Renegade 32

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo shrugged and replied, ‘They’ve been trading with the outside world, and anything built in this climate in 1695 rotted away long before tin roofs were on the market. Ditto the local costume. Would you want to wear wool plaids in a jungle? These people grew up as tropic natives. Naturally, they learned long ago that the cotton pajamas and straw sombreros of Central America are the best duds to work in down here. But you may have one point. I was expecting to see something a little more Caledonian, now that I think about it. I can see how a passing stranger could mistake this layout for just another jungle village even if he spotted it from the right channel.’

  He turned to stare the other way, west, across quiet tea-colored water. All he saw on the far side was the usual wall of jungle greenery. He nodded and said, ‘Yeah, Don Federico’s G.H.Q. would be tough to map too, even if he does claim both sides of this creek as Jean says he does.’

  The lady he was talking about was calling their names now, so they moved aft to join her and what seemed to be a welcoming delegation of unusually pallid Hispanics. One had shoes as well as a white suit and shoestring tie on. So Captain Gringo wasn’t too surprised when Jean introduced him as the Campbell and added he was their real tigherna, or laird.

  Alexander Campbell was about Gaston’s age but almost as big as Captain Gringo. He had a crushing grip and said they could call him Sandy. Captain Gringo started to ask why, since the big Scot had black hair streaked with gray. Then he realized Sandy was short for Alexander. That explained a lot of other Sandies he’d met who didn’t look all that sandy.

  Campbell said, ‘Ye must be tired after yer lang, weary journey, lads. Sae we’ll show ye to yer quarters and tonight, after ye’ve rested and the sennachies have had time to gather, we can discuss what’s to be done about yon Spaniards.’

  ‘I’m not at all tired and what’s a sennachie, Sandy?’

  Campbell took his arm and led the way to the gangplank, saying, ‘Sennachies be the tribal elders wha keep the auld traditions straight. Though, alas, in the auld country they’ve been reduced to mere storytellers to amuse the tourists. It matters nae if ye feel full of beans this afternoon, lads. We canna make a move till the auld ones ha’ mulled the matter over.’

  ‘I thought you were the chief here.’

  ‘Och, I see ye’re filled wi’ the fairy tales of Walter Scott and other lowland loons. Did ye think we were wild savages taking orders fram one mon wi’ feathers in his bonnet?’

  68

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. I don’t have the Gaelic, but I did read Rob Roy and The Fair Maid Of Perth.’

  Campbell laughed jovially and led them down to not too solid ground, saying, ‘I said Scott was a romantic lowland loon. I’ll have ye ken that before the coming of the Saxon, we Celts enjoyed a more organized form of government than our feudal friends in tin suits. The English lairds who came to civilize us had powers of life and death over their people. By God, they were no better than that Spanish loon across the river! We Celts lived by written brehon law when the Sassenach was still praying to horse skulls and debating the finer points of law wi’ naked steel.’

  ‘Like Don Federico?’

  ‘Ay, but we’ll nae stoop to his base level, lads. We brought ye here to fight him right.’

  The two soldiers of fortune exchanged glances as they followed the local bigshot along a muddy path. They’d already noticed Jean had stayed aboard the schooner with her crew. None of the other settlers came near them as they sort of paraded by. They realized it was a parade, in a way, when somewhere a bagpipe commenced to skirl.

  Gaston muttered, ‘Now that is more what I had in mind. Mais I am still not sure I wish to be here.’

  Campbell led them to a shack on stilts. As they climbed the rickety stairs, two Carib girls wearing strands of pearls and nothing else above their cotton aprons came out on the porch to line up for submissive inspection.

  Their Scots host sighed and said, ‘Och, we just canna get them to keep on the clothes we gie them. I hope ye lads are broad-minded about Indians.’

  They both agreed they were.

  The Scot said, ‘Awheel, these Carib lassies come wi’the hoose as serving wenches. Come on in and I’ll show ye aroond.’

  They followed him inside. The interior at least was whitewashed and smelled clean. There were four rooms. Two held brass bedsteads and the larger a pot-bellied stove along with rocking chairs and a bookshelf.

  Gaston asked where the adorable maidens slept and was told, ‘Oot back, in their ain wee grass hut. The cooking is doon out back, too. It’s nae safe to sleep wi’ either a live oven or a live Carib under the same roof wi’ ye, ye ken.’

  Captain Gringo nodded soberly and said, ‘Jean told us what happened to her sister. But when I was sailing with Flora, she told me you’d never had much trouble with the local Indians, Sandy.’

  The big Scot shrugged and said, ‘Ay, but how much trouble do ye want, lad? The fey redskins are like children, sae it’s best to keep them in their place, ye ken. We’ve never mistreated them as the Spaniards did and still do. Sae it’s true we’ve yet to have a grand caith wi’ any of the local tribes. But they will steal, and they will avenge insults only they seem to understand. Sae if either of ye desire a wee bit of fun wi’ hoose servants, make sure ye send ’em back ootside and lock the back door before ye trim yer lamps for the nicht.’

  Captain Gringo was relieved to see he wouldn’t have to control Gaston after all. But he was still armed with nothing bigger than the .38 under his jacket. He said so, and Campbell explained, ‘The machine gun ye left wi’ the late Flora MacTavish is under lock and key, of course. We’ll gie it back to ye after the sennachies decide on our next move against the Spanish foe.’

  Captain Gringo shook his head and insisted, ‘I’d rather have it sooner. For one thing, I have to see if it’s still in working order. For another, I’d feel pretty silly if those land grabbers decided to move first. That’s happened to us in the past, you see.’

  Their host nodded and said he’d have some gillies deliver the Maxim – whatever gillies were. Then he called in the girls and proceeded to give them orders in what didn’t sound like Carib and couldn’t be English or Spanish. As they dashed out back to do something in a hurry, Campbell explained, ‘I just told them to prepare ye some supper and serve ye in any other ways ye might desire.’

  Captain Gringo laughed and asked, ‘In Gaelic? Neither of us speak a word of it, Sandy!’

  ‘Och, they have a wee bit of English, if ye point a bit. Ye see, when our forefathers domesticated theirs, more of us spoke the auld way. Alas, the tongue of the true Scot is fading away, even among our ain younger people. It’s all the fault of that lowland parliament what sent us here in the first place. At least half the original settlers spoke Doric English in the first place and it’s ever been easier for a Celt to learn English than for a dumb Sassenach to learn the Gaelic. Ye see, ye have to start learning it from the cradle, like the pìob mhór or, as ye call it, the bagpipe.’

  He assured them the Indian girls knew what to do and that he’d send the Maxim to them directly. Then he left to do so.

  As they watched him stride rather grandly away, Gaston chuckled and observed, ‘Merde alors, I feel sure it is true that learning to speak such a barbaric language would be as difficult as learning to play the bagpipe, and after one had gone to all that trouble, who on earth would wish to listen, hein?’

  Captain Gringo led him back inside, lit a smoke, and took a seat by the cold stove before he asked, ‘Gaston, have you ever had the feeling that you’re being played for a sucker?’

  Gaston sat down too, saying, ‘Oui, the first time I got married was a good example. She assured me the child was mine. But, mon Dieu, what an ugly little redheaded bastard it turned out to be!’

  He lit his own cigar before he went on, ‘Speaking of red hair, in what manner do you suspect our Celtic friends mean to cross us double?’

  ‘I wish I knew. I can’t make the pieces fit
, no matter how I shove them around. Campbell can’t be working with British Intelligence for the same reason Jean had to be the real thing. If Greystoke had confederates who knew where this place was, he never would have tried to sucker us into showing him the way here in the first place, right?’

  ‘That sounds reasonable. Mais what skullduggery could be left? If the leader of these mysterious Celts was in league with the sinister Spaniards across the way, why on earth would he have need for our services? Could he be a très sneaky agent of the Colombian government who, when you get down to the tacks of brass, must think they own both sides of this bayou?’

  Captain Gringo blew a smoke ring thoughtfully before he shook his head and said, ‘That won’t work either. Greystoke says not even the Royal Navy has this area mapped. If the Colombians did, Don Federico’s land claims would be a moot point. Colombia has a navy too. If they gave a damn one way or the other about rival squatters on land they’ve claimed without bothering to explore it—’

  ‘Ah, oui,’ Gaston cut in. ‘Neither these long-lost Scots nor Spanish empire builders would have need of sneaky business if they even had permission from Colombia to be here! Yet you say you find our host mysterious. May I ask why?’

  ‘I dunno. Just a feeling that we haven’t been given the whole story. After chasing us all up and down the coast to recruit us, Jean MacTavish seemed to avoid us beyond the limits of maidenly modesty. Nobody but Campbell has said a word to us since we came ashore, and he’s left us with nobody to talk to but a couple of native girls who don’t speak English and can’t know much in any case!’

  Gaston shrugged and said, ‘As he said, they are a très strange, moody race with their own odd customs. The French of Breton are Celts, related in some grotesque manner to the Welsh. They, too, tend to be très clannish and inclined to clam up when strangers are about. In a Breton bar, one always had the feeling that they were sharing a joke just before you entered and that the punch line must be withheld until you leave. Ask a Scot, an Irishman, or any other Celt what time it is and, before he will tell you, he has to know why you wish to know and where your grandparents were born, hein?’

  ‘That’s probably it. Hold the thought. Someone’s coming.’

  They rose as a quartet of young guys came up the front steps, lugging the canvas-wrapped Maxim, its tripod, and some sheet-metal ammo cases. Captain Gringo told them to put the stuff down anywhere. They still had to argue about it among themselves in a mixture of Gaelic and thick brogue before everything wound up just about where Captain Gringo had expected it to – in the middle of the room.

  Once that had been decided, the one who seemed in charge asked if there was anything else they could do. Captain Gringo noticed that despite his Doric English, the youth had to be at least half Indian. It sounded odd for a guy who could pass for a Mexican to introduce himself as an Angus MacFarlane and say, ‘Ay, in that case it’s to yer ainselves we’ll be laving ye, gude sores!’ when they told him they didn’t need anything else heavy moved.

  As the four of them dashed off, either talking to one another or trying to clear their throats, Captain Gringo nodded and said, ‘I guess you could be right. We just seem to make them uncomfortable, too. We’re probably the first outsiders they’ve ever seen.’

  ‘What about the Indians and rude Spaniards in the area, Dick?’

  ‘That’s different. They know where they stand with everyone who grew up in these parts. Despite Campbell’s protestations to the contrary, they are a clan society. They know how to deal with kissing kin and how to deal with enemies. Strangers they’ve been told to be nice to must confuse hell out of them.’

  He hunkered down by the dismounted machine gun and peeled the covers off. He brightened as he saw the action had been cleaned by someone who knew guns and, better yet, kept well-oiled since last he’d left this very same gun aboard Thistlegorm. He’d never expected to see it again.

  He checked the action. There was nothing that had to be done to the weapon except load it and fire it at anyone who messed with him. He lugged everything into the bedroom he’d chosen, with Gaston’s grudging assistance, and set it up in one corner for the time being. How much time that might be was still up for grabs, or the mysterious sennachies.

  He got around to them after the Carib girls brought in two trays heaped with unfamiliar food and drink. The pot they assumed was full of coffee was really hot chocolate.

  The carafe of what looked, and tasted, like warm spit had to be chichi, or Indian home brew. Neither of them wanted to get drunk that bad.

  The main course they were obviously expected to share looked like a half-deflated football, steaming on a big tin plate. It smelled like stew. They asked the Carib girls what on earth it was and how they were supposed to eat it. The brighter and prettier of the two, who said her name was something like Yoyo, told them it was a hag’s ass and, when that didn’t convince them it was food, cut it open with a steak knife to spill a sure-enough meat and vegetable stew out of the animal paunch it had been cooked in.

  As Captain Gringo caught on, he laughed and said, ‘Some future anthropologist is going to have a lot of fun recording this Carib dish. It’s a tropical version of haggis, for God’s sake!’

  Gaston stared suspiciously at his plate to observe, ‘And what, may I ask, is one supposed to do with the derrière of a crone?’

  ‘Not hag’s ass, damnit. Haggis, a Scots dish. I had some once up in York State. Didn’t think much of it at the time. But on the other hand, it was made with oatmeal instead of corn and I wasn’t as used to awful food in those days. Dig in. It’ll really stick to your ribs.’

  Gaston sighed and bitched, ‘That’s just what I am worried about!’ But as he tasted gingerly, he had to admit, ‘Not bad, You say that in Scotland they stew meat avec chili and papayas?’

  ‘Don’t argue. Just be grateful they left out the tripe and turnips,’ chuckled Captain Gringo. Then he noticed neither Indian girl was eating anything and asked Yoyo how come.

  She looked astounded, and when she translated to her companion, they both laughed and slapped one another’s bare hides for some reason. The fatter one covered her face with her hands and ran out on them to hide in the trees or something. Yoyo explained that Opera Glasses, if that was it, was too embarrassed to face them in broad daylight now that they’d apparently propositioned her. Yoyo assured them she’d be back, after sundown, to ‘jigjiga’ them silly. She added, coyly placing a hand on Captain Gringo’s thigh, ‘Suppose ye wanna jigjiga Yoyo now is bonny bonny along me!’

  He gulped and told Gaston, ‘Jesus, it seems offering a Carib chick a snack is a quick way to go steady, down here. It’s hard to say for sure, with her pidgin English laced with brogue for God’s sake!’

  Gaston swallowed and said, ‘I could have told you that. Indian men only eat with their favorite women. Now that the damage has been done, one supposes I’ll be stuck with the shy fat one, hein?’

  ‘Let’s not get hasty. It’s still broad-ass daylight and we have a meeting set up with the local elders, come sundown.’

  ‘Oui, mais that still leaves over an hour for the game of love, and I’d feel just as silly if they caught me jerking off. Is it not obvious our gracious host has, how you say, fixed us up? Do you want the surly Scots to consider us sissies?’

  ‘Behave yourself until we know them a little better. That goes for you too, Yoyo.’

  ‘You nae wanna jigjiga me, gude sore?’

  ‘Maybe later. Not now.’

  She jumped to her feet and ran out, crying.

  Gaston smiled lewdly and suggested, ‘Perhaps I should take a stroll in the woods to settle my digestion, non?’

  Captain Gringo growled, ‘Non. I mean it. You can lay ’em both after we’ve a better idea what else we have to worry about here. Finish your grub. I’ve already had all I want. I think I’ll just read a while. Chase after that pussy and I’ll bust your ass.’

  Then before Gaston could argue or he could get anywhere near the bookcase ac
ross the room, the late afternoon stillness was shattered by a tremendous explosion. The whole house twanged on its limber posts, and both Captain Gringo and the bookcase wound up on the floor, covered with soot from the severed stove-pipe of the overturned potbelly!

  A second and third explosion roared outside as he rolled to his feet and staggered out on the porch just in time to see the house across the way turn into a big ball of flame, crumpled tin, and kindling wood!

  Gaston pushed him down the steps and dove after him, shouting, ‘Hit the dirt, you idiot! Can you not see we are under artillery fire?’

  Captain Gringo wondered what else was new as they both hugged the ground despite the way it was heaving under them. He would have stayed that way until it was over, but he heard a little kid wailing somewhere in the surrounding Confusion. So he had to get up again and, just as Gaston shouted, ‘Mais now!’ another shock wave knocked him on his ass.

  ‘Stay down. They have us ranged!’ gasped Gaston. But the kid was still screaming out there somewhere. So Captain Gringo had to try again, spitting dust and curses as he ran through the drifting clouds of cordite fumes and delta dust.

  He could see her now. A little girl was sprawled in the roadway ahead, blown out of her clothing but covered with mud and blood. He scooped her up and headed for the nearest crater with the kid screaming fit to bust as she clung to him.

  They almost made it. Then something blew hell out of the space he’d just scooped her up from and he had to twist like a cat in mid-air to keep from landing in the crater on top of her. As it was, her breath was knocked out of her. But she was still conscious and staring up at him with big, frightened eyes of blue in a face that could sure use some soap and water.

  He sheltered her with his own body, soothing, ‘Easy, Sis. We’re going to make it!’ Then a falling timber rabbit punched him good and he wondered dully why the sun had set so early and how come all those stars were under him this evening.