by Tony Masero
‘I’d like you to meet my wife, Belle.’
‘Senhora Belle,’ said Carlos, taking her hand and bending his lips gallantly over the fingers. ‘My compliments, senhor. Your lady is truly a beautiful woman.’
Belle noted the sharp glance of lustful Latin appraisal disguised by a polite smile of even and very white teeth.
‘A notable pleasure,’ Carlos continued. ‘Your journey was not too tiresome, I trust?’
‘We did alright,’ allowed Kirby. ‘Can’t say much for the cooking aboard ship but we made it here alive, so it can’t have been all that bad.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ mumbled Belle, who had suffered so sorely from the seasickness on their trip down.
‘Please,’ Carlos bowed slightly. ‘If you will allow, my carriage is over here. You will come to my house. Do not worry about your baggage I will have a man collect it.’
‘That’s very civil of you, Mister Natividade,’ Belle said, allowing him to lead the way.
‘If you will, call me Carlos, or Charles if you like. Maybe even Chuck, it is how you Americans say it, no? Whichever you prefer.’
The carriage was a comfortable open-topped landau with plush leather upholstered seats and a mulatto driver with another serving man riding postilion behind. As they set out through the bustling streets Belle had to wave her fan ferociously then take out a handkerchief and hold it to her nose the stench was so strong.
‘My apologies,’ said Carlos graciously. ‘It is terrible I know. This morning the servants for the houses have emptied the night soil. They are lazy fellows, you see. The barrels are dumped anywhere, in alleys and along the seashore. It is awful but what are we to do?’
Belle noted them passing the rotting carcass of a dead mule left lying where it had dropped in the street and thought that perhaps they might consider some form of hygienic maintenance in the city but apparently it was not the fashion here.
‘Of course it breeds all kinds of disease,’ Carlos continued airily, as if the matter was none of his making and he was detached and far removed from any responsibility in the matter. ‘Yellow fever, cholera and leprosy. We have them all and I am convinced this disgusting business is at fault. But do not worry, senhora. My house is outside the city limits, there you shall be free of any such malodors.’
To get away from the subject of stink and disease, Kirby leaned forward, ‘Very good of you to be so hospitable, sir. But we are here on a mission and must be moving as soon as possible. What can you tell us?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Carlos answered, leaning forward eagerly. ‘I have made enquiries. As you may know these Confederados have set themselves up near Vila de Santa Barbara, I have made a list,’ he searched in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet. ‘You see here, there are sixteen families to the north near the Rio Piracicaba, they have formed a community called Vila dos Americanos, which is most fitting, no? Six more families to the northeast on the way to Limeira. And seventeen families down along the Toledinho, which is a tributary from the main Toledos River south of Santa Barbara, in the town itself there are only two families in residence.’
‘And Xavier Bond?’
‘Ah, well, senhor. He is different. This man has moved into what we call the Sertão, you might say it is the badlands. A wild place further inland, where the Bandeiras, the hunters and gold seekers live. They are terrible men. You will see them when they come into the city to trade. Dangerous, vile creatures with long unkempt hair under high crowned hats, they come with their mule trains and women. These are people best avoided.’
‘Sound pretty much like our own mountain men,’ Kirby advised.
‘If your mountain men are willing to kill for the slightest reason, to steal and pillage at will, then these are the same.’
‘About fits the bill. So Bond is holed up amongst these varmints, is he?’
‘He has made himself a place of his own out there. It is a walled estate and only the Lord God knows what goes on inside. Perhaps even He would not deign to enter such a place. There are stories. The local Indians call the place Rancho Inferno, that is to say….’
‘Hell!’ interrupted Belle.
‘Exactly, senhora. It was once a coffee plantation with many slaves, now Bond and his men keep the remaining Africans there and treat them very badly so it is said.’
‘How many Confederates has he with him, do you know?’
‘There are twenty white men with him. Veteran soldiers, reprobates and men of low order. There is a Confederate flag flying at all times. These are men convinced of their cause, my friends. They do not wish to give up the old ways, I think.’
‘Sounds like some re-education is in order,’ observed Kirby.
‘I do not think it will be wise to go to this place without an army of men behind you, senhores,’ frowned Carlos.
Belle fluttered her fan and looked away onto the passing street, ‘Don’t worry, Carlos. We’ve been there before.’
They climbed the slope of a rising hill and drove along a tree-lined avenue in what was obviously the better part of town, here the air was fresher and the streets kept clean and tidy. Haughty, well-dressed ladies strolled with open parasols and colored servants followed behind holding the leads of three or even six lapdogs, a thing that obviously depended on status. Well-dressed children played freely with hoops and balls under the watchful eye of a nanny and there was no sense of the crush and stench of the city. The brick built houses were set apart one from another and were fashionably decorated and well maintained with fine gardens.
‘Very well,’ said Carlos as they pulled up. ‘Here is my home, you will be pleased to use it as your own.’
As they stepped down from the carriage, Kirby asked, ‘We’ll need a guide, Carlos. A good man. You have anyone you can think of?’
‘Don’t worry, senhor Kirby. I have the very man for you.’
Their guide proved to be an Indian.
A sullen looking fellow in a shabby jacket and pants. His hair hung down his back in a long unkempt mane and a small circle was shaved bare above his forehead. He occupied a corner of Carlos’ fine parlor, appearing obviously ill at ease in the delicate surroundings. Kirby noted that compared to the rest of the coastal Indians he had seen at the dockside, this one was tall and broad shouldered, solidly built and when he moved, despite his dowdy appearance, he did so with a certain show of pride and athletic grace.
‘This is Guatano,’ Carlos introduced quietly. ‘He is of the Goitacá tribe. In fact he is the last of them. The Portuguese military wiped out the rest of his people years ago when the Indians took and killed a Catholic bishop and then ate him. They are, or rather were, a tribe of cannibals and the most ferocious fighters.’
Kirby’s eyes met the Indians and he could make out no expression there, Guatano stared back at him with eyes as black and lifeless as shadows. He wondered if much ferocity was left in the defeated looking Indian now.
‘He speak English?’ Kirby asked.
‘Enough,’ Carlos answered. ‘He was with the missionary fathers for a while and they taught him some words.’
‘I speak good,’ grunted the Indian.
‘Fair enough,’ Kirby said. ‘You can take us to this place? Rancho Inferno. You know it?’
The Indian nodded.
Kirby was doubtful, the man exhibited no air of confidence and his somnolent expression did little to reassure the American. Kirby turned to Belle and asked the question with his eyes.
‘He’ll do,’ she said decisively, her sharp blue gaze fixed on Guatano. ‘When can we go?’
The Indian shrugged and mumbled something barely audible.
‘What’d he say?’ asked Kirby with an irate look of mistrust.
‘Whenever you wish,’ said Carlos. ‘I will arrange for the things you will need. Some ponies to take you to the edge of the Mato Grosso, the deep jungle, then it will be a journey on foot. A mule for supplies and armaments, if you wish them.’
‘Oh, definitely armaments,’ stresse
d Kirby. He had his own six-gun with him but reckoned they could always do with more.
‘Two days,’ promised Carlos. ‘Then I will have everything.’
Chapter Twelve
They travelled west, each day drawing nearer to the densest part of the rain forest.
The countryside around them teemed with wildlife and both Belle and Kirby were constantly surprised by the array of colorful birds and creatures. Varieties of parrots and macaws flew overhead and monkeys screeched and clambered amongst the giant trees that marked their route. Everywhere was green and lush, the giant leaves populated by a multitude of insects and glorious flowers. Hibiscus, bromeliads and orchids grew amongst fields of ferns, their aerial roots rising to seek the moisture held trapped in the humid air.
Guatano led the way on foot.
He was a changed man now. No longer wearing the ragged clothes in which they had first seen him, he now wore nothing but a loincloth and his bronzed features were daubed with the deep red dye of the genipapo plant. He carried a bow and a handful of long needle pointed arrows. Each of them tipped with a coating from the excretions of a yellow-banded frog that he had warned them not to touch.
His attitude was entirely different and there was no doubt he had evolved back into his natural state and become again a true warrior of the forest.
Kirby was impressed by the way he made his barefoot passage through the tightly packed undergrowth. Finding his way along the barely discernable trails as easily as any Apache Indian back home might find his way across a waterless desert. Here though, there was water in abundance and the dripping forest was host to the humidity it created itself and held trapped in the clouds above the trees.
Guatano often roamed ahead of them through the press of palms and bamboo, never tiring and always returning to prepare them for what lay in front. Be it an impressive waterfall and languid pool or a slick bog where water boas over thirty-foot long slid in reptilian menace.
It was an enclosed and claustrophobic world for the Americans, used as they were to the open plains and they began to realize as they left the ponies behind and entered on foot into the dense rain forest that they were truly in the hands of the Indian. There was no way they could find direction in the jungle without his help.
They were three days into the forest and travelling in single file on a narrow track when Guatano suddenly froze and held up his fist to stop them.
All three stepped off the trail into the undergrowth and automatically sunk to one knee.
Guatano raised his chin and sniffed the air like a dog tasting scent; he turned to them and raised a finger to his lips for silence.
Both Belle and Kirby carried rifles and they raised them expectantly.
Nothing stirred in the forest. The birds and monkeys had stilled their constant chatter and the hush was a tangible thing that pressed in from all sides.
Kirby was about to whisper a query, when he heard it.
The sound of a woman crying. And then a man laughed harshly and there was a taint of tobacco smoke as the sounds neared.
Guatano was at his side, his lips close to Kirby’s ear.
‘Five men, they have women. Prisoner women. The men are some of those you seek.’
Kirby let Belle know, ‘Confederados,’ he whispered. ‘Could be we’ll get some information.’
Belle nodded agreement and Kirby turned again to Guatano and made an encircling gesture with his arms, closed his fist and held up a solitary finger. We need a single prisoner. The Indian nodded understanding and grinned in anticipation.
The heavy sound of footsteps grew louder and from amongst the broad leaves where they had taken cover, Kirby could see the heads of the approaching men. Two of them wore Confederate forage caps and all held long rifles couched in their arms or carried over their shoulders. They marched two in front and three at the rear of a long rope. The rope was looped around the necks of three women, one of them no older that thirteen years. They were mixed blood women, part Indian and part Latino and dressed in simple shifts of rough material lashed at the waist by leather thongs. Quite beautiful though, Kirby considered, as he saw their even features and proud bearing.
He glanced across at Belle and noticed the deep frown that creased her brow as one of the men sneered at the leading woman and cuffed her a hard blow around the head, sending her long black hair flying. The woman gasped in shock at the blow but did not cry out.
‘Aw, y’all is going to be making some pretty loud noises real soon,’ the man said, catching hold of the woman’s hair and jerking her head back. ‘I’ll make damned sure of that.’
‘You got that one in special mind, Ahab?’ called one of the men from the back. He chuckled around a large cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. ‘I see you is all excited there.’
‘You betcha, boy. This one here is prime and I know it’ll be like riding silk when I get inside,’ he leered at his captive. ‘That’s right ain’t it, honey?’
‘Better leave first pickings to the boss,’ another warned.
‘Old man Bond ain’t up to it no more, he don’t give a rat’s ass what kinda tail arrives.’
‘These here Indio women sure is fine. You think they going to miss these here ladies back home?’ asked a younger member of the team.
‘They just pigs in a trough, young Benjamin. Like animals, they don’t even note the calendar day, so how they going to miss some of their squaws?’
‘Hell, Ahab. I don’t even know what day it is. Nor year for that matter,’ confessed the boy.
‘That’s ‘cos your just a dumb ass kid, that’s why. Anyways who gives a flying fuck what they think? They’s just around to supply the superior white race with their services, that’s all. Don’t have no other purpose on God’s green earth than that.’
‘I say we experiment awhile right here and now,’ growled a tall, haggard looking fellow with a heavy black beard and stooped back. ‘See if they is up to scratch, and I got me an eye on this fine little pigeon here.’ He leaned over and caught the chin of the young girl in a large hand and twisted the tear-streaked face towards him. ‘You going to treat old Lloyd right, ain’t you, sweet thing?’
The girl, who was no more than a child, whimpered and uttered a sob of fear.
‘What you say, boys? What say we have a little party, right now?’ leered Lloyd hungrily. ‘Come on you little bitch,’ he said, groping the young girl roughly. ‘Make old Lloyd a happy soul.’
There was a solitary soft hoot of an owl, unexpected in the silence and it startled Lloyd enough to make him look around.
Guatano’s long, four-foot arrow took him clean in the eye. Lloyd tumbled over clutching at the lance lodged in his eye socket and screaming incoherently.
‘Ambush!’ shouted Benjamin and the men spun around searching the undergrowth for their attacker but Guatano had disappeared back into the ferns. The boy lifted his rifle and fired wildly into the undergrowth. ‘They’s here!’ he piped in terror. ‘But I cain’t see ‘em.’
His shot was well away from Belle and the others, who separated, moving at a crouch under the cover of the broad leaves.
‘There!’ shouted one of the men, noticing a moving leaf. A fusillade followed, ripping through the jungle and shredding bark and undergrowth. Fronds exploded and green sap and ruined vegetation spat into the air.
As the firing let up, Kirby rose up quickly from his hiding place and fired his Winchester. The cigar smoker gulped and spat out his smoke as a neat hole appeared in his forehead and he fell over backwards without a sound.
‘Somebody help me,’ hollered Benjamin. ‘Look here at poor Lloyd.’
The poison on the long arrow was beginning to take hold and the partially blinded Lloyd was going into rictus, his face contorting as he foamed at the mouth and his entire body shook uncontrollably.
The rest of the men were too involved with defending themselves to pay young Benjamin any heed and when Belle popped up and called out, ‘Hiya, boys!’ They turned in her direction in
amazement.
With her golden hair flashing in the dim light of the overhanging lianas and her fulsome figure outlined by a beam of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover and highlighting her for an instant. She appeared to the men as an angelic mirage set in the midst of the gloomy jungle. It took them a second to recover but by then it was too late.
Belle raised her rifle and fired twice from the hip, both shots taking one of the men in the chest and sending him cartwheeling back into the undergrowth alongside the track. Then Belle was gone, dropping back down into cover and swiftly changing position.
Only Ahab and Benjamin were left alive and the older Ahab did not hesitate longer, he took off at the run back down the track the way they had come. As he left, Kirby stepped out and leveled his rifle at Benjamin.
‘Drop it boy,’ he ordered and the terrified and confused young man shed his rifle and raised his hands readily.
‘Don’t shoot, mister. Don’t do it, I surrender,’ he wailed.
Kirby looked past him at the fleeing Ahab and was about to take aim when light fingers touched his arm. Guatano shook his head, grinned and arched a wicked looking eyebrow, then, in an instant he was gone. Disappearing into the brush to take up pursuit.
Kirby turned back to the young Confederate as Belle pushed her way out of the undergrowth and went over to the huddled women. She began to unfasten their bindings and they watched her with a mixture of fear and relief.
‘You serve, boy?’ Kirby asked.
‘No, sir,’ said Benjamin hurriedly. ‘I wasn’t old enough. Who is you? What you want with us? Look here what you done to my companions.’
‘Quiet,’ Kirby said sharply. ‘It’s me who does the asking.’
The boy was trembling, his raised hands shaking as he stared down at the now still Lloyd, who lay in a twisted position, a green bile flowing from his gaping mouth and the long arrow pinning his head. ‘Okay, right, yes,’ Benjamin gabbled. ‘Anything you say, mister. Oh, my God, look at poor Lloyd.’
‘Seems to have got an eyeful alright,’ Kirby agreed. ‘What are you boys doing out here with these women?’