Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  Kendrick lowered his hand slowly. "Any man would be plumb proud to call you his woman, Estraleta. My blood raced the instant I saw you, too."

  "I could tell." Her smile was intoxicating. "Many men have looked at me in a way that told me I made their blood race. But only with you—feeling the same way in return—did it ever matter."

  Kendrick put a hand on each of her shoulders. "Are you sure about your feelings, sure this is what you want? You need to understand I can't make no promises. I can't promise I'll even be alive when this is over and, if I am, I can't promise that my wanderin' ways won't start callin' to me again … But you. This is your home. These are your people. You're fighting for a future here. What happens between us will be noticed, be remembered. I don't want you to have regrets or cause you—"

  "As long as people remember that I chose—chose, do you understand?—to be with a man such as you, then what would I have to regret? The way my heart is soaring right at this moment, I have the same romantic visions and dreams as any young woman. But I have seen the harsh realities of life. And death. I know that romantic dreams seldom last long … So even if all you and I can ever have is a brief, turbulent moment together, then so be it. I am willing to accept that."

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Holy damn, it's hot! Like takin' a stroll across the Devil's frying pan with your boots off."

  The man doing the complaining was a beefy, plodding individual with a lantern jaw, a marled left eye, and long, curly black hair spilling out from under the broad-brimmed hat pushed far back on his head. His face shone with sweat and more of the same dribbled in steady rivulets from the tendrils of greasy hair dangling to his shoulders. The man's name was Clyde Iverson. He was walking his horse, giving the animal a breather, as they crossed a stretch of barren, sun-blasted flats running along the base of the Sierra Madre foothills.

  Walking next to Iverson, his own horse's reins clutched loosely in one hand, was Park Rawson. Behind them stretched a procession of a dozen more men, all on foot, each leading his mount.

  "Sure wish we could've started out early in the morning," Iverson grumbled some more. "When it was still kinda cool, you know? Then we could've sorta eased into this heat as it built up, instead of ridin' out right smack into the thick of it like we done."

  "You could've stayed back in Bordados and avoided bein' out in this at all," said Rawson, a weary edge noticeable in his voice. "All you had to do was say no when I asked for men to ride out with me."

  "Aw come on, Park. You know me well enough by now to know I wasn't gonna hang back there and not join you and these other boys in a ride-out for some action. Gettin' too over-crowded back there, anyway, with all those damn Rurales marchin' around, cloggin' up the cantina, keepin' all the whores so busy a fella has to practically stand in line for a poke … All because a handful of ragtag rebels has got everybody nerved up. And you know what I don't get about that?"

  Rawson sighed. "What don't you get, Clyde?"

  "If the doggone rebels are up in the mountains, why ain't the Rurales up there lookin' for 'em, instead of cloggin' up the village and ruinin' everything for those of us who shelled out money on the promise of findin' some peace and quiet and bein' left alone there?"

  "The Rurales ain't there for the purpose of botherin' us, Clyde."

  "Well, that's sure-hell what they're doin', all the same."

  "You forgettin' it was those ragtag rebels who attacked the village and tried to drive us out? You was there. We damn near got our asses blasted off. And plenty of others did, if you recall right. Their graves are back there, plain as day, anytime you need remindin'. Might be we've had some other boys ride down to join us and replace some of those who bit the dust that night, but we still need Guerrero and his Rurales to root those rebels out and help keep 'em off our backs until the job is done."

  "Yeah, yeah … I know. But that attack was months ago. This whole thing is draggin' out too long. Sometimes I don't think it's ever gonna get back to like it used to be, which was the whole reason I came down here in the first place. Sometimes I think about just saddlin' up, ridin' back across the border and goin' on the dodge up there again. Don't know that it'd be a whole lot worse, the way things have turned."

  Rawson narrowed his eyes. "Well, you're a man growed, Clyde. Reckon you ought to do what you think best. But if you was to ask my advice, I'd say you might want to seriously consider stickin' with it down here a while longer. This thing might have drug on too long, like you said, but I got me a strong hunch it's gonna come to a head pretty quick now. Why not hang around at least long enough to see which way the tide rolls? We had a sweet deal here until that Bradley jackass muddied everything up. If Guerrero's soldier-boys can get to him, chop off the head of the snake you might say, then the rest of the problem curls up and dies too. Those goat-herdin' peasants Bradley has got riled into followin' him won't amount to spit if he goes down."

  "That why we're settin' out to bring Guerrero this Gatling gun? To put the finishin' touches on Bradley and his goat-herder army?"

  "You got it."

  "Well, that's good, then. Anything to help get this uprising over with and get things back to normal again … But, if you don't mind me askin', why us? I mean, why pick us Americano outlaws to go after the Gatling when the colonel has a whole slew of soldiers he's practically stumblin' over?"

  Rawson smiled. "He didn't pick us. I talked him into it."

  Iverson's frown countered Rawson's smile. "You talked him into it?"

  "Uh-huh. If the Gatling is what it takes to help Guerrero finally clean up this mess, he's bound to be mighty grateful to whoever delivers it safely into his hands, right? And if you think we had a sweet deal in Bordados before, how much sweeter you reckon it's gonna be if we've ingratiated ourselves to the colonel by doing him such a big favor?"

  "I guess." Iverson frowned thoughtfully. "What does 'ingratiate' mean, anyway?"

  Rawson heaved another exasperated sigh. "Never mind. Trust me, it's a good thing. Maybe I'll explain it to you some other time."

  Iverson shrugged. "Okay, if you say so."

  They walked for a ways in silence. Until Iverson decided it was time to complain about the heat some more. "Damn! It sure is hot, ain't it?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Twenty riders sat their horses on the perimeter of the rebel camp.

  Huntsford Bradley stood on the ground before them, backlit by a pulsing orange-gold glow from the numerous small campfires burning in the heart of the broad clearing, his upturned face alternately cut with shadows and painted silver-blue by the wash of moon- and starlight pouring down from the night sky overhead.

  "It is a bold mission you are about to undertake," Bradley was saying. "The risk is considerable. But, should you succeed, the benefit to our cause will be immeasurable. Either way, the days of merely skirmishing with the Rurales and the outlaw dogs infesting Bordados are numbered. It will soon be time for the full scale battle that has been looming ever since we first rose up to reclaim what is rightfully ours. When that battle occurs, make no mistake … it will be a savage, ugly thing. The ground will run red. The Bordados Valley will become Rio Matanza—a river of bloodshed!"

  The speaker paused. His eyes grazed the riders before him, lingering for the briefest moment on each of their faces. "To put it simply and brutally," he continued in a grave, measured tone, "the success of your mission tonight will be a huge step toward ensuring that the blood spilled to make such a river will come more from our enemies than from us."

  Centered in the row of those prepared to ride out, seated silently astride Blockhead, Bodie Kendrick marveled once again at Bradley's quiet strength and aura of authority, at the way his words subtly assured and inspired yet also somehow conveyed an air of compassion even as he spoke of upcoming slaughter. During the war, from various Union commanders, Kendrick had listened to more than a few oratories urging victory in advance of upcoming battles. He couldn't recall any that were better than what Bradley was delivering
here, few that even came close to being as good. Sure would've hated going against troops this Johnny Reb roused up ahead of a fight, Kendrick found himself thinking.

  "I have the utmost faith in you," Bradley was finishing up. "Each of you has proven courageous and dedicated to our cause, and you are under highly competent leadership for this outing. Trust in each other and in God Almighty, and I know you will succeed. I will be confidently awaiting your triumphant return … Godspeed!"

  With that, the line of riders swung away from the camp and headed out. Kendrick, Estraleta, and Doc Turpin took positions at the head of a loosely formed column that fell in behind them. Strictly speaking, Estraleta was in the lead, with Doc and Bodie flanking her about half a horse's length back.

  Kendrick's first reaction had been opposition to the notion of Estraleta being part of the raid. But, quickly enough, he was forced to recognize that she had earned her place as a key figure in the rebel movement long before he'd ever arrived on the scene and had done so by already participating in numerous dangerous actions. Plus, as she herself had said, she knew the mountain passes and obscure trails better than almost anyone else. Since a major part of their plan hinged on mirroring the route Kendrick and Estrala had taken when fleeing Ocochillo—in this case moving out of the Sierra Madres by night, boldly hitting Ocochillo to retrieve the Gatling by day, and then returning to the rebel camp once again by night—Estraleta's ability to guide their way through the mountains in the dark was essential.

  Luckily, aided in no small part by his familiarity with Estraleta's temper and how she undoubtedly would have reacted if he'd suggested her staying behind, Kendrick hadn't shared his misgivings. And now, as they rode out, as he watched her long, dark hair shimmering in the starlight and saw the grim determination on her beautiful face, he no longer felt any of his earlier trepidation. Instead, he felt only a sense of pride in this bold, exciting beauty he found himself in the pleasantly unexpected position of being able to call—by her own definition—his woman.

  That afternoon in camp, after Estraleta had finished nursing his cheek and then making her surprise announcement about her feelings for him, Kendrick had given in to his exhaustion and slipped into a deep slumber there in the shade and comfort of the lean-to that had been erected for him. While he slept, Estraleta had brought some of her personal trappings and placed them with his, clearly signaling to all what their relationship now was.

  When Kendrick woke again at dusk, the two of them had taken their supper beside the lean-to, apart from the others. Later, after deeper darkness had settled in but before the scheduled departure for the raiding party, they had lain together in the lean-to and made love. Slow and gentle at first, then building to a fierce explosion of passion that seemed to have been pent-up in each of them for far too long.

  * * * * *

  "You got to keep in mind that things were poppin' mighty sudden-like," Kendrick had recounted as they sat down to plan the retrieval raid. "The main thing I was concentrated on was mowin' down as many Rurales as I could so Estraleta and me could get the hell out of there. I saw a lot of men fall, includin' that boss lieutenant Estraleta later identified as Remoza. With all the smoke and noise and debris a Gatling tends to kick up, you can never be sure when you sweep a cluster of targets how hard each of 'em is hit, or even if some of 'em might be divin' to the dirt just in an attempt to duck for cover. Far as I could tell, though, I cut down damn near the whole platoon. The only ones I saw still on their feet were two guards with pistols who made a half-assed attempt at throwin' lead when we were gettin' ready to ride clear."

  "Si," Estraleta agreed. "That is the way I saw it, too."

  "So even if there are a handful of others still left alive," Bradley said, "there's a good chance some or all of them were at least wounded."

  Kendrick nodded. "I think that's reasonable to figure. I can't see how there can be more than a half dozen, if that many, left in any kind of fighting condition."

  "That means there's no way that Gatling was going to be leaving Ocochillo any time soon after you'd raised your hell and rode away. I can't see them risking trying to move it without a sufficient force to guard it. They'd have to know that exposing it out in the open with inadequate protection would attract not only us, but possibly Yaquis, Apaches, maybe even some roaming gang of bandits if they happened to catch wind of what was in the offing." Bradley shook his head. "No, not even the decimated, desperate state you left them in, Bodie, would make them dumb enough to try something like that."

  "So what does that leave then?" Doc wanted to know.

  "They'd have to send someone for reinforcements from Guerrero. Another platoon or at least a strong enough force to fetch the Gatling the rest of the way to Bordados. In the meantime, whoever was left in Ocochillo would fort up with the Gatling and wait for help to arrive."

  "Makes sense when you lay it out that way," said Kendrick.

  "So it comes down to a matter of timing." Doc's eyes narrowed. "We either need to try and make it back to Ocochillo in time for an assault on the depleted force there before reinforcements arrive, or we wait and try to hit them when they roll out again for Bordados."

  "It needs to be at Ocochillo," Bradley said decisively. "If we try to hit them out in the open and they've got the Gatling mounted again the way Bodie and Estraleta described, they could chew an attacking force to pieces."

  "No place to set an ambush?" asked Doc.

  "Not on the route they're likely to take. They'll sweep wide of the foothills, keep to where it's all pretty much flat and open. Plus, any likely spots for an ambush they'd be smart enough to send riders ahead to clear out before rolling up with the gun." Bradley shook his head again. "No, our best bet is to beat the reinforcements to Ocochillo and seize the Gatling there."

  Kendrick said, "If they sent a rider the same day as the ruckus—later in the afternoon, say, after things had settled down some—he could've made Bordados by this mornin' if he pushed all night. Figurin' Colonel Guerrero would want to get the Gatling protected soon as possible, that means he might already have reinforcements on the way."

  "Possible," Bradley allowed. "But that'd be figuring it mighty tight. Considering the turmoil it sounds like you left Ocochillo in, I'd be more inclined to think it probably took several hours, at best, for whoever assumed charge there to tend their dead and wounded and collect their wits enough to get a rider sent out. Same thing on this end, once Guerrero received the news. First he would have gone into one of his famous rages. Then, based on habit, he would have wasted still more time assessing and fussing over the situation before finally deciding on how big a force to send and who would lead them."

  "And even if the reinforcement platoon did start out today," Estraleta said, "I see no reason why they wouldn't follow standard practice and stop to make night camp. That will give us the opportunity—traveling through the night—to beat them to Ocochillo."

  Kendrick had shrugged. "Reckon we can speculate up on side and down the other. What it really comes down to is: There's only one way to find out for sure."

  * * * * *

  Through the night, the raiders traveled ghostlike over the mountain trails, through narrow cuts and twisting canyons. Guided by Estraleta's unerring sense of place and direction, they made even better time than she and Kendrick had made traveling in the opposite direction the previous night. Once again the night was clear, the sky cloudless, bathing them most of the time in pale illumination. Occasionally, in deeper arroyos, they were wrapped in the other extreme—smothering blackness that forced them to literally feel their way along.

  As they emerged from the northern fringes of the foothills and the first pinkish-gold fingers of dawn were poking above the rim of the eastern horizon, a rest halt was called. The horse were watered and grained and then picketed to forage briefly amidst what scant graze there was. The riders stoked themselves on coffee and shredded goat meat wrapped in tortilla shells. They also took the opportunity to once more review their central plan a
long with its various options dependent on exactly what was encountered once they reached their destination.

  Three hours later they checked their mounts once again on a brushy hill overlooking the village of Ocochillo. Kendrick and Turpin produced field glasses with which to more closely examine what lay below. Scouts had been sent out earlier, assigned to make a broad sweep south of the village to see if there was any recent ground sign that might represent the arrival of reinforcements. They'd returned with a negative report.

  "Looks pretty quiet down there, especially as far as anything in the way of Rurale activity," Doc said, lowering his glasses.

  "Does for a fact," Kendrick agreed. Then, one corner of his mouth twitching with a wry grin, he cut a glance over at Estraleta and added, "For sure a lot quieter than the last time we had ourselves a gander at that plaza."

  Estraleta returned his grin. "Si."

  "The thing now," Doc said, "is to determine where they're forted up with the Gatling."

  "See that blocky building a ways down from the church?" Kendrick pointed. "They had a kind of barracks set up there before. It's a stout-looking building, could be they just stuck with that."

  "Could be," Doc allowed.

  Kendrick frowned. "On second thought, though, that wouldn't be the smartest position for 'em to take. It'd make it too easy for somebody to bottle 'em up in there and it'd limit the effectiveness of the Gatling. Weapon like that is at its deadliest when it's got an open space—a kill zone—to rake with those 600-rounds-a-minute it can spit out."

  "How about the church?" Estraleta suggested. "See that low-walled courtyard out behind? It would offer protection and at the same time provide an open enough area for a kill zone such as you describe."

  "By God, girl, you might have something. That wouldn't make a bad setup at all. I wish this hill was a mite higher so we could see down into that courtyard better."