by Lou Cameron
She answered only with a groan as Gaston came in view through the banana stalks, buttoning his pants. Gaston asked why he’d just heard a woman scream. Then he saw what they were doing and asked, “Is that any way to treat a lady, Dick? Move over and let a man do it right if you’re not in the mood, hein?”
Captain Gringo let go of the banana, got to his feet, and put away the gun in his other hand as he told Gaston, “Just trying to calm her nerves. A mess of Rurales just rode by. I think they rode by. But just thinking isn’t good enough when there are Rurales anywhere near you. Screw her or something while I man the Maxim. But don’t let her yell anymore!” He moved back to the mules and finished unlashing the machine gun. He armed it and stepped clear of the mules with the Maxim braced on one hip, trained on the out-of-sight road. He strained his ears for at least a million years and all he heard was a greenfinch tweeting in the tree above him. He flinched when he heard a snapping twig behind him. But it was only Gaston coming to join him, pistol drawn, and observing, “She seems to prefer fruit to older men. I don’t think she’ll scream again. I told her we’d kill her if she did. Shall I go get Concepción?”
The taller American said, “Yeah. Tell her to get dressed, while you’re at it. We’d better move the girls and mules farther back among the bananas. I’ll cover your withdrawal from here with the Maxim.”
“Merci. Mais just what is our line of retreat, Dick? Concepción and I were just enjoying the shade as far south as it extends. This grove is not a vast forest. There’s an open, freshly spaded milpa less than fifty meters off the road.”
“Oh boy! Okay. Just get the fat girl dressed and ready to run. Leave Pilar and these mules with me for now.”
“Tres bien, if I can trust you not to shove a banana up either mule’s derriere. What was that strange business all about, by the way?”
“It was her idea. She seems to be sort of warm-natured. Get going, dammit!”
Gaston chuckled and left. A few moments later Pilar got up, smoothed her skirts sedately, and came over to join him, asking if they were going to die. He said, “It’s a little early in the morning for that, as well. Those Rurales were in too much of a hurry to beat the bushes as they rode. So it wasn’t a simple fishing expedition. They were on their way to some known address.”
“Oh, God, do you think they know about our hideout back there?”
“Take it easy, querida. They won’t find us there now. What is there for them to find if someone did turn you and Concepción in to the law? You didn’t leave anything of value at the old house, did you?”
She shook her head and said, “No. Santa Maria and her candles are in my sleeping roll on Eduardo there.”
“Your silver, too?”
She hesitated and said, “Si, a little. You and Gaston are the main contraband, this trip.”
“I’ll bet. But that’s your own business. My point is that there’s nothing the Rurales can use against us, even if that’s where they’re headed. Gaston and I kept our Anglo clothes and we certainly didn’t leave any note for the milkman. I asked you before if there was a telegraph line out of that village, Pilar.”
She nodded, giggled, and said, “Si. If I had been able to answer at the moment I would have told you, then, there is one. It runs northeast along another road, to Mexico City. For why do you ask?”
He shrugged and said, “You’re right. It was a dumb question. It’s obvious someone wired the government about some damned body. It might or might not have been about us. Then Mexico City wired a Rurale post closer to us to check something out. How come you never told me that road we took leads to a Rurale post, Pilar?”
She shuddered and replied, “I never knew it did, before. The road out of town is not the one we will be following all the way. It is only the easiest route to the hills. Once we start climbing, we take less-imposing old Indian trails, forking south off the main road running east and west, see?”
”I do now. Those Rurales must be stationed on the far side of the Sierra Madres. They rode all night along the main line if they got this far by this morning. The only question left reads two ways. They could have ridden in such imposing numbers because crossing the Sierra makes them nervous, even via the main roads, or because they’re after someone on this side of the passes that makes them nervous too.”
Pilar nodded soberly and said, “Everyone who has ever heard of Captain Gringo has heard about him chopping up Los Rurales, more than once, with that machine gun!”
He smiled thinly and said, “Not this particular machine gun. But yeah, I’d stay the hell away from me and mine if I was a Rurale, too.”
Gaston and Concepción joined them. Captain Gringo left the ammo belt in the Maxim’s feed, but grunted it back aboard the mule and started lashing it in place on the packsaddle as he told Gaston, “I think we’re okay for now. But we’d better not stay here after all. It’ll only take those bastards a few minutes to ride into town. If we’re what they came to look for, it’ll only be a few more minutes before they start back, trying to cut our trail. I don’t know how you feel, but I don’t want ’em doing that.”
Gaston nodded soberly and stared down at the ground, saying, “Eh bien, neither we nor the mules have made any tracks in this adorable green turf. But we did leave a dusty road a few minutes ago, hein?”
Captain Gringo took the lead mule’s halter line in hand and said, “Right. Follow me with the kicker. We’re going to have to do something about that.”
They led the mules back to the road. There, they told the girls to stay put as they led the two mules out to the center of the road, where the dust was a confusion of hoofprints going both ways. Then, walking backward, they backed the mules into the bananas again. Captain Gringo studied the road shoulder for a moment and skid, “Okay, it reads that two mules went into the grove for some reason and four came out. How would you put that together, Gaston?”
Gaston shrugged and suggested, “Two mules coming out from town met two more under the bananas and they all went off somewhere together?”
“Yeah, neither we nor the girls left much in the way of human footprints in the sunbaked surface, and it gets even better when you consider there’s no real difference between the shoes of a mule or a horse. If they think they’re talking about four riders, it gets even harder to read. Let’s cut across to that newly turned dirt and see if we can add some more artistic touches.”
He led them all through the bananas to where, sure enough, he found himself facing a modest acre or so of freshly dug red dirt. The far side was enclosed by uncultivated lowland second growth. Mostly weed trees, with stubby young palmetto dominating. He looked east and west as he took a coil of rope from their packsaddle. Both ends of the milpa were hedged in as well with tangled spinach. He thought, then told Gaston, “Take the girls east along the tree line and work south into that palmetto and sea grape. I’d dig in at the southeast corner if I were you.”
“Gladly. But what are you planning to do, mon general?”
“Hopefully, I’m going to account for the riders those first two riders met in this banana grove. Get going, dammit.”
Gaston said, “Come avec moi, mes cheries. Dick wants to play by himself this morning.”
As Gaston led the two girls away, Captain Gringo tied the lead of the biter to the tail of the kicker. Then he tied the end of the long rope to the tail of Roberto. He let the rope uncoil as it dragged while he held the kicker’s halter and led them normally down the tree line to the west a ways. Then he let them go, picked up the slack rope near them, and let it run through his hands as he worked around the northwest corner of the milpa, walking backward to make sure he was leaving no heel marks in the grassy edge. He got to the far corner and moved east along the far side of the field the same way. The mules across the way were eating grass now as he dragged the long rope sideways across the bare clods, raising some dust but not leaving any sign anyone could read as anything more than breeze across the dusty soil. When he decided he’d positioned hims
elf about right, he proceeded to haul the rope in hand over hand.
The mules didn’t like it much. They both struggled and bounced around a bit as they were forced to cross the open milpa backward. The kicker tried to kick the biter’s face off and was rewarded for his efforts with a good bite on the rump. So by the time Captain Gringo had them reeled in under the trees on the other side, they’d both steadied down, although they both rolled their eyes at him as if they thought he was loco en la cabeza while he untied them and got them moving the right way along the far tree line toward Gaston and the girls.
When he joined them at the southeast corner of the open field of fire, Gaston said, “Eh bien, I always knew you had artistique tendencies, Dick. Even from here, one can see how two riders crossed from the south-southwest, breaking into a trés happy lope as they saw their other mounted friends waiting for them among the bananas, hein?”
Pilar was too smart to ask dumb questions. But fat Concepción said, “I do not understand. There was nobody riding across the milpa just now. Deek dragged two pack animals across it backwards, no?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he led the mules deeper into the tangle and unlimbered the machine gun again. So Gaston explained, “Mais non, you are mistaken, ma petite. When one leads pack animals, one generally leads them forward, walking beside them. So obviously, since there are no human footprints, and since unled animals seldom walk so strangely, two mounted people rode across the field this morning. Do not burden your mind with further thought on the moment, cherie. I admire you for your body rather than your brains, hein?”
Captain Gringo rejoined them with a Winchester for Gaston and the Maxim and an extra ammo belt for himself. As he set up a hasty albeit well camouflaged machine-gun nest, Pilar asked if she and Concepción should get their own saddle guns. He said, “No. If we can’t stop ’em with a Maxim and a Winchester, forget it. I don’t want you girls pointing guns at anything until I see how well you shoot. We’ll enjoy some target practice as well as some sex a little farther from town. Right now, just keep your fannies down and your pretty yaps shut.”
Pilar said, “I am frightened, Deek!”
He said, “Welcome to the club. Better yet, I just changed the plans. Gaston, take them both back into the bushes a ways. Screaming dames make me nervous when Los Rurales are in my neck of the woods!”
Gaston said, “True. But won’t you need me and this rifle if your droll ruse fails to work?”
“I’ll need you and a whole infantry platoon if this machine gun jams on me. But move the dames and mules out of earshot anyway. Do it now. If they’re coming at all, it’ll be fairly soon. We’re only a few minutes out of town, dammit!”
Gaston rose, gathered the girls and other livestock, and led them away, leaving Captain Gringo alone and feeling mighty lonely. He looked at the sky, figured it had been at least three-quarters of an hour since the Rurales had passed the first time, and checked the head spacing of his Maxim. It was set the same way he’d adjusted it. So that was that, and what else could he do to pass some time, goddammit?
It was hot and sticky, even in the shade, and something itchy was crawling up his leg now, under his pants. He didn’t swat it. Old tropic hands never swatted anything crawling over them until they made sure it wasn’t a scorpion or worse. It felt like an ant. He sure hoped it was an ant.
There was nothing he could do about it right now. To keep from getting stung, bitten, or just squishy, he’d have to slowly stand up and gently shake his pants leg. A man couldn’t do that while manning a machine gun on his belly. So the hell with it.
The Ice Age came and went. Man discovered the wheel and was about to lay the foundations of Rome by the time the creepy-crawly had made it up to his crotch and was tickling hell out of his sweaty balls. He’d just about decided that Los Rurales were through scaring him for the day and that suddenly dropping his pants would surprise whatever was in there with him before it could seriously damage his genitals, when, without warning, a mounted Rurale rode out into the milpa, wheeled his horse, and called out, “Hey, sergeant! There are more hoofprints over here!”
Captain Gringo forgot the whatever crawling around in his pants as a dozen more riders joined the first in his machine-gun sights. He felt his trigger finger itch worse than his balls and told it to behave itself. It wasn’t a good idea to open fire on Rurales when at least half the bastards were still under cover!
The NCO who’d responded to the first rider’s announcement reined in and looked down at the mule prints. The riders were spread out enough so that he had to raise his voice to be heard by everyone, including the Yank training a Maxim on him, as he decided, “Bueno. I get the picture now. Two riders coming from town rode into the bananas to meet whoever these two were. Ah hah! See how they moved out of town through the brush over that way? Look, right there is where they spotted their friends ahead, reined in, then loped to meet them.”
Another Rurale, who’d ridden farther back along the mule tracks, called out, “Shall we backtrack them through the palmetto, sergeant?”
The NCO shook his sombreroed head and called back, “For why? We don’t wish for to find out where they came from. We wish to know where the motherfuckers went!”
A Rurale sitting his horse closer to Captain Gringo seemed to be looking right at him as he pointed east and said, “If they took the road east we can head them off by cutting through the second growth that way, sergeant!”
But the NCO, bless him, shouted, “Don’t be an asshole. Roads were made for to keep a rider from tearing the hide off his horse as well as his knees. That’s saw palmetto and sea grape you’re so anxious to ride through, muchacho. Besides, we don’t know which way they went after meeting in the banana grove. So let us think before we dash madly after who knows what, eh? To begin with, there is nothing here to say these hoofprints were left by Captain Gringo and that little Legion deserter. Lots of people ride horses, they tell me, and they also told me the two soldiers of fortune and those whores left town leading two mules, not four horses!”
Another Rurale nodded, but said, “Just the same, sergeant, someone rode most secretively through here. Don’t you think the captain would want us to check them out, too?”
“Madre de Dios, do we have time to search for every sneaky person in Mexico! We are after big game, muchachos! I do not read the sign here as anything but simply skullduggery. Obviously four riders wished for to meet in those bananas secretly. Their reasons could have been most banal.” Another rider broke cover to call out, “Hey, sergeant, over here. Rosario just found a sign under a banana. He said to tell you it looks like someone was fucking a woman who moved her big ass a lot. The guy scraped the sod bare with his toes, too.”
The NCO threw back his head and laughed. Then he said, “What did I tell you, muchachos? I see it all, now. A couple of naughty boys met a couple of naughty girls out here for to play slap and tickle where neither the padre nor their families were liable to notice. By now they are all back in the village, trying to look innocent about the grass stains on their clothing, no?”
The other Rurales thought it was pretty funny and even Captain Gringo had to grin as he pictured it their way, which was close enough, when one thought about it.
The NCO said, “Bueno. Let us be on our way, then. We still have to catch up with that goddamned Captain Gringo, wherever he’s gone.”
As they all started walking their mounts back toward the banana grove, one asked their NCO if he wanted to check out the Red Cross column they’d met a while back again. They were almost out of earshot now, but Captain Gringo was relieved to hear the loud-mouthed NCO observe, “It’s a waste of time and we were told to stay away from those busy bodies in any case. Our informants in town say Captain Gringo tried to join the Red Cross people and was turned down. We are looking for two men and two women, afoot and leading mules. So, dammit, let’s go find them!”
Captain Gringo didn’t move a muscle as the Mexican lawmen moved out of sight and the creepy-
crawly inside his pants started moving down the other leg, God bless it. He deliberately waited a good five minutes. Then he made himself wait another five before he decided they’d really left. To keep his hands busy while he lay doggo, he checked the action of his Maxim again. You could never do that too often, and there were times when you couldn’t. The head spacing, feed mechanism, and firing pin were just as sound as they’d been the last time he’d looked. He tried to think of anything he hadn’t already checked that morning. He’d checked everything but the bore, which was silly, since he’d cleaned the gun more than once along the way and hadn’t gotten to fire it once. But what the hell. He removed the belt, leaving it close at hand in the grass just in case, and ejected the round in the chamber. He put his thumb in to reflect some light down the barrel. There wasn’t any.
He frowned and moved back into the palmetto, dragging the Maxim and both belts after him. Then he rose to his knees, stood the Maxim on its breech, and looked down the muzzle. Then he started to swear a lot.
He took out his pocketknife, cut a handy sea-grape whip, and peeled it before ramming it down the barrel. He had to ram pretty good before he’d driven the long plug of clay out the far side!
He inverted the open breech to spill the now busted-up hard clay. Then he used his improvised ramrod to scrub the last of it out of the lands, or at least clean the barrel enough so he could fire without blowing his own head off!
He picked up the gun and its belts and went to find Gaston, the girls, and the mules. Gaston noted the grim look on his face and asked if he’d seen a ghost he knew personally, or just a strange one.
Captain Gringo said, “Both,” as he lashed the gun to the packsaddle again and added, “The Rurales had a hasty peek and fell for our ruse. Someone tipped them off that we’re back in Mexico. Someone else stuffed the barrel of this Maxim full of adobe. It’s a good thing I didn’t find that out the hard way! I think we’re in trouble, Gaston.”