by F. M. Parker
She entered her apartment, where the odor of the new plaster was still noticeable. There was but a few minutes before Lester would arrive. She gathered her boots, pants, shirt, and hat, and hid them in the chest that sat under the window near the front door.
She had barely closed the chest lid when Lester shoved open the door and came inside. He immediately took Maude into his arms and crushed her to him. He kissed her roughly.
Maude steeled herself to endure the next hour or so, until Lester tired and went to sleep.
* * *
Lester's deep breathing, brought about by his exertion during the lovemaking, had eased and now came slow and regular. Still, Maude lay motionless in the darkness of the bedroom and waited. His arm rested across her breast, and she must be sure he slept before she tried to remove it.
She looked up at the ceiling, invisible in the darkness of the room, and listened carefully to the man. Was he truly asleep, or had he somehow guessed her intention and was now only pretending so as to trick her? Had she unknowingly given herself away by some action? She must not make a mistake for should Lester catch her trying to run away, he would surely hurt her.
Maude cautiously took hold of Lester's arm and lifted it, and slowly began to slide from under. She had moved only inches when the man's breathing halted. She froze. But then after a few beats of her pounding heart, Lester recommenced his regular breathing. She moved on and was clear, and lowered the man's arm to the bed.
She came to her feet and, naked, crept across the room and to the chest near the front door. Careful not to make a sound, she dressed in the riding clothes from the chest. She went out the door and hastened through the light of the three-quarter moon to the rear yard, and onward to the barn and corral behind the communal house. She wanted to be miles away when daylight arrived.
In the corral, Maude whistled softly for the gray mare. The horse came trotting. Maude had been feeding the mare tidbits from the garden and orchard for days so that it would come at her call. She led the mare into the barn, full of the odors of fresh-cut hay, manure, and feed grain, and to the half-dozen bridles and saddles that hung on a long, waist-high rail. With practiced skill she slipped the bridle on the mare's head and fastened the saddle upon her back.
Maude looked out the big double barn door toward the house and watched for movement. Had she been seen or heard? The house loomed dark and foreboding in the night. She saw nothing move around the house or in the yard.
Hurriedly she went into the gloom of the room at the end of the barn and retrieved a blanket roll from where she had hidden it behind the sacks of feed grain. Wrapped inside the blanket were enough provisions for three days and a canteen of water. The blanket roll was tied behind the saddle of the mare.
Maude climbed astride the mare and reined it toward the yard. Freedom lay but seconds away. She pulled a trembling breath of the moonlit air. She was going to make it, make her escape.
She jerked, shocked. The figure of a tall man had stepped into the open doorway. He stretched out his arms to block her way.
"Going somewhere, Maude?" Lester asked.
Oh, my God, thought Maude. I'm so near. So near. She screamed and kicked the mare with her heels.
The startled horse lunged forward directly at the man in front of it. More swiftly than the horse, the man dodged aside, and at the same time his long arm reached out Maude leaned far to the side to avoid the extended arm. But she couldn't move far enough and the strong arm hooked her, and raked her from the saddle. She rolled backward across the rump of the animal and tumbled to the hard ground.
Lester was upon Maude instantly. He grabbed her by the shirtfront and the hair of her head and hoisted her to her feet.
Half unconscious and with legs too weak to hold her, Maude started to fall. Lester, his hands tearing at her hair as he lifted, again set her on her feet.
"Stand up, woman. You're not hurt that bad."
The pain from her pulled hair helped Maude to draw back from the partial unconsciousness caused by the fall. She stiffened her legs and stood erect.
"Turn me loose," Maude said. She twisted suddenly and was free.
Lester reached out swiftly and caught her by both shoulders. He dug his fingers painfully into her flesh. "Now you wouldn't leave your loving husband, would you?" His fingers stabbed more deeply. "None of my wives ever will, unless I want them to."
"Get your hands off me," Maude said, fighting the fear that chilled her.
"Soon," Lester said. He drew Maude closer.
"Don't you dare spank me," Maude said belligerently.
"Why, that's not what I had in mind." He released Maude and slapped her left and right with his large, bony hands. Maude's head snapped back and forth. Immediately he slapped her twice more.
Maude staggered under the onslaught of blows, and a multitude of red stars wheeled and exploded in her brain. Blood from her split lips was suddenly salt and copper in her mouth. She fought not to fall, waiting for the whirling, flaming stars to burn out. Finally she straightened to an upright position.
"See, no spanking," Lester said. "But if you ever try to leave again, I'll beat you black and blue from your ass to the top of your head. Do you hear me?"
Maude heard the threat, but remained mute. The man's blows upon her body had hurt, and for a moment she had been frightened, but in the end they had hardened her determination to escape. This wasn't the last of her attempts to flee. It was only the first.
In the moonlight, Lester saw Maude's cold, defiant stare, and her face with its bloody mouth rigid as stone. The woman was an iron-jawed beauty. He had watched her grow up and had known she would be difficult to control. He had desired her even when she was still a child, a hazel-eyed, silver-blond girl running about the streets of Canutillo. As she grew and rounded into a woman, her hair had darkened to a golden blond. She was more exciting by twofold than any of his other wives. He would never let her go.
"Get back to the house," Lester ordered "And don't ever come close to one of the horses again." He spun her to the rear. "Move!" he ordered.
"Hurry it," he said and struck her a stinging blow across the hips with his hand.
TWENTY
"Something's rotten here, Tattersall," Adkisson said, a worried frown on his hard face.
"I smell it too," Tattersall replied. "They've never made us wait like this before."
"And we know the colonel's right there inside and could buy the scalps," Snyder added.
"Best we get ready for trouble," Tattersall said. "If they want our guns, don't give them up. If they try to take us prisoner, we'll shoot the bastards that try, and ride like hell out of here."
Tattersall and his band of scalp hunters squatted in the shade under the roofed patio in front of the army commandant's office. Their horses were tied to wooden posts close by. The gang had arrived in Chihuahua in the early morning, and had ridden directly to the large walled military compound with its garrison of soldiers on the south side of the city. A lieutenant had come out of the headquarters building and told them to wait and Colonel Vasquez, the commandant, would see them soon. That had been three hours ago, and Tattersall was becoming ever more worried and angry.
A man never knew what to expect when he rode into Chihuahua. The city officials and the Army officers of the local garrison were changed at the whim of El Presidente in Mexico City. Government policies were changed even more frequently, and Tattersall had heard no news for weeks. Perhaps the governor had revoked his order to pay bounty for Apache scalps. Now the killing of the Indians might be considered murder and the commandant would arrest him and his men. That could only end one way, with a firing squad.
Nothing was permanent in Mexico except the hatred the Mexican people and government felt for Americans. The gringos had beaten their Army in 1836 and taken Texas. Then in 1847 the gringos had again defeated them and stolen all that huge land area of New Mexico, Arizona, California, and part of Colorado. In that eleven-year period of 1836 to 1847, Mexico had los
t two thirds of its country to the gringos.
Tattersall watched the squads of soldiers, several hundred in total, drill and sweat on the far end of the broad, dusty parade ground that lay enclosed within the walled compound. Closer to the scalpers, a company of armed cavalrymen was practicing a fast, intricate maneuver with their horses. At a command of the drill captain, a squad of thirty cavalrymen split off from the main body and rode to halt and sit their horses on the edge of the parade ground.
Tattersall saw the position of the men put them between him and the gate that led from the compound. He wondered if that movement of men was just a coincidence. The Mexican cavalrymen were some of the best horsemen in the world, and he didn't want them chasing him.
Tattersall knew that hunting Apaches and selling their scalps was the fastest and easiest way to make big money. For that reason, once each year he rode into the garrison of crack fighting men and placed his head into a trap from which he might not be able to withdraw it. He hoped this wasn't the day the trap closed upon him.
Officers came and went from the commandant's office. Tattersall, wary and his senses whetted, scrutinized the men's faces as they came past, especially the younger ones, for they had less skill at hiding their thoughts. He looked into their dark eyes and saw the old hatred for the Americans, and the desire for revenge against them. The commandant had but to issue the order.
A caballero rode up on a beautiful roan horse and dismounted from a saddle that was heavily encrusted with silver. He tied his mount to one of the posts and came toward the commandant's office. He was tall for a Mexican, and dressed all in brown clothing tailored to fit closely to his trim frame. Silver braid adorned his huge sombrero, and the front and sleeves of his short jacket, and down the outside hem of his trousers. The holster of his Colt revolver was heavily inlaid with the bright metal.
As he walked past the Americans squatting in the shade, the caballero raked them with piercing black eyes. At the entryway of the commandant's office, the two armed soldiers stiffened to sharp attention. The caballero brushed past them without hesitation. Tattersall heard the ringing chime of the Mexican's big silver spurs grow silent deep inside the building.
"He's a walking silver mine," Adkisson said. "And look at that saddle and bridle with all the silver. We could kidnap him and make a fortune in ransom money."
"Shut up," Tattersall hissed. "Don't even joke about that. That's Ramos Valdes. He runs this part of Mexico. You cross him and the whole Mex Army would be after you."
The lieutenant who had told the Americans to wait came and stood in the door leading to the commandant's office. He motioned with his hand. "Señor Tattersall, would you come inside? Your men are to remain where they are."
Tattersall picked up the bag of scalps lying on the ground by his side and rose to his feet. He would soon know what the colonel had planned for him.
"You heard the lieutenant," Tattersall said in a loud voice. Then, in a low voice meant only for his men, he said, "Don't budge from here. And damn sure be ready to shoot and ride."
Tattersall fell in behind the officer. The man had come for him immediately upon the arrival of Valdes. Tattersall knew he had been kept waiting until the important man had ridden in. But what did the rich caballero have to do with buying Apache scalps? Perhaps it was something else, something Tattersall might have done against Valdes. He raked his mind, but couldn't recall having ever stolen anything from the man, or in any way crossing him. Still, his nerves tightened.
They went past the sentries and down a long hallway to the commandant's office. The room was large with two desks, a big one behind which Colonel Vasquez was seated, and a smaller one off on the side. The lieutenant proceeded to the second desk and sat down. Two armed soldiers were just inside the door. The moment Tattersall halted in front of the colonel's desk, the soldiers took up positions one on each side of him. They had been given orders and stood vigilant.
Tattersall glanced to the rear of the room, where Valdes was seated by a window where a little breeze was finding its way inside the warm room. The man looked steadily back without expression at the American. The caballero was part of whatever was planned something Tattersall couldn't yet fathom. He was glad for the weight of the two pistols on his sides. He would show them some sharp pistol work if they tried to arrest him. Valdes would be the first to die for he was the most dangerous.
"Good day, Señor Tattersall," Colonel Vasquez said. "I understand you have some business with me."
"Same as last year," Tattersall said. "Some hair trophies to sell you."
"Lieutenant, examine them," the colonel said.
The lieutenant came and took the sack and then returned to his desk. He scowled as he removed the scalps, stiff with dried blood, from the sack. He began to examine each closely for the coarseness of the hair, its length, and the color. Then each was laid aside in one of two piles.
Tattersall knew the officer was looking for scalps that might have come from mestizos, people of mixed Indian and Spanish blood, gentle citizens of Mexico. Should he decide there were mestizos' scalps in the collection, then Tattersall was in trouble.
The lieutenant glanced at the American scalper. Tattersall stared back confidently. He grinned a crooked, comprehending grin. These were all genuine Apache scalps.
You're a loathsome son of a whore, the lieutenant thought. He went back to the grisly task of counting the remnants of once-living, breathing human beings.
The lieutenant finished counting, and made his tally of the bounty. "Colonel, the sum is twelve thousand six hundred pesos."
"Is that amount correct?" the colonel asked Tattersall.
"His count is right." Tattersall hid his relief, for it appeared the sale was going to come off without a fuss.
"Bring the required sum," the colonel directed the lieutenant.
"Yes, sir." The lieutenant went through a door at the rear of the room. Shortly the lieutenant reappeared with a wooden tray of fifty-peso gold pieces and went to his desk. He counted out the gold coins and placed them in neat stacks on the front of his desk.
"There's your pay," the colonel said, chucking a thumb at the gold.
Tattersall pulled a leather pouch from a pocket and moved to the desk. This was the most dangerous time for him. While his hands were busy putting the coins in the pouch, the Mexicans could shoot him. He knew they were not above such a trick.
With quick swipes of his hand, Tattersall raked the coins into the pouch. Instantly he pivoted bringing his right hand close to his pistol for a fast draw if there was danger. The Mexicans hadn't moved.
A smile of contempt was on the colonel's face. To hell with you, Tattersall thought. "Good day, Colonel, it's been good doing business with you," he said.
The colonel merely nodded in dismissal. He picked up one of the papers from his desk and began to study it.
Tattersall shrugged turned and left the room and went down the hallway to the outside. He moved along the patio toward his men. They all came to their feet and waited expectantly.
Behind Tattersall came the thud of boots on the hard ground and the chiming of Ramos Valdes's big silver spurs. Damn it, I knew Valdes was going to be trouble.
The caballero called out to Tattersall in a flat voice. "Señor Tattersall, I believe you are the man I've been looking for."
Tattersall came to a slow halt, giving himself some time to again try to recall why Valdes would have a grudge against him. Hell, it was too late to worry about that now. He coiled prepared to draw his pistol and shoot, and turned to face Valdes.
Valdes saw the American tense at his words. The man might have taken the wrong meaning from them. Valdes moved both hands away from his sides and raised them slightly.
"Would you like to earn five thousand dollars in gold?" Valdes asked.
Tattersall, seeing Valdes's hands were not near his holstered pistol, eased his tight muscles. The man didn't want to fight. Tattersall evaluated Valdes. The man was at the most fifty years old, young f
or what he had accumulated in wealth. He was dark enough to possess some Indian blood, yet he was thin-lipped and had a long, aristocratic Spanish nose. Tattersall had heard a tale that the man had a white gringo woman for a wife. The tale went that as a young man he had made a raid into the States and carried off a beautiful American woman, and kept her locked up in his huge hacienda in the mountains.
"A man can never have too much gold," Tattersall said.
"Then let us find a place to talk where we won't be overheard," Valdes said.
* * *
"One thousand in gold now and four thousand when he's dead," Valdes said, taking a purse from a pocket inside his vest and placing it on the table in front of Tattersall.
The scalper never looked away from Valdes's black eyes. The Mexican had become rich and powerful by outmaneuvering his weaker competitors, and ruthlessly destroying the stronger ones. Now he was offering to pay ten times too much for killing a man. Tattersall's spine crawled with the feeling that there was more to this offer than the man said.
Tattersall and Valdes were seated in a cantina on the El Camino Real that ran through the center of Chihuahua City. Tattersall's men were at a table nearby.
He didn't trust Valdes, and had ordered the men to drink no more than one cerveza each, and not to go off with one of the brown-skinned whores smiling and strutting enticingly about the room.
"It's a matter of honor to kill this hombre Hawkins," Valdes said, reading the American's thoughts. "People know he has successfully stolen from me. Also, he must be stopped from stealing more of my great horses."
"Where can I find this Ben Hawkins?" Tattersall would play along with the Mexican until he gave away more of his game.
"In Abilene or El Paso. He sells the horses in Abilene. He has relatives in El Paso, or rather in Canutillo, which is but a short distance north of there. I suggest you start at El Paso. He has just sold several of my horses and probably has gone home to brag about his success."