The Floating Outfit 48

by J. T. Edson

  ‘He did that?’ Handle barked. ‘All I said was for him to explain to you why I couldn’t pay.’

  ‘That wasn’t mentioned,’ McKie claimed truthfully.

  ‘I’m sorry if he gave you a wrong impression, Jock,’ the New Englander apologized. ‘Mr. Jacobs is very loyal to me, but not too bright and, probably because he holds Mavis in such high regard, he may have been over zealous.’

  ‘That’s how I took it,’ the Scot asserted, with less veracity. ‘Anyways, guessing how you was fixed for cash, I concluded I could help. I’ve never been one for trusting my hard-earned money to a banker’s care and I’d enough hid away at the shop for me to be able to send it off.’

  ‘You’ve sent off the ransom?’ Handle asked, sounding as if unwilling to credit the evidence of his ears.

  ‘Why sure,’ McKie confirmed in a matter of fact tone. ‘A young friend of mine happened to drop by and, seeing’s time was so short, I figured it best not to let there be any more delay in getting it to Peraro. I’ll be expecting you to pay me back, with maybe a little bit of interest, though.’

  ‘Inter—Oh yes, of course, I’ll be delighted to pay it,’ Handle replied. ‘But, if there are scouts watching between the border and Escopeta, will your young friend be able to reach Peraro with the money?’

  ‘All he’ll need to do is tell them he’s got it and they’ll take him there,’ McKie replied. ‘Which being, Mr. Handle, you’ll have your niece back safe and sound with you afore sundown tomorrow.’

  ‘Señor Alcalde, you must come and help me. My wife has beaten me and driven me from my home!’

  Startled by the knocking upon the door he had just closed, as he had neither seen nor heard anybody nearby as he was returning to his living quarters, Marcos ‘el Cerda’ Bordillo listened to the whining voice which followed the knocking while turning around. The tone and accent was that of a poor peon, a number of whom were compelled to live in Escopeta performing such tasks as the bandidos considered beneath their dignity, addressing a person of considerable importance.

  Annoyance flooded through the alcalde as he was distracted from the disturbing train of thought in which he had become engrossed and which had led him to come home alone from Bernardo’s Cantina so he could devote his full attention to considering its cause. He had never taken, nor performed, his civic duties seriously. Nor, having other things on his mind, was he in any mood to do so at that moment.

  One of the factors which had allowed Bordillo to survive, despite his far from savory attitude towards life, was the possession of considerable low cunning and perception. Added together, they caused him to be far more susceptible to atmosphere than people who made his acquaintance suspected. Employing the latter quality to its full potential, he had become increasingly aware as the evening had gone by that something was troubling each of the men with whom he had been keeping company at the cantina.

  Enjoyable as it had been to watch, the fight between Florencia Cazador and the kidnapped gringo girl had failed to improve the situation. In fact, the alcalde had considered there had been a marked deterioration in the relationship between his companions when it ended. He had found the state of affairs puzzling and disconcerting. It was hardly surprising that, being known as her sponsor, Edmundo ‘Culebra’ Perez should have been disenchanted and disgruntled by the result. However, Jesus ‘Obispo’ Sanchez had appeared much less delighted by the defeat of the Mexican girl than Bordillo—aware of the intense rivalry between the two sub-leaders—had anticipated would be the case.

  Mainly though, the alcalde had considered it was the attitude of Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro which had been the cause of his misgivings!

  From all appearances, the bandido chief had been ill at ease even before seeing his mistress lose the fight; which he had authorized against his usual insistence upon good treatment being accorded to kidnap victims until it became obvious no ransom was forthcoming. All the time he had been standing at the bar, prior to learning of the conflict in the ‘guestroom’, he had looked at the front door whenever it opened to admit a new arrival. He had continued to do so while the fight was in progress and throughout the game of Spanish monte that had taken place after the combatants were removed. When questioned about this by Obispo, he had claimed he was expecting the ransom money to be delivered. Remembering he had never displayed any such interest on the numerous previous occasions when a similar event was forthcoming, Bordillo had been curious about his present preoccupation.

  El Cerdo had cared little for the speculations aroused by the untypical behavior of the bandido leader!

  Normally, knowing himself to be safe under the protective cover supplied of necessity by his family, Bordillo would have cared little for the moods of Peraro and not at all for those of either sub-leader.

  On this occasion, having sensed the undercurrents of tension assailing all three, el Cerdo had grown increasingly perturbed!

  Knowing that Peraro had failed to take the slightest punitive action over the abortive attempts to kill the Ysabel Kid in defiance of his orders to the contrary, the alcalde wondered if he was losing his grip. It was not a prospect to be regarded with equanimity by Bordillo. Only the firm hand and personality of Peraro held together the gang and retained the power which made it feared throughout most of Northern Mexico. Should he be deposed by either sub-leader, unless the other was removed at the same time, there would be such dissension that the band would split up. What was more, even if Sanchez or Perez succeeded in their aims, there would be so many desertions by members of the losing factions that those who remained would be severely reduced in numbers. With the gang so weakened, it could not hope to survive.

  In such an eventuality, the sanctuary el Cerdo found in Escopeta was almost certain to be brought to an end!

  Contemplating even an inconclusive and unproven supposition that he might be forced to face the consequences of his past indiscretions, Bordillo was far from enamored of the interruption to his thoughts. The last thing he wanted at that moment, having gone so far as to eschew feminine company so as to devote his entire attention to the matter, was to have the unimportant problems of a peon inflicted upon him.

  ‘Vamos, hijo de puta!’ el Cerdo bellowed, glancing at the quirt hanging on a hook attached to the door. ‘How dare you come here at this hour to disturb your alcalde with such a small thing?’

  ‘She is not a small thing, honored señor,’ objected the complainant querulously, showing no resentment at having been described as the “son of a whore”. ‘She is very big and fat. Also she hits me with a broom!’

  Letting out a furiously profane exclamation which was aroused as much by his anxieties as at the insistence of the whining peasant, Bordillo snatched the quirt from its hook. In the past, he had on more than one occasion delivered summary punishment to a peon and was satisfied that he could do so again without danger to himself. Being aware of his exalted status in the community, the caller would not dare to physically oppose the thrashing he intended to administer.

  Admission to the living quarters was through a side entrance, which offered greater privacy than via the office portion of the building. Jerking open the door, the alcalde was advancing menacingly into the alley when he realized something was not as it should be. There was no sign of the cause of his wrath in the light from the doorway. Even as he was wondering where the speaker might be, the question was answered.

  Not, however, in a satisfactory fashion!

  Thrusting from the darkness at the left side of the doorway, a hand in a black clad sleeve grasped the front of Bordillo’s jacket and gave a jerking swing. Aided by the impulsion of his advance, this propelled him across the alley until he was brought to a halt by colliding against the wall of the adjacent building. Before he could recover either his wits or the breath jolted from him by the impact, he found himself gripped once more and turned to be thrust backwards against the unyielding adobe wall.

  ‘You’ve got a throat just meant for cutting, senior alcalde!’ warned a voi
ce. Although it was speaking colloquial Spanish, it was no longer the whining of a peon. Rather it was low, hard and savage. The threat it implied was enhanced by something Bordillo suspected was the very sharp blade of a large knife touching the skin of his neck. ‘And, if you make the smallest sound or hesitate before doing anything I tell you, I’m going to slice it so deep your head will be hanging down your back.’

  Always an errant coward, unless dealing with somebody whose humble status in life made them suitable for bullying, Bordillo felt such terror assailing him that he nearly collapsed. Only the belief that to do so would cause the horrific threat to be carried out gave him the will to remain erect upon legs which felt almost too limp to bear his weight. Perspiration flowed freely down his porcine features and he stood without so much as trying to turn his eyes in an attempt to discover the identity of his captor.

  ‘Wh—What d—do you wa—want?’ el Cerdo managed to croak after a couple of seconds.

  ‘You,’ the voice answered. ‘I’m taking you with me, señor alcalde, to find out whether Don Ramon Peraro will pay my price to get you back. Do you think he will?’

  ‘Y—Yes!’ Bordillo asserted, having no doubts on the matter.

  ‘Bueno!’ the still unseen speaker declared, without removing the knife. ‘Let’s go and collect the horses.’

  ‘Wh—Where from?’ el Cerdo asked.

  ‘From Don Ramon’s stable,’ the voice replied and ended the hope of his captive almost before it came into being. ‘I know about the guard there and you’d better pray he opens up for you. Because, if he doesn’t, or you try to raise the alarm, the mission bells will toll requiem—But you, señor alcalde, will be too dead to hear them. You have the promise of el Cabrito for that.’

  Fifteen – You’ll Be the Second One I Kill

  ‘Ruiz, it’s me. Open up, I want to talk to you!’

  ‘Well if I won’t be ’ternally damned, like most folks say I will,’ breathed the Ysabel Kid, recognizing the voice of the latest arrival at the stable as that of Edmundo “Culebra” Perez.

  ‘Gracias, Ka-Dih. You’re surely doing everything you can to help lil ole me!’

  Despite what Jock McKie had told Philo Handle in Wet Slim earlier that evening, the young Texan was not carrying the ransom money with which to bring about the release of Mavis Dearington. While walking from the River Queen Saloon, they had agreed that the insistence upon making the rescue bid could have arisen from the disinclination of a hard-headed New England businessman to admit publicly he was unable to produce the sum demanded in the time that had been allowed. Furthermore, as this was of a much shorter duration than was usually the case, they had also considered the possibility that Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro might have reduced the period in order to offer an excuse for the girl to be sacrificed as a warning to the families of subsequent victims.

  While aware that a prompt payment would remove the danger to Mavis, in view of their suppositions, the Kid and the elderly leatherworker had known this would not be forthcoming from her uncle. Nor had the Scot the means at hand by which to achieve her salvation. Being of a generous nature, a trait far from uncommon amongst members of his race—regardless of numerous ‘ethnic’ jokes suggesting the contrary—he had had nowhere near ten thousand dollars in his possession. In spite of feeling confident he could raise the sum the following day, even more quickly than Handle, by sending to the larger bank at the county seat, their conclusions had led them to decide the only hope for Mavis was to induce the bandido chief to increase the time at which the payment must be made.

  The suggestion of how such a change of mind could be produced had come from the young Texan!

  A few years earlier, the Kid had decided against trying to steal the well guarded sire of Peraro’s present highly prized stallion as a means of causing trouble between the bandido chief and the leader of a rival gang. Despite having created the discord he required, 36 his upbringing as a Pehnane Comanche warrior had never allowed him to forget he had rejected such a challenge to his skill as a ‘raider’. Mere pride alone had not been responsible for him contemplating carrying out the theft, so as to use the purloined horse as a ‘trade’ to gain the extra time needed by McKie. He had believed conditions were far more in his favor than on the previous occasion. Then, being away from Escopeta and in the presence of another band of outlaws, the guard would have been much more vigilant than was likely to be the case in the apparent safety of the center of the town which the bandidos owned.

  Alert to the probability of Peraro having the secret crossing watched, in addition to the other locations at which easy access to Mexico might be obtained, the Kid had not made use of any of them. Instead, he had swum over with his horses at a point which he had felt sure would not be kept under surveillance. On reaching the southern bank of the Rio Grande, he had donned his all black clothing. However, having so little time at his disposal, he had not waited to wash the black dye from his big white stallion. Setting off as soon as he was dressed, he had ridden towards Escopeta with all possible speed while still retaining a reserve of energy in each horse to be employed should there be an emergency.

  Leaving the three animals in the cottonwood grove which had served a similar purpose on his last visit, the young Texan had entered the town on foot. Making his way towards the stable, he had decided to make an alteration to his plan on seeing Marcos ‘el Cerdo’ Bordillo walking alone along the street. Knowing something of the state of affairs between the fat man and Peraro, he had considered something more positive might be effected than merely obtaining an extension of the period for delivering the ransom.

  Capturing Bordillo had proved easy!

  Nor had gaining access to the stable been any more difficult for the Kid!

  Proving to be as cowardly as was envisaged by his captor, el Cerdo had done as he was instructed. On being called by him, the man on guard had not even asked why he was there before unlocking and opening the door of the stable. Using the quirt which had served him so well earlier that evening and which had been tucked into his gunbelt while he was terrifying the alcalde into compliance, the Kid had struck down the unwary bandido before his own presence could be discovered and resistance offered or an alarm raised. What was more, the silencing was carried out with such speed Bordillo would have been granted no opportunity to shout for help even if he had had the courage to do so.

  Still obeying without hesitation, el Cerdo had dragged the unconscious guard away as he was told. Then, while his captor bound and gagged the bandido, he had set about saddling one of the horses in the stalls. Having completed his task, the Kid had employed one part of his Comanche education to gain the confidence and control of the magnificent black stallion which had been his primary objective. With this achieved, he had been on the point of completing his preparations for departure when a knock on the door had heralded the arrival of Perez.

  ‘Sit down!’ the young Texan hissed at Bordillo, extracting the quirt from under his gunbelt with his left hand and drawing the old Colt Dragoon revolver with the right. ‘Try to warn Culebra and you’ll be the second one I kill!’

  Having no doubt that el Cabrito could and would do as he had said, el Cerdo crumpled into a huddled sitting posture immediately. Although his captor turned and crossed the stable without so much as a backwards glance, he had no intention of trying to warn the man outside. He knew that to do so could allow Perez to take offensive action, or summon assistance which might bring about the death of the black dressed young Tejano, but he felt equally certain he would be killed before this could happen. Therefore, having no desire to die, he remained silent and hoped Culebra would be able to turn the tables on his captor.

  Arriving at the door and ensuring he remained concealed behind it, the Kid drew it open. As had been the case with the guard, the newcomer was far less alert than he would have been under different circumstances. What was more, it seemed he believed there was need for him to enter without delay.

  ‘You took your god-damned time!�
� Perez snarled, striding rapidly across the threshold. ‘There’s somebody coming and I don’t want to be seen coming in he—!’

  The words ended as Culebra saw enough in the light of the lamp, which was always kept illuminated at night, to realize something was very wrong. Even as his gaze swung from the bound and gagged man he had come to see to the cowering alcalde, who should not have been present and whose demeanor implied all was far from well, his appreciation of the possibility of danger came too late.

  Listening to the drumming of rapidly approaching hooves, the Kid did not waste any time on wondering who might be coming in such haste. Instead, thrusting the door closed with his left foot, he swung the quirt with deft precision. Caught on top of his bare head with the lead loaded butt of the handle, Perez went limp. The hand which had started to reach for his revolver slipped away without touching the butt and he dropped like a steer struck down by a pole-axe.

  ‘Looks like you’d better get to saddling up another horse, señor alcalde,’ the young Texan remarked, tucking the quirt beneath his gunbelt once more. Retaining the Dragoon in his hand while drawing open the door a trifle and watching two bandidos on lathered horses go by, he holstered it when he was sure they did not mean to visit the stable. Starting to drag his latest victim towards the stalls by the feet, he went on, ‘If this keeps on, damned if I won’t wind up with half of Don Ramon’s boys to trade for that gal he kidnapped.’

  Having uttered the sentiment, leaving Bordillo to carry out his demand that another mount be made ready, the Kid used his clasp-knife to cut more pieces from the rawhide riata he had found hanging on one of the stalls. Using them, he tied Perez far more securely than he had fastened the guard and affixed an equally effective gag. Satisfied he had Culebra rendered innocuous, he produced the notebook and pencil he had used when sending the previous message to the bandido chief. Writing down what he had done and wanted, he checked the horses were ready for use. Then, helped by el Cerdo, he placed and lashed Perez across one of the saddles.