The Ysabel Kid

by J. T. Edson

  “I’ll remember that,” Conway replied.

  Shortly after Conway and his men left the town leading their pack mules and headed back north as fast as they could make it.

  “What do you reckon’ll happen now, Lon?” Dusty asked as they watched Conway’s men leave town.

  “I’d take money that Chavelinos tries to get the guns without paying for them.”

  “We’d best get ready for war then,” Dusty looked at the building they were in. It would be a good fort in case of trouble.

  Almonte returned soon after, his face troubled as he halted his horse in front of the building and looked down at Dusty.

  “I have orders to take my men out again. The money is here and General Chavelinos is under orders to pay for the arms. I’m afraid he will try to get them without payment.”

  “You mean a double-cross?” Dusty asked.

  “By Chavelinos. He would never dare try it if Benito was near.”

  “What do you aim to do about it?”

  “My orders from Chavelinos is to patrol the northwest so I think Benito is to the Southeast. It is in that direction I will lead my men. I will try to get back here before Chavelinos can make any trouble.”

  Almonte turned and rode out of town at the head of his men. Dusty did not waste any time in futile worrying over what he’d been told. He looked round and saw that this place was ideal for them to fort up in. The walls would stop a ball fired from a Mexican musket and any attempt to cross the open ground would be under the fire of the Henry repeaters. Unless there was some way of stopping the water to the pump they would be all right as far as that went. It was just food for themselves and the horses which would be the problem.

  Until they knew definitely that Chavelinos was not going to pay for the weapons there was no need for them to worry unduly. It had been a wise precaution Mark’s borrowing a civilian shirt and stowing his uniform jacket out of sight. With Mark in uniform there would be some excuse for Chavelinos showing caution in dealing with them.

  Chavelinos was General but not by virtue of his attainments unless the use of unmitigated gall is an attainment. He came into the rank in the very confused days of the early struggle against the French. A mere Quartermaster Branch officer he’d been looked down on by the arrogant Mexican Spanish gentleman officers, products of the Military College of Mexico and despised by the hard ex-bandido officers whose career of outlawry attracted such attention that they were given a commission in the Army to reduce the costs they were incurring.

  His rise to the rank of General was fast though hardly official. Calls for more and more troops to fight reduced the Monterrey garrison until one day Chavelinos found himself the only officer left in the town. When news reached them the General who’d commanded the Monterrey area was dead Chavelinos took on himself duties, rank and pay of the deceased General.

  He stood now resplendent in the poorly fitting uniform, the original general having been a slightly smaller man, looking at the money entrusted to him for the purchase of the rifles. Fifty-seven thousand dollars was a lot of money.

  “Captain Gonzales!”

  Chavelinos’s shout brought a fat, bewildered looking little man running from another room. Gonzales was a clerk whose original rank of sergeant had been no more than a tribute to his ability to cook books and hide details of bribes received. He was not a fighting man, nor were any of Chavelinos’ garrison. The soldiers under him were not the hardy, free-riding vaqueros or the savage, murderous ex-bandidos but poor peons from the agricultural provinces.

  “You want me, Terenico?”

  Chavelinos’s face creased in a sudden scowl. “How many times must I tell you to call me General?” he bellowed. “Are the men with rifles here?”

  “Yes, but they have placed all their stores in the old cantina.”

  “How many men are left?”

  Gonzales gulped worriedly. He had left the finding out of such details to one of his men and the man failed to bring any report.

  “Only four,” Gonzales guessed.

  “Are you sure, I heard that the Irishman, Conway, left with all his men.”

  “I meant three.”

  “Good, then take six men and arrest them.”

  Gonzales gulped. He was well aware that the men who were in the cantina were well armed and his few meetings with Americano del Norte did not lead him to believe they would surrender mildly to any man. He paused instead of leaping to obey as a good soldier should.

  “How?” he asked.

  “How!” Chavelinos roared back. “How? Get down there, and demand they surrender to you.”

  “But what if they won’t?”

  There Chavelinos could see his Captain had a good point. The General was all too aware of the fighting ability of his men. They would never face up to even three gringos armed with repeating rifles. This was a time for strategy of the highest order.

  “I will go down there and talk to these men, and while I am talking you will take your men round the back of the building, enter by the rear window and take command of the room.”

  Gonzales was far from pleased with this arrangement for he could foresee all kinds of complications ahead of him. However when he tried to raise an argument Chavelinos sniffed and remarked that it would be done or the six men would march under a new Captain and Private Gonzales would be one of the six.

  Chavelinos strode importantly through the streets of the town. He would have liked to ride up on his horse but it was a worn out beast left behind as unsuited for hard work. However a small thing like a horse was not important, with the money for the rifles he would be able to take his pick of the finest horses in all Mexico.

  His escort straggled behind him and came to a ragged halt in the plaza. The local population fell back before the Commander of their Garrison, the man who was responsible for protecting them from the French. Chavelinos looked at the three men who lounged outside the building, two looked like typical hard-case Texas cowhands, the other, though not Texan, was tough enough too. Each man stood leaning against the wall and each held a rifle on the crook of his arm.

  “Who is the one I would talk with?” Chavelinos took in the giant spread of Mark Counter’s shoulders and then passed over the small, insignificant looking man in the center, then halting his gaze on Alden.

  “I am,” Tom Alden replied. “The rifles are in the cantina here and there they remain until I have the money for them. You have the money?”

  “I have the money but I am not satisfied that all is well. You say you have the rifles and your company boasts much about these rifles. I would like to see them work before I make any decisions.

  “I would like to see the money here before I waste any of my Company’s good ammunition.”

  “¡Señor!” Chavelinos’s voice was brittle and hard. “I am the General commanding this district. At my command I have three hundred men and can call on every man in Monterrey to help me. It does not pay to take so high a hand with one who can raise such an army.”

  “These rifles are equal to even an army,” Alden replied as he hefted the Henry rifle across his arm.

  Behind the cantina Gonzales darted forward on shaky legs followed by six scared looking soldiers. Fear is contagious and the men had caught it from their leader. It was a very worried group who sneaked towards the back of the cantina watching the windows and prepared to make a hurried retreat. At the last house beyond the cantina Gonzales halted his men, confused ideas of military procedure coming to him.

  The man gulped and turned to bolt but Gonzales caught him by the coat collar and held him. For a moment the bold Captain thought of whipping out his old horse pistol and shooting the man. It was at that moment he realized that any shot would warn the men out front of the cantina that all was not well. Also Gonzales could not remember if the weapon was loaded or not.

  “Advance, all of you,” Gonzales waved a hand, but his men made no attempt to move until he started forward himself.

  A series of shots from th
e front of the building brought them all to a halt and there was an air more like startled rabbits than fierce soldiers about them. However the rear of the cantina remained silent and showed no sign of life so Gonzales started forward again.

  In front of the cantina Chavelinos stood looking at the three men, then he snapped, “I want those rifles delivered to the barracks.”

  “When we are paid,” Alden’s voice was even.

  Dusty was watching the men behind Chavlinos, reading their faces and seeing that they were nervous. Looking down Dusty saw an empty old can laying on the sidewalk, stepped forward, bent and took up the can, threw it into the center of the street shouting, “Mark!”

  Mark brought the new model Henry rifle up to his shoulder, lining and firing fast. The bullets made a rolling tattoo of sound, dust and dirt erupted under the can as it leapt and bounced in the air.

  The watching Mexicans stared at the rifle which seemed to pour out a never ending series of bullets, making the can leap and dance. The soldiers drew back slightly, their single shot, awkward old muzzle-loaders hanging heavily in their hands. Every man of the Mexican troops realized how long it took them to reload after a single shot from their muskets and they did not relish facing up to those rapid shooting rifles.

  Dusty waited until the shooting ended and then smiled at Chavelinos. It was the hard smile of a man who held four aces dealt pat to him.

  “You see, señor, the rifles are as good as Señor Alden claims. There are a thousand inside there. We only have a few of them loaded ready but it will not take long to load more—if we need them.”

  Chavelinos could almost feel the fear among his men who realized that for some reason their General was trying to force the Americanos to give up the rifles without payment. He heard someone moving about in the cantina and grinned back at Dusty.

  “You have five seconds to surrender to me. Inside the cantina are my men.”

  Gonzales, reluctantly, was the first to reach the window. He was shaking with anxiety but could not see anything. There was something moving in the cantina. Then he heard the snort of a horse and realized what had happened. The men had taken their horses inside the building in case of trouble.

  Raising his head with the scared eyes rolling Gonzales looking in through the window at four horses. Four! There were only three men outside the cantina and yet there were four saddled horses there.

  Then Gonzales stiffened, his face turning almost ashy white as he stared at something which was placed directly in his view. Something which he recognized for what it was immediately.

  “Saludos Manuel,” the Ysabel Kid greeted, resting the muzzle of his old Dragoon gun so that it enveloped the tip of Gonzales’s nose.

  Gonzales stood very still. That voice was soft, gentle as a cooing dove but the mocking, Indian dark face behind was neither soft nor gentle. Nor were the red hazel eyes soft and gentle. Gonzales knew who this innocent looking young man was although he would never regard the Ysabel Kid as either young or innocent.

  “You got other men with you?” the Kid went on.

  Never a hero Gonzales nodded weakly and mumbled “Yes.”

  “Climb in.”

  Gonzales climbed. He was never one to refuse a polite request, much less so when it was delivered by the Ysabel Kid. There might have been people in Mexico who did not know el Cabrito or who regarded him as a sweet, gentle and kind young man with a healthy regard for human life. If there were Gonzales was not one of that number. He knew any man who disobeyed the Ysabel Kid when that mocking sardonic note was hi his voice would get hurt and hurt badly.

  The other six men were not aware that anything was wrong. They were all giving their full attention to getting away from here as fast as they could. Not one of them ever gave any thought to their leader talking to an apparently empty room for the Kid held his voice down and the other men had not heard him.

  With much grunting and heaving Gonzales climbed through the window and the first of his men was about to follow, being shoved along by the others. All must be all right inside or Gonzales would never have chanced going in there.

  The Kid lunged into view with a deep snarl rumbling from his throat. The man gave a yell and lunged backwards crashing into the others. They scattered and there was a mad rush to get away from here.

  “How goes it, Manuel?” the Kid asked, knowing Gonzales spoke enough English to get by. Enough to ask for bribes when smuggling was in the air. “Say, you done got yourself all promoted. Like I allus said you can’t keep a good man down.”

  Gonzales licked his lips. He was very scared now. That voice was so soft and friendly that it made him wonder what was coming next. “I came to take charge of the rifles,” he said pompously although he felt far from pompous for here was no frightened peon overawed by the importance of an Army uniform.

  “Did you now?” the Kid look worried. “Well I can’t let you have them. See ole Dusty he told me not to let anyone have them and I couldn’t go against him. Now could I? Not with him being my boss and all.”

  “It is very awkward, Cabrito.”

  “Why sure. Come on out and meet Dusty.” It was a command, not a request.

  Outside the cantina Chavelinos looked at the three men in triumph. He could afford to smile. When Gonzales and his men came out of that door he would not only own the rifles but the money which should be paid over for them. Then to make sure there would be no talking the three Americanos would be shot while trying to escape. It was all very convenient.

  The three men did not look alarmed; they did not even make any attempt to check on the safety of the building behind them. Dusty knew what was going on in Chavelinos’s head and was grinning inside at the shock which was coming to the Mexican general.

  “Do you surrender?” Chavelinos asked, watching the shape of Gonzales approaching the doors and the dark form following him.

  “Can’t,” Dusty answered.

  “Remember the Alamo,” Mark seconded.

  “You may remember what you like,” Chavelinos answered. “Raise your hands, my men are—!”

  The words died off as Gonzales came from out of the cantina followed by not six armed and alert soldiers but one armed and alert gringo. Further a gringo Chavelinos knew all too well.

  “What is this, Captain Gonzales?” Chavelinos snarled.

  “Ole Manuel here come round the back, just like you figgered, Dusty,” the Kid remarked. “I talked him out of it. Allus was a good talker wasn’t I Terencio?” the Kid ignored Chavelinos’s angry snarls and went on. “Remember one time I got arrested. In court I starts to talk and the judge was clear convinced.”

  “What happened, Lon?” Alden asked without looking round.

  “Sheriff that arrested me got three years in jail.”

  “You must be a real good talker.”

  “Either that or ‘cause the judge was my uncle.”

  Dusty cut in on the Kid’s flow of memories. “All right, General. What was you saying about us surrendering to you?”

  “I want those rifles. Señor Alden you come here in the company of a known criminal and take this high hand with me. Threaten my men—”

  “Didn’t threaten anybody,” the Kid objected. “I just asked old Manuel in for a friendly talk.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Chavelinos roared. “Señor Alden, I won’t ask again for the rifles. I will leave you one hour then I will return and you will either give me the guns or I will take them.”

  “Bring the money or don’t come at all,” Alden replied. Chavelinos snarled something in rapid Spanish, far too rapid for three of the watching men to catch what he was saying to his men. Then he turned and walked off through the crowd followed by Gonzales who was talking a blue streak and waving his hands about as he tried to explain away how the Ysabel Kid had caught him.

  “Reckon he’ll try anything, Dusty?” Mark was catching the habit of asking Dusty for any advice he needed.

  “Might, but he’ll have a real hard time getting those peons to fo
llow him. They’re real scared of those rifles.”

  “Sure, they’re real scared of the rifles,” the Kid agreed. “But he’ll come back again. Only this time he’s going to bring him a cannon.

  Chapter Thirteen – Kraus Meets a Friend

  “Reckon he’ll do it, Lon?” Dusty asked as the crowd scattered and cleared away from the area, leaving the plaza open and empty.

  “Sure he’s not bluffing. We’ve done got him so crazy wild and mean that he’ll do it all right.”

  “This place won’t stand up to a cannon,” Alden remarked looking at the thin walls of the cantina.

  “Nope and it’ll outrange our rifles,” Mark went on, “unless we get out of here and fight him along the street. Two of us might be able to get down there and in one of the houses.”

  “Sure, always allowing that Chavelinos brings his cannon from the direction the two go in.” Dusty, strategist as always was thinking faster than the others and had already discarded the same idea. “We don’t know where he will bring the cannon in, likely be the easy way and the one that’ll give his men the least trouble. But I don’t see Chavelinos as a complete fool; he’ll have more than enough men to guard that ole cannon. Besides we need at least three men in the cantina to guard it right.”

  The others could see that Dusty was right, there would be no chance with so small a force against a whole town and a cannon. Dusty was no longer contemptuous Of Mexicans as fighting men and knew that even the mildest of men could be roused by fear. Those townsmen were not as a rule fighters, nor were the peons in Chavelinos’ force but pushed far enough they would fight. A full-out fight with the people of the town was something none of the men wanted for all knew it would weaken their bargaining power with Juarez and might even lead to the loss of the rifles. Dusty was angry, boiling inside. After all the dangers bringing the weapons here, his mission was endangered by a greedy Mexican officer trying to hold the money for his own use.

  “He might not risk using the cannon; it would destroy the rifles,” Alden remarked looking at the others.