Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  "Si."

  "Seems unusual it would be an Americano who led the uprisin' to take back your town."

  "Huntsford Bradley is an unusual man. He was a colonel in the Southern army during your American Civil War. He came to Mexico after Lee's surrender, having never surrendered himself but vowing never to wage war again. He settled on a little ranch outside Bordados, married a beautiful local senorita and they had lovely daughter.

  "When the village began to turn into … what it became, Bradley refused to get involved. He stayed away, did his trading in Lagrarocoso, a village farther up in the mountains … Then, one day while he was gone conducting business across the border in El Paso, some of the desperadoes from Bordados rode out to his ranch. Bradley was not there but they found his lovely wife and daughter at home … When the colonel returned, he discovered both of them slain, his ranch ransacked and burned, the livestock all butchered or run off … After burying his loved ones, Bradley hunted down and killed each of the four men who'd committed the outrage. Then, breaking his vow never to wage war again, he began gathering others around him who were willing to fight at his side in order to break the hold that the corrupt Rurales and Americano outlaws had on Bordados."

  "You speak with a lot of admiration for this fella," Kendrick observed.

  Estraleta nodded. "He has proven worthy of it. He has many admirers … including your friend Doc Turpin."

  Kendrick didn't say anything, waited for her to elaborate further.

  "It was Colonel Bradley, you see, who sent word for Doc to come with all haste and meet with him in the mountains above Bordados. They served together in the war, there seemed little question Doc would come if he could be found. There were a half dozen of us sent to try and locate him, knowing only that he roamed throughout areas of west Texas plying his trade as a bounty hunter. I was fortunate enough to learn he had ventured into Arizona territory on the trail of the Klegg gang and that was what eventually brought me to New Gleanus."

  "The message from Bradley was simply a request for Doc to come meet with him? No more details than that?"

  Estraleta shook her head. "None. As I said, Colonel Bradley seemed confident that would be enough. Naturally, when I delivered the message I also provided an explanation about the overall situation."

  " 'Come with all haste'," echoed Kendrick as he absently tapped the coffee grounds out of his emptied cup. "I guess that's explanation enough for Doc ridin' off in such a hurry … an old friend in trouble askin' him to come a-runnin'. I don't know Doc long, but I know that's all it'd take."

  "My sense is that the two of them—Colonel Bradley and Doc—formed a very strong bond during the time they spent together in the past."

  "Lot of fellas formed those kind of bonds during that damned war. Some of 'em got broken by death. The ones that didn't will last in a way that's stronger than steel."

  Estraleta regarded Kendrick. "Were you and Doc in the war together?"

  "Nope. We both were in it, but from what you just told me—him and Bradley bein' part of the Southern army—we fought on opposite sides."

  "Yet you and him have a bond also?"

  "Seems like," Kendrick allowed. "Ain't sayin' it's as strong as what him and Bradley forged … But Doc and me threw lead together against the Klegg-Harrup bunch. That counts for something."

  "So even though your curiosity has been satisfied as to why Doc left New Gleanus in the manner he did, you're still going to continue on until you catch up with him again?"

  "Hell, I came this far. Reckon so." Kendrick arched an eyebrow questioningly. "You got a problem with that?"

  "Why should I? And even if I did, would it stop you?"

  "It might not stop me, but it'd make it a site more difficult if you chose not to cooperate with me. You know exactly where Doc is headed to meet up with this Bradley, all I know is it's in the mountains somewhere near Bordados. If you lead me there, in return you get the benefit of me and my guns in case those Yaquis you mentioned a while ago decide to get frisky."

  "Except for maybe the Apaches, no one has more reason to hate the Rurales than the Yaquis," Estraleta said. "I think they may recognize me as one of the Bordados rebels who are fighting the Rurales. For that reason, I believe there is a good chance they will leave me be."

  "I don't know a whole lot about Yaquis," Kendrick admitted. "But I know a fair amount about Indians in general. And one of the things I know is that you can never count for sure what they're gonna do."

  Estraleta seemed to consider this. Then she said, "Since I know you to be a friend of Doc's and since I owe you my life, there is no reason for me not to be, as you say, cooperative … We will continue riding together. I will take you to where we will find Doc and Colonel Bradley."

  Chapter Eleven

  A wounded, humiliated, infuriated Royos Remoza was frantically trying to pull together what was left of his bullet-riddled platoon. Inwardly, he cursed himself for having allowed a single gringo bastardo to wreak so much havoc on his force of trained soldiers. Outwardly, he cursed everything and everybody around him—wanting desperately to find somewhere else to lay the blame other than at his own feet.

  Of the twenty-five men under his command, only three remained completely unscathed. Four others, including the lieutenant himself, were wounded; two critically. The remaining eighteen were dead. It was indeed a wretched day for Remoza who, up until that point, had been considered one of the most ruthlessly efficient and successful officers in Colonel Anselmo Guerrero's entire company of Rurales … Now this. While Remoza genuinely grieved for his fallen men, what he grieved for even more was the potentially mortal blow to his career. How could this happen? What had he done to deserve such a cruel twist of fate?

  There were, however, two factors that might serve as saving graces to his abysmal situation.

  The fact Remoza had been wounded in the conflict, thus demonstrating his personal bravery in the face of such clearly devastating firepower, could surely be played to some advantage. Of the two slugs Kendrick had planted in him (believing them to be fatal), one had been deflected by a heavy brass button on Remoza's uniform, leaving only a shallow bullet burn across the edge of his chest; the other, more serious one, had shattered his collar bone and then passed through the pad of muscle just to the left of his neck. The latter was excruciatingly painful, though not life threatening. Unless, that was, the dubious treatment at the hands of the old healer woman who was Ocochillo's closest thing to a doctor proved to be fatal in and of itself. The lieutenant was also suffering from a severe headache associated to a deep bruise on the side of his face that he could only surmise had come from his fall to the ground. There were those who had witnessed Estraleta deliver her savage kick to the fallen officer, but refrained from informing him of such an indignity on top of everything else.

  The other favorable factor Remoza could lay claim to was that the Gatling gun remained intact and still in his possession. He was keenly aware how much this prize was cherished by Colonel Guerrero and as long as he could still make good on its delivery, then he clung to the hope there was a reasonable chance the Colonel would view the loss of eighteen men as an unfortunate yet acceptable price to pay.

  The problem now, however, was getting the damn gun the rest of the way to Bordados.

  Transporting the Gatling over the remaining rugged miles with only three able-bodied men left to guard it posed considerable risk. Apaches, Yaquis, bandidos, outriders from the very rebels under Hunt Bradley who were intended as the main targets for the death-spitting gun … any of these elements would be eager to attack against such minimal protection in an attempt to seize the weapon for themselves. Perhaps some of the groveling citizens of Ocochillo (most of whom, Remoza knew, hated his guts – after all, had he not with his own ears only this morning heard many of them cheering the actions of the gringo bastardo?) might even show the cajones to make a try for the Gatling. For that matter, maybe the gringo bastardo—whoever the hell he was—would put in a return appearance.<
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  No one could be trusted, Remoza told himself bitterly. Not when he had such a meager force left to back him up. Any attempt to transport the Gatling would be too reckless, too risky. The only answer, he decided as he swilled tequila to numb the ceaseless pain that pulsed from his head and shattered collar bone, was to fortify a proper position and then hole up here in this wretched village while one man was sent to ride hard and bring reinforcements back from Guerraro.

  Having made up his mind, Remoza selected the best rider from the handful of men he had left, instructing the man to secure the fastest horse in the village and prepare to depart with all haste. Mention of finding a fast horse caused the lieutenant to think about his own beautiful silver stallion stolen by Estraleta, that beautiful bitch of a rebelista, and he promptly went into another fierce tirade, cursing and condemning her until his ranting reached the point of aggravating the pain of his wounds and making his headache throb even worse. He finally calmed down and sullenly ordered someone to bring him a quill and piece of paper so he could compose the message to be delivered to Guerrero.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kendrick and Estraleta pushed hard for another handful of miles before stopping again to make night camp. They were well up into the foothills of the Sierra Madres by then and Kendrick was able to pick a naturally fortified spot within a crescent of high, jagged boulders that left them securely guarded on three sides. In case the Yaquis forgot Estraleta was an ally of sorts against the Rurales and decided to try and make trouble, they'd have only one way to come at them—and Kendrick intended to make damn sure they would find that the welcome mat was not laid out for them.

  By the time Kendrick had watered, grained, and hobbled the horses, Estraleta had a fire going and was preparing bacon and pan biscuits to go along with the coffee already bubbling in a pot on the edge of the flames. Dusk had faded quickly to full dark and the heat of the afternoon was fading almost as fast. The night was going to be clear and cold.

  "You provision yourself well for the trail," Estraleta observed as she laid out thick-cut strips of bacon in an iron skillet.

  "I spend most of my time out in the open country," Kendrick replied. "Decided a long time ago there was no sense makin' it any harder than it had to be."

  Estraleta positioned the skillet over the fire. "The life you lead, this 'bounty hunting' that you and Doc both do … How came you to choose such a line of work?"

  Kendrick shrugged. "Don't know that I'd call it a choice, rightly. Speakin' for myself, it was just sorta the way things worked out." He poured a cup of coffee for each of them and then continued. "Before the war, you see, my ma and me moved in with her brother in Illinois after my father died. My uncle had a lead mine there and I went to work for him. And I mean worked—that old bastard wrung sweat and blood out of me every day of the week, all the while remindin' me how I was obligated to him for takin' in me and my ma the way he did.

  "Then Ma passed away, too, while I was off fightin' for the blue. So after the war, I decided I wasn't obligated to nobody for nothing any more. Sure as hell not that old bastard uncle of mine. Aimin' to stay as far away from Illinois as I could, I took to just roamin' for a while. Finally ended up out Arizona way. Kept spottin' wanted dodgers on fellas who'd got crossways of the law, reckoned it was something I might try my hand at." Kendrick shrugged again. "Been tryin' my hand at it ever since."

  "It sounds like a very lonely life," Estraleta said.

  "Can be, I guess," Kendrick allowed. "Been a lot of places, though, and ain't seen one yet that's made me want to put down stakes there."

  Estraleta smiled. "Perhaps it will not be a place that makes you want to settle down … perhaps it will take the right woman."

  Kendrick was tempted to remark that he'd been with plenty of women and none of them had managed to tie him down either. But, instead, he said, "What about you? What's your story? How does a beautiful senorita become a rebelista firebrand notorious enough to end up makin' herself the target for a firing squad?"

  Estraleta's smile disappeared. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before responding. "As you said, Senor Kendrick, sometimes the circumstances we find ourselves in are not of our choosing." With a fork, she began turning over the now-sizzling bacon strips. "My father was one of the first men in our village to try and stand up to Guerrero and the desperado pigs he began welcoming to the 'haven' of Bordados. For his trouble they gunned him down in the street. Then they turned my mother into one of their putas until, out of shame, she put a bullet in her own head … The same fate likely would have been in store for me, even though I was still very young, if not for our local priest spiriting me away in the middle of the night to safety at an outlying ranchero up near Lagrarocoso. When he returned to Bordados they stripped him naked in the town plaza, whipped him to within an inch of his life, and then left him lying there to die the rest of the way. Anyone attempting to go to his aid was threatened with the same fate. The priest never begged for mercy, not once, except to plead that no one risk themselves to help him … It took him two days to finish dying."

  "I'm sorry I brought it up, asked you to relive that," Kendrick said softly.

  Estraleta shook her head. "You did not bring it up—I did, when I asked about your past. You had every right to ask about mine."

  "Those who did those things to your family and the priest," Kendrick said bitterly, "they deserve a special place in Hell."

  "Hell is what they have turned Bordados into," the girl snarled, her teeth flashing in the flicker of the campfire. "It will be enough, now that we have Hunt Bradley to lead us, when they die there and burn in the ashes we leave behind."

  The bacon was ready and, in another pan, so were the biscuits. Estraleta removed the skillet and pan from the fire then transferred their contents equally onto two tin plates. While she was doing that, Kendrick re-filled their coffee cups. They leaned back on their saddles and ate, not talking for a spell.

  When the meal was done, Kendrick rummaged in his bedroll and removed the blanket serape he'd worn in Ocochillo that morning. He handed this to Estraleta, saying, "Here, you'd better put this on. It's gettin' mighty chilly. Sorry, I don't have anything to cover your legs, leastways nothing that'll fit. Comes time to turn in, though, I've got extra bedroll blankets you can wrap yourself in to keep good and warm."

  "Gracias," said Estraleta, slipping the serape over her head and shifting it so that the side slit left the revolver holstered on her hip well exposed. Under different circumstances, the big gun on her slim frame might have looked somewhat comical. But having heard the story she'd recently related and having seen the grim expression on her face during the telling, Kendrick wasn't viewing much of anything in a humorous light right at the moment. Plus, he'd also seen the way she'd landed that kick to the head of the fallen Lieutenant Remoza. No, everything about this gal was plenty damn serious and, if he was to place a bet on it, his money would be that she could probably handle that big ol' hogleg just fine.

  "By daylight," Estraleta said, breaking his reverie, "the Rurales patrol the area surrounding Bordados very attentively. Even up into the higher, lesser-traveled mountain trails such as I have us traveling on. They are on the lookout for rebel activity, of course, and are especially vigilant to prevent anyone new from joining the rebel ranks."

  Kendrick grunted. "That'd be us … well, me anyway. I guess you've already earned your rebel bona fides."

  "The point is," Estraleta continued, "even though I know the remote trails as well or better than anyone, there will still be considerable risk that we might encounter a patrol as we try to reach the rebel camp. If we wait until daylight, that is. By night, the Rurales only patrol in close to the village."

  "Reckon I see where you're headed. But go on and tell it."

  Estraleta pointed skyward. "It is going to be a clear night. I know the trails well enough to travel by the dark of the moon and stars. If we rest ourselves and the horses only until midnight, I believe I could very nearly have us at th
e rebel camp by the time the sun breaks and the wider-sweeping patrols start up again. It would greatly diminish our risk of running into one."

  Kendrick glanced up at the stars. The moon hadn't appeared yet. He reckoned it was about five hours to midnight.

  "Also," Estraleta added, "the Yaquis are less active at night. We would be minimizing our risk from them as well."

  Kendrick cut her a sidelong glance. "I thought you said the Yaquis would recognize you as a pal of theirs."

  Estraleta shrugged. "Somebody once told me that you can never count for sure what Indians might do."

  * * * * *

  They rode out again at midnight and Estraleta led them through the night. Over rocky, rugged trails that often appeared impassable at first glance; in and out of twisting arroyos, over sawtooth ridges. At times they were enveloped in deep shadows thrown by the higher rocks. More often, they were bathed in a silver-blue wash of illumination cast by the moon and stars. Their passage was ghostly quiet, the horses stepping surely but cautiously as if they understood the gravity of the situation.

  At one point, near dawn, Estraleta reined up on a high ridge and pointed down to the broad, flat floor of a valley some distance below. In the middle of the flat expanse was a dark mass with sporadic twinkling lights.

  "There is Bordados, my home village," she said in a hushed tone. Then she paused, her expression turning stern. "But no," she corrected herself, "that is what used to be Bordados. And, as it is, it surely is no place I can call home."

  They continued on.

  Sometime later, with the sun having crested the eastern horizon, Estraleta reined up again. Frowning, she said, "I fear that in the darkness I chose a wrong trail and took us on a higher route than I intended. I have my bearings now, but we are farther from the rebel camp—another hour at least—than I hoped to be at this point. The Rurale patrols will be out by now. We need to stay very alert."