Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  Doc frowned. "Jesus, Hunt, you sound like you're suggesting we attack Guerrero."

  The brightness in Bradley's eyes flared hotter. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting!"

  Doc and Kendrick exchanged uncertain glances.

  "No, I haven't gone mad," Bradley assured them. "Stop and think. Up until now, except for that first night and a few subsequent skirmishes here and there between patrols, we have always been on the defense. Holed up here in our mountain encampment, anticipating the day when Guerrero would send his forces to try and flush us out, hoping desperately that when that day came we would be sufficiently prepared to hold our own in the resulting battle."

  Bradley was seized by another fit of coughing. When it was over, he went on as if it had been nothing. "You figure by now Guerrero has been notified of the latest turn of events in Ocochillo, right?"

  "Against the wishes of some," Kendrick said, thinking about Estraleta who had protested fiercely against the decision, "we let those last two Rurales go, the ones we initially were gonna put up against the firing wall with Remoza. Seemed to most of us those poor bastards had been through enough. And, to tell the truth, after arrangin' with the priest and some of the villagers to take care of buryin' the desperadoes we'd just finished cuttin' down, the mood for any more killin' right then was generally pretty low."

  Bradley nodded. "That's understandable."

  "Bound to've been at least a few Rurale sympathizers in the town," Doc put in. "Likely some of them probably got that pair on horses and shooed 'em for Bordados before somebody else decided to put a bullet in 'em. Expect they must have gotten there by now."

  "I'm fine with Guerrero having been informed. You see, I've come to know him quite well, know how he thinks, know how he's likely to react to things." Bradley smiled his strange, thin smile. "If I can flatter myself a bit further, that's a skill I was able to nurture during our late, unfortunate war up north … the ability to predict with reasonable accuracy how my enemy was going to react in certain situations."

  "I can vouch for seeing it work to our advantage on more than one occasion," Doc allowed.

  "The point now, in regard to Guerrero," Bradley said, "is that I am certain this news has him devastated. Suddenly finding himself minus Remoza and Rawson, two of his right-hand men. Not to mention the forty or so others. Not to mention all the ammo and horses. And, to top it all off, having his precious Gatling not only snatched from his grasp but having it fall into the hands of his enemies and learning it has already been turned against his forces with ruthless efficiency.

  "His first reaction, as always, would have been a fit of rage. Blaming Remoza and Rawson for their incompetence. Blaming anything and everything else he could lay his tongue to.

  "But with the rage having run its course by now, he will have begun to sink into his own pit of despair. He's nothing but a classic bully, knowing only brute force to get his way. Well, we suddenly have taken away much of that force. For the first time in a long time Guerrero will be left feeling vulnerable. This will not strengthen his resolve nor sharpen his strategy for how to proceed, how to counter. Not the way it might in a stronger man, a man with even an inkling military training. No, it will only make Guerrero very uncertain and tentative about what to do next … And it is that uncertainty I am proposing we pounce upon!"

  "When?" Kendrick wanted to know.

  "Tonight. We can move into position under the cover of darkness, during the overnight hours, and strike the village just before dawn."

  "How are we going to get in close enough?" said Doc. "There are Rurale patrols circling the town every night. You don't expect Guerrero to be rattled enough to let that lapse—especially now, of all times—do you? And the dark of the moon, the way it's been these past nights, isn't going to allow—"

  "The way the past nights have been doesn't really matter, Doc," Bradley interrupted him. "Tonight it's going to storm. That will give us all the cover we need to advance into position."

  Once again Kendrick and Doc exchanged quick glances.

  "Trust me," Bradley told them. "I've lived in this region ever since the war. I know when a storm is moving in. I can feel it and smell it. Hell, I can taste it."

  "All right. If you say so.”

  Bradley gave a curt nod. "Good. I'll give the word to the rest of the men to start making preparations. Then I'll map out some more specific details and we all can go over them this evening, after you two and the other raiders have gotten some well-deserved rest. But now, before Estraleta gets back, here's the rest of what I need to say … "

  He swept the two men with is most penetrating gaze yet. "I'm confident we can be victorious in routing Guerrero and those currently serving under him. More confident than I've ever been since starting this thing. But that, as we all know, will not be the end of it. Mexico City will then have no choice but to get involved and send someone to replace Guerrero. That's when the real issue, the real thrust of what we're hoping to accomplish here will be put to the test. The test of whether or not what we've gained can be sustained.

  "There will be a question of meting out some measure of punishment against us, naturally, but beyond that the real question will be if it is recognized that the people of Bordados and the surrounding area deserve—and have earned—the right to be allowed to live with dignity and be treated with respect. Part of this, of course, will be determined by the mindset of whoever the government sends and whatever orders he will be under. But much of it will also be determined by the resolve of our people, the fortitude they must continue to show in order to make it clear they will not settle for the old ways … I won't be there to help them maintain that resolve. But the legacy I leave—if it is the right one—will be."

  "Seems to me your legacy is pretty well established, Hunt," argued Doc. "What do you mean by 'the right one'?"

  "I mean," replied Bradley, "not a legacy that ends with everyone seeing me die a trembling, pain-wracked, pathetic shell of the man I once was."

  Nobody said anything for a minute. A hot, dry breeze danced in from somewhere and rattled the papers on the rough-hewn table.

  "If I die in the battle tomorrow—go out in a blaze of glory, as it were," said Bradley, "I believe that will steel the resolve of our people in a lasting way. The other that I just described would not. It is unacceptable … In other words, for the good of the cause, I must and I want to fall in tomorrow's fight … Do you understand what I'm saying? What I'm asking? … I'm counting on the two of you to make certain that happens."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kendrick lay motionless in the shade and relative coolness of the lean-too tucked under the cliff overhang on the far edge of the camp. Estraleta lay beside him, asleep, her face turned away. One of his hands rested idly on the smooth roundness of her hip, her long hair spilled back over his shoulder.

  Kendrick should have been asleep, too. Resting from the Ocochillo raid, resting for tonight's pending attack on Bordados. God knew he felt exhausted, weary in his muscles and bones. But sleep wouldn't come. Too much was rolling around inside his head.

  From the beginning, he had recognized the obsession and ego driving Huntsford Bradley. He'd seen that kind of thing before in military men. But he'd also recognized the man's commitment and sincere belief in what he was doing, not to mention the assurance and inspiration he was able to instill in others. These were traits far more rare. As was Bradley's compassion for the people whose cause he was championing.

  None of those things had changed. But in spite of all that, the main thing Kendrick found himself wrestling with now was the question of whether or not Bradley might also be a little bit mad? Was the time truly right for attacking Guerrero's forces in the village tonight? Or was the colonel being pushed into a foolhardy decision by the ravages of cancer and his insistence that a victory must be achieved before the disease ate away too much of him? And what of his further insistence that he must die—"go down in a blaze of glory"—at some point in tonight's conflict? And assigni
ng Kendrick and Turpin to "make certain" such a thing happened.

  Finally admitting that he wasn't ready for sleep, Kendrick slipped out of the lean-to, easing gently away so as not to disturb Estraleta. He stood up, pausing for a long moment to look down at her. Rebelista firebrand. So beautiful … and so bloodthirsty. Probably the only other person in the camp whose passion for the cause could match Bradley's. And her faith in the colonel's leadership, whether he was mad or not—which, Kendrick knew, was definitely not a subject he could ever broach to her—would remain absolute, unquestioning.

  Kendrick took a tin cup from his gear and walked slowly out into the camp's common area, looking for a pot of coffee that was bound to be simmering somewhere on the edge of one of the cooking fires. The afternoon heat, out in the open, away from the shade, pushed down on him like a weight. But, for the time being, it felt good sinking into his weary muscles.

  Kendrick found what he was looking for in short order and the aged senora with a round, deeply seamed face who sat nearby slapping small loaves of bread dough into shape filled his cup from her bubbling pot with a wide smile.

  "Gracias," Kendrick said, returning her smile. When she offered him something to eat from the larger pot that also was bubbling over her fire, he declined and moved on.

  He drifted aimlessly across the width of the camp, sipping the coffee. He saw no sign of Bradley or Doc. The tarp over the meeting table hung limp, no one occupying the square of shade underneath it.

  Finally, on the opposite side of the camp from where he'd started, Kendrick spotted Doc sitting by himself on a flat shelf of rock overlooking the sharp eastern drop-off. He was leisurely smoking a long, slender cigar.

  Kendrick walked over to him. "Shouldn't you be resting up for the big shebang tonight?"

  Doc hung the cigar from a corner of his mouth. "Can't the same be said for you?"

  Kendrick claimed a section of the rock shelf for himself and sat down so they were facing one another. A faint but surprisingly cool breeze was rolling up over the edge of the drop-off. In the distance, way off to the north and west, a smudge of dark clouds was starting to thicken just above the irregular line of the horizon.

  Kendrick jerked his chin. "There's the colonel's storm. Buildin' slow. Looks like it's gonna roll in right about on schedule for tonight."

  "The man can be downright uncanny at times."

  "Guess you'd know about that as good or better than most," Kendrick allowed.

  Doc took the cigar from his mouth and fixed Bodie with a flat gaze. "But you're thinking that he might also be a little bit crazy, aren't you?"

  "Hell, Doc, everybody I know is a little bit crazy," Kendrick replied. "Look at me and you—we're a couple of wealthy men if you stop to consider all the reward money that ought to be piled up by now back in New Gleanus."

  "And you ought to be there keeping an eye on it, making sure it is accumulating the way it's supposed to be."

  "We've already gone down the trail on why that didn't happen, okay? The point is, neither of us is up there enjoyin' the leisure and luxury that money could be buyin' us. Instead, we're down here duckin' bullets and fightin' for something that—unless I forgot ever bein' introduced to the paymaster—ain't gonna add spit to our poke. So you want to talk about crazy?" Kendrick shrugged. "Like I said, there's plenty of it goin' around."

  "But do you think Hunt is packing more than his share? That was my original question to you."

  Kendrick took a drink of his coffee. Lowering the cup, he said, "Gotta admit I've been wonderin' on it some. But I don't know the man. You do. What do you think?"

  Turpin drew on his cigar and then sighed out a cloud of smoke. "During the war, I followed Huntsford Bradley into a good many battle. Sometimes, in the beginning, I questioned the sanity of either his tactics or his decision to make a fight at all. After a while, after my fears went unfounded and his decisions proved successful one after another, I quit questioning. I just followed. Like I said, the man has a knack for being uncanny … So, as far as his plans to hit Bordados tonight, I'm reluctant to question them. Force of habit from those lessons learned long ago … But then there's the cancer to factor in. Do I think Hunt is crazy? No, not in the way you'd generally apply the term. But do I think the ravages of his disease could cause him to be more reckless and desperate to make a bold move sooner than he otherwise might—trying to beat the cancer, in a manner of speaking? Yes, I have some concern for that."

  "So what are you gonna do?" Kendrick said quietly.

  "That, my big-shouldered friend," Doc replied, "is the very thing I've been sitting here asking myself."

  Kendrick took another drink of his coffee and waited, letting Doc have more time to answer.

  "When I speak of following Hunt into battle all those previous times," Turpin said at length, "you need to remember that, like we explained the other day, I was the medic for his company, not a soldier. That means I wasn't one of the ones charging into the teeth of the enemy's bullets and bayonets … I was at the rear, waiting behind the lines for those who did make those charges and came away mangled and smashed and riddled as a result. So I can't pretend to know first-hand the Hell of the battle front—but I surely know the Hell of war from a perspective no less blood-drenched."

  Doc took a final drag on his cigar, flipped the smoldering stub over the drop-off. "When the war was over, I made myself two promises," he continued. "One, I promised never again to function in the role of anything resembling a doctor. The other day, in New Gleanus when I assisted Dr. Cooper for a brief time, was the first time I ever made an exception. Otherwise, when I close my eyes at night I still see too many faces distorted in agony, too may severed limbs and decapitated heads, too many tattered entrails spilling out from too many split open torsos. And that's not even mentioning the sounds, the groaning and wailing and pleading for mercy." He shook his head. "I never again wanted to find myself in the position of being the person everybody looked to for easing that kind of suffering and too seldom being able to measure up."

  "You're only human, not God," Kendrick said. "Mortal man can do just so much."

  "I can accept that. I just didn't want the frequent reminders."

  Kendrick waited again.

  "Number two, I promised myself that—having never been battle tested—I would find a way to prove my mettle in the face of life-threatening danger. Prove it to myself, I mean. I aimed to show I had the same kind of courage under fire as those brave boys who'd been at the front in battle after battle." Doc smiled sourly. "Sounds pretty lame and juvenile, saying it out loud that way. But at the time it seemed awfully important. Important enough for me to take up a gun and start practicing to draw fast and shoot accurate. I practiced until my arm cramped and my fingers were scraped raw. My skills grew to the point where I was a fair match for anybody around. Once I had occasion to demonstrate that a few times, Doc Turpin's reputation was set. After that I was oddly content, satisfied. I quit being a gunny on the prod and eventually drifted into the bounty hunter thing."

  "But now," Kendrick said, having a pretty good hunch where this was headed, "you're all of a sudden faced with the opportunity—which is a mighty cockeyed way of lookin' at it, I gotta say—of servin' under the command of Hunt Bradley once again and this time actually bein' at the front in a battle."

  Doc's smile grew sourer still. "Pretty pathetic, isn't it?"

  "I've seen you in action, Doc. You sure as hell don't need to prove your courage under fire. Not to anybody."

  "Yeah, a lot of people have seen me in action. But you know one person who hasn't?"

  "Hunt Bradley."

  "That's right. And for some reason—some cockeyed reason, as you so aptly put it—I find it very important to me that he does."

  Kendrick considered for a moment and then gave a measured nod. "All right, Doc. If that's the way you want it, I'll back your play."

  "You've already done plenty for these people. For Hunt and his cause. You don't owe it to me or anybody else
to risk your neck further."

  "Not even Estraleta?"

  "That's between you and her. Comes down to it, I'm not so sure she'd hold you to more either."

  "Well, then consider it me who's holdin' myself to more. In for a penny, in for a pound, my ol' Granny used to say. We'll call that my cockeyed reason for stickin' with this." Kendrick paused, regarding Doc soberly. "But that still leaves one last thing."

  "Hunt going out in a blaze of glory … "

  "That'd be it."

  "You understand his reasoning, don't you?"

  "I understand what he told us. I'm not sure I follow it all the way through."

  "It's not that complicated, really. If Hunt's right, if his going down in battle makes him a lasting inspiration for this cause he started, for these people—then that will leave them with what they'll need to stand strong in the face of whatever comes next. If he's wrong, if how he goes down doesn't make the impression he's hoping for, then Hunt still wins because he will have beaten the damnable cancer by finding a way out ahead of its final terrible stages."

  "Why doesn't he just put a bullet in his own head, then?"

  Doc shook his head. "Because there would be no glory in that. It would be a coward's way out. This way, as long as there is the chance for victory and continued inspiration for the cause, then it has meaning beyond just his own relief."

  "That bold move you spoke of."

  "Always been Hunt's way. Bold, although never lacking in genuine sincerity."

  "If we play our part like he's asking, you know what that means, don't you?"

  "It's a hell of a thing to say, but I'm hoping a Rurale bullet might solve the whole matter."

  "Don't seem like much to hang your hat on." Kendrick shrugged fatalistically. "But, what the hell, we might all go down in a blaze of glory before it's over."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "For me—someone who has been nothing but attentive and respectful to you for all these months, my intentions and desire painfully obvious—you barely have time for even the courtesy of a simple greeting when our paths cross. Yet along comes this gringo pistolero and you cannot wait to lift your skirts and lay with him, showing all the abandon of a common puta!"