“The two of you?” Luis replied, arching one eyebrow. “I would be most interested in hearing your plan.”
“He doesn’t have one,” Sam said. “And neither do I. We’ll just charge headlong into the fray and do our best to tilt the windmill south . . . so to speak.”
The major studied Sam for a quiet moment. “You speak as quite an educated man, Sam. Yet, like Bodine, you have the reputation of a gunfighter. I find that most interesting. And yes, I have made discreet inquiries into the backgrounds of both of you.”
“My mother’s deathbed wish was that I would be educated at a university back east. I stood it for as long as I could before returning home to my father and the Cheyennes.”
Luis shifted his eyes to Bodine. “And you have extensive land holdings in Wyoming—both of you. You are both moderately wealthy men. And yet you drift, living by the gun and staying on the thin line of danger. We must sit and talk at length someday; discussing things of a philosophical nature. I think the talks would be most enlightening.”
“For whom?” Sam questioned.
Luis laughed. “Good question.”
* * *
Major Carrillo stayed south of the border, while Matt and Sam returned to the American side, tracking the westward progress of the slave wagons. Carrillo and his men paced the wagons, never staying more than five miles away from the border.
Luis had given Bodine a map of southern California and Matt had studied it carefully.
“The stagecoach road veers north at Tecate,” he said. “I can’t believe they’ll take that route. I’m going to take a chance, Sam, and go on ahead. I think they have a route already checked out, running right along the border. About halfway between Tecate and Tijuana, I’m going to throw up a detour and see if I can force the wagons across the border; or close enough so that it won’t matter to Luis and his men. I don’t know how I’m going to do it; I’ll just have to play it by ear.”
“You be careful, brother.”
“That’s my middle name,” Bodine said with a laugh as Sam rolled his eyes heavenward.
Bodine cut south, crossing the border and linking up with Major Carrillo. He told Luis of his plan.
“It might work,” the major agreed. “I will send two of my men with you. Benito has traveled extensively in this part of the country and thinks he knows what route the scum are taking. Vasco is a crack shot. They are both good men to have at one’s side. Go with God, my friends, and remember that the lives of many innocent children are in our hands.”
Around the small fire that night, just north of the border, Benito drew a map in the sand. “They will have to water here,” he said, pointing at a spot. “For there is nothing between there and Tijuana. At least not enough to sustain as many people and animals as they have. They will have to fill many barrels of water at that spot, and doing that will certainly cut down the travel time of each day. I am absolutely certain they are taking this old road that runs along the border. It is passable for wagons, but just barely. A wash cuts through here,” he said, pointing, “and it is there I believe we can make them cut south into Mexico. We will have to work very hard and very quickly to block this route, and then cleverly disguise what we have done to make it appear it was nature’s work and not the work of men.”
“Will doing this put them into Mexico?” Bodine asked.
Benito flashed a dazzling smile, but his eyes were killing cold. “Close enough,” he said. “We won’t quibble over a few miles.”
* * *
Major Carrillo and his men spread out and made camp within gunshot sound of the wash while Bodine and the two Mexican soldiers worked feverishly to throw up a natural-looking blockade of the narrow, twisting old road.
Carrillo had sent one of his men riding to intercept Sam and bring him to the ambush site. Sam rode into the major’s main camp, quickly ate a hot meal, then rode north to join his bloodbrother.
The slave wagons stopped and made camp less than five miles from the ambush site.
“Two men rode into camp last night,” Sam told Bodine. “They didn’t stay long. One of them was Porter.”
“And it would be a safe bet that the other was Lake,” Bodine replied.
“Yes. When they left, they headed toward the stagecoach road that runs between Tecate and San Diego.”
Bodine swore softly. He had hoped the elusive pair of outlaw-slavers would stay with the wagons and be caught up in the killing fire of the ambush.
“It’ll never end until we put those two out of business,” he told Sam.
“This is truth.”
“Is this going to be our destiny?” Bodine asked. “Chasing after those two scum?”
“It would appear to be. Either those two are exceptionally clever or they are the world’s greatest cowards,” Sam remarked.
Vasco looked across the coals of the dying fire. “There is nothing so dangerous as a coward one has pushed into a corner,” he told them. “As a boy, I fought another boy in my village. I whipped him and he ran. I made the big mistake of chasing after him and an even worst mistake of catching him. That was one of the worst beatings I ever received. The boy changed before my eyes, fighting with the ferocity of a mountain lion. I learned a valuable lesson that day.”
“Lake is no coward,” Benito said, pouring them all the last of the coffee. “I do not know this other person, but I have heard of Lake. He is a . . . how do you say it? A mercenario. A soldier for hire. He has been a member of many armies and is a skilled warrior. This is what I have heard from several people. His code is that of, he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day. I think this Lake person is a very dangerous man. Not one to be taken lightly.”
“Like the Apache,” Vasco said. “And no one with any sense would call the Apache cowards.”
“Is there anything else you know about him?” Bodine asked. “Either of you?”
Both Mexican soldiers shrugged. Vasco said, “I have heard that Lake is not his real name. I have also heard that he fought as a mercenario in the French army. I have heard that he is a very educated man. And that he was a gunfighter in Texas before going overseas. How much of what I have heard is truth I do not know and cannot say.”
Benito shook his head in agreement. “That is what I have heard, too. And that he is a very elusive man, who can change his appearance by disguise. But any man who steals children to sell into prostitution is filth. Beyond any religious redemption. Shooting this snake would be much too easy a way out for him. He should be publicly flogged and then hanged, to dangle at the end of a rope—very slowly. And then left there to rot.”
All agreed that would indeed be a very suitable punishment for the outlaw Lake, and for the men who rode with him and for him.
“So if this Lake is not with the wagons come tomorrow,” Vasco asked, as he hand-rolled a cigarette, “you will continue your pursuit of him?”
“Yes,” the bloodbrothers replied quickly, and as one voice. Sam added, “If the law won’t touch him, who does that leave?”
“I think this Lake person might have some connections in very high places,” Benito said. “He would have to have some sort of protection in order to travel across two states with wagons filled with stolen children.”
“He will not be with the wagons tomorrow,” Vasco stated flatly. “Nor will his compadre in crime. They are too smart to be trapped like this. But be careful of chasing them into San Diego,” he warned. “San Diego is no place for open gunfights. They do not tolerate it there. It is a very old and settled town; more than a hundred years old. Actually settled more than two hundred and fifty years ago by a man named Cabrillo. They have laws that are strictly enforced. That is probably why Lake has made the town his base.”
“He’ll have to leave his hidey-hole sooner or later,” Bodine said.
Benito grinned. “But be aware that men such as Lake are like the rabbit, my friend. He will surely have more than one hole from which to run.”
“And there is always the sea,�
�� Vasco added. “And the docks of San Diego are not a friendly place. I know; I have been there. It is a dangerous place where many men have been knocked on the head and kidnapped, taken to sea as no more than slaves. More often than not, they are never heard of again.”
“Have either of you ever seen the ocean?”
Bodine and Sam shook their heads.
“You should. It will take your breath from you. Truly one of God’s greatest creations.”
“But dangerous,” Benito said. “Filled with huge fish that can swallow a man whole, and creatures with many arms that can crush a man.”
“Octopuses,” Bodine said.
“Octopi!” Sam corrected.
“There’s more than one of them, ain’t they?” Bodine said.
Sam sighed.
“Octopuses,” Bodine insisted.
Sam rolled up in his blankets and went to sleep.
Chapter 25
Major Carrillo and his force moved into position several hours before daylight. As quietly as possible he positioned his men on both sides of the ravine the wagons would be forced to use once they hit the blocked road.
Then they waited in the cold hours before dawn.
Once the children were in safe hands, Major Carrillo and his men would transport the girls back to Tecate and turn them over to the Catholic sisters at a local convent and school. The Mexican and American governments would then work out the politics of returning the kids to their families.
“God help the kids waiting for those bumble-bee brained politicians on both sides of the border to act,” Sam said disgustedly.
Carrillo had laughed softly. “If we all dislike and distrust politicians so much—as we all seem to—why then, do we have them?”
“I don’t like rattlesnakes either,” Vasco said with a grin. “But we have them, no?”
“Are you equating a politician with a rattlesnake, Vasco?” Carrillo asked.
“Don’t they both possess some of the same qualities?”
No one among them could argue that.
Bodine and Sam and Luis had agreed that they would not give the slavers a chance to surrender. Giving them even a split second’s chance might endanger some of the girls. So the first volley was going to have to empty wagon seats and saddles. After that, if any wanted to surrender, they would be taken into Mexico for trial.
“Are we in Mexico?” Sam asked.
“For all intents and purposes, yes,” Carrillo said, chewing on the stub of a thin cigar.
“And if they’re found guilty?”
“They will be put to work in labor camps. There is only one way they will return to the United States.” He spat on the ground. “In a box!”
At first light, the men heard the wagons coming. They heard the scout call for a halt and for the wagon master to come forward.
The soldiers hugged the ground as the scout left the old road and followed the ravine for a time. He rode through the wash and then back again, stopping right in front of Sam. “All right!” he shouted. “We can get through here. Bring those wagons around. I want to get to San Diego and find me a hot tub and a hotter woman.”
What he got was a bullet through the head as the wagons came into position and the men on the ridges opened up with a deadly hail of rifle fire.
Half of the slavers were knocked out of saddles and off wagon boxes during the first volley. Ten of Luis’s men were hidden near the mouth of the wash and at the opening. They swung around and sealed the slavers in, all of the men being very careful to keep the lead out of the wagon beds.
It was a roaring, shattering, and bloody ninety seconds. The only casualty among Carrillo’s men was when a cartridge misfired and a soldier got a cut on the side of his face. It was a slaughter among the slavers.
Twelve survived the ambush and three of those were so badly wounded they did not have long to live. Nine badly shaken and frightened slavers surrendered.
Bodine and Sam walked down to the rocky wash floor and stared at the sullen outlaws with their hands in the air. Carrillo and a few of his men were seeing to the needs of the children.
“Bodine!” a slaver said, disgust in his voice.
“In person,” Bodine said with a smile, punching out empties and reloading his Colts. “I told you boys back at the barroom to give it up.”
“What happens now?” one asked.
“You’ll be taken to Mexico for trial,” Sam told him, enjoying the look on the men’s faces at his words. Mexican justice was harsh.
“But this ain’t Mexico!” an outlaw screamed.
“Really?” Sam asked. “I think you’re lost is all.”
The man cussed him.
“Lake and Porter?” Bodine said. “Where are they?”
The slaver made a very obscene suggestion.
Bodine shrugged and walked away, joining Major Carrillo by a wagon. “The girls?”
“They have not been molested . . . as far as I can tell. Don’t worry, Matt; the sisters will take good care of them and they’ll be reunited with their families just as quickly as possible. I will break this scum and find where the other girls are being held. I promise you that.” He looked at the slavers. “I do not think they will hold up well to pain.”
“We’ll ride now, Major,” Bodine told him. “These men probably know where the girls are being held. But I doubt if they know the whereabouts of Lake and Porter.”
“Nor do I,” Carrillo agreed. “Lake is a very cautious man. However, if I do learn something from these . . .” He cut his eyes to the outlaws. “. . . scum, where can you be reached?”
“I honestly don’t know. We’ll try San Diego first. And hang around there for a few days. But I think once the news of this reaches Lake and Porter, they’ll leave California and head for another spot.”
“That is my thought, as well.” The major smiled and stuck out his hand just as Sam walked up. He shook hands all the way around and said, “Vaya con dios, amigos—and good hunting.”
* * *
They rode into San Diego, two trail-weary and dusty men. In the few days since the wagon train was ambushed and the girls rescued, the news had spread like raging wildfire all over the nation, the story being headlined in every newspaper, and the telegraph wires were fairly humming with the rescue.
It was still on the front page of the San Diego paper when the men walked into the hotel lobby. With Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves mentioned several times. And the law was hunting Lake and Porter.
The desk clerk got so rattled when he saw who his guests were he started stuttering, turned over the ink well, and dropped the room keys several times.
They left suits to be cleaned and ironed and went to their rooms to wash up; water was being heated for the tubs at the end of the hall. They set their boots out to be blacked.
When the young men emerged, all decked out in suits and white shirts and string ties, the sheriff met them in the lobby. He was not wearing a very friendly expression on his tanned face.
“We’ll talk, boys,” he said, pointing to the hotel restaurant.
The sheriff allowed the men to order food and coffee before he began. When he began, he made his position clear and straight to the point.
“Some people are callin’ you boys heroes, and maybe you are, but to my mind you’re both trouble-hunters. I’ll not have it in this town. Lake and Porter were here. They pulled out when the news of the ambush hit the streets. And you two are going to pull out in the morning.
Bodine got his back up at that. He met the sheriff ’s hard eyes and said, “And if we don’t? . . .”
“I can put together a hundred men in the time it takes you to pull on your boots. Look out that there window, boys.” He cut his eyes.
Matt and Sam could see at least five deputies spread out, on their side of the street and on the boardwalk across the street. They were all carrying rifles.
Matt and Sam got the point, Sam asking, “What have we done to warrant this, Sheriff?”
“Nothing,�
�� the sheriff was honest in his reply. “But I’d do the same thing if I was lookin’ at Bat Masterson, the Earp boys, or any other gunslinger.”
“We’ve never hired our guns, Sheriff,” Bodine said.
“I believe that, too. But you got the reputation. Now listen to me, boys: I got half a dozen young would-be gunslicks in this town just a latherin’ at the mouth for a try at either one of you. I’ll not have no shootin’ on these streets. This is a respectable town and gettin’ more so ever’ day. I intend to keep it that way.”
“Are we confined to this hotel?” Sam asked.
The sheriff sighed. “No,” he finally said. “I ain’t got the right to do that. And I ain’t got the right to tell you boys you can’t wear your iron when you leave here for a drink or whatever. That’d be hangin’ a death sentence on the both of you. I just want you gone from here come first light. And I truly wish to hell you’d never have showed up.” He shoved back his chair and walked out of the hotel dining room.
“I have taken a very sudden dislike for this town,” Sam said.
“As have I, brother. We’ll pull out before dawn and ride north, up the coast. I intend to see the ocean and no one is going to stop me from doing that.”
They ate slowly, enjoying the food and the coffee—although the coffee was a tad on the weak side. They bought cigars and stepped outside to smoke them in the coolness of fading afternoon.
The sheriff and two deputies sat across the street, watching them.
“Isn’t it wonderful to be the center of so much attention?” Sam said, a hard edge of sarcasm to the words.
“I could do without it,” Matt replied, leaning up against an awning post.
They smoked in silence for a few moments, both of them aware that a crowd was gathering across the street and the sheriff had gotten out of his chair, a very worried look on his face.
“Something’s up,” Sam said. “And I don’t think it’s the mayor to present us with a civic award.”
“Here it comes,” Bodine said, cutting his eyes up the wide street.
Three young men, in their early twenties, and all wearing two guns tied down low were swaggering down the street.
Brotherhood of the Gun Page 18