Ambush at Shadow Valley

by Ralph Cotton

  The old men hesitated only long enough to look to Juan Mandega for approval. As soon as Juan said to them, ‘‘Well, what are you waiting for?’’ the old men scurried away to do Soto’s bidding.

  As the old men left and a couple of others eased away before they were given orders to follow, Juan turned to Soto and said, ‘‘You must excuse them. It has been a long time since anyone from the Soto Cera family has been here to guide them.’’ His voice turned humble. ‘‘I have tried my best to carry on in some small way—’’

  ‘‘You have done well, Juan Mandega,’’ Soto said, cutting him short. ‘‘I’ll see to it that my family hears of your loyalty.’’

  ‘‘Gracias,’’ Juan said, his head bowed slightly.

  ‘‘Now, let’s get busy,’’ said Soto. He took Clarimonde by the shoulder and guided her toward two women who stood watching nearby. ‘‘You two, take her and find her some clothes and a coat fit for the trail.’’ He said quietly to Clarimonde, ‘‘Will this be your chance to escape? Think it over carefully before you attempt something foolish.’’

  Turning to Juan Mandega, Soto said, ‘‘Is the iron door still in place? Are there still blasting supplies stored there where I left them?’’

  "Sí, everything is where you told me to keep it until you returned,’’ said Juan. He managed a thin smile. ‘‘No one has been brave enough to move it.’’

  ‘‘Then let’s go get it.’’ Soto grinned. He slapped Juan on the back and gave him a half shove toward a tall mountain of rock standing seventy yards away.

  But Juan hesitated, and asked with a suspicious look in his eyes, ‘‘We heard that you were in prison in the Arizona Territory. But now you have escaped, is it so?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I escaped,’’ said Soto, seeing he would have to offer some sort of explanation. ‘‘There is a lawman on my trail. I’m going to close the main trail through Shadow Valley and make him have to double back and take another trail through here.’’

  ‘‘And by that time you and your woman will be gone,’’ Juan said, getting it.

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ said Soto, knowing he needed this man’s help to get everything done in time. ‘‘I knew once I got here, I could count on you, the way my family has always counted on you. Was I right in thinking that, Juan?’’ he asked, staring closely at him.

  "Sí, you were right,’’ Juan nodded, giving in, knowing it would be fatal to deny this man.

  ‘‘As soon as I am gone, ride down to the south end of Shadow Valley, to my brothers in Satan. Tell them to send my brother demons from hell to follow me. Tell them to see into my mind and they’ll know what to do when the time comes.’’

  Juan’s expression turned grim at the prospect of riding to the darkest end of Shadow Valley. But he swallowed a knot in his throat, and said "Sí, when you are gone I will go and tell them.’’ He couldn’t bear thinking what would happen to his family and himself if he didn’t do as he was told.

  The two turned and walked toward a mule hitched at an iron ring along the edge of the dirt street. ‘‘Now, help me load my supplies,’’ said Soto.

  The storm had cost the two lawmen precious time. But there was nothing they could do about it now, Sam thought, leaning low on his saddle and searching the wet ground for any sign of the horse’s tracks. Beside him a few yards away Hector said, ‘‘He could have ridden up at any point along this valley trail.’’ As he spoke he looked upward, searching along the ridgeline above them.

  ‘‘Keep in mind that the storm slowed them down just as much as it did us,’’ Sam replied.

  ‘‘Yes, the storm,’’ Hector said with a touch of bitterness. ‘‘Just when we could have tightened the noose around his murdering neck, the weather turns against us.’’ He spit in disgust. ‘‘The storm could not have come at a worse time.’’

  ‘‘Storms come when they come,’’ said Sam, straightening in his saddle and nudging Black Pot over to Hector. ‘‘We have to decide whether it just slows down awhile, or stops us altogether. Isn’t that true, Guardia?’’ When he finished speaking he stared at Hector until the young lawman shook his head and gave a tired smile.

  ‘‘It has slowed us down,’’ he said, reining his horse back to the trail, ‘‘but it has not stopped us.’’ He raised his face to the heavens and said loudly, as if speaking to all of nature itself, ‘‘Do you hear that? We are not stopping. We are continuing on.’’

  Sam offered a trace of a wry smile and nudged his stallion forward. A half hour later the ranger stopped suddenly as the hoofprints of three horses appeared back on the trail. ‘‘Finally, we get a break,’’ Hector said with a tight sigh.

  But Sam found no relief in the prints coming down to the valley floor. He looked up along the ridges above and said, thinking out loud, ‘‘He rode all the way up there out of the storm. . . . Why did he ride back down afterward?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Hector, ‘‘but let’s be glad he did. Now we found his trail. It is always good to find the trail you search for, eh?’’ He smiled, happy with their discovery.

  ‘‘Yes, it is,’’ said Sam, still searching the higher ridges, ‘‘unless for some reason he wanted us to find his tracks again.’’

  Hector’s smile went away as he let the ranger’s words sink in. With a moment of consideration he said, ‘‘The farther we ride into Shadow Valley, the steeper and closer the walls will become on either side.’’ He gave the ranger a knowing look. ‘‘He has something in mind for us there, where the valley grows too narrow to escape unless we ride a long way back.’’

  ‘‘If we climbed up here, where he climbed down,’’ Sam asked pointing first at the track on the ground, then up the steep hillside, ‘‘how much longer will it take us to catch up to him?’’

  Hector considered it. ‘‘I am not familiar with that end of Shadow Valley, but always it takes longer to ride along those ridge trails. It will cost us much time. He can easily slip away from us.’’

  ‘‘Then we’ll take our chances on finding him again,’’ Sam speculated. ‘‘I don’t want to track a man who’s leading me to where he wants me to be.’’ As he spoke he’d already begun turning his stallion to the uphill climb toward the ridgeline.

  ‘‘Neither do I,’’ said Hector, turning his horse right behind him.

  Three miles ahead of the lawmen, Soto paced back and forth restlessly, on a level landing in the hillside where he could see the large rock standing above the narrowed trail at the end of Shadow Valley. ‘‘What could be keeping him from getting here?’’ he asked himself aloud.

  Hearing him, Juan offered an answer, having listened as Soto told him about the lawman on his trail: ‘‘Perhaps when he saw that the storm washed out your tracks, he decided to turn back and give up the chase.’’

  ‘‘Naw,’’ said Soto. ‘‘This ranger is not the type to give up.’’

  Juan shrugged. ‘‘Then he is coming. There is no need to concern yourself. If he is the kind of man you say, it is not a question of if he’ll be here, only a matter of when.’’

  Soto took a breath and gave a thin smile. ‘‘You’re right, Juan. What do I care when he gets here. The dynamite I made is in place and all set. I wanted to watch him die, but knowing I got him off my tail is enough for now. I’ve got bigger business awaiting me.’’

  ‘‘Say the word, and I blow the rock and close the valley,’’ Juan said, eager to get Soto out of the peaceful hill community.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Soto. ‘‘Blow it to hell. Then go send my brothers in Satan to find my trail.’’ He smiled. ‘‘Tell them I give them the sign. I will make them rich.’’ He turned and walked to where Clarimonde stood with the horses and a mule loaded with the supplies they’d taken from a storage cave in the hillside. ‘‘Get mounted,’’ he said, running a hand down her long, freshly washed hair hanging from beneath a broad, straw sombrero. ‘‘We’re leaving.’’

  ‘‘What about the law,’’ Clarimonde asked. She wore a pair of thin, white peasant
trousers and a flimsy, collarless peasant shirt with a deep, open neckline. A faded striped serape lay draped over the paint’s rump behind the saddle.

  ‘‘I have taken care of the law one way or the other,’’ Soto replied. ‘‘Either he’ll soon be dead, or else he’ll be backtracking the length of Shadow Valley, licking his wounds, wondering what to do next.’’ His words made her heart sink.

  ‘‘Oh, then we have nothing more to fear,’’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t catch the terrible look of disappointment she knew came over her face.

  Soto smiled knowingly. ‘‘That’s right, Clarimonde,we have nothing to fear.’’ He cupped her breast with his gloved hand and said closer to her face, ‘‘From here on it’s just you and me. We will have the devil’s protection. We can do whatever pleases us.’’ He liked the way she looked off into the distance, avoiding his eyes.

  As the two mounted, Soto insisting she ride double, perched upon his lap, they watched Juan give a signal, and the earth rumbled underfoot as a blast of rock, dirt, smoke and hillside rose into the air above Shadow Valley and rained back down on itself. ‘‘I’d say my explosive-making skills have not suffered during my stay in Yuma,’’ Soto chuckled, putting his heels to his horse’s sides.

  Three miles away at the upper edge of the steep hillside, the ranger and Hector both settled their animals beneath them and looked at the large rise of dust above the explosion. ‘‘There it is,’’ Sam said, ‘‘the surprise that awaited us, had we fallen for it.’’

  Hector crossed himself idly. ‘‘That is just about where we would have been if we had stayed on the valley floor and ridden on,’’ he said.

  Seeing the look on Hector’s face, Sam said, ‘‘A miss is as good as a mile. Now that he thinks he’s killed us or sent us backtracking, we’ll get the upper hand while he slows down some and takes his time.’’

  ‘‘The question now is which way will he go,’’ Hector commented.

  ‘‘Oh, there’s not a doubt in my mind he’s headed back across the border now,’’ Sam said. ‘‘He’s feeling too full of himself to quit just now. He thinks he’s won the game.’’

  ‘‘I will be crossing the border,’’ Hector said, as if considering it.

  Sam looked at him, and asked, ‘‘Will it be your first time?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ Hector replied. ‘‘Always as vaqueros my brother and I went where the work took us. Many times we crossed the border. But this will be the first time I cross it as a lawman, hunting a man for murder.’’

  ‘‘If you think you had better stop, I told you I’ll see that Soto gets what’s coming to him for killing your brother, Ramon, and Luis Gravis,’’ Sam said, gauging Hector.

  ‘‘Gracias,’’ said Hector. ‘‘I started out thirsting for revenge for my brother and Luis Gravis. But that is no longer the case.’’

  ‘‘I understand,’’ Sam said quietly, gazing ahead of them in the direction of the border.

  PART 2

  Chapter 11

  Rusty Nail, Arizona Territory

  Before Soto put his horse forward on the dusty trail into town, he said to Clarimonde, who rode the paint horse close beside him, ‘‘We’ll be taking up with some business associates of mine near here. I’m going to trust you to keep your mouth shut about what brought you and me together.’’

  ‘‘I’m not going to say anything,’’ Clarimonde replied quietly, her eyes lowered.

  ‘‘That’s real good,’’ said Soto, lifting his hat from his shaved, tattooed head long enough to wipe a bandanna across his brow. Adjusting the hat back down into place, he went on to say, ‘‘Because you can bet these people will tell me anything you have to say to them.’’ He looked her up and down and smiled. ‘‘Before you say anything to anybody, remember the old Mayan, how he looked lying chopped up all over the yard.’’

  ‘‘I—I won’t say anything,’’ she repeated. ‘‘I swear I will not.’’ She paused tensely for a moment, then asked cautiously, ‘‘Why did you do that?’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Soto asked. ‘‘You mean kill him, or chop him up, or eat his heart?’’

  ‘‘Any of that,’’ she replied. Her face lost all color, recalling what she’d witnessed that evening from the window of the nuns’ living quarters.

  ‘‘Killing is in my blood, especially killing Mayan Indians,’’ Soto said matter-of-factly. ‘‘For generations, my family, the Soto Ceras, and the Mayans have been enemies. It’s legendary. The old priest knew about it. It was my ancestors who showed the Spanish the land routes across South America. When my people killed an enemy in battle, they had a tradition of cutting out his heart and eating it.’’ He looked at her intensely and bared his strong white teeth. ‘‘Does that sound uncivilized to you?’’

  She didn’t answer, but a cold fear gripped her insides.

  ‘‘In my family it is an act of religion. Don’t let it shock you. If you think there are parts of Mexico that are uncivilized, you have no idea how much worse it gets where I am from.’’

  As he spoke about his origins, Clarimonde noted how his voice took on a trace of accent. ‘‘And where is it you are from?’’ she asked, still cautious.

  But he ignored her question. Instead, knowing the effect his words had on her, he continued, saying, ‘‘The Mayans once called us ‘brothers of the dark monster,’ because of how my people tortured and killed them, and ate their hearts. Over time, as my people spread out among the rest of the world, that name changed to ‘brothers of Satan.’ I do my part to keep the practice alive.’’ He chuckled darkly under his breath. ‘‘For that reason I can summon demons at my command and they will travel the world to find me and protect me.’’

  Were these the ravings of a depraved mind? She wasn’t sure. But he was talking freely; she wanted it that way to find out all she could. ‘‘Your family once owned the mining interest in Shadow Valley. You come from wealthy people, yet you choose to live this way,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Yes, the Soto Ceras are wealthy indeed.’’ He smiled at her again and said with a shrug, ‘‘I was educated in Amsterdam. I speak seven languages as well as the natives of those countries. I am schooled in the world of commerce and industry.’’

  ‘‘Yet, you chose to be an outlaw,’’ Clarimonde ventured, hoping to gain as much insight into the man as she could gather while he was in a talkative mood. Part of her survival in the rank brothels and on the throat-cutting streets of California’s Barbary Coast had depended on her wits and wiles. She had hoped never to have to live that way again, but here it was thrust upon her. She listened, weighing his every word.

  ‘‘Yes, I chose to become an outlaw instead.’’ Again Soto’s white smile sparkled. ‘‘But being an outlaw in America here is mild compared to being a Soto Cera in the jungles where I come from. Like all of my family before me, I can slice out a heart and eat it before it stops beating.’’

  As he spoke he reached a hand over and squeezed her thigh firmly, high up, near her open lap. ‘‘That’s something for you to keep in mind,’’ he added, half joking but half-serious. ‘‘You are a woman who has been around. You know how well a man will treat a woman who makes him happy. You’ve also seen with your own eyes how badly things will go for you if you anger or betray me.’’ Kneading her thigh firmly, he said in a whisper, ‘‘So, make me happy, Clarimonde. Make me very happy.’’

  ‘‘I—I will . . . I’ll do whatever you want me to do for you,’’ she said, shaken not only by his words, but even more so by the image of what she had seen happen to the old Indian. ‘‘Was Ransdale a part of this practice? Is that why he took scalps?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Soto, letting his hand fall away from her thigh. ‘‘I didn’t know Ransdale was a scalper until we got out here where he could indulge himself. It was his scalp collecting that brought the Soto Cera blood in me back to life,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s something about killing that never leaves a man once he’s acquired a taste for it.’’

  Clarimonde couldn
’t help but raise her eyes and stare at him, either in shock or disbelief.

  ‘‘Nate was a low-minded animal,’’ Soto continued. ‘‘He didn’t even realize that when he asked me if he could eat the French nun, the ‘sweet cookie,’ he had the same deep craving for warm, raw flesh as the most raging savage in the jungle.’’ A dark, piercing look came to his eyes.

  ‘‘I . . . think I understand,’’ Clarimonde offered. She said it only in hopes that it would gain her some better standing with him, something she would need if she was to ever free herself from him.

  ‘‘Oh, do you now?’’ Soto said with a flat, cynical look in his dark eyes. Again his gloved hand went up onto her thigh, this time roughly, with urgency; he squeezed more firmly through the thin peasant trousers. Lowering his voice he said, ‘‘The only thing separating any of us from the beasts is our self-restraint.’’ Clarimonde saw a pulse beating quickly in his throat. Again, he gave the smile. ‘‘My self-restraint knows better than to get in my way once I’ve tasted what I want.’’

  Clarimonde stared straight ahead as the horses walked onto the dusty street. She had been given a better glimpse into the darkness of Soto’s soul, and whether he had said things deliberately to frighten her and keep her in his power, or whether he was indeed the monster he had so casually defined himself to be, she didn’t know. But she did realize that when it came time to make her break, she’d better know beforehand that her plan would work. From all she’d seen and all she’d heard from him, this man was more dangerous and more insane than anyone she’d ever met those years on the Barbary Coast.

  They rode on in silence.

  On the busy, dusty street, the two stepped down at a hitch rail out front of Modale’s Big Diamond Saloon, a gambling and drinking establishment set up in a large, ragged army tent. No sooner had Soto’s boots touched the ground than a young member of the Hole-in-the-wall Gang stepped up as if out of nowhere and asked in a whisper, ‘‘Are you Suelo Soto?’’