to make a run for it. I’d rather be shot trying to get away than tortured once we get back to the stronghold.”
Woodson straightened from where he was kneeling.
“Can’t do it,” he said with a shake of his head, “and if you keep askin’, Johnny, I’m gonna get a mite annoyed. Hell, you know how this game is played.”
He turned and stalked off. With him probably went the last chance to escape before they got back to the rancho, the Kid thought. But he was still alive, so he would just have to find some other way to get loose and rescue Frank.
The idea that he would be unsuccessful, that both he and his father would die at the hands of Ramirez and the rest of these murderous bandits, never entered his head. He wouldn’t allow it to.
They pushed on before the sun was up. A chilly predawn wind swept across the arid landscape. That coolness disappeared quickly once the sun rose. The temperature climbed just like the blazing orb in the sky.
Men and horses alike wilted a little in the heat as Kern kept them moving at a fairly brisk pace. He explained that he wanted to get back across the border so they could stop worrying about the Rurales.
“What about American lawmen?” the Kid asked.
“They don’t get down here in this part of the territory much,” Kern replied. “The county sheriff and his men are spread too thin, and there’s no army post nearby, so we don’t have to watch for cavalry patrols, either. It’s a good setup.” He paused. “Too bad you had to throw away being part of it, Callahan.”
The Kid didn’t say anything, just rocked along in the saddle as the heat beat down on him. At least Woodson had retrieved his hat and clapped it on his head before they rode away from the railroad tracks. Otherwise the Kid’s brains would have been cooked good and proper by now.
Because of the way he was tied, his shoulders ached, his arms were half-numb, and he couldn’t feel his hands at all. They were just lumps of senseless flesh. Even if he was freed from his bonds, long minutes would pass before he was able to use his hands effectively again.
Kern allowed them to slow a little once he judged they were north of the border. He called a halt a couple of times to allow the horses to rest. Finally, late in the morning, they came in sight of a dark shape looming on the horizon. Even though the Kid had approached it from a different direction the first time, he knew that was the hacienda where Diego Ramirez intended to establish a second presidential palace.
As the riders came closer, they swung to the east so they could approach the compound from the front. After they had been riding for a few minutes, Bracken sat up straighter in his saddle and said, “What the hell is that? Look there to the left of the gates, Kern.”
“I see it,” Kern said. “Looks like something happened to damage the wall.”
It was true. The wall hadn’t collapsed, but the Kid saw that something had gouged out a chunk of it near the base. The opening went all the way through, but it appeared that the men had erected a makeshift barricade on the other side until the wall could be repaired properly.
“Son of a gun!” Woodson exclaimed. “Somebody blowed a hole in it!”
The Kid thought the same thing. An explosion of some sort had done that damage.
But who would try to blow up Ramirez’s stronghold? The Kid couldn’t imagine any of the settlers from Saguaro Springs doing such a thing. No one else was around here, though.
Maybe the citizens had decided it was time to fight back at last. If that turned out to be true, it was an interesting development and might have a bearing on what the Kid would be able to do about rescuing Frank and dodging the grisly fate that Ramirez undoubtedly would have in store for him as soon as the general heard what had happened during the train holdup.
The same thought had occurred to Bracken, about who might be responsible for the damage to the wall. The murderous gunman spat some curses, then said, “We’re gonna have to ride into Saguaro Springs and teach those sheep a lesson! How about we bring all the gals under twenty years old out here and let them spend a few days with us? After we kill half a dozen of the men, of course.”
“How about we let the general decide what needs to be done?” Kern said. “Last time I checked, he was still in command around here.”
“Yeah, but he lets them get away with too much.”
The Kid thought about the whipping that Florita had received and wondered how anybody could think that Ramirez let the citizens of Saguaro Springs get away with too much. Bracken’s brain didn’t work like that of a normal person, though, he reminded himself.
The guards inside the compound had been watching for their return. The gates swung open as they rode up. Kern led the way inside, followed by Bracken, then Woodson and the Kid, then the other men.
Someone had alerted Ramirez. He strode out of the so-called second capitol building, wearing a resplendent green uniform today, as well as a hat with a bright green plume on it. The Kid thought he looked a little ridiculous, but nobody around here was going to say that to the self-proclaimed general.
“Your mission was successful?” Ramirez asked Kern as the segundo dismounted.
“We got the gold.”
“Excellent!” Ramirez clenched his right hand into a fist and shook it in front of his face in an exultant gesture.
Kern leaned his head toward the Kid and added, “No thanks to Callahan here.”
That put a frown on Ramirez’s face. He asked, “What happened?”
“He tried to double-cross us.” Kern quickly sketched in the violent details of the train robbery, concluding, “I guess the thought of all that gold made him loco. I started to kill him, then decided that you might want to decide what to do with him, General.”
Ramirez nodded and said, “I am glad you did, Kern. I need something to brighten my spirits on this unpleasant day, and executing a traitor will do that.”
“Unpleasant day?” Kern repeated with a frown. “I don’t understand, General. We got the gold. Together with the ransom we’re going to get for Frank Morgan, we’ll have enough to field and equip a real army against Díaz.”
“There will be no ransom for Frank Morgan,” Ramirez said. “He is gone. Escaped.”
Chapter 30
Frank Morgan stood there in the cantina for a long moment after Luciana Hernandez made her bold statement. Then he said, “You and these folks are planning to go to war against Ramirez?”
“See for yourself, señor,” she said as once again she gestured toward those assembled in the cantina. “Are those the faces of people willing to continue enduring the abuses Ramirez and his men are heaping on them?”
Frank had to admit that they weren’t. The citizens of Saguaro Springs looked both angry and determined. But most of them were more than a little scared, too.
On the other hand, anybody who went into a war without being scared was a damned fool. Even though four decades had passed since Frank had gone off to fight the Yankees as a young man, he still remembered quite well the uneasy feeling in his guts while he waited for his first battle to begin. He’d been scared, all right. Mighty damned scared.
But he had done his duty. These people saw i
t as their duty to fight to protect their homes and loved ones, and he couldn’t say they were wrong to feel that way.
“All right,” he said to Luciana. “Tell me what your plan is.”
“Our plan was to get you out of there and then turn to you for leadership, Señor Morgan.” She smiled. “You are our general.”
“Now, hold on! I was in the army a long time ago, but I was just a fella who carried a rifle and marched wherever somebody else told me to march.”
“But you are a fighter. More than any of us are. We trust your instincts, and we will follow you into battle.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “You and these other ladies here aren’t planning to fight, are you?”
“We are pioneer women, Señor Morgan. We know how to fire a gun, and many of us have suffered mistreatment of one form or another at the hands of those animals at the old rancho. Yes, we will fight if need be.”
“We’ll do our share,” the young blonde said. “Just give us a chance.”
“That’s right,” the older woman who was probably her mother added.
Frank heard the sincerity in their voices and didn’t doubt them. But he asked Luciana, “How many men do you have who are willing and able to fight?”
Luciana looked around the room and said, “Not all of them are here right now, but perhaps . . . fifty. We outnumber Ramirez and his men.”
“Not by much, once the others get back. What do you have in the way of weapons?”
“Shotguns, rifles, a few pistols. And a good supply of ammunition.” She smiled. “Enough for one battle, certainly.”
Frank understood what she meant by that. If they attacked Ramirez’s stronghold, that wouldn’t be the first engagement in an ongoing war. It would be an all-or-nothing assault that would see Saguaro Springs liberated. . . or most of the settlement’s men slain and an even worse situation for the survivors.
Frank suddenly remembered how Sam Houston had ordered Deaf Smith and some of the other members of his Texican army to burn a strategic bridge as they were advancing toward the enemy in the decisive battle of the Texas Revolution. If you didn’t have any way to retreat, your only options were victory or death.
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