by Lou Cameron
Captain Gringo saw that the others looked worried and said, “You people are highlanders, so your lungs are in better shape to handle thin air. You’ll make it.”
The man on lookout slid down the bank to sigh, “Horsemen on the horizon, Captain Gringo. They look like they are following the tracks.”
The American got up and crawled to the rim of the wash, peering over it from between two salt bushes. He could see the distant riders on the skyline well enough to mutter, “Federales. Looks like they’re beating the trackside bush for tracks! Damn! They must have been counting up bodies and wondering why none of them had Anglo features and this mop of crazy-colored hair!”
He slid back down and said, “Pepe. Your people are desert fighters. What would a Chihuahua chief be doing right now?”
Pepe shrugged and said, “I don’t know. The Franciscans converted my grandfather. I thought you said you’d fought Apaches.”
“All right. I’ll be Geronimo and that’s a U.S. Cavalry patrol out there. They might spot our footprints and they might not. We’ll have to assume they will.”
“If we leave this wash to run for it they will spot us against the skyline. Even a mission Indian knows this much.”
“Right. But this wash runs down from the mountains. Let’s see how far we can follow it without sticking our heads up to get shot.”
Pepe said, “Those soldiers are riding the same way. If we move toward the east we will be strolling side by side with them. Does this make any sense?”
“I think it does. We left the track moving due south and then hooked west. If they don’t spot our trail they’ll probably stay with the track and we’ll just ghost along on their flank until they’ve outdistanced us. If they cut our trail and follow it, they’ll head back the other way, and by the time they hit this wash we’ll be a mile or more closer to the hills. That’s our best move, troops. Let’s move it out.”
As the little band got to its feet with the bundles he added, “I think we’d better abandon everything we don’t absolutely need.”
Gordo said, “We are not carrying Queen Victoria’s crown jewels, Captain Gringo. All my mujer has in her pack is our food and blankets, and it will be cold and hungry in the sierra.”
“I stand corrected. Let’s go.”
Robles fell in beside him as they started legging it up the wash. The peon said, “Those horses cover ground faster than any man can hope to. What happens if they cut our trail before we reach the foothills?”
“We’ll have seven guns against thirty or so. So let’s hope they don’t.”
The sun was high and it was hotter than the hinges of hell by the time they reached the first rise. Captain Gringo led his people around the foothill butte and told them to rest a moment. Then as they flopped down exhausted on the hot sand, he crawled up the butte for a look-see, sprawled flat on the rimrock. He was still cursing when Robles joined him, asking what was up.
Captain Gringo pointed out to the salt flats with his chin and said, “They cut our trail, all right. I can see their dust above the wash we just crawled out of. They’re moving this way at a steady lope.”
“But we are almost into stony ground and well ahead of them. We should be able to move from here without Leaving footprints, no?”
“Sure, but where the hell are we supposed to be going? That cavalryman down there knows his stuff. He mows we’re on foot and how many of us there are. He isn’t going to waste time tracking us a footprint at a time. le sees we’ve headed for these hills. He knows we have to ;et over them. I’ve been in his place a few times, chasing Apaches.”
“Ah, then you must know what he’ll do next.”
“Yeah. He’ll take the high ground. He’ll ride his men for those ridges behind us before he even starts to look for us with his field glasses. There’s not a goddamned draw or lower ridge he won’t be staring down at.”
“You mean, no matter where we try to hide, he’ll see us?”
“You’re learning, Robles.”
The boy thought, then suggested, “If we were to simply run for it?”
“On foot, a four-or five-kilometer run uphill against horses?”
“Perhaps if we lay down somewhere, covered with brush until dark?”
“The Apache used to try that. It sometimes worked against a green troop. I used to scan the country under me for breaks in the normal pattern of vegetation. This sun will wilt any brush within minutes of our uprooting it, and whoever’s leading that bunch knows his business. You see how he’s got them formed to advance? Beautiful. Riders out to each flank with his point rider forward just beyond rifle range. That boy’s been ambushed at least once and survived to study the game. We have a real professional to deal with.”
“But you are a professional, no?”
“Yeah. And if I was leading that patrol your best bet would be to come along peaceable, like a good little Indian.”
“You can’t be suggesting surrender!”
“Hell, no. They play too rough down here.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“Good question. Let’s see. What’s the last thing I’d expect a half-dozen guys to pull if I were chasing ’em with thirty riders?”
He nodded to himself and said, “Robles. I want everyone up here on this rimrock. We’re going to make a stand.”
“Up here, on this bare butte? What’s to stop him from surrounding us?”
“Not a goddamned thing. But he’s going to catch up with us before sunset in any case. The nearest higher ground is out of rifle range and he’ll see it’s suicidal to send his men up these bare slopes at us, so he probably won’t. They can’t pick us off from below, even though we can’t dig in. What are you waiting for? Get everybody up here, damn it.”
It didn’t take Robles long, but by the time the six men and their frightened women were up on the flat-topped rise the federales had reached the foothills. They rode past and on up toward the higher ridges to the east for almost fifteen minutes before Captain Gringo saw them rein in, above his level. He sighed as he spotted one of the distant riders pointing right at him. Then he said, “They’ve spotted us. Must be wondering what in hell we think we’re doing. Yeah. Here they come. Fanning out and walking their ponies down slow. Probably grinning like shit-eating dogs.”
He saw the men had taken positions along the circular rim of the little butte, with the women clustered in the center of the flat, red-sandstone slab. So he resisted the impulse to shout meaningless commands. They knew what they had to do, and how hopeless it was.
With luck, the intelligent cavalry commander would imply circle them and sit tight, out of range. In time, it would be dark again. Nobody was going to be able to make any bright moves until nightfall. Maybe, by then, he’d think of something. At the moment he was stuck for ideas. But when in doubt, stay alive as long as possible.
The high, hot sun hadn’t moved enough to matter by the time the federales had casually surrounded them on all sides, dismounted, and started rolling smokes. He saw one man removing the saddle from his pony to rub it down with a scrap of blanket. Another was leading some ponies off to a patch of grass. The sun winked a flash of officer’s brass among a trio of men who’d dismounted to discuss the situation. They seemed annoyingly confident. He knew how they felt, and why.
It took twenty minutes, and the federales below had built a fire to brew coffee before a dapper figure strolled to the apron of the butte with a white rag tied to the tip of his cavalry saber. He paused just far enough away to present a difficult target and Captain Gringo said, “Hold your fire, guys. I’ll see what he has to say.”
He called down, “What’s up? You guys want to surrender?”
The officer laughed and called back, “Hardly. It is most hot and dry out here today, no? I am Major Martinez. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“They call me Captain Gringo. My compliments to your ability, major. You’re pretty good.”
“I know. You are, too. We know who was com
manding that stolen train. Were you a weapons officer in the States?”
“The 10th U.S. Cavalry. They called us the Buffalo Soldiers.”
“Ah, that explains much that has puzzled me of late. Do you have any wounded up there? I have first-aid kits if they can be of any service.”
“We’re all right. How do you feel about sending up some coffee?”
Martinez laughed and shouted, “Let’s not carry this to the point of burlesque, Captain Gringo! You know, of course, your position is hopeless.”
It was a statement rather than a question. So the American didn’t answer. Martinez called, “I know you may have heard bad things about us, but we are not all savages. If you surrender before anyone else gets hurt I promise you all a public trial.”
“You mean before you shoot us?”
“It was your decision to make war on our country, Captain Gringo. As an American, you will of course be entitled to demand an attorney from your own consulate, if you take my meaning.”
“I take it. We call it divide and conquer. To save a lot of sparring around, I’m wanted for murder by the U.S. Government.”
“I see. You seem to make a habit of killing people. Very well, how am I to get you down from that silly rock?”
“That’s your problem, Major. Let me know when you come up with it.”
“I suppose you’ll last a day or two before you run out of water. You’re being very foolish about this situation. What would you say to my sending for some field guns?”
“I’d talk you out of it, if I knew how.”
“But you won’t surrender?”
“Not hardly.”
The officer shrugged and walked back to his men. Pepe the Indian crawled over to Captain Gringo and asked, “Why didn’t you shoot the bastard? He wasn’t that far and you are a very good shot.”
The American said, “Two reasons. I might have missed, and we’re better off with a cool professional besieging us. That major’s not a man to waste-ammo sniping at us, and even wild shooting might hit somebody once in a while. It’s more comfortable just sweating one another out.”
“But how long can we hold out? You heard what he said about the water and those field guns.”
“We’ve got enough water to last us a while and I don’t see any field guns. Don’t see him sending for them, either.”
“Then it’s a bluff? They have no cannon to blast us off up here?”
“He wants full credit for our capture. He won’t send for help unless he really needs it, and right now he doesn’t need it. He’s got us pinned down neatly. Look at the bastards! They’re having lunch!”
“Listen. I have been thinking. Once it’s dark, if we make a break for it, every man for himself—”
“Won’t work. They’re bound to build a line of picket fires all around us down there. The bastard knows his job.”
“Then what are we waiting for? If we are dead, we are dead. Why not simply go down fighting and try to take as many of them with us as we can?”
“It’s a bit early for that, Pepe. I thought your people were supposed to be good at sitting tight.”
“We Chihuahua are a warrior race. This frying up here in the sun waiting for death is driving me crazy.”
“Better take a sip from your canteen and roll a smoke, then. I’ll tell you something about the warrior business, Pepe. Someone once said war was one long bore, punctuated by moments of sheer panic. Someone was right. This stalemate won’t last as long as I’d like it to.”
The Indian started to crawl away, muttering dark curses under his breath. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, rifle in hand, and hopped over to the edge, shouting down, “Hear me! I am not afraid of you cabrones! I piss on your collective mothers’ graves!”
The federales stared up at him more bemused than alarmed. Captain Gringo snapped, “Pepe! Get down, you idiot!”
But the Indian war-danced back and forth, waving his gun as he hurled down insults in Spanish and his own dialect. None of the federales seemed at all interested, so Pepe suddenly started bounding down the slope at them, shooting from the hip!
A dozen guns blazed back as Captain Gringo said, “Oh Christ!”
And then Pepe was rolling, limply, over and over down the steep slope in a cloud of dust as Major Martinez shouted, “Enough! You got him. Hold your fire!”
The rattle of small arms faded away and Pepe lay there, like a twisted, thrown-away toy with his rifle a dozen feet from his dead hands. Major Martinez strolled over to the body, stared down shaking his head, then waved up at Captain Gringo to call out, “We’ll bury him for you if you hold your fire. What do you suppose was wrong with him?”
“He was young,” called Captain Gringo, adding, “We won’t fire. That move’s up to you.”
The major went back to sit down by the cooking fire as two soldiers hauled the body toward a draw and another got an entrenching tool from his saddlebags. Robles joined Captain Gringo on the rim to say, “I see another rider coming in off the salt flats. He rides alone.”
The American turned his head to stare at the horseman coming up the slope and nodded, saying, “Probably a dispatch rider. No way they can reach these other guys by telegraph.”
They went back to watching the shallow burial of poor mad Pepe for a time as, down below, the major sat sipping coffee and reading something the rider had delivered. Captain Gringo watched with puzzled interest as the officer balled the dispatch up and threw it in the fire before getting to his feet and pacing up and down as if agitated as hell about the message. He saw others talking to him now, and whatever that message had been, they were obviously pissed off about it. He told Robles, “They may be ordering him somewhere else and he knows he has to sit us out. You see what I mean about just staying alive until something turns up?”
“Is it possible they’ll just ride off and leave us alone?”
“Anything’s possible. That’s too much to hope for. If he can’t wait us out he may decide to rush us. So get back to your position and watch your ass!”
The federales were buzzing like bees down there, all right. But he noticed that while men ran back and forth among groups, the soldiers weren’t too agitated to keep a circle around this butte. It sure as hell looked like something was about to happen. O.K. Six guns firing down into thirty charging men. That meant they each had to drop five attackers. He figured he could do it, but he held an expert’s rating. If the others were average shots … Not so good, but barely possible.
But the soldiers didn’t charge. Instead, the major walked toward him with the truce flag and called out, “May I come up to have a serious discussion with you, Captain Gringo?”
“Sure. Forgive the house, but I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s the maid’s day off.”
The officer trudged up the steep slope and as he reached the rimrock Captain Gringo held out a free hand to help him the last few feet. The major sat beside him, boots hanging off the rim, and said, “Thank you. We live in a very strange time and I am trying to be philosophical, but enough is enough.”
Up close, Major Martinez was a darkly handsome man of about forty with a gold tooth and a scar on one cheek. The American said, “I saw you just received orders. You pulling out?”
“Listen to me. You know I have been chasing you all over this damned country and making a fine job of it, right?”
“No argument about that, Major. Were you on that train we wrecked?”
“You’re damned right I was, as were my men. You shot the shit out of us and what you see is all that’s left of my battalion. Any other officer would have packed it in and waited for help, but I commandeered fresh mounts and followed you. When the Rurales blocked the train and said they had you all I could have called it a day. But did I? No, by the beard of Jesus I searched for survivors and I kept at it until I cut your trail!”
“No argument. You’re one hell of a soldier. What’s this all about?”
“Those fucking desk officers in the city have relieved me of m
y command! I have been ordered to return to headquarters at once to face a court-martial!”
“You’re not serious. That’s crazy.”
“What do you think we have running this country if it’s not a maniac? That son-of-a-bitch! That baby-butchering, skirt-chasing, stupid Indian! How in God’s name can they do a thing like this to me?”
“I used to be an officer. These things happen. Some desk soldiers once railroaded U.S. Grant out of the peace-time Army. God knows why. Poor old bastard was working in a tannery when the Civil War started and they got around to wanting soldiers again.”
Ignoring him, Martinez said, “I’m not going to let them do this to me. My men agree. It is most unjust. Will you help us?”
Captain Gringo laughed incredulously and asked, Me? How can I? You want me to appear as a character witness at your court-martial? No, thanks.”
“There will be no court-martial. I am through being the general’s whipping boy. Listen, it is said you once rode with another soldier of fortune, Gaston Verrier. Is this true?”
“I know Gaston. He’s not up here. This is a pretty weird conversation we seem to be having, Major.”
“You must help me find Gaston. He has contacts all over Latin America, and if we all put our heads together—”
“Back up. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. First you surround us. Now you’re up here asking about some crazy little Frenchman. What’s going on around here?”
“Oh, you mean a few minutes ago, when we were on opposite sides?”
“We’re not on opposite sides?”
“How could we be? Those motherfuckers in the capital want to shoot us both! Did you think anyone ever lived through a general court-martial down here, Captain Gringo?”
The American frowned and decided, “It’s a trick, right?”
“I wish it was. But I am no longer an officer of the Diaz regime. Since my men elect to follow me, they are no longer soldiers of it, either. We have horses and guns, and know how to use them. But we must be paid and supplied, of course. That is why we must find Gaston and see where the action is this season.”