"Don't need to," Doc said, field glasses raised again. "Take a closer look—at the bell tower."
Kendrick lifted his own glasses. A moment later he muttered, "Damn."
"What is it?" Estraleta wanted to know.
Kendrick handed her the glasses. "They've got the Gatling up in the tower … they can sweep the whole area surrounding the church and chew everything in a two hundred-yard radius to mincemeat!"
Chapter Nineteen
Wood peddlers were both common and welcome to desert villages like Ocochillo. Such scavengers of the foothills and mountains would gather kindling twigs and cordwood cut from larger growth in the high reaches, divide same into sale-sized bundles that were loaded onto burros or horses, then make the trek to the nearest village. There, for a price, they would serve the needs of housewives and merchants willing to pay for good wood —a commodity scarcely available down on the barren flats—to stoke their cooking ovens. The work was hard and the earnings small, but it was nevertheless an income where none at all might otherwise be available.
The two wood-sellers—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other of considerably slighter build, both clad in colorless, loose-fitting peasant garb and wide-brimmed sombreros that obscured their faces—who led their loaded-down pack animals into Ocochillo that morning were unfamiliar to those who flocked at their arrival. But their product was welcome and their prices fair, so little or no attention was paid to the individuals and in short order they had sold all of their bundles.
Business completed, the two peddlers then separated. The slighter one headed toward the church to put coins in the poor box and to pray. The taller one tied their unburdened horses out front of the cantina and went inside. A short time later he emerged with a gourd cup of mescal that he took to a shaded bench in front of the building, near where he had tied the horses. He sat on the bench and idly sipped at the mescal.
A mile south of the village, unnoticed yet by any of the residents nor even by the two Rurales manning the Gatling gun up in the bell tower, its indistinct shape distorted even more by the heat already shimmering in the mid-morning air, a slowly-boiling dust cloud—marking several horsemen riding at a steady canter—was approaching.
On the bench against the outside wall of the cantina, Bodie Kendrick took another sip of the mescal, careful to keep his broad sombrero brim tipped low over his face. There was only minimal activity in the plaza. Still, the last thing he could afford at this point was to be recognized or draw attention that might cause closer scrutiny.
Kendrick's gaze flicked toward the church.
Estraleta would be in place there by now. Kneeling in a pew very close to the bell tower stairs.
Kendrick's eyes lifted. The men in the bell tower were plainly visible from his vantage point. His Winchester was within arm's reach, hanging in a rope sling under the protective back blanket of the roan he had led in loaded with wood.
Kendrick had complete confidence in his marksmanship. From this distance, when the time was right, he had no doubt he could take out one of the men in the tower before the victim ever heard the shot that killed him. Whether or not he could also get the second one would depend on how fast the man reacted, which way he ducked … But even if the second Rurale did manage to dodge the hail of lead Kendrick would be raining on the tower, he wouldn't escape Estraleta coming up the stairs behind him.
Everything was ready, everything was in motion, Kendrick told himself. Now it was just a matter of waiting, being patient …
The ruse of disguising Kendrick and Estraleta as wood peddlers so they could arrive in Ocochillo, conduct their business, and then subsequently take up key positions inside the town without raising any red flags, had been carefully planned right from the beginning. The horses they led in had been loaded with wood before ever leaving the rebel camp and, if all went well, these same pack animals would serve to carry the Gatling gun and as much ammunition as possible on the return trip.
The rest of the plan hinged on the riders now approaching from the south. This was the remainder of the raiding party, each man having donned the Rurale uniform he'd brought along for expressly for this purpose. The uniforms were available by virtue of Hunt Bradley's foresight in having them stripped off the dead bodies of their original inhabitants following various skirmishes over the past few months. Bradley had reasoned that having a supply of the enemy's signature dress might one day prove beneficial for a bit of subterfuge … and now that day had arrived. Dressed as they were, the raiders would, at first sight, be taken as the welcome arrival of reinforcements rather than any kind of threat. This should allow them to ride up right under the multiple muzzles of the Gatling gun before any inkling of suspicion or alarm might set in. But by then it would be too late. Kendrick's first shot would start it off; he and Estraleta would then see to it the Gatling gun, the greatest threat, was quickly neutralized. The rest of the raiders would be able to handle anything else.
That was the strategy. The plan. Kendrick himself would have preferred something a little less complex, believing that the more elaborate the plan the more risks for something going wrong. But, all things considered, this one was about as stripped down as they could make it.
Now it just had to finish playing out …
Kendrick took infrequent sips of the mescal and continued to wait, cutting occasional glances up at the bell tower, watching for some sign of reaction from the tower guards. Idly, he wondered if Estraleta was actually praying inside the church or if she, like him, was merely ticking off the minutes until the others showed up.
And then, at last, there was activity in the tower. The posture of one of the Rurales up there suddenly stiffened as his attention was drawn by something off to the south, something outside of town, beyond the rooftops of the shacks and adobe huts he was looking down on. He tapped his comrade and pointed and then both men craned their necks, looking intently. The second guard raised a spyglass and peered through it. After a moment, he lowered it, his mouth spreading in a wide grin, and he jabbered excitedly to the other guard before leaning over the low wall of the tower and shouting down, his voice growing even more excited.
All eyes of citizens milling about the town plaza turned toward the shouting.
Kendrick reached out, covertly snagged his Winchester from under the horse's blanket, quickly drew it close and tucked it against the cantina wall, using his shoulder to once again shield it from any casual glances his way.
A couple of curious cantina patrons stepped out to see what the shouting was all about.
The front door of the church rectory, a squat adobe building adjoining the chapel on the far side, burst open and three men spilled out. All wore Rurale uniforms, although in various states of disarray. Two of the men were heavily bandaged and seemed to move with painful difficulty.
The dust cloud of a sizable number of approaching riders could now be seen churning above the tops of the low huts rimming the southern edge of the plaza. And, faintly but increasing steadily in volume, the low rumble of pounding horses' hooves could be heard.
A minute later they galloped into the plaza. A force of heavily armed men, tan-clad and grim-faced, swerving their mounts directly toward the rectory and those who stood out front of it, anxiously awaiting them. In the haze of dust it took Kendrick a second to pick out Doc, riding at the rear of the pack so as not to give anything away too quickly with his pale Americano face. The sight of Turpin buttoned inside Rurale tan as opposed to his typical all-black attire had gotten a chuckle from Kendrick when he'd first spotted the change, and seeing him in those duds again now was enough to elicit another faint smile. But, naturally, Doc had returned the favor by giving Kendrick the horse laugh as well when it was time for him to don his peasant garb and the oversized sombrero.
The smile quickly faded, however, as Kendrick's focus returned to the business at hand, watching as the horsemen reined up before those assembled to greet them. To his amazement, Kendrick suddenly realized that one of the latter was none
other than Lieutenant Royos Remoza, the man he had blown out of the saddle and believed he'd surely killed three days ago. But, nevertheless, bandaged and limping and grimacing in pain, it sure as hell was Remoza standing there now.
I get the chance to shoot that sonofabitch again, Kendrick promised himself, I'll make damn sure I get it done permanent-like this time.
Remoza took a labored step forward and, raising one hand in a welcoming gesture, called out to the new arrivals.
That was it. Now was the time. Before any alarm bells went off and the Gatling was put to action.
Kendrick rose from the bench, sweeping off the broad sombrero and swinging his Winchester up and around all in one fluid motion. He slammed the stock to his shoulder and raised the muzzle until its sights were dead center on the nearest of the tower guards. One easy trigger pull. The Yellowboy bucked and roared and the bullet angled up through the side of the man's throat and out his ear on the opposite side.
The other guard, bumped roughly by the crumpling body of his comrade as he was simultaneously sprayed with blood and tissue from the exiting slug, looked around dumbly and gave Kendrick a square-on, full-face target for his next shot. He levered a fresh round and caressed the trigger once more. A red-rimmed hole appeared in the center of the second guard's forehead as he went staggering back until the low wall of the tower caught him just below the waist. The man's backward momentum, propelled by the impact of the bullet, took him on over, spewing an arc of blood and brains as he went. One of his upward-flipping feet gave the dangling old bell a hard kick and caused it to gong solemnly.
In front of the rectory, everything was over practically before the body of the second tower guard hit the ground. A single, sudden burst of gunfire took place when one of the soldiers next to Remoza attempted to raise his rifle and Doc's lightning draw instantly cut him down. Before those shots faded, a dozen rifle muzzles in the hands of as many mounted raider were trained unwaveringly on Remoza and the other surviving Rurale. All the two men could do was raise their arms (the lieutenant only able to lift one) and plead for mercy.
After throwing a hard glare over his shoulder to make sure the pair of cantina customers who'd emerged only moments before the shooting started—as well as any of the citizens out in the plaza—were showing no signs of wanting to try and interfere, Kendrick broke into a trot toward those gathered before the rectory. His feet had only pounded a couple of steps, however, before there came a fresh crackle of gunfire, this time from inside the church.
Estraleta!
Kendrick ran faster. He saw Doc light from his saddle and also start to sprint toward the front of the church. They reached the tall, ornate front doors at the same time, each chugging hard, anxious gusts of breath. Doc still had his pistol drawn.
"Estraleta's in there," said Kendrick.
"We didn't figure on any gunplay inside the church."
Kendrick jerked his chin. "We go in together, fast and low—you cut left, I'll go right."
"Got it. Let's—"
"Hey amigos! Are you going in to pray or do you think you will receive salvation simply by standing near a house of worship?"
The voice from above their heads caused the two bounty hunters to freeze just as they were poised to burst through the door. Looking up, they saw the lovely face of Estraleta gazing down on them from the bell tower. She was leaning over the low wall, hair spilling around her face, a wide smile on her lips. Her elbows were resting across the top of the wall and in one hand she casually gripped the heavy revolver she'd been carrying ever since taking it from Remoza's fallen body.
"Are you all right?" Kendrick called up.
"I am fine. Why would I be otherwise?"
"We heard shots. Dammit, I was afraid—"
"There is a back door to the rectory. One of Remoza's men used it to try and get away," the girl explained. Then, tossing a nonchalant shrug, she added, "I helped him succeed in his escape—to Hell."
Chapter Twenty
"They are five or six miles out. Less than an hour. Coming at a hard gallop." Estraleta was translating the report being delivered in an excited rush (too rapidly for either Kendrick or Doc to follow) by the lone rider, a young man named Jorge, who'd just come thundering into the plaza. "Jorge could not get close enough for an exact count," she continued, "but, judging by the size of the dust cloud they are raising, he estimates they must be close to twenty in number."
Scarcely more than a half hour had passed since the rebels had overwhelmed the surviving Rurales in Ocochillo and confiscated the prized Gatling gun. The latter, along with six cases of ammunition for it, was already loaded on the pack horses. In addition, twenty rifles, ten pistols, and a thousand rounds of ammo for these weapons had also been seized and loaded for the return trip to the rebel camp. Rounding off the booty now claimed by the raiding party were the numerous Rurale horses that had been gathered from the livery corral and tied in pairs so that they could be led off. The only piece of business remaining, before the raiders rode out again, was the execution of Lt. Remoza and his two remaining men.
The three Rurales had, in fact, just been herded over to stand before the firing wall when Jorge showed up to interrupt the proceedings with his report. Knowing that Guerrero's reinforcements were on the way and could be arriving at any time, Kendrick had taken the precaution of leaving out the three scouts they'd used earlier to make sure the reinforcements hadn't made it ahead of them. The scouts' instructions this time were to patrol the incoming trails from the south, at a distance of about five miles, and report immediately if they spotted a force of approaching riders—which Jorge now had done.
"Less than an hour … that's cuttin' it mighty close," Kendrick reacted.
"Still gives us all the time we should need, though. We just swing out of here wide to the west before curving down toward the south. By the time they show up and discover what's happened, we'll be clear. If they try to give chase, we'll be into the foothills of the Sierra Madres before they have any chance to close the gap on us." Doc shrugged. "Comes to that, we'll have the Gatling ready to discourage 'em from closing the gap too tight."
"You'd think they'd be smart enough not even to give chase at all, knowin' we got the Gatling."
"In that case," said Estraleta, "let us hope they are not so smart—nothing would give me more pleasure than to see still more Rurales mowed down by their own devil gun." Her eyes flashed and she cut her gaze over to where Remoza stood simultaneously glaring with hatred and trembling in fear. "But no matter what else happens this day, it is for certain that I will have the pleasure of seeing this Rurale swine fall under our guns. And this time I will make certain he stays dead because after our bullets have riddled him I personally will take the extra measure of slitting his throat and bleeding him out like the pig that he is!"
"You rebelista puta—all of you rebel dogs," Remoza sneered. "Do with me what you will. Enjoy yourselves while you can. Because soon—very soon—Colonel Guerrero will—"
Doc Turpin moved quicker than a rattlesnake strike, swinging his fist in a backhanded blow that crashed against the side of the lieutenant's jaw as loud as a whip crack. "Shut your mouth," Doc snarled. "Save your breath for whining and begging when your time comes to go up against that wall."
"Why wait?" said Estraleta. "Let's put him up against the wall now and get this over with. Then we can ride out of here."
Kendrick raised a hand. "Hold on a minute."
Estraleta still had fire in her eyes when she looked at him. "Hold on for what?"
Kendrick looked around somewhat uneasily at the Ocochillo citizenry who had gathered once again around the perimeter of the plaza to witness the firing squad that was in the offing for Remoza and the others. They were milling about docilely enough and, for the most part, appeared as if they were actually looking forward to seeing the brutal officer get what he had meted out so often and so cold-bloodedly to previous victims. Still, what Kendrick had to say wasn't for the ears of everybody. Not just yet. If hi
s idea was sufficiently persuasive, everyone else would see it unfold soon enough.
After motioning Estraleta and Doc in closer, he spoke in a low voice. "Maybe we need to reconsider what'd be the wisest thing for us to do here.”
"What's to reconsider?" Doc said, frowning. "We take the Gatling and the rest of our haul and get the hell out of here—hightail it back to Bradley as quick as we can."
"After we kill Remoza," said Estraleta.
Kendrick nodded in agreement. "Sure, sure. I'm not disagreeing with any of that … except maybe for the 'quick as we can' part."
"What's that supposed to mean? What are you driving at?" Doc growled irritably.
"Look. Over the past few days and now again this morning we've done a hell of a lot of damage to the other side and a lot of good for ours. Right? Killed a bunch of Guerrero's men and seized all this" —Kendrick swept his arm to indicate the Gatling gun and the other weapons and ammo, as well as all the spare horses— "for the upcoming battle Bradley says is gonna be here soon. What I'm sayin' is: Why stop now? Why run away from whoever's ridin' in from the south when everything is swingin' in our favor? Why not stay right here and lay for 'em? We could put the Gatling back up in the tower and station our men all around the plaza. Then, when those so-called reinforcements come ridin' in, we could blast 'em to Hell and gone before they knew what hit 'em! That'd leave more dead for Guerrero and more guns and ammunition for us."
Nobody responded for a minute. Doc scowled thoughtfully. Estraleta's eyes went wide, sparks of excitement glinting deep in those dark pools.
"Well? Whatya think?" Kendrick prompted.
"It would be a bold, unexpected move," Estraleta said somewhat breathlessly, her tone clearly conveying how she felt.
"It would be that alright," Doc conceded in a more measured tone. He continued to scowl thoughtfully for another moment until, abruptly, he snapped a nod. "Hell yeah. When you lay it out like that, it would be foolish to do anything different. Let's go ahead and get it set up."
Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2) Page 13