by Ralph Cotton
The young German stood erect and replied in an accent without apology, ’’I do as our guide, Pedro, has instructed us to do."
’’Your guide, huh?" Deacon stood up in his stirrups and looked all around, seeing the other German and the body lying beside the grave. ’’Is that him on the ground?"
’’Yes, he was bitten by a winderside rattlesnake two days ago. He could not recover."
’’A winderside you say?" Deacon said mockingly, cutting a glance to Charlie Bone beside him. ’’They are rare in these parts." He gave a dark, short chuckle.
’’He suffered," the German said, his English good but stiff and heavily accented.
’’I’m broken up," Deacon replied flatly. As he spoke he gave a nod toward the other German. Blackie Waite rode straight over and sat looking down at the swollen body for a moment.
’’Hot damn, Luke, that snake filled him up good from the looks of him," Waite called out. Turning his attention to the German standing beside the body, Waite said cordially, ’’How are you today? Hot, ain’t it?" He gestured a nod toward the short shovel standing beneath the man’s right hand. ’’Drop it," he said.
The German raised his hand slightly and let the shovel fall to the sandy ground.
While Waite spoke to the other German, Charlie Bone circled his horse around the supply wagon and came back beside Deacon Lucas holding up a large half-full canvas water bag. ’’Look here, Deacon Luke," he said. He shook the canvas bag, sloshing the water around in it. ’’There’s three more full ones too."
’’Well, I’ll be." Without taking his eyes off the young German, Leeman asked Charlie Bone, ’’Enough to keep us from stopping at Arajo?"
’’I’ll say, and then some," said Bone.
Leeman swung his horse around and circled the wagon to see for himself. Back beside Bone, he uncapped the water bag, took a mouthful, tasted it and smiled, water running down his dust-caked beard stubble. ’’My, my," he said to the young German, ’’I am so glad we rode in here for a visit." To Bone he said, ’’Take two bags with us."
’’Wait," the German said, seeing Bone ride around toward the water bags. ’’You cannot take our water! We must have all the water for our mules and for ourselves, in order to cross this desert."
Leeman glanced at the four mules standing at the head of the supply wagon, then back at the pensive young German. Cocking his big saddle Colt as he raised it from its holster, he said with calm certainty, ’’You’re not going to need it."
Chapter 10
Leaving Julimez, Morgan Hatch and Sonny Engles had followed the hoofprints left by Leeman, Bone and Waite. They pushed their horses hard, hoping to catch up to their companions, knowing the other three had no more than an hour’s head start on them. At midmorning, when they’d heard the distant gunshot on the trail ahead of them, Engles and Hatch looked at each other. ’’That’s them," said Engles. ’’I’d recognize Lucas’ saddle Colt in a hail storm." Staring ahead, he asked Hatch, ’’Do you suppose that’s a signal shot, Deacon’s way of letting us know where they are?"
’’A signal? Don’t be simpleminded, Sonny," Hatch said, eyeing Engles skeptically. The girl sat slumped behind Engles, sleeping against his back. ’’Deacon ain’t concerned about us. He thinks we’re dead. They’re up to something."
’’I don’t know," said Engles. ’’Maybe Dick was right. Maybe Deacon didn’t mean to jackpot us. Maybe the way things happened he had no choice but to—"
Engles’ words were interrupted by an outburst of pistol shots. At the end of the cacophony he said quietly with an embarrassed look, ’’Naw, I expect not. They’re up to something, sure enough."
Beside Hatch, Wild Dick lay slumped onto his horse’s neck, Hatch leading his horse by its reins. Dark blood covered the front of his chest, having seeped through the thick bandage the girl had made from a clean bedsheet. At the sound of the distant gunfire, the wounded gunman stirred, opened his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.
Hatch looked at him and said, ’’This ain’t nothing. Go on back to sleep, Dick." But having looked at Wild Dick’s chest, he said quietly to Engles, ’’He’s bleeding again."
Engles asked, ’’Think we best prop him in some shade somewhere and go on? Riding’s just making it worse."
Hatch stared ahead toward the sound of gunfire in contemplation. ’’Naw, not yet. Let’s ride on up, see what they’ve got treed up out there. If he makes it to Arajo, we’ll pay somebody to take him in."
’’Ha," said Engles, ’’you called me simpleminded. You would trust these desert peons to take care of him?"
’’I would," said Hatch, ’’after telling them we’ll be back in two weeks. If he’s dead we’ll kill the whole village."
’’The whole village?" Engles winced considering it, shaking his head slowly at the idea.
Hatch looked at him flatly for a moment, then said, ’’Let’s go, Sonny. You’re starting to aggravate the hell out of me."
They rode on, following the hoofprints to where they’d heard the gunfire. Unable, and unwilling, to push the tired, thirsty horses any faster, they arrived at the supply wagon almost a full hour later. Upon seeing the hoofprints leading away into the silver wavering heat, and seeing the three bodies lying on the ground, Hatch slipped his Colt back into his holster and circled the wagon. The four mules paid him no attention. They had stood dutifully in the same spot where the Germans had stopped them, having been unmoved by the gunfire, their heads lowered against the heat and the blazing sun.
’’That son of a bitch, I’ll kill him," said Hatch, stopping his horse and looking at two canvas water bags shot full of holes and hanging empty from the side of the wagon.
Easing his horse up beside him, Engles said, ’’But if he thinks we’re dead . . ." He let his words trail.
’’He doesn’t know for sure," said Hatch. ’’He could have left something just in case we made it." He scowled at Engles as if the gunman were defending Lucas Leeman in the matter.
’’Yeah, you’re right, that son of a bitch," said Engles, realizing that thirst was beginning to make them both muddled and edgy. ’’I’ve still got half a canteen full of water," he offered.
’’So do I," said Hatch, ’’but I can damn near hear it boiling." Letting his eyes follow the hoofprints off into the swirling heat, he went on to say, ’’It’s for sure they’re not going to Arajo now. They must’ve took on a good supply of water."
’’Yep, enough to ride on and meet up with Madsen and the rest," said Engles. Looking around the barren sand flats, he added, ’’There’s no cactus to cut up and chew." Behind him the girl awakened and pushed her hair from her eyes.
’’Get down and check on Wild Dick," Hatch said to her gruffly.
Engles reached back and helped the girl swing down from behind him. ’’What about you?" he asked Hatch. ’’How’re you making out?"
’’Damn good," said Hatch. He touched a gloved hand to the dried blood on the side of his shirt from a bullet graze, then to another dried spot on the tip of his left shoulder.
As he looked down at his bloodstained shirt, Hatch’s horse stretched its neck forward and nipped at the wetness still lingering on the empty canvas water bags. Hatch let the animal chew and pull and suck up the drop or two left in the bottom corner of the bag. Beside him, Wild Dick’s horse ventured forward and licked at another water bag; Engles’ horse stepped forward and did the same.
Hatch shook his head and swung down from his saddle. Looking at the four wagon mules, he said, ’’Let’s poke these animals and see what they’ve got left."
Swinging down from his saddle also, Engles grumbled under his breath, ’’I hate a mallet-headed mule worse than any damn thing."
’’I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that," Hatch said with dry sarcasm. Helping Wild Dick down from his saddle and seating him in the sand in the narrow shade of the wagon, Hatch walked up to the mules while the woman and Engles took a look at Wild Dick’s bloody chest.
>
Taking his Colt from his holster, Hatch walked up to the lead mule, raised its ear and slapped it loosely with his pistol barrel. The animal snorted and stomped its hoof. Then it settled and lowered its head. Hatch stepped back and poked the pistol barrel into another mule’s side. The animal jerked quickly upright, its skin rippling in reflex. ’’Fresh as daisies," Hatch said, running a hand along the mule’s coarse sandy rump. Looking off into the swirling heat, he said under his breath, ’’Deacon, you jackpotting bastard. I’m going to nail your rotten heart to a wall."
Arajo, Mexico
In the grainy evening darkness, less than half a mile from the small village, Hatch and Engles stopped the mules and stepped down from the animals’ knobby bare backs. ’’Turn them loose, we’re through with them," said Hatch.
’’Hallelujah," said Engles, sliding off the mule in a spray of loose powdery sand. He drew his Colt, cocked it and leveled it close to his tired mule’s head. ’’I’ve been waiting all day to do this."
’’Put it away, Sonny," Hatch said. ’’We don’t want to ride in there on the wake of a gunshot." He gestured a nod toward the sound of music coming from Arajo. ’’Hear that?"
’’Yeah, I hear it, so what?" Engles said with defiance, hot, thirsty and cross from their desert trek.
’’You’ll stop hearing it once you fire that gun, and you know it," said Hatch, looking at the distant red and gold light from candles inside colored paper lanterns strung along the street of Arajo. ’’This town will turn dark as a tomb and you won’t find a person stirring." Hatch turned a harsh stare to him. ’’We do want to get Wild Dick some help, a place to heal up, don’t we?"
’’Yeah, we do," Engles said, sulking almost child-like as he uncocked his Colt and jammed it down into his holster. ’’I could beat one to death—or stab one? That wouldn’t be too loud, would it?"
Hatch didn’t reply.
’’This mallet-head nearly crippled me." Engles yanked his dusty hat from his head and slapped the mule’s neck. The tired animal didn’t even flinch.
Hatch looked at the woman seated atop a mule, her dress bunched up on her legs and tucked beneath her. ’’Keep yours," he said. ’’You’ll need it to get home on." Hatch, Engles and the woman had ridden the mules from where they’d found them, but they had switched Wild Dick from horse to horse to keep the thirsty animals as rested as possible crossing the waterless sand flats.
’’You are setting me free?" the young woman asked matter-of-factly.
’’Soon," said Hatch. He took the reins to Wild Dick’s horse from her, looked closer at her and asked, ’’You do want to go back to Julimez, don’t you?"
She shrugged. ’’One place is as good as the next."
’’Right." Hatch shook his head as he stepped back and looked at Wild Dick Bernie lying sprawled on his horse. He carefully shook Bernie’s dangling arm to make sure the man was still alive. Wild Dick let out a pained moan. ’’He’s still with us, Sonny," said Hatch.
’’Hallelujah again," said Engles. He raised a big knife from his boot well, reached out to the mule and slashed the length of leather wagon trace he’d tied around the animal’s muzzle. ’’Get out of here, mallet-head," he growled, ’’before I open your guts up."
The tired mule didn’t move. Engles drew the knife back and gave the mule’s rump a hard slap with the flat side of the blade. Powdery sand dust billowed; the mule took a few short steps and stopped. ’’Leave him be, Sonny," Hatch called out. ’’Cut the other one loose and let’s go."
’’This mallet-headed son of a bitch," Engles growled under his breath.
Moments later Hatch and Engles led their thirsty horses onto the dark end of the street in Arajo and walked on toward the circling glow of light at the center of the small village. The two tired mules plodded along a few yards behind, drawn by the smell of water at the town well. ’’Looks like some kind of shindig they’ve got going on here," Engles commented as they walked on.
Twenty yards ahead, candles, torches and gaily colored cloth streamers lined the dusty street. The sound of guitar, accordion, flute and trumpet music swelled. Laughter filled the air as the villagers celebrated a piece of recent good fortune. Only three days before, the village leader had learned that a German and Swedish tin mining syndicate would be making the village a regular water stop on its shipping route across the desert from the hill country to Durango.
’’Dios sonríe en nosotros!" the leader of the village cried out gleefully. He drank from a tall bottle of mescal and waved his frayed straw sombrero. ’’Dios en verdad sonríe en nosotros!" he cried out again for emphasis.
’’The hell’s he carrying on about?" Engles asked as they stopped at the edge of the light.
’’He’s saying ’God smiles on their village,’ or some such malarkey," Hatch replied, a stream of powdery sand dust spilling off his shoulder and running to the ground.
The village leader started to say something more, but his words stopped, as did the music and the laughter, as eyes turned toward the dusty, sweat-streaked strangers walking into their midst.
’’Tell God not to stop smiling on our account," Hatch called out, his dusty gloved hand resting on the holster of his Colt. Beside him, Engles looked all around the circle of light, taking quick count of how many men were present, if any were carrying firearms. Seeing no weapons among the twenty or so men, other than an ancient flintlock rifle leaning against the well, he relaxed and gave a smile to a pretty young woman standing at her husband’s side. Watching dust fall from Engles’ leering, crusty face, the husband slid his arm instinctively around his wife’s shoulders as if to protect her.
’’Senors, welcome to Arajo," the village leader said in a quiet and subdued tone. He stared pensively as the woman walked into sight and stood only a foot behind Engles, the reins to Wild Dick’s horse in her hand, Wild Dick lying limp in the saddle.
’’Are you the jefe here?" Hatch asked.
In his native tongue, the man replied that yes, he was the town leader, and assured them that if they needed help they would not be turned away.
Even though Hatch spoke Spanish, in order to gain control quickly, he shook his head vigorously and said, ’’Hunh-uh, mister. You’re going to find that the quicker you start speaking English, the better we’re going to get along. Comprende?"
’’Sí, compren—I mean, yes, I understand," the town leader said, correcting himself as he saw Hatch’s gun hand tighten around the handles of the Colt. As the two spoke, Engles eased over, took the reins to Hatch’s horse from his hand and walked both horses to the well. He managed to put himself close to the rifle leaning against the low stone wall while the horses stuck their muzzles into a clay watering trough.
’’Somebody getting married here?" Engles asked the faces standing nearby, looking him up and down. ’’If there is, I hope I can look forward to a nice piece of cake?"
’’Oh no, Senor, it is not a wedding," said a young boy who stepped forward from the onlookers and spoke to Engles while Hatch and the town leader continued speaking back and forth in the middle of the street. ’’We are a regular stop for the wagons that carry ore from the tin mines." As he spoke he pointed into the darkness toward an unseen line of hills in the far distance.
’’Boy! Talk about good luck," said Engles, managing to look as if he cared one way or the other. He watched townsmen ease Wild Dick down from his saddle and carry him off toward a small building just outside the circle of light.
’’Sí," the boy said, rattling on excitedly. ’’We find this out the other day, and have waited for this holy day to celebrate. Two men from the mining peoples came here for water. They tell our town leader that as soon as they arrive in Durango they will tell the mine peoples about Arajo and make sure they send their wagons to us."
’’Well, well," Engles said with a dark chuckle, recalling the bodies of the two young German mining engineers lying in the dirt. ’’Nothing like a good celebration to get things off on the right f
oot, I expect."
When the townsmen had eased Wild Dick down from his saddle, the woman led her mule and Dick’s horse over to the well. On her way, she had heard the young boy explaining the villages’ good fortune. When she stepped in beside Engles, she saw him chuckling under his breath. ’’Did you hear that?" he said in a lowered voice as she let the two animals drink. He picked up a gourd dipper, swiped it across the water and raised it to his face.
’’It is not funny," she whispered sidelong to him. ’’Nothing good comes to these desert people. God has never smiled on them and he never will."
’’Well, ain’t you the gloomy one," Engles said. He drank from the gourd, shoved his hat back off his head and poured the rest of the water over his sweaty, dust-caked face. ’’Have you got a name, or is Whore all you go by?"
’’Juanita is my name," she said, ’’but you can call me Whore if it suits you."
Engles swished a mouthful of water and spat a long stream back into the well. ’’Whore, it is," he said.
The musicians stood watching intently. As the townsmen carried Wild Dick out of sight into the adobe, they took it as their cue to began playing again. In the street, having heard from the village leader the same story the young boy had told Engles, Hatch grinned knowingly and dropped some small gold coins into the man’s hand. ’’We’re plumb honored as hell to be your first paying customers, Jefe," he said. ’’Won’t be long, this place will be abuzz with industry."
’’Yes, yes! To industry, and to good fortune!" the village leader said joyfully, sticking the bottle of mescal into Hatch’s reaching hand. ’’Dios sonríe en nosotros!" he shouted, even louder this time, tossing a hand skyward.
Hatch winced and said, ’’Do not holler in my ear like that again, Jefe. God ain’t smiling on you near as much as you think."