‘Bit of trouble with the soldiers?’
El Capitan grinned. ‘You say that again. Something about a bank and a military payroll. Is the right word "Payroll"? Good. A few men fall off horses and bullets hit them. So they say that El Capitan is dead, but you see he is not. But he will not go home for a few months. Stay here and make gold from Yankees. Is good idea?’
‘Is not bad idea, but what about us?’
The bandit slapped him so hard on the back that Herne nearly toppled from the saddle. But he had a shrewd idea that once he fell he might not get up again, so he fought to maintain his balance.
‘We have had no time to talk, gringo. Not you or the beautiful Señorita here.’
‘I am a Señora,’ said Emmie-Lou, sitting her mare just behind Herne. ‘And when my husband hears about what you have...’
‘No,’ said Herne, desperately.
Still smiling, El Capitan reached across and slapped him on the face, his leather glove cutting Jed’s lip.
‘You keep not talking, eh? I hear the lady. So young and lovely and married. And her husband will make us sorry. Who is your husband, lady?’
She looked at Jed, who sat very still, knowing the eyes of the bandits were on him, not daring to make any kind of move to warn her not to tell them. Plenty of times bands of killers like this might take prisoners. Sometimes they killed them straight off. Sometimes, if they were important enough, they would keep them for ransom. Most times they would let them go. Jed had guessed that the main reason they had been stopped was for the woman. And if it hadn’t been for the closeness of the ranch they would have gunned him down. Having let him live this long he reckoned there was a better than average chance. Just as long as he didn’t cross them up. Bandits like these were as dangerous as explosive, needing only one small spark to set them off into disastrous action.
‘I ask you again, lady. Who is your man that you think he can hurt us?’
‘His name is... is Elisha Parsons.’
‘I see. Compadres, this is the Señora Parsons. Many is the time we have enjoyed the hospitality of Señor Parsons. Though his heart is light, his arm is heavy.’
‘Juan by the house last summer.’
‘Jesus in the open near the new wire fence.’
‘Maria Garcia in the arroyo.’
‘And Manuel down by the Mission of San Miguel.’
As his men spoke, El Capitan ticked them off on his stubby fingers, the golden rings glistening in the dying beams of the sun.
‘That is four. Four of my friends, all killed by the good Señor Parsons in the last year.’
‘But you’re thieves. Rustlers. Bandits.’
‘Si. All of those. And now you can add that we are also become…what is the word for a stealer of people?’
Herne spoke. ‘Kidnappers. That’s what you are.’
The Mexican laughed. ‘I like you. You know that, gringo. El Capitan likes you.’
Herne grinned back. Then perhaps El Capitan will show his friendship by untying my hands. It is not easy to sit a horse in this way.’
‘Hey, I am not that friendly, gringo. Maybe I help you with rope round your neck and the other end tied to the saddle. It help you?’
‘It would, but I’ll maybe stay as I am.’
‘That is good. Soon we camp for a few days. And maybe we send a message to Señor Parsons about his so lovely little wife. Maybe you write it for me, gringo. If you write?’
‘I write. Not good, but I write.’
El Capitan slapped him again on the shoulder. ‘You and me get friends very well. Hey, and I don’t know even your name, you know that. What do they call you?’
‘They call me a lot of things, but my name’s Jedediah Herne.’
The bandit crossed himself, and Jed heard his name repeated by the others. Suddenly the atmosphere had changed. Become more tense and unfriendly. Guns were again lifted from holsters.
‘Madre de Dios! So you are the one called Herne the Hunter!’
‘Yeah. You heard of me like I’ve heard of you?’
‘We hear that some ‘Paches take this Señora. Old One Eye and his amigos.’
‘He was hired by my husband to bring me back. He did it on his own and killed One Eye and half of his men. If you don’t let me go, then he will kill you all.’
Herne sniffed. ‘Lady, you aren’t helpin’ one little bit.’
The Mexican translated her words to his followers, most of whom seemed only to have a smattering of English. The bandits all bellowed their laughter, and one of them called out to Herne: ‘Hey, gringo! How you kill us? You bite us all to death or make a bad smell and we run away?’
El Capitan checked the laughter by holding up his Winchester, looking round at the other bandits. ‘Is enough. What Señora Parsons says. Is true?’
Herne nodded. ‘Is true.’
‘I have heard of Herne the Hunter. Even below the Rio Grande the word has gone of a man with a fast gun who kills for money. Señor Parsons pay you well?’
‘Enough.’
‘How much?’
Emmie-Lou interrupted again. ‘My husband thinks that I am worth two and one half thousand dollars in gold to get me back.’
‘Mrs. Parsons!’ said Herne in despair. ‘Why the Hell don’t you keep your mouth shut? The less you say the better things might be.’
The barrel of the rifle was suddenly jammed under his nose, and he looked incuriously over it into the red-rimmed eyes of the Mexican. ‘Señor Herne, I would not wish to kill such a man. But you will die if you talk in such a way again.’
The sun was sinking fast over the scarred land to the west, glowing crimson, surrounded by a crown of scarlet clouds. Herne looked away from the Mexican, trying to keep calm. Knowing only too well that his life hung by the slenderest of threads. Trying to think how he could keep that thread unbroken.
‘Señora, if your husband will pay that to Señor Herne the Hunter, then perhaps he will pay more to such a poor man as myself.’
‘Yes. I think he would.’
Herne shook his head, but kept his mouth closed. The girl’s thoughts were so clear to him that he could almost see them written large across her forehead. Like divine intervention, she reckoned that El Capitan and his men might prove to be the way out of her dilemma. As long as she wasn’t actually in the house with Lishe, then there was still hope. The only thing that Jed couldn’t quite understand was how she intended to stay free.
‘El Capitan?’
‘What is it my most lovely Señora Parsons?’ The bandit swept the crumpled hat from his greasy head and made a low bow with it.
‘You may call me Emmie-Lou, if you wish.’
Light dawned on Herne. So that was the way she hoped to win through. Ally herself with the Mexicans against her own husband. From what he knew of El Capitan’s reputation with women, he would probably go along with her plans.
For just as long as they suited him.
It wasn’t any surprise for Jed to see that the girl rode the last way towards the night camp alongside the leader of the killers, their heads close together. Nor that he laughed a great deal. Nor that his hand strayed with increasing regularity to rest on her arm or across her shoulders.
For Herne the trip was painful, but he’d known worse. The Mexicans had taken the Sharps from its bucket and the Colt from the holster. But they hadn’t bothered to search him properly and the bayonet was still snug inside his boot.
El Capitan must have taken lessons from the Mescalero chief. The canyon where they set up their base was wide enough at its far end for comfort, and so narrow at its opening that it was a tight squeeze for a single horseman.
The Mexicans dismounted and set about readying a meal for the night. Herne was impressed with their speed and efficiency, and he saw why El Capitan had the name he did for being a man to be feared and respected. They helped Jed from his horse and tied him to a tree at the edge of a pool almost identical with that in West Wind Canyon. His hands were roped together, and then
pulled up tight to a loop around his neck. His feet were also tied with rawhide thongs, and a further cord ran around his throat, knotted tightly at the back of the tree, out of reach of his fingers. It was a good professional job and Herne didn’t bother too much to test the ropes. He knew how good they were.
The girl sat by the fire with El Capitan, and every now and again she giggled, and twice laid her hand on the bandit’s arm in a gesture that was as coquettish as it was simple. Herne watched it all and said nothing. There was nothing that he could say.
Food was cooked over a number of small fires, and El Capitan ordered one of his men to take some and feed their captive, and give him water to drink. The food was tacos and burritos. Hot and spicy pancakes filled with meat and vegetables. The water was welcome.
‘Thank you, El Capitan,’ called Herne after the man feeding him had gone. ‘That is the sort of friendship that I truly value from a man like you.’
The Mexican said something to Emmie-Lou and stood up, belching loudly, waving a casual hand to acknowledge the laughter and cheers of his men. Picked up a light brown earthenware jug from near the fire and a couple of mugs and walked over to squat on his haunches alongside the bound man. Wheezing with the effort.
‘I am getting too old for this game, Señor Herne. You also are young not anymore.’
‘Guess we’re about of an age.’
‘But you are so much…what is the word for not fat?’
‘Skinny?’
El Capitan laughed. ‘Skinny. Si, that is it. Why are you so much skinny than me?’
Herne laughed. ‘Guess it’s maybe because I done a little more runnin’ than you.’
The smile vanished from the Mexican’s face, replaced with a leer of animal cunning. ‘You not do much running from the camp of El Capitan, do you, Señor Herne?’
‘Not less’n I take this here tree with me.’
‘Is good, mi amigo. Is very good. Listen, you and I must talk. We are... you want a little pulque?’
Herne nodded and the bandit poured out a tumbler of the oily white liquid, holding it to his captive’s lips and watching him as he drank. The fiery liquor burned at Herne’s throat, but he concealed any emotion, aware of the eyes staring at him.
‘Is good. Now El Capitan drinks, and then you and I will have a small talk.’
He gurgled away at the pulque, letting it run over his thick red lips, and dribble through the stubble of his beard. Only when he had drained it did he wipe his hand across his mouth and smile once more at Herne. It was an unsettling sort of smile. Jed Herne had known a lot of killers. Some of them — the successful ones — cold self-possessed men. But there had been others. Those who killed simply because they enjoyed it. Or because they couldn’t help it. Many of the latter had smiled like El Capitan did. With a smile that could vanish from the face with the speed of a flash-flood.
‘Now, we talk. Men like you and me, Señor Herne, are as rare as water in the desert. Is not true?’
‘It’s true.’
‘You been paid by old Parsons, that stinkin’ son of a bitch rotten bastard! To get the woman back.’
‘I’ve only been paid some front money. When I take her back there’s more to come.’
The Mexican shook his head. ‘I hear you say "when" you take her back. I think that maybe you don’t mean that no more. What do you think?’
‘I think maybe you’re right.’
‘Hey, that’s good, amigo!’ El Capitan slapped him hard across the shoulder, knocking him sideways, the tension of the ropes nearly strangling him. ‘I guess you know the truth about this Señora?’
‘Yeah. She hates her old man. But I got a contract out on her, so I aim... aimed... to take her home.’
‘I tell you what I do, Herne. I goin’ to get lots of dollars from that short-fisted bastard.’
Tight-fisted bastard.’
‘What?’
‘Tight-fisted. That’s the word. Not short-fisted. But I know what you mean.’
‘Fine. Hey! Diego! Bring us some more pulque, and make the lady have plenty drink too.’ He winked at Herne. ‘I think that maybe that lady, she can be…you know.’
His gesture with the index finger of the right hand and the palm of the left hand made it very clear what he meant. The wink and the nudge were hardly necessary.
‘Maybe her husband won’t like it if the merchandise gets damaged.’
‘Maybe, Señor Herne. But I not damage her too much. Just a little here and there. But most of all a little there!’ Again, the gesture was very explicit.
One of the Mexicans came reeling across, his thin shadow stretched out by the flickering light of the fires. Beyond him, Herne was able to see that Mrs. Parsons was being given pulque, and was not resisting it in any way, giggling at the bandits, sitting sprawled back against one of the trees, her skirt already riding high over her boots, showing a stretch of pale skin well above the knee, and he wondered what the rest of the night would bring for Emmie-Lou.
‘I tell you what I do, Señor Herne, and you tell me if I think you have a good plan.’ He looked puzzled for a moment. ‘I think that’s not what I mean. I think I mean…’
Herne grinned, feeling the heat of the pulque driving through him. He hoped that the Mexican wouldn’t give him any more of the lethal liquor.
‘I know what you mean, El Capitan. You mean that you have a lot of fun tonight. Tomorrow Lishe Parsons gets a message that his young wife has met with an accident and won’t be there until he pays up. Am I right?’
The bandit smiled at him, his head lop-sided on his squat shoulders. ‘Too right, mi compadre. Mi wonderful amigo, Señor Herne. And he pay us and she go home to his…’ he let his wrist dangle in a gesture of impotence. ‘To that, amigo. A shame for such a woman. But there is no fairness in life. Is not true? Eh, is not very, very true?’
‘Nothing’s fair,’ said Herne. ‘Like a friend of mine used to reckon. Why should the churches be wide open and empty, when the prisons are locked up tight and full of folks?’
El Capitan looked at him in bewilderment for a moment, until the truth seeped through the fumes of pulque. Then he began to laugh and laugh.
He was still laughing when he stood up and walked back to the fire. Where Emmie-Lou waited giggling for him.
Chapter Eleven
They put on shows like that at some of the more expensive cathouses in plenty of cities all the way from Washington to Tijuana. Jed Herne had always been a player of that sort of game rather than a spectator, but right now he didn’t have a lot of choice.
He figured that it had been Emmie-Lou taking a little petty revenge on him for his honoring the contract. She was the one who led the way to the patch of ground, away from the main group of bandits, directly in front of Herne, pulling El Capitan along by the hand. Guiding him, though he was so drunk that he could hardly walk. Emmie-Lou was much the worse for alcohol, and she kept tripping over tree roots, and sniggering to herself.
Pausing to bend over the bound Herne and tweak him hard on the cheek. ‘Now you really see something, old man. Maybe show you what you given up on. Least this Mex knows what he’s goin’ to get.’
‘You sure about what you’re doin’?’
‘Mister Herne wants to know if I know what I…if I think I know what I’m doing.’
El Capitan paused in the act of tugging off his white cotton trousers to stagger about laughing. ‘I know what I am up to, and you know soon what will be up you.’
Herne glanced across the clearing at the Mexican’s body, and he grinned ruefully. ‘Don’t know about anything else, Mrs. Parsons, but he’s taken so much pulque on board that I doubt he could even raise an anchor, never mind nothin’ else.’
She looked round, and then bent down to kneel by him, and he saw the veil of alcohol lift for a moment, revealing the frightened girl beneath.
‘You’re so damned upright and proper, aren’t you, Herne? Well he might not be up to much in terms of what the wives of Magdalena might find r
ight and acceptable. But he’s going to be the way that I ride on free away from Lishe.’
‘He tell you that?’
‘Surely did. He’s going to get the money from miserable old Lishe, and then he says I can go. In return I let him do what he wants.’
Jed closed his eyes. ‘You go right ahead, Emmie-Lou. I know there’s not a thing I can do or say that’ll change your mind, and I’m not even goin’ to try.’
‘You’re just jealous of me.’
‘Come on, pretty Señora. El Capitan does not like to be kept waiting.’
‘Coming.’ To Herne: ‘I want you to watch and see what happens and eat your heart out. Think that it could be you. Not just for one night but for a whole lot more.’
Glancing across her shoulder at the waiting Mexican she deliberately touched Jed, stroking his body and pursing her lips as if she was going to kiss him. Instead she spat at him, and laughed.
‘There. Not so big and powerful now, are you, Jedediah? Still taking me back?’
‘Hurry up my little eagle. Part of me is losing cold for you.’
Emmie-Lou tugged open her blouse so that Jed could see the peaked cones of her breasts, fire-tipped in the red glow. She watched his eyes, still touching him with her left hand, low down in the shadows where the Mexicans couldn’t see. Grinning at him as she felt his response. Deliberately poking out her tongue and running its red tip across the gleaming white teeth.
‘You’d just love to be him, wouldn’t you? To be lying on the ground between my legs? Ramming that up inside me like a stallion with a brood mare?’
There was no point in denying it, as his body betrayed the lie, so Herne said nothing. Which infuriated the girl more than words would have.
‘Well you won’t have the pleasure! Not ever!’
She stood up, legs astride, glaring down at him. Then deliberately raised her foot in the heavy riding boot and brought it down on his groin, grinding the heel into his erect manhood.
Jed passed out, unaware that he had screamed, high and thin like a steer at the gelding. When he came round he was still bound, and his shirt and trousers were covered in his own vomit. The pain in his genitals was agonizing, but bearable. He’d known worse, and there was the consolation that it could only get better from now on.
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