Over the Andes to Hell (A Captain Gringo Western Book 8)

by Lou Cameron

  “But, Dick, that’s out-and-out robbery! Won’t the Colombians eventually do something about it?”

  “Sure, in a year or more. Meanwhile the price of rubber is booming and you can ship a lot of latex in a year. I suppose, in time, if he can’t beat or bribe the whole Colombian army, he’ll have to pull in his horns a bit. But what the hell, they can’t hit his headquarters on the Brazilian side of the line without getting into a war with Brazil, and they won’t be ready for that in Bogotá in the foreseeable future. Brazil could eat Colombia for breakfast and Bogotá knows it. Old Dom Luis must think he has it made. Did you get a good look at his spread while you were visiting there?”

  Susan nodded and said, “Oh, yes, I told you he was ever so hospitable. He has a huge baronial house on a hill back from his private township near the landing. He took us for a ride around his holdings on his little narrow-gauge railroad. He seemed very proud of his railroad. It runs for miles through the jungle, and the Shay locomotive he had shipped up the river was gilded with gold paint. He had what he said was his family coat of arms painted on the tender.”

  “Sounds like a neat toy. Did they have the train armed?”

  “Armed? Oh, now that you mention it, there were some Gatling guns on the tender and caboose. Dom Luis said he was on guard against wild Indians.”

  “As well he should be. How do the tracks run? Is it a single loop or a network of track through the selva, Susan?”

  She thought and said, “I honestly can’t say. We went in a sort of circle. A big one. There were other tracks branching off, now that you mention it. But it was hard to see anything. We spent most of the time chugging through thick forest. I’m a little confused about rubber plantations, Dick. We hardly saw any rubber trees at all. Dom Luis speaks very refined English and he was pointing out the different trees to us. He seems to know them all. Quinine, mahogany, balsa, and others I can’t recall. How can you gather enough rubber to matter if the rubber trees are scattered about like that, Dick?”

  “You walk a lot. The British have been planting regular rubber plantations in the Far East lately. Brazilian rubber is gathered from wild native trees. Why wait for a tree to grow when you can get some slob to hunt a really big one down for you? Those other spur tracks you saw must lead to widely spaced tappers’ camps deep in the selva. The tappers are sent out with their tools and buckets and told not to come back until they fill them. The way I understand it, a tapper covers a beat of maybe twenty square miles or so, staggering from tree to tree and sleeping under them at night. He taps them going one way. Gathers the latex on his way back. They smoke and bale the latex at the central camp and then the choo-choo comes to pick it up and deliver it to the landing.”

  “Brrr, it sounds like a hard life for the poor tappers. How much do you suppose Dom Luis has to pay a man to work like that, Dick?”

  “It is a hard life. That’s why nobody wants to do it unless they get paid a lot. I don’t think Dom Luis pays them anything. He needs the money for his gold choo-choo and private army. His slaves get maybe enough food to keep them on their feet and a chance to go on living. It’s the going rate on the rubber frontier.”

  “That’s awful, Dick! Why don’t the poor slaves run away?”

  “Where? Damned few slaves have ever run away, Susan. People who keep slaves don’t make it easy for them to do that. You spent some time alone in the selva, naked and unarmed. Would you care for another shot at it if you knew that there was a warm meal waiting for you if you just came back with the latex, or a good beating if you got caught again by the flagelados before you starved or got killed by a snake or an Indian?”

  She shuddered and said, “It’s frightening either way. But I think I’d take my chances with the jungle. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably. Educated people don’t make good slaves. They know there’s another world somewhere for them to get to. That’s why Dom Luis acted so polite to you missionaries instead of handing you some buckets. The Indians and mestizos he’s been recruiting are simple people who’ve already gotten used to being abused. They’ve lived close to the bone all their lives as it is. Being forced to work for Dom Luis can’t be much fun, even for a subsistence peon, or they wouldn’t run from his slavers. But, once he has them in his power, they probably settle down and just do as they’re told. The good workers probably get a pat on the head and an extra rum ration. If they’re very good indeed he may let them have a night with a slave girl every once in awhile. That’s how slavery works, Susan. A few modest comforts and a smile instead of a scowl from the man who holds your life in his hands. Most people are sheep, even working in a bank back home. As long as Dom Luis either kills or makes gunmen out of the few tough guys his recruiters bring in, he hasn’t got much to worry about.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible, Dick. What can we do to help?”

  “We have to supply the bastard with more troublemakers than he can handle, of course. These boys and girls with me might look like ordinary peons, but I doubt if they’d tap rubber, free, for me!”

  “I see. You and your Blue Brigade will attack the plantation and free the slaves of Dom Luis, right?”

  “Wrong. My gang is pretty tough, and now we have them all armed to the teeth. But Dom Luis has a whole private army and, when he misses the patrol we just cut up, they’ll be expecting trouble. You don’t hit a larger enemy force on their own ground with a dozen fighters, Susan. The smartest thing we could do would be to go around them.”

  “But, Dick, you just said you wanted to make trouble for the slavers.”

  “Year, I know what I said. I never said it was smart.”

  Gaston had been listening, quietly for Gaston. He said soberly, “I am not a fan of this mysterious Dom Luis, Dick. But I liked the idea of going around him better. The disgusting rubber man has never done anything to us that warrants the risk of our lives.”

  “Come on, Gaston. They wiped out Susan’s friends and just attacked us!”

  “Mais non, it is we who attacked them, remember? They were not after us personally. They only sought to improve the lives of these primitives. As to vengeance for the loss of the missionaries, Silva confessed to us that the band we wiped out was indeed the guilty gang. We are ahead, for once, my old and rare! We are almost out of Colombian territory. We are armed and formidable. Thanks to the contents of a few flagelado pockets, we even have drinking money to go around. I vote we march on by. This Dom Luis has no idea we are in his thrice-accursed jungle, hein?”

  “Yeah, that gives us a nice edge, doesn’t it?”

  “Merde alors! You have not been listening! We will soon be over the border. We are not wanted on Brazilian soil! Not, that is, at the moment. But have you considered the dim view Brazil would take if we were to announce our entry into their fair country by attacking a powerful Brazilian planter who knows enough people in Rio to obtain vast land grants?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and replied, “Yeah, we’ve agreed I’m being stupid. But the son of a bitch is more than a slaver, Gaston. He’s a two-faced out-and-out killer! Don’t you see what he did to those missionaries? He played Mr. Innocent and treated them like guests, for the record. Then he sent hired guns after them to wipe them out, along with some of his own people.”

  “I agree he sounds like a most tiresome ogre, Dick. But the world is full of them. How can one man hope to rid the world of all its ogres in one lifetime?”

  “He can’t. But he can wipe out the ogres he meets. Light one little candle and all that crap. We’ve been in a lot of fights together, Gaston. Most of the time, we’ve simply been fighting to stay alive, and some of the guys we’ve had to fight had to be nicer guys than this Dom Luis. The kids with us picked up the gun to fight for a better world. Are we all going to just walk away from a fight that might really mean something?”

  Gaston sighed and said, “I would, if I could, but I have seen that look in your eye before.” He turned to Susan and added, “He thinks he is on a crusade. I think it must have something to
do with the books you blond Protestant types read. The nice thing about receiving one’s early religion in a dead language is that less of it seems to rub off on one, hein?”

  Susan smiled at Captain Gringo adoringly and said, “I think he’s just wonderful.”

  Across the hut, Diablilla turned from the Jivaro chief and asked in Spanish, “Is that girl talking dirty to you, Dick?”

  Captain Gringo called back, “No, we’re talking about the rubber slavers.” But as he made eye contact with the young blonde, he wasn’t sure whether he was telling the truth to his adelita or not.

  He got Diablilla to translate for him as he attempted to explain his plans to the Jivaro. It gave her something to think about, but the Jivaro didn’t seem too taken with the idea of wiping out a colony of Brazilians. The old chief explained that he was a peaceful gent. Captain Gringo pointed up at the heads dangling from the ridge-pole and asked how such a peaceful gent had accumulated such a collection.

  Diablilla warned, “Do not press the matter, Dick. I told you they do not like to take orders. I can tell you how those men lost their heads. They bothered the caslque. Or he thought they were bothering him. Jivaro do not make such fine distinctions as we.”

  “Jesus, do you mean they can turn on someone just for the hell of it?”

  “No, although their motives may seem unpredictable to their victims. You saw how they took in and cared for this girl they found lost in the selva. You saw how easy it was to make friends with them. Some of the earlier visitors you now see the remains of were not so lucky.”

  “They made some dumb move, huh?”

  “Who knows? They may have simply been in the vicinity when some member of the tribe took sick or was bitten by a bushmaster. You see, Dick, these Jivaro do not believe in accidents. Any misfortune, to a Jivaro, must be the result of a hostile act by someone. Someone who wishes them harm.”

  “You mean if a Jivaro stubs his toe, it’s witchcraft?”

  “Of course. He did not mean to stub his toe, did he? They understand open hostility, naturally. They knew those slavers were out to do them harm and they are most pleased with you for what you did to them. I think I have them convinced that this Dom Luis is their enemy and that they should blame him for any misfortunes in the near future. But let us hope no child comes down with a fever while we are among them. Forget trying to recruit them to our cause, Dick. They don’t understand, and it could be playing with fire to press them further. I have already had some difficulty explaining to them why you and the men with you did not bring back any heads for to shrink.”

  “Hell, they’re welcome to them if they want the heads.”

  “You still do not understand, Dick. No Jivaro has any use for the head of an enemy another man kills. The casique says you and the men who helped you fight the flagelados should sleep apart from the rest of us tonight. He says his people are frightened of the ghosts that may be following you.”

  “Oboy! Purification rites. I ran into that among North American Indians a while back. I guess we’d better not be vile until we do something about appeasing the spirits. But can’t they settle for something easier? I’ve no idea how the hell you shrink a head. I don’t think I want to know.”

  Diablilla spoke to the Jivaro. A man older than the chief threw some powdered tobacco in the fire to excuse himself to the spooks before he answered her in some detail. She told Captain Gringo, “They say they are not ignorant people and that they know our customs are not the same as theirs. But he says you’d better do something. I think so, too, if we intend to stay here much longer.”

  The American thought, remembered a book he’d read, and said, “Okay, tell them the ghosts of Christians are different. Tell them that iron is big medicine to us and that I took all the iron weapons away from the dead men. I have all their iron and their ghosts will be afraid of me now.”

  She tried it and it seemed to work. It made no sense, but it sounded as logical to him as shrinking a dead man’s head. She said, “They say our customs are our own business, but that they’d prefer you to sleep alone anyway. The ghosts might try to give someone else a bad dream if they can’t get inside your head tonight.”

  He nodded and said, “That sounds fair.” Then, grateful that Susan didn’t understand Spanish, he added, “I was sort of looking forward to trying it in a hammock with you, querida. But we’d better not press our luck.”

  Gaston, who of course had been following the conversation with interest, chimed in, “In my opinion we are pressing our luck to stay here at all. Do you think they would try to stop us if we left before bedtime, Diablilla?”

  She replied, “No but they might feel insulted. They have already been erecting new thatch and hanging hammocks for our party. They say they wish for to get drunk with us before we all turn in. If we were to leave and disappoint them …”

  “No problem,” Captain Gringo cut in. “It’s too dark to travel and God knows where other flagelado gangs may be camped out there. We’re safer here with Jivaro scouts out around us to pass the word along if anybody important is headed our way. What’s this getting drunk business, Diablilla?”

  “Combined hospitality and magic. They know the alcohol in their chichi does crazy things to one’s head. They don’t know why. They think it is a gift from the spirit world, since they often have visions when they are drunk. They always get drunk with guests. It is fun, and they know they must remain sober around possible enemies.”

  Gaston laughed and said, “In that case, let us not be rude, hein? The stuff is not bad, Dick. Hardly even an ordinary wine, but when in Rome …”

  Captain Gringo shot a warning look around at Pancho, Nunez, and the others as he said softly, “Listen, muchachos, if you’ve paid any attention at all, you know what thin ice we’re skating on. Pass the word that nobody refuses a drink, but that they’re to spill as much as they can and swallow as little as possible. If a drunken Indian gets out of line, let it pass. If any of our people takes a swing or makes a pass at an Indian I’ll shoot first and ask why later.”

  Pancho nodded and said, “We can hold our liquor, señor. I. will tell the others to nurse their drinks and pass out as soon as possible, eh?”

  “Good thinking. Better make sure all the guns are set on safe, too. Tell the adelitas nobody expects them to out-and-out give in to any youthful high-jinks, but to fend off passes gently. Diablilla, what are the odds on a drunken Jivaro trying to rape one of you girls?”

  Diablilla looked reproachfully at Susan and said, “They never raped that flashy blonde, did they? I don’t think that will be much of a problem, Dick. These wild tribes are most casual about sex. It is considered proper for any man to ask any woman but his mother-in-law to sleep with him. But they do not get excited if she says no. They just ask someone else. I am sure we girls can handle it.”

  So Captain Gringo said the party sounded like a good idea, and the old chief leaped lightly to his feet and led them all outside, laughing boyishly as he shouted to the others.

  A central bonfire had been started in the plaza and the idea seemed to be that anybody who didn’t feel like dancing should sit in the circle around the fire. So Captain Gringo hunkered down between Diablilla and Susan, with Gaston on Susan’s far side. There were some disturbing-looking monkeys roasting on spits over the coals. Calabash bowls were being passed around the circle. He asked Diablilla what the form was and she said anybody who was hungry should help themselves to some roast monkey and that anybody who wanted to be polite should take a slug of chichi.

  He decided he wasn’t hungry enough to eat anybody that looked like a toasted baby in a fur coat. Meanwhile the calabash bowls were getting closer. Each Indian in turn took a big swallow before passing it on with a grin. Some of the grins looked sort of ominous in the flickering red light. Other Indians behind them had formed a circle to shuffle sideways around the plaza. It was a pretty boring-looking dance. They kept time by grunting in unison as they shuffled in unison. He wondered what they’d think of the
waltz. He decided not to show them. As the guests of honor they were already getting more attention than he really felt any need for.

  The bowl reached Diablilla. She’d visited the Jivaro before and didn’t hesitate as she raised the bowl to her lips, took a lady-like sip, and passed it on to him. He raised it gingerly to his face. It smelled like stale beer with a lot of malt in it. He repressed a shudder and took a mouthful experimentally. It tasted like sweet malty beer, so what the hell. Was it any worse to drink booze prepared with clean girl’s teeth than it was to drink wine a lot of unwashed feet had been stomping in? The best cheese was rotten milk, when you thought about it. So why think about it, if it tasted okay?

  He passed the bowl to Susan, who was kneeling in his shirt to hide her thighs despite the darkness. She said, “Oh, I couldn’t!” and he said, “Sure you could, and you’d better. It’s not as bad as I thought, Susan. Just pretend it’s regular beer.”

  “Heavens, I can’t drink beer! There’s alcohol in it!”

  “Not that much. You’d have to swill a quart of it to feel anything.”

  “That’s not the point, Dick. My church forbids alcohol, tobacco, and coffee.”

  “Sounds like a fun religion. Pretend it’s tea, then.”

  “We don’t drink tea, either. The Prophet Joseph teaches us that it’s wrong to take artificial stimulants into our sacred bodies!”

  “He sounds like a lot of laughs. Drink your damned beer, babe! That’s a command from the Prophet Dick Walker and you can quote me at the Pearly Gates someday. You’re liable to get there at a later date if you do as I say. These guys smear artificial stimulants on their darts and arrows, too! So this is no time to be a wet blanket! Come on, damnit, they’re watching you!”

  Susan shuddered, closed her eyes, and took a swallow. As she passed the bowl on to Gaston, she said, “Oh, that wasn’t so bad. I was expecting something more, well, exciting. Do you suppose I’m drunk now?”