‘If you leave, the battle will only be between the bandits and those who are paid to fight them, Josiah. This is what the people believe.’
‘And if I stay?’
‘You will kill Ortiz Gonzalez. And the bandits regard you as one of us. Saint Edge of San Parral, is that not what they call you? So will they not make us suffer after you have killed their leader?’
The half-breed looked across the table top at Isabella Montez, his eyes giving away nothing of what he felt as they raked over her features, her slender shoulders and thrusting breasts. Once, not so long ago, she had been angered by his blatant surveys of her. Then embarrassed. But, even before he had returned her to San Parral, she had learned to submit with something like pride to such examinations. Knowing of his desire for her and equally certain he would never attempt to take her against her will.
‘You’re quite a prize, Isabella,’ he said at length. ‘But it ain’t consolation I’m after. Killing Gonzalez is the big one.’
Anger flared in her dark eyes. Strong enough to well up tears. Then hatred glared through the salt moisture. ‘At the price of how many innocent lives?’ she snarled.
‘Mine, maybe,’ he answered, and grinned coldly. ‘Which doesn’t count because you mentioned innocence. And yours, maybe. On account of you’d be with me if I left. The rest you can’t count. Because Gonzalez and his bunch will wipe out the whole village if they get the chance.’
‘He did not say that!’
Edge brought down the side of his fist, crushing the overconfident fly into a messy pulp. Then he sprang his forefinger away from his thumb. The flick arced the remains of the fly off the table top and three feet across the floor. ‘As far as that, Isabella.’
She blinked her confusion.
‘Far as I’d trust a man who’d kill under a flag of truce.’
‘If it was necessary, you would do such a despicable thing!’ she flung at him, using her hands on the table to push herself upright.
Edge remained calm in face of her anger. ‘And I’ve already told you I don’t give a shit for the lives of the people in this village, Isabella,’ he reminded flatly.
‘To think I promised to marry you!’ she snapped. ‘You are no better than Gonzalez!’
The half-breed pursed his lips. That could be right. But we’re on different sides, which puts me in a position to help the village. My way.’
‘Your way is not our way.’
She whirled and scurried to the door. Tim Parker and Sargento Riaz had to step sharply aside to give her exit. She appeared not to see them.
The village had been very quiet during the second half of the conversation.
‘Señorita!’ Cirilo Banales called.
If she was aware of the elderly mayor, she chose to ignore him, maintaining a direct line across the plaza to the blacksmith’s shop. The man gave chase.
‘Don’t worry about it, Edge,’ the Boston dude announced, crossing the cantina to go behind the bar and reach down a bottle of tequila from the shelf. ‘You seem to have lost a girl, but you’ve gained an army.’
The half-breed had begun to roll a cigarette. He ran his tongue along the gummed side of the paper, then struck a match to light the tobacco. As his gaze shifted from the anxious looking Riaz at the doorway to the confident Parker uncapping the bottle, the hooded eyes remained as uncommunicative as ever.
‘That a bargain?’ he asked.
Parker shrugged. ‘Tough about your girl. But I thought you’d be real happy about being voted top hand.’
He raised the neck of the bottle to his lips and tilted it. His Adam’s apple bobbed as the liquor trickled down his throat,
Edge drew the Remington from his holster.
‘Señor,’ Riaz croaked.
The report of the revolver sounded very loud in the confines of the cantina. The Apache woman vented a high-pitched scream and raced out of the kitchen. Fear drained out of her when she saw it was not Julio Melendez who had been shot. In fact, nobody had been shot. Tim Parker merely expressed a strong inclination to kill as he gazed from the shattered glass lying around him to where Edge was replacing the smoking gun in the holster.
Feet beat on the hard-packed ground of the plaza.
‘What the hell was that for, Edge?’ Parker shrieked.
Riaz turned his back on the cantina and held wide his arms to bar entrance to those who had come running.
‘Top hand makes the rules, ain’t that right?’ the half-breed asked. ‘Or didn’t they work it that way on the trails from Texas to Kansas, feller?’
Parker opened his hand and allowed the neck of the shattered bottle to drop to the floor. ‘No drinking, uh?’
Edge stood up and jerked a thumb towards where the Apache woman was shuffling back into the kitchen. ‘And no whoring.’
Riaz allowed the worried Melendez back into his place.
‘What has happened?’ the cantina owner demanded, his eyes darting this way and that in search of signs of damage.
‘Your place has just been declared off-limits, Julio,’ Parker growled. Then grinned bleakly at Edge as the half-breed rose from the table. ‘Guess none of us down at the post realized we were voting a reform ticket.’
‘What was my majority, feller?’
‘Alfaro’s got a bullet in his boot. Romero and an enlisted man are in the cell. That leaves me, Hawkins Burton and ten toy soldiers. It isn’t exactly the Seventh Cavalry. But then Gonzalez and his men aren’t...’
Edge had reached the door. Riaz came to attention and threw up a smart salute. ‘You may rely on the Federales, sir!’ he promised. ‘Under a comandante we trust, we will give a good account of ourselves. Just tell us what you wish us to do.’
The half-breed moved out into the sunlight. The plaza and street beyond were empty again. There was wood smoke in the hot air. And the smells of cooking. The villagers who had been held back at the doorway of the cantina would have heard the talk inside. And the word would have been spread that Edge was now in command of the defense of San Parral.
The half-breed dropped his cigarette and crushed out its fire under his boot heel. ‘I’ll do that, sergeant,’ he said, and lowered his voice as he moved across the plaza towards the shade of the oak tree. ‘After I’ve figured it out.’
He sat down on the bench and gazed along the empty, sunlit street. He sensed the puzzled eyes of the Mexican soldier on him and heard a mumbled exchange of words when Parker appeared in the doorway of the cantina. He crooked a forefinger and eased the brim of his hat low over his forehead, conscious he might not be able to prevent his state of indecision from showing on his bristled features.
He had never expected to be in this position and his first task as he sat in the hot shade was to clear his mind of self-anger. For three months he had remained in this Mexican backwater town for a single purpose, content with its peace and confident of achieving his aim. Then, once more when he was on the brink of possessing that which he desired most, it had been wrenched from him to the familiar accompaniment of violence and death. And, yet again, destiny had cruelly ordained that he be apportioned a share of the responsibility for his own loss—by making the power of his hatred greater than his capacity for love. Thus, his need to kill Ortiz Gonzalez took precedence over his want for Isabella Montez.
He could have achieved his new prime aim while he was up on the walkway of the Federale post. But all he had done was to ensure Jack Burton didn’t kill the bandit leader. There had been a good reason for this negative attitude, arising out of his army service during the War Between the States. For, in stepping through the gateway of the post he considered he had placed himself under the command of the senior officer. And this had been a mistake for a man who had been the ultimate loner since he resigned from the army so many years ago.
Then he had made another mistake—of judgment. He should simply have walked away from the damaged post, to reclaim his independence without the attempt to defend his decision. In his normal state of mind, that is what
he would have done. But today he felt the need to justify himself to others—by criticizing a man who had done his best.
Why? Because he was not in a normal state of mind. He would not have made himself subject to the orders of Major Alfaro if he had been thinking straight. And he would not have made himself responsible for the whole stinking village if his mind had not been cluttered with irrelevant images of a woman.
He spat, very forcefully, and the globule of saliva arced several feet, reaching out of the shade to hit the dust in the direct glare of the sun. The act calmed his anger, if it did not entirely swamp it.
‘That mean you have finished your siesta, captain?’ Tim Parker asked.
Edge pushed his hat squarely on to his head and saw the dude and the Federale sergeant moving away from the cantina towards him. ‘Means I had a lousy taste in my mouth, feller,’ he replied, getting to his feet and picking up the Winchester.
He started down the street and Parker moved to flank him on the right, Riaz on the left. The Mexican was about forty-five, short and with a heavy spread about his middle. He had a round, pleasant face with deep lines curving away from his mouth to suggest that a smile would be an odd expression on his features. His gait was almost a march, almost comical to see beside the easy ambling strides of the two civilians.
‘What didn’t you like about Alfaro’s plan?’ Edge asked, conscious of being watched from within the houses on both sides of the curving street.
Parker’s handsome face showed a sour grimace. ‘He wanted us to commit suicide. Wait for Gonzalez to show up again and launch a cavalry charge. Great deal of talk about not wanting the San Parral post to be his Alamo. Seems to have visions of dying gloriously in a pitched battle.’
‘To be dead is never glorious!’ Riaz growled.
‘And you couldn’t think of anything better, feller?’ Edge asked Parker.
The dude was momentarily taut with anger at the half-breed’s criticism. But then he shrugged off the futile emotion. ‘I was for making use of the only advantage we have, captain. The cover of the village. But Gonzalez still has the odds in his favor—three times our number and every man with the fire power of a repeating rifle. If he’s willing to accept heavy casualties he’ll overrun us on his first full-scale assault.’
‘That bandito cares nothing for human life,’ Riaz rasped as they crossed in front of the church. ‘Friend or enemy.’
Behind the church, the priest, the mayor and the tiny Francisco Sorrano were digging a single grave for the untidy pile of corpses brought from the post. A blanket had been draped over a smaller pile of something else—probably the chunks of indistinguishable horse and human meat which was all that remained of the luckless hostages and their mounts.
‘The men go along with me,’ Parker went on. ‘In principle. But we all think that with you as top hand, we might be able to cancel out the bandits’ advantage on manpower.’
‘Si, Señor Edge,’ Riaz added enthusiastically. ‘The people of this village hate the Federales and Senor Parker and his men. For bringing trouble to San Parral. But you, you are much admired.’
They had reached the end of the street. Northwards, the heat-shimmered valley was empty of movement. A wilderness of rock and dust seemingly incapable of supporting life under the harsh heat of the blistering sun. Even the meager scattering of cactus plants looked petrified.
Father Vega left his grave-digging chore and went into the church to ring the bell. Just once. As the men at the end of the street turned to look towards the sound, the doors of the adobe houses swung open and villagers emerged wearily into the sunlight. They pointedly avoided looking northwards as they turned with their tools to head for the irrigation work awaiting them.
‘They hide it well,’ Edge muttered.
‘Then you must remind them how much they owe you, capitan,’ Riaz urged.
‘And we’re betting our lives you’ll think of a way to collect old debts,’ Parker added.
Edge swung around to head for the battered Federale post. ‘There’s a book being made on it,’ he murmured.
Chapter Nine
THE mutiny against Major Alfaro had been accomplished with little change to the outward appearance of the post. The former commander, Teniente Romero and one of the enlisted men were locked up in the cramped cell beside the stable. The rest of the Federales, along with Amos Hawkins and Jack Burton were up on the walkway, growing weary of their long vigil over the empty valley.
Edge made a few changes of his own. He left two men at the top of the wall, sent two more to watch from the roof of the fruit packing station, and told the remainder to rest up, He gave Riaz the chore of organizing a sentry duty roster.
Then he checked out the supplies of ammunition in the armory. And discovered that shells were all it contained. Cases of 10-15-inch cartridges for the Fruwirth carbines and cartons of .45 bullets for Colt revolvers. Plenty of both, but no extra guns.
As the half-breed and Parker emerged from the armory, Alfaro glared out at them through the bars of the cell window.
‘So you have become a party to this stupidity!’ he snarled.
Edge ignored the Federale major to look at Parker. ‘You only shoot him in one foot, feller?’ he asked.
The Boston dude grinned. That’s my specialty, captain. Didn’t stop the woman from doing what she was best at. And the major will still be able to use a gun if he decides to throw in with us.’
Edge nodded. The way it is now. If he opens his mouth again except to say he’s with us, shoot him in the other foot.’
Parker broadened his grin.
Alfaro withdrew his sweating face from the window.
‘Stupidity is right,’ Romero muttered in Spanish.
‘Same goes for his cell mates,’ Edge snapped. ‘Both feet.’
Somebody behind the barred windows gasped.
‘Be a pleasure, captain,’ Parker enthused.
‘It shows,’ the half-breed countered. And jerked a thumb for the dude to follow him, across the compound and out through the gateway. The snores of sleeping men sounded from the section of building devoted to quarters. Everywhere else was quiet.
‘Gonzalez worries me,’ Parker said as he and Edge moved off the trail and on to the street.
‘That don’t make you unique around here.’
‘I didn’t say scares me!’ the dude snapped. ‘But I just can’t figure him out. He could have taken us this morning. Yet he retreated.’
‘Withdrew.’
‘What?’
‘Withdrew. That’s got nothing to do with retreating.’
A nod. ‘All right. I can recall military semantics, too. But the fact remains his trick worked like a charm and he used it to back off instead of advancing.’
‘And that worries you?’
‘I said so.’
‘And I said it doesn’t make you unique. So the whole thing is working for Gonzalez.’
‘He’s playing on our nerves? Is that how you see it?’
‘He’s got the time and the opportunity, feller. All he needed was the inclination—to stay alive.’
Parker nodded sagely. ‘That is precisely what I have been thinking, Edge. Ever since Riaz said something about Gonzalez not caring about human life. I think he’s worried about keeping alive himself.’
They had reached the church. Out back, the priest was standing with hands clasped, reciting a prayer over the fresh mound in the cemetery. Banales and Sorrano stood with heads bowed, sombreros held against their chests.
‘And he knew every man at the post would be gunning for him as top hand,’ Parker went on.
‘Conclusion?’ Edge asked, leading the way down the alley between the church and the Vega house.
‘Gonzalez won’t risk his own neck unless he has to. So we can forget about an all-out attack and watch for a new trick.’
‘Close enough,’ the half-breed allowed. ‘Except there ain’t any new tricks. Just old ones.’
He had been carrying his Winchest
er in the crook of a bent arm. Now he grasped it in both hands and aimed it at the priest from his hip. The surprised Parker imitated him after a moment of hesitation.
Father Vega finished the prayer, crossed himself and looked up. He glimpsed the two men at the corner of his church and his head jerked around. The storekeeper and liveryman caught the urgency of the move: and dropped their hats from trembling hands as their anxious eyes swept to locate the aimed rifles.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the priest demanded.
‘Only way I can make myself clearer is to squeeze this trigger, padre,’ Edge replied flatly. And the glinting blueness of his narrow eyes flashed a warning that he was prepared to do just that.
‘But Señor Edge…’ the dwarfish Sorrano opened.
‘Shooting you here will save the next lot of grave-diggers some work,’ the half-breed cut in. ‘Be obliged if you’d come on down to the Federale post.’
The shock had left Father Vega’s face and his features had rearranged themselves into their customary solemn expression. ‘To what end?’ he asked.
‘Mine, padre.’
‘I have told you!’ the priest rasped. ‘The people of San Parral have placed their faith in a higher authority than you.’
‘Would you like me to put a bullet through his foot, captain?’ Parker asked, in the same tone he might suggest it was his turn to buy a round of drinks.
‘You’ve got no imagination, feller,’ Edge accused, and advanced on the priest.
Banales and Sorrano seemed about to lunge into the intervening space.
‘Men of God are not afraid of those who do the work of Satan!’ Father Vega snapped.
And he showed no sign of fear as Edge halted immediately in front of him. The terrified Banales and Sorrano backed hurriedly away.
‘Seems God’s short of men around here, padre,’ the half-breed growled. ‘This whole place stinks of fear.’
He jabbed the Winchester muzzle hard into the priest’s belly. Escaping air hissed out between the man’s clenched teeth. He folded at the waist. Edge swung the rifle, one hand still fisted around the frame and the other gripping the muzzle. Both arms came up and the barrel cracked into Vega’s jaw. The man straightened, flung his arms out to the side and fell backwards over the mound of the new grave.
EDGE: Savage Dawn (Edge series Book 26) Page 10