by Tony Masero
The four rode up the steep rise that was one of many that surrounded the lake and Lemon led the way tracking the trail that was plain for all to see and easy to follow in the soft dust. It was five miles later that came upon a crest that overlooked a cabin and outhouse standing beside an empty corral. A thin white trail of smoke played from the tin chimney set in the cabin’s roof.
“A dollar give you five they’ve got themselves mounted up now,” said Chad with a nod at the corral.
Long sniffed the air, “Must be a range hut for the cowboys who handle the cattle. I can smell breakfast cooking.”
“You don’t think they could still be inside, do you?” asked Zack.
“Always possible,” agreed Long. “We’ll come in from all sides. You boys circle around and me and Zack’ll ride up to the front. Keep your irons to hand, even if they ain’t in there whoever is might not be too friendly seeing as we’ve just blown the boss’ pretty house sky high.”
Zack and Long waited patiently below the ridge level until Long decided the others had enough time to get in position then he geed up his pony and Zack followed as they rode over the crest and down the hillside.
“Hello the house!” Long called when they pulled up outside.
It was a simple building made from weathered, rough-cut planks with a hanging porch shading the front. There was washing gear set on a small table outside and a hitching rail made from the porch supports.
The door creaked open and a figure stepped out. He was a young, slender man dressed as a cowhand, with regular stovepipe chaps and a hat slung over his shoulders on a leather loop.
“Morning,” he called, around a mouthful of food. “You boys come looking for Van Olen?”
“Is he here?” asked Long, his pistol held cocked on his lap below the saddle horn.
“Been and gone,” said the cowhand.
“How long?” asked Long.
Zack could see Chad and Lemon easing their ponies in and coming up silently on each side of the cabin.
“He said you’d come calling,” the cowhand said casually. “Left you a message.”
Long nodded, “Do tell?” he asked.
Then the cowhand went for the rifle he had kept hidden behind the doorframe. As it came in sight Long lifted his pistol and cried, “Don’t do it, buster!”
Either the cowhand did not hear him or was too excited to listen because he came around with the Winchester raised and aimed. Long fired and the cowhand got no further, he staggered back a few steps as the .45 slug hit, butted the wall of the cabin behind him and dropped forward to hang limply across the hitching rail.
There was the boom of a shotgun from the rear of the cabin and Zack saw Lemon duck forward in the saddle and fan the hammer of his six-shooter in a series of rapid shots. Chad followed up from his side of the building and the crack of his rifle overlaid Lemon’s fast tattoo.
“Alright! Alright!” came a loud voice from the back of the cabin. “I’m giving it up.”
“Come on out here!” Chad called. “And leave that shotgun where it falls.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t shoot. I ain’t paid enough to carry out this kind of work.”
A stringy little bow-legged fellow came around the cabin corner, his hands held high. He was dressed in a check shirt and wore a high crowned hat and a large loudly colored bandana. As he came towards Long he looked over at the figure draped over the hitching rail and clicked his tongue in distress.
“Hell, you didn’t have to shoot Benny. He was a good old boy, no more that eighteen years old.”
“Bullets don’t count the years,” said Long philosophically. “He put that Winchester on me and that was the wrong thing to do. Now, d’you work for the Circle V?”
“I do,” the little man said boldly. “Name’s Carl Henry.”
“So why’re you taking us on? We never did you no harm.”
“The boss said some raiding Commancheros was coming and we was to hold them up whilst he went to get help. We seen the smoke so we know’d he weren’t lying.”
“Then he took the horses and lit out?” asked Chad, coming around the corner of the cabin.
“That’s right,” said Carl Henry, looking around. “Say, how many of you are there?”
“He have a woman with him?” Zack asked quickly.
“Sure did, pretty little miss but she didn’t look to happy with things.”
“How many horses they take?” asked Long.
“Well,” Carl Henry shrugged. “There’s only the two of us here and they took both.”
“So they’re mounted two-up on one of them?”
“That’s right, Mister Van Olen took the lady on his and that Solo fellow hijacked the other. That was my mine too, damned fine cow pony, can’t say I liked it any but he’s the boss.”
“Where they headed? You’d best know they’ve abducted that lady against her will and we aim to get her back,” said Long.
“That a fact,” mused Carl Henry. “Didn’t think she looked too pleased. You fellows mind if I lower my hands now? It’s kind of uncomfortable.”
“So’s a bullet in the brain-box. You keep ‘em up until I tell you otherwise. Now, d’you know where they’re going?”
Carl Henry shrugged, “Guess it don’t matter to me none, look’s like I’m out of a job anyway. They mentioned a place somewhere south of the border called El Coluna, I don’t know it but that’s what they said.”
“Now, you wouldn’t be pulling my string, would you, Carl Henry? You know you’re on foot here and I find out you’re telling tall tales and I’ll come back here and bust you up real good.”
“Come on, Mister,” said the cowhand. “This ain’t my affair. I got no ax to grind here. You going to nail that fair haired boy that’s your business, it don’t make no difference to me.”
“Okay, Carl Henry, I believe you. You got some coffee in there? I could sure do with a cup.”
“Fresh brewed. You help me with poor Benny and you can have your fill. We got some beans and eggs as well.”
“You got a deal, Carl Henry,” said Long dismounting.
“Can I let my hands down now?”
~*~
They left Carl Henry hammering a rough wooden cross into the ground over his partner’s grave and rode out after a filling breakfast. The trail was plain to see and led off in a straight southerly direction. Lemon scouted far ahead and out of sight as the others followed at a more leisurely pace.
“So what’s your call on this lady?” asked Long. “Who’re you so all-fired intent on getting back?”
“It’s something that happened way back in the war,” Zack answered vaguely, he did not really want to go into it but realized that these men were possibly risking their lives on his behalf and knew they needed some kind of explanation.
“That a private matter or you want to share it with us?”
So Zack told them the whole thing from the Libby Prison escape and James’ part in it, how they had found Mary and her baby and the sad end that had left Mary bereft and astray until James had found her again.
“How many made it out of that prison in the end?” asked Chad.
“A hundred and nine or ten, I think,” Zack answered. “Fifty nine got clear away, a couple drowned and forty-nine were recaptured.”
“And that Colonel, what was his name? The guy who thought it all up, Colonel Rose, how’d he fare?”
“He made a fair stab at it but they recaptured him in the end.”
“Tough luck, huh?”
“Funny thing is, a year later and the war was over and we were all out of it anyway.”
“I guess for some of us,” said Long glumly. “It never really ended.”
“You were with the South?” asked Zack.
“I was and I ain’t ashamed to say it,” said Long proudly.
“So how come you are serving the Union now?”
Long sniffed, a little embarrassed at having to explain his motivations. “I guess I never was much of a secessio
nist, I just signed up to be with my own people. I was a lot younger and dumber in those days and we all went along behind the flag waving. Then I got took and did my time in a Yankee prison until Smith came along. He offered us service working for the government in an undercover way when the war was done and I went along with it as there wasn’t much waiting for me back home anymore. One thing led to another and Smith came calling more than once and now you see us where we are. Running interference for folks such as yourself that need some kind of protection.”
“What about Smith? Just what is he exactly?”
Chad snorted a laugh. “He’s a mysterious one alright. Don’t rightly know what he’s about. Keen old fella, that’s for sure. Does his job real well but never let’s his guard down. He stays close mouthed on most things, just tells you what’s needed and lets you get on with it.”
“I think he was a spy for the North back in the war,” said Long. “He made like a trader and ran supplies through the lines, right up to the ‘Federate command, so I hear.”
“That must have taken some brass,” Zack estimated.
“Oh, he’s a real cold fish right enough,” added Chad. “Don’t reckon he’d care one way or t’other if we never was to come back from one of his missions.”
They were interrupted as Long caught sight of Lemon returning.
“He’s coming fast,” Long said. “He must have seen something.”
“You're not going to like this,” said Lemon when he pulled up alongside in a cloud of dust.
Long jerked his chin impatiently, “Say it.”
“Down there over the rise. A long slope going to some kind of adobe hut, its surrounded by a low wall. They got Mexicans there, five I could see, maybe more inside, all of them armed.”
“So?” asked Long. “What's so special?”
“The woman.”
“You mean Mary?” gasped Zack.
Lemon nodded. “It's a flat roofed place and they've set up a tall post in the center on top. She's tied to it up there.”
“Like an open invitation,” mused Long.
“More like bait to set the trap,” added Chad.
Zack fumed, eager to rush in but he bit back his anxiety and waited to hear what the others had to say.
“They see you?” asked Long.
Lemon shook his head negatively.
“What about James, any sign of him?” asked Zack.
Again, Lemon gave a negative response.
“How about the surrounding countryside?” asked Chad.
Lemon crinkled a rueful lip, “It dips and rolls but mostly open and flat all around the place. Some scrub but not much cover.”
“It has to be at night then,” said Long decisively. “We wait until dark.”
“What about Mary under the sun? She'll be baked in this heat,” Zack asked it with a bitter twist of concern, he felt defeated, as he already knew the answer. There was no way they could attack across open countryside.
“She'll survive,” advised Long. “She's no good to them dead. They have to keep her alive until we make our move.”
“But they know we're coming.”
“That's for sure,” agreed Chad. “Why wait? Let's go in hard and strong. These are only hired vaqueros, they won't put up much of a fight.”
“But how many didn't Lemon see? There could be another ten inside the hut,” cautioned Long.
“Let's get up there and take a look, then decide.”
Long nodded agreement, “Well, I'm for that. Everybody in?”
They all crawled up to the dust ridge overlooking the building that was laid out just as Lemon had described. A simple four-walled structure built from crude adobe with a low three-foot high wall some twelve feet out from the hut on all sides. There were eight men obvious now, all of them clad in tight Mexican jackets crossed by ammunition bandoleers and wearing wide-brimmed sombreros.
Central on the flat roof, tied to a tall and heavy vertical piece of timber looking like an old flagpole hung Mary, hands bound behind her to the post. Her head hung down and invisible under the hair that lay across her face but Zack could recognize her blouse and long skirt. His heart started in his breast at sight of her and his hand instinctively went for his pistol.
“Later.” warned Long, catching his movement. “Here's how I see it,” he added, studying the scene below speculatively. “Two of us up here with rifles. The other two work their way around and come in on horseback from the opposite side. It's a charge across open ground but the rifle fire’ll distract them and the hut will hide some of the view out back. First shots will be certain to put down two, that'll leave six to deal with.”
“What happened to the nighttime raid?” Zack asked curiously.
“Now I see the place, daytime's possible,” said Long. “We can make out the Mex defenders a darn sight easier for one thing and that lady of yours doesn't look like she'll last much longer strung up like that.”
Zack took a quick glance back at Mary hanging limply from the post and had to agree.
“There can't be more than eight of them all together,” said Chad.
“I doubt it,” agreed Long. “How're you with a rifle, Zack?”
“Good,” said Zack.
“All right, Lemon, you and Zack'll hold the high ground and keep them busy. We've got maybe four hours of daylight, give Chad and me a half-hour to work our way to the other side then lay down all hell on them and we'll come in blasting at the same time.”
“I like it,” grinned Chad. “Just like the old days with the Rangers.”
“Kinda,” admitted Long, a slight smile of anticipation also playing on his lips.
“You always was a bust-'em-up kind of guy, Long,” Chad praised. “I always did like that about you.”
“Shut the hell up and let's ride. Give us a thirty minutes, okay?”
The two crawled off to get their ponies and Lemon and Zack took up position on the ridge. They slid their rifles out and Zack watched Lemon as he gauged distance and rotated his rifle barrel to take in the complete area of the compound below.
“Something ain't right,” muttered Lemon.
Zack looked across at him, “What is it?” he asked.
“No ponies. Where are their horses?”
“You're right. They wouldn't be out here without transport. You think it’s a trap?”
Lemon drew a deep breath. “It's all too neat. The bait is your woman but what if there's more waiting with the ponies? I'm going down there to have a look around.”
Before Zack could say anything, the half-breed slid his broad Bowie knife from its scabbard. It was a demonic looking weapon, from it's curving needle-sharp tip it measured thirteen inches long and two inches wide with a reinforcing sheet-brass strip sweat-soldered to the back and a cross-guard quillon protecting the hardwood handle. With the blade in one hand and rifle in the other Lemon moved back away from the ridge.
“Wait!” whispered Zack. “What about me?”
“I'll be back,” promised Lemon. “You keep them busy come the time.”
With that he was gone and Zack watched him disappear amongst the dunes like a dark shadow. With a sigh, Zack turned his attention back to the hut and the sad figure of Mary. She did not move and Zack hoped all was well with her and that James had not harmed her in any way. His mind turned to Isabel and he realized it was the first time he had considered her in all that had gone on. She seemed a distant figure now as he lay in the dust of the hillside with his rifle poised ready to take life. All the niceties of Boston society and the correctness of law court procedure that he had left behind appeared as if in a stale dream compared to the tension that now coursed through his system.
He could hear the men below talking and laughing one with another, the sounds of their voices coming up the hillside towards him. Zack focused on them along the rifle sight. Who's life would he take first, he wondered? It troubled him for a moment and then he shut down the thought as he considered Mary. His Mary. He had no doubt in his mind t
hat she was the one for him now. Isabel faded into a pale comparison as he thought of the thrill that had beat in his heart when he had first seen her again. He knew it would be difficult; he would never be able to continue in Boston as a lawyer. Breaking off his engagement to such a highly placed socialite would be unforgivable in the eyes of the Brahmins; he would have to leave the city that was for sure.
Damn it though! He thought. That was all for the future, right now he had to get back his Mary first.
Then he heard the drumming sound of approaching hoof beats and he knew Long and Chad were coming.
So did the Mexicans. They ran for cover and searched the horizon seeking the source of the sounds.
Zack carefully picked his target and wondered where the hell Lemon had gotten to as he did so. He chose a big-bellied fellow with a bright red sash around his waist and a wide flat-brimmed sombrero. The man seemed to be the leader, as he stood alone shouting out orders in the middle of the compound.
Zack fired and the fat man was jerked from his feet and fell flopping to the ground, one hand pressed to his side. Two others ran from their cover behind the low walls and bent to help him and Zack aimed and fired again and one of the vaqueros dropped like a stone, his companion scurrying back quickly to cover.
Returning fire was coming his way from the others behind the walls and dust spurted before Zack on either side as the bullets struck around him. He ducked back down below the skyline and changed position, moving along sideways before raising his head and risking another shot. Adobe dust burst from the wall in a white cloud as his bullets struck the soft bricks and he received another burst of answering fire.
The he saw Long and Chad racing towards the hut, streams of dust leaving a long trail behind them over the rolling dunes. Both men had their pistols out and were hollering loudly as they came. The Mexicans panicked, turning this way and that, unsure of what to do, as their leader lay writhing and badly wounded in the dust of the compound. Zack aimed and fired again and saw another vaquero drop down out of sight behind the wall. The Mexicans were firing wildly now in all directions as Long and Chad approached the far side of the compound.
Long had looped his reins around the saddle horn, drawn his rifle and with pistol in one hand and rifle in the other was firing as he came. From the corner of his eye, Zack noticed Lemon. Coming suddenly from nowhere the half-breed was running at the crouch, an already blooded Bowie knife held high as he made his way towards the compound.