Ghost Warrior

by Jory Sherman

  He noticed that Pete was not drinking and there was no sign of the German, Zigler.

  “Do you know anything about our history, Cody?”

  “Some. Not much.”

  “First were the Navajos, of course. Then, the Spaniards—damn their black hides—came, and then the Mexicans revolted, the poor people and the Indios swept the bastards out of Taos and cut their balls off in Santa Fe. And then the Santa Fe Trail opened up our city to the east and to the world. And the gringos took the country at the point of a gun and subjugated the Mexicans just like the Mexicans conquered the Indios. One bloody battle after another, with Kearney and Carson and Washington. Now we got soldiers running the damned government, and all the Navajos tucked away on god-awful reservations, where they can’t grow corn or beans or anything but dog shit and disease.”

  “Pretty grim history, all right,” Zak said.

  Leo turned his hand into a fist and slammed it into the table. The glasses shook and some of the men at the surrounding tables jumped in surprise, drawing back in their chairs.

  “The army don’t know what land is, what riches can be got from it. All they do is build forts and dams and strut around looking like peacocks, when all they are is banty roosters. We don’t need an army here. We ain’t prisoners.”

  “You’re right about that, Leo,” Vickers said, and Zak was proud of him at that moment. “Anywhere the damned army is, you got people with jackboots on their necks.”

  Zak tried not to show his surprise.

  “Gentlemen,” Leo said, leaning over the table in a conspiratorial manner, “maybe you’d like to be part of a great enterprise. Join me and you’ll see the army tuck its tail and run all the way back to the east where they belong, and the lands open up again, prosperity and freedom return to a great country where the races mingle and thrive, and riches flow like the milk and honey of a new Canaan.”

  The waiter appeared with their drinks and Leo leaned back in his chair as if he had just finished revealing a great secret.

  The band struck up a lively mariachi and men danced with pretty women and laughter rippled through the room.

  Zak took a swallow of whiskey and felt its fortifying heat. He looked at Leo hard and long.

  He was certain, now, that the man who sat across from him at the table was mad—truly mad.

  But for the first time that evening, he saw the flicker of a smile on Minnie’s face.

  Though insane and megalomaniacal, Leo was a hero, plain to see, in her eyes.

  And perhaps, Zak thought, the savior of her people.

  Chapter 17

  Before he had finished his whiskey, Zak realized that Leo was waiting for someone. He kept looking toward the batwing doors and over at Pete, who also held a fascination for those swinging, slatted pieces of wood.

  So far, Leo had not divulged his “divine plan,” but Zak sensed that he was ready to sweep him and Jeff up into his camp and make them both true believers in his cause.

  Leo smoked cigars and the table was wreathed in blue smoke. Minnie smoked a cheroot, held it as daintily as any court maid back in England. She did not drink whiskey, though. She drank tea, not from a cup, but from a glass, so that anyone would think she was right up there with the boys, swigging down hard liquor with the best of them.

  Beneath the raucous music, Zak heard the whick-snick of cards being dealt, the clatter of wooden poker chips, the clanking of bottles and jars, and the reedy thrum of masculine voices intermingled with the high, lyrical curl of women’s laughter. As he sat there, he longed for the quiet of a lonesome hill, a solitary camp by a woodland creek or the peace that came when a man lay on the prairie at night and stared up at billions of diamonds. He was not a man for saloons and city lights, but someone who felt at home in the wild. He drew comfort from the simple sight of a deer grazing in a meadow, a gold aspen leaf jiggling in the wind, sunlight dappling the freckled backs of brook trout in a clear stream, the towering mountains when the shade under their brow was deep lavender.

  Zak noticed that waiters were carrying trays of food to some of the tables. His stomach roiled with hunger. “Mr. Biederman, Leo, Jeff and I haven’t taken supper yet. Will you excuse us? We’ll get another table and order.”

  “By all means. And supper’s on me, Cody. You and Jeff eat hearty, then join us later for some fine brandy.”

  Jeff scooted his chair back from the table. He bowed to Minnie, and Zak nodded to her as he left the Biederman party. Pete smiled at them.

  Zak chose a table along the wall that seemed more isolated from the throng. He and Jeff sat down. A waiter brought them slates with the evening’s fare written in chalk. They both ordered bistecas y papas.

  “Mr. Biederman has requested me to serve you wine with your supper,” the waiter said. “Would you prefer a French burgundy, or perhaps a sauterne?”

  “Burgundy,” Zak said before Jeff could say anything.

  “Perfect,” Jeff said, and they grinned at each other.

  The waiter left and Zak leaned over the table, a look of earnestness on his face, his eyes narrowed, his gaze intense.

  “Jeff,” he said, “why did you join the army, go to VMI?”

  “What an odd question, Zak.”

  “Can you answer it?”

  “Sure. My daddy was in the army, and so was my grandpa. I grew up on an army post. My father was a sergeant major when he was killed at Harper’s Ferry. I suppose I wanted revenge. But it was also a way to escape my mother.”

  “That’s an honest answer, anyway.”

  “My mother made life at home a living hell. Which was why my father preferred the field of battle. There, he had a chance of winning.”

  “Are you loyal to the army?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Leo Biederman has a different opinion. You seemed willing to back him up.”

  “I’m an actor tonight. You said so. I was playing my part.”

  “That’s good.”

  “How about you, Zak? You’re still in the army, even though you don’t have to join muster, salute, or obey orders.”

  “The army gave to me. I’m giving some of it back.”

  “What did the army ever do for you?” Jeff asked.

  “It gave me an education, gave me good friends, made me into some kind of man, good or bad.”

  “That’s an honest answer, too, I guess. But, you’re not even army material, at least by my standards.”

  “And what are your standards, Jeff?”

  “VMI standards, I guess. You don’t look army, you don’t act army, yet you enjoy the friendship of fighting men like General Crook and General—now President—Grant. You’re a rare breed. But you don’t really fit in. At least you don’t fit in anywhere I’ve been or anyplace I know.”

  “Does whiskey loosen your tongue like that, Jeff?”

  Vickers smiled.

  “I suppose so. It just came out. I’ve been studying you, Zak, ever since I saw you up on the flat when I got back from Delacruz’s sheep ranch. I guess I’m getting an inkling of why people call you the Shadow Rider. You are outside the circle of most any group. You just don’t fit, and that bothers any military man—bothers me. We are used to discipline and duty, taking and giving orders, never questioning, but taking ‘arms against a sea of troubles’ on this earth, ‘and by opposing end them.’”

  “So, you are a scholar, as Biederman said. Shakespeare falls trippingly off your tongue.”

  Vickers smiled.

  “You have evidently read a book or two yourself, Zak.”

  The steaks arrived on warm pewter plates. The waiter brought flatware wrapped in napkins, a bottle of burgundy, and two wineglasses.

  Both men avoided looking over at Leo’s table until they were finished eating.

  “Good wine,” Jeff said.

  “The steak was as tough as an army boot,” Zak said.

  “You’ve eaten an army boot?”

  “And a belt or two,” Zak said.

  Th
e two got up from their table and walked over to Biederman’s group. Pete waved a hand at their empty chairs.

  “Saved them for you,” he said.

  Biederman pulled two cigars out of his vest pocket, handed them across the table. Jeff took one. Zak waved the other one away.

  “Don’t smoke,” he said.

  Biederman’s eyebrows arched as he drew back his head and stared at Zak in disbelief.

  He put the other cigar back in his pocket.

  “How about some brandy, then?” Leo said.

  “Sure,” Zak said.

  “Good. I own a vineyard and this is Aguardiente, made with my own grapes. Someday, maybe I’ll show you my winery. It’s up in Taos, but I may open one here. Soon, maybe.”

  Zak’s ear was attuned to the nuances of Leo’s speech, and his last two words sparked his interest. Biederman was a man with plans, and it was evident that he intended to expand his business interests.

  So far, though, Leo had not divulged any secrets, not expressed his intentions. But Zak was almost certain that Biederman intended building an empire around and in Santa Fe, and that he resented the army’s intrusion into his affairs. It was a good bet that Leo had something to do with the recent raids along the Rio Grande. He could not prove it, but there was strong evidence that Biederman was behind the Navajo uprisings, because Pete and Ralph had been with Narbona when they struck the Delacruz ranch. He was only surprised that the two men had been so open about it, not concealing their faces.

  Biederman, Zak decided, seemed pretty sure of himself. He might be in the background, but his men were pretty brash and bold. Why? Didn’t Biederman care? What was he planning, exactly? Did he want to lure the army into Navajo lands in the Jemez and once they were there, come out in the open with his scheme? If so, it was a pretty bold move, even for a man with Leo’s confidence. Perhaps he had an ace in the hole that Zak didn’t know about.

  Perhaps he had more than one ace up his sleeve.

  Leo snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared with a tray, two bottles of L&M Aguardiente, and a half dozen snifters. The waiter set the glasses around, one before Leo, another in front of Minnie, one each for Pete, Jeff, and Zak, and the last one at an empty place.

  “Tell Clarita to join us, Fred, will you?” Biederman said to the waiter.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fred uncorked one bottle, poured brandy in each snifter, except for the one at the empty place. He set the bottle down, left, and a few seconds later the woman with the fan came to the table. Pete got up and pulled her chair out. The chair was next to Zak’s place at the table.

  “Clarita, this is Mr. Zak Cody, and his friend is Mr. Jeff Vickers. Cody, this is Miss Clarita Mendez. Fred pour some brandy for Clarita, will you?”

  “Of course,” Fred replied and poured brandy into her glass.

  She set her fan on the table and raised her glass to her nose. She sniffed it and nodded to Leo.

  “This is your best yet, Leo,” she said.

  “Why, thank you, my dear,” he said.

  “Cody, Miss Mendez is the daughter of a prominent Santa Fe judge. She expressed an interest in meeting you. So, let’s drink to that meeting.”

  “I’m flattered,” Clarita said. She had only a slight accent.

  Zak said nothing, but lifted his glass to her, then drank some of the brandy. It warmed his mouth and throat, then hit his stomach like a fireball. The fumes from the snifter made him slightly dizzy for a few seconds. His eyes watered and he gulped in air.

  “Very fine brandy,” Zak said, and Leo laughed, upended his own glass, and drained the snifter without a trace of discomfort.

  Clarita put her hands in her lap and one of them brushed against Zak’s leg. He did not move his leg, but something inside him twisted a turn or two, as if an auger had bitten into his flesh.

  Jeff coughed as the fumes struck his nostrils and the brandy scorched his tongue.

  Leo didn’t bat an eye.

  “You two have been drinking too much cheap red-eye,” he said. “Brandy is good for the soul, isn’t that right, Minnie?”

  “You are right, my husband,” Minnie said, but she hadn’t touched her drink.

  Leo’s gaze shifted to the doorway again and this time, his eyes widened. Zak turned slightly and saw, out of the corner of his eye, two men enter the cantina.

  One of them was Jorge Dominguez.

  The other was Ralph Zigler.

  They made straight for Leo’s table. Jorge hung back, but Ralph leaned over and whispered something to Leo. Jorge looked at Clarita and nodded. A look passed between them.

  “All right, Ralph. You and Jorge get something to eat. I’ll talk to you both later.”

  The two men walked toward the bar. Leo struck a match, bit off the end of a fresh cigar, and lit it. He stretched his hand across the table toward Jeff. Jeff bit off the end of his cigar, leaned into the light, and puffed on his cigar.

  Smoke shrouded the glasses, bottles, and table-top.

  “Cody, do you and Vickers wish to join my gallant band of mercenaries? The pay is one hundred dollars a month and found, but I promise you riches beyond your dreams, once we have accomplished our mission.”

  “Just what is your mission, Leo?” Zak asked, and he felt Clarita’s hand squeeze his knee under the table.

  “Let’s just say you’ll be acting as messengers. Pete and Ralph will show you what to do. Tomorrow, before dawn, you’ll slip out of town and cross the Rio Grande. There will be some other men going with you.”

  Leo pulled out a wad of greenbacks, peeled off two hundred-dollar bills. He handed one to Zak, the other to Jeff.

  “Here’s your first month’s pay, but there will be a bonus if you’re successful, payable upon your return.”

  “Messengers?” Jeff said.

  “And observers, shall we say? Easy work, but lots of riding in rough country.”

  “Where is this rough country?” Zak asked.

  Leo smiled.

  “Ever been to the Jemez?” he said.

  Both Jeff and Zak shook their heads.

  “Ever hear of it?”

  Again, both men indicated they had not.

  “You’ll see it tomorrow. Now you’d better get a good night’s sleep. Pete will wake you when it’s time to saddle up. He’ll have grub and water for you and extra ammunition.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re planning to start a war,” Zak said. He made it sound offhand, as a joking statement, but he was dead serious.

  “Ah, you never know, Cody. Wars start over women, water rights, land, and politics. Some say the war between the whites and the Navajos never ended.”

  “So?” Zak said, pressing for an answer.

  Leo blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Gone was his affability, his charm, gone in that one puff of his cigar and the blown smoke.

  “So, maybe someone is going to hold up a flag of truce, Cody. Maybe the war will finally be over.”

  “And the winner…?” Zak said, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  Leo shrugged.

  “Who knows?” he said. “War is unpredictable. So is peace. But, to the victor belong the spoils. And when the stakes are very high, the spoils can be something grand.”

  “Do I have to kill anybody?” Zak said with a look of innocence on his face.

  “Do you want to kill somebody, Cody?” Leo asked.

  “Not right now,” Zak said, and everyone at the table laughed except Minnie.

  Clarita found Zak’s hand under the table and pressed something into it. Then she closed up his fingers. It felt like a piece of paper rolled up tight. He slipped the paper into his pocket and stood up.

  “Good night, then,” Zak said. Then to Pete, “See you in the morning.”

  “Sleep tight,” Pete said.

  Zak and Jeff walked outside and headed for the hotel. Neither spoke until they were well away from the Silver Cup.

  “Are you going to ride with Pete in the morning?” Jeff asked.

&nbs
p; “What do you think, Jeff?” Zak said, and the lamplight cast his face into a saffron mask with hard shadows along the jawline.

  Somewhere a dog barked and they heard the chords of a guitar coming from the saloon. The moon hung in the sky like a great eye dripping quicksilver onto the adobe walls and dirt streets, as shadows skulked around them like a pack of prowling wolves.

  Chapter 18

  Zak grabbed Jeff’s arm and led him between two buildings before they reached the hotel.

  Jeff jerked his arm away.

  “What in hell are you doing?” he said.

  “Just follow me, Jeff. You made a good target out there on the street.”

  “What in hell are you talking about, Zak?”

  “I only caught a couple of words, but that was enough to tell me that you’re in danger. Maybe both of us are.”

  Zak went through the passageway and headed toward the livery stables. Jeff matched his gait, stride for stride.

  “Do you mind telling me just what the hell you’re talking about, Zak? I don’t like to be kept in the dark.”

  “Right now, Jeff, that’s the safest place for you.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Vickers said.

  “Well, when Zigler spoke to Biederman in the saloon, he spoke in German. He was whispering but I caught a couple of words, soldaten and kapitan. He didn’t mention your name, or at least I didn’t hear it, but Zigler was talking about you.”

  “What do those words mean?”

  “Soldier and captain. Zigler knows you’re in the army. And the way Dominguez was looking at you, I knew the cat was out of the bag. Biederman couldn’t wait for us to get out of that saloon.”

  “He wants us to go on a mission with Pete tomorrow.”

  “I expect the only mission Leo wants us to go on is into the hereafter.”

  “Are you sure, Zak? I missed all that.”

  They reached the stables. Zak drew his pistol and reached out an arm to press Vickers up against the adobe wall out front. He held a hand to his lips. They both stood there, listening.