I stared at him in surprise. Fat Cat never worried about anyone. Only himself.
“Snap to it!” he shouted.
I began to gather wood. Over my shoulder I could see Fat Cat helping the two girls down from the wagon. By the time I came back with the first armful, the horses had been tethered and watered and were already feeding on the grass. “Where do you want me to put it?” I asked.
Señor Moncada gestured at the ground in front of him.
I started to drop the wood there but Fat Cat stopped me. “I think it is too close to the road, señor,” he said apologetically. “It can too easily be seen. It might serve as an attraction for unwanted guests.”
Señor Moncada looked hesitantly at Diego. Diego nodded.
Fat Cat walked farther back into the glade. “I think here will be better.”
I dumped the wood where Fat Cat pointed. By the time I came back with a second armload a fire was already roaring heartily. I put the wood down and looked at Fat Cat. I was tired.
“More,” he ordered. He cut some long branches and trimmed them and formed them into a tripod. The next time I returned there was a heavy iron pot hanging from it, and already the aroma of hot beef stew was beginning to permeate the air.
“Enough?”
Fat Cat looked up at me, his face shining from the flames. “For now,” he said. “There is a brook about a hundred yards down the hill. Get another pot and fetch fresh water.”
I walked over to the wagon. Vera, the younger girl, looked at me and giggled. I was annoyed. She was always giggling.
“What do you want?” Marta, the older one, asked.
“A pot for water.”
Vera giggled again.
I glared at her. “Why are you always giggling?”
She went off into a paroxysm of laughter. The tears began to run down her cheeks.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, beginning to get angry. Stupid girls.
She stopped her laughter. “You looked so funny.”
I looked down at myself.
“Not now,” she said quickly. “This afternoon. When you were in the water. You’re so skinny.”
I made a face. “It’s better than being fat like you.”
“Here’s your pot,” Marta said abruptly. I thought there was a hint of anger in her voice.
I took the pot from her hand. “Gracias.”
“No hay de qué,” she answered, equally polite.
Vera giggled again. “What’s the mater with her?” I asked.
Marta shrugged. “She’s only a child. She’s twelve. She’s never seen a boy naked.”
“You haven’t either!” Vera retorted.
Marta tossed her head. “But I’m fourteen and I don’t act like a child about it!”
Diego came up behind me. “Did you get the pot?” he asked suspiciously.
“Sí señor.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Fetch water like your father told you to.”
Silently I started off. I could still hear his voice as I walked away. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” Marta answered.
“Well, stay away from him.”
Then I couldn’t hear them anymore as I went into the woods and down to the stream. Fat Cat was waiting at the bank. “Hurry. The sooner they eat the sooner they will be asleep.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Steal their horses. We can be home in two days. Besides, I like the black stallion.”
“It won’t be easy,” I said. “Diego does not trust us.”
Fat Cat smiled. “I will kill him.”
There was a sound in the underbrush behind us, and Fat Cat got to his feet just as Diego came through the brush. He stood there, a rifle in his hands. Did he never put it down?
Fat Cat wiped his hands on his trousers. “I was just washing my hands.”
Some sound in the night awakened me. I rolled over in the blanket Señor Moncada had loaned me and peered over at Fat Cat. He lay there asleep, snoring slightly. I turned my head and looked for Diego. He was not in his blanket.
I turned over and glanced toward the wagon where Señor Moncada and his daughters were sleeping. No sound came from there. I lay quiet for a moment. Perhaps Diego had gone into the bushes to relieve himself.
I heard a horse whinny, and I turned my head. It was then that I saw Diego stealing quietly toward the wagon, his rifle cocked and ready.
“Psst!”
Fat Cat came awake like the animal he was named after. I gestured with my hand and pointed. Fat Cat rolled over on his stomach nearer me. “He’s going to kill them!” I whispered.
Fat Cat didn’t move. “Let him,” he whispered back. “It will save us the trouble!”
Diego crept up on the front of the wagon. I saw him brace his feet and begin to straighten up, the rifle coming to his shoulder, and then a thin scream suddenly rent the night air.
Diego fired wildly as Señor Moncada came down off the wagon. He tried to club him with the rifle, and as they both tumbled sideways against the side of the wagon Fat Cat was on his feet running toward them.
“The rifle!” he called back to me. “Get the rifle!”
He stopped near the struggling men. They rolled over and over, and I saw the flash in the moonlight as Fat Cat lifted his knife. He waited a moment, then suddenly the knife came down. There was a shriek as Diego came up from the ground, his hands reaching for Fat Cat’s throat.
Fat Cat stepped back for a moment and waited. Diego moved. The blade stabbed down and Diego doubled like a jackknife. Fat Cat brought up his knee sharply under Diego’s chest and he flew backward, head over heels.
Fat Cat turned swiftly, the knife ready in his hand. Señor Moncada’s back was to him as he got to his feet. Fat Cat brought up the knife but at that moment the other turned around, the rifle in his hand.
Fat Cat dropped his hands to his sides. “Are you all right, señor?” he asked, false concern in his voice.
Señor Moncada looked at him, then down at Diego. “The bandolero!” he cursed. “He tried to kill me!”
“It was lucky that I awoke, señor.”
Señor Moncada smiled. “I am in your debt, amigo. You have saved my life.”
Fat Cat looked down at the ground. For once he had nothing to say. But after a moment, he found his tongue. “It was nothing, señor. It was a small thing to repay your kindness.”
He walked to Diego and rolled him over with his foot. “He is dead. Where did you hire such a man?”
“In Bandaya,” Señor Moncada replied. “We were told there were bandoleros in the mountains and that it would not be safe to travel alone with the little girls. He was recommended by Coronel Guiterrez. He had been acting as a scout for el militar.”
“He was nothing but a bandolero,” Fat Cat said righteously. “He would have killed you and stolen your horses. He must have wanted your black stallion very badly.”
“The black stallion?” Señor Moncada asked in bewilderment. “He wasn’t mine. That was his own horse.”
Fat Cat’s eyebrows shot up. “It was?”
Señor Moncada nodded. “Under the law, he is now yours.”
Fat Cat looked over at me. He was smiling. It was the first time any law had worked to his favor. Whatever belonged to a bandolero automatically became yours if you took his life.
“Are you all right, Papá?” a frightened voice called from the wagon.
I had forgotten about the girls. I turned to the wagon. Marta’s face peeked cautiously over the side.
“We are saved!” Señor Moncada exclaimed dramatically. “By the grace of God we have been saved from death! This good man, at the risk of his own life, protected us from that assassin!”
A moment later the two girls scrambled over the side of the wagon. Their arms went around their father and they all began kissing and crying and exclaiming to each other happily. At last Señor Moncada turned to us, his face beaming.
“It was a lucky da
y for us when we met you this afternoon,” he said. “Now I understand why Diego did not wish you to join us!”
“It was a lucky thing for us all, señor,” Fat Cat answered. He looked over at me and spoke in the voice of a man of property. “Go make sure our horse is properly tethered!”
66
I had finished emptying the last bag of salt into the barrel of beef when suddenly I realized that the two girls were in the barn watching me. I picked up the lid and began to nail it down.
After a moment Marta spoke. “You’ll be going home tomorrow?”
It was more statement than question. I nodded. We had been at the hacienda almost a week. Señor Moncada had not wanted to make the rest of the journey alone, and the next thing I knew Fat Cat had agreed to accompany him. Especially after he heard that the good señor had cattle and was offering to compensate us with four barrels of freshly salted beef and a wagon to haul it.
Of course that meant that Fat Cat would have to leave the black stallion as security, but only until we returned the wagon, so the deal was made and we continued down the road to Estanza.
We had worked day and night to salt the beef and prepare it for the journey. I drove the last nail home and turned around.
“Yes,” I finally answered. “We leave tomorrow.”
“How old are you?” Vera asked.
“Thirteen,” I answered, knowing she was twelve.
“No, you’re not,” Marta said scornfully. “I heard your father tell mine that you were only ten!”
“My father?” For a moment I had forgotten. Fat Cat, as usual, was out in the cooking hut making up to the cook and probably stuffing his belly.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Vera asked.
I shook my head. Now that I had stopped working it was beginning to feel cool in the shaded barn. I reached for my shirt and slipped into it.
“You’re skinny,” Vera said. “All your bones stick out.” She began to giggle again.
I looked at her in disgust. That’s all she ever talked about, how skinny I was.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Marta said. “She’s always trying to see what a boy’s got.”
“You are too! You were the one who followed Diego when he relieved himself!”
“You told me where he went!” Marta retorted. She shuddered delicately. “That terrible man!”
“You didn’t think that then. You said his was bigger than Papá’s!”
Now I understood.
Marta’s voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. “He saw us watching him. You know what he did?”
I shook my head.
“He came over to where we were hiding. His thing was still in his hand. We were frightened but he laughed and began to massage his thing. In a minute it got three times as big! It was all red on the end like the black stallion’s.”
“The black stallion?” I asked. I didn’t get the connection.
Marta nodded impatiently. “Papá said he will have all six mares knocked up by the black stallion by the time your father brings the wagon back!”
“Oh.” Señor Moncada was no fool. One colt alone was worth four barrels of beef.
“He kept playing with it and it got bigger and bigger,” Vera continued in a hushed voice.
“Who?” I asked. For a moment I had forgotten what she was talking about.
“Diego,” Marta answered in an annoyed voice. “He just stood there with a funny look on his face and kept playing with his thing.”
Now I began to be interested. “Then what happened?”
Marta’s voice contained a tinge of disappointment. “Nothing,” she replied. “We heard Papá coming so we ran back to the wagon.”
I was also disappointed. I was just as anxious as she to find out what would have happened.
“I didn’t like Diego anyway,” Vera added quickly. “He would have killed us after he killed Papá.”
“He would have raped you first,” I said with the voice of authority.
My tone impressed them. “How do you know?”
“You always rape girls before you kill them.”
“Why?” Marta asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “How do I know? That’s just the way it’s done.”
Vera stared at me curiously. “You know a lot, don’t you?”
“Enough,” I answered importantly.
“Can you make yours hard like Diego did?”
“Of course,” I answered brashly. “It’s easy. Any man can do that.”
“I bet you can’t,” Marta said. “You’re too little.”
“I am not!” I retorted angrily.
The sisters looked at each other, a strange excitement in their faces. “Prove it,” Marta said, in a hushed voice.
“Why should I? Maybe I don’t feel like it.”
“You’re too little,” Marta replied. “You’re afraid you can’t do it!”
“I can so!” I said. “I’ll prove it.”
I could feel their eyes following my hand as I unbuttoned my fly. I took out my cock and began to fondle it as I had seen Roberto do. After a moment I looked down. Nothing was happening.
“Maybe you’re doing it too fast,” Marta whispered. “Diego did it much slower.”
I looked at her in bewilderment. I wondered if she could know more about it than I did.
She saw my hesitation. “Here,” she said, reaching out her hand, “let me show you.”
Her hand felt hot and damp. I began to feel its heat and a pressure began to build up in my abdomen. I looked at them both. They didn’t raise their eyes; they were too busy watching. I could see Vera move her tongue over her dry lips, and for once she wasn’t giggling.
I began to feel a spastic shudder in my loins. I looked down at myself. Pride came surging through me like the heat of the sun in the morning. My pecker was hard. It wasn’t as big as I thought it would be, but it was hard.
“I told you I could do it. You better stop or I’ll rape you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Marta whispered.
“No? You better let go and get out of here fast!”
They didn’t move. I took a step toward them. Their eyes were still on my pecker. I could feel it throbbing. “You better leave!”
“Which one would you rape first?” Marta asked in a low voice.
“I don’t care which one,” I said. “You just better go, that’s all.”
The sisters looked at each other. “You’re the oldest,” Vera said.
I stared at them. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t expected this. “Are you going?” I asked in my most threatening voice.
Marta looked at me. “All right. You can do it to me first.”
“You won’t like it. You better go.”
Marta lifted up her skirt. “Are you going to or not?” she asked impatiently.
I stared at the thin black fuzz between her legs. There was a challengingly expectant look in her eyes.
“All right,” I said. “But just remember. You wanted to.”
I went at her the way I remembered Roberto had done with the putas in the forest. We tumbled backward to the ground. I shoved her legs apart and climbed between them, jerking my hips in a sudden spasmodic motion that seemed to come from deep within me. I could feel myself going everywhere but where I wanted to go. Then I felt her hand on my prick as she guided it to where she wanted it to go. The hair was thin and prickly there, and felt like a thousand tiny needles.
“Stop wriggling,” she whispered angrily. “Push!”
But I couldn’t. There was a wild exciting pain tearing through my loins that wouldn’t let me. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get past the very edge of her flesh. I heard her grunt with the effort of trying to get me inside her.
“Qué pasa?”
I turned around and looked up. Fat Cat was standing in the doorway, a look of incredulity on his face, and Vera was nowhere to be seen. He came over and angrily pulled me to my feet. His hand cuffed me across t
he side of my face. “Is this the way you return the hospitality of your host?”
I was too out of breath to answer. I looked for Marta. She was already on her feet, running out the doorway. I turned back to Fat Cat.
He was no longer angry; his face was covered with a broad grin. “You’d better button your fly.”
I looked down at myself. Embarrassedly I buttoned up quickly.
He rubbed his hand across my head affectionately. “I was wondering how long it would take those two little cunts to get to you,” he said, then laughed again. “Come, let us get the wagon ready for an early start.”
He started for the barn door. I stared after him. In the doorway, he turned and looked back at me. He saw the wondering expression on my face.
“Do not look so surprised. I told you it would not be long before you became a man!”
67
A shot rang out and before its sound had finished echoing in my ears I had rolled over and was lying flat in the wagon. Another sounded and Fat Cat was on his belly in the ditch at the side of the road. A moment passed and he was on his feet, dripping mud and water, shaking his fist angrily at the mountainside and yelling at the top of his lungs: “Santiago! You blind idiot whelp of a hyena! You jackass braying from your mother’s womb! Can’t you see it is I, your comrade?”
Ping! A bullet kicked up the dirt not three feet away and Fat Cat was back in the ditch. This time he did not get up. He lay there on his belly in the water, screaming: “Price! Indian shit! It is me, Fat Cat!”
“Fat Cat?” The older Santiago’s voice echoed hollowly down the mountainside.
“Yes, Fat Cat, you sightless, crawling maggot! Fat Cat!”
There was a scrambling through the brush and Santiago suddenly appeared at the edge of the ditch. He looked down into the ditch. “Fat Cat!” he exclaimed. “Why did you not say it was you?”
Fat Cat came up out of the ditch even more bedraggled than before. Water dripped from his hat brim down onto his face, and he sputtered speechlessly.
“Fat Cat, it is really you!” Ecstatically the Older threw down his rifle and embraced his friend. “You are alive!”
“I am alive!” Fat Cat shouted angrily, trying to escape the Indian’s grasp. “No thanks to you!”
Harold Robbins Thriller Collection Page 97
