The Man from Misery

by David C. Noonan

  “As you wish,” Salazar said. “Enjoy your chat.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Garza placed three water glasses before him, dipped his index fingers in the water, and moved them around the rims of the glasses until the vessels began to sing in high-pitched harmony. All of the girls purred their amazement that water glasses could sing—all except Faith.

  “You think you make beautiful music,” she said.

  Garza ignored her and played for a minute more before withdrawing his hands and wiping them on his pants.

  “Yes, I think I do,” he said. Then he picked up a carafe of wine, filled his goblet, looked around the table, and said, “Ladies, it’s time to talk about doing the Aztec nug-a-nug.”

  CHAPTER 11 RECONNAISSANCE

  “Breakfast,” Reno yelled from the porch. Emmet and the twins roused themselves from the ground and stowed their bedding. It was a beautiful morning, but Emmet knew another hard sun would make it a scorcher by midday. The three drifted down to the stream, splashed their faces with cold wake-up water, and headed for the welcoming aroma of griddlecakes and fried sausages floating out the kitchen window.

  Kingston was already at the table. After the twins and Emmet sat down, Reno asked Mariana to serve. She hefted a big frying pan, taking time to smile at each guest before piling up his plate.

  Emmet ignored Kingston on purpose and looked at Mariana. “It seems like all you’ve done since we got here is feed us,” he said.

  “I’m the type of person who likes to cook,” Mariana said. “Really likes it.”

  “Gentlemen,” Kingston said, “today you’ll get to see the hacienda. It took me a long time to find the vantage point we’re going to. It’s a tricky route but worth the effort.”

  Emmet attacked his breakfast. “What about Soapy and the others?” he asked between mouthfuls.

  “I’ll take them there if time allows. At least this way, you and the twins get to see the place.”

  The men quickly downed their meals, thanked Mariana and Reno again for their hospitality, and went outside to gather their gear. Emmet watched Kingston stuff a brass spyglass and several rolled-up maps into his saddlebag before mounting up.

  The four wended east off the main trails for several hours. They had ventured far out into the backcountry when Kingston ducked up a side trail that wasn’t visible from the road.

  “Major, it’s plain as a pack saddle that you know the terrain,” Emmet said as he spurred Ruby Red upward.

  Kingston guided them along a series of narrow trails and switchbacks for another hour until they reached a small glade, where they picketed the horses and footed it the rest of the way up.

  After a twenty-minute climb, they came to a small clearing with an outcrop of rimrock on the lip of a deep ravine. The ledge could only accommodate two people at a time, so Kingston and Emmet went first, and the twins laid back. Emmet scrambled on his belly to keep hidden. He scrunched behind the rock and then eased his head up to get his first glimpse of Salazar’s hacienda.

  It was staggeringly beautiful. The main house was a sprawling, two-story building of pink adobe with several open patios shaded by Mexican plum and redbud trees. A half-dozen chimneys poked out at different points in the clay-tiled roof. A large cobbled courtyard shimmered in front, and a tall fountain bubbled water over two sculpted basins. A second smaller courtyard on the east side faced them.

  “Well, ain’t this a little hunk of heaven,” Emmet whispered.

  “And a well guarded one at that,” Kingston replied.

  Both men took turns peering through the spyglass. A seven-foot-high wall surrounded the hacienda. Emmet could see the sentries shifting in the shade in the two watchtowers that loomed over the front gate. A large arch framed the entrance, and beneath it hung a wooden door as thick as a drawbridge.

  “There’s two more guards patrolling the inside yard that we can’t see from here,” Kingston said, “and at least another half a dozen inside the hacienda. If I can’t ransom Faith tomorrow and we’re forced to fight, then the key will be to isolate the bunkhouse from the hacienda and keep those vaqueros at bay. Check out the bunkhouse.”

  In the back, a hundred yards outside the wall, was a long log cabin with a porch in front, and stables and a corral to the side. Emmet saw a row of outhouses lining the edge of the woods. A narrow road snaked off to the west towards a small humpback bridge crossing the river.

  “That cabin can bunk a lot of men,” Kingston said. “I’ve counted up to twenty horses in the corral. This compound has only two ways in or out, which simplifies matters: the main gate in front, and the wooden bridge to the rear.”

  “Where are the girls?” Emmet asked.

  “In a large storage room on the far corner of the house on the first floor. The room opens on a long hallway that connects to the great room. There’s always one guard outside the door.”

  “How do you know the inside so well?”

  “A little bird told me,” Kingston said, and then he smiled. “A little bird that carries a sewing needle and a tape measure. Salazar lives on the second floor on the side closest to us. Garza lives on the far side. Now look at the back room on the second story. That’s Salazar’s den. That’s where he works. The den overlooks the smaller courtyard. He’s an early riser, and he spends a lot of time in there. I’ll say this about him, he works hard at being a bad person. Do you think you can make a head shot on Salazar if we’re forced to go that route?”

  “It’s a cherry, Major,” Emmet assured him.

  At that moment the female captives appeared in the yard, rubbing their eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight.

  “Daily exercise,” Kingston said.

  The girls looped around the inside perimeter of the wall, stretching their arms and legs as they went. A guard in the yard watched them, and two more vaqueros sauntered over to a nearby hitching post to watch the procession. One was gnawing on a chicken wing, the other smoking a cigarette.

  “I count nine girls,” Emmet said, “and I’ll bet a dollar to a doorknob I know which one is Faith.”

  “That’s two more girls than I saw last time,” Kingston said. “I want to avoid a fight. Salazar has to be willing to negotiate tomorrow. If it’s money that he wants, it’s money I’ll give him. If we have to attack, who knows what will happen to Faith or any of those girls.”

  Through the spyglass, Emmet saw the vaqueros joking and backslapping each other every time the girls passed in front of them. Laugh now, you lizards, Emmet thought.

  They eyed the terrain for ten more minutes before crabbing sideways to the waiting twins. Emmet dusted himself off with his hat while Kingston explained to the brothers what to look for. After the boys finished their look-about, the four retraced their steps to the horses and descended the foothills.

  As they were about to rejoin the main road, loud hoofbeats came hammering down the trail. Kingston held his hand up. “Keep hidden,” he whispered. Minutes later, Emmet recognized the men racing past as Danny Brown and his blond companion. He looked at the twins, and the three of them hooked eyes.

  Kingston noticed the eye contact. “Know them?” he asked.

  Emmet spoke up. “Yeah, we got into a tight crease with them at a cantina our first day in Santa Sabino.”

  “About what, Emmet?” Kingston asked.

  “Who was gonna pay for lunch.”

  Kingston looked back at the twins. “Are they after you?”

  “Might be,” Zack said with a smile.

  “It ain’t funny,” Emmet snapped. “I know you two relish the confusion you cause, but somebody could’ve gotten killed back in that cantina for no good reason. Plus, Zack, I don’t see no humor in what happened to that man’s daughter and her unborn baby.”

  Zack’s smirk wilted, and his face darkened.

  Kingston shook his head. “We’d best stay on the back trails. The safe bet is to lay low at Reno’s and wait for Soapy and the others to show up. On the way back, you three are going to tel
l me exactly what happened in that cantina.”

  The foursome crossed the main road to a different side trail, accepting that the longer route would keep them in the saddle for an extra hour.

  CHAPTER 12 VIPER

  Faith and Valencia paired up while they exercised. As they walked around the inside wall of the estate behind the other girls, Faith studied the yard, searching for a way out. The wall was too high to scale, but she noticed several wooden water barrels beneath a ramada. As she circled the yard, she noted the guards in the front towers had a blind spot—the right back corner of the big house near the water pump.

  “Hey, blondie,” the vaquero with the chicken bone yelled. “Where did you come from?”

  Faith ignored him, kept walking.

  “Something that beautiful must have dropped from heaven,” his companion said.

  The first vaquero tossed the bone on the ground and licked his greasy fingers. “She may be from heaven, but she’s landed in hell.”

  “Better not let Señor Salazar hear you talk that way,” the guard warned.

  The words had no sooner left the man’s mouth than Salazar and Juanita exited the big house from the side courtyard with the mastiff hulking behind them.

  “Moco. Chimo,” Salazar shouted. “Back to work.” The men made no reply and returned to the bunkhouse through the rear gate.

  “Ladies, exercise is over,” Juanita said. “Time to wash up.”

  The group followed her to the west side of the yard where she pointed to the water pump that was surrounded by several basins and a stack of washcloths. Sweat coated Faith’s upper lip, and the mix of dust and perspiration formed a film over her skin. She was eager to rinse off, but the station could only accommodate three girls at a time. She backed off to let the other girls go and ducked under the ramada to get out of the direct sun.

  “Viper,” Salazar shouted.

  Faith spun around to see the dog staggering across the yard as if it were drunk. She found the sight comical at first, until the mastiff stopped cold and pushed its head towards the ground trying to retch.

  “Something’s wrong,” Salazar said in a panicked voice.

  The dog stood motionless for several minutes and then jerked its head in a frantic spasm. Saliva oozed from its mouth in thick drops. Salazar approached the animal with an outstretched hand to comfort it. He knelt next to the distressed dog, the knees of his brown canvas pants now coated with dust.

  “Something’s wrong,” he repeated. The animal remained rigid, afraid to move its head, teeth clenched, slobber dripping from its maw in long, syrupy strands.

  Faith sprinted from the shadow of the ramada and stopped behind Salazar. “The dog’s choking to death,” she informed him. Her tone was flat, unemotional.

  The unexpected proximity of Faith’s voice startled Salazar. Juanita’s voice pierced the air. “Get back here now.” The guard raced over, grabbed Faith by the arm, and pushed her back towards the other girls.

  “Wait,” Salazar said. “Miss Wheeler, can you help him?”

  Faith didn’t answer. She turned and squatted next to the dog, set her quivering hands on its muscular shoulders. The dog pulled back its lips to show the yellowed tips of its fangs and growled, but Faith did not take her hands away.

  She spoke reassuring words to the dog, looked into its eyes, tried to ignore the powerful jut of its jaw just inches from her face, jaws that could mutilate her in seconds. The girl’s gentle strokes silenced the growling. The animal blinked its black eyes, sidled closer to her.

  She slid the pin out and unlocked the slave collar. The iron links made a chinking sound when they hit the ground. “Smell that?” Faith asked. A strong foul odor hung around the beast like a cloud. “He’s scared. Dogs leak when they’re frightened. It’s the stink of fear.”

  “Save him,” Salazar said.

  Faith placed her hands on the dog’s ears, stroked them backwards, kept speaking in a soothing voice. The animal began to shake, its head now drooping at a lower angle.

  She set one hand on the back of the dog’s head, the other on its massive chest, distributing the energy in her hands across the dog’s body.

  Now she placed both hands on the dog’s neck and, with stronger pressure and greater deliberation, worked them up towards its muzzle. Her hands were halfway up the dog’s throat when she heard a loud crack. The dog swallowed hard, and whatever was lodged in its throat was gone. The animal’s behavior changed in a flash. Its long tail lashed the air, and the dog washed Faith’s face with whiskered licks.

  “You saved him!” Salazar shouted. He pivoted towards the guard. “She saved him.” Turning back to Faith, he said, “You’re a healer. You have gifts.”

  He offered his hand to Faith to help her up, but she refused it.

  The snub angered Salazar, and his tone turned. “I intend to find out what he was choking on,” he muttered, “and punish the person responsible.”

  “The dog is okay,” Faith offered. “There’s no need to punish anybody.”

  “I pride myself on taking great care of this animal. Something almost killed him, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it, if I have to claw through his shit for the next week to find out what it was.”

  “You must have a lot of time on your hands,” Faith said and smiled to herself. “But my guess is that a man like you will have someone else do the clawing for you.” Faith waited for his reaction.

  Salazar did a double take, and his eyes brightened. “You’re different from the rest,” he said. “You’re making me rethink what to do with you. Thank you for saving my dog.”

  Faith ignored his words of gratitude and walked back to the other girls with a flush of satisfaction.

  “Don’t ever try a stunt like that again,” Juanita warned her. “Never approach Señor Salazar unless told to.”

  Faith ignored Juanita, too, and picked up a basin, pumping water into it. Then she plunged her hands into the cold liquid and splashed it over her face. The feeling was one of sublime refreshment. It dispersed the hotness and grime, just like a thunderstorm cleanses the air after a sweltering heat wave.

  CHAPTER 13 THE SHOOTING CONTEST

  As Kingston, Emmet, and the twins neared the steep trail down to Reno’s bungalow, they heard gut-busting laughter booming through the trees.

  Kingston glanced at Emmet. “Sounds like Soapy has arrived.”

  At the bottom of the defile, the four riders noticed a limber hitched to six horses in the yard, and another hitched to six mules. A smooth-bore cannon gleamed behind the horses, and a Gatling gun behind the mules. A third wagon covered with canvas brought up the rear. The newcomers were sprawled out in tree shade, and they swiveled their heads when Kingston sauntered over.

  “Well, I’ll be a giddy goat,” Soapy yelled. He hopped up and hustled over to Kingston. “Major, it’s been a long time.”

  “Soapy, you old scalawag,” Kingston said.

  Emmet saw Soapy’s eyes key on him next.

  “Emmet, you rebel devil,” he said. “It’s been years.” They thumped each other’s backs like long lost brothers.

  Soapy continued the introductions. “Boys, this is Frank Mackenzie. He’s big enough to hunt bears with a switch. This here’s Emmet Honeycut.”

  Frank Mackenzie was about thirty years old, and, after he stood, Emmet realized he was without exception the heftiest human being he’d ever come across. His legs were solid as road markers, and his hands were like two ham hocks hanging by his sides. He was wide as a wagon, and his enormous bulk seemed bolted to his bones. He was stuffed into gray pants and a black shirt. A hawk feather stuck out of his hatband. Emmet ranged a few inches over six feet, but Frank was another head above him.

  “You’re a big one, Frank,” Emmet said. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  Frank said nothing, staring at Emmet with cold, unsparing eyes.

  “Something wrong?” Emmet asked.

  “You tell me,” he said, his voice as prickly as a cactus. />
  Soapy sensed the chill and moved the how-do-you-dos along. “This here’s Chiquito,” he said. “He’s a fierce warrior.”

  An Apache with two long, black braids, dressed in a red shirt and black cotton pants, walked over to Emmet. He was rawboned, with a pointy face ending at a chin that looked sharp enough to split wood. His handshake was strong, the skin on his hands as scaly as a lizard’s.

  “Chiquito,” Emmet said.

  The Indian nodded. Emmet got the immediate sense that none of these men were big talkers, which was fine by him.

  As Chiquito went over to greet Kingston, Zack leaned into Emmet. “You never said there’d be red niggers.”

  “Mind your manners, boy,” Soapy piped in. “He’s with us, not against us.”

  Chiquito had apparently heard what Zack said and stepped toward him. He pointed to Zack’s head. “Red hair,” he said and then pointed to his own waist. “Would look good on my belt.”

  Zack glowered at the Apache.

  “Aw, he’s just joshing you, son,” Soapy said with a dismissive wave.

  Now Abe pushed in. “Apache, huh? You’re a long way from home, ain’t you?”

  Chiquito studied Abe’s face. “You know your geography,” he said. “What else do you know?”

  “I know Zack hates Apaches, and because I’m his brother, I probably do, too.”

  Soapy sped the final introduction along. “Last but not least, we got Billy. He’s a top rail muleskinner.”

  Now Emmet gave a disapproving glare. “Not him,” he said, shaking his head.

  “The man I hoped to get couldn’t come on such short notice,” Soapy said. “Billy’s the best I could do.”

  Billy Bigby was tall and skinny, his Stetson too big for his head. Emmet had met Billy several years before at one of Soapy’s gun shows and considered him harmless. But worse, Billy was slow, which Emmet recognized as a liability going against men like Garza and Salazar. He decided nothing could be done about it now.