by Lou Cameron
“Si, señor?”
“If I see you just waving, I’ll know they have the drop on you. So I’ll rescue you if I can, and if I can’t, tough shit. If it’s really all clear, signal me by hopping on one leg. That’s about the last thing I can think of them forcing you to do.”
Morales chuckled and said he understood. Captain Gringo watched with approval as Morales crabbed sideways through the brush a hundred yards before rising to approach the ranch below from another angle through the waist-high chaparral. He nodded and silently said, “Good thinking. Don’t get killed if you can help it. Good noncoms are hard to find these days.”
*
Morales looked pretty silly hopping around on one foot. The vaqueros of the rancho were still grinning about it when Captain Gringo led the others down the slope. They crossed a wagon trace running east and west. Captain Gringo raised an eyebrow when he saw the rubber-tire tracks edged sharply by the setting sun. He kept his thoughts to himself. Damned few people could afford the new horseless carriages back in the States. They cost even more down here. While waiting up on the rise with Robles, Robles had filled him in more on this spread. Apparently there was a lot more money in raising beef and goats than he’d thought.
As the half-dozen vaqueros escorted Captain Gringo and his men over to the main house, a woman in black widow’s weeds was standing on the veranda. This didn’t surprise him. Robles had said the valley was held by the widow Perez. But Robles hadn’t told him what she looked like. So he was surprised to find the dame was gorgeous.
As he approached, doffing his sombrero, she said, “I am called Pilar and of course my house is your house. But thank God you did not arrive less than an hour ago! You just missed los rurales, or, to be more accurate, perhaps they just missed you! You caballeros are of El Aquilar Negro’s band, no?”
He studied her words, and her, before answering. Pilar Perez was about thirty. Tall for a Mestiza, albeit shorter than most American girls. He figured she was maybe three-quarters white and one-quarter very pretty Indian. Her face was dusky rose in the sunset light. Her eyes were big, black, and slightly slanted by her high cheekbones. Her hair was parted in the middle and hung down to her shoulders, shiny and black as raven’s wings. She was built like a well-known brick edifice and he could tell it was all her under that thin black dress. She hourglassed naturally, without the corset most women would have needed for a waistline like that between such heroic upper and lower halves of her torso.
He said, “We may know El Aquilar Negro, señora. Tell us more about los rurales.”
“They were just here, in an armored motorcar. They drove in from San Blas, they said, to make sure nobody was here but us and my livestock. We were very frightened. But, come, they are gone for the night, I am sure. They said they were patrolling back toward San Blas, along the coast road. You and your men must be hungry after such a long journey over the rim rocks.”
That was for sure. But Captain Gringo turned to Robles and said, “You and your squad stay out here and set up a perimeter. When Morales and his men have eaten, they’ll relieve you. Post your guys under the trees and make sure they don’t smoke after dark. Any questions?”
“No, Captain Gringo. I am an old night fighter.”
The tall American nodded, motioned to Morales, and told the woman he’d pay for some tortillas and beans for his men. She sniffed and told him not to insult her. So they all went inside.
A couple of vaqueros followed, but the widow turned to one who seemed to be her ramrod and said, “Tico, with rurales in these parts, you and the muchachos had better round up the stock. Especially the horses, no?”
The ramrod nodded and led his segundo out to attend to it. The woman ushered them back to the large combined kitchen and dining room, where two older peon women were already preparing food on the hearth of a beehive fireplace in a corner, and another woman, younger and better dressed, sat at a big plank table, nursing a mug of coffee and a sullen expression. Pilar said, “This is my little sister, Carmencita.”
Captain Gringo nodded pleasantly to her. Carmencita didn’t even look at him, so he said, “Up yours,” in English, and took the seat the older and better-mannered sister indicated. Morales of course rated another chair. The men with him knew their places in polite Hispanic society and squatted against the walls to be fed, if and when.
Pilar took her place at the head of the table as Captain Gringo studied Carmencita and tried to figure out what was eating her. She was a pretty little thing, whiter-looking than her older sister, with just a hint of Indian in her cheekbones and straight black hair. She, too, wore black. Her figure was more willowy, but she was a long way from being flat-chested.
Pilar caught the thoughtful look in Captain Gringo’s eye and nodded to say, “Si, she is a little snip. She’s not angry with you. She’s angry with me. I have refused to receive a certain young officer who keeps arriving with flowers, books, and candy.”
The younger girl flushed crimson and started to say, or spit, something. Then she lowered her eyes to her coffee cup and murmured whatever it was under her breath. Pilar said, “Don’t pout in front of company, you silly child. I agree he’s very pretty, but no woman of this house will ever keep company with a rurale as I draw breath!”
Captain Gringo was embarrassed for them both, and wasn’t interested in family quarrels in the first place. So he said, “Your government seem to be pretty busy around here lately.”
She said, “Mexico has had no government since Juarez died. We do not consider that bandito, Diaz, a government.”
“Yeah, but he’s got a rural gendarmerie and a federal army just the same. You told us about los rurales patrolling the roads in an armored motorcar, señora. What can you tell us about los federales?”
Before she could answer, her chicas started putting cups of coffee and bowls of food in front of everyone who rated a seat at the table. Their hostess said, “Please call me Pilar. I only insist on señora from those others. Los rurales are always with us. My late husband taught me how to deal with them. By politely asking the local rurale commander if he would be kind enough to forward your land tax, paid in cash, one tames the beasts at little extra cost. The soldados who’ve just moved into the area are another matter. They have yet to approach me, so I don’t know how big a bribe it will take to keep my livestock and the virtue of my sister and me. They are stationed to the south, between here and San Blas. We do not know just where, but they are said to be patrolling the hills between the two routes south.”
Captain Gringo took out the map, spread it between her bowl and his, and said, “I have the roads. That’s about all. The surveyors who drew this map must not have known how to draw mountains or canyons. Could you fill in some of the blank space for us, ah, Pilar?”
She turned and asked one of her servants to fetch her a pencil. Then she turned back to him and said, “I can try. By the way, I forget how you are called, señor.”
“I am called Dick. That’s Anglo for Ricardo.”
“I prefer Ricardo. Deek sounds undignified.”
The chica handed her a pencil stub and Pilar started marking up the map as she said, “This coast road ends at Rosario, to the north. They say someday they mean to extend it up the coast to Mazatlán, but sea cliffs still block the way. To the south, the coast road runs all the way to San Blas and the western terminus of the new railroad.”
“There’s a railroad depot in San Blas? That explains a lot!”
“Ah, you heard of the new ordnance depot atop Cerro de Basiho? I was wondering why El Aquilar Negro sent you this far south. Unless you and your men are just an advance patrol, you don’t have the strength to take the fort.”
“Is that where los federales are, Pilar?”
She shook her head and said, “Not all of them. Others have been seen much closer!”
She ran the pencil along the mapped inland trail and went on, “This is the logical way people who do not wish to be bothered by rurales in armored motorcars on the c
oast road would naturally take. You can reach it by traveling west, up this valley, to where the trail crosses it. I don’t think I would do that if I were you. Nobody has come up the inland trail from the south for at least a week.”
“Right. Armored patrol on the low road, cavalry troopers on the high road, and nobody gets to Scotland either way, right?”
She looked confused but didn’t ask what he meant. She was drawing another line. She said, “I cannot do this in detail from memory. I have only ridden a few kilometers of it in any case. But here, midway between the better-known routes south, a goat path follows the ridges south. It is difficult, even on foot. Nobody remembers who laid it out originally. Perhaps the Indians, in the old days. I shall not try to draw in all the curves and passes. My goatherds tell me once you are on it, it is not impossible to follow. The tricky part is that in places it doubles back on itself to avoid running over thin air. The hills are badly cut up by canyons. A stranger in these parts would think the old Indio trail led nowhere. That is why I don’t think you would be as liable to meet anyone on it.”
“I hope you’re right. Where does it end, to the south, Pilar?”
“Nowhere, officially. Actually, after crossing the Rio Grande Santiago, it comes to a railroad cut east of San Blas and keep going, God knows where, to the south. When the government surveyors laid out the new railroad, they apparently didn’t even notice the narrow path along the crest of a ridge they had to cut through. I have never followed the old forgotten trail all the way, of course, so I cannot tell you exactly how far it leaves you from San Blas at the south end. It is said los federales patrol the tracks with cannon and machine guns mounted on armored flatcars. On the other hand, the jungle is quite thick in the lowlands near San Blas.”
He nodded, took back the map, and folded it, and put it away as he said, “You’ve been a great help, Pilar. Now I’d better finish up and let you feed the next shift so we can be on our way by moonrise.”
She gasped and said, “Oh, no! You can’t take the old Indian trail at night, Ricardo! Did you not hear me when I said it was most treacherous? You must wait until morning. Until just before dawn, at least. It is hard to find even by daylight. Walking it in the dark is suicidal! In some places it winds along the edges of sheer drops. The vegetation grows thicker as one goes south. Some parts lead through tall timber, to hairpin on the edges of tall cliffs!”
He nodded politely as he went on stuffing his gut with refritos and coffee. The coffee would help him and the others, some. He noticed that neither of the women were eating. He’d thought they’d arrived past suppertime. Pilar watched with polite concern as he grubbed. Young Carmencita was chain drinking coffee and trying not to squirm in her seat. He repressed the impulse to tell her she was never going to get to sleep tonight if she added caffeine to the other ants she obviously had in her pants. Her problem wasn’t his. It was all hers, and it seemed to be driving her nuts.
He excused himself from the table and went out to relieve Morales after telling the guys with him to hurry it up. Outside, Robles told him all the vaqueros had ridden off someplace in a hurry. Captain Gringo said, “Roundup time, she says,” as he stared west at the sunset. Others who’d eaten first, with him, came drifting out as he filled Robles in on his conversation with Pilar. Robles said it made sense. He’d heard of the old forgotten trail, though he’d never traveled it. He said, “Federale troopers on horseback would not be able to move any faster than men on foot along such a treacherous route, even if they knew about it. I doubt if they could, since they are new in these parts.”
Morales came out, belching contentedly, and said la señora wished to speak to Captain Gringo again. The tall American said, “Take over here. How far does that wagon trace run down the valley before it meets the main coast road? Do you know?”
“Si, it is about ten kilometers, Captain Gringo. Why? Surely you do not mean to lead us that way! The woman says los rurales are patrolling it in armored motorcars!”
“Yeah, I can still see the tracks. Come on, Robles. Time to feed your squad and see what the lady wants.”
Inside, neither sister was seated at the table. One of the chicas led Captain Gringo to another wing of the house, knocked on a stout oak door, and ushered him inside. Pilar was seated on the edge of her bed. She was fully dressed, but he was still surprised. Hispanic ladies just didn’t receive gentlemen in their bedrooms, even chaperoned, and the chica closed the door after her as she left.
Pilar patted the bedspread beside her and said, “Sit down, Ricardo. We must talk. I know how you men are in front of others. You are afraid your men. will think less of you if you show any signs of being afraid of the dark, no?”
He sat down beside her, placing his hands politely on his own knees as he replied, “I don’t worry much what other men think of me. I’m not afraid of the dark, either. Old soldiers know how hard it is to snipe at anyone from ambush in the dark. I’ve made night marches through places you’d think I was bragging about, Pilar. Don’t worry about us. I hardly ever lead a column off a cliff. Not under a full moon, anyway”
She sighed and said, “All right, let us say I am worried about us. My sister and me. Say you will stay at least until my vaqueros return, no?”
“What’s up? Are you afraid Carmencita’s rurale admirer will come calling again by moonlight?”
“Him I can handle. It is his friends I am afraid of! The ones in the armored motorcar were unknown to me. They had been drinking. A drunken rurale, an armored motorcar, and a machine gun are a frightening combination, Ricardo! They were very insolent, even with my men here. If they should return, to find us alone …”
“Yeah, that could be a problem. You say they have a machine gun?”
“Si, mounted in a little cheese box turret atop the motorcar. I am not afraid of being machine-gunned, however. One of them was more specific about what he would like to do to my little sister.”
The windows were shuttered against the night, but he could see through a slit that the sun was almost gone for good. That left twelve hours of darkness, and that wasn’t enough. He asked, “How soon should your ranch hands return, Pilar?”
She shrugged and said, “¿Quien sabe? Perhaps a few short hours. I told them not to worry about the goats grazing the hills around. Just so they drive in all the horses and my prize breeding stock. Say you will keep me company until then, at least.”
He sighed and said, “I’d like to, Pilar. I don’t see how I can. My men and I are already trail sore. If I let them relax after a warm meal, God knows when I’ll ever get them on their feet again. I figure a twelve-hour forced march ought to get us through the federale lines by dawn and..
“You are not thinking. You are too tired to think straight,” she cut in, placing a hand high on his thigh as she continued, “If you leave now, and don’t fall off a cliff in the dark, you will make San Blas by day. And then what will you do? You cannot attack the fort atop Cerro de Basilio in broad daylight. You will only have to hide in the bushes all day, you silly boy! On the other hand, if you spent the night with me, left at dawn, and got to San Blas after dark tomorrow evening …”
Her hand was even higher now. He moved it away from his fly and said, “God knows that’s a tempting offer, honey. It makes a lot of sense, too. But, meanwhile, my men out there are within easy reach of a motorized machine-gun crew, and you just said they may be back! I don’t have a machine gun, Pilar. So, thanks, but no thanks. My muchachos will be a lot safer up in the hills tonight than they would be here. I don’t think those rurales will try anything serious with you girls. They’d have done so by now if they didn’t know Carmencita has one of their officers sweet on her.”
He rose to his feet as she pleaded, “Wait!” and then, having run out of sensible arguments, proceeded to use womankind’s oldest and most convincing one. He stood dumbfounded as she rose, too, and proceeded to take off her clothes.
He said, “You sure must want me to stay, doll!” as she unfastened her bodice an
d drew the black dress off over her head. His breath caught in his throat as he saw she’d been wearing nothing under it. The candlelight molded her voluptuous nude flesh in high relief and glistened on the tips of her pubic hairs as she cast the dress aside, put her hands on her naked hips, and brazenly smiled up at him as she asked, “Well, do you still want to leave?”
He grinned down at her, said, “Not really,” then cold-cocked her with a hard left hook to the jaw!
Pilar’s head flew back, and the rest of her followed to land spread-eagled across the bed, out like a light, of course. He sighed and added, “That hurt me more than it did you, doll.”
He half-turned away, had another look at the inviting way her pink slit was gaping between her widespread thighs, then grunted, “Forget it. A guy’s got to draw the line somewhere.”
He cracked open the door, saw that nobody was outside, and moved along the hall until he saw light under another door. He opened it without knocking. Carmencita was on another bed, fully dressed, bound hand and foot with a gag in her mouth. He moved over to her, sat on the edge, and removed the gag as he said, “Don’t scream. I’ll have you out of these other ropes in a minute, Señora Perez.”
She looked up at him like a condemned criminal who’d just been granted a stay of execution as she whispered, “How did you know? Carmencita said she’d kill me if I breathed a word to you!”
“I noticed she talked more than she should have. If she’s really Carmencita, you’re really Pilar, right?”
“Of course. Oh, get my feet, por favor! Where is Carmencita? She has a gun under her dress!”
“Not anymore. I’ll explain it along the way. We’ve all got to get out of here before those rurales she sent her so-called vaqueros for get here with that armored car!”
He finished untying her, pulled her to her feet with one hand, and drew his .38 with the other before leading her back to the kitchen. As they entered, his men looked startled and the two chicas looked terrified. He said, “Robles, tie up those two police informers and hide them someplace. Don’t let anyone rape them. We haven’t time. Oh, yeah, you there, run down the hall and tie up the naked lady you’ll find in one of the rooms. Don’t rape her, either. She doesn’t deserve it.”