by Ralph Cotton
‘‘Why’s the Kid cuffed, Ranger?’’ Loden asked. ‘‘Don’t make me ask you something twice.’’ He shook Caridad roughly against him.
‘‘We disagreed on how to take you mercenaries down this morning,’’ Sam said flatly.
‘‘Take us down?’’ Loden chuckled again. ‘‘Hear that, men? We was about to be taken down this morning. Lucky for us we had a good hearty breakfast after a good night’s sleep.’’ Dark laughter rose and fell from the other three men. They stepped in close enough for Sam to see their faces.
Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief, realizing they had no idea that he had just wired the bridge.
‘‘Here’s why they feel so confident,’’ said Elmsly. He held open the untied supply bag and pulled out two grenades and the remaining coil of fuse.
‘‘Oh, I see,’’ said Loden. He lowered his arm from around Caridad’s neck and took one of the grenades in his free hand. ‘‘You were going to throw these at us?’’ He made a tsk-tsk sound. ‘‘Now that would have been plumb unfriendly.’’ He passed the grenade back to Elmsly.
In the darkness, Sam watched Elmsly cut two six-inch lengths from the coil of fuse and stick one into each of the grenades. ‘‘There you are,’’ he said, ‘‘just like the French do it.’’
‘‘I’ll be damned,’’ Loden said in mock surprise. ‘‘You know something after all.’’
Elmsly dropped the two grenades and stepped back from them. Cocking his gun he said, ‘‘All right, let’s kill them all and get it over with.’’
‘‘Don’t get stupid on me,’’ Loden said to him. ‘‘We can’t take a chance firing guns, maybe scare away el capitán before we transact with him.’’
‘‘All right then, let’s stab them,’’ said Elmsly, staring hard at the Ranger in the grainy light.
‘‘I can see you’re not the man to leave here guarding them while the rest of us ride back to help Prew with the wagons.’’ As he spoke, he worked his stiff, swollen hand open and closed, trying to loosen it.
Noting Loden’s hand, Elmsly said, ‘‘Then why don’t you stay here and guard them? You’re going to take credit for capturing them anyways.’’
Loden stared at him for a moment, then said, ‘‘Hell, why not? Get a rope. Tie the ranger hand and foot over here by his pal for me. Then all of yas go help Prew bring the wagons forward. I’ll wait here until the exchange is made.’’ He grinned as he searched the ranger and pulled the handcuff key out of his vest pocket. He dropped the key into his trouser pocket and said, ‘‘I’ve got to practice taking it easy. We’re about to become rich men.’’
Chapter 26
No sooner had the men left than Loden seated himself on a downed tree trunk closer to the edge of the woods, where he could alternate his time between watching his four captives and keeping an eye on the trail in both directions. Caridad sat down beside Jefferies and, while Loden looked off toward the bridge, whispered, ‘‘Why does the ranger have you cuffed here?’’
‘‘It’s a long story,’’ said Jefferies, his arms still wrapped around the tree.
‘‘But perhaps a story we should both hear,’’ Sabio said, giving Jefferies a wary look, ‘‘if we are to ever trust you.’’
‘‘You’re right. It’s time I tell both of you everything about myself. Keeping the truth from the ranger is what landed me in these cuffs.
‘‘But the important thing now is to get you and Sabio out of harm’s way. Once Prew and his men are finished here, they’re not about to leave any living witnesses.’’
The two listened while Jefferies explained who he was and what he was doing in Mexico. Twice he had to stop abruptly and wait until Loden looked away from them again before continuing.
When he’d finished telling them, Sabio looked at the ranger, but did not ask him whether or not Jefferies was telling the truth. Instead he whispered to Sam, ‘‘If you turn away from me I will untie your hands.’’
Sam waited until the next time Loden looked off toward the bridge. Scooting around quickly to Sabio, he felt the old priest’s thin fingers move across the ropes before untying them. ‘‘You must give me your word that before you leave you will give me the keys to the handcuffs.’’
‘‘I’ll give you my word,’’ Sam whispered, ‘‘but only if you give me your word you won’t turn him loose unless something happens to me.’’
‘‘You have my word,’’ Sabio said, his fingers going to work quickly.
‘‘The word of a holy man?’’ Sam asked.
Sabio stopped and hesitated as if having to get something clear in his mind. Finally, as if grateful for the ranger’s reminding him, he glanced at Caridad and Jefferies, then said softly to the ranger, ‘‘Sí, it is the word of a holy man.’’
After Sabio freed Sam’s hands the ranger scooted away and turned quickly, without a second to spare before Loden took another look at them. In the near distance came the faint sound of creaking freight wagons. When Loden looked away again, Sam loosened the rope from around his boots, but left it lying there for the time being.
Near the edge of the trees, Loden stood up, his rifle propped against the downed tree trunk. ‘‘Here come the wagons,’’ he said, more to himself than to his prisoners. Turning toward them, opening and closing his stiff fingers, he gave them a grim smile, one that fully revealed his intention as soon as the exchange had been made.
Sam had planned on waiting until Loden walked over closer, then jerk the loose ropes from his boots, spring up onto the man, take his rifle and knock him senseless. But as soon as he saw Loden look at the rope lying loose across his boots and heard him say, ‘‘What the—?’’ Sam knew he had to make his move right away.
Shaking the rope away Sam raced forward. Loden stooped quickly and made a grab for the rifle, but in his haste, the rifle slipped from his swollen hand and fell to the ground. As Sam charged toward him, Loden let the rifle go and went for the gun in his holster. Again his swollen hand failed him. He brought the gun up from his holster, but as his thumb tried to go across the hammer and cock it, the gun tumbled from his grasp and fell to his feet. He managed to grab a knife from his belt with his left hand, but Sam was upon him before he could put it to use. Thrashing about, the ranger with a firm hold on his wrist, Loden tried to cry out for help from the three wagons rolling across the flatlands. But Sam clasped his throat, silencing him.
From against the tree, Sabio pulled Caridad to him and held a hand over her eyes as he and Jefferies watched the big knife come down hard. Guiding Loden’s hand the ranger plunged the blade deep into the outlaw’s chest, then rolled off his body and pulled his own Colt from Loden’s waistband.
‘‘Hurry, Ranger. They’ll see you,’’ Jefferies called out in a lowered voice.
Sam rolled Loden out of his coat and snatched his hat from the ground before turning and crawling quickly back to the tree. He pulled cigars and matches from his shirt pocket, lit one and dropped the others on the ground. Seeing the curious look on Sabio’s face he said, ‘‘For me to light the dynamite fuse.’’
‘‘Oh,’’ said Sabio, watching intently.
Looking off through the trees toward the bridge, Jefferies said, ‘‘Here comes Murella, right on time. You’ll never get to the bridge and light the fuse now without getting shot.’’
‘‘I can if they think it’s Loden riding in,’’ said Sam.
‘‘They’ll know it’s not Loden once you get on the bridge,’’ said Jefferies.
‘‘Then I won’t get on the bridge,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I’ll get under the bridge, cut the fuse and light it from under there.’’
‘‘But you’ll never get away in time, Ranger!’’ said Jefferies.
‘‘I’ll get away in time,’’ Sam said confidently. ‘‘It’ll go off before they figure out what I’ve done.’’ As Sam spoke he took off his own hat and shoved Loden’s down onto his head. He stripped off his duster and put on Loden’s rawhide fringed jacket. Seeing Jefferies shake the handcuffs on his wrists, Sam sa
id to Sabio, ‘‘Keep him here.’’ He walked over to Loden’s horse and picked up its reins.
‘‘Ranger, this is crazy!’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘You’re going to get yourself killed!’’
Ignoring him, Sam stepped up onto Loden’s California saddle and rode away as the wagons drew closer to the bridge.
The first wagon followed Prew and Cherokee out onto the bridge where Captain Murella and his men sat waiting atop their horses. A few yards behind the first wagon, three of Prew’s men escorted the second wagon up onto the bridge. The third had just started to roll up when Murella pointed at the fast-approaching rider and said with his hand on his pistol butt, ‘‘Who is this? What kind of treachery are you trying to pull?’’
‘‘Easy, Capitán. That’s one of my men,’’ said Prew. But craning his neck for a better look, he said angrily to Cherokee, ‘‘What does Loden think he’s doing! He’s supposed to be watching the ranger and the Kid over in the woods!’’
‘‘I’ll go meet him,’’ said Cherokee.
‘‘No, you wait here,’’ said Prew. ‘‘I’ll go see.’’ A suspicious look came over Prew’s face as he stared at the oncoming rider. He gigged his horse hard and raced back to the end of the bridge.
Giving the captain a puzzled look, Cherokee said, ‘‘I don’t know what that’s all about.’’
‘‘Perhaps he leaves you to explain where my share of the gold from the bank is,’’ the captain said bitterly.
‘‘The what?’’ Cherokee looked stunned.
‘‘Oh, you do not know what I am talking about?’’ said the captain. ‘‘Perhaps a bullet in your belly will help you remember.’’
‘‘Capitán, wait!’’ said Cherokee. ‘‘I was with him when he buried the bank gold. It’s waiting for you, just like always!’’
‘‘You lying pig!’’ shouted Murella. His pistol bucked in his hand. Cherokee fell from his saddle clutching his lower belly.
The two men in the first wagon went for their guns as Cherokee staggered to his feet, his revolver out, cocked and pointed at the Mexican captain. Shots erupted back and forth between the federales and the mercenaries. Prew spun toward the sound of gunshots. His horse reared as he turned it back toward the oncoming rider. He drew his Colt and shouted at his men, ‘‘It’s a setup! Loden has sold us out! Kill him!’’
Pounding toward the bridge, the ranger saw the fight break out between the federales and the mercenaries. Colt in hand, he returned fire as Prew and the men around the wagons fired an endless volley of pistol and rifle shots at him. Watching from the edge of the woods, Sabio threw his hand to his mouth and shouted back to Jefferies and Caridad, ‘‘The ranger is in trouble!’’
‘‘Hurry, Sabio!’’ Jefferies shouted. ‘‘Get these cuffs off me!’’
‘‘No, I gave my word!’’ Sabio said. ‘‘The word of a holy man!’’
Even as he spoke, he saw Loden’s big horse go down beneath the ranger, sending Sam tumbling head over heels across the ground. Sabio watched breathless for a second, not seeing the ranger move. ‘‘He has gone down!’’ he cried. ‘‘I fear he is dead.’’
‘‘Oh, no, Sam . . .’’ Jefferies winced, but he had no time to dwell on the ranger’s death. ‘‘Sabio, he’s dead. You kept your word. Now set me free.’’
‘‘No, Sabio, do not set him free,’’ Caridad shouted. ‘‘He will be killed too!’’
‘‘Caridad, I’ve got to go,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘Sabio, don’t listen to her!’’
‘‘I will not send you out there to die,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘They will kill anyone who rides toward them!’’
‘‘I have to go. Don’t you understand?’’ Jefferies shouted, jerking at the cuffs around the tree.
Jefferies and Caridad watched a strange look of revelation come to the old priest’s face as he dropped to his knees and picked up a hand grenade in either hand. ‘‘Ah, yes, they will kill anyone—except me!’’ he said, as if a tremendous puzzle had suddenly fallen into place before his eyes. ‘‘Their bullets will not kill me! My power is back. My gift will take me through their bullets unharmed!’’
‘‘No, Sabio, you’re wrong!’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Caridad, tell him he’s wrong! Please, before he gets himself killed too!’’
Caridad asked him calmly, ‘‘Sabio, are you certain your power is with you?’’
‘‘At a moment like this, my dear Caridad,’’ Sabio said, reaching his hand out and cupping her cheek, ‘‘I am certain my power has never forsaken me. I have had times when my faith has been lacking. But today my eyes are cleared. Nothing can harm me . . . ever again.’’ He turned and threw the key into the woods. ‘‘Step into the woods and find the key, Caridad. It is time for me to leave you.’’
From the end of the bridge, Prew fired behind him at the Mexicans as their bullets whizzed past him. But upon seeing the old priest charging out of the woods, he shouted at his men, ‘‘Here comes that old brujo. Shoot him!’’ As he shouted, he looked all around for the Kid and the ranger, knowing Loden had taken them captive along with the old priest and the cleaning girl.
Prew fired two shots at Sabio, but as his men set up a deadly barrage of fire toward the old priest, the gunman leader turned his horse and began firing at Murella and his men, seeing them about to overtake the first wagon. ‘‘What the hell has gone wrong?’’ he shouted. But shots from the federales shifted their focus up away from the first wagon and sliced past his head like angry hornets.
Prew could do nothing but race away from the deadly Mexican gunfire and veer wide of his own men as they fired on Sabio. Seeing the cigar in Sabio’s teeth and the grenades in his hands, Prew shouted as he rode, ‘‘Kill him! He’s gone crazy!’’
On the flatlands, Sam came to and shoved himself up on his knees, still wobbly from the fall that knocked his breath out of him. Looking toward the sound of pounding hoofbeats he saw Sabio racing toward him, cigar, grenades and all. ‘‘Stop, Padre!’’ Sam shouted, struggling to his feet, but only in time to see Sabio streak past him.
Sabio neither heard nor saw him as he raced on through the heavy gunfire, wearing a glazed look and a radiant smile on his face. ‘‘Stop him!’’ Prew screamed. ‘‘Get those grenades!’’
But it was impossible to be heard now in the steady hammering of gunfire. Prew saw that things had gotten out of his control. Looking all around for a way out, he suddenly saw the ranger standing on unsteady feet. ‘‘That blasted ranger! This is all his doing,’’ Prew said aloud to himself. Batting his boots to his horse’s sides, he raced straight toward the ranger, his Colt blazing.
Fifty yards to Prew’s left, Sabio sped past, bullets flying all around him. ‘‘The fool won’t die!’’ shouted Indian Frank. He emptied his six-shooter toward the old priest, then reached down and picked up a rifle that another man had dropped when one of the bullets from the federales had knocked him dead. Round after round, Frank fired, shouting, ‘‘Die! Die! Die!’’ But he began backing up quickly, seeing the old priest draw closer to the bridge. ‘‘Oh, hell!’’ he shouted.
The first explosions were the hand grenades going off simultaneously in Sabio’s outstretched hands. The fire and fury of the blasts ignited the fuse running down the side of the bridge to the strategically placed sticks of dynamite tied into the beams and pillars. From the far end of the bridge Capitán Murella stood in his stirrups, looking into the gray cloud of smoke from the grenades.
Realizing that the sizzling fire running through the smoke was that of a dynamite fuse, he shouted to his men spread out over the first two wagons, ‘‘Retreat! Everybody retreat!’’
He turned his horse and spurred it hard. Yet, before his horse could get a start, the bundles of dynamite sticks went off, one after another, less than a second apart.
On the flatlands, the ranger staggered and dove to the ground, feeling the jarring of the earth beneath him. He watched a large fiery ball of man, animal, bridgework and iron roll and sail high in the air. On the flatlands before hi
m he saw Desmond Prew tumble, horse and all, and flatten as the blast of fire and debris skimmed over his back.
Sam covered his head with both hands and felt a hot wave sweep past him, pressing him against the ground. He knew the dynamite had gone off, but he expected the wagons themselves to explode any second. Yet, after a moment had passed he began to realize that the army wasn’t going to ship real explosives, knowing how easily they could be taken by a gang like Prew and his mercenaries.
Standing in the passing smoke and falling bits of splinters and dirt, he looked at Prew, who’d also stood up, smoke curling from his scorched hat and riding duster. ‘‘You had to butt in where you don’t belong, didn’t you, Ranger?’’ he said, his voice sounding thick and distant in the ranger’s throbbing ears.
‘‘What?’’ Sam said, not hearing him.
Seeing the ranger’s lips move but not hearing either, Prew said, ‘‘Huh? What‘s that?’’ He lifted his Colt and cocked it toward the ranger.
Sam didn’t have to hear to know when somebody meant to kill him. He raised his Colt from his holster and fired. To Sam it was almost soundless, the shot echoing like a short distant clap of thunder. He watched the shot knock Prew flat on his back, one knee cocking up for a moment, then sliding to the ground.
Sam slumped and looked toward the woods. Caridad and Jefferies rode toward him on the Appaloosa. Staggering in place, he looked away toward the border and saw a column of cavalry riding up onto the flatlands, a civilian in a dark suit sharing the lead with an army colonel.
Feeling the throbbing in his head begin to subside, Sam heard Jefferies as he and Caridad slipped down from the saddle. ‘‘You did it, Ranger! You brought them all down!’’
His head still feeling spongy, Sam said in a voice that sounded strange to him, ‘‘No, Sabio Tonto did it. He did it for her.’’ Sam turned and nodded toward Caridad, who’d walked past them and stood looking at the high rolling smoke above Redemption Creek.
‘‘Yeah,’’ Jefferies said quietly. He looked at Sam. ‘‘She needs me over there with her.’’