by Robert Knott
I looked at Alejandro. He was looking around the barn, shaking his head a little.
I thought of the story he had told us about the proprietor beating young Jedediah in this barn, wanting to do bad things to him, and thought maybe this was a fitting end for this estate. Then again, I thought, maybe the lieutenant was correct. What if this whole thing was just concocted by Alejandro? Either way, we were here, and for the moment it seemed this whole endeavor was for naught and a waste of time.
With the exception of rusted farming tools and pigeons nesting in the rafters, the barn was empty.
The loft posts were missing, most likely rummaged at some point, and the whole top loft section bowed like an eroded hillside, making the barn’s sides fold as if they were being pulled by a giant corset.
“So, Marshal Cole,” the lieutenant said, with continued heed for Virgil’s request for quiet. “Like my cousin, I am much smarter than I look.”
“That’s good,” Virgil said without looking at the lieutenant.
The lieutenant looked to Alejandro.
“You do not expect me to fall for what Mr. Vasquez has done here, do you?”
Virgil was looking toward the big house and did not glance to the lieutenant as he answered.
“Right now, I don’t expect much of anything out of you, Lieutenant.”
Virgil remained looking toward the house as he stepped out the front side of the barn.
“Virgil?” I said.
“Yep.”
Virgil looked back to me.
“You see what I see?”
“I do.”
“What?” the lieutenant said. “What do you see?”
“Might not be now,” I said, “but not long ago, there was somebody in here.”
The lieutenant looked around.
“What are you talking about?” the lieutenant said. “How do you know?”
I pointed to the ground.
“Broken grass,” I said. “Footprints. Might have been some time pass, but somebody was here.”
There was an overgrown path from the barn that went past a water well and then traversed down to the back side of the house.
Virgil started off down the long path toward the house, and we followed. We passed the water well and continued down some steps and followed the weed-covered rocks toward the house.
The wind was in our face as we walked the long path. When we got close to the house, Virgil held up his hand, and everyone, including the lieutenant, stopped.
Virgil moved closer, looking in through a side window. He looked at me and tilted his head in the direction of the house. I moved near Virgil to see what he was looking at.
We could see through the window that the entire front part of the house was missing and the ocean was visible. There was also a small table we could see through the window, and next to the table, looking out toward the front gates and the sea beyond, sat a man.
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Virgil motioned to the lieutenant. The lieutenant moved up, seeing the man.
Virgil pointed for the lieutenant, the silver-toothed man, and the sergeant major to go around one side of the house and he’d go around the other with the other three Federales.
The lieutenant nodded.
Virgil grabbed Alejandro and moved him off around the far side of the house with him.
I crept up on the other side with the lieutenant and his two Federales behind me.
The wind was in our favor, blowing directly in the face of the seated man, concealing the sound of our movement as we approached.
I could see Virgil and Alejandro and the three Federales on the opposite side of the structure through the window. They were moving slowly as we proceeded toward the front of the house.
Soon I saw the man at the table through another opening. He was a large man with no hat and long sandy-blond hair. His hair was blowing with the ocean breeze, but he was not moving. I could tell right away when I saw the side of the big fella’s face that he was not alive.
From his body position it seemed he might have died of natural causes, but the pitchfork planted just under his rib cage suggested otherwise. The fork’s handle extended downward and rested on the big man’s knee.
Virgil and Alejandro were positioned at an opening just opposite me, and they were looking at the man, too.
We looked through the openings, surveying the cavernous room, and saw no one else. The entire house consisted of three two-story-high walls, the back of the house and two side walls, and with the exception of the table and chair, the place was completely empty.
The fire that took the house looked to have been twenty years past. The wooden table and the chair the man was sitting on obviously had been placed there at a later time.
We stepped into the interior of the structure. The small table the dead man was sitting at was cluttered and positioned in the center of the room close to what used to be the front wall of the building.
The big fella was sitting to one side of the table. His legs were crossed, and one of his large arms was resting on the table. He was a tall white man, clean-shaven, and looked to be in his late twenties.
“Goddamn fishhook,” I said.
A fishhook was hooked in the man’s upper lip like he was a fish that went for the bait.
“By God,” Virgil said, shaking his head.
“What is the meaning of this?” the lieutenant said.
Virgil didn’t say anything.
I looked at the pitchfork plunged into his body.
“Fork’s in him deep,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
The tines of the pitchfork were completely submerged in the man’s sternum. There were four trails of dried blood coming from the pitchfork holes, which had puddled and soaked into the lap of his trousers.
“Who is this hombre?” the lieutenant said.
Virgil and I looked at the dead man closely. He lifeless pale blue eyes were open, as if he were staring out at the distant ocean.
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “Alejandro?”
“Sí.”
“You know this big hombre?”
Alejandro looked at him closely and shook his head.
“No, Virgil Cole.”
“You sure?”
“Sí.”
I put my hand to the big man’s forehead.
“How long, you figure?” Virgil said.
“He’s been dead awhile,” I said, “but from the looks of the blood, not that long, I say, day maybe.”
There was a newspaper under the big man’s arm that rested on the table. Virgil pulled the newspaper free and looked at it.
“This is day before yesterday’s paper,” Virgil said, looking at the date on the newspaper. “Veracruz.”
Virgil looked through the paper a bit, then dropped it on the table.
Sitting on the table were various odds and ends—a few large broken seashells, a busted oar, and an empty rum bottle—and curled in the huge man’s large fist was a can of empty peaches with a spoon resting in the can.
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I looked at Virgil and he looked at me when we noticed the can.
“What is the meaning of this?” the lieutenant said again, impatiently.
Virgil shook his head as he looked around the room.
“Hard to say, Lieutenant,” Virgil said.
The lieutenant watched Virgil as he moved around the large area of the burnt-out structure, looking at everything and nothing.
“Well, you have to know something.”
“Don’t,” Virgil said.
The lieutenant moved to the dead man and looked at him closely.
Virgil stepped out across what used to be the front porch and looked to the ground. He looked toward the hacienda gate twenty yards away. He walked in that direction some as he stayed looking at
the ground.
The lieutenant started to pace.
“What is happening here, Marshal?”
Virgil looked at the ground a bit more, then looked toward the house. He walked back near the dead man at the table before he answered.
“Well, Lieutenant,” Virgil said. “It’s clear somebody killed this hombre. By my account, I’d say this was yesterday sometime.”
The lieutenant was clearly irritated. He shook his head and looked to Virgil with his chin up high.
“What is it that you’re not telling me, Marshal?”
Virgil was thinking the same thing I was thinking. This might be it. He looked to the other Federales—the burly slit-eyed sergeant major, the heavyset silver-toothed fella with two stripes, and the three stocky hombres that looked like brothers.
They were all looking at Virgil, and each still had their pistolas out. My eight-gauge was cocked and ready to go if need be.
“Don’t know what you are talking about, Lieutenant.”
“What are you not telling me?” the lieutenant said.
Virgil looked at me, then looked back to the lieutenant.
“Telling you what I know, Lieutenant,” Virgil said. “Been some people in front here. Looks like a few. It’s been a while, though, and with the wind, it makes it hard to know just what we’re dealing with.”
“Your pathfinder,” the lieutenant said, looking at Alejandro, “has led us here, and he knows more than what he has told us.”
“I do not,” Alejandro said.
“Shut up,” the lieutenant said.
Virgil didn’t say anything.
“This is a gruesome display,” the lieutenant said.
“Is,” Virgil said.
“This man was, of course, killed with this pitchfork,” the lieutenant said, “and then put into a chair as if this were a casual escenario.”
Virgil nodded.
“I will not fall for this,” the lieutenant said as he removed his hat.
“You are in our sights!” a rough voice called loudly.
At the rear of the house, three other Federales stepped in with rifles trained on us. They’d obviously been out of sight on our trip to Veracruz but had been on our trail the whole way. The one talking was the man with the pockmarked face who we’d met on our journey to Córdoba.
The lieutenant replaced his hat as the Federales moved closer.
“You remember my cousin,” the lieutenant said.
The pockmarked cousin smiled.
“This idiot game is over, Marshal,” the lieutenant said.
Virgil didn’t say anything.
“Did you think I would walk away and forget about this?”
“Don’t know what you’d think.”
“If you thought you’d have this common piece of trash lead us up here in an attempt to make me believe this was the conclusion and we would leave you alone,” the lieutenant said, “you are mistaken.”
“Good,” Virgil said. “It’s relieving to know I did not make that mistake, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant grabbed Alejandro by the hair and put his pistol to Alejandro’s head.
“Now we will go about this my way,” the lieutenant said.
“Hombre!” a voice called out loudly. “I have a rifle aimed at the back of your head. Tell your men to drop their guns or you will be dead!”
I could see a rifle poking out of the overgrown weeds inside the window of the carriage house, fifteen feet from the big house.
The lieutenant froze. He squinted, curious where the voice had come from.
“Who are you?” the lieutenant said without moving.
“Do it!” the voice said. “Or you will die!”
But the lieutenant had another idea. In an instant, he turned with Alejandro in front of him and fired in the direction of the carriage house, and when he did, all hell broke loose.
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The rifle shot from inside the carriage house missed the lieutenant but hit Alejandro as the lieutenant went to the ground.
A rapid follow-up shot from the carriage house caught the heavyset hombre with the silver teeth square in the head, and he dropped.
As per our usual protocol, Virgil took the men to the left, I took the ones to the right.
Virgil shot the three brother-like hombres and one Federal behind them with a rifle before they got off a shot.
The burly slit-eyed sergeant major got a shot off at me, but I was moving.
I let one barrel of the eight-gauge go as I went to the ground, and it hit the sergeant major, knocking him back hard. My next shot hit the pockmarked cousin, who was firing at me but missed.
The last two Federales ran out the back, and two shots rang out from the carriage house.
The lieutenant still had hold of Alejandro’s hair. He held Alejandro in front of him, back to the wall, and had his pistol to Alejandro’s head.
“I will kill him!” the lieutenant shouted. “You say you need him? Drop your pistols!”
Alejandro’s head was slumped forward. He was moaning from the gunshot wound.
“Do it!” the lieutenant shouted again.
Alejandro’s hand was in the pocket of his captain’s jacket, and in one swift, simple move, he brought the pocket up underneath the lieutenant’s chin and pulled the trigger of my dingus. A single shot went up through the jacket’s pocket, and blood kicked up out of the back of the lieutenant’s head and splattered across the rock wall of the once beautiful Villa del Toro.
The lieutenant’s legs stiffened for a moment and then went slack.
Virgil and I looked to all the Federales as the gun smoke moved away with the breeze. None of them showed any sign of life.
I broke open my big gun on the move fast toward the rear of the house as I reloaded. Virgil moved toward the rear of the house, too. We had heard the two shots of the rifle after the two Federales had run but did not know if they’d been hit, were on the run, or ready for volley.
Virgil stayed out of the open doorway on one side of the rear of the house as he reloaded. I was to the opposite side of the house, staying out of the window. I crossed the opening quickly. From the opposite side of the window I could see the two Federales. They were both on the ground. One was facedown and the other was on his side. The Federal on his side was moving slightly.
“Both down,” I said. “One’s still showing.”
I kept my eight-gauge pointed at him as I stepped out the window opening and moved to him. When I got over him I could see he was shot in the side just under his arm. He looked up at me. His eyes were wide with fear, and then he did what I had seen happen to other dying men before. He tried to speak. He uttered something, but blood came up in his mouth and he died staring at me. I stepped back through the window.
“All dead.”
Virgil nodded, and we moved back quickly toward Alejandro.
“You out there, doing the shooting, we are marshals from the USA,” Virgil said. “This is played out!”
Jedediah McCord, alias Henry Strode, stepped out of the weed-filled doorway of the carriage house carrying a Spencer rifle. He limped slightly as he walked to the big house. He was trying to move with pace, but his injuries from the beating by his brother Dalton made it difficult. Jedediah was anxious. He knew he’d just shot Alejandro.
“Alejandro,” Jedediah called as he walked. “Alejandro!”
Jedediah had shaped up considerably from the last time we saw him unconscious and badly beaten at Doc Mayfair’s office in San Cristóbal. The swelling of his face was gone and the lacerations on his face had healed up significantly. Jedediah was taller and stronger-looking than I remembered him, and though he was tired and ragged, he was handsome, with a strong face, blue eyes, and thick, dark hair. He entered the house through the wide opening and looked to Alejandro.
“Dam
n,” Jedediah said as he moved to Alejandro. “Aw . . . hell . . .”
Alejandro was sitting slumped over between the legs of the dead lieutenant. Virgil and I got to each side of Alejandro and lifted him away from the lieutenant. We laid him on his back to look at his wound. I pulled back his captain’s jacket. He’d been shot in the shoulder just below his left collarbone.
“You never were much of a shot,” Alejandro said to Jedediah.
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We got Alejandro’s captain’s jacket and shirt off. The bullet had exited out the back of his shoulder. Alejandro was bleeding heavily from the front and back. We turned him slightly so to put pressure on both the entrance and exit wound. Virgil placed his bandana on the front wound. I gave Virgil my bandana, and he put vise-like pressure on the back and front wound.
“I’ll get a fire,” I said.
Virgil nodded and looked to Jedediah.
“Let’s get the cleanest strips of cloth you can off these dead men,” Virgil said. “Get my knife.”
Jedediah pulled Virgil’s knife from its belt sheath. He moved to the nearest Federal and went about cutting away his trousers.
In short order I gathered dried twigs, leaves, and grass and moved to a corner out of the breeze and got a fire going. I kept stoking the fire, and once it was hot I laid the blade of my knife in the flame. I removed my belt and wrapped the knife handle so to withstand the blade’s growing heat. When the knife blade was red-hot, I nodded to Virgil and moved to Alejandro. Alejandro was looking at me.
“This is gonna hurt, Alejandro,” Virgil said.
Virgil let off the pressure on the front wound and I laid the hot knife blade to Alejandro’s chest, cauterizing the entrance hole. Alejandro remained looking in my eyes. He did not flinch, but his eyes filled with water. Then Virgil lifted Alejandro up slightly and I laid the hot blade to the exit wound on his back.
For the moment, the cauterizing stopped the bleeding. Jedediah came with strips of cloth. Virgil rolled two strips and put one over the front wound and one over the back, and I helped Virgil wrap Alejandro’s shoulder from front to back. Alejandro looked to Virgil like a boy watching his father do what he did best.