by Wesley Ellis
“A dangerous scheme, amigo,” Diego correctly stated. “Think of what is involved—slipping into town unseen and starting your fires without being caught. They have fifty pairs of eyes.”
“Let’s see if they won’t have a few less by tomorrow,” Ki replied. He had already made up his mind. After dark he would burn the outlaws’ shelter down around their heads. “We’re up against it, Diego. We’ve got to use any weapon that comes to mind.”
“Including olive oil?” Diego asked with a tight little smile.
“Yes. I’ll leave that to your charge. Concentrate on the gates, I think. Any other ideas?”
“Short of sticks and stones and prayer? No.”
“Then we’ll go ahead with this. See that half of your men are rested, will you? But put everyone on the walls after midnight. That’s when they will come, I think—in the dead of the night.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sleep.” Ki smiled. “I expect to have a long night.”
That was just what Ki did. He went to the basement vaults and found his room. He tugged the blanket up under his chin. He was weary, nearly exhausted, but not too exhausted to feel a stirring in his groin when Maria slipped in, locked the door, and dropped her skirt.
“I want to sleep with you,” she said. “Maybe this will be the last time. Maybe tomorrow ...” She shook her head in anger and fell silent, slowly unbuttoning her blouse until her dark, ripe breasts were revealed. Then she moved to Ki’s bed, her hips gently swaying, and he drew back the blanket to allow her to slip in beside him, naked and warm and wanting.
Ki slid his hand down her shoulder, across the dip of her waist, and up over her hip. Maria snuggled nearer, lifting one leg, and throwing it over Ki’s thigh. She was smooth and warm and comforting against him.
“Tonight?” she asked. “Will you die tonight?”
“No,” Ki said flatly.
Her hand dipped between his legs and she began to toy with his shaft, to feel it swell and lengthen.
“There has been trouble since I met you. I would like to know you when there is no trouble in your life.”
Ki smiled and stroked her dark hair. And when, he wondered, has that ever been—when was there no trouble in his life? Would there ever be such a time?
He drew her mouth to his and kissed it, tasting her full lips, feeling her searching tongue press against his. Her body budged his leg and her hand began to move against his erection more urgently, to slide down its length to the base and back to the head of it where her thumb traced the sensitive head of it.
“Don’t die, Ki,” Maria said in a whisper.
She sat up inside his legs with a small grunt and then scooted to him, her legs going over his. Ki sat up to face her. Maria took his rod and touched it to her, letting it linger and the soft, warm entrance to her body.
Maria’s arms were drapped around his neck. She scooted nearer yet, taking Ki into her. One hand dropped to feel the man where he entered her, to take him, with thumb and two fingers and ease him in still farther.
She threw back her head, gasping as if she couldn’t catch her breath, and Ki kissed her breasts lightly, his lips teasing her taut nipples. Maria cupped her a breast with one hand and offered it to Ki who kissed it roughly now, with tongue and teeth, tasting her woman’s body, feeling her thrust against him, feeling her open to him—as she continued to sway against him, to press her heated body to his.
Ki reached behind her and clenched her ass, drawing her nearer yet, directing her rhythm, which was bringing his need to a rapidly boiling urge to complete the act.
Her lips were at his ear, his throat, his chest as she pitched her body against his. Gradually Ki lay back and Maria followed him down, her body moving against his, her hands searching for his sack, her neck arched as she gave a distant cry of joy.
Maria sagged against Ki and he began to feel the pulsing in his loins give way to necessity. He drove deeply into her and her inner muscles worked against his shaft, teasing it, adding pressure and encouragement.
“Now, Ki,” she whispered into his ear, “finish it. Fill me.”
Ki was a gentleman and he couldn’t refuse the lady, not when she clung to him, her breath hot and moist in his ear. She begged him to reach his climax. He came urgently, his body reacting with wild, plunging strokes until he was drained and he had to hold her still and keep her body from moving against him, demanding more.
He slept and she slept beside him, keeping the night of death away for just a little while.
It was Maria who woke him hours later. She bent low and kissed his cheek. Ki’s eyes opened to see the woman, dressed again, her long dark hair brushed down across her back. The candle in the comer was burning dully.
“What is it?” he asked, reaching for her leg and stroking it gently.
“It’s midnight. You wanted to get up, didn’t you?”
“Wanted?” Ki smiled to himself. Get up and go killing or be killed himself when there was a woman waiting, a wanting, tender woman? You lead a bitter life, Ki thought. But there were reasons he had to live that way, reasons life sometimes left a bitter taste in his mouth. There were things that had to be done and no one but Ki to do them, no others but Ki and Jessica Starbuck.
He rose, shook his head a little, and began to dress. Maria watched. Ki wore the monk’s robe again. It was loose, offering much freedom, and the color was dark enough to be of some help in the night fighting. In the pockets of the robe were his silent, deadly shuriken. This was a night for silence and the throwing stars were the only weapon he allowed himself.
Jessica Starbuck was at the door suddenly and behind her was Diego. “Well?” Jessie asked. Her voice was just a little tense. “Time, isn’t it?”
“It’s time.”
Diego Cardero said, “I’ve got—”
“You are not going,” Ki said bluntly.
“The hell I’m not!”
“You’re a liability, Diego. I’ve seen you move. That bullet has slowed you down more than you think. No, you are staying. We need a commander here anyway, someone to watch the mission forces.”
“They know what to do,” Diego argued.
“This is not something we can discuss, Diego. You are going to stay behind. But I do want one more man, Fly Catcher.”
“Fly Catcher,” Diego said with pique, “but not me.”
Ki was tying a rope belt around his robe. “Fly Catcher is a silent man, a shadow, a hunter. I’m not saying he’s a better warrior than you, Diego, but he’s the kind of warrior I need with me tonight.”
That was the end of the discussion. Diego sulked a little, but in his heart he knew that Ki was right. Ki didn’t particularly like taking Jessica along, but she was determined to go, and when Jessie was determined, Ki knew he might as well argue with a brick wall.
With kerosene from the mission’s stores, they started out. Fly Catcher wore the two five-gallon cans of kerosene he was carrying around his neck on a rope, leaving his hands free for his bow and arrows—another reason Ki had chosen Fly Catcher for this expedition. Fly Catcher knew how to use a silent weapon expertly.
Jessie was unarmed but for a knife and the deadliest weapon any of them carried, a box of matches.
They slipped out of the side gate and let their eyes adjust to the darkness. It wouldn’t do to blunder into a wandering bandit patrol. There would be guards out somewhere—Mono wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Ki looked toward the darkened town. From somewhere light gleamed dully. Perhaps from the cantina—nothing seemed to slow down the bandidos’ drinking. Ki looked at Jessie and Fly Catcher and nodded, and the three of them started down a gully leading to the south side of the adobe town, Ki hoping to hell that Maria’s forebodings hadn’t been right, hoping that this was not his night to die.
It would be hell getting back to the mission if they were spotted. This entire foray was a long chance, but if it worked, it just might even the odds a little. It might give the people of Sa
n Ignacio a chance to live—even if it meant the death of their town.
Chapter 16
Jessica Starbuck could feel her pulse in her throat, at her temples, and behind her eyes. Just beyond the clump of sage where they now crouched, the gully opened up and met the back street of San Ignacio. There were three men there, watching and waiting.
Fly Catcher went to the ground and slipped from the burden of the kerosene cans he carried. He notched an arrow, pointed a finger to their right, and crept off into the darkness. Jessica had been watching him go. She could see how he vanished as he did, becoming only a silent chunk of the night.
This one, she knew, had to be good. The bandidos up there had to be taken out permanently without a sound escaping from their lips, and that wouldn’t be easy.
A badly wounded man tends to set up a terrible howl. They would have to be dead before they hit the ground. All three of them. Jessica had her knife in her hand. She didn’t remember unsheathing it, but there it was, gleaming coldly in the night.
Ki touched her shoulder and made a motion. The gesture was emphatic: Stay here. Then Ki was gone, moving off into the shadows to their left. Jessica Starbuck could only lie there and watch the bandidos. listening to their muttered conversation.
“Get it over with,” one of them said. “Hell, the peons will run like sheep.”
“Yesterday they didn’t.”
“Yesterday Don Alejandro made a stupid error. He should have—”
Jessica didn’t hear the rest of it, her mind had caught onto that one point and clung to it. Don Alejandro was here! Kurt Brecht himself had come with the reinforcements. The cartel general was in town somewhere, and if he could be found and killed, the slave running along the border could be broken.
Where was he? The cantina, of course. If she could tell Ki ...
“It’s getting damn cold,” one of the bandits said. “Why don’t we—”
“What?”
The bandit didn’t respond. He fell face to the ground, dead, an arrow through his heart. The second bandit whirled, bringing his gun up. If he fired, it was all over. He didn’t get the chance to pull the trigger, however; a shuriken whispered death through the air, striking the bandido’s throat with deadly accuracy, and gagging and flailing, he toppled.
A third man took to his heels, but another arrow from Fly Catcher’s vengeful bow took him down silently. Jessica snatched up the heavy kerosene cans and staggered out of the gully to the back of the building where the dead men lay.
Ki was already there, and as Jessie arrived, he took the kerosene and splashed it on the walls and the log eaves of the building.
“Ki,” she whispered, “he’s here. Don Alejandro is here.”
“We can’t do anything about it now.”
“We can go after him,” Jessica Starbuck said. Ki turned to look at her, kerosene can in his hands. Starlight was in her blond hair. Her lips were parted with eagerness.
“No,” was all Ki said.
“Ki, please. We can end it all with one stroke!” Her voice rose dangerously.
“It won’t save the people of San Ignacio,” Ki replied, and he was right, Jessica knew. Damn all, he was right. Mono would fight on. Killing Don Alejandro wouldn’t save the town.
Fly Catcher stood by, silently watching as Ki worked. He took one of the cans and moved up a nearby alley, testing the wind by turning until it caressed his cheek. Yes, the Papago decided, this fire would sweep through San Ignacio, killing many if they were lucky.
Jessie and Ki darted across the street and began splashing kerosene on the buildings there. One of them was Fernando’s barber shop. The next was the town hall. If the people of San Ignacio could have seen them then, they would have had trouble deciding who was the enemy, the bandidos or these strangers from the north.
A bandido appeared from nowhere, directly in front of Jessica and Ki, who were pouring kerosene onto a pile of wood beside the town hall.
There wasn’t time for Ki to react and his hands were busy, but Jessica moved. Seeing the bandido draw his holstered gun, she threw her knife at him with deadly accuracy. Ki had spent hours showing her how to use a knife and now that training had paid off.
The knife struck heart muscle, and the bandit staggered back, already dead. The gun in his hand exploded with flame and noise, and Ki stiffened, looking at Jessica with anxious eyes.
“That does it,” he said. “We will go. Now!”
“We haven’t finished—”
“Now!”
From up the street they could already hear shouts, running feet, broken glass. Jessica took her box of matches from her pocket and struck one. The side of the town hall went up in a roar of red flame and smoke leaping to the skies.
They retreated up the alley, pausing to set the barber shop on fire. The flames crackled and came to thunderous life. Rounding the comer, they could see bandidos rushing toward them. Someone shouted and a finger pointed. They ran on, reaching the shelter of a building as a dozen shots rang out.
Fly Catcher had started three fires up a second alley. The flames leaped skyward, licking at the darkness. Ki used another match on the first building they had doused, and then with Fly Catcher on their heels, they raced for the gully.
San Ignacio was ablaze with light. Flames forty feet high painted smoky images against the night. The sound was tremendous. They never even heard the rifle shot that killed Fly Catcher.
The Indian was running beside them and he simply crumpled up as if every nerve in his body had been destroyed by the .44 slug that had ripped through his skull.
He went down and Jessica stopped to help him. Ki grabbed her arm, yanking her away.
“He’s hurt,” Jessie shouted.
Ki had had a better look. The top of the Papago Indian’s skull was missing. “He’s dead. Run or we will be, too.”
Jessie glanced back and then followed Ki up the gully toward the mission. Shots rang in their ears. Once Jessica went down, ripping open a knee on a rock, but Ki lifted her to her feet, and they ran on, Jessie hobbling and in pain. Behind them, the guns died down and the flames increased.
It didn’t help when one wild shot was cut loose by someone on the mission wall. Fortunately, there was only the one. If panic had set in and the guns along the parapet had opened up in unison, there was every chance that Jessie and Ki would have been killed.
Diego met them at the side gate. “Damn fool,” he said. “I told everyone to watch what they were shooting at. He just wasn’t listening.”
“You didn’t tell them we set the fire.”
“No. We’d have a mutiny on our hands. Told them it was reconnaissance.”
“Ki!” Maria was there suddenly and in Ki’s arms.
“How did it—” Diego started to ask, but a cry from the wall aborted his question.
“Here they come! It’s Mono!”
Ki held Maria’s arms for a minute, looking up in disbelief at the sentry. Mono was coming again, now? Ki had expected stealth and care, but if they had already spotted Mono it meant a full-scale attack.
“You seem to have angered him,” Diego said dryly.
Jessica commented, “Let’s try to get him a little an grier then. He’s making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” Ki said cautiously, “maybe Mono is making a great mistake.”
On the other hand, maybe Mono was right. Maybe hurling all of his force against the mission from out of the night would be enough to send the peons into panic. Both sides recognized Mono’s superiority of arms. Every shot of the Mexicans on the wall would have to count, whereas Mono’s men could burn rounds of ammunition keeping the sentries’ heads down while they stormed the walls.
“Let’s get up there,” Ki said. “Quickly.”
Diego hesitated, still looking at the gate. “Where’s the Indian? Where’s Fly Catcher?” When they told him, he was silent before saying, “I’ll get Don Alejandro for him. I swear it.”
There wasn’t time to worry about vengeance just then, h
owever; survival was the only matter of importance. After climbing to the top of the thick walls, Ki and Jessie were in time to see the first charge of Mono’s bandidos.
Darkness covered much of their movement, and when the bandit force did appear, it was much closer than Ki had expected. They must have ridden to the mission, but now they had wisely abandoned their horses and were charging on foot toward the front gate.
“Let them have it!” Ki shouted and a barrage of musket fire cut down some in the front ranks of the onrushing bandidos. “Don’t fire all at once! One rank at a time. Fire and then reload. Take your time when you aim!”
They didn’t hear half of it and Ki had told them all of that before. It didn’t seem to be doing much good. The Mexicans weren’t disciplined soldiers. They were scared men fighting for their lives.
“The gate,” Jessie shouted, and Ki ran that way along the top of the wall, risking a sniper’s bullet. The bandits had dragged a heavy pole with them, and now they were using it as a battering ram. The thud of each impact could be felt along the wall.
Brother Joseph was there, his face lighted by the fires burning hotly beneath his ancient iron pots. Inside them, the olive oil was burbling, smoking, moving with heat.
The outlaws crashed into the gate again and the friar looked skyward.
“Pray later,” Ki said, “fight now.”
The friar crossed himself and bent to help Ki. They dumped the scalding oil onto the bandidos below, searing flesh and hair. With screams of pain and cries of terror, the outlaws fell back, the oil clinging to their flesh.
A second pot was overturned and the bandidos abandoned the battering ram in order to limp and dart back across the dark grass toward shelter. Musket balls took half of the unarmed bandidos down. One lay crying to the night for fifteen minutes before his pain was ended by death.
The field was silent.