by John Horst
“Oh, Robert. He was convincing, he told me things, told me things that only you and I would know. He said you’d gotten drunk of an evening and bragged about what you did to me.” She looked down and blushed.
“My journal! Rebecca, you remember one of my bags was lost? It had my journal and it was recovered and sent on to my office, but Miles got it first. Everything was waterlogged, all my clothes were ruined and what was left of the journal was just a cover with all the pages ruined, unreadable, just a pile of unreadable pulp. He must’ve stolen the good pages and replaced them with the ruined ones. That old bastard, he’s smarter than I thought. He went through it, read it. I’m sorry, Rebecca, I shouldn’t have written in it. I’m sorry. It was a thing I picked up in college. Just write everything that happens to me. I’m sorry. They were never meant for anyone to see.”
She kissed him gently on the few spots on his face not battered. “And you didn’t really steal my rings? And you really didn’t hire that man on the ship to attack us? And you didn’t shoot through Marta’s window and try to kill her?”
“God no!” He looked at Rebecca, mortified. “He told you all that? Jesus, Rebecca, you must have thought me a monster!”
“I did. You broke my heart, Robert Curtin.”
“Do you still want to marry me?”
“With all my heart.”
They walked out together, steadying Dan George. He had difficulty seeing as he’d been a captive in the mine for so many days. They dragged the henchman in and locked him away. He’d do no more damage now. They intended to leave him when Rebecca had a thought. She motioned for her companions to stand by and dumped a bucket of what she thought was water, immediately realizing it had been used for a chamber pot, on the man’s head. It had the desired effect and he suddenly awoke, sputtering and spitting the contents of his former captives’ bladders.
“My God, why’d you do that?” He looked up at them, dumbfounded.
Rebecca took out a cigarette case and handed everyone but the captive one. She smoked as the man blinked; his hands shackled behind his back so that he could do nothing but let urine run down into his eyes. It was not a comfortable feeling.
Rebecca spoke and blew smoke into his face. “Tell me what you know about me…, what’s your name?”
“Dobbs.”
“Mr. Dobbs.”
He was becoming angry at his situation and looked on her with disdain. “Nothing, don’t know a damned thing about you, lady.”
“Well, no matter.” She pulled her big hunting knife and began playing with the blade’s edge. She kept it, as her mother had taught her, razor-sharp. “Tell us everything you know.”
He smirked. “That’s easy. Don’t know a thing. Don’t have any idea what’s going on.” He looked away, smugly.
“Oh, I doubt that. You’re in congress with that lout Tolkenhorn, and I hear he’s a lawyer and a drunkard and a loudmouth who can’t keep his mouth shut. You’ve heard some things.” She reached over with the knife, toward his face as he stiffened.
“Get that thing out of my face, you don’t scare me, lady. You’re a lady, I know that, you’re not going to hurt me.”
She pushed him backward, pressed her knee into his gut and shaved off his left eyebrow. “Yes, it’s good and sharp.”
“Mr. Dobbs, it would be a good idea if you told me everything you know. It’s true, I’m a lady, but I have a lot of Indian blood in me,” she looked up and gave Dan a wink and a knowing smile, “bandit blood. You see, my mother was a woman very famous in these parts for many years. One time, when I was a little girl, I was kidnapped by a band of cutthroats.” She reached over and shaved off his other eyebrow. He looked strange now, as a man with no eyebrows always looks strange. “And, you know what my mother did?”
“No.” He was sulking now, blinking to remove the remnants of the urine and now brow hair from his eyes.
“She cut the leader’s goddamned head off.” She looked on at Curtin and Dan George. “Hold ‘em down, boys.”
Curtin was shocked, Dan George was not. He nodded, commanded Curtin to obey with a look and they held the man in place.
“You’re bluffin’,” the henchman announced with uncertainty.
Rebecca reached over and smoothly sliced into the man’s neck. He screamed in pain and panic.
“Oh, God, no! Stop, stop, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything I know!”
She stopped, the blood ran freely and she looked on at the damage she’d done. “Good man. Good. Thank goodness I haven’t gotten to your jugular, that would be the end of you for certain. Now, tell me, tell us what you know.”
He was panicked now and began crying like a baby. He had difficulty catching his breath, “Oh God, oh Jesus, that hurts, my God, I’m dying, you’ve killed me!”
“Oh, stop it, you big baby.” Rebecca took a long draw from her cigarette and stuffed it in his mouth. He sucked on it as if it were a pacifier. “I hardly broke the skin.”
He began to calm down. “They’re tired of Tolkenhorn’s lack of progress. They found out he,” he nodded at Curtin, “was playing them, that’s when they put him in here for me to guard…”
“And beat.” Curtin sneered at the man.
“And now they’re planning to finish you all off, you, your sister, everyone on the ranch.”
“Who, who is going to do this?”
“A general, don’t know his name, and some American fellow, a bigwig in the government. They want to get the land, they’re going to make it look like the revolutionaries went in and killed a bunch of Americans, they’re trying to get the US army in here, get the US to take over in Mexico. You all are going to be, wait, wait, someone said it, you all are the Maine. Don’t know what it means. But that’s what they said.”
Dan George grinned cynically and looked at his companions, “Remember the Maine.”
Curtin finished it for him, “to hell with Spain.”
Rebecca sat back and thought hard. “Goddamned Hearst. Got us into a war in Cuba with his yellow journalism, now he’s trying the same with Mexico. They say he owns half the country down here as it is. If the revolution is a success, he stands to lose big. Greedy bastard.”
“Yes, Hearst, Hearst, that’s what they kept saying,” the henchman was pleased with himself for adding this bit of information.
“So, when’s this all happening, Mr. Dobbs?”
“Don’t know,” he looked at the knife, covered in his own blood turning menacing in Rebecca’s hand, “I, I really, honestly don’t know ma’am.” He was suddenly respectful to Rebecca Walsh. “But sooner than later, maybe even tomorrow, probably tomorrow, ma’am.”
She finished her cigarette and the men left their captive lying on the dirt floor of the mine. The wound on his neck was beginning to clot. Rebecca poured a canteen full of water on him to clean him up a bit. She looked on, doing her best impersonation of her mother. “I’m not going to kill you…today, Mr. Dobbs.” She leaned forward, close to his face, “But if you ever do harm to any of mine again, I’ll cut your head off and use it for a football.”
He swallowed hard. “Yes ma’am.”
In a few days, or perhaps a week, Rebecca would send someone to retrieve him.
They found the henchman’s camp, took his mount for Dan George to ride. Robert and Rebecca rode together and he held her gently the entire way, now and then kissing her long delicate neck. “I’ve missed you, Rebecca Walsh.” He suddenly thought of something. “I remembered to grab this when they took me away,” he reached down his shirt and pulled up a string from around his neck, two rings hung together. “I got your ring resized, and here’s the other.” Now they were a perfect fit.
She rode on admiring her new ring. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was. “Robert?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Don’t be hurt, but, Robert, this ring. It’s far beyond your means.”
He laughed. “You can say that again.”
“How’d you get it? Not on credit?�
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“No, no.” He shifted and pressed himself more tightly against her back. “My old mother, she told me that there was a rule, a rule that must be followed and that was that a man had to give his wife a good ring. I’ve been saving for a long time, Rebecca. Wiped me out, but I got you a dandy. A ring my mother would have been proud of.” He laughed at the thought of something, “And besides, the money I took from Tolkenhorn more than paid for it. Hah! I beat that bastard at his own game at least in that respect.” They rode on a bit further and Curtin continued. “Rebecca?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Would you have cut that fellow’s head off?”
“No.” she felt the sense of relief course through his body and continued. “But he didn’t know that.” She reached back, over her shoulder and touched his face. “Besides, he didn’t really get me riled. I wouldn’t have even killed him, probably.” She grabbed for another cigarette and lit it. “I’ve got to be really riled to do something like that.” She grinned. She felt like her mother saying that.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Remind me every day to never ever cross you or ever get you riled. Remind me of that for the rest of our days.”
Dan George stopped and waited for them to catch up. “Folks, where are we going and what are we doing?”
Rebecca grinned. “I’m working on that.”
Dan smiled back. “Well, there’s no law to help us. This little drama goes deep. Old Tolkenhorn, typical lawyer, couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, I heard him mention the general and the ambassador, too. That boy Dobbs was telling the truth. They’re all in it.”
Curtin smiled at Dan deriding his own profession, “Yea, when they thought I was unconscious I heard a thing or two also. Rebecca, I’ve been playing at being a spy for you and Marta,” he felt his jaw, “not a very effective one, but the big scheme was to get the ranch from Marta, then sell it to a certain rich and powerful newspaper mogul, name rhymes with thirst.”
“Just as the kid said.” She sounded old saying that. Rebecca had aged a decade in the past week.
Curtin continued. “Rebecca, there’s a lot of oil under that ranch, and in those mountains, where you rescued us,” he stopped and had to kiss her for that “there’s a lot of gold, but they’re going to have to do a lot of extraction. It’s going to spoil the whole region. The aquifer for this area is fed from those mountains. I told them that Marta wouldn’t go for it.”
“As did I.” Dan looked on so as to comfort Curtin. He knew what the engineer was thinking, that somehow he was the cause of all this. “I told them she wouldn’t let them spoil the land. The gold is really the issue, and the fact that they, the general and Tolkenhorn, and the ambassador wanted to get it from Marta and resell. It’s a lot of money, Rebecca.” He hesitated, “but I guess the biggest prize is political. Can you imagine the hoopla? They’d use you and Marta as martyrs. It’s not a problem if poor Mexicans are slaughtered by the bushel, but a couple of rich and beautiful American debutantes, well, that would get us into it down here and good. Son of a bitch probably has glamorous photographs of you two all picked out for the front page.” Dan continued. “The general’s probably preordained as the next president. Dictator’s more like it, but men like Hearst, they miss Díaz. They miss that old coot, because they could get so rich by him. Madero wants a democracy, and that won’t ensure a big payoff for them, and, if the socialist get in, they’ll really lose big. Can you imagine? Hearst would have a fit! They’d nationalize all the businesses, the oil, collective farming, my God, he’d have a stroke over all that.”
Rebecca thought for a moment. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”
They ended up in Nuevo Casas Grandes and settled in for the night. Dan George got a telegram to his wife. The men got cleaned up and a change of clothes. Dan had many friends in this town, as he had wherever he went. Rebecca had a plan. “Gentlemen, here is what we must do.”
They ended up in a rough saloon on the edge of town, her companions looked out of place, Rebecca did not. She still wore her hunting outfit and sombrero. Dried blood from Dobbs had gotten smeared on her blouse and she had a bit of a glint, a fight, in her eye. They stood at the bar and ordered mescal.
Suddenly Rebecca held up a glass and blurted out, “Viva Zapata!” And a chorus went up around her. She ordered drinks for the house and held up another. “Viva Villa!” and again, the same reply.
She sauntered over to an old man sitting at a corner table. He’d said nothing when she’d raised her glass. She asked permission to sit with him and he stood up, bowed and removed his hat. They sat down together and she leaned close to his face. “I need to get a message, an urgent message to Emiliano Zapata, Señor.” She presented him with her card.
“I know you, Señorita Walsh, and I know your sister. Come with me”, he stood up and extended his hand, as if to show her the way, “I will help you.”
She left Dan and Curtin and followed the man through several dark alleys, through the roughest part of town. They finally arrived at a warehouse, to a secret room at the back of the building. Several men were in the room and when she entered, they all stood up, removing their hats. The old man became animated and spoke quickly to several of the men, the network was kicked into motion. He offered her some American whiskey and they drank to the revolution. He assured her that everything would go to plan, that Zapata’s army was not far away and that the general would be notified by midnight.
She shook his hand and looked him in the eye. He had a kind face and sad eyes. “You do not look happy, Señor.”
He smiled a little self-consciously, “It is a great tease, Señorita, a great tease, the fates are playing with us, letting us dream, but I fear…” he looked down at the glass of whiskey, “there is no real story of David and Goliath.” He gave her a look that made her want to cry. “It’s just a fairytale, and fairytales, well, they never come true.”
Rebecca had not returned to the ranch. She was gone, off on some adventure and it was full dark and Marta was worried sick. Esmeralda tried her best to calm her in her simple, almost infantile way. She turned down her bed and waited nearby. She would likely be needed by the end of this night.
It was so uncharacteristic of Rebecca to do such a thing. She was always the careful one. She was always the prudent and levelheaded one. Now she was gone, no one knew where she’d gone, only that she was dressed for desert travel, for hunting, but she’d not taken her hunting rifle, only her six shooter and shotgun and a Winchester. It made no sense.
At ten o’clock she called Adulio, ordered a search party.
“Where are we to search, Señorita?”
“I don’t know!” She snapped then regretted it. She took a deep breath. “If I knew where to search, I wouldn’t need a search party, Adulio. Send the men out, send everyone who can ride. Someone saw her go north, go north. Find her.”
“As you please.”
By one o’clock he was back to her room, standing in the shadows. She did not see him there. She looked up with a start. “Adulio, you scared me.”
“Did I? I didn’t think anything scared you, princesa.”
She looked at him askance. “Princesa? Since when did you start being so jocular, and familiar, Adulio?”
“Oh, you are a princesa, but your story is not going to have a happy, princesa ending.” He stepped out of the shadows and she could see that he was holding a gun, pointed at her. She looked over at her own revolver under her pillow, too far away to reach. She always kept several guns around the room, and Adulio knew this. He held up a hand. “I will only kill you quicker if you try to fight, princesa.”
“So, you are in with Curtin?”
“Hah! Curtin, the errand boy. Curtin is not your problem. Your problem goes much deeper, my child.” He lit a cigarette and smoked. He looked angry and evil but his unsteady hand betrayed him, showed that he was not so much in control. He was terrified and she knew it.
“Why are you doing t
his, Adulio?”
“Because it is my right. My right!” His voice grew louder but he didn’t care, no one was around to hear him. His wife sat, like a dummy in the next room, could hear nothing, could not hear this story of betrayal.
“For half a lifetime I served that bloated pig, that worthless peon. The great Alejandro del Toro got a little jingle in his pocket, got some good clothes, got fine soaps and perfumes and looked the gentlemen. No matter of soap can wash it away, princesa, no matter of soap can wash that stain from the skin.” He pointed at her dark complexion. “My family should have had this land. My family, pure blood that could be traced to Spain, not you Indios, you dirty worthless creatures. Cortez should have killed you all, should have spread the smallpox to every one of you. But now, finally, the revolution, the final best excuse to kill you all.”
“I think Zapata and Villa might have something to say about that, Adulio.”
“Hah, more dog Indios, they will be defeated, they and all you dark savages. And you. When I learned that he was giving this all to you, well, I decided, I would get it, I’d get my revenge and I’d be the rightful owner some day.”
Marta reached out, palm open, “Give me a cigarette, Adulio.” He complied, handed her his case with trembling hands and watched her smoke. She worked on a plan.
“Adulio, you are as dark as me. Who’s to say you are not one of these terrible indios you claim are such a scourge?”
He became furious, “I am not a goddamned Indio! I am dark from my ancient Castilian blood and because the sun has baked me, all the hard years of toil, working for your so-called uncle, working and slaving for him, and now you. ”
She smirked and shrugged, regarding her cigarette. “Look like an Indian to me.”
“Enough!” He pointed a trembling finger at her, looked on her, hate in his eyes, “You are so arrogant. You seriously did not think I got you to come here so that you could be the hero, save the day. A woman? A woman is nothing but a beast of burden, exists for nothing more than to serve a man, have offspring, provide a little pleasure. You are nothing; you are worth less than a good horse or mule. I brought you here to kill you, get rid of you, so that you will no longer stand in my way, my right to this land. And, you will serve another interest, but I will not bother telling you about it, you aren’t worth the time it would take to tell, but just know this, princesa. You will help, help to end this absurd revolution. You will help to put the peon back in his place, back where he belongs.”