Standish nodded. “Get us horses and guns. We’ll be ready to go.”
The four of them turned and left the office. Matt, Sam, and Seymour stood there in silence for a moment, before Sam finally said, “Seymour, I’m not sure if them coming along is a good idea.”
“Neither am I,” Seymour said. “But once my uncle makes his mind up, you can’t sway him from his course.”
“That’s sort of what we’re worried about,” Matt said. “Will he take orders, or will he try to run the show once we get across the border?”
“He’ll take orders, or he’ll turn around and come back.” Seymour looked at the blood brothers. “You have my word on that.”
Before they could discuss it any more, the door opened again, and an excited J. Emerson Heathcote looked in at them. “There’s a message coming in down at the telegraph office!” the newspaperman said. “It’s from Alcazarrio!”
Once the holes where a bullet had passed through Judge Simon Clark’s calf had been patched up, the judge had spent most of the time at the telegraph office, burning up the wires between Sweet Apple and Marfa, San Antonio, and El Paso. The army was going to send a cavalry patrol from Fort Bliss, and Major John B. Jones, commander of the Frontier Battalion of the Texas Rangers, agreed to dispatch a troop of Rangers from San Antonio.
“Too damned late to do any good,” Judge Clark grumbled as his stubby fingers used a pencil to scrawl another message on a telegraph flimsy. The office was crowded with men, most of them members of the town council. “But they have to make a show of trying to help, I suppose.”
The telegrapher looked up from his key with a startled expression on his face. “Line’s gone dead, Judge!” he announced.
Clark frowned. “Are the wires down?”
“Either that or somebody cut ’em.”
“It’s Alcazarrio’s doing!” Mayor Mitchell exclaimed. “He’s trying to isolate us from the rest of the world so that we can’t summon any help.”
Clark shook his head. “Too late for that. We’ve already notified the army and the Rangers, and Alcazarrio has to know that we’d do that right away.”
“Then what’s the point in cutting the wires?” somebody asked.
That question was answered a moment later when the key began clicking and the telegrapher said, “What the—It’s workin’ again.” He snatched up his pencil and began taking down the message.
Using a cane now instead of his shotgun, Clark stumped over and peered past the man’s shoulder as the pencil printed out the words. “It’s from Alcazarrio!” the judge said. He turned and looked at Heathcote. “Find the marshal, and Bodine and Two Wolves!”
It was obvious now what had happened. Alcazarrio, or some of his men, had cut the telegraph wires, all right, but only so they could tap into them and send a message of their own. One of the bandidos must have had some experience as a telegraph operator and still possessed a key for sending messages.
“He ain’t much of a hand,” the telegrapher in the Sweet Apple office commented as he continued to take down the message, “but I can make out what he’s sendin’. Most of it anyway.”
Matt, Sam, and Seymour hurried into the office a moment later, just as the key fell silent.
“Have they stopped sending?” Clark asked.
The telegrapher nodded. “Seems like it.”
“Try to raise them again.”
A couple of minutes of key-pounding proved to be futile. The man looked up at Clark and shook his head. “They’re not answerin’, and neither is anybody else. The line’s dead again.”
Clark extended a hand. “Give me the message.”
With a worried frown on his face, the telegrapher hesitated. “No offense, Judge, but I ain’t sure I should. It’s addressed to Shad Colton and Esau Paxton. If they’re still in town, I ought to give it to them.”
“We’re right here, damn it,” Colton said from the doorway as he and Paxton forced their way into the crowded room. “Give that paper to the judge and let him read it.” Beside him, Paxton nodded agreement with that decision.
The telegrapher handed over the message. Clark took it, hesitated, then slipped a pair of reading glasses from his vest pocket and put them on. A hush fell over the room as he read the message in his deep, powerful voice.
“‘To Paxton and Colton. If you wish to see your daughters alive again, bring two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in gold to Villa Rojo before three days have passed. They will not be harmed unless you fail to pay this ransom. If you fail to pay or if you try to trick me, your daughters will die.’” Clark looked up from the paper. “Then it says General Diego Alcazarrio.”
Shad Colton snorted. “General, my ass! He’s nothin’ but a two-bit bandit!”
“A two-bit bandit who has our daughters,” Paxton reminded him.
Seymour stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Does it say anything about Miss O’Ryan or Miss Jimmerson?” he asked.
Judge Clark shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, Marshal, but it doesn’t.” He glanced at the telegrapher. “You said you had a little trouble with some of it?”
“Yeah, but just a word here and there,” the man said. “I didn’t miss anything as big as the names o’ them two other gals.”
Seymour’s face fell. “Oh.”
Matt put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Seymour. They’ve got a good reason to keep Jessie and Sandy alive and in good shape, so I reckon they’ll take care of the other two ladies, too.”
Seymour swallowed and looked at him. “But you said it yourself, Matt . . . They don’t have any reason to do that.”
Matt couldn’t argue with him.
Wherever they were right now, Maggie O’Ryan and Rebecca Jimmerson were probably having to fend for themselves.
Maggie had never hurt worse, or been more scared, than she was right now. She had been on the back of this horse for what seemed like hours, forced to straddle it like a man as she rode in front of the saddle, and the insides of her thighs were rubbed raw. Every muscle in her body ached, and to top it all off, she had been forced to endure the humiliation of being pawed by the bandit whose arm was looped around her waist like a steel band. From time to time his rough, dirty hand had strayed up to her breasts and mauled them through her dress. Every time that happened, a part of her wanted to sob in fear and shame. Another part wanted to turn around and punch the son of a bitch in the face.
She did neither of those things. Instead, she rode stoically, not saying anything as she kept her face expressionless.
That wasn’t true of the other prisoners. Rebecca Jimmerson sobbed and wailed so much that Maggie was afraid their captors would get tired of listening to her and kill her just to shut her up. Jessie Colton spent her time cursing and railing against the bandits, telling them how sorry they’d be that they ever laid their filthy fingers on her, while Sandy Paxton tried without much success to keep her friend calm.
Alcazarrio and his men didn’t seem to care what the prisoners said or did. They were focused on one thing only, and Maggie knew what it was because she had been able to overhear the conversation between Alcazarrio and his chief lieutenant, a man named Cruz. She spoke border Spanish as fluently as any of them, so she had no trouble understanding what the bandits were saying.
Their plan was to take the prisoners to their stronghold in Mexico and hold Jessie and Sandy for ransom. Alcazarrio was going to demand a combined quarter of a million dollars from the girls’ fathers, or else Colton and Paxton would never see their daughters again.
Maggie wasn’t sure if the ranchers could raise that sort of money on short notice, but she had a feeling they probably could. Both the Double C and Pax were large, successful spreads. Alcazarrio might get the fortune he wanted to finance his revolution against El Presidente Diaz.
The question that loomed in Maggie’s mind was . . . how much were she and Rebecca worth?
And the answer was—not much.
Cornelius Standish might be willing to pa
y something to get his secretary back. Maggie knew from talking to Seymour that Standish was fairly well-to-do. But Maggie seriously doubted that Standish would fork over a hundred thousand dollars or more to save Rebecca. It wasn’t like she was his daughter or anything.
As for her . . . she was just a schoolteacher. She didn’t come from a wealthy family. They had been poor, in fact, and she had no wealthy relatives. There was Seymour—she knew he cared for her—but really, how much cash could he raise on short notice?
No, she decided with a grim sigh, she and Rebecca weren’t worth much to the bandits as far as collecting any ransom was concerned. She was sure that the men would find other ways to justify carrying them off.
She shuddered as she thought about what those ways were likely to be.
Before Alcazarrio’s band reached the Rio Grande, he sent a couple of his men racing off to the east. Maggie knew from what Alcazarrio said to Cruz that those men were supposed to tap into the telegraph line between Sweet Apple and Marfa and send a message to the settlement containing the ransom demands. The other bandits, including the ones who carried the prisoners on their horses, continued southward, splashing across the border river into Mexico. Flat, mostly empty wasteland stretched in front of them, although some rugged hills were visible in the distance.
Finally, after what seemed like a painful eternity, Alcazarrio called a halt so that everyone could rest. The prisoners were allowed to slide down from the horses. Maggie stumbled and almost fell when her feet hit the ground. She caught herself and looked around, wishing there were some shade. The midday sun beat down mercilessly.
Rebecca was having just as much trouble getting around. Jessie and Sandy, who were accustomed to riding, were in better shape. The two younger women hadn’t been engaged in a knock-down, drag-out fight just before the raiders attacked either, so they weren’t beaten up to start with. Sandy came over to Maggie and said, “Let’s go sit on those rocks over there, Miss O’Ryan. I’ll give you a hand.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. “I think you should call me Maggie, though.”
Sandy managed to smile as she took Maggie’s arm to help her. “All right.”
Jessie assisted Rebecca over to the rocks, which were small boulders just big enough to sit on. As the prisoners sank gratefully onto them, Jessie said quietly, “Don’t worry, those bastards are gonna get what’s comin’ to them.”
“How can you think that?” Rebecca asked, her voice cracking with strain. “We’re their prisoners. We’re in Mexico now. There’s no one to stop them from doing whatever they want with us.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Maggie said. “Seymour will stop them.”
She wasn’t sure where that statement came from. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were true. Seymour would come after the bandits and rescue her and the other prisoners.
Rebecca just stared at her for a second before saying, “Seymour? Seymour Standish? Are you insane? What can he do against . . . against monsters like those bandits?” She nodded toward Alcazarrio’s men, who were pouring water from canteens into their sombreros and letting the horses drink.
“He won’t be alone,” Jessie said. “Matt Bodine will come with him.”
“And Sam Two Wolves,” Sandy added.
“And they won’t be alone either,” Jessie went on. “You think Sandy’s pa, or mine, will let them get away with this?” She gave an unladylike snort. “I’ll bet there’s a posse already on the way after us.”
“How do you know any of them are still alive?” Rebecca asked. “They might have been killed in the attack.”
Stubbornly, Jessie shook her head. “I know it in my bones.”
Maggie understood that feeling. She was convinced that Seymour was still alive, too, even though she had seen him shot. She knew he had survived. She knew he would come after her. And she was convinced that Jessie and Sandy were right about Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves, too. They were too tough to let themselves get killed by a motley group of bandidos like Alcazarrio’s men.
All she and the other three prisoners had to do was stay alive until help arrived. Maggie was going to cling to that belief with every fiber of her being.
Because to do otherwise would be to admit that they were doomed to a terrible fate, in the hands of as ruthless and bloodthirsty a crew of bandidos as the border country had ever seen.
Chapter 19
Back in Sweet Apple, it wasn’t taking Shad Colton and Esau Paxton long to come to an agreement, despite the long history of contention between them.
“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna pay some son of a bitch for stealin’ my daughter!” Colton declared, and Paxton nodded.
“I’ll have to leave a few of my hands on the ranch to take care of things,” Paxton said, “but the rest of the men are coming with me to Mexico! It shouldn’t be too hard to track those beasts.”
Along with Matt, Sam, Seymour, Judge Clark, Mayor Mitchell, and J. Emerson Heathcote, the two ranchers had come back to the marshal’s office to discuss the situation. The rest of the Colton and Paxton families were over at the hotel, trying to get some rest. The doctor had given Carolyn Colton and Julia Paxton something to help them get through the ordeal of having their daughters kidnapped.
“Wait just a minute,” Clark said to the cattlemen. His wounded leg was extending stiffly in front of him as he sat on one of the chairs. “This fella Alcazarrio was smart enough to find out when both of you would be in town with your families, so that he could grab those girls. He’s probably smart enough to have left somebody behind to keep an eye on the town and report back to him. If you go charging out of here with a posse and no ransom, and Alcazarrio finds out about it, he’s liable to decide to cut his losses and get rid of his prisoners.”
Colton glared at him. “I haven’t forgotten it was your fault my men were unarmed when those bandits hit, Judge . . . but I reckon you might be right about that part of it. What do you figure we ought to do?”
“Take the ransom to Alcazarrio,” Matt said.
The other men all looked at him in surprise, except for Sam, who knew what his blood brother was getting at with that idea.
“We just said we weren’t going to pay him,” Paxton pointed out.
“But you can make him think that you’re going to,” Sam said, taking up Matt’s suggestion. “Alcazarrio demanded the ransom in gold, right?”
The rest of the men nodded.
“That’s a sizable hunk of coin,” Matt said. “Put a pair of chests big enough to hold that much money on a couple pack mules and head south with it for that Villa Rojo place. Take enough men with you to make it look like you’re guardin’ the ransom, but not your whole crews.”
Colton scowled. “We’ve got to take enough men so we’ll have a chance against that bunch.”
Sam shook his head and said, “Let the main body of the posse trail behind, out of sight. That way, when you rendezvous with Alcazarrio, they can swoop in at the right time and keep the bandits from getting away.”
Colton and Paxton looked at each other for a long moment before Paxton finally shrugged and said, “It might work.”
“I guess we can give it a try,” Colton agreed with a nod. “The posse’ll have to have a good scout with it. Someone who can keep an eye on the bunch that’s supposed to be carryin’ the ransom.”
“That’s a job for Sam,” Matt suggested. “I’ll ride with you two and the money.”
Sam looked over at him and said, “That means you’ll be riding right into the jaws of what’s more than likely a trap.”
Matt smiled. “Yeah, I know. I get the job that’s more fun. But I called it first, so that’s your tough luck, pard.”
Judge Clark spoke up again. “Being an officer of the federal court, I have to advise you men that the plan of action you’re discussing constitutes a highly illegal incursion into another sovereign nation. My official position is that you should wait here for the army and the Texas Rangers to arrive, then attempt t
o arrive at a peaceful solution by diplomatic means.”
“And what’s your unofficial position, Your Honor?” Matt asked.
Clark shook his head and sighed. “I wish I was in good enough shape to go with you. Shoot a few of the sons o’ bitches for me, boys.”
Matt chuckled and looked at the marshal. “What about you, Seymour?”
“I’ve already told you what I plan to do,” Seymour said. “I’m coming with you.”
“You should be in charge of the posse then,” Sam suggested, “since you’re the only real lawman here, even though you’ll be out of your jurisdiction.”
Seymour considered that for a moment and then nodded. “All right. How many men are going in the advance group?”
“No more than a dozen or so,” Matt said. “Me, Colton, Paxton, and five or six men from each of their ranches. That’s a big enough bunch to make it look like we’re really deliverin’ the ransom, without spookin’ Alcazarrio.”
“Sounds good to me,” Colton agreed.
“And me,” Paxton put in. “We’ll start putting the group together.”
Matt nodded and turned to Mitchell. “Mr. Mayor, have you got chests in your store that’s big enough to hold a quarter of a million dollars in gold coins?”
“I certainly do,” Mitchell said.
“We’ll load them with rocks to make them look heavy enough.”
“Let’s get a move on,” Colton snapped. “We’ve already wasted enough time jawin’.”
“You sure you know what you’re doin’, Standish?” McCracken asked as he snapped a match into life with his thumbnail and held the flame to the tip of the stogie clenched between his teeth.
“You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to,” Standish said. He looked down into the amber liquid in the glass he held, then abruptly threw the whiskey down his throat.
Damn Rebecca anyway, he thought. Why did she have to go and get herself carried off by Mexican bandits? It wasn’t that he cared for her particularly. She had her uses, of course, but there was nothing she could do that dozens, no, hundreds of other women couldn’t do just as well or better. But to preserve appearances, he had to act like he was worried about her, when really her captivity was just an unwanted complication.
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