The huge soldier’s dead weight collapsed forwards on to his former victim, his hands still around her throat, but no longer squeezing. Extracting his knife, Bannock swiftly wiped it clean on the Long Johns, before sheathing it. Then, after carefully gauging the distance, he grabbed hold of the corpse’s shoulders and heaved with all his might. The now lifeless body toppled off the cot and over to the open trapdoor. With gravity taking over, its massive bulk crashed down into the cellar, to end up in a bloody heap at the bottom of the steps.
For the first time the distraught female was able to breathe properly, but Bannock couldn’t allow her to vent her desperate emotion: crouching next to the cot, he gently placed a hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips. Although coated in blood, she stared into his eyes, and slowly nodded her assent. Although undoubtedly traumatized, the woman had sense enough to realize that she was still in mortal danger.
Knowing that they could be discovered at any time, Bannock pointed to the trapdoor. Gesturing that he would return below, he indicated that she should then close it, and pull the rug back into place. Thankfully, she was both quick on the uptake and resourceful. Sliding off the bed, she removed the bloodied blanket and rapidly wiped herself down with it. Then she rolled it into a ball and tossed it after her attacker. His discarded uniform went the same way. Her rescuer nodded with satisfaction, and made for the stepladder. The woman still had an awful lot of blood on her, but doubtless she would be able to find somewhere to wash it off.
As he carefully retreated down the steps, Bannock glanced back up at the female he had saved. Such a description did beg the question, was she really safe? All she could do was try to remain in hiding until the soldiers moved on. If they did. He favoured her with an understanding smile, but had no advice to offer. He had already done all that he could. Even in the dim light, he could see the anxiety on her features that was only partially masked by blood. Then, somehow, she managed to return the gesture. Momentarily her face lit up, and it suddenly occurred to him that there might be a pretty woman under all the gore, which would, of course, explain why she had been selected. Then he was back down into the pit, only this time he had to share it with a monstrous corpse.
With the trapdoor slowly dropping into place, he just had time to clamber over Montoya’s body and back on to the straw mattress. Most people would have found it difficult to settle in such circumstances, but Bannock was no stranger to violent death, and he had never yet been harmed by a cadaver. And so, as his heart rate began to return to normal, the reluctant assassin gradually began to drift off to sleep again. Vaguely he wondered just what the morning would bring, and then he was gone.
As natural light flooded into the cellar, its only living occupant jerked awake. It was as though only a moment had passed, and yet he was rubbing his eyes after another refreshing sleep. Then he turned, saw the blood-soaked corpse and grimaced. There had to be better sights to wake up to. Like maybe the young lady that he’d assisted. However one looked at it, it had been quite a night!
‘You are unhurt, señor?’ Luis’s anxious features appeared above him.
Bannock grunted. ‘You asking me, or this piece of shit?’ Then he smiled to take the sting out of it. ‘Yeah, yeah, just funning. I’m OK, I guess. My side’s sore, an’ I’m starving, but I’m alive. What about the girl?’
The girl suddenly appeared next to his host. Her features were now cleaned of the victim’s blood, and she was beaming from ear to ear.
‘Gracias, gracias,’ she gushed, time after time, until finally Luis had to gently move her aside. It occurred to the American that cleaned up, she was more than just pretty: she was gorgeous. He understood immediately why she had been singled out by the predatory non-com.
‘Come up from there, por favor,’ Luis implored. ‘The soldados have gone, and you must eat.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Bannock responded. ‘But first you need to drop a rope down here. This big bastard’ll be starting to stiffen, an’ soon you’ll never get him through the hatch.’
‘Sí, sí. We will do all that. You must follow Ana to the fire. We have a little food hidden away for the hero.’
‘Hero?’ replied Bannock quizzically. ‘Why, what have I done?’
As he clambered up into the room, Ana, petite and dark-haired, planted a kiss on his forehead, before seizing his arm and leading him to the compound. He was quite unprepared for what awaited him. Whereas before the villagers had been nervous and suspicious of him, now they were smiling broadly and keen to catch his eye. Some even patted him gently on his back as he passed by.
Ana led him over to a fire where Pepita was waiting. It was obvious that the youngster was to act as translator. And boy, could she talk. At first, Bannock listened attentively to her rendition of Ana’s voluble thanks, but finally he could resist the food smells no longer. With eyes wide, he pointed plaintively at his mouth, and everyone laughed.
It was as he was happily feeding, watched by a beaming audience, that Luis and two other men dragged the soldado’s corpse into the open. They were sweating from the effort, and once there it was obvious that they were at a loss as to what to do with it. Their glances kept drifting hopefully over to the American. Many of the villagers, all of whom were seeing the cadaver for the first time, gasped in shock at the gory mess on display.
‘So it’s not enough that I kilt the bastard,’ that man remarked through a mouthful of beans. ‘Now you want me to tell you what to do with the body!’
Luis shrugged expressively. ‘We are simple people, señor. Unused to the ways of war.’
‘Huh,’ Bannock grunted non-committedly. ‘Tell me this. When those soldier boys pulled out of here, did they know he’d gone missing?’
Luis pondered on that for a moment. ‘It did not seem so. They moved out just after dawn, once the coronel decided we had no more food. Or so he thought. He didn’t realize that we had moved our cattle further down the arroyo while they were still marching in here. We had even managed to hide away a few of our chickens. His kind are all the same. He was just a cerdo! How you say? Pig!’
The coronel’s parentage was of no interest to the American. He had already decided what needed to be done with the rapist . . . if these self-proclaimed simple people had the cojones for it. ‘OK, listen up. You need to strip him of those Long Johns and tie him over a donkey. Believe me, I don’t envy you that. Then take him in the same direction that his friends went and dump him in the open. Scatter all his clothes nearby.’
Luis was the only adult to comprehend all this, and his horrified reaction was understandable. ‘But for why, señor?’
Bannock sighed. It was like dealing with children. ‘Because if his compadres come back looking for him, it’ll seem like he deserted and got himself caught by some horse Indians. Only problem is, he looks too damn good for that right now. The son of a bitch needs a bit more work.’
Understanding and confusion were alternating on the Mexican’s features at a notable rate. ‘In what way?’ he tentatively asked.
Another sigh. ‘Mealtimes don’t last long around here, do they?’ Swallowing another mouthful, Bannock got to his feet and unsheathed his Bowie knife. Ambling over to the prone corpse, he awkwardly knelt down and suddenly plunged the blade into the unresisting torso. After repeating the action many times, he then seized the non-com’s hair and neatly sliced through the scalp until the whole gory mess came away in his hand.
Women and children cried out in shock, and Luis displayed genuine anger. ‘There was no need for such a display in front of them!’
Bannock was completely unrepentant. ‘There was every God-damn need! ’Cause he ain’t the only bad hombre in Sonora. Time’ll come when the only way you folks can survive out here is to get mean. Real mean. And the sooner you all learn that, the more chance you’ve got.’ He tossed the scalp over towards the other man. ‘Here. Keepsake for you.’ With that, he returned to the fire and calmly continued eating. He had a lot of catching up to do, and he wasn’t s
ure just when his welcome would wear out.
It was late morning before the young teniente summoned sufficient nerve to approach Capitan Ugalde. It wasn’t that he was afraid of his senior officer. Far from it, in fact, because the experienced capitan was actually considerably more agreeable than most of his kind. No, it was more the fact that he knew that he had let him down, and he was ashamed.
‘I am distressed to report that Sargento Montoya is missing, mi capitan.’
That man stared at his junior with disbelief. He glanced ahead to make sure that Vallejo was out of earshot. ‘When did you last see him?’
Even though well tanned, there was no hiding the colour that flooded to the teniente’s face. ‘I . . . I’m not too sure, sir. His men made no mention of it when we left San Marcos.’
Ugalde grunted expressively. Such a disclosure didn’t surprise him in the slightest. What irked him was that this promising young officer had been so easily hoodwinked. ‘He is . . . was under your command, Felipe. It is your job to know where all your men are.’
The other man bowed his head in supplication. ‘With your permission, sir, I will go back and search for him. We are not missing any animals, and he could not get far on foot.’
Ugalde thought for a moment, before shaking his head emphatically. ‘What if he stole a donkey from the villagers?’ Before the young man could reply, he continued with, ‘Mostly you are a good officer, Felipe, and I would not wish to lose you as well. So we will both go back . . . once I have obtained permission from our esteemed coronel.’
Some little inflection in those last words made the teniente smile. Neither he nor his peers had any great affection for their haughty commanding officer. They all knew who the real soldier was at their head, and so Felipe had no doubt that Ugalde would get permission. Whether they would see Montoya again was a different matter entirely.
Bannock lounged on a blanket near the open fire, content to watch the comings and goings of the villagers as they went about their various tasks. Many worked in the large cornfield beyond the walls. With constant irrigation required, the toil was endless. Those people in his vicinity appeared to have got over their collective shock at his brutal treatment of the soldier’s corpse. After all, apart from being already dead, the man had also been a rapist.
Ana had finally presented her husband, so that through Pepita he, too, could offer his heartfelt thanks. The fact that the highly attractive young woman was married should not have come as a surprise, yet the disclosure was something of a disappointment to the American, because he had been quite taken by the warmth of her gratitude. It also made him wonder just where the hell her spouse had been, when her honour required defending. As the two of them stood before him, their eyes kept drifting nervously to the massive knife on his belt. Smiling, he had unsheathed it and offered it for inspection.
‘Tell them they have nothing to fear from such a weapon,’ Bannock instructed Pepita. ‘It’s only as dangerous as the man using it.’ As they absorbed the translation, they both bowed graciously, but neither chose to touch it. It reminded him that, in his experience, most people preferred to let others do their killing for them.
The hours passed, and Bannock began to notice people glancing towards the entrance. It, too, occurred to him that the three men were long overdue from such a relatively simple task. It had been their stated intention not to travel too far from the mission. Sighing, he placed the nipple pick that he had been cleaning his fingernails with back into his trousers pocket and slowly got to his feet. Using the need to relieve himself as an excuse, he drifted outside, beyond the disintegrating walls and into the desert where there were no labourers.
Having just completed his ablutions, he suddenly heard footsteps from somewhere behind him in the scrub. Twisting to investigate provoked a sharp twinge in his left side, but not enough to prevent him drawing his knife. What he saw caused his brow to furrow, because it was obvious that a well-considered plan had not necessarily come to fruition.
Luis, alone and on foot, staggered towards him. Blood seeped from a gash on his forehead. As he spotted the American, relief flooded over his open features, but that quickly turned to fear as he glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Are they still out there?’ the Mexican called out.
‘Not a one that I can see, whoever they may be,’ Bannock responded. ‘But you look like you’ve done seen a ghost.’
‘Devils more like,’ Luis gasped haltingly as he joined him. He obviously required rest, but the urge to talk proved stronger. ‘We had just dropped that cerdo to the ground. They came out of nowhere, howling and screaming. Filled poor Miguel and Pedro with arrows. I let go of the donkey and ran for my life. They must have wanted that creature more than they wanted me, but still I thought I was dead for sure.’
Bannock’s eyes were like chips of ice, as he put the inevitable question. ‘Comanches?’
Capitan Ugalde saw the carrion birds long before the two officers reached the bodies. The gross creatures flapped about, stabbing and tearing at naked flesh. Despite the heat, he felt a great chill descend over him, because somehow he knew with dreadful certainty that one of the men would be their missing sargento. Drawing and cocking his privately purchased Colt revolver, the capitan resisted the strong urge to blast away at the birds. The surrounding terrain was uneven, and quite capable of concealing other, far more dangerous predators.
Turning to his ashen-faced subordinate, he ordered, ‘Draw your weapon, and keep watch. When we reach them, remain mounted.’ There was no response, and so he added in a far harsher tone, ‘Answer me, teniente!’
Finally, the young man found his voice. ‘Lo siento, mi capitan. I will do as you say.’
Grunting, Ugalde urged his now reluctant horse towards the dreadful scene. As expected, Montoya’s bulky figure lay there, the features barely recognizable. Leaving his horrified teniente to retch in the dust, he dismounted and carefully inspected the cadavers. All three had been stripped naked, their clothes casually discarded nearby. Body parts had been removed, and each man had been scalped. He had no doubt that such gruesome slaughter was the work of savages, yet nevertheless the make-up of the three bodies puzzled him. And of course, savages could belong to all nationalities!
The two slightly built Mexicans had apparently been perforated with arrows, which had then been removed for re-use. Their corpses were literally coated with dried blood. Sargento Montoya, on the other hand, had had his throat savagely sliced, which appeared to be the cause of death. He, too, had then been scalped and cut about the body, yet there was far less blood around those injuries. It was as though the gratuitous mutilation had occurred some considerable time after death. And yet surely they had all been killed at the same time . . . or was it just intended that it should appear that way? Which then begged the question, why had he been with two apparent strangers? There had been no other desertions in the night. Ugalde had confirmed that before leaving the column. And in any case, their clothes were those of simple peons. It just didn’t make sense.
Shaking his head, the capitan glanced up at his companion. ‘Something very strange has taken place here, Felipe. Or maybe somewhere else.’
The young man stared at him uncomprehendingly. This was the first time that he had seen violent death close up, and all he wanted to do was ride like the wind. Anywhere, just to get away from it. Whatever awaited them in California couldn’t possibly be worse than this. But then a peculiar look came to his superior’s face, as that man stared off into the middle distance, the dead apparently forgotten.
‘It is time for us to report back to the column,’ Ugalde abruptly announced, as he swiftly returned to the saddle. ‘Keep a steady pace, and stay next to me.’
The teniente was both relieved and surprised, and so it was annoying to be suddenly troubled by guilt. ‘Shouldn’t we perhaps bury Montoya first?’ he queried reluctantly.
As he urged his mount into motion, the capitan emphatically shook his head. ‘If we were to do that, we
might just as well dig five graves. The fat bastardo should have obeyed orders. So he stays where he lies!’
Set-tainte’s cruel features displayed both calculation and cunning as he watched the hated Mexican soldados ride off to the northwest. He had quite deliberately spared them, despite protests from some of the warriors assembled behind him, because where there were two, so there could very likely be others. Far better to let them learn lessons from the dead, and ride off in peace. That way, he and his followers could loot and pillage softer targets. Like the pitiful residents of the old adobe mission. That settlement promised prisoners aplenty for torture and trade.
Unconsciously he shifted the heavy weight of the captured volleygun across his left thigh. He was aware that possession of such a weapon had added greatly to his prestige, because no one in the war party had ever seen anything remotely like it before. After recovering the Nock from near the wreckage of the massive white man’s body, Set-tainte had spent a great deal of time reloading it. The lengthy task had been far from easy, because apart from anything else he could only guess at how much powder to tip down each barrel. He was even prepared to tolerate the antique flintlock mechanism. But now, after carrying it for many miles, he was beginning to wish wholeheartedly that he had left it at their base camp, or even traded it to one of the many warriors who unwittingly admired it. One thing was for sure, though: before he did dispose of it, he would use it against the enemies of his people. And being Comanches, that included pretty much everyone else in the human race!
There was one other thing niggling the war chief, and that was the fact that one of the men accompanying the laden donkey had escaped to spread the alarm. In itself, that wasn’t cause for concern, but Set-tainte had seen the condition of the original butchered corpse, and it had given him pause. Who was he? Why had he needed to die, and why go to so much trouble disposing of him? Such brutal handiwork was not likely to be the product of a simple peon. Whoever had done that was a born killer, just like the Comanches themselves!
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