Call Down The Hawk

by Richard Folmar

  “It’s important to me, my friend.”

  “Twarn’t much. Pa and Ma were going on about Captain Cane, and my Pa said it was a damn shame that pretty little Mexican filly hadn’t lived, cause she might have made a human being out of that old bastard.”

  “What else?”

  “Ma said, that if you asked her, the wrong one in that marriage died. She said it seems that the Lord kinda misfired on that, considering what that man, your Pa, did.”

  “What did he do?” Seth asked.

  “That’s all she said, leastways all I can recollect. Oh yeah, Ma started to say something else, then looked at me and my two brothers, and said that it wasn’t for big eared boys to hear, and Pa sent us out to the barn to oat and water the horses.”

  Seth stared at his friend for a moment, and said, “Thanks Hand. I appreciate it.”

  “Why did you want to know?”

  “You know my mother died giving birth to me, and I know hardly anything about her. Dr. Bonillo knows more than I do.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask that jasper about her?”

  “If I run into him again, I certainly will. He seemed to know everything about her. Now, let’s go to our fine, luxurious hotel and get some shut eye.”

  Hand looking past Seth’s shoulder toward the dining room door, said, “Too late, here comes Beamis.”

  The little consular official, looking excited, approached them quickly. “I thought you might be here eating dinner. I’ve got important news. The track is repaired and your train will be leaving at 7:OO a.m. sharp, tomorrow morning. I’ll have a carriage at your hotel at 6:30.”

  37

  THEIR TRAIN WAS CALLED “THE Mexican” and was operated by the Ferrocarrill Mexicano Company. It was the oldest line in the country and the primary artery between Vera Cruz and the Capital. They were only a few minutes out of the port city when the Cobrador of the first class coach paused by Seth’s seat to collect tickets. In Spanish he gratuitously offered the information that apart from the recent mischief at Maltrata, his train fortunately had been spared the attacks and destruction that consistently terrorized the Inter Oceanic, the other main line to the Capital.

  “Why is that?” Seth asked.

  “I don’t know if you observed Senor, but we are preceded by another train filled with our brave federal troops. This precaution, and the fact that our feared Rurales constantly patrol this line, serves to intimidate those accursed rebels.”

  “I hope that will be the case today,” Seth said, with a smile.

  “Oh yes, Senor,” the Cobrador said, rolling his eyes toward heaven. “It will be so, I think.”

  “What happens to the passengers when the rebels capture a train?”

  “They are shot sometimes. Last month the Inter Oceanic was held up and it was not so very nice what those Zapatistas did to the party of wealthy travelers in first class. They stripped all of them of their money, rings and clothes (women as well as men). Those poor souls arrived in the Capital naked as the day they were born.”

  Seth laughed. “Embarrassing , as I am sure it was, wasn’t it still better than being shot?”

  The train was not long out of Vera Cruz when Handsome Otho Comfort yielded to the results of his late night excesses and fell asleep snoring stretched out in the seat across the aisle, his head hanging over the near armrest. From what Seth could learn, his friend, with some of his sailor cronies, had apparently closed the casino early this morning.

  The first class coach was practically empty. Apart from himself and Hand, Maury O’Bannion occupied a seat about five rows behind and was engaged in enthusiastic conversation with a Colonel in the Federal Army whom the Cobrador had, in a whispered confidence, identified as being on the staff of President Huerta. The only other occupants included a middle-aged Spanish woman and her fifteen or sixteen year old female companion. They sat across the aisle in the first row facing the back of the car. The girl had classic Spanish red hair and very pale skin. Her eyes, a startling blue, kept wandering back, when the older woman wasn’t looking, to where Maury was sitting. Seth was sure Maury was acutely aware of her attention.

  The heavy clouds opened up and began to drizzle rain when the train pulled into the resort town of Orizaba in a high fertile mountain valley. From his reading before coming to Mexico, he knew that the town had been the site of Benito Juarez’s unsuccessful conference to curtail foreign economic exploitation and intervention in Mexico. It had also been the base for the French invasion of that country.

  The drizzle enlarged to a downpour as they sat in the little station. Seth’s impulse to get out and stretch his legs was curbed by the thought of getting unnecessarily drenched. He had to be content with watching from the train window a fascinating parade of the local populace along the station platform.

  Most numerous were the Indian women, wretchedly soaked in their skirts and blue rebozos, moving hopefully from car to car holding out their offerings of enchiladas, tortillas and limons to the passengers at the windows. Many had babies strapped on their backs under their shawls, while their men sat huddled and impassive in the drenching rain, their wet blankets pulled over their heads.

  The military presence was evidenced by a squad-sized contingent, none too gently herding fifteen dejected men of ages from fourteen to fifty toward one of the lower class coaches. Silent stricken-faced women watched their husbands, lovers and sons being taken to the train car. There were some tears, but no loud crying. Instead, there was resignation in their manner.

  He looked back at the Federal Colonel sitting with Maury and asked, “Who are those fellows being loaded aboard the train, rebel sympathizers?”

  The Colonel laughed, “Good Lord, no. They are new conscripts being taken to Mexico City for training as soldiers in our glorious army.”

  They sure look overjoyed at the prospect. By the way they were treated, I took them for prison candidates.

  Rain accompanied the train all the way to Maltrata where in the station there were again Indian women going from coach window to coach window selling food. Seth tried to wake Hand to see if he wanted something to eat but all he could get from his friend were a few unintelligible grunts. Seth bought a yellow corn tortilla filled with beans, and found it was surprisingly good.

  On the way again, the rain turned into a fine mist. Their engine had now been replaced by an odd looking arrangement of a two-headed locomotive, apparently to give them added pull over the mountains. It was a laboriously slow climb around the faces of some nasty looking cliffs. Happily, Seth could not determine how far they might fall should the train derail, because the gray mist swathed the train in a wet shroud. Seth thought that if he were a Zapatista commander, wanting to do major damage to the train and its passengers, this would be the place to plant a few sticks of dynamite. Not a cheery thought to entertain.

  As their train pulled through the village of Esperanza without stopping, he observed the troop train that had been preceding them, shunted off on a siding. The Colonel explained for the benefit of the few passengers in the coach that all was safe now and their military escort was no longer needed. There was obvious relief on the faces of the occupants of the car and even Seth was surprised to find himself relaxing not having been aware of his tenseness since leaving Vera Cruz. The fog had evaporated as if chased by the Mexican Colonel’s reassurance and the clouds parted to admit the welcome rays of the late afternoon sun. The motion of the coach and the cheery warmth of the sun caused Seth’s eyelids to become heavy. He glanced over at his Texan friend, still gently snoring across the aisle and at the rest of the coach, noting that everyone except the young girl seemed to be nodding off. Might as well join them, he thought. He pulled the shade on the window, stretched out his legs to the facing seat and rested his head against the window. In an instant he was asleep.

  He had not been sleeping more than fifteen minutes wh
en he opened his eyes abruptly aware that the train had stopped. Could they be in San Andres already? He rose up on one elbow and slid the shade up. There was no town to be seen. Instead he found himself staring in the muzzle of a Mauser rifle held by a grinning rebel draped with crossed bandoleers. He could see some twenty or more others dressed in white shirts and pants and wearing those large high-crowned sombreros. Now they began to shout and point their rifles and pistols at the windows of the train. Some were on horseback riding up and down the length of the train firing their pistols in the air.

  Seth didn’t need to alert his fellow passengers as they were already sitting wide-eyed and fearful. Hand sat up bleary-eyed. At that moment the doors at each end of the coach were banged back and rebels were inside, grinning triumphantly, pointing their weapons at the passengers.

  The Federal Colonel said to Maury, “Zapitistas,”

  38

  IT HAD HAPPENED so QUICKLY that the occupants of the coach were immobilized in wide-eyed disbelief. Hand was the exception. In one smooth motion he rolled from the seat and dropped to the floor between the seats. His hand darted under his jacket toward the handle of the old single action forty-four in the holster on his hip.

  Fortunately, Seth caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and shouted, “No, Hand! Let it go!”

  Hand looked at him in injured protest, his hand still sliding toward the pistol,

  “Too many!” Seth whispered hoarsely.

  The big Texan resumed his seat before being seen by two invaders who had come into the coach behind him. Seth’s yelled warning had momentarily distracted them. Had they seen the Texan crouched between the seats, they might have shot him out of hand. Even as it was, they identified him as a threat and immediately pointed their rifles at him.

  Hand had what was known in Texas cow country as a “shit-eating grin” when he turned to face the two Zapatistas displaying empty hands. He said, “Pardon me, Amigos, fell off my seat. Half asleep, I reckon. Estoy mucho excusado.”

  The two Zapatistas looked at each other in puzzlement then burst into ribald laughter. They lowered their rifles but immediately raised them again when a tall, lean man strode authoritatively in from the front of the coach. He was followed by a youth of not more than sixteen years. The man’s manner as well as the deference paid by the others indicated him to be a leader. He wore a black sombrero banded in silver and a short black vest over a white shirt. His tight fitting trousers of gray with a thin red stripe down the outside legs ended in boots of a polished black. He was armed with a single pistol that remained in its holster. He stood in the middle of the aisle, hands on hips, looking in turn at each passenger in the coach. When his eyes came to rest on Hand, they narrowed and he pointed at the Texan and barked, “Soldados! Ese!”

  Immediately one of the rebels swung his rifle up and pointed its muzzle at Hand’s head.

  The Texan’s eyes widened and he slowly raised his hands. “Now just a darn minute, Amigos”, he said, his voice going squeaky. “Yall be mighty careful with that there rifle. I ain’t about to make no play.”

  The leader stepped quickly up to Hand and motioned him to stand out in the aisle. Hand, with his hands still raised, moved out and stood before him. On command one of the rebels grabbed Hand’s jacket jerking it open to reveal the heavy revolver in its holster. The leader smiled grimly. “Con permiso, Gringo,” he said, removing the weapon. He examined it critically, spun the cylinder to check its load and grunted approvingly. “Para usted, soldado,” he said, handing it to the youth behind him.

  “Gracias, mi Coronel,” the youth accepting Hand’s big weapon with a delighted grin, began waving it about with his finger on the trigger.

  “Hold on there, Boss!” Hand said. “That’s mine!”

  “Take it easy,” Seth said quickly.

  ‘Take it easy nothing, Seth Cane. That shooting iron was given to me when I quit the Rangers. It’s got my name and

  Ranger Company engraved on the barrel. Ain’t nobody about to take it off of me!”

  “For God’s sake, Hand, shut up!.”

  The man the boy had called Colonel whirled toward Seth as if he had seen him for the first time. He stared at Seth’s face, his eyes suspicious and probing. “Cane?” Nodding toward Hand he asked, “This one called you Cane?”

  “He did. That is my name.”

  The Colonel peered at him with a scowl and Seth calmly returned his stare. Shaking his head as if unbelieving, the Zapatista officer walked a few steps up the aisle looking back over his shoulder at Seth. He came back and stood looking down at Seth as if trying to unravel a puzzle. At that moment there were several rifle shots outside of the train. The Colonel’s eyes didn’t waver from Seth’s face.

  “Are you the same as the Seth Cane from the Hacienda Triple Stake en Tejas?”

  “I no longer live there but yes, the same.”

  The Colonel sucked his teeth and nodded. With another noncommittal grunt he turned quickly and walked up the aisle to where Maury and the Federal Colonel sat. The rebel Colonel with a look of contempt at the federal officer, turned on Maury. “I know who this dog is, all too well, but who are you, Gringo? Let me see your papers.”

  Maury hastily pulled out a card wallet from his jacket pocket and in his nervousness fumbled the whole batch of business cards down to the floor. He gave the Colonel an apologetic smile, hastily retrieved one and held it out to him. Glancing at the card, the Colonel threw it on the floor with the other cards. “This tells me nothing. Who are you and what are you doing here in my country?”

  “Sir,” Maury said. “I am an American businessman from Washington, D.C. and…”

  “You mean a Norte Americano businessman, don’t you Gringo?”

  Maury’s smile was ingratiating, “Oh, I see. Yes, we are all Americans, are we not?”

  The Colonel’s cold expression did not change. “Your business? What is your business with this Colonel Morales?”

  “Colonel Morales?” Maury forced a laugh. “No business, I assure you. We only just met. I was merely sitting beside him. No sir, no business.”

  The rebel colonel pointedly looked around the coach at all the empty seats and back at Maury with pretended puzzlement. “This seat is the only one you could find?”

  “No, no. I just wanted someone to talk to on the trip. That’s all.”

  The Colonel studied Maury’s face. “I have not the time, nor the inclination, for a lengthy interrogation to see if you are lying, therefore, I shall simply have to believe that you are lying and that you have business with this man to supply arms to the federal army.” He motioned to the two rebel soldiers, “Take these two out!”

  “That is not true,” Maury said, his voice rising in panic, “I’m not here to deal with this gentleman or the army. I don’t sell arms! I am a lawyer.”

  The Colonel shook his head in irritation, “Lawyer? All the more reason to believe you are lying.”

  “No, wait,” Maury said desperately. Pointing to Seth, “Look, he was my business partner. He knows that I’m not lying. I have no business with the federal army.”

  The Colonel turned and stared at Seth. “Ah, we come to Senor Cane again. So he is your business partner. Are you also supplying arms to Colonel Morales?”

  “No, Colonel. Mr. O’Bannion and I were law partners. No longer. He now represents oil clients and we are here,” he said nodding at Hand, “from the State Department of the United States to resolve claims against the existing Mexican Government arising out of losses due to the recent fighting in Mexico City.”

  A chilling scream erupted from the front of the car. Theyoung red-haired girl was cringing back against the seat trying to fend off one of the rebel soldiers who had a horribly scarred face. He was laughing at the girl’s terror and fondling her right breast. The older woman, apparently her Duenna, suddenly and v
iciously jabbed her finger into the soldier’s eye. With a howl of anguish he let go of the girl’s breast and turned upon the woman, smashing his fist into her mouth. She doubled up in the seat holding her mouth with both hands, blood spurting between her fingers. She began to cry soundlessly.

  Both Seth and Hand were out in the aisle before any rebel could react and moved upon the scar-faced soldier. Seth got there first, grabbed his arm and smashed his right fist into the rebel’s fast closing eye. The Zapatista was knocked backward down into the aisle, but came up quickly, waving a Bowie type knife back and forth, his face contorted with pain and fury. It had one of the longest blades Seth had ever seen.

  The young girl’s unceasing screams did not help the situation. Hand, moving fast for a big man, quickly stepped in front of Seth to meet the knife threatening charge. Suddenly a shot boomed out amplified by the confined nature of the coach.

  Stunned, everyone looked around to see the Colonel striding toward them, his eyes flashing anger, and holding the smoking pistol still pointed at the roof of the car. He then pointed it at Seth and Hand and motioned them away from the rebel soldier with the knife, who stood glaring at the two Americans, his right eye swollen, red and draining fluid.

  The Colonel leaned over the screaming girl and said in a low authoritative tone, “Silencio muchacha!” The girl, shaking and wide-eyed with terror, looked at him and stopped screaming.

  The Colonel stood close to the rebel soldier, who now was holding one hand over his right eye, and spoke in a low soothing voice that seemed to calm the man. He reluctantly put the knife away, still glaring at the two Americanos. The only part of the Colonel’s Spanish that Seth was able to catch was an order not to touch the girl again “unless I give you permission.”

  The young girl also overheard him and started screaming again. The Colonel whirled and silenced her with a look. He then turned on Seth, furious. “Don’t be foolish enough to try that again, Senor Cane, or my men will shoot you and your friend.”