‘You killed the snake before it could bite me,’ she remarked quietly, in heavily accented English. ‘That means you must be my friend.’
Bannock twitched with surprise, as the memory of that event flooded back. ‘I guess I must be, little lady. So tell me, how come you speak such good American?’
She gazed at him very seriously. ‘That’s because my . . .’
The door suddenly opened wide, allowing more light to flood into the room, and a man entered. That he was angry was obvious. He spoke sharply in Spanish, and the girl ran out without another word. Then he turned to his prone guest and began to speak in halting English.
‘Pepita is my . . . daughter. She knows you have been hurt, and should not, how you say, annoy you?’
Bannock looked closely at the Mexican. Slim and of medium height and build, he appeared to be about thirty years old, although such things could be hard to tell. People aged quickly in such a land. One thing was obvious, however, to someone who knew what to look for. His face was open and honest, with no sign of meanness or latent aggression. The features were those of a simple peon, who spent his days trying to extract a living from the harsh surroundings.
‘No call for you to get wrathy with her, mister,’ the American softly remarked. ‘Happen she just wanted to say hello, is all.’
It was obvious that his host was struggling with some of the mangled dialogue, but nevertheless he replied, ‘There are many things I would know, señor.’
Bannock smiled. ‘Likewise. But let’s start with names, huh? Those that know me, call me Bannock.’ And with that he reached out his right hand.
The Mexican readily accepted the grip. ‘My name is Luis. I live in this simple place with my daughter.’ He paused and looked closely at his guest. ‘I do not wish to, ah . . . press you, señor, but word of that arrow wound has spread. People here are nervous. I would know what happened to you in the desert.’
Bannock nodded. He could well understand their apprehension. Deciding that complete honesty was the best way, he related slowly and graphically just what had befallen him. Although Luis listened in stunned silence, the terrible fate of the wagon train left him with eyes as wide as saucers. Even if he hadn’t always understood every word, he was left in no doubt as to the dreadful sequence of events that had transpired. And that gave rise to a very grave question indeed.
‘Could it be that you have led them to us, Señor Bannock? If they were to follow your tracks.’
That man emphatically shook his head. ‘Nah. Not a chance. If they had wanted another crack at me, they’d have come after me again and caught up for sure. But the thing is, Comanches don’t like taking casualties. It unnerves them. So if those sons of bitches do happen to turn up at this settlement, it’s because they already know that you’re here.’ He returned Luis’s searching gaze. ‘Do they know of this place?’
The younger man shrugged slightly, but couldn’t hide his discomfort. ‘Things have happened. Animals stolen in the night. We never saw who did it.’
Bannock’s eyes were like gimlets. ‘And did you even go looking?’
Shrugging, Luis reluctantly shook his head. ‘We are peaceful people, señor. We have few weapons. What could we have done?’
It was the American’s turn to shrug. ‘Got yourselves kilt, probably. But however you look at it, you failed the test.’
‘Que?’
‘You didn’t show any fight. Which means that whoever stole them animals will be sure to return for a bigger piece of pie.’
Luis’s confusion was very evident. ‘Piece of pie?’
Bannock just smiled tolerantly and abruptly changed the subject. ‘How come you and Pepita speak American so good?’
It was the Mexican’s turn to display sadness. ‘I married a woman from Texas. She died of fever one year ago. I was mucho in love with her. Pepita has her beauty, which for me is good . . . and yet sometimes not so good. It reminds me of what we have lost.’
Bannock suddenly thought of the little girl that he had shot near the burning wagons. ‘Children sure as hell get a rough deal in this country,’ he opined, his features suddenly grim. Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, he asked, ‘Just how long have I been laying here, anyhu?’
Luis appeared startled. It hadn’t occurred to him that his guest didn’t know. ‘Three days, señor. It was as well that you slept. Pulling out the arrowhead took mucho, how you say . . . effort. There was great blood.’
‘Three days!’ Bannock exclaimed. ‘No wonder I could eat a horse. That’s if those thieving varmints left you any,’ he added slyly.
The peon smiled. ‘We have only simple fair, but what is mine is also yours. Can you walk with me?’
Bannock carefully eased his body from the cot, grunting a little, as he got upright. ‘If there’s vittles on offer, I’ll walk any distance, my friend.’ He wasn’t to know, as he followed his host from the room, that hostile Indians weren’t the only people out for a piece of pie!
After impatiently wiping his sweat from the eyepiece of the drawtube spyglass, Coronel Vallejo returned his attention to the sprawling adobe mission. Compared to many of the structures in Mexico City it wasn’t much to look at, but it was the largest settlement that he’d seen since entering Sonora. It even seemed to possess a small church, although he very much doubted if there was still a priest in residence. With its disintegrating walls and almost non-existent gates, San Marcos was certainly no fortress – but that was of no concern to Vallejo. He wasn’t there to fight, merely to sample their hospitality.
Glancing at his companion, he drily remarked, ‘It appears that the inhabitants of this Godforsaken furnace will soon have the pleasure of feeding us all. And for that they will briefly enjoy our protection. After all, is that not why we accepted our commissions as officers and gentlemen?’
Capitan Ugalde peered around at the apparently deserted terrain. ‘Protection from what, mi coronel?’
His commanding officer laughed cynically. ‘Very probably some of the gutter sweepings behind us.’
Ugalde shrugged. Despite his earnest attempts to treat the enlisted men as human beings, he sadly recognized that many of them fell far below such a generous categorization, and that appearances could be deceptive. Because, although dusty and sweat stained, the column of tramping soldiers was undeniably impressive, and very deliberately so. Their blue uniforms, fronted by white cross belts, were reminiscent of the Napoleonic era. The tall, cylindrical caps known as shakos endowed the men with the illusion of great height. The only concession to the scorching sun was a black visor at the front of each shako, though that afforded little real protection.
The two senior mounted officers, and more especially the coronel, were even more splendidly outfitted. His blue tunic boasted gold and scarlet facings, and gleaming bullion epaulettes. More gold trim ran around the collars and cuffs. On their heads, both sported bicorn hats, running front to rear. Down the column, even the assorted tenientes were easily distinguishable from the common soldiers by the fact that they, too, were mounted.
Although completely impractical on the frontier, the intention behind such a garish display of finery was to overawe the troublesome Yankees and return some order to the Mexican possession of California. And nothing emphasized that aim more than the numerous red, white and green flags on show.
Unfortunately, such military might was often little more than vain bravado. The rank and file mostly consisted of unhappy conscripts, drawn from the prisons and starving unemployed. That they weren’t always either motivated or well led had been amply demonstrated in the war with the Texicans in the previous decade. Their apparent discipline was little more than a brittle shell, soon shattered in the presence of temptation. And what could be more tempting than a remote settlement containing women? Because it was a sure thing that not all of them would be wrinkled old crones!
Bannock sat before an open fire, contentedly devouring a plate of tortillas and beans. A mug of steaming coffee, or what passed for it
in such a place, awaited his attention. So immense was his hunger that the plain meal seemed fit for a president, and he didn’t even notice the villagers observing him apprehensively. They were simple folk, who had heard only bad things about the aggressive, foul-mouthed gringos from the north.
His feasting was so single-minded that he unintentionally ignored little Pepita, as the girl settled down opposite him. Her eyes registered great curiosity. Never before had she seen anyone remotely like this lean stranger. She couldn’t conceivably have put such thoughts into words, but he had the look of a predator. Dangerous and yet apparently benign, because after all he had quite possibly saved her life. The child had all sorts of questions, but something about his demeanour constrained her. And yet . . . the impetuosity that had sent her out into the desert alone began to reassert itself. Opening her mouth, she was just about to speak, when a voice bellowed out from the entrance to the compound.
‘Madre de dios! Riders coming, and men on foot. Many, many men.’
Bannock hadn’t understood the warning, but the startled reaction of those around him sufficed. Cramming in another mouthful, he reluctantly got to his feet to wait on events. The effort made him wince from the pain in his side, but he decided that it was tolerable, and indeed far better than before.
It was Luis who asked the question that was on everyone’s mind, forgetting for a moment that marauding Indians never went anywhere on foot. ‘Indios?’
‘No. Soldados.’
There was a rush for the entrance. Many of the peons crossed themselves at the sight of the approaching soldiers. It seemed that no one expected them to be benign visitors.
‘We have some reason to be afraid, señor,’ Luis announced as he rejoined the American. ‘You most definitely have!’
Bannock shrugged. Being under threat was nothing new. ‘So what would you have me do?’
‘Hide!’
‘And what about these good people?’ Bannock asked, with just a hint of sarcasm, as he gestured around. ‘Won’t they give me away?’
The younger man frowned, as though insulted by such a question. ‘You are my guest, and so under my protection. I will see to it that you are not spoken of. Follow me, por favor.’
The soldiers, aware that they were being watched, had deliberately stepped up their pace to a swaggering march, and were now audible inside the walls. Without further comment, Bannock followed Luis back to his room, where he watched in surprise as a rug was pulled back to reveal a sturdy trapdoor.
Lifting it, the Mexican remarked, ‘The good fathers who were here before us also had things to hide. You will be safe down there.’
‘What about my weapons?’ his guest demanded. ‘They’ll be a dead giveaway.’
‘Already down there,’ Luis replied. ‘I don’t like guns.’
Cautiously descending the stepladder, Bannock retorted, ‘Happen you may have need of them again, afore long!’
Then the trapdoor closed above him, and he was left in total darkness.
Luis’s heart sank as he scrutinized the mounted officers from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. The obvious leader had the look of a strutting peacock, and that kind was always the worst. Standing with the other menfolk, the peon kept his head bowed, eyes down, as the coronel dismounted in from of them.
‘You will have food prepared immediately,’ Vallejo snapped at the quite rightly subservient villagers. ‘And you can count yourselves fortunate that we are only here for the night.’
Without awaiting a response, he then strolled proprietorially through the entranceway and on into the mission compound. He was surprised at the amount of space. There would be enough room to bivouac all his men within San Marcos’ crumbling walls. Their comfort was of little concern to him, but to have them all in one place limited the opportunities for desertion. Not that there was really anywhere to go!
Capitan Ugalde watched for a moment as his commanding officer began an inspection of the living quarters. He well knew that such a man would be concerned only with finding the most comfortable billet, whilst leaving all military duties to his subordinates. Around him, the nervous inhabitants were rapidly stoking fires and preparing food. The burden of feeding such a body of soldiers could well leave them without any for themselves, but that might be the least of their worries. He beckoned to a hulking sargento standing nearby. Protocol meant that Ugalde would normally have passed instructions on to the individual company tenientes, but he had good reason for bypassing that in this instance.
‘Montoya. These simple people are our fellow countrymen, who have given us no trouble. We are here for food and a place to rest, and nothing more. Do I make myself clear?’
The massive, pockmarked non-com grinned at him. Or it might have been a scowl. It was difficult to tell with features such as his. Montoya was a veteran of numerous campaigns, including the ill-fated one against the Texicans. Rumour had it that he had received the great scar on his right cheek during the final assault on the Alamo Mission at San Antonio de Bexar. It was common knowledge that his own men were terrified of him, but there was no denying that he was invaluable in a fight. Unfortunately he had a fondness for rape and pillage that wasn’t shared by Captain Ugalde.
‘Sí, mi capitan. All I want is to fill my belly and sleep,’ the bull-necked sargento quietly affirmed – and yet something about his expression gave the officer no comfort at all.
Unfortunately, Ugalde knew full well that with two hundred and fifty men scattered about the compound, he had no hope of watching them all. . . especially once darkness had fallen!
Chapter Six
Bannock jerked awake, his eyes searching the inky blackness. Something had obviously disturbed him, but he was unable to discern just what that might be. It all seemed as quiet as dust in a church. His host had very considerately placed a straw mattress in the cellar, or whatever the space was that he was occupying, and so with a full belly the American had soon drifted off to sleep. Amazingly, considering how stuffy the air was, it had been deep and untroubled, and would doubtless have lasted longer.
Then he heard it. The low moan of someone deeply distressed. That was followed by a louder, animal-like snarl, which clearly came from the room above. It was obvious that some dark deed was taking place, and all his instincts warned him to stay put, and even go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Bannock had always been an awkward and curious cuss, not much given to doing the right thing.
Peering around, he searched for his firearms, but they might just as well have been invisible. Not that it would make any sense to use them, with half the Mexican army camped above him. If it came to killing, he would just have to rely on the Bowie knife attached to his belt. The use of cold steel did not come naturally to a lot of white folks, but he had never been afflicted by such niceties.
Easing off the mattress, he found the stepladder by touch. Another, louder moan reached him, and he decided that it had to be from a female. Pepita’s lovely features suddenly swam into his mind, and with his pulse beginning to race, he prayed that it wasn’t her who was being abused. Placing the blade of the massive knife between tightly clenched teeth, Bannock cautiously began climbing. Almost immediately, his head gently butted up against the trapdoor. With beads of sweat forming on his brow, he recognized that this was the point of no return. Once he raised the door, he was committed. Or he could just return to the ground, and meekly wait until Luis came for him. If that man was ever able to!
‘Oh, the hell with it!’ he decided. His intervention had never really been in doubt, because the smell of death seemed to follow some men around, and so it was with him.
Recalling how solid the trapdoor was, the American ascended another step and then put his shoulders to it. Praying fervently that the hinges wouldn’t squeak and give him away, he slowly heaved upwards. Ignoring the sudden pain in his side, he kept up the pressure until the rug fell away. The frenzied noises in the room were abruptly louder and more immediate. Barely daring to breath, Bannock peered over at the cot where he
had spent most of the last three days. The flickering light, provided by a single foul-smelling tallow candle, served only to emphasize the disagreeable sight before him.
A brutal act of rape was taking place, which sadly did not really surprise him. With soldiers in the settlement, he had suspected something of the sort. It was the degree of violence involved that sickened him. A huge bear of a man, wearing filthy Long Johns, had pinioned his victim to the cot. The helpless woman’s skirt had ridden up around her waist, as the great brute pounded away inside her. Both his hands gripped her by the throat, as though he was throttling the life out of her. Even in the poor light, Bannock could see fresh blood on both her clothes and the blanket, and he was pretty damn sure that it didn’t belong to the vicious assailant.
Whilst knowing that he had to act fast, the American also recognized that there could be no half measures. In his weakened condition, and up against such a monster of a man, the only course of action was to kill, and kill quickly.
The ghastly sexual activities on the cot meant that the couple were oblivious to anything else, and so Bannock remained unnoticed as he eased up into the room. After carefully settling the trapdoor on to the floor, he remained in a crouching position and took hold of the huge knife in his right hand. The bovine rapist continued to grunt with effort, but his victim was apparently no longer able to offer any resistance. It was going to be touch and go even to save her life, but her potential saviour knew that he had to get the timing just right.
Drawing in a deep breath, Bannock watched as the soldado abruptly arched his head back in apparent ecstasy, and recognized that this was the best chance that he’d get. Surging forwards like a great cat, he seized a mat of greasy hair with his left hand, and thrust the Bowie’s great blade into his victim’s throat. Not content with that, he then twisted the knife for good measure. A geyser of blood flowed over the poor woman, and it was as well that she was still unable to scream.
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