"Colonel! Colonel!" Guerrero said exasperatedly. "How many times must I remind you that I am a colonel, not a general."
Park Rawson smiled tolerantly. He was a tall, lanky man with prematurely gray hair and a long, hard-angled face dominated by a heavy lower lip that seemed always on the verge of curling into a sneer. "Guess I'm what you'd call a forward-lookin' man," he responded in the same lazy drawl. "We both know it's just a matter of time before you do make general … I'm just breakin' you in to bein' addressed that way."
Guerrero tried to shrug off the remark but at the same time a hint of a smile writhed on his fleshy lips, indicating that the thought of one day becoming a general was quite appealing to him. The colonel was a ponderous man well past the fifty mark, heavy-gutted, sloppy in his grooming, and not terribly intelligent. But he possessed a cunning and an innate cruelness that had served him well in this baked over, dusty, rock-strewn corner of Hell where officers of superior skill and intellect desperately maneuvered to avoid. Guerrero would have preferred not being stuck in this shithole either, but he was shrewd enough to recognize that out here he could rule and advance, whereas in another setting, under closer scrutiny, his sloppy, heavy-handed methods would never be tolerated. That's why this business with these damned rebels had to be put down quickly, before such unwelcome added scrutiny became focused on the matter.
"What I was startin' to say before … Colonel," Rawson continued, "is that no matter where the blame lies or exactly what went wrong up there in Ocochillo, first things first is for a fresh force of men to hightail it there and secure that damn Gatling before something else happens."
"But of course." Guerrero made an impatient gesture. "That goes without saying."
Rawson nodded. "Good. Then I suggest you let me and some of my boys be the ones to ride out—right away, soon as possible—and do the job of gettin' it the rest of the way here pronto."
"But I have men. Many men. Soldiers. I can just as quickly assign—"
"With all due respect, Colonel, it was some of your soldiers who put the gun in jeopardy to begin with. Not sayin' my men are any better or any worse—but they're itchin' for action and ready to go. We'll have that gun back here before you know it. And in the meantime you can keep your soldier boys honed sharp and busy tightenin' the squeeze on those rebels you got hemmed in up in the mountains."
Guerrero rubbed his jaw. "Yes, to send out another platoon would diminish my rebel-fighting force. Not that we wouldn't still have more than adequate strength to handle anything that rabble could mount against us."
"Yeah, but why risk it at all?" Rawson urged. "Like I said, me and my boys are primed and ready. To tell the truth, we're startin' to feel a little hemmed in, too, just hangin' around here waitin' for some real fightin' to bust loose so's we can get this whole rebel business over with and have things back to normal. This'd be a good chance for us to shake off any rust that might be settin' in."
"You realize, of course," said Guerrero, grinning slyly, "that Lieutenant Remoza will be highly displeased to see you arrive at the head of the retrieval team."
"Uh-huh. And you must realize how much I don't give one single damn should I do something to upset Remoza.”
"The two of you have had a hatred for one another ever since the first time you locked eyes."
"Sometimes that's just the way it happens."
Guerrero rubbed his jaw some more. "The humiliation Remoza would feel at such a thing … It would be but a taste of the reprimand he deserves for allowing the Gatling gun to, as you say, be put in such jeopardy to begin with."
"If that's how you see it." Rawson shrugged. "All I'm sayin' is, whatever decision you make, no more time ought to be wasted—Somebody needs to get headed out after that gun."
"You are absolutely right." The colonel balled his right hand into a fist and smacked it into the palm of his left. "The honor is yours, then. Prepare your men, Rawson. By the time you are ready, I will have a directive written for you to give Remoza, advising him that, once you've arrived in Ocochillo, you will be in charge of completing the transport of the Gatling gun!"
Chapter Sixteen
"First chance we've had to talk alone since you got here."
"Uh-huh."
"Also makes it the first chance I've had to tell you straight-on what a damn fool I think you are."
"I thought we already covered that. I ain't a damn fool, I'm a volunteer."
Kendrick and Turpin were strolling through the rebel camp, their discussion with Hunt Bradley having broken up a handful of minutes prior. The sun was high and brilliant in the cloudless sky over-head, hammering down waves of heat. Activity in the camp had gone into the kind of lull that was typical for such blazing afternoons, yet still there was a good deal going on.
The camp was spread across the diameter of a large, natural bowl formed into the face of high, ragged cliffs. A low, uneven ridge ran across the east edge of the bowl, the outward-facing or "front" side. Immediately past this ridge, the mountainside dropped sharply for three hundred feet until it merged into sloping, broken, gigantic slabs of rock that eventually became choked by rugged brush and stubborn, stunted trees. On the back—or western—side of the bowl, a weathered, deeply pleated escarpment rose for another two hundred feet and then became overgrown with twisted pine. These higher cliffs were honey-combed with half a dozen springs that seeped out here and there to form shallow pools, reachable by precarious foot paths, providing the camp a ready supply of water. To the north and south of the natural bowl, narrow, rugged trails—in places barely wide enough for horses and small wagon carts—led out and away for more than half a mile in either direction before expanding into wider, more easily traversed trails.
In short, Doc explained as he pointed out these features, the camp amounted to a highly defensible fortress practically immune to being overrun.
As far as the rebel fighters operating from this base, it was no surprise to see they were made up mostly of young to middle-aged Mexican males. There was a handful of mixed-blood Indians and Kendrick had even spotted one or two Anglo faces that he reckoned were Americans who, like Bradley, had ventured south of the border to ranch or farm. Their garb for the most part was that typical for peasants and laborers in these parts—pale, loose-fitting shirts and pants. Standard footwear was open-toed sandals with thick, sturdy soles, only rarely a pair of boots or shoes.
In addition to the fighting men, the camp also appeared to be home to a number of women and even a sprinkling of children. Wives, sweethearts, and families, Kendrick guessed, displaced from their traditional homes by the uprising. The women came in a variety of ages, shapes, and sizes. They were inclined to dress a bit more colorfully than the men, in flowing long skirts and sometimes headscarves. The children looked to be well behaved and occupied themselves always in close proximity to the women as the latter went about the chores of washing, mending, and tending either small earthen ovens or one of the large cooking pots that hung over fire pits dug at numerous points across the common area in the center of the camp.
In the time he'd been here, Kendrick had noted that everyone kept busy at a wide variety of tasks. While the women did their cooking and the like, the men either drilled and made preparations for battle, went out on assigned scouting and hunting expeditions, or saw to more mundane duties like foraging for wood. Expressions were generally sober, but the overall mood seemed determined and relatively upbeat.
As the two tall Americanos made their way across the common, they were frequently greeted, sometimes with merely a smile, other times verbally, always very warmly.
"Awful friendly bunch of hell-raisin' rebels," Kendrick observed dryly.
"They've heard about you, what you did up in Ocochillo and in the mountain gully earlier this morning. They think you're pretty hot stuff. They don't know about the damn fool part."
"That's gettin' kinda old. What makes your reasons for gettin' involved in this thing any more sensible than mine?"
"Long story
."
They had reached a quiet area on the inside perimeter of the camp where a small lean-to of crooked ironwood branches covered over with pine boughs had been erected in the shade thrown by an outward-jutting section of cliff wall. Kendrick's saddle and gear were piled neatly on the ground in front of the lean-to and Blockhead was picketed nearby.
"Estraleta had this fixed up for you," Doc explained.
"She did?" Kendrick looked around. "Where'd she get to?"
"Not sure. Expect she'll show up soon enough, though, once I leave. Like it or not, friend, you have gained yourself one very determined admirer there. Your own call to make, of course, but, the way I see it, that makes you one lucky sonofabitch."
"Whoa. I'd say you're seein' something that ain't there."
"You believe that, then I think you're in for a surprise."
There had been that kiss, Kendrick reminded himself. He regarded Doc closely. "What about you and Estraleta? You admitted you got a thing for dark-skinned senoritas and you and her spent a couple nights together on the trail … If you're right about what you're suggestin' here now, would that put me in the middle of … ?"
Doc chuckled. "You're in the middle of plenty, amigo. But no, nothing between me and Estraleta is any part of it. Not to say none of the other bucks around here might see it different, but you'll have to find that out for yourself."
"I still think you've got a notion about something that ain't there," Kendrick insisted. "On the off chance I'm wrong, though, then it's a relief to know what your feelings for Estraleta are."
"Make no mistake. My feelings for her are plenty strong—just not in the way we're talking about."
"Yeah," Kendrick allowed. "She can stir all kinds of feelings in a fella. All of 'em strong."
"Look," said Doc, "the main thing right now is for you to get yourself some rest. You've just come through a mighty tough haul and if we're going to make a try for that Gatling like we talked about, then more of the same will be in order pretty quick."
Kendrick sighed. "You're right. Can't deny I'm feelin' a mite bushed."
"You could probably use something to eat, too. There's always a pot of beans simmering at one of the fires in the commons area, I'll send over a bowl." Doc pointed. "In the meantime, there's a bucket of water there if you want to get washed up. Be sure to stay awake, though. Don't let your face drop in the bucket and drown or something—Estraleta would never forgive me. The beans will be here in a short."
"Obliged."
Doc started to walk away. After three steps, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Kendrick?" he said quietly. "Damn fool or not … I'm glad you showed up."
* * * * *
When the beans arrived, it was Estraleta who brought them.
Kendrick had stripped to the waist for his ablutions and water still beaded his face and ruggedly muscled bare torso. He was seated on his grounded saddle, forearms resting across raised knees, enjoying the pool of shade thrown by the sloping cliff face.
It was clear that Estraleta had also gotten cleaned up since last he saw her. Her hair was freshly washed, remaining a bit damp at the ends, but brushed to a cascading luster that shone radiantly in the direct sunlight. She had on a clean blouse and skirt, the former once again accentuating the proud thrust of her breasts, the latter slit as before to facilitate riding a horse and, just incidentally, at the same time revealing flashes of her shapely golden legs as she strode toward him.
Estraleta was carrying an earthen bowl with a wooden spoon sticking out of it and three folded tortilla shells balanced across the top. "Doc said you needed to eat."
"No argument from me," Kendrick responded.
She handed him the bowl. Up close, she smelled faintly of a lingering soap fragrance that was considerably more delicate than the block of tar soap Kendrick had been given to cleanse himself with.
"Gracias," Kendrick said. He didn't waste any time sampling the bowl's contents, which consisted of a generous serving of beans mixed with shredded goat meat in a spicy sauce. He chased a heaping spoonful with a bite of soft, warm tortilla to take the edge off the spiciness.
As he ate, Estraleta studied him as appraisingly as he had her earlier. "You look better with the layers of sweat and trail dust washed off you," she proclaimed.
"You don't look so bad yourself. But then, you got a whole lot more to work with than I do," Kendrick replied. He passed his free hand across the dark stubble covering the lower half of his face. "Reckon I could still use a shave. But after that it don't get much better, even if I was to scrub till next Tuesday."
Estraleta pointed at the sweat-stained dressing still covering the bullet burn across his ribs, courtesy of the Klegg-Harrup gang. "What happened there?"
"Old wound. I'd almost forgotten about it."
"That dressing is dirty. It needs changing."
"Actually, I was thinkin' about just yankin' it off and leaving it. It was barely a scratch to begin with and, like I said, I don't even—"
"That is foolish talk. Do you think you need to act muy macho with me, of all people? You should have Doc look at that. Let him decide whether it should come off permanently or be re-done. We have a plentiful supply of bandages and—"
Kendrick held up a hand to halt her. "Okay, okay. I'll have Doc check it as soon as I see him again." He wanted to avoid another of her temper flare-ups. "I promise. All right?"
"I will see to it you keep that promise."
Kendrick smiled ruefully. "I'm sure you will."
"You also have the cut on your cheek. It is bleeding again."
"Yeah, I know. I opened it up when I was washing. It's nothing, though. It'll scab over again quick enough."
Estraleta dropped to her knees beside him. From the bucket of now-soapy water, she took the washcloth he'd been using, wrung it out, and began dabbing gently at the fresh blood smearing his cheek.
"Can't that wait until I'm done eatin'?" Kendrick protested.
"Chew on the other side and quit complaining. I just need to clean this some more and then hold pressure until the bleeding stops."
Arguing with her didn't seem like an option. Besides, her touch and the nearness of her didn't exactly make for a hardship. Kendrick pushed in another spoonful of beans and did as she said, chewed on the side of his mouth opposite from where she was tending the cut that the bullet-blasted shards of boulder had sliced in his cheek.
"Reckon I ought not complain and instead be grateful for the care," he said as he ate. "Doc says you're also responsible for pickin' this nice shady spot and gettin' the lean-to and all rigged up for me. Obliged for that, too."
"It is nothing. Hardly adequate repayment for risking your own life to save mine."
"You've said that enough, okay? I did what I did and I'm happy both of us made it here alive. Besides, not everything I did was strictly for you—my own hide was on the line, too, remember."
"Speaking of your hide," Estraleta said, her eyes once again roaming over his bare chest and back, "the number of scars you carry, even apart from these more recent wounds, seems to say that this 'bounty hunter' life you lead is a very dangerous one."
"Some of those came from the war." Kendrick shrugged. "Either way, carryin' around a scar means you made it through whatever the scrape was. Can't really complain about that, neither."
"And so now you are going to stay and get involved in our 'scrape', as you would say, and 'put your hide on the line' yet again?"
Kendrick cut her a sidelong glance. "Seems like news travels mighty fast around here."
"Too often it is bad news," Estraleta said solemnly. "This time that is not the case."
"Don't often happen that anybody confuses me with good news," said Kendrick with a wry smile.
Their gazes locked and held for a long moment, faintly awkward at first but then gaining a kind of intensity. Abruptly, Estraleta lifted the cloth she had been pressing to his face and leaned back from him. "There," she said, a trace of huskiness in her voice, "the bleeding
is stopped now. Be careful not to disturb it again and it should stay that way."
"I'll be sure to remember that." Kendrick scraped the last spoonful from the bowl and scooped it into his mouth along with a final bite of tortilla. Setting the bowl and spoon aside, he said, "I'll get some fresh water in a minute and wash those. Who do I return 'em to?"
"Give them to me. I will take care of them."
Kendrick shook his head. "No, you've done enough. Be a sorry day when I can't even clean up after—"
"Kendrick," Estraleta interrupted him. There was a sharpness to her tone that halted his words and brought an uncertain scowl to his expression. Then, leaning closer to him again, in a softer voice, she said, "Kendrick, I want to take care of them for you. I want to take care of you. Don't you understand? Everyone else can already see it—are you blind?"
Once more, Kendrick gazed deeply into her eyes. The nearness of her, the heat and scent of her, suddenly combined with a quick memory rush of that kiss in the gully and the things Doc had said to him only a short time ago.
"I know it is bold of me to speak it," Estraleta continued. "And I know it is sudden and crazy at such a time and under these circumstances. But that is exactly why I feel the need to be bold and sudden. We cannot know for certain what tomorrow may bring—but we can be certain that tomorrow or one day soon after there will be fighting and bloodshed and lives will be lost. Maybe ours. That is why it would be foolish to wait, foolish not to tell you what is in my heart. What I felt there almost from the first instant I saw you leap from your horse onto that wagon with the Gatling gun and—"
Now it was Kendrick's turn to interrupt. He placed a thick finger over her lips, shushing her. "You need to slow down and take a breath, gal, before you blow a gasket."
Estraleta's bottomless dark eyes peered up at him. Short, rapid breaths blew against his palm from between her lips and her magnificent bosom rose and fell in concert. When he lifted his finger, she said, with a kind of breathless urgency, "I want to be your woman, Bodie Kendrick."
Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2) Page 11