The Edge of Hell

by William W. Johnstone

Finally they descended into a valley and Red pointed out a canyon in the next range of mountains about two miles away.

  “That’s where we’re goin’,” he told them. “That’s Barranca Sangre.”

  “How did it get the name Blood Canyon?” Slaughter asked. “It looks like a normal canyon to me.”

  “Right now it does, now that the sun’s higher,” Red agreed. “But earlier in the mornin’, right after the sun’s come up and it’s shinin’ through there on those sandstone walls, the place looks like it’s filled with blood. It’s a lot redder than this beard o’ mine.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Slaughter said. “After today I’d just as soon never see this place again.”

  That brought a laugh from Red. The outlaw didn’t explain what he thought was funny, but Slaughter had a pretty good idea.

  Red didn’t think Slaughter and Santiago would ever be leaving Barranca Sangre.

  The three of them rode on toward the mouth of the canyon. The high walls rose imposingly around them as they entered. Slaughter knew from talking to Hermosa that there was a much smaller canyon running into this one at right angles where the actual camp was likely to be.

  That speculation appeared to be correct because Slaughter could see the entire length of the main canyon and it was empty except for rocks, tufts of hardy grass, and a few stunted bushes growing along the base of the walls.

  Slaughter didn’t spot the side canyon until they were practically on top of it. The natural formations of Barranca Sangre disguised it as cunningly as if someone had fashioned it that way. It was easy to see why the Apaches who had stumbled upon this place had decided to make their camp here. The isolation and the fact that it would be easy to defend made for a perfect hideout.

  As soon as they rounded the shoulder of rock that partially concealed the entrance to the side canyon, Slaughter saw the jacales and the corral at the far end, around a pool where a spring bubbled out of the cliff face.

  He also saw the motionless figure of Don Eduardo Rubriz hanging like a dead man by his wrists from a branch of one of the cottonwood trees.

  Santiago saw that, too, and couldn’t control himself. He let out an inarticulate cry of rage and kicked El Halcón into a gallop. Red yelled, “Hey!” but he was too slow to stop Santiago.

  The hoofbeats rang out loudly inside the confines of the canyon and gave Becker’s men ample warning that someone was coming in a hurry. The men who were already outside grabbed their guns, and several others burst out of the jacales ready for trouble.

  When a tall, dark-haired man ran out of one of the huts and shouted, “Hold your fire!” Slaughter figured that had to be Ned Becker. He hadn’t laid eyes on the man until now.

  Red half-turned in his saddle and leveled his revolver at Slaughter.

  “Don’t you go gettin’ any ideas, mister,” he warned.

  “I’m just sitting here,” Slaughter said coolly. “I want to save my wife, not get both of us killed.”

  Red grunted and motioned with the gun for Slaughter to keep going toward the end of the side canyon.

  By now Santiago had reached his father. He yanked the horse to a stop and flung himself out of the saddle before El Halcón stopped moving. The outlaws closed in around him, though, and one of them slammed the butt of his rifle between Santiago’s shoulder blades and drove him to the ground before he could reach Don Eduardo.

  “That’s enough,” Becker said as he made his way through the ring of men and pushed them back. As they spread out, Slaughter caught sight of Santiago again. The young man lay face down on the ground, writhing in pain from the blow that had knocked him off his feet.

  “Get him up,” Becker snapped. A couple of the men took hold of Santiago’s arms and hauled him to his feet.

  Becker stepped closer, and as his men held Santiago, he cracked a brutal backhanded blow across the young man’s face.

  Slaughter saw that from the corner of his eye, but most of his attention was focused on looking around the camp, hoping to catch sight of Viola. He didn’t see her or Belinda, but he noticed two men standing outside one of the jacales with its door shut. They had to be guarding the hut, he thought, and that meant the two women were probably in there.

  When Red motioned for him to rein in, Slaughter did so. He sat there and carefully kept his face impassive. For Viola’s sake, he couldn’t afford to give in to the raging emotions he felt. Instead he kept them buried as deeply as he could inside him. He watched as Becker confronted Santiago.

  With a sneer on his face, Becker demanded, “Do you remember me, kid?” He laughed and went on before Santiago had a chance to answer, “No, of course you don’t. You were just a baby the last time I saw you. Hell, I barely remember it myself.”

  Santiago stood there silently, his chest heaving. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth where Becker had struck him.

  Becker leaned closer and thrust his face up next to Santiago’s. Through clenched teeth, he said, “You’re going to wish you never saw me again.”

  “I already . . . wish that,” Santiago said.

  Slaughter frowned as he looked at the two men staring at each other with such hatred. They were only a few years apart in age. Something struck him then about them, and his frown deepened. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

  Becker turned and jerked an arm toward the don.

  “It looks like the old man’s still passed out,” he said. “Somebody wake him up. I reckon a bucket of water ought to do it.”

  While one of the outlaws went to fetch water from the pool, Becker sauntered over to Slaughter and Red. He grinned up at Slaughter and said, “So you’re the famous Texas John.”

  “I’m John Slaughter. Where’s my wife?”

  “She’s fine. You’ll be seeing her soon. You’ve got a nice ranch, Slaughter, to go with that mighty pretty wife of yours.”

  “You don’t need to hurt her,” Slaughter said. “I’ve cooperated with you. I did exactly what you told me to do.”

  “That’s right, you did. You brought me Santiago Rubriz.” Becker glanced over at Slaughter’s escort. “Did they come alone, Red?”

  “As far as I could tell,” Red said. “I checked their back trail for a long ways, and there was no sign of anybody followin’ ’em.”

  Becker nodded and said, “That’s good. I was hoping you’d be smart enough to do the right thing, Slaughter.”

  There was an unspoken threat in Slaughter’s voice as he replied, “Like I said, I don’t want anything to happen to Mrs. Slaughter.”

  “She’s unharmed, I give you my word on that.”

  “Too bad the same thing can’t be said for everyone else on my ranch.”

  Becker shrugged and said, “The course of justice often claims a few innocent victims along the way. It’s regrettable, but it can’t be helped.”

  The man who had gone to the pool came back carrying a bucket of water. Becker turned his attention back to Don Eduardo, but as he did he added to Slaughter, “You might as well get down from that horse. You’re going to be here for a while.”

  “You could go ahead and give me my wife and let us get out of here,” Slaughter suggested.

  “Not yet. I want you to see these people get what’s coming to them.”

  That confirmed Slaughter’s suspicion that Becker intended to kill him and Viola no matter what they did. The man wasn’t going to murder three innocent people in front of them and then let them go. That was what Slaughter expected, of course, so he wasn’t surprised.

  Becker swaggered back over to where Don Eduardo hung from the cottonwood branch. His men still held Santiago nearby. Becker nodded to the man with the bucket, who threw the water in Don Eduardo’s face.

  Rubriz gasped and sputtered and came awake from the shock. He flinched involuntarily, as if to get away from any more water thrown in his direction. The rude awakening had already been accomplished, though.

  Even worse for the don, Slaughter thought, was the sight of his s
on in the hands of his enemies. Don Eduardo stared at the young man and whispered, “Santiago.”

  “That’s right,” Becker said in smug self-satisfaction. “Now I have all three of you. Your happy little family. I must admit, I’m surprised you and your wife didn’t have more children, Rubriz. Were you too busy trying to force your way into the beds of other men’s wives?”

  Don Eduardo swallowed. Water still dripped from his face, but somehow he managed to summon up some dignity as he said, “My Pilar was unable to have more children. It was one of the great regrets of her life. She would have enjoyed having a large family.”

  “Well, some things are beyond our control, I guess. Like what’s about to happen to you and your wife and son.” Becker looked around at his men. “Bring the women.”

  At last Slaughter was glad to hear something Becker had to say. He wanted to see Viola with his own eyes and know that she was all right.

  A couple of the outlaws went over to the men guarding the jacal with the closed door and spoke to them. Then three of them leveled their guns at the door while the fourth man opened it, said something, and stepped back quickly. If it was anybody except Viola in there, Slaughter would have thought they were being overly cautious.

  Where his wife was concerned, though, it paid to be careful if you were her enemy. She could be tricky when she wanted to.

  Not with the odds stacked this high against her, however. Viola came out of the jacal with Belinda, who seemed so shaken up by everything that had happened she could barely stay on her feet. Viola had her arm around the blonde’s waist to support her as they emerged from the hut.

  Then she saw Slaughter, and her eyes widened as their gazes met. He could tell she was excited to see him, but then she looked oddly disappointed.

  Maybe that was because she’d expected him to come in here with all guns blazing and a salty crew of tough cowboys behind him. And to tell the truth, Slaughter had given that option some thought. He had decided that he stood a better chance of getting Viola out of here alive by taking a different tack.

  As for him, he was so relieved to see she was all right that for a second he felt uncharacteristically weak in the knees. Viola was the most important person in his life. He wasn’t sure how he would have ever gotten along without her. He hoped he never had to find out.

  “Come over here, Mrs. Slaughter,” Becker ordered. “Bring the doña with you.”

  “Come on, Belinda,” Viola urged. She glared at Becker. “We have to cooperate . . . for now.”

  With the four outlaws close behind them, the women walked slowly toward the pool. Belinda kept her head down as if she didn’t want to look at her husband until Don Eduardo said in a choked voice, “My love.”

  She finally lifted her eyes, and when she did, she must have seen her stepson because she exclaimed, “Santiago!”

  “Yes,” Don Eduardo said, sounding miserable. “I have doomed us all.”

  “You did nothing wrong, Father,” Santiago said. “If anyone has doomed us, it is this madman with his twisted dreams of revenge.”

  “What we’re doing here is justice, like I’ve said before,” Becker insisted. He lifted a hand and pointed. “Strip the boy and stake him out right there, where the don and doña will have a good view. We’re going to let Bodaway work on him for a while.”

  “No!” Belinda screamed. She tried to pull away from Viola, who tightened her grip.

  “If you fight them, you’re just playing into Becker’s hands,” she said. Belinda started sobbing and buried her face against Viola’s shoulder.

  Slaughter hadn’t seen the Apache here in camp, but obviously Bodaway was still around if Becker was going to let him torture Santiago. Slaughter had seen what renegade Apaches could do to their captives. Santiago was in for a hellish ordeal, and it would be almost as bad for Don Eduardo and Belinda if they were forced to watch.

  Slaughter glanced up at the rimrock and took his hat off. Red tensed and lifted his gun, which he was still holding.

  “Take it easy,” Slaughter said as he used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his face. “The sun’s high enough that it’s getting hot down here now.”

  “You’d better not have a gun or nothin’ hidden in that hat,” Red warned. The outlaw darted a nervous glance toward Becker. Clearly, he didn’t want his boss to know that he hadn’t thought to check Slaughter’s hat for weapons.

  Becker wasn’t paying attention, though. He was watching in rapt attention as his men started ripping the clothes off a futilely struggling Santiago.

  Slaughter put his hat back on. He had no way of knowing if Stonewall and the other men were up on the rim, but wiping his face with his sleeve was the signal they had agreed on. When Stonewall saw that, he knew it was up to him to open fire on the outlaws whenever he was ready.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, though, the way Becker’s men were grouped around the captives. Any shots aimed at them could endanger Slaughter and the others, too. Unfortunately, Slaughter knew he couldn’t afford to wait any longer to give the signal.

  Don Eduardo said, “Please, Ned, I beg of you, do not do this terrible thing. Go ahead and kill me. I’m an old man. I don’t mind dying. Just let my wife and son and the Slaughters ride out of here unharmed.”

  “Nobody leaves until it’s over,” Becker snapped. “And the three of you will never leave. I’m going to destroy your family just like you destroyed mine, starting with your son.”

  Belinda was still crying as Viola held her. Slaughter waited for the crash of gunfire to drown out her sobs, but it didn’t happen. No shots came from the rim.

  Was Stonewall not up there? Had he and the rest of the men gotten lost and not even found the place? Slaughter was ready to make his move—he was going to dive at Viola and Belinda and tackle them to the ground, hopefully out of the line of fire—but he couldn’t do anything until Stonewall opened the ball.

  Becker’s men had most of Santiago’s clothes off now. Only a few tattered rags still clung to him. They started wrestling him toward the spot Becker had indicated, where one of the outlaws was using a mallet to drive picket stakes into the hard ground. Another man had some strips of rawhide they would use to lash Santiago’s wrists and ankles to the stakes.

  Clearly, Becker had done plenty of planning and preparing to put his crazed scheme into action.

  Slaughter made an effort to keep what he was thinking and feeling from showing on his face. He didn’t want to give anything away. But his nerves were stretching tighter and tighter as he waited for Stonewall.

  Right from the start, he had known his plan was a gamble. There had been plenty of times in the past when he had wagered a great deal on the turn of a card or the roll of the dice.

  He wasn’t sure he had ever made a wager this big before.

  One of the outlaws kicked Santiago’s knees from behind so that the young man fell. His captors wrestled him onto his back. It took two men on each arm and leg to force him into position so that other men could begin tying him.

  Belinda’s sobs grew louder and more shrill. She was on the verge of hysterics, no matter how hard Viola tried to comfort her.

  Bodaway emerged from behind one of the jacales. This was the first time Slaughter had seen him, too, although he might have caught a glimpse of the Apache during the fighting at the ranch two nights earlier. As Bodaway walked slowly toward Santiago, the men who had finished lashing the young man to the stakes stood up and backed away.

  “Please, Ned, you cannot do this thing,” Don Eduardo said to Becker. “You do not know what a terrible thing this is you are about to do.”

  Becker folded his arms over his chest and smirked as he said, “I know exactly what I’m doing, old man. I’m going to stand back and enjoy watching while Bodaway peels every inch of skin off your son’s body. It’ll take hours to kill him that way. He might not even die until nightfall.”

  “Noooo,” Don Eduardo wailed. “You cannot!”

  “Why not?” Becker demanded. “Give me on
e good reason.”

  Don Eduardo stared wild-eyed at him and howled, “Because he is your brother!”

  Chapter 28

  If Don Eduardo had suddenly sprouted wings and a tail, a more shocked silence could not have fallen over the canyon.

  Slaughter wasn’t surprised as completely as the others, however, because he realized now that was what he had noticed when Becker and Santiago were standing close together with their faces only inches apart. The resemblance between them had been plain to see.

  Becker wasn’t going to accept it, though. He shouted at Don Eduardo, “That’s a damned lie!”

  Don Eduardo shook his head wearily and said, “No, it is the truth. You are my son, Ned. Your mother, she was a very compelling woman. I . . . I fear I was not as strong as I should have been, the first time she approached me.”

  Becker just stood there, staring, shaking his head in angry disbelief.

  After a moment Don Eduardo went on, “Thaddeus believed you to be his son, even after your mother insisted on naming you Edward. She . . . she said it was to honor your father’s partner. I hoped that things would be different then. I thought that with you to care for, your mother would change.” He sighed. “For a time it appeared that might be true, but in the end, she was still the same, determined to get what she wanted no matter what the cost. And this time it led to the bad trouble between your father and me that took his life.”

  “It’s a pack of filthy lies,” Becker insisted. His voice shook with rage. “She never would have done such a thing, no matter what she was forced into later by your treachery, Rubriz. I don’t believe it, and it doesn’t change anything.”

  Slaughter glanced around. He could tell from their faces, everyone else in the canyon accepted Don Eduardo’s story, even if Becker refused to. They all had eyes. Now that the relationship between Becker and Santiago had been pointed out, the others could see the resemblance, too.

  But Becker was right about it not changing anything. He was still in charge here. He jerked a hand toward his half brother’s prone form and snapped, “Make him scream, Bodaway.”