by Tony Masero
Quinlan considered Ender for a moment; he turned to Land and nodded. The gunman poured and fetched a glass of wine from a side table and placed it in Quinlan’s hand.
“Do you know how many cattle I own, Mister Smith?” Quinlan asked.
“Forty thousand head, I’ve been told.”
“That’s right, give or take a few hundred. Why do you think my brother would want to steal a few miserable head from an Indian when he has access to all this?”
“That I can’t say, Mister Quinlan. I never knew the man or his inclinations. Might be he was of an overly possessive nature; perhaps he wanted to branch out on his own. Maybe he was just feeling particularly mean on that day and saw this lone Apache and thought to have some fun with him. I really couldn’t say. You knew him a whole lot better than me, I guess.”
“That’s right I did,” agreed Quinlan, leaning forward on his knees, his wine glass cupped before him. “Now Jed was a wild one, I’ll readily agree to that but I still find no excuse for an Indian to kill him dead and allow me to let the perpetrator go free of retribution.”
“Well, that’s the law, sir. Due process an’ all.”
“Down here, Mister Smith,” Quinlan said, his tone hardening. “I make the law.”
Ender slapped his hat against his thigh as he saw how it was going to be, “Well then, if that’s the way of it I guess there’s no more to be said.”
Quinlan eased himself back in his chair. “Please, Mister Smith,” he said in a warmer tone. “Don’t take offense. I’m sure there’s more that can be said; after all you were raised by the savages, were you not? You will have a far better understanding of their motivations. Perhaps you can enlighten me. Here, I am forgetting hospitality, will you share a glass of wine. Cyrus, fetch Mister Smith a glass, will you?”
“I’ll pass on the wine, thank you,” said Ender. “Common Dog swore to me he told it true, Mister Quinlan. An Apache’s word is as good as any legal bond, I came down here as I promised him I would, to present his case in hope that when you heard the truth of the matter you might feel inclined to forego some act of reprisal.”
Quinlan spread his hands wide. “Then you have fulfilled your mission, Mister Smith.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ then? You bare no grudge against the Indian.”
Quinlan gave a long sigh, “An Indian to me….” He was interrupted as the woman from the garden came up behind him and placed her arms around his neck.
“What’s this, Able?” she said, her pair of deep ultramarine eyes fixed on Ender.
She had long black hair that was now released from her hat and flowed down in a river along her back. Her face was angular and rested on a long elegant neck and as she leant forward Ender could see the fullness of her breasts outlined against the low neckline of her blouse. There was an air of sexuality about the woman that she seemed to wear as easily as her loose fitting garments. It was a subtle, dark-night promise of uncertain excitements that were only held in check by a thin veil of propriety and hung about her like a heady perfume.
A truly beautiful woman with a cool calmness to her perfect ivory skin which emitted a glow of suggestion with each movement of her nubile dancer’s body. She was no immature fancy but a full-grown woman in the prime of life with experience and sensuality written in every gesture she made.
“This is Mister Ender Smith,” Quinlan introduced. “My wife, Caroline,” he placed an affectionate palm on her cheek at his shoulder. “Mister Smith has come to plead the case of Jed’s murderer, my dear. He is quite eloquent on the matter, you should stay and listen.”
Quinlan presented it as if it were a source of diverting entertainment not to be given much credence.
“Ma’am,” said Ender in greeting.
Her electric blue eyes grazed Ender from head to toe, there was a slight smile playing on her full lips and Ender felt uncomfortable, as if she were stripping him down to his naked skin.
“So nice to meet you, Mister Smith,” she said in a husky voice. She turned her attention to her husband’s neck, nibbling at his ear and stroking the skin under her parted lips. “Shall we have Mister Smith to supper, Able?” she murmured.
“If you so wish, my dear. Mister Smith, will you join us this evening?”
“I think not, sir. Thank you for the kindness but I have to get back.”
“I want him to stay,” Caroline pouted and wheedled into Quinlan’s ear. “We never have visitors. It’s so boring, you always frighten people away.”
It was a strange transformation for Ender to witness, a beautiful and elegantly cool woman suddenly becoming a petulant and sulking child and he guessed that maybe wealth would do that to people who were used to getting their own way.
“My apologies, ma’am, but I have matters to attend to and I believe my business with your husband is done.”
“You think so?” said Quinlan, a little surprised and at the same time disappointed, as if he had expected further conversation on the subject.
“It appears that you give no value to the Indian’s testimony, sir. I should go back and let him know that as soon as possible.”
“Oh, I really think you should stay. Mrs. Quinlan would so appreciate your company.”
“Like I say,” Ender said with finality. “I have to go.”
He turned to take the trek back up the long hall. “Can’t let that happen, Mister Smith,” Quinlan called after him. “I’m afraid I’m a slave to my wife’s wishes.”
Ender heard the hammer-click and turned to look over his shoulder and he saw Land with a pistol leveled at him. “Best stay where you are, Smith,” said the gunman.
“Let’s get Mister Smith dressed for dinner, shall we?” Quinlan muttered unctuously and Caroline chuckled and clutched her arms more tightly around Quinlan’s neck.
“You’re so good to me, daddy,” she piped, kissing his cheek wetly.
Land came down from the dais and motioned to Ender with the pistol. “Move out, half-caste,” he said with a wave of the gun barrel.
With one last look at the couple, who were enfolded in each others arms and kissing passionately, Ender was prodded from the room.
“What’s with them two?” he asked Land. “They got some kind of problem?”
“You could say,” answered Land. “But it’s just become your problem now.”
Outside in the courtyard, he ushered Ender into a side room and three brawny vaquero cowhands followed them in.
“You’re going to strip now,” ordered Land.
“Strip!” barked Ender. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You won’t? Then I guess we’ll have to do it,” Land motioned at the three vaqueros and the men lunged forward and grabbed Ender. He struggled and managed to free one arm, lashing out with his fist and connecting with one of the Mexicans, who cursed and spat blood from a ruined lip.
They held Ender tight, trapping his arms by his side as the vaquero with the split lip tugged at his shirt and ripped it open down the front. There was the sound of tearing cloth and the shirt was wrenched away from his body.
“Leave him his pants,” ordered Land. “We wouldn’t want to see all he has to offer the world.”
“Maybe the senora would like it different?” said one of the vaqueros slyly.
“That’s as maybe,” said Land, leaning back against the wall and shucking a cheroot from his pocket. He tipped back the brim of the bowler hat and looked across at Ender and gave him a feral grin that bared his perfect row of teeth in a bar of white. “But this here is mostly an American. She can save her fun in that way for the Indians and Mexicans, this here is a white man even under the Indian paint when he wears it.”
Holding each arm in a strong grip the three men forced Ender out into the courtyard and off to one end where an upright cross-brace of solid looking timbers had been set up in the form of a tall ‘x’. A crowd of gunmen was gathered around and they laughed and jeered as Ender was spread out and tied by ropes to each end of the timbers. The de
vice looked as if it had been well used, there were gouges and chips in the surface and what looked suspiciously like ingrained bloodstains.
“What is this?” snarled Ender. “They thinking on killing me?”
“Could be, I just don’t know. It’s whatever takes their fancy,” supplied Land, puffing on his cheroot.
“And you’re a party to this? What kind of punk are you?”
“A well paid one,” said Land, checking the lashings. He bit down on his cheroot when he was sure all was secured and patted Ender on his naked chest. “You just wait there, bub, it won’t be long.”
A long table was set up at the other end of the courtyard beyond the central cottonwood. It was laid with a fine white cloth and silverware. Candelabra and flagons of ruby wine in long necked decanters were brought out as the crowd of gunmen backed away and murmured excitedly at the sidelines.
Ender hung there, flexing his arms and trying to work his wrists free of the tight ropes but he was held fast and no amount of bucking could free them. He wondered what kind of pit of snakes he had walked into and swore to himself that if he ever managed to get away, Quinlan and his perverse wife would suffer for the insult.
The sun fell through the sky and evening approached. By that time the crowd had settled down and they were busy sitting and lying around patiently waiting. Bottles of liquor and trays of tortillas made the rounds and Ender began to feel that he was the center of some medicine show or old-time Roman circus with a Christian about to be thrown to the lions.
Finally there was a rustle of expectation amongst the onlookers as Quinlan and his wife made their entrance. They were dressed in their finest with Quinlan richly clothed as a haciendado in a full charro outfit and ruffled shirt. His wife followed the pattern in a low-necked ankle-length Spanish style dress, her black hair piled high with a red rose set at her ear. The dress displayed Caroline’s ample proportions well, a slender waist and large breasts that pressed against the confines of the bodice with the fair skin of her long neck rising from the bared shoulders.
They came out as lord and lady, Quinlan taking Caroline’s ring covered fingers and offering her in a swirling circle to the onlooking crowd, who dutifully clapped their appreciation. When they were seated at the long table, a crowd of native servants all clothed in white hurried to bring silver salvers of hot food and bowls of fruit and sweetmeats to the table.
Ender could see they were all Indian servants. Apache’s of different tribes. He recognized Lipan, Mescalero, Chiricahua and Jicarilla amongst them and he guessed they had been taken in raids and forced to serve at the landowner’s table as a final humiliation.
“You like this?” a voice whispered at his side and Ender turned to see the officious gate guard standing there. “Not so pretty now, are you, senor?”
“Get away from me, you little cockroach,” snarled Ender.
“You will not be so bold when the senora has finished with you,” the Mexican grinned salaciously.
“Pedro!” Quinlan called from the table. “Stand away from Mister Smith, you are spoiling the senora’s view.”
The gate guard removed his sombrero and bowed towards Quinlan. “Forgive me, jefe. It was a moment of reflection shared with the prisoner. He is a most proud man.”
Quinlan fluttered his fingers in dismissal and Pedro backed away, his scabbarded saber clattering as he went. “I am still watching you, cabrone,” he whispered to Ender.
When the couple at the table had finished their meal, a cigar was brought for Quinlan and lighted. Two guitarists came out onto the veranda of the main house and began to serenade the pair who turned dutiful attention towards the players. They clapped fitfully as the guitars ended their recital and laying aside their napkins both climbed to their feet and came around the table and walked towards Ender.
A ripple of excitement ran through the watching crowd as the two crossed the courtyard in a leisurely and stately fashion more reminiscent of some kind of royalty.
Caroline cocked her head to one side and studied Ender for a moment, and then she walked up close and breathed in his ear. Her fingernails traced a scratching line down his chest and across his ribs.
“Underneath that taint of Indian you are a fine specimen, aren’t you?” she whispered hotly into his ear.
Ender could smell the chili peppers on her breath from the meal and he felt the touch of her extravagant earrings as they swayed against his cheek.
Quinlan was taking off his tight jacket and passing it to one of the servants who stood alongside.
“Excuse me, my dear,” he eased his wife aside. “Now, you must understand, Mister Smith,” he bit down on his cigar and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, speaking quietly so that only the two of them could hear. “I must demonstrate a certain level of control if I am to enjoy the loyalty of the scum you see around us here. I hope you will understand?”
He turned and took a braided leather whip from the servant. “Any man who pleads the case of my brother’s murderer cannot be seen to get away with it. It is an affront to my position. I have forged this place from nothing and it was not done by kind words and charity. It was done by hard effort and cold efficiency. This is not personal, sir. It is a matter of dignity.”
With that he moved away and lashed backhanded with the whip. The slim leather snaked out, snapped and raised an instant weal of purple across Ender’s chest. He gasped in sudden shock at the thin lightning rod of pain. A loud cry of applause echoed around the courtyard from the army of watching gun hands.
Caroline quivered at the edges of Ender’s vision, she gave an echoing gasp to his but hers was of twisted pleasure. The ring-clad fingers flew to her mouth and she bit down hard on one knuckle.
“My lady wife,” Quinlan said quietly. “Enjoys this kind of thing. It excites her. For me personally…” he lashed out another stinging blow. “Well, I am indifferent but afterwards, oh, Mister Smith, afterwards she is the very essence of mountain cat in the bedroom.”
The whip snapped again and this time an uncontrollable cry burst from Ender’s lips.
Caroline moved quickly forward, her trembling fingers reaching out and touching the sore weal marks running across Ender’s chest. He could hear her breathing fast and saw that her eyes were wide open, almost glaring as the pupils dilated and the whites showed.
“Yes,” she panted, moving back out of the way. “Do it again, Able.”
“As you wish,” said Quinlan, delivering another blow.
Shortly after, Ender lost consciousness.
When he came around, Caroline was pressing up against him. His tender flesh could feel her erect nipples hard against his chest. She was licking his face, tasting the sweat on his cheeks.
Her voice growled throatily with incoherent words and he could feel her hand groping between his spread legs. She seemed to Ender to be in an ecstasy of perverse arousal. Then she stepped suddenly back and slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Don’t you look at me,” she sneered, her beautiful face twisted into spiteful anger. Her hair had fallen in disarray and the rose hung at an abject angle over her ear. She hit Ender again, this time harder.
“You want me don’t you?” she asked in a peevish voice. “You all do.”
Ender could see Quinlan over her shoulder, he had a sly, half-grin on his face and watched his wife’s play with abstracted amusement.
“Well, you-can’t-have-me!” each word was punctuated by another blow. The rings on her fingers were cutting into Ender’s face and he could feel the blood beginning to flow down his chin. “Nobody can unless I say so!” she cried, her voice taking on a maniacal edge to it.
She lunged forward, enfolding him in her arms, wrapping herself around his wounded ribcage and rubbing herself against him. Then stepping back she began to laugh wildly, she turned to the watching army of gunmen and tugged down the top of her dress exposing her ample breasts that were stained with Ender’s blood and she proffered them to the mob. The men cheered uproariously, urging he
r on.
Sweat was beading Caroline’s forehead as she turned back to Ender, her crazed eyes were glazed with a mist of unseeing.
“Able,” she purred. “Take me inside. I need you now.”
Quinlan offered a smug smile to Ender, then a little shrug as if to say – I told you so.
The smile dropped suddenly from his face and Quinlan stepped forward and struck a heavy blow to the side of Ender’s head and he knew no more.
He awoke to hear the sound of the Apache tongue in his ear.
“Are you with us, brother?”
The courtyard was empty and silent, darkness had settled and a moonless night enfolded the adobe ranch house.
“Who are you?” Ender managed through cracked lips.
“We are of the Chiricahua,” came the answer and Ender lifted his bruised head to see two of the table servants standing before him.
“Is it over?” he asked.
“They are done with you for the time being but they will begin again tomorrow. It will be all week if you last that long.”
Ender looked down at his ravaged chest, ripped with bloody wounds. His arm sockets ached with struggling and his face felt bruised and sore.
“Can you cut me free, my friends?”
“That is why we are here,” came the answer.
“How are you called?”
“I am Alchesay,” said the larger of the two men. “This is my cousin, Juba.”
A knife flashed in the darkness and Elder felt his left arm drop free, the pain ran in rivers through his body as the circulation slowly returned and there was the additional ache of his skin folding over the wounds on his chest.
“Listen,” whispered Juba. “We have deer fat here, it will hurt but we must rub it on the cuts once you are down. Can you stand?”
Ender’s limbs felt as if they were cut from solid timber and his head was leaden and thick. “I do not know,” he gasped as his other arm was cut free and another spasm of pain flowed through him.
They rested him back against the timbers and began to smear the fat across his torso, Ender almost screamed in pain but Alchesay quickly held his hand across his mouth and stilled the sound.