by J. T. Edson
‘Who’s there?’ Peraro snapped, taking the precaution of standing to the side and not directly in front of the door while speaking.
‘It’s only me, patron,’ replied the croaking and unmistakable voice of Bernardo. ‘I’ve got something to tell you!’
‘Can’t it wait until morning?’ Peraro demanded.
‘It’s pretty important,’ was the reply.
‘Oh, very well then!’ the bandido chief growled. Opening the door, but not offering to invite his visitor into the main bedroom of the luxuriously furnished suite of living quarters he maintained on the second floor of Bernardo’s Cantina and where his kidnap victims were also housed, he went on coldly, ‘What is it?’
‘I know what you said down in the bar-room to Cabrito, patron,’ answered the nominal owner of the establishment, waving a hand in the direction of the floor below. ‘But I figured you didn’t really want him to get away with killing young Montalban and Cousin Alfredo, so I sent Cousin Gomez after him.’
‘You did what? Peraro inquired, but with more curiosity than anger in his voice despite suspecting Bernardo had been more interested in avenging the death of Alfredo Acusar than that of Sebastian Montalban.
‘I sent Cousin Gomez after him,’ the little man repeated, reading the emotions of his leader correctly and not in the least put out by the conversation being carried out with the revolver still in the other’s hand. ‘Him being part Yaqui, I reckoned he was the best man to do it.’
‘He would be,’ Peraro conceded, but he clearly had reservations on the matter.
‘It’s all right, patron,’ Bernardo said reassuringly, guessing correctly what was causing the suggestion of doubt in the tone of his leader. ‘I told Cousin Pepe to go to the stable and keep watch over Diablo Joven while he was away.’
‘Bueno,’ Peraro praised, satisfied that the precaution he always took of having a reliable and trustworthy man stand guard over his highly prized black stallion, “Young Devil”, had not been neglected in the desire for vengeance against the Ysabel Kid. ‘Did Gomez get him?’
‘No, patron. There were two other hombres with the same idea.’
‘Two more?’
‘Two, patron.’
‘Well I’m damned!’ Peraro ejaculated. ‘I didn’t think those three young fools had even one friend in Escopeta outside of each other. Or was it Tomas and another of your kin who’d gone after him without telling you?’
‘No, patron, Bernardo replied, ‘none of them would dare.’
‘Then who the “something” was it?’ the bandido chief growled, patience never having been one of his virtues.
‘Delgado and Obtener,’ the little man replied, possessing a remarkable memory when it came to the names and activities of the other members of the gang. ‘It looks like Obispo and Culebra both had the same idea, those two being tied in with them. Cousin Gomez was heading for the secret crossing when he heard plenty of shooting ahead. So, as one of the Winchesters that were being used was the last to fire, he went on slower and met them coming back.’
‘So they’d got Cabrito?’ Peraro suggested, but in a tone which implied more doubt than hope.
‘No, patron,’ Bernardo replied, with less sorrow than would have been the case had he been unaware of the state of affairs between the various factions of the gang. ‘It was more the other way around. They were both hanging over their saddles, shot dead.’
‘I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,’ the bandido chief confessed frankly and viciously. ‘It will save me having to have them shot. What about Cabrito?’
‘Cousin Gomez knew there wouldn’t be any chance of getting to him now he was ready for it,’ the little man answered, sounding as if he thoroughly endorsed the conclusion—which he did—and holding out a folded sheet of paper. ‘This was tucked in the hat band of the hombre Obispo sent.’
‘Turn up the lamp and fetch it here for me, Florencia,’ Peraro called over his shoulder. After the girl had done so, without troubling to cover her nakedness or trying to keep out of sight of the caller, he took and read the message. It was printed in English, by a hand which only very rarely found the need to do any writing. Having finished, he asked, ‘Do either you or Gomez know what this says?’
‘No, patron,’ Bernardo replied, tearing his gaze with reluctance from studying the voluptuous curvaceous and naked body of the young woman. ‘I can only read Spanish and Cousin Gomez never learned how to read at all. May I ask what it says?’
‘Of course,’ the bandido chief assented, showing no resentment over his mistress having been subjected to such a lascivious scrutiny and having no reason to doubt the explanation given by the nominal owner of the cantina. Being pleased with the general content of the message, he was only too willing to continue, ‘It says, “Dear Don Ramon, I know you are a man of honor and did not send the two men I had to kill after me. So I will be—,” I believe the word is, ‘obliged’—“if you will tell Obispo and Culebra I know who did send them and, should anybody else be sent, I will come to Escopeta and thank them personally. I don’t think they will enjoy me having to do this.” It is signed, “Loncey Dalton Ysabel”.’ 20
‘Who?’ Bernardo inquired, looking like a puzzled particularly evil gnome.
‘That’s Cabrito’s real name,’ Peraro explained, his manner far less inhospitable than at the start of the conversation in spite of still refraining from allowing the bearer of the message to enter the bedroom. ‘Have you forgotten he was the son of Big Sam Ysabel?’
‘I had for a minute,’ the little man admitted, most of his attention being directed at Florencia who was still making no attempt to move beyond his range of vision. Being aware of the state of affairs which existed between his leader, Jesus “Obispo” Sanchez and Edmundo “Culebra” Perez, he went on, ‘It’s a pity in one way Cousin Gomez didn’t keep after him, except that I wouldn’t want to lose him.’
‘Or me,’ the bandido chief admitted, being aware of the loyalty shown by the man in question.
‘Hey though!’ Bernardo ejaculated, struck by a remembrance. ‘Did you send Matteo Cantrell and five of the boys after Cabrito, patron?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I saw them riding out as I was coming up here.’
‘God! Is that the time?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, patron.’
‘They aren’t going after Cabrito,’ Peraro explained. ‘I’ve sent them to collect that gringo girl I told you to have the guest room made ready for.’
‘Oh, yes, now I remember,’ the little man said, nodding as comprehension dawned. ‘I hope they don’t run across him then, or he might think that you’ve sent them after him.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Peraro stated, in a manner which indicated he considered the subject did not warrant further discussion. ‘And, if I know him, he’ll hear them coming soon enough to keep well out of their way.’
‘What are you going to do about Obispo and Culebra going against your orders that way, patron?’ Bernardo wanted to know, having two cousins who he believed would be more satisfactory sub-leaders from his point of view if the errant pair were to be despised. He also found the sight of the naked girl far too enjoyable to want the conversation brought to an end, so he continued, ‘They’re both getting too damned big for their boots and that could be dangerous.’
‘I’ll see to them when the time comes,’ the bandido chief promised. He had reached a similar conclusion with regards to the way in which the two men had gone against his orders but he concluded that the matter must be held in abeyance until after the next kidnapping had been carried out. There was, he told himself silently as he started to close the door, a chance that the situation could be rectified and in a manner which would not alienate the adherents of either Obispo or Culebra if everything went as planned. Nodding to the little man, he finished, ‘But it isn’t time yet, old friend. Right now, though, I’m sure Pepita will be waiting for you. My thanks for bringing’ me the news and message from Cabrito. Goodnig
ht.’
‘Land’s sakes, Mavis-gal!’ Hettie Bonaparte declared, watching the young woman climb out of the fringed topped Surrey in which they had ridden from the town of Wet Slim to a small clearing some five miles east along the Rio Grande. ‘If you ain’t the “keep fittingest” thing I ever did see!’
‘Taking some exercise each day wouldn’t do you any harm, Aunt Hettie,’ replied Mavis Dearington with a smile, her accent indicating she was well educated and came from New England. 21 Looking around at the massive, gray haired and somberly attired black woman who had been her nurse and companion from the day she was born, she went on in a tone redolent of much respect and genuine affection, ‘It would take off some of your weight if you did.’
Tall, slender and willowy, without being flat chested or anyway boyish in appearance and deportment, the speaker was a girl of twenty. She had long red hair, bound back by a blue silk band to form what a later generation would call a ‘pony tail’. Her face was very pretty, with a scattering of freckles and a slightly snub nose which enhanced rather than detracted from its attractive lines. There was a healthy glow to it and a suggestion of the high spirited zest for living which had caused her to leave the mansion of her family in Providence, Rhode Island, and pay a visit to the border country of Texas.
As Mavis had come to the small clearing in the woodland with the intention of first swimming and then indulging in the physical fitness exercises to which her companion had referred, she was clad simply. Beneath her plain white blouse and equally cheap brown skirt, all she had on was a well worn black leotard of the kind used during practice by female ballet dancers. Her slender, yet firm muscled arms and legs were bare and she had a pair of heelless black lightweight pumps on her feet. Apart from a gold pendant watch suspended around her neck by its slender chain, she had no other jewelry with her. There was, in fact, nothing about her—with the possible exception of the head band—to indicate she was an extremely wealthy heiress who would soon be coming into control of a further considerable fortune.
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ the elderly black woman answered calmly, her voice showing that the sentiments which underlay the words of the girl were mutual. Starting to hoist herself from the driver’s seat of the vehicle, she elaborated, ‘But I’m “satisfactured” with me as I am and, happen I did get myself to shrinking away, I’d just natural’ have to take to eating more so’s I’d put me back on again.’
‘Oh come on now,’ the red head protested merrily, the prowess of her companion at the table having acquired almost legendary status among their associates. ‘Do you really think you could eat more?
‘I dunno,’ Hettie admitted, showing more amusement than offense at the question. ‘Seeing’s how I ain’t never tried.’
‘I wouldn’t advise you to try while we’re staying here,’ Mavis remarked, reaching to the fastener of the chain to her watch. ‘You know how badly Uncle Philo hates to spend money. Oh bother, this catch is stuck again!’
‘Come here and let me do it for you,’ the old woman offered and, as the girl was walking around the Surrey, went on, ‘Yes sir, considering as how he’s your late daddy’s brother, that Massa Handle sure is awful “on-alike”. He sure isn’t the most generous feller I’ve ever known, nor even close to being it.’
‘Daddy’s half-brother,’ Mavis corrected, feeling snobbish as she did so and wishing she could develop a greater liking for the relative with whom she was paying the visit. It was not easy staying with him in the face of his thinly veiled resentment, despite his having invited her to come to Wet Slim and examine the branch of the family business based there. Giving a shrug, she continued, ‘I suppose it’s only natural for him to feel a certain animosity. After all, next year I’ll be old enough to come into my inheri—!’
Before she could finish the comment, the red head became aware that she and her companion were no longer the only occupants of the hitherto unfrequented clearing! Clad in the general style of clothing Mavis had seen worn by vaqueros during her brief sojourn in Wet Slim, half a dozen well armed Mexicans were walking from among the trees surrounding the clearing. Apart from the one in the lead, they were a filthy and unprepossessing group. Tallest and youngest of them, well built and swarthily handsome, the exception was by far the best dressed. There was something about his expression and swaggering deportment, however, which suggested he was by no means any more savory than the rest of them. It was rather the opposite, in fact.
While all the Mexican vaqueros met by Mavis had invariably treated her with a politeness and respect similar to that she had been accorded from the cowhands of Texas, who were their equivalent north of the Rio Grande, her instincts warned that the newcomers might not belong to that hard working and honest fraternity. Unless she missed her guess—and she prided herself, with justification, on possessing a sound judgment where character was concerned—they meant mischief. The fact that they had arrived on foot indicated they had approached the clearing without wishing to allow their presence to be detected, as was almost certain to have happened if they had ridden through the woodland. If they had heard of her habit of bathing in the nude and then exercising in the clearing every day, should their intention merely have been to watch, they would have remained in concealment instead of allowing themselves to be seen.
As any competent peace officer with experience of criminals on both sides of the international border could have confirmed, the assessment of the red head with regards to the nature of the newcomers was correct. They were all known members of the gang led by Ramon Peraro, temporarily under the command of Matteo Alberto Cantrell. What was more, his appearance was not deceiving. Driven by ambition, with his goal fixed on supplanting their leader in the not too distant future, he was the most ruthless and, being more intelligent than the others, potentially dangerous of the group.
‘Hey!’ Hettie said worriedly, breaking into the very disturbing train of thought which the summations reached by the girl had set into motion. ‘What do you fellers want?’
‘The señora, what else?’ Cantrell replied in passable English, grinning evilly. ‘You don’t think we’d want you, do you?’ Turning with considerably more speed than she had displayed while climbing from the Surrey, her movements hastened by an awareness of the potential danger of her situation, the big woman snatched up the twin barreled sawed-off shotgun from the front seat. Swinging around once more, drawing back both its hammers as she was doing so, she lined it at waist height towards the men.
Despite finding themselves confronted by and looking into the yawning ten gauge muzzles of a weapon possessing a very lethal potential for threatening their existence, none of the Mexicans showed the slightest concern!
Nor did any of the six even slow down his advance!
‘W—?’ Hettie gasped, puzzled and not a little disconcerted by the lack of response to what she had considered would prove an effective deterrent. ‘Y—You fellers had best just turn around and go leave us be.’
‘Why not try to make us?’ Cantrell challenged and lunged forward.
‘Run for the trees, Mavis-gal!’ the big woman yelled and jerked at the triggers one after the other.
Only dry clicks sounded as the hammers fell!
Eight – I’ll Cut the Bitch’s Throat
Giving a derisive bark of laughter, where most people might have been displaying gratitude for what appeared to be a very fortunate escape from injury if not instantaneous death, Matteo Alfredo Cantrell shot forward his hands to grasp the barrels of the sawed off shotgun. Being so taken aback and disconcerted by the inexplicable failure of the weapon, which she had been assured was loaded ready for use, Hettie Bonaparte was unable to prevent it being jerked from her grasp. Throwing it aside and leering with sadistic pleasure, the bandido swung a savage backhand slap to her face which sent her staggering into the side of the fringe topped Surrey.
Although Cantrell was counting upon the savage blow to quell the massive black woman and reduce her to terrified compliance with his wish
es, he very soon learned he was in error with the summation!
Bending at the waist, Hettie thrust herself away from the vehicle. Once more exhibiting a speed which was surprising for one of her bulk, she launched an attack reminiscent of a billy goat protecting his flock of nannies from the attentions of a rival male. Hurtling forward, she rammed the top of her lowered head into the chest of her assailant. In addition to eliciting a startled and pain filled croak, the impact also flung him backwards to collide with and knock the two men following close behind him from their feet. They all went down in a cursing, limb flailing heap and with her descending on top of them. Hoisting up her voluminous gingham skirts to display a pair of enormous bare legs, she straddled the trio. Allowing all of her weight to rest upon them, she caught Cantrell by the throat with a pair of hands possessing a strength many a man could not have equaled.
‘Get going, gal!’ the big woman instructed, pressing downwards with her body and tightening the grip on the neck of the bandido.
Mavis Dearington could undoubtedly behave in a headstrong and reckless fashion on occasion, but she was no fool. On the other hand, she possessed a strong sense of loyalty. Although she had been on the point of doing as she was told the first time she had received the advise to flee, observing the shotgun would not fire had caused her to change her mind. Until that moment, she had hoped the devastating effect caused by the weapon sending its spreading multi-ball load into the Mexicans would create sufficient havoc and confusion to allow them both to escape into the woodland. Seeing this had not happened and watching her companion being disarmed, she had no intention of fleeing.
As soon as Cantrell had delivered the blow, the red head had known the spirited nature of the big woman too well to doubt that it would provoke an immediate retaliation. When this happened, having so great a fondness and loyalty to Hettie, she had had no intention of carrying out what would have amounted to a desertion. Watching what was happening, she had wished the response to the slap had taken some other and more suitable form.