The Devil's Payroll

by Paul Green

  Harrison was incredulous. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘A few days ago a party of my men came across four dead companions of ours. One of them had that poster clutched in his dead hand. We do some business with the Comanches since, after all, you gringos stole their land, too, and we learned yesterday of their defeat at Jacob’s Well. I spoke to a warrior who said they had recently captured this fellow Barton who promised to lead them to a large sum of money in return for his life. The Comanche have no use for money, and they handed him over to a trader called Gabriel.’

  ‘So when we were spotted and our conversation overheard you started to put things together. You’re no fool, Ortega, I’ll say that for you.’

  The Mexican pointed at him with his cigar. ‘Neither are you, Señor Harrison. You killed those men, didn’t you? It must have been you pursuing Barton for that reward money; how else could you have got mixed up in this?’

  Harrison shrugged. ‘What’s that to you?’

  ‘A man who can kill four of my best men single-handed is a man I could use on my side. You can fight but also have the sense to know when not to, so I’d like you to work for me. I’ll pay you well—’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I shot only three of those men and that was to save my own life. I catch outlaws but I’m not interested in becoming a hired killer.’

  ‘You are interested in the woman though, Señora Sloane, are you not?’ replied Ortega slyly. ‘I can guarantee her safety if you agree to my proposition.’

  Harrison leaned across the desk and looked straight into the Mexican’s eyes. ‘I’ll defend her against any man who touches her and that includes you, Ortega.’

  Ortega threw back his head and laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it; you’re a man who does what he says he will do and I like that. I promise you that the lady will not be harmed and you’ll still get the thousand dollars you’re after. Perhaps then you will change your mind.’

  ‘Well, don’t count on it,’ said Harrison as he stood up. ‘If you want to get your hands on that strongbox, hadn’t we better get going?’

  ‘Of course. With luck we will reach the mine by noon tomorrow.’

  When they stepped outside, Harrison’s horse was waiting for him, a bandit holding the reins. The man handed him his guns as Ortega told him, ‘I think I can trust you not to shoot me in the back. Besides, you might be needed if there’s trouble.’

  As they both mounted, Harrison noticed a tall young man, dressed entirely in black, talking to Coley. ‘So, you slit the gringo officer’s throat did you?’ he heard him ask.

  ‘That is my son, Jorge,’ Ortega told him. ‘His mother died giving birth to him and he has been causing me pain ever since. What is he up to now, eh?’ He cantered ahead and spoke sharply to the young man in Spanish.

  Jorge appeared to answer defiantly, whereupon Ortega struck him across the face with a pair of riding gloves. The younger man’s hand flew up to his cheek and he cast a look of pure hatred at his father’s retreating back as Ortega rode away. A small group of bandits gathered around him and they appeared to whisper animatedly before quickly breaking up to mount their own horses and ride off.

  Ten outlaws, including Ortega and his son, had set off towards the mine. They expected to reach their destination by noon the following day. As they made their way through the canyon, Harrison caught up with Coley just as Jorge, who had been deep in conversation with him, rode on further ahead.

  ‘What did Ortega want with you?’ the corporal asked him.

  ‘He wanted me to work for him, but I turned him down.’

  Coley smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it, wouldn’t want you to be on the wrong side.’

  ‘Is that what you were talking to Jorge about, who’s on what side?’ ‘It seems there’s some bad blood between Jorge and his old man. Some o’ the younger fellas want rid of Ortega and to put his son in charge. If young Jorge comes out on top, we could be in for a big share o’ that money.’

  ‘So how much is he paying you to slit his daddy’s throat?’ asked Harrison in disgust.

  ‘It ain’t like that,’ protested Coley. ‘He just wants to know who he can count on if the time comes.’

  ‘Just leave me out of it.’

  ‘OK, so long as you make sure them guns stay in their holsters.’ With that, Coley rode on up ahead.

  Harrison barely had time to gather his thoughts before Johnson rode up beside him.

  ‘What’s up with Coley?’ he asked. ‘It looked like you two were arguing.’

  ‘It seems as though Jorge wants to take his father’s place and Coley’s eager to help.’

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘That boy’s a damn fool. Gonna get hisself killed and us too if we ain’t careful.’

  ‘You’re right there. Anyway, I told him I wanted no part in it.’

  ‘We’d best be on our guard and get ready to duck down if trouble starts.’

  Harrison nodded. ‘It’s the lure of all that money. That’s why Jorge is getting ready to make his move.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry I ever heard about it. That strongbox, it’s the Devil’s payroll, that’s what it is. Everyone who goes after it ends up in a heap o’ trouble.’

  Harrison was not a superstitious man, but somehow it did seem as though the money was cursed in some way. He dismissed such thoughts from his mind as they journeyed out of the canyon and further across the desert. Ortega rode at the front, surrounded by a few of the older men, presumably close companions who had been with him a long time. Despite the oppressive heat, he did not slouch like the others but remained straight-backed in the saddle. Harrison could not help admiring the man’s energy and determination; in different circumstances they might even have been friends. Glancing behind, he saw Jorge riding next to Coley with Wilcox at the other side. They were accompanied by five of the younger bandits, the whole group talking among themselves and exchanging glances. Despite the heat, he shivered uneasily.

  ‘Something’s cookin’ back there,’ observed Johnson.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Harrison grimly.

  Soon they were climbing as they reached a low-lying range and their pace slowed as they urged the horses up a steep path. Mountains rose up on each side of them as they hit higher ground and then the command came to halt. Harrison was curious about the delay and rode up to the front to find out what was happening, with Johnson following behind. Ortega and one of his companions had dismounted and were examining the remains of an abandoned wagon. Though covered in dust from its journey it was instantly recognizable as the one Gabriel had been driving.

  Harrison jumped down to examine the tracks, which appeared quite fresh. Looking more closely he noticed a clump of uprooted sagebrush. Johnson followed his glance and got down beside him.

  ‘Looks like they’ve been tryin’ to cover their horse tracks after they cut ’em loose from the wagon,’ remarked the sergeant. ‘Why would they do that? We know where they’re goin’ anyway.’

  Harrison glanced up at the surrounding cliffs. ‘Perhaps they’ve taken a detour.’

  No sooner had he spoken than a loud shriek echoed around them. Recognizing the attempted warning, he hurled himself against a startled Ortega, who had been standing perilously close to the foot of a nearby cliff. The two men rolled away as a huge boulder and rocks of all sizes cascaded towards them. Horses reared amid the clouds of dust and deafening roar of the avalanche. Two bandits who had been standing just feet away from Ortega were instantly buried. Another was struck on the shoulder and tumbled to his death down a gorge below them, while a fourth managed to dodge the falling rocks and steer his horse to safety. Slowly the dust settled and Harrison helped Ortega to his feet.

  Gabriel’s trap, probably set with Barton’s connivance, allowed him to get further away from his pursuers, since it would take time to clear the rocks out of the way and tend to any wounded. However, Harrison had no doubt that the intention had been to kill them all, to eliminate any chance of being caught.

>   ‘You saved my life today. As a man of honour, I promise I shall not forget it,’ said Ortega as he surveyed the damage surrounding them.

  Harrison shrugged. ‘You won’t owe me anything as long as you abide by what we’ve already agreed. I’m sorry about your friends though.’

  ‘They were good men, all of them loyal.’ Ortega was watching Jorge approach with his companions as he added quietly, ‘I fear that few such men remain.’

  Johnson glanced up at the cliff above them. ‘I guess Gabriel must ha’ been up there waitin’ for us, huh?’

  ‘You guessed right, I think. Anyway, he’ll get what he deserves when we catch up.’

  Ortega sent two of his remaining men ahead to round up the horses that had fled while the rest of them cleared rocks away and buried the dead. Jorge and his companions did as they were told but reluctantly and with sullen looks. Three of his father’s most trusted companions were dead, so the younger man was probably just biding his time.

  ‘Those men you sent ahead to the mine, are they loyal?’ Harrison asked Ortega.

  The older man shrugged. ‘Some perhaps, it’s difficult to say. Jorge has been telling my men for some time now that I’m too old to lead them. My only chance is to appear strong, to be firm and decisive, even cruel sometimes.’

  ‘Can’t you talk to your son, reason with him?’

  Ortega shook his head sadly. ‘I am not a patient man but I have tried. He’s always been wild, never respected me, so I demand obedience instead. Yet he’s still my son.’

  Then the two bandits returned with the horses and soon they were on their way again, making steady progress as the path sloped downwards and they emerged into open ground once more. The whole landscape seemed to glitter harshly in the sun’s glare with just the occasional flash of colour as they passed cacti and other wild plants.

  Johnson appeared lost in thought for a while, then he asked Harrison a question. ‘Do you think that fella Gabriel findin’ you in the desert, just turnin’ up like that, coulda been more than a coincidence?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ Harrison replied, frowning.

  ‘Well, it’s just him pickin’ you and Mrs Sloane up, then Barton, who just happens to know where the money is, and gettin’ the chance to take off like that seems kinda strange to me. The whole thing couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it, so maybe he did plan it.’

  ‘I just assumed the man was an opportunist and took his chances when he found out about the money.’

  Johnson nodded. ‘Could be; just seems fishy to me, that’s all.’

  Harrison was disturbed by the man’s words. After all, there was something strange about the whole thing, but Gabriel might not have seen them without Maggie flashing her mirror. Then he remembered her doing the same thing the previous day. Could she have been signalling to someone? Had she been in league with Gabriel all along? He shook his head. No, surely that could not be true! After all, he was certain it was her voice he had heard before the rocks hit them. Why would Maggie warn him if she had been deceiving him all along? Suddenly nothing seemed to make sense any more. Harrison was sure of one thing: he would get the answers he wanted once they reached that mine, whatever the cost.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They kept up a steady pace despite the heat, until Ortega ordered them to dismount for a while to give the horses a rest. After all, Gabriel and his companions would have to do the same if their animals were not to collapse from exhaustion. The men grumbled as they trudged wearily through the desert and Ortega berated them in Spanish. Harrison knew little of the language but enough to realize that the comparison made between their complaints and the behaviour of grandmothers and young children was not intended to be flattering. He noticed Jorge smile slyly and exchange remarks with Coley and one of the younger men, who grinned in response. Ortega tensed visibly but said nothing and their journey continued.

  There was no water for several miles according to Ortega’s map, and their supplies were running low. They passed the skeleton of a horse and, a little further on, that of its rider. The bones were bleached white by the sun and seemed to offer a grisly warning of what might lie ahead. The atmosphere was tense and the party seemed to have split into two groups, one led by Ortega which included two older bandits, Johnson and Harrison, the other being led by Jorge and including his five followers, plus Coley and Wilcox. It was not to Harrison’s liking but there it was and there was nothing he could do about it. At some point before they reached the mine, Jorge and his supporters would attack Ortega and the two older men. He and Johnson would have to decide what, if anything, they were going to do about it.

  ‘Maybe we should just leave ’em all to it,’ said Johnson, as if reading his thoughts.

  ‘I’m not so sure we can afford to. Ortega has a code of honour, even if he is ruthless but if we stay neutral Jorge might decide that we’re his enemies.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We could help Ortega when the time comes and make it more of a fair fight.’

  Johnson scratched his head. ‘That puts me in one hell of a bind, havin’ to fight men I’ve served with. It was me who gave Coley them corporal’s stripes o’ his; he was a good soldier once.’

  ‘Look at Coley and Wilcox now, Sergeant. They’re eaten up by greed, and if Jorge tells them to kill us to earn a share of that money then that’s what they’ll do.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Harrison sighed. ‘I know men, I’ve seen what they’re capable of, including the ones I thought decent. Come on, you went through the war; you know it too.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ whispered his companion hoarsely.

  They were silent then, their mouths dry and their muscles weary as they stumbled onwards until at last they saw the creek ahead of them. Ortega announced that they would rest for thirty minutes after replenishing their water supplies as men and horses fell at the water’s edge, drinking greedily.

  Even after resting however, the tension returned; every man was watchful, his hand ready to reach for his gun at the first sign of trouble. The moment finally came a few minutes before they were due to continue their journey.

  ‘Hey, Ortega, we need longer to rest. We ain’t goin’ nowhere yet,’ called Coley as he lounged by the creek.

  The Mexican turned around angrily. ‘Now you are a soldier in my army, we will be leaving as planned!’

  Coley leaped to his feet as Jorge and the others gathered around behind him. ‘You gonna make me?’

  Ortega moved closer, then stopped and smiled. ‘Very well, my friend, you can remain here but with no horse and no gun. How do you like that?’

  Coley appeared nonplussed for a moment. He was obviously trying to provoke a confrontation and get Ortega to draw his gun but the outlaw showed no sign of doing so. The outlaw leader then turned and spoke sharply to one of his companions who was about to reach for his weapon. He looked back at Coley and said, ‘Come on, let’s get going.’

  Coley appeared to relax but his smile vanished as he suddenly went for his gun in one swift, fluid movement. Ortega was a fraction slower, now taken off guard, but Harrison was faster than either of them and the corporal had no chance to fire before a bullet ripped through his heart. Coley fell backwards into the creek with a splash, his eyes widening in surprise as the moment of death came. Harrison moved in an arc, a revolver in each hand. Two bandits at either side of Jorge fell to the ground as they each received a bullet, their own shots directed harmlessly upward. Johnson hit a third straight through the forehead before shooting Jorge’s gun from his hand. Jorge then dived between the horses to seek cover.

  One of Ortega’s companions was shot dead with a bullet in the throat and Ortega killed the young bandit responsible with a deadly throw of his knife before shooting the only bandit left among Jorge’s supporters. Wilcox hit the old bandit to Ortega’s left squarely in the chest, but Harrison returned his fire and blood seeped through the soldier’s fingers as he fell forward, clutching his stomac
h. It was all over in less than a minute. Harrison was aware of a movement to his left and turned to see Jorge stumbling to his feet, his hands in the air.

  With a cry of anguished rage, his father ran forward and pistol-whipped Jorge to the ground before kicking him repeatedly until the young man curled up into a tight ball in a vain attempt to protect himself. Ortega shouted curses in Spanish with each blow before he finally spat upon his son and turned away in disgust.

  ‘I’d kill any other man who provoked this but …’ the Mexican shrugged as his words trailed away.

  ‘There’s been enough killing here today, just let him go,’ suggested Harrison.

  Ortega nodded. Johnson went over to Jorge and hauled him to his feet. ‘Best get on a horse and get outta here,’ he advised him, ‘before we change our minds.’

  ‘Tell him that if our paths cross again I’ll kill him.’ The old bandit kept his back to his son as he spat out the words.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Johnson asked as Jorge wiped the blood from his mouth. The younger man nodded as he mounted his horse to ride away. Harrison watched his retreating back and wondered what would become of him, though briefly and without sympathy.

  Silently, they buried the dead in shallow graves before mounting up to set off once more. Some of the dead men’s horses had run off into the desert, startled by the gunfire but there were still a couple left, so Johnson and Harrison each took one to lead. No one spoke as they continued their journey, until Johnson spotted some tracks.

  The sergeant mopped his brow wearily. ‘It looks like three riders leadin’ a horse behind passed by here not long ago. I guess we’d better press on ’til sundown if we don’t wanna fall behind.’

  Ortega nodded and continued to ride at the front, but now he slouched in the saddle, his face grey. He suddenly seemed like an old man, as though his son’s treachery had sapped all the strength from his bones. They plodded on and were surprised to find themselves passing through what looked like a ghost town as the sun dipped slowly behind the horizon. There were rows of dilapidated, abandoned buildings to each side of them. Doors creaked on broken hinges and most of the windows had panes missing or were covered in dust. A light breeze blew a tumbleweed ahead of them along the dusty street and the silence was eerie.