by Neil Hunter
“Hey, Bodie, leave something for me,” Lon pleaded. He was leaning against the wall surrounding the well, his rifle aimed at the Mexican.
“You going to shoot him?” Bodie asked. He didn’t really care if Lon did or not.
Lon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Be a shame to spoil that fancy outfit.”
“Ain’t give it much thought.” Bodie walked to the Mexican’s horse. He took the man’s rifle and handgun. “You won’t be needing these,” he said, and tossed them into the well.
He didn’t fail to notice the expression on the Mexican’s face as the silver revolver vanished from sight; it was obvious that the Mexican had prized the weapon greatly, and losing it hurt more than stopping a bullet.
“I will remember your face, gringo,” the Mexican said coldly.
“Suit yourself, feller,” Bodie said. “Now pick up your friends and get the hell out of here!”
The dead man was hauled face down over his saddle. The stocky man, still covering his bloody face, eventually managed to mount his horse. Stiff-faced with anger the Mexican returned to his own saddle.
“Tell your Don Castillo why we didn’t fancy to visit,” Bodie said. “Next time he ought to say please.”
“I warn you both,” snapped the Mexican. “Do not come to the estate or you will surely die! What you have done here today marks you for death!”
“Get the hell out of here!” Lon yelled. “Before I change my mind about killing you!”
The Mexican held his ground for a few seconds longer. Then he drew up his reins and rode off. The stocky man, leading his dead partner’s horse, fell in behind.
“He’ll be back,” Bodie said. “And next time he’ll have a whole bunch to back his play.”
“Sooner we leave the better,” Lon said.
“They will follow no matter where we go!”
Bodie turned and found himself face to face with a Mexican dressed in the brown robes of a priest. Staring into the Mexican’s dark eyes Bodie realized he was in the presence of a man who held strong convictions — perhaps too extreme for his position in life.
“Is this your village, Father?” Bodie asked.
The priest nodded. “To my eternal shame it is!”
“Hard thing to say about yourself.”
“It is true. I have stood by and watched my people being exploited and degraded — and all by the man who called himself our patron.”
“Castillo?” Bodie asked, guessing.
The priest nodded. His face hardened and his eyes glittered with anger. “Don Armando Castillo! The one who calls himself a Grandee! One of the nobility. He is no more than an agent of the Devil himself! A truly evil man. As is that wild Norte Americano who now helps him in his schemes.”
Bodie glanced at Lon. “I’m getting the feeling we’ve really come to the right place.” To the priest he said, “This American? Is he called Kane? Preacher Kane?”
“Si! That is the one. A crazy man. He claims to walk in the shadow of God. He speaks from the bible he carries with him, declaring himself an instrument of God’s wrath!”
“Did Kane and his men bring people here?” Bodie asked. “American Indians? Those we call Kiowa?”
“I do not know their tribe,” the priest said. “But there were Indians herded through the village. Kane had his men show those poor wretches to the villagers. It was his way of warning them not to go against Castillo. Any man — or woman — who does will get the same treatment as those unfortunate souls!”
“So this Castillo is mixed up in it as well as Kane,” Lon said quickly.
“We seem to have found out who,” Bodie agreed. “Now we need to know why, Father?”
“Yes — I know. Better yet I can show you — and also find you a place to hide. Rivera will not rest until he finds you. Killing a man who works for Castillo — even if he was an Americano — is almost worse than going against God himself!”
“Shall we go, Father?” Bodie suggested.
“Of course. Please follow me. I will fetch my burro.” The priest turned. “I am Father Lucero.”
“That’s Lon Walker. I’m Bodie.”
“Come,” Father Lucero said.
He led the way across the plaza and down a narrow alley beside the church. At the rear was a small lean-to under which stood a gray burro. Father Lucero wasted no time. He untied the burro and climbed onto its back. Kicking the animal into motion he led the way out of the village, heading for the stark, sun-dried hills beyond. They rode at a steady pace for almost three hours. All the time they were pushing deeper into the barren hills. They seemed to be composed of sand and hard rock. There was very little plant life, virtually no water. Bodie found himself wondering just what a land like this would possibly offer to anyone.
When they were far into the hills Father Lucero called a halt. He indicated that they should make no noise. Leaving their horses Bodie and Lon followed the priest. He led them along a confusing trail that wound its way in and out of the jumbled maze of rocks and shriveled brush. They finally emerged on a high ridge overlooking a deep, wide, natural basin. Father Lucero motioned them to keep down. When Bodie looked down into the basin he realized why.
The floor of the basin seethed with activity. Lines of shuffling figures went about various tasks, overlooked by armed Mexican and American guards. There were more guards moving around the perimeter of the basin. The main activity was taking place in and around the entrance to a tunnel cut into the west side of the basin. Here there was also a short length of track laid and a constant stream of metal trucks flowed out of the tunnel, their contents being tipped onto a heap at the tracks’ end.
“A mine,” Bodie said. “A goddam mine! What is it, Father. Gold?”
Father Lucero shook his head. “Not gold. Silver. Tons of it buried in these hills. I have heard it said that this particular vein is one of the richest ever found in this area.”
“Is this what Kane brought my people here for?” Lon asked bitterly. “To be used as slaves?”
“Si! There was no way that Castillo could get the labor he required by normal means. Too many around here have heard of his brutality. Many simply moved away. So Castillo devised a simple plan. He used Kane and his men. Sent them out to find labor. Castillo does not pay them and feeds them just enough to keep up their strength. That is why he uses only the young and the fit. Also the young women provide . . . free entertainment for the guards.”
Bodie glanced at Lon. The Indian’s face was lowered, his eyes searching the ground at his feet. He was experiencing his own hell at that moment and no amount of words was going to make it any easier for him.
“Those poor people have a simple choice,” Lucero said gravely. “They either work or they die.”
“Seems likely they’ll die anyway,” Bodie said. “The way they’re being treated ain’t intended to keep a man healthy for long.”
“It is not. The only law down there is the law of the whip and the gun. The people work until they drop. If one dies another is put in his place.”
“You mind if we get out of here?” Lon asked.
Father Lucero glanced at him, then shifted his gaze to Bodie. There was deep compassion in the priest’s eyes.
“Come,” he said. “I will take you to a safe place.”
They returned to the horses. Now they rode higher into the hills, approaching the very peaks. Two hours’ riding brought them to a narrow cleft in a high rock face. They dismounted at the priest’s request and led their horses into the cleft. There was just enough room to pass along. They followed its erratic course for almost a quarter of a mile before emerging into a hidden canyon. It was the kind of place that proliferated in this kind of landscape.
They were plentiful — if a man could find them. This was their attraction; the fact that they were difficult to locate. Once a man found such a place he had a permanent refuge, a place where he could hide from the world. This particular canyon was especially attractive. The high sides kept out the wind and a
lso any potential invader. There was a clear stream of water that originated somewhere deep in the rock, pushing its way to the surface through a wide split in the rock face. The constant supply of water kept the nearby earth in good condition, and grass had sprouted along the banks of the stream. There were a few trees too. Close by the stream, in the shade of a stand of timber, stood a solid-built cabin. It was part-adobe, part-timber, a structure built to last.
By the time Bodie and Lon had tended to their horses smoke was rising from the cabin’s chimney, and soon after that the aroma of hot coffee drifted outside.
“That smells good,” Lon commented.
“I hope his cooking’s as good,” Bodie said.
“Bodie, a man could find his peace in this place. Don’t you reckon?”
Bodie shrugged. Peace was an elusive thing — something he’d had little chance to savor. It showed itself briefly, tempting, offering, and just as a man was beginning to accept, it drifted away, leaving him stranded.
The cool, shaded interior of the cabin was welcome after the cloying heat outside. There was only the one room, with a hard packed floor and a crude open hearth against one wall. Furnishings were sparse, obviously constructed on the spot, from materials found within the confines of the canyon.
“I built this place myself many years ago,” Father Lucero informed them. “In these troubled times even a man of God sometimes needs a stronger sanctuary than such a public place as a church.”
Lon put his rifle and saddlebags down. “It’s a fine place, Father. How many others know of it?”
Father Lucero lifted a coffee pot off the fire. “You are the first I have ever shown this place.”
“That’s showing faith,” Bodie muttered.
“Not really,” Lucero said. “After what I saw today I do not think I have anything to fear from you.”
“Maybe not from us,” Bodie said. “But what about this Castillo? And Preacher Kane? They get to hear you’re hiding us, it might turn rough, Father.”
“Si. This I know. However, I have stood back for too long. Castillo has gone too far this time, and he must be stopped. I will shirk my responsibilities no longer.”
They sat at the crude table and Lucero served the simple meal he had prepared.
“Father, what does Castillo want with all this silver?” Bodie asked.
“His need rises from ambition. Don Armando Castillo is no longer content with his station in life. The life of a Grandee, ruling an empire of cattle and land, is not enough. Castillo has political ambitions, and he is a very determined, ruthless man. There are no lengths to which he will not go. First a post in the government. Then perhaps a governorship. Who knows, maybe he imagines himself as President one day. But whatever heights he chooses to ascend, he will need great wealth. There will be favors to buy, bribes to be paid, people to be manipulated. Our politics are reduced to such levels. It is a dirty business, but one in which I fear Armando Castillo will fare very well. It is a well-known fact that he has little discretion when it comes to achieving a desired goal.”
“So the silver is just a means to an end?” Bodie said.
Father Lucero nodded. “I am afraid so. The silver means wealth, and the more wealth a man has the higher he can climb. It is supposed to be the will of the people which elevates a man to public office. Unfortunately it appears that money can do the same for him. More often than not it can do it quicker, and can also keep him there. Once a man like Castillo is inside the political fence he is in a position to establish himself, to gain more power, to align himself with the right people — though they will be people who will only help him gain greater power. It is a sad state of affairs. As if Mexico does not already have enough trouble.”
“He’s going to be a hard man to stop,” Lon said.
“We’ll figure a way,” Bodie told him.
Lon glanced across the table. “We? I thought you were just out to grab Kane and his bunch for the bounty?”
“Yeah,” Bodie agreed. “So did I.”
“But?”
“You quit lookin’ at me like that, feller,” Bodie scowled. “I just figure we might as well see this through. Like I said before — last thing I need is you playin’ your own game. We’d end up shootin’ at each other. So we tie both ends together and make us one big loop. If it works out — you get your people out and I get Kane and his bunch.”
Lon smiled quickly. “Sure, Bodie.” He refilled his mug with coffee. “All we have to do now is figure out how to do it!”
“Maybe that won’t be as hard as you think,” Bodie said.
Chapter Seven
“We’ve looked at Castillo’s setup and there ain’t anyway we’re going to walk into that place to get your people out, Lon.”
Lon glanced at the man hunter. “Agreed.”
“I figure the next best thing is for Castillo to let them out for us!”
For a moment Lon was silent. He glanced across at Father Lucero, then back at Bodie. “You sure you ain’t been sittin’ in the sun too long?” he asked. “Are you saying that we ride to Castillo’s ranchero and ask him nice if he’ll let my people go?”
“Not just like that,” Bodie said. “We do something else first.”
“What?”
Bodie turned to Father Lucero. “What is it that’s closest to Castillo? The one thing he couldn’t bear to lose?”
“Armando Castillo has only two loves in his life,” the priest said. “One is his daughter. When Castillo’s wife died some years back he devoted his life to his daughter Victoria. It is said he will kill any man who dares to look upon her. And this I believe.”
“And his other obsession is his silver,” Bodie said. He turned to Lon again, catching the gleam in the Kiowa’s eyes.
“Clever son of a bitch,” Lon murmured.
“It was the silver I was going on,” Bodie said. “I hadn’t expected the girl. But she makes it better. And a damn sight easier to grab than a whole lot of silver!”
“Am I to understand that you intend to abduct the daughter of Armando Castillo?” Father Lucero’s voice expressed his concern.
Bodie nodded. “If we can do it, Father.”
The priest stared at him. “You have placed me in a most compromising position, my son.”
Lon placed a huge hand on the priest’s arm. “Father, I understand how you feel. We’re grateful. But this has to be done. It’s one life against many. Not that we intend to hurt the girl.”
“Father, we need something to bargain with,” Bodie pointed out. “Something Castillo can’t afford to lose.”
“I see your reasoning,” Lucero said. “Even so I cannot bring myself to approve. But I will not stand in your way. Nor will I speak of it to any other. I will return to the village, and I will pray for you both. I will also pray for Victoria Castillo. You may use this place for as long as you need.”
“One thing, Father,” Bodie said. “We’ll need some help. Do you know where we might be able to hire some men? Half a dozen who can use a gun?”
“For what purpose?”
“To create a diversion. If we can place some men overlooking the mine and get them to make a hell of a noise Castillo is going to get worried over his silver. Hopefully he’ll get worried enough to send men from his ranchero to help those at the mine. If he does it’ll give Lon and me a chance to get inside the house for a try at the girl.”
“There is a place to the north. Nothing more than a trading post and a waterhole. It is called Xanatlan. You will find the men you need there. But I warn you, my friends, beware. Xanatlan is a gathering place for the lowest of the low. Men who will kill because they have nothing else to do.”
“Sounds right,” Bodie said.
As they prepared to leave Bodie caught Father Lucero’s eye.
“Will it be safe for you in the village now?”
“If I wish safety, my son, I would not be a priest in this wild country. Thank you for your concern, but where I walk God walks with me.”
> “Yeah? Well pardon me for saying it, Father, but your God ain’t going to stop a bullet that’s coming for you!”
Father Lucero smiled at the big, grim Americano. He knew the risks involved in returning to the village. If any of Castillo’s men had seen him leave with Bodie and the Indian, then he would be in danger. Not that he worried over that. His concern was for the people of the village. He was their strength. When they needed words of comfort it was he who provided them. They were his children and had to be protected. Soon there would be a difficult time to face. There would be gunfire and violence and maybe even death. His place was in the village, with his people.
When they had left the canyon Father Lucero pointed out the way to Xanatlan.
“We’ll maybe see you soon, Father,” Bodie said. “Buenos tardes.”
The trail took Bodie and Lon across the hills and down the far slopes. Riding at a steady, mile-eating pace, they covered a good distance before darkness forced them to a halt. They made a cold camp, chewing on strips of dried beef, washing it down with water.