‘What do you think?’ Dawson asked.
‘It looks like you’ve done a good job of making yourselves at home.’ Jack looked around. It had been a while since he had spent any time with soldiers. He felt a sense of profound longing. He had convinced himself that he was at his happiest living alone. Yet the feelings being stirred deep inside him made a mockery of that belief. The yearning to belong again was strong.
A soldier came to take the reins of his mare, whilst others did the same for Dawson and Vaughan.
‘My boys will look after the horses for you.’ Dawson gave an easy smile, then gestured for Jack to walk on. ‘For you fine gentlemen, I have some coffee.’
‘Any tea?’ Jack could not help the question.
‘Tea?’ Dawson repeated the word in what he clearly thought was a fine English accent. ‘No, I’m afraid we are out of tea.’ He laughed at his own humour, then clapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘It’s coffee or whiskey, my friend, that’s all we simple folk drink down here.’
‘Coffee will be just fine.’ Vaughan answered for them both.
‘Then step this way, gentlemen.’ Dawson paused to retrieve his saddlebags from his horse, then led them towards the centre of the encampment. ‘Most of my boys are out on the trail, so there should be something for us to drink. Something to eat too, if you’re hungry.’
‘That would be kind.’ Jack was looking around him as he walked, taking in the details of the encampment. It was a well-tended affair, the huts arranged in neat rows. Other, larger structures had been built: stores, and a cookhouse with large trestle tables arranged outside it. It was to one of these that Dawson led them.
‘You fellas take yourself a seat and let me go see what I can rustle up.’
He disappeared into the cookhouse and Jack and Vaughan did as they were told. It did not take long for him to reappear.
‘Coffee will be out directly. Some johnnycakes too.’ He took a seat opposite Jack and slung his saddlebags on to the table. He was keeping them close.
A few minutes later, one of Dawson’s men delivered a pot of coffee, a thin trail of steam emerging from its spout, along with three tin mugs and a plate stacked with round golden-brown cakes. Dawson purred as the delivery was placed in front of him. He poured three mugs quickly without spilling a drop, then pushed one in front of each of his guests.
‘We’re lucky that so many of the boys are out and about.’ He helped himself to a johnnycake and took a huge bite. ‘There’s no way in hell there’d be any of these left if they were all here.’
‘What are they doing?’ Jack asked as he too reached for a cake. He took a cautious bite, then paused as the taste flooded his mouth. The johnnycake was still warm, and it was simply delicious.
‘Patrolling the trail. Taking note of who is coming and going, that sort of thing.’ Dawson spoke with his mouth full, splattering crumbs from his lips without a care.
‘Are there no Union forces down here?’ Jack only asked the follow-up question when his own mouth was empty.
‘Union? No, them Yankee sons of bitches are busy enough up north. Of course they took Galveston back in October. They didn’t hold it for long, mind. And they tried to take Corpus Christi too, till we persuaded them otherwise. Now they leave us well alone; been concentrating on New Orleans and those folk over there in Louisiana. But don’t you worry none about finding trouble, if that’s what you’re after. There’s plenty of other folk looking to get in our way down here. It’s our job to keep the trail open so good men like Brannigan can get where they’re going.’ Dawson rammed the remains of his johnnycake into his mouth and reached for another.
‘And to charge them for the privilege,’ Vaughan interjected.
‘Well, now.’ Dawson grinned at the rebuke hidden in Vaughan’s words. ‘You know that’s just a little thank you between friends.’
Vaughan ignored the reply and looked directly at Jack. ‘What Dawson here is not telling you is that he and his men are more than happy to charge a toll for their services, whether they actually provide them or not.’
‘Aren’t they just obeying orders?’ Jack finished his cake and reached for his coffee. It was a poor substitute for tea, but it would do to wash the dust from his throat.
‘Orders?’ It was Dawson who replied. ‘Oh, I got my orders all right. And I follow them to the goddam letter, let me assure you of that. But a man’s got to eat.’ He smiled wolfishly, then stuffed another chunk of johnnycake into his mouth. ‘So we charge a little to smooth the way for people like my old friend here.’ He showed no shame as he freely admitted what he was doing.
‘What happens if they don’t want to pay? If they expect you to just do the job you were ordered to do?’ Jack’s dislike of the Confederate cavalry officer was growing by the minute.
‘Well, you know.’ Dawson shook his head, as if saddened by what he was about to say. ‘This here’s a right dangerous place. There’s all sorts of miscreants and goddam bushwhackers just waiting to take that fine cotton of yours for themselves. We try our best to protect you and all, but often times there just ain’t nothing we can do. But if you pays us a little – and it is just a little when you think about how much that damn cotton of yours is worth – then we’ll do all we can to make sure you get where you’re wanting to go.’
Jack heard the words that were left unsaid. If Dawson and his men weren’t paid, misfortune would likely befall anyone trying to cross into Mexico.
‘Don’t be fooled, Jack.’ Vaughan eased himself to his feet. ‘We know the arrangement here, and we’re happy to pay. Now, I need to walk my horse. Have you moved the latrines yet, Dawson?’
‘Not yet. They’re still in the same old place. You might want to wrap a neckerchief around your face. The smell can be kinda strong if you ain’t used to it.’
Vaughan grimaced at the words but still walked away, leaving Jack and Dawson alone.
‘So were you a serving man, friend?’ Dawson had eaten his fill of cake and now started on his coffee.
‘What makes you ask?’ Jack was wary. He did not trust the man sitting opposite him one inch, just as he didn’t yet trust Vaughan. The plantation agent was too smooth and too slick. And he played games. In Jack’s experience, men like Vaughan used people for their own ends and nothing more, no matter how friendly or affable they appeared to be. He did not doubt that Dawson was cut from the same cloth.
‘The way you carry yourself. The way you look about the place. That sword you wear.’ Dawson paused to slurp down some coffee. ‘I ain’t prying none. A man’s past ain’t no one’s business but his own. But you look like a soldier to me, that’s all.’
‘I was.’
‘An officer too, if I ain’t mistaken.’
Jack nodded.
‘I knew it.’ Dawson grinned at his own cleverness. ‘I bet you’ve got a tale to tell.’
‘Maybe.’
Jack’s reserved answer only broadened Dawson’s smile. ‘You don’t say much, do you now?’ He shook his head, then reached out for the coffee pot to refill his mug.
‘Depends who asking.’ Jack couldn’t help some snap peppering his reply.
‘I ain’t prying.’
‘That’s good.’ He sucked down his aversion to the man, and asked a question of his own. ‘So do you think we’ll be attacked between here and the coast?’
‘Maybe you will. We dealt with some of Santiago’s boys not far from the trail to Matamoros just a little whiles ago. Could be there’s more around here that might want to cause you some trouble.’
‘I’ve heard of him.’ Jack remembered the name from his discussion with Brannigan.
‘Then you know he’s a vicious son of a gun.’ Dawson looked ready to spit.
‘Have you met him?’
‘No. No one has, or at least no one has lived long enough to tell the tale of what he looks like.’ Dawson shook his head. ‘Hell, if I did see him, well, I’d shoot the son of a bitch right between the goddam eyes as soon as I clapped eyes on him. That
man is a monster. Got more men killed than any of them Yankee generals.’
Jack tried to keep his face neutral. He did not agree with Dawson’s choice of comparison. This bandit leader might be a vicious outlaw, but nothing he could do could compare to the slaughter that was being committed on battlefields across the country. ‘So what makes him so bad?’
‘Santiago is a killer, pure and simple. That man ain’t got a merciful bone in his body. If he captures you, he kills you.’
‘And you’ve seen that?’
Dawson looked away and stared into the distance. ‘I’ve seen it.’ The words were spoken softly. ‘Just a few weeks ago, his men captured a wagon train south of the Grande. Killed every man with it, and their women too, ’cept those poor girls got themselves a little special treatment first, if you know what I mean.’
Jack knew just what he meant, but he did not look away from the smug expression that had spread across Dawson’s face as he described the fate of the wagon train. ‘What did you do about it?’ He asked the question that he knew Dawson wanted to be asked.
‘What did we do? Why, we tracked those sons of bitches down, then killed every last one. Left two of ’em behind as a warning too.’
‘You think that will deter this Santiago fellow?’
‘Hell no! But Señor Santiago doesn’t do the dirty work hisself. His Ángeles do that for him, and it might just stop some of them from following the son of a bitch. You know that folk round here call them Los Ángeles de la Muerte?’
‘I know. Brannigan told me.’
‘Did he tell you that Santiago killed two dozen of my men?’ For the first time, real emotion entered Dawson’s voice in place of his usual glib and boastful tone. ‘Left the wounded with their bellies cut wide open so that any varmint that came along could feast on their flesh.’
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you that dear old Santiago is not above taking any women he captures and forcing them to whore for his men until they tire of them, whereupon he cuts their throats and dumps their bodies wherever he happens to be?’
‘No.’
Dawson’s gaze bored into Jack. ‘I tell you this. If you ever see that son of a bitch, you either kill him right there and then, or else you run like the goddam wind before he kills you.’
‘Thank you for the advice.’ Jack held Dawson’s penetrating stare. There was no hiding the passion in the man as he talked about the bandit. It was rare to see such hatred on open display. ‘So why don’t you gather your men and track this Santiago fellow down? Deal with him once and for all.’
‘You suppose I didn’t think of that? We’ve tried, more than once. But Santiago knows what he’s about. He’s got those Union boys helping him now. Our old friends in the north are quite happy to supply him and his bandoleros, so long as they attack us. They claim to fight for the Union, but they’re still just murdering sons of bitches. Raiding, thieving . . .’ Dawson paused and held Jack’s stare, ‘killing.’
‘How many of them are there in this gang?’
‘Two hundred, maybe more. They don’t hang around long enough for us to conduct a goddam survey.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. He could understand Dawson’s problem. He had an enemy that fought on its own terms, and with its own methods, all of them vicious. His war was not a straightforward one where both sides lined up on a battlefield ready to kill and be killed. It was a war of ambushes and raids, where rape and murder were commonplace. Jack did not like the man, but he could sympathise. At least a little.
‘Can I give you a piece of advice?’ Dawson leaned forward, his gaze intense.
‘Go on.’
‘Don’t go underestimating those bandoleros. They may look like crap, but they can sure fight. If they come for the wagons, you’ll have to fight hard to stop them.’
‘Won’t you be there to defend us?’ Jack made the wry comment without a hint of a smile.
‘We can’t be everywhere.’
‘So why did Vaughan pay you?’
‘Because if he didn’t, I would’ve impounded his wagons and conscripted his men. Half of them are goddam outlaws or deserters anyways. Hell, I’d be doing my duty if I put them behind bars.’
‘You can do that?’
‘I can do just about anything I want down here.’ Dawson smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘But don’t you worry none. If those bandoleros are still around, me and my boys’ll find ’em. We’ll deal with them too.’
‘If you’re there.’
Dawson laughed. ‘That’s right, Jack, if we’re there. If we’re not, well,’ he shrugged, ‘there’s not a whole lot we can do about it!’
He was still laughing as Vaughan returned from the latrines.
‘I see you two are getting on famously,’ Vaughan commented.
‘We are that.’ Dawson answered for both of them.
For his part, Jack reached for another johnnycake. He had no faith in Dawson. The man was obviously there for the money alone. It was clear, to his mind at least, that if the wagon train was attacked, Brannigan’s men would have to fend for themselves.
Jack lay back on the bed in the boarding house and savoured the sensation. After weeks of sleeping on nothing more than a bedroll, the moth-eaten and lumpy mattress on the iron bed frame felt wonderful. Not even the pervading odour of the room could spoil the moment, the potent mixture of piss and sweat the legacy of the thousand or more teamsters who had spent a night in the simply furnished room.
He had been lying there for no more than a minute when there was a knock at his door.
He laboured to his feet with a groan, the movement sending a spasm of pain shooting up and down the back of his legs. It was bad enough to make him pause, his hands moving to the pit of his spine.
A second knock followed the first.
‘For fuck’s sake, all right.’ He did not bother to hold back the cantankerous response. He wanted peace, just for a moment or two, yet already he was being disturbed. ‘What is it?’ he snapped as he slipped back the bolt then opened the door.
‘Well, that sure is a fine welcome.’ Kat stood there, her arms folded across her chest.
‘It’s all you’re going to get.’ Jack felt his crabbiness shift as he saw just who it was that had come to disturb him, yet he tried not to reveal it. ‘What do you want?’ He delivered the line deadpan, and was pleased with his choice of tone.
‘I wanted to speak with you for a moment.’
‘Well, here I am.’
‘I wanted to thank you for my pistol.’ Kat’s hand dropped to her left side, where she wore the long-barrelled Navy Volcanic. Her familiar Remington was on her right. The combination of weapons would allow her to fire off sixteen shots in a short space of time, firepower that was unheard of in a world of single-shot muskets and carbines and six-shot revolvers.
‘You did that already.’ Jack saw through the answer immediately. It was a poor attempt to divert the conversation away from her real reason for seeking him out. It also did precious little to distract him from the licentious thoughts that were beginning to rampage across his mind. He did not truly hold out hope that the thanks she wanted to deliver included pushing him back into the room so they could be alone, but just the notion was enough to shorten his breath and make his heart pump that little bit faster.
Kat stood there a moment without speaking. Then she took a step towards him before lowering her voice. ‘I wanted to warn you.’
‘About what?’
‘Vaughan.’
‘Go on.’ Jack forced himself to concentrate on her words. Now that she was closer, he had caught the faintest whiff of her scent. Against the stink of urine that emanated from his room, it was intoxicating.
‘You mustn’t trust him.’
‘I don’t.’ Jack searched Kat’s eyes as she delivered her warning. He had been around enough women in his life to be reasonably good at reading emotions. But he had not the faintest clue what he saw reflected in her gaze. Was it fear, or cunning, or just
nothing much at all? One thing he did not see was desire. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’
‘I saw you go off with him when we got here.’
‘We were just talking.’
‘Were you?’ Kat frowned. ‘That man’s got himself the tongue of a goddam serpent. He’s as slippery as an eel, too and he can talk the hind legs off a mule with all those fancy words of his.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
Kat shook her head, as if disappointed by his response. ‘You need to be more than careful.’
‘I can look after myself.’ Jack wondered why Kat had felt compelled to give him the cryptic warning. ‘What about Brannigan?’ He asked a question of his own, to prolong the conversation as much as anything else. ‘Should I trust him?’
‘That’s for you to decide.’
‘But you do?’
‘He’s looked after me and kept me safe. Looked after my brother too until he got his head filled with nonsense and went off to fight for the damn rebels.’
‘And that makes you trust him?’
Kat did not answer immediately. Instead she stared at Jack, as if trying to discern whether she could safely say more. ‘I know him.’ The words came out flat.
‘And you stay with him, even though you could’ve left with your brother.’
‘I’ve got no place else to be right now.’ She took a half-step closer. ‘Why are you here, Jack?’
‘I’ve got no place else to be right now.’ He mimicked her answer.
‘Why’s that?’
‘That would be telling.’
Kat offered the slightest hint of a smile. ‘You don’t talk much, do you?’
‘There’s nothing much to tell.’
‘Well, that’s a lie. I reckon you got a whole lot to tell.’ Her eyes flickered back and forth as she searched his gaze for something. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. She stepped back. ‘Just be on your guard around Vaughan.’
The Lost Outlaw Page 18