by Lou Cameron
Gaston’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he traced an imaginary line from the stray rodent out in the open to the acre or so of twelve foot reeds it had come from. At about the same time the capybara became aware of the two men on the hammock and veered away, grunting like a suckling pig. Gaston shrugged and replied, “Perhaps it hoped for more shade here among our trees.” But Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “It’s an aquatic animal, Gaston. Capybara cool off in the river, not under a tree. Besides, there’d be plenty of shade among those reeds to anyone that short. Something spooked it out in the open.”
The capybara had picked up their voices and was trotting toward another hammock a quarter mile away on its oddly deer-like legs. Gaston said, “Those reeds are not moving. Maybe a cayman wanted capybara for supper, too? How do you feel about roast cayman tail, Dick? Remember the time we had some in that Indian camp? It tasted quite acceptable, considering the source and crude preparation.”
Captain Gringo shook his head with a weary smile. “Let’s worry about supper when it’s supper time. I want to get away from this damned river country before we build any fires.” Then, before Gaston could reply, the tall American added, “Oh, oh, look at that spooked river rat.”
Gaston did so, and said, “Oui, it does not seem to find that hammock over there to its liking, either. It’s cutting back to the river bank. Perhaps it’s just trotting about for exercise?”
“In this heat? It liked this hammock fine until it spotted us here. It was making a beeline for that other one until it spotted something it didn’t like over there, either!”
Gaston stared at the other tree clump, a rifle shot away, as he frowned and said, “I do not think so, Dick. Have you forgotten we were out in the open nearby, with our backs to those trees?”
“No, and it gave me one hell of a turn when I thought of it, too! There’s something or somebody over there, Gaston!”
“Ridicule! Assuming some other people were already enjoying La Siesta when we arrived a short time ago, they most certainly must have seen us as we stood over there by the river bank, hein?”
“Yeah, makes you wonder, right?”
“Mais non! If they were bandits they would have ambushed us. If they are innocent travelers, they would have called out to us, non?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Why take chances? If anyone’s over there, they don’t know us, and this country gets sort of wild around the edges. You’re right that out-and-out bastards would have opened up on us by now. Anyone else that may be over there is in our shoes. They don’t know who we are and they see no reason to find out who we are, see?”
Gaston shrugged and asked, “What is your plan, then? Do we approach them waving our kerchiefs, or what?”
The tall American said, “I don’t see any reason why we should. If people leave me alone, I leave them alone. They can’t get at us without breaking cover. Why stick our own necks out?”
“But, Dick, they may have food, or even better, a boat to cross that damned flood channel!”
“We don’t need to bum food. We’ve got guns and you just saw how good the hunting is with the flood waters high. If they had a boat, they’d be going somewhere in it, for Pete’s sake! Would you drag a boat that far from the river to sit under a tree?”
Gaston pursed his lips and said, “You are right. Assuming someone’s there in the first place. But how long does this Mexican standoff go on? If they are there, they do not have to guess about this hammock. They know we’re here. Ergo they will not break cover until we do, hein?”
Captain Gringo glanced up at the sun and growled, “I wish you hadn’t brought that up. There’s no point in trying to move on right now in any case, but once it starts to cool we have to think about crossing that damned flood channel.”
Gaston reached over his own head to grasp a red barked tree limb as he explored the possibility of breaking it off. Captain Gringo asked, “What do you think you’re doing now? They’ll see the branches moving over here, Dammit!”
Gaston said, “Merde alors, we’ve agreed they know we’re here in any case. While we wait each other out, it may be a good idea to consider how one is to build your triple-titted raft without machetes, hein?”
“We can’t use these trees, Gaston. They’re gumbo-limbo and ironwood. Even if we could cut enough to matter with our damned pen knives, I doubt if anything we knocked together would float with us aboard it.”
Gaston sighed. “That’s what I meant. Don’t ask me to swim that channel, either. Cayman and piranha both make me trés nervouse.”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he took out another cigar and gripped it, unlit, between his teeth. Gaston saw his bigger and younger friend was watching the other trees and said, “Dick? You do have some plans regarding that river, non?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Let’s take it a step at a time. First we find out if anyone around here is likely to shoot at us while we’re trying to cross the water. Then we figure out how to cross it.”
“Eh, bien, perhaps they will come out for a chat as soon as things cool off a bit, hein? After all, they, too, must wish to resume their journey as the sun sinks to a more civilized angle.”
Again Captain Gringo didn’t answer. He knew that it was altogether possible there was nobody over there at all and that he was spooked over nothing more than an oddly behaving wild animal. But if he had no intention of breaking cover until he could be sure, how could he expect anyone who knew for sure to do as much? He sighed and said, “We have to wait until dark. I’ll look dumb as hell if there’s nobody over there, but I’d rather look dumb than dead.”
Later that same afternoon a red-faced man in a soggy, white linen suit took advantage of the late siesta hours to slip in the back door of the American Consulate in Curiapo, another delta port sixty miles” south-east of the provincial capital of Tucupita.
Without knocking, the American agent entered an office and sank wearily into a rattan chair across the map table from the two military attaches sticking pins in the charts spread between them. Neither the naval or army attaché were in uniform, of course. The Venezuelan government in the capital was aware that their American allies were bending a few diplomatic rules, of course. Her Britannic Majesty was bending a few others with a battle cruiser anchored in what Venezuela insisted was Venezuelan waters. So the civilian clothes were to fool the Brits, not the ruling military junta headed by General Juaquin Crespo of Venezuela.
The agent who’d just slipped in took out a cotton bandana, wiped his face, and marveled, “It must be a hundred in the shade out there. I just talked to my informant from the anti-Crespo faction. We got troubles, boys.”
The less-wilted navy man at the table smiled wistfully. “I never would have guessed that, Rogers. Look where the fucking Lime Juicers have this battle cruiser, now. I get the distinct impression they’re daring somebody to do something about it.”
The Army attaché growled, “They must think we’re bluffing. What are you navy guys going to do about that British gunboat, Commander?”
The navy man grimaced and replied, “It’s not a gunboat, it’s a no-kidding battle cruiser with eight-inch guns. It’s backed by some bigger, full-sized battleships with sixteen-inchers, just a few feet inside legal British boundaries to the south-east. They don’t think we’re bluffing, Gents. They know we’re bluffing. We don’t have anything in this neck of the woods that’s about to take on such a boat.”
The army man said, “Damn it, that trespassing cruiser’s between wooded banks all around. If we moved some field artillery in—”
“Why not ask the tooth fairy for coat artillery while we’re at it, Colonel?” The navy man cut in, adding, “Assuming the Brits allowed us to land troops to the north, which is assuming one hell of a lot, there’s just no way in hell that troops can move across the Orinoco Delta enough to matter. Look at the damned map. It’s a maze of island, channel, and swamp. There’s not a single road leading anywhere through the delta m
ore than a country mile or so. If we have it out with them, here, it’ll be an amphibious war, and, Gents, Queen Vickie has us on the water!”
“Guerrillas,” cut in the florid field agent, flatly.
The two attaches looked blankly at him and he nodded. “That’s what I came to tell you, damn it. There’s a joker in the deck we just found out about. Somebody just imported a brace of outside mercenaries that neither Washington nor Caracas told us about. Guy called Captain Gringo’s leading the outfit. He’s supposed to be good.”
The navy man looked blank. The army attaché gasped, “Jesus, I know who he is. His real name’s Richard Walker. He’s wanted by the army on everything but child molesting and we’re not too sure about that! He was posted as a first lieutenant on the Mexican border when he suddenly went crazy a while back. He sided with some Mexican rebels, against orders, and after his court martial he killed a guard officer busting out. He’s supposed to be a small arms and machine-gun expert. Frankly, I think our little brown brothers overestimate him, but I guess they need outside help with anything more complicated than a muzzle loader, eh?”
The field agent said, “I hear it another way, Commander. This Walker guy’s not your usual bush-league soldier of fortune. He’s worked for the Brits and the Germans down here, as well as the unwashed locals. That’s the part that’s driving me nuts, trying to figure out.”
The navy man shrugged and asked, “Isn’t it obvious? If this renegade Yank works for the Brits, they must have hired him to add some woe to the troubles we already have right now, eh?”
Rogers shook his head and said, “Too easy. That’s what I thought, too, when I heard he was in Venezuela, told you I just picked up some stuff in the street. Walker and his sidekick, Verrier, just blew the shit out of some guys we had down as hired-guns for British Intelligence. Happened this morning, up in Tucupita. An all-around bad guy called The Hungarian was all set to ambush this Captain Gringo when the renegade somehow turned the tables on him and his gang. Chopped the shit out of them with machine-gun fire and, get this, The Hungarian had a machine gun, too!”
The officers working the map table stared blankly at one another. The army man said, “Okay, so Walker’s not overestimated. But, what the hell can it mean? He can’t be working for British Intelligence if he’s swapping shots with them. But he sure as hell isn’t working for us?”
The navy man asked, “Could he just be crazy, like you army guys say?”
Rogers, the field agent, shook his head. “I wouldn’t know about his mental stability, but, up to now, he and Verrier have always worked for money. Walker’s supposed to be a little quixotic and they say he’ll shoot a bandit just because he’s bothering somebody. But his French business partner’s a dedicated cynic who only hires out for cold cash, to the highest bidder.”
The navy man nodded and added, “Ergo, somebody here in Venezuela has offered these wildmen cold cash. But that takes us right back to who, doesn’t it?”
Rogers said, “Yeah, some son-of-a-bitch is holding out on us. General Crespo and the ruling junta may be hedging their bets, since they don’t know President Cleveland like we do. Try it this way: suppose Crespo’s afraid we’ll back down and leave him holding the Monroe Doctrine? That’d mean the Brits moving in, and the Venezuelans resisting as guerrillas in this green hell. If you’re going into the guerrilla business, you need,guys who know how it’s done, right?”
There was a moment of silence. Then the army man said, “That has to be it. The fuckin’ greasers don’t trust us, after all we’ve tried to do for them!”
Rogers nodded. “That’s the way I see it. I’ve never been too keen on this adventure anyway. I’ll be damned if I see why one poor Yank should die down here for people who don’t even like us. If it was up to me, the Venzies and Brits could fight it out between them for this soggy real estate. Who cares who owns the Orinoco Delta anyway?”
The navy commander suddenly looked older as he sighed and said, “Our President and Commander-in-Chief cares. I suppose it’s what we get for electing a Fundamentalist; but whatever he is, Grover Cleveland is not bluffing. I wasn’t supposed to mention this quite so soon, Gents, but both the Atlantic and Pacific fleets have been put on full alert and all leaves are cancelled until further notice for the United States Marines.”
The army man frowned and demanded, “How come war wasn’t informed of this, Commander? Are you goddam mop-jocks trying to hog this war?”
The navy man shook his head sadly and said, “I just told you Washington means to back Venezuela to the bitter end, and I assure you the navy won’t try to fight the British Empire alone!”
“Yeah? So how come the army’s not getting more of the action down here in the delta, Commander?”
“Two reasons. I just explained the opening campaigns will have to be amphibious. The second reason should be obvious: who’s going to be defending three thousand miles of our border with British Canada, once the shooting starts down here?”
~*~
Out on the flooded llano, Gaston suddenly nudged Captain Gringo and said, “You were right, Dick. Did you just see that flash from over on that other hammock?”
The American nodded and answered, “Yeah. Looked like the sun glancing off gold. Must be a dame over there, or a guy with fancy taste. They know we’re here, and they’re trying to lie doggo, but somebody always moves, and when they’re wearing gold bangles it can show.”
Gaston looked up at the sun before he said, “I grow trés fatigue with this game of hide and seek, Dick. They must know there are only two of us, and would have seen we have no rifles. They have to be a small party of trés nervous travelers. Let me signal to them, hein?”
The American shook his head. “Don’t. Nervous people shoot a lot. We’ll wait until the sun goes down and nobody gets hurt. We’re almost due west of them. The sun will blind them from the horizon as we simply stroll out the back way. The moon won’t rise for an hour or so and they’ll likely run like hell through the darkness, too.”
Gaston nodded, but said, “How droll, the lady wearing the gold whatever may be attractive, and now we shall never meet. You have no romance in your glacial Saxon soul, Dick, but, all in all, discretion may be our best bet.”
Captain Gringo was about to say one thing, when he suddenly narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Oh, shit, look over there to the south-east!”
Gaston followed his younger friend’s gaze, spotted the six horsemen coming over the grassy horizon, and whistled softly. “It is after three, so they’ve broken siesta, whoever they may be. They’re not military, thank Le Bon Dieu! They look like vaqueros, non?”
Captain Gringo said, “You call ’em Llaneros down here, I think. I don’t see ’em herding any cows, and they’re packing a mess of hardware for run of the mill cow punchers.”
Gaston studied the approaching riders with no further comment as they rode flashing and jingling in the afternoon sun. Each wore ammo bandoleers criss-crossed on his chest, and while they wore white cotton in place of the leather charro outfits of the northern vaquero, they’d sewn conchos along the seams of their tropic work pajamas and the leader’s hat was a mass of gilt embroidery. A man riding at his left carried a red banner on a long bamboo staff. Gaston grunted and said, “The rather dramatic battle ensign would not seem to be the colors of Venezuela, Dick.”
Captain Gringo agreed. “I noticed. I’ve never figured out why the gangs down here need private flags, but a lot of them seem to enjoy looking like soldados. Solid red’s usually a rebel flag. Who do you suppose they think they’re rebelling against?”
Gaston began to check his revolver’s ammunition as he replied, “I have no great interest, but we might ask them, if they come this way.”
Captain Gringo drew his own .38 and slipped an extra round in the usually empty sixth chamber as he said, “We’re okay if they keep the same heading to the river. They should pass us by half a mile. Maybe this is a break. They’re bee-lining. They may know a ford we missed.”<
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The two soldiers of fortune hunkered down in the shade to watch as the armed band approached. Then, as if to make a liar of Captain Gringo, the man in the fancy hat spotted the water ahead and reined his pony to a slower walk as he considered this revolting development. Gaston murmured, “They must not have expected that flood channel to be filled, either. It must be a dry swale in less dramatic times, hein?”
“Just keep it down and watch, damn it! If that stream’s really not supposed to be there, it might not be as deep as we supposed. If they know this country, they’ll know where to ford it.”
The six riders walked their mounts to the boggy bank that had stopped the two men on foot earlier. The one carrying the flag staff probed the muddy water with the butt, rode his mount knee deep in the current, then turned to rejoin his companions, shaking his head. Captain Gringo muttered, “Shit. They’re as lost as we are!”
The mounted men seemed to be discussing their next move as they lounged in their saddles. The leader pointed east and it looked like they were about to ride off. Then one of them pointed at the mystery hammock Gaston and Captain Gringo had been worried about. He shouted to his comrades and even from a quarter mile away one could see the sudden tenseness in the mounted party. Captain Gringo said, “Oh oh, looks like somebody flashed a play pretty again.”
“Better them than us.” Gaston shrugged, adding, “If they attack the other party, all our problems are solved at once, hein?”
The mounted band didn’t attack, exactly. All six dismounted and drew their guns at a safe distance before moving in a gingerly skirmish line toward the hammock in the near distance. The leader called out, loudly enough for Captain Gringo and Gaston to hear from their own hiding place: “Hey! Estupidos, we see you in those bushes! For why do you hide from honest men, eh? Come out and show yourselves. Let us see what you think you are hiding from El Ministro, eh?”