Renegade 32

by Lou Cameron

  ‘I’m beginning to see that. Are you in the market for bullets?’

  ‘You have bullets? Not even trader Lemmon would trade us bullets for the few guns we have back in our village. He said it was against his religion to trade in guns and ammunition.’

  Captain Gringo took a handful of spare .38 rounds from his jacket and tossed them down to them as Gaston muttered, ‘Are you mad?’

  He murmured, ‘No. Just desperate. They’ve got us cold, so our only hope is to keep them from figuring out the advantage they have.’

  Below, the Indians were scrambling for the scattered .38 rounds like children diving for pennies thrown by a drunk.

  The translator called up, ‘These are not the right size for our guns. But we can remove the powder and remelt the lead. Our women can make pretty necklaces from the brass. El Jefe asks how many pearls you wish for these bullets, señor.’

  ‘Tell him they are a free gift and tell him we can get many more for him, not far from here. Tell him we dropped a whole lot of .30-30 from the sky by accident and that only we know which way to look.’

  ‘You got .30-30s? Bueno, they are even bigger. But I cannot tell El Jefe you wish nothing for them! It is wrong to take gifts and not give something back. Suppose we give you one pearl for each bullet? We got lots of pearls. We get them from others, further west. They say they come from the bitter western waters. Maybe they do. Does one pearl for one bullet sound fair, señor?’

  ‘More than fair. It is against our religion to cheat friends. Suppose we offer your chief two bullets for one pearl if he’ll throw in a nice long rope?’

  ‘You have need of a rope, señor?’

  ‘Sort of. Toss one up and we’ll come down and show you where the other bullets are.’

  A flicker of low cunning crossed the translator’s upturned face.

  Captain Gringo quickly added, ‘You can see we need a rope to get all the way down to you. If you don’t wish to trade with us, I suppose we’ll just have to fly away again.’

  It worked. El Jefe sent a runner somewhere and in no time at all a burly brave had heaved a coil of cyclanth fiber riata up to them. As Captain Gringo uncoiled it and fastened one end to the basket Gaston bitched about it being way too thin to be safe. The American said, ‘Cover me until I’m in shape to cover you coming down. If it’ll hold my weight, it’ll have to hold yours.’

  ‘And what if it breaks on you, you moose?’

  ‘We’ll both be in a hell of a mess. But what’s so new about that?’

  He went over the side and lowered himself to the ground without snapping the line or catching a reed arrow with his ass. As he joined the Indians, he saw that they seemed friendlier at closer range despite their face paint and plucked-out eyebrows. He still held his gun politely down at his side until Gaston joined him.

  The Indians made no suspicious moves. But when the translator said El Jefe would like to see those other bullets now, they knew he meant it.

  It got even spookier before they found the Maxim and its trailing ammo belt. The old chief was muttering darkly in the forest gloom as they searched, and they never would have found it in time had not the machine gun been hung up in a tree fork with the belt dangling under it like spilled guts.

  An Indian scampered up to free it as even the old chief laughed like a kid. The translator asked how much they wanted for the big gun as well and Captain Gringo said, ‘You tossed in that rope, so you can have the gun. I warn you it probably won’t shoot now. But you may have use for the steel parts.’

  He showed them how to open the breech and remove the ammo belt. As long as he was at it, he reset the head spacing and removed the automatic cam. It would still fire single shots if it wasn’t too fucked up. But how much trouble could even a wild Indian get into with a single-shot weapon almost as heavy as he was?

  If their leader had ever meant treachery, this was about the time to get nasty. But he was so delighted with the goodies from the sky that he called them his white children and assured them his tribe would be more than willing to trade with others as fair.

  Captain Gringo said he’d tell the traders taking over from the late Rusty Lemmon and added, in a desperately casual tone, that he and Gaston had better return by water instead of the sky so they’d know the way inland better, right?

  The somewhat simple but not really savage souls bought it. They led the now totally lost soldiers of fortune to a village by a stream they said fed into the Rio Atrato and told them they were welcome to take any canoe they wanted.

  But first they all had to get drunk together.

  The Indians did. They were trying a lot harder. The two whites found their manioc-and-human-spit home brew insipid next to rum in the first place and nursed their drinking gourds in the second. So by late afternoon, as their hosts lay happily in heaps around them, they just helped themselves to some provisions and cast off.

  Gaston had suggested bringing along at least two unconscious Indian girls. But Captain Gringo told him, ‘They might get upset once they wake up. Besides, haven’t we screwed them enough? How much do you think these pearls they pressed on us are worth?’

  Gaston chortled, ‘Enough to pay for this whole dreary adventure, I am sure!’

  It took them over seventy-two hours to paddle with the current back to New Dunmore, with some of the paddling sort of hectic in stretches of whitewater. But they didn’t encounter any really dangerous rapids in the generally flat country, and though howler monkeys cursed them and bugs they couldn’t identify took more than an occasional bite out of them, they didn’t encounter anything really dangerous – which was just as well, considering they only had pistols to work with now.

  As they finally reached familiar surroundings and began to paddle in a more relaxed way, knowing they’d make New Dunmore about sundown, they weren’t expecting trouble as they rounded a bend and saw what was steaming their way against the current.

  Captain Gringo muttered, ‘Shit!’ and Gaston said, ‘Merde!’ since for once they were in total agreement.

  A voice from the steam launch called out in English, ‘Canoe ahoy, we’d like a word with you lot, and we have you covered!’

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Gaston, adding, ‘That is the British Royal Navy’s ensign flapping above her stern, non?’

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, ‘Yeah. I guess we’d better just see what they want, unless you think we can sink that steel hull with pistol fire. We’re too far from either bank right now to try for hide and seek in the bushes!’

  They stopped paddling and watched in stoic resignation as they current carried them to meet the canopied steam launch. The guys shaded blackly under it were just blurs. But they both recognized a familiar voice as Greystoke of British Intelligence called out, ‘So good of you to join us, chaps. Grab this line so we can have a little chat, eh what?’

  Gaston, in the dugout’s bow, accepted the end of the tossed painter but was cursing softly in Arabic as the canoe swung around to thunk dully against the bigger craft’s battleship-gray hull.

  The steam screw held them all in place against the current as Greystoke leaned out into the light to say cheerfully, ‘We’d invite you aboard for a drink if there were room, but no doubt you’d as soon just exchange views from that Indian dugout, eh what?’

  Captain Gringo said, ‘Enough of this cat-and-mouse shit, Greystoke. I guess you were bound to find us sooner or later if you just kept looking, huh?’

  ‘Oh, we weren’t half as interested in finding you renegades as we were the lost colony, and you’re right. If one keeps poking about, one simply has to find things whether they’re on the map or not.’

  ‘So now-you have New Dunmore on your fucking map. What brings you this far upstream? Does your queen want the whole river as well?’

  ‘Good Lord, we’re not about to claim that little shantytown, old boy! I thought you understood from the beginning we were much more interest in the back country here. The settlers in New Dunmore tell us they don’t kn
ow much more than we do about what lies above the delta. They explained about that rather unpleasant Lemmon chap trading with inland tribes for pearls. They told us we might find you two halfway to the Pacific by now. So tell us, Dick, what did you discover in your mad ballooning expedition a few days ago?’

  ‘Not a hell of a lot. That’s why you find us paddling this way instead of the other way.’

  ‘We’ll discuss where you may paddle in a moment, old boy. How far inland did you get in that balloon of yours?’

  ‘Oh, more than halfway, easy. We met some Indians. Didn’t hang around long enough to really get to know them. I don’t think they were Caribs.’

  ‘Good heavens, the Caribs told us that a long time ago. The real question is whether they can get to the Pacific by water or not.’

  ‘I figured that was what you wanted to know. They told us they traded with tribes further west for the Oriental pearls everyone’s so excited about. I don’t know why. The isthmus can’t be more than a hundred miles or so across, and you know how wandering food gatherers get around.’

  ‘We do indeed. But you two didn’t wander through that inland jungle on foot. You must have enjoyed a bird’s eye view all the way to the Pacific from up here, eh what?’

  Captain Gringo shrugged and replied, ‘The horizon line was sort of hazy well this side of a hundred miles.’

  ‘But you do want to tell us what you did see, don’t you?’

  ‘Why not? There’s a pretty high volcanic peak I can neither name nor locate exactly for you. The other hills were too low and fuzzy to worry about. We landed before we drifted that far west, see?’

  ‘But you are sure you saw hills between here and the Pacific? I have your word on that as an officer and a gentleman, Dick?’

  Captain Gringo smiled up crookedly and said, ‘You have my word, for what it’s worth. I only lie when there’s a point to lie. But why argue about it? This steam launch ought to be able to push up against the whitewater we just came down. Go see for yourself.’

  ‘Hmm, you say there are rapids as well as hills between here and the Pacific, Dick?’

  Captain Gringo nodded, meeting the Englishman’s gaze innocently enough since, after all, Greystoke hadn’t asked whether the route was any better than the one to the north, exactly.

  The intelligence officer thought a bit, then nodded and said, ‘Very well, we’ll just steam up until we either see some of these rapids of yours or not. Will you be staying in New Dunmore long, chaps?’

  ‘No longer than we have to. Are we free to go on?’

  ‘Of course, dear boy. I can always look you up again if I discover you’ve lied to us. But then you’ve never lied in the past, so why should you be different now?’

  Gaston let go of the painter before Greystoke could change his mind and, as they parted company, paddled like hell out of earshot before he observed, ‘What a shitter of the bull you have become since meeting me! I think he meant what he said about coming after us with intent to do bodily harm when he discovers how you tricked him!’

  Captain Gringo just kept paddling as he replied, ‘I never told one lie, exactly.’

  ‘Oui, but why did you not tell him how much easier it would be to build a canal down here? He may have even rewarded us, Dick.’

  ‘We’ve already made a profit out of this trip, and those settlers don’t really need the whores and gamblers, let alone the tax collectors, that are sure to follow a big engineering project.’

  ‘Merde, they are overdue for some civilization in any case, non?’

  ‘No. With luck, they’ll be left alone at least another generation or so. At the rate they’re interbreeding with the Indian and Hispanic locals they’ll assimilate to sort of paler than usual Central Americans by the time National Geographic gets around to them. That’s liable to be quite a while. Once the Panama Canal is built to the north, nobody will really care whether this was the better place to build it or not, see?’

  ‘But what if Greystoke comes to the same conclusion, puffing up the river behind us, hein?’

  ‘I don’t know why he should do that. There is a little whitewater between here and the flat divide, and you heard me tell him there are hills between here and the Pacific,’

  ‘Oui, Mais I noticed you forgot to tell him there were water gaps through them as well.’

  ‘Did he ask? Come on, I want to make the settlement before dark.’

  They tried, but sunset caught them still on the water and so it felt later than it probably was when at last they grounded the dugout near the ruins of the Campbell house and climbed wearily out.

  Gaston pointed downstream and said, ‘It’s not too late to inquire about a fishing vessel putting out in the near future, hein?’

  But Captain Gringo told him to hold the thought, adding, ‘Finding a boat’s never a problem in a fishing village. But right now I’m just too bushed to face a welcome home party. Let’s catch some sleep in real beds for a change and tell ’em all about it in the morning.’

  Gaston nodded and said, ‘I too have had my fill of travel for a time. I, ah, assume you want Yoyo back? God knows what ever happened to her fat, shy sister.’

  Captain Gringo laughed and said, ‘They’re both all yours if you can find ’em. I wasn’t shitting when I said I was tired. Come on, let’s hit the sack.’

  They went up the steps together but parted company in the dark front room. As Captain Gringo opened his door, he heard Gaston cry out happily, ‘Mon Dieu, I am overjoyed to see both of you here, Yoyo! Hey, Dick?’ Captain Gringo laughed and called back, ‘You asked for it, you got it. I just want to sleep for at least a week!’ He shut his door and struck a match to light his lamp. As he did so, Rosa Gomez sat up in bed with a gasp, then dimpled and said, ‘Oh, it is you at last! I was so worried, and I have so much to tell you, Deek!’

  He grinned down at her and replied, ‘I’ll bet you have. Do you always sleep in the buff-, querida?’

  Rosa covered her little brown cupcakes coyly with the hem of the sheet as she stammered, ‘I lost all my bedclothes when our house burned down across the bayou, and one can hardly sleep in a lace dinner gown, no?’

  ‘Hey, who’s complaining!’ he asked her, dousing the light again before shucking his hat and jacket to let them fall anywhere they had a mind to.

  In the darkness, Rosa was saying, ‘So much has happened since you left, Deek. All the dead have been buried and some of these nice Escocios are helping my peons rebuild poor Papacitoa’s hacienda. That wicked Inez lied about the people on this side of the swamp, and I have told my people they must be nice to them, even if they are Protestants.’

  ‘Your people are all taking orders from you now, eh?’

  ‘Si, for in truth you seem to have put the fear of God in them, and we all know it was one of that wicked Frenchman’s bombs, not you, who killed poor Papacito!’

  ‘I’m glad I’m forgiven,’ said Captain Gringo. Taking off his pants, he couldn’t help asking, ‘How come you’re still on this side of the bayou now that you’re back in business as a more sensible delta planter, doll face?’

  She purred, ‘Oh, Deek, do you really have to ask?’

  He didn’t. He just slid into bed with her and took her sweet, firm body in his arms. He’d thought he was kidding when he’d told Gaston he meant to spend at least a week in bed, but as Rosa kissed him warmly in the dark and welcomed him aboard, he wasn’t so sure.

  RENEGADE 32: DEATH OVER DARIEN

  By Ramsay Thorne

  First Published in 1985 by Warner Books

  Copyright © 1985, 2018 by Lou Cameron

  First Smashwords Edition: February 2018

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information o
r storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  About the Author

  Lou Cameron (June 20, 1924 - November 25, 2010)

  Was an American novelist and a comic book creator. The film to book adaptations he wrote include None But the Brave starring Frank Sinatra, California Split, Sky Riders starring James Coburn, Hannibal Brooks starring Oliver Reed and an epic volume based on a number of scripts for the award winning CBS miniseries How the West Was Won (not to be confused with the novelization by Louis L’Amour).

  Between 1979 and 1986, using the pseudonym “Ramsay Thorne”, Lou Cameron wrote 36 Renegade adult western novels featuring as protagonist Richard Walker, better known as “Captain Gringo”.

  He has received awards such as the Golden Spur for his Western writings. He wrote an estimated 300 novels.

  More on Lou Cameron

  The Renegade Series by Lou Cameron,

  Writing as Ramsay Thorne

  Renegade

  Blood Runner

  The Fear Merchant

  Death Hunter

  Macumba Killer

  Panama Gunner

  Death in High Places

  Over the Andes to Hell

  Hell Raider

  The Great Game

  Citadel of Death

  The Badlands Brigade

  The Mahogany Pirates

  Harvest of Death

  Terror Trail

  Mexican Marauder

  Slaughter in Sinaloa

  Cavern of Doom

  Hellfire in Honduras

  Shots at Sunrise

  River of Revenge

  Payoff in Panama

  Volcano of Violence

  Guatemala Gunman

  High Seas Showdown