by Wesley Ellis
Then Cardero could hold himself back no more and he finished with a series of long, jerking movements that brought a deep, racking, rushing climax.
He fell against Jessie, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling his face down to meet her nearly savage kiss.
She continued to sway against him, small finishing movements that brought lingering satisfaction to her body, which was gradually cooling, gradually draining of need and tension.
Cardero was still against her, his soft breathing brushing against her throat. She hugged him and watched the stars. She tried not to think about what kind of man this was, this bandit, Diego Cardero.
She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying her body’s warmth, its satisfaction. When she opened them again, a man with a rifle was standing over them.
Chapter 4
Carlos had an indescribably dirty leer on his crooked face. The rifle in his hands glinted dully in the moonlight. Cardero rolled over and sat up. He started to rise, but Carlos shoved him back.
“Damn you, Carlos.”
“Shut up. I’ve got the gun. Why should you get all the fun, eh? It’s my turn now.”
Diego didn’t answer. Instead, he launched himself at Carlos, a low growl rising from his throat as he clutched at the rifle in Carlos’ hands.
Carlos was a little quicker. He stepped back and slapped out with the stock of his rifle. There was a sickening thud as the stock met Diego Cardero’s jaw, and Diego rolled aside, holding his face and with his leg twitching.
“And now you lie back,” Carlos told Jessie. “Now it is my turn, eh?”
Carlos dropped his pants as Jessie eased away. The bandit stood over her, rifle still in hands. “Hold still,” he told her, “and do this my way.”
There was a small, unidentifiable sound then, like a cleaver cutting into meat. Carlos had been smiling; now he looked merely puzzled. He turned to look behind him and fell over dead, the arrow in his back snapping of as he hit the ground.
Diego had come to a little and he was in time to see Carlos fall. Someone moved on the rocks above them and the bandit reached for Carlos’ rifle. From one knee he fired a shot, which whined off rock, singing into the night. The man, whoever it was, was gone.
“Get dressed quickly!” Diego said. “That shot will bring them.”
“What are you going to do? What are you going to tell them?” Jessica wanted to know.
“Quickly, quickly, little one.” Diego kissed her briefly and then was tugging his own clothing on. Already they could hear the excitement in the camp below, hear shouting and the rushing of feet.
Cardero was still tucking in his shirt when the bandits, fully armed and with Mono at their head, arrived.
“What happened? Who’s that?”
“Carlos,” Halcón said, crouching beside the body. He peered up curiously at Diego. “An arrow in the back.”
“What is this, Diego?” Mono asked. “What’s happened here?”
“I just arrived. I was going to relieve Carlos. He had brought the woman up here. I don’t know what he thought he was going to do to her, though I have a good idea. Someone fired an arrow into Carlos’ back. I was in time to get one shot off, but it missed.”
“Yaquis?”
“One supposes.”
“Damn him. He was supposed to be on watch. Instead, he fools with the woman. We could have all had our throats cut in our sleep. Stupid bastard,” Mono said, and he kicked the dead body of Carlos. He looked around, eyes scouring the hills. “No one sleeps tonight. They’re out there and we now know it. No one touches this woman again. Understand me? I’ll find plenty of women for you, all you want. But later! Leave this one alone. Stupid bastard,” he then repeated, looking down at Carlos. Mono had his foot cocked back as if to kick the body again, but he never followed through. Jessica guessed there was only so much fun even a man like Mono could have kicking corpses.
“Spread out. Find positions! Don’t shoot each other,” Mono shouted. Then he returned his attention to Jessica and Diego. “Take her back to camp. Tie her again. Watch her and the Chinaman.”
“Yes, Mono.”
Then the bandit chief turned and walked away without another word, apparently satisfied completely with Diego’s explanation of the night’s events.
There was another man there yet, one who perhaps wasn’t wholly satisfied: Halcón who stood watching Diego for a long minute, his black eyes unreadable in the moonlight. He looked at Jessie and then at Diego, nodded as with satisfaction, and then started after Mono in a silent trot.
“He knows,” Jessica said.
“He knows something. No matter. He was no friend of Carlos anyway.”
“No.” Jessie looked at Carlos’ body and then at the cliff where the Indian who shot him had been. One Indian. One arrow. “Is that the way the Yaquis would attack?” she asked Diego.
“I don’t know. Who knows? Why? What are you thinking, Jessica?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. That is, I don’t know. Something doesn’t ring true here. What, I don’t know.”
“What about me, Jessica?” Diego asked. “Do I ring true to you now?”
She looked into his smiling eyes and felt his arm around her shoulders. Again she shook her head. “No, darn you, you don’t ring true, Diego Cardero. You don’t at all.”
Ki was worried by the time they returned. Relief washed over his face as he saw Jessica, saw that she was safe. Diego had done a good job tying Ki. His wrists were behind him as were his legs. A noose was around his neck and the rope from that led to his ankles. There was little Ki could do by way of movement without strangling himself.
“Sit down, Jessica,” Diego said.
“You’re not going to leave him like that?” Jessie asked with some heat.
“Not now, now that I am here.” Diego produced a knife and with it he cut the noose free of Ki’s throat. He proceeded to tie up Jessie firmly, but not tightly enough to cut off the circulation. “And now,” Diego said, “I am myself going to do something I don’t do often—try some of that tequila. Would either of you care to join me? No? Well, then, I drink alone. Oh”—he had started away, but now he halted and turned back—“please don’t make me shoot you, Ki. Let us all sit quietly the rest of the night.”
“Diego,” Jessie said in a whisper, “you could let us go—now while only we three are here. Ride with us.”
“No.” Diego smiled. “You misunderstand me, Jessica Starbuck. I can hardly let you go. I am sorry.”
After a little bow, he turned and walked away, Jessie’s puzzled eyes following him.
“What happened up there?” Ki asked. He had to repeat the question before Jessica heard him. Briefly she told Ki about Carlos and the arrow. Ki listened silently and nodded when she was through.
“Was it a Yaqui, Ki?” Jessica asked. “They all seem to think it was.”
“Perhaps,” Ki said. “Perhaps it was, after all, a Yaqui who killed Carlos. Whoever it was, I would say that he has done the world a favor.”
Diego Cardero was crouched near the dead fire, a rifle across his knees and a tin cup in his hand. His eyes were still on Jessica and Ki.
“This one, Ki?” Jessie asked in a low voice. “What do you make of him?”
“This one,” Ki answered, “is the dangerous one, more dangerous perhaps than Mono. Yes, this one is the one to be watched.”
The silver moon passed overhead and died behind the white mountains. Nothing moved on the desert. An owl called from somewhere and a coyote answered with a mournful howl and then was silent. If the Yaquis were out there, it seemed they had withdrawn, biding their time.
With the first gray light, the bandits dragged themselves back into camp after a long, cold watch among the rocks. Mono was in a terrible mood.
“Let’s go. Now. We ride while it’s cool.”
“Ride where?”
“San Ignacio. I want water, food, tequila. To hell with Don Alejandro. He can wait another day for his prizes here.”
Diego Cardero looked somewhat refreshed, his clothing barely dusty and his sombrero square on his head. He came to Jessica and Ki and helped them to their feet, cutting their ankle bonds so that they could ride.
“Remember what I promised you,” he said in a low voice to Jessie. “No harm will come to you.”
“And just how,” she asked while glancing at Mono, “can you promise that?”
“Remember,” was all he said. Then Diego walked to where the horses were being saddled.
“What have you done to him?” Ki asked.
Jessica only shook her head. “I’m not sure. Have I done something to him, or has he done something to me? For some reason, Ki, I trust this man, this Diego Cardero.”
“Feminine instinct?” Ki asked with a slight smile.
“Perhaps,” she answered soberly.
Arturo was there with their horses. “Get on. No one’s in any mood for talk.”
Jessica swung aboard the horse and had her boots tied to the stirrups. Ki was again hitched to the saddlehorn. Then, with Arturo slashing at their horses’ flanks, they started forward with a jerk and followed the line of bandits out of the white canyon, leaving the Yaquis and Carlos behind.
The sun rose fully an hour later, fiery red and already shooting fingers of light and heat. By ten, the heat was insufferable. Ki rode limply, trying to marshal his forces and at the same time give the impression that he was a beaten and exhausted man. Ki was an incredible physical specimen with ropy, lean muscles and with reactions far exceeding those of these bandits who were for the most part going to fat, soaked in liquor, dull, and sluggish.
There would be a time when Ki would have the chance, that single chance to strike, and he meant to be ready. In the meanwhile he did his best to look exhausted and dazed.
Jessica glanced at Ki, who now rode next to her, and she smiled inwardly, knowing what was going on in his cunning mind.
Sometime after noon Ki looked up and saw through the thin haze of heat and blowing sand a monument dark and wavering. He blinked twice and then recognized it for what it was, the tower of a mission church.
“Jessica,” he said quietly.
She blinked and looked at him.
“Ahead. There’s a town ahead. San Ignacio, I suppose.”
She peered forward, her eyes narrowing. Then she, too, could make out the tower, the surrounding adobe buildings, and the dull color of the village trees.
“And what is Mono bringing to them?” she asked.
Ki looked at the bandit leader whose red eyes were shining with dark pleasure. He looked like the devil about to deliver hell to San Ignacio.
Maybe that was just what he was.
Chapter 5
San Ignacio was an ancient town founded in the seventeenth century by Franciscan friars who chose the site because of the water supply and because of the large Indian population who offered many souls for the friars’ tending.
The church itself was vast compared to other local structures. A bell tower rose to a hundred feet or more. Seven bronze bells of varying sizes hung inertly there. There was a wall around the mission, but the huge wooden gates stood open, and inside the walls was a garden with much cactus, some climbing, deep purple bougainvillea, and a patch of tall, green corn.
The village was dusty and low and made of adobe bricks. As the bandits rode through the streets, windows were slammed shut. Children ran toward the willows along the edge of the town; the street was empty before they reached the village square where a trickle of a fountain filled an octagonal tile basin.
Jessica saw movement from the comer of her eye, and she looked around in time to see two peons, both men, running from a building to a nearby alley.
Mono drew his pistol and fired at their heels. Four puffs of dust sprang up. One of the men fell and had to drag himself into an alley.
“Sheep!” Mono roared with laughter, ejecting the spent cartridges and reloading. He swung down, shouldered two of his men aside, and ducked his head into the fountain. He turned, wiped back his stringy black hair, and replaced his sombrero.
“Where are you, sheep? Where is everyone today, eh? Aren’t you happy to see Mono has come back? Lock up your daughters, sheep!”
He laughed again, perched on the rim of the fountain, and stared at the empty streets.
“Leave Miguel here with the horses,” he said. “Everyone else to the cantina!”
The bandits cheered and fired their pistols into the air. Diego Cardero stood aside with arms folded. “What about the prisoners, Mono?”
“Bring them along. We’ll find a place to lock them up,” the bandit leader said impatiently.
They tramped up the empty street. Rough hands shoved Ki along. Once he was tripped and yanked to his feet. The bandits’ laughter was loud and approving; they were ready to let loose, to have some fun. Violent fun.
The cantina door was locked, but it didn’t do the little proprietor any good. Mono’s boot smashed at the door and it sprang open.
“Sanchez, Sanchez! Don’t hide from me. It’s your old friend Mono!”
The owner of the cantina appeared, small, subservient, and scared to death, his protuberant eyes goggling at Mono and his men.
Already Arturo and Miguel were behind the bar, grabbing tequila bottles from the shelves, tossing them to the other bandits.
Mono missed the first one they threw him, laughed as it crashed against the earth floor, and caught a second, raising it high in a mock toast.
The proprietor hadn’t moved. He stood wringing his hands, watching in unhappy anticipation.
“You remember us, Sanchez?” Mono grabbed the little man by his shirt front and yanked him to him. “Eh? You remember Mono and Arturo? Halcón?”
“I remember you,” Sanchez barely squeaked.
“Good. Then you know what we want: music, much to drink, food. Where is that fat wife of yours? Have her serve up food for us.”
“Yes, Mono.”
Mono lifted the little man to his toes, made a sound of disgust, and then pushed him away hard. Sanchez was hurled back into a heavy table, catching his spine on the comer of it.
“What’s the Chinaman doing here still? I told you to lock him up somewhere.”
“Yes, Mono. Sanchez,” Arturo said, “give me the key to your storeroom; we have a use for it.” He nodded at Ki.
“And the woman,” Diego Cardero said. Mono turned to look at him, bottle to his lips.
Arturo started to take Jessie by the shoulder, but Mono said, “Let the woman stay. Maybe she will talk to Mono, eh? Maybe she will see that Mono is not such a bad fellow after all.”
“Your order, Mono, was—” Diego began.
“My order was my order, Cardero! Now I change it. Leave the woman. Put her in a chair. Sanchez! Where are those lazy musicians of yours? Bring on the mariachi! We need music.”
Jessie and Ki exchanged a helpless glance. Ki didn’t like this much. The bandits were going to get drunk and they were going to get violent. He wanted Jessie out of their reach.
But no one had asked Ki what he wanted. Arturo shoved him forward across the packed dirt floor of the dark cantina and toward a narrow corridor behind the bar to the right. A harried Sanchez stood watching them, his mouth working without making a sound. As Arturo passed, he said, “And find that daughter of yours, Sanchez.”
“She’s out of town. Visiting her aunt in Dos Caballos.”
“Find her. You’re lying.”
Sanchez could just stand there bewildered and deathly afraid. His head bobbed in a motion that was neither affirmative nor negative; it was just a helpless response to a command he was afraid to follow and terrified to reject.
Arturo rattled the keys he held, selected a heavy iron key, and moved on, still pushing Ki ahead of him. They stopped at a narrow door, which Ki inspected quickly, meticulously: Iron hinges on the outside were bolted through three inches of solid oak; the door was window-less, fitted well, and exceptionally solid.
Arturo opene
d the door and nodded. “Get in there.”
Ki’s eyes met those of the bandit. He stepped forward into the storeroom, and Arturo kicked him on the base of the spine, driving him into the room.
“Get in, I said. I haven’t got time to fool with you Chinaman.”
Ki lay sprawled on the floor, his back arched with pain and his mouth open in silent anguish. The door banged shut and was locked, and Ki came slowly to his feet, his eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.
He moved slowly around the storeroom, finding nothing of any use. There were no windows, no other door. There were no tools that might have been useful in working on the heavy iron hinges of the door. The ceiling was low and appeared solid.
Ki sat on his haunches near the door, hearing the savage laughter of the bandits, the crashing of glass, the flow of Spanish curses.
He sat there and he brooded and watched the darkness. They had Jessica. They had her and Ki could not allow that. They would get drunk and then they would get crazy. They were a pack of savage dogs and deserved to be treated in the same way. Ki made his vow then: They would be killed. He would wait no longer. The war would begin.
Jessica Starbuck sat with her wrists tied in front of her, watching the bandits drink and grow wilder. How far would Mono let them go? As far as he had allowed them in Sonoita where a town had been destroyed, its women raped, its men murdered?
Mono had other objectives just now—getting Ki and Jessie to Don Alejandro, to the great hacienda where Kurt Brecht seemingly lived as a Mexican nobleman while he directed the cartel’s slaving business.
But perhaps Mono wouldn’t care much after a few bottles of tequila. Maybe a day or two wouldn’t matter that much. So long as they had liquor and entertainment.
“Drink,” Arturo said. He had slipped up beside Jessica Starbuck. Now he drew a chair next to hers and poured half a tumbler of tequila for her. His voice was a command, “Drink this, Senorita Starbuck.”