Renegade 23

by Lou Cameron

  As Gaston and the mule joined him, he pointed at the confusion of hoof and human prints all around and said, “They must not have liked noise. I make it thirty-odd ponies.

  The adelitas got to ride, for a change, when their lookout ran down here to tell ’em things weren’t going so hot. They took off to the south at full gallop. Would you say that means they’re headed for the border?”

  Gaston kicked an egg-sized object in the dust with his toe and said, “Perhaps. I like this evidence better.”

  “What is it? It looked like an acorn, but I’ve never seen an acorn half that big before.”

  “I have. The live oaks in the highlands to the south grow to a trés formidable size. They are too bitter for human consumption, of course, but horsemen in the high sierras carry them along as fodder for their mounts. Perhaps they are an acquired taste for mountain ponies, hein?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “One and one makes two, then. They were in contact with treacherous guides from that coastal village to the west. But I’d say they’re based in the border country. They probably spend more time as smugglers than bandits. A bandit could starve up here, waiting for anyone worth a full-time bandit’s time.”

  “Oui, had they not been a bit bush of the league, even you and me would have had a little more trouble with them on the other ridge. They should have had at least one man posted to guard their derrieres, non?”

  “That’s what I just said. The ridges running south-southeast look pretty rugged. We’d better scout the one we just came over as far as the rocks above the canyon we herded our flock into.”

  Gaston shook his head and said, “Mais non, why waste time? Had they been able to approach the canyon rim above the falls they would have set their adorable ambush up there instead of the more mundane slope we blew them down, non?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “We just agreed they were half-assed bandits. Might have been lazy as well. I want to make sure there’s no way a really determined guy couldn’t work his way up above the falls. Before we settle down for that French cooking, I want to know nobody figures to drop a boulder in my soup!”

  They moved back up to the craggy ridge and followed it as far as they could to the south-southeast. It soon became obvious that if the thugs lying for the Red Cross column had considered ambushing them in the canyon, they’d had a good enough reason for dropping the notion. The slopes on either side got steeper and steeper until the mule could go no farther on the razor back of broken basalt, and, while Captain Gringo thought he could probably work his way a little farther toward the canyon rim, he wasn’t about to make it all the way without Alpine gear.

  They turned back, led the mule as far as the game trail through the gap in the ridge, and made their way down and back across the stream to rejoin the Red Cross team.

  Captain Gringo nodded approvingly when he saw how some of the men had formed a barricade of bales and boxes across the trail where it bottlenecked between two huge andesite boulders. He told them what they’d found on the other side of the ridge to the east and added, “It’s going to get hotter before it gets cooler. This canyon’s about the coolest place to siesta within miles. I doubt anyone will hit us before three-thirty or four this afternoon. But a couple of you should keep an eye on things here anyway.”

  One of them asked, in a Dutch accent, “Then we’ll be staying here tonight at least, ja?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Just until moonrise. You can’t beat a moonlit night for traveling in Apache country, even when it’s not Apache country.”

  He led Gaston and the mule up the canyon to where the rest of the party had spread out and mostly flopped around the pretty little pond at the base of the waterfall. He raised his voice to be heard as he called out, “Okay, gang. We’ve scouted some and you’ll be glad to hear they can’t get at us from those cliffs above us. But, as you see, the sun can. You’d better break out your tents and put up some shade. I want you to rest as much as you can until dark. So if any of you are up to sleeping, for God’s sake sleep. Whoever’s cooking, plan on a good solid meal before we leave here. But don’t serve it any later than five. We’ll be moving out around eight this evening and, sorry, ladies, but I have to say it’s better to relieve your bowels in the bushes here before we hit the trail. That water should be safe, since it’s coming out of mountains people can’t get to for miles. I don’t have to tell you to fill your canteens and water bags. Since some of you might not be used to arid country, I’d better tell you to drink as much water as you can this aftemoon and then drink some more. We don’t know how soon we’ll be in such good shape for water. Water your mules well before we leave, if you have to shove their noses in it. Meanwhile, I see a couple still wearing their packs and tethered. You’re not old cavalry troopers, so I won’t cuss you out about that. Just get those damned mules unloaded and free to water and graze. Don’t waste any oats on ’em here. There’s plenty of grass and forbs. Any questions?”

  The red-faced Englishman named Cecil raised a hand and said, “I have one, sir. You told us you know the way. Yet you just said you had no idea where the next water might be. Explain yourself, sir!”

  There was a worried murmur from the others as Cecil’s question sank in.

  Captain Gringo raised a hand for silence and said, “We know the direction to the border and the grain or general lay of the ridges between here and there. You should have noticed by now that the water situation in these hills is a sometimes thing. Right now this waterfall is running pretty good. A few days from now this whole valley could be bone dry, while the dry valley we just scouted to the east could be in full flood. That’s why I may lead you into the Valley of Death before I’ll let you camp in a dry wash. Next question.”

  Cecil sniffed and said, “In other words, you two are just guessing at the best route to the disaster area.”

  Cecil was right, but Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “We were on our way there ourselves when we bailed you greenhorns out this morning. We’re still headed that way, whether you want to follow us or not. Frankly, we don’t give a damn. We could move faster on our own, and I think we just proved we can take care of ourselves up here. If you people would rather select another leader, do it now. Once I lead you out of here, I’ll get testy as hell if anybody doesn’t follow my orders on the trail.”

  Pam, the little brunette, sat straighter in the grass to call out, “This is no time to bicker amongst ourselves, dammit.” To Captain Gringo’s surprise, the big dumb blonde, Trixie, backed her, saying, “Here here. Captain Gringo’s already gotten me, for one, out of more than one sticky wicket! You’re acting like an old woman, Cecil. You know perfectly well you couldn’t lead a line of ducks across Regent’s Park without getting lost!”

  Cecil grumbled, “Maybe so. But I say, I’m not a perishing Yankee renegade!”

  Before Captain Gringo could say anything, Gaston nudged him, stepped forward, and in a grotesque French-accented parody of an Oxbridge accent said, “I say, old bean, would you like to have a fight with a frog?”

  Cecil blinked up at him, gasped, and said, “A fight, with you?”

  Gaston said, “Oui, it would be trés ridicule to expect you to fight this adorable moose avec moi. But I am smaller and older than you. So it should be fair, non?”

  “Dash it all, Frenchy, I never said I wanted to engage in fisticuffs with anyone!”

  “Non? Then why do you persist in speaking like a man looking for an argument? Are you just a silly species of, how you say, twit? Down here, mon ami, when a man is not looking for a fight, he keeps his lips from waving in the breeze, hein?”

  Cecil looked as if he’d certainly like to crawl into a hole about now, if one were handy. Captain Gringo laughed easily and told Gaston to simmer down, adding, “We’re all friends here, Gaston. I’m sure Cecil knows as well as you that we’ve all the enemies we really need in the surrounding hills.”

  Cecil nodded eagerly. So Gaston said he could always be
at him up another time and led the mule away to unsaddle and graze it. Captain Gringo laid the machine gun on the grass near Pam and Trixie and sat down beside them as others moved closer to hear if he had any further words of wisdom. He didn’t. He placed his sombrero upside down in the grass to hold the smaller parts as he proceeded to fieldstrip the machine gun. Pam was too smart to ask him why. But Trixie did. So he explained that after one had fired a gun it was a good idea to clean it.

  Pam said, “Speaking of cleaning vital parts, I wish that pond were a bit more private. I haven’t had a bath since we left the coast and that water certainly looks inviting!”

  He laughed and said, “That’s a good idea. We have to wait for moonrise before we leave this canyon. That means a good two hours and a change of total darkness. We’ll let you nursing sisters take the first skinny-dip. Then us guys can slosh the grime off while you dry out, and we’ll all start out squeaky clean.”

  Trixie asked dubiously, “What if someone peeks? None of us girls thought to bring bathing costumes, Dick.”

  He removed the Maxim’s bolt, wiped it with the oily rag he’d taken from a hip pocket, and set it aside with a silent shrug. Pam giggled and said, “Pooh, what can anyone see in the dark? I’m already hot and sticky and it won’t be dark for hours. You do as you please, Trixie. I, for one, mean to scrub my bod in that yummy pond as soon as I can. Do you think it’s going to get any hotter before sundown, Dick?”

  He unscrewed the recoil rod and said, “Yes. If you girls are sharing a tent, you’d better put it up. Face the opening toward the cliff and you’ll be able to siesta with your duds off.”

  Trixie gasped and said, “Really!” but Pam laughed and said, “That’s a good idea. Actually, we each have our own pup tents. Poor Dr. Fitzke said they’d be cooler.”

  He shrugged and said, “Well, at least the mosquitoes have less room to dodge, in a pup. You of course brought plenty of mosquito netting?”

  “No. Should we have?”

  He grimaced, worked on a screw that wanted to argue with his jackknife, and, when it gave, said, “I didn’t think he’d been down here before. Have either of you ever had yellow jack?”

  “Good heavens, no! Why do you ask, Dick?”

  “You may get lucky. It’s drier up here than in the lowlands. Won’t have to worry about the bugs, much, when we’re not camping near still water. But that Guatemalan disaster area we’re headed for should have well water and irrigation ditches no matter how dry the country between the villages might be. I sure wish you people had mosquito nets. Gaston and me have already lived through yellow jack. So we’re okay.”

  Trixie asked, “Do you believe that superstition about mosquitoes transmitting tropic fevers, Dick? Modern medical opinion dismisses it as an unproven native notion.”

  “I don’t know who’s right or wrong. Vampire bats were a native superstition too, until some educated people got bitten by ’em down here. I do know that fevers, mosquitoes, and swamps seem to go together down this way. I’ve never seen yellow jack in dry country. I’ve seen a mess of it where it’s wet. But let’s not worry about it this afternoon. You won’t meet many bugs in this particular canyon.”

  They got up to go pitch their pup tents. Others around him who’d heard the conversation nodded and did the same. Gaston rejoined Captain Gringo, hauled off his boots, and sat closer to the water, soaking his feet as he said, “Eh bien, the Spencers and their ammo have been issued to the troops and I am hungry. How is that adorable gun’s digestion this lovely afternoon?”

  “Not bad. That new smokeless powder doesn’t gum the works up much. But it’s more acid than black powder, so it evens out. Keeping the weapons in order could be a problem in the next big war, though. Even green troops can see a gun needs cleaning after it’s fired black powder. But the noncoms are really going to have to ride herd on guys too lazy to worry about steel that still looks clean.”

  Gaston lay back on his elbows, splashing his feet, and said, “In that case k shall try to avoid the next big war. The little ones you keep dragging me through are quite enough. That is one of the things I am sitting in this hot sun with you to discuss in private, Dick. I have been discussing the situation ahead with some of these Red Cross types.”

  “And?”

  “It seems we have once again been handed a man’s job for a boy’s pay. The insurance company did not know, or neglected to inform us, that the first rescue team, who now seems to require rescue, managed to get several messages out before they were cut off in the disaster area. Disaster would seem to be an understatement of the situation in the Guatemalan highlands. Holocaust would have been the term I would have used. The first team reported themselves up to their adorable derrieres in volcanic ash and rotting corpses. Unfortunately, at least half of the natives they went in to help were still alive when they arrived. But dying like flies with trés monotonous regularity even as they watched. Such food as they had to begin with, which is never much in a peon community to begin with, has been buried under tons of ash. In case you are wondering why they didn’t simply dig it up, the ash would seem to be trés poisonous. All sorts of amusing acids seem to go with fresh ash falls from Boca Bruja, the adorable bigmouthed witch. They call her Boca Bruja because her vomit is cursed with a chemical brew their own white witches do not understand. Getting back to the first Red Cross team and the trés fatigue nurse we were sent to rescue, I doubt we’ll find any of them in condition to be anything but buried, if the volcano hasn’t already done so. Their last runner made it out, just, by skirting a rapidly rising lake of boiling acid water.”

  “We already knew they were cut off by a dammed mountain stream.”

  “Oui, but did they tell us the main village up there lay in the tainted headwaters of that very stream, or that we are discussing the only source of drinking water for miles?”

  “Oh boy. But by now they’ll have moved to higher ground and drilled some wells.”

  “How? If the area was not a jumble of cliffs and canyons, nobody would need to be rescued. They would have simply moved themselves and the native survivors out of the disaster area, non? As to the drilling of wells, where would you suggest one drill a well in poisoned ash? La Boca Bruja coughs up a witch’s brew of lava, ash, and steam. Said steam is laced with sulfuric acid, florine, lead arsenate, and other salts one would hardly wish to drink tequila with! Before you ask if the Red Cross team did not pack water in with them, they did. But hardly enough to last themselves this long, let alone desperate natives!”

  Captain Gringo dropped a length of fishing line down the Maxim’s disassembled barrel to pull an oily patch through it as he nodded and asked Gaston if there was any point to all this gloom and doom.

  Gaston said, “Oui. By now those adorable sluts who tried to betray us to Los Rurales will have gossiped about us back in town. So everyone should assume we are on our merry way toward the border. If we simply went back, changing our clothing discreetly and keeping out of the limelight until we could hop a coastal freighter—”

  “You’ve been out in the sun too long,” Captain Gringo cut in, adding, “You’re crossing your bridges before you come to them, too. We don’t know what lies ahead of us. We know for sure that at least two dozen Rurales and a couple of putas who know us on sight are laying for us back where we came from. Besides, I just told these other Red Cross people we’d get them through, some way.”

  “Mais to what, you species of braggart? Nobody named that volcano Boca Bruja because of her lovely smile, and even if we can get to her, there is no way to go, afterwards, but back the same way! So why do you like to walk so much? Sooner or later, the only way out will be through that same disgusting little seaport, non?”

  “Maybe. Meanwhile, the longer we stay away from it, the longer the law has to lose interest in us.”

  He started putting the gun back together as he added, “Go find some shade. That’s what I’ll be doing as soon as I finish here. I guess it’s safe to leave the water jacket empty for now. O
n the other hand, I don’t know when we’ll ever see so much water again. Let me think about important matters for a change, dammit!”

  Gaston sat up, called him a species of idiot, and picked up his boots to walk off barefoot through the grass. Captain Gringo finished reassembling the Maxim, decided it was safe enough where it was, and got up stiffly to look around for some shade, too.

  There wasn’t much. The sun was to the west now, but not as far as it would have been had it wanted to show any consideration. The few trees in the canyon were low and scrubby and their meager leaves didn’t cast enough shade to matter. He saw that most of the Red Cross team had pitched pup tents and, smarter yet, mostly along the base of the now shaded cliff. They were half in shade and half in sunlight, since the afternoon sun cast a narrow ribbon of shade near the grassy base of the sheer rock wall. He nodded and legged it over that way. He got to the cliff and sat down in the grass with his back to the rock. The rock was still warm, but not as warm as it had been. By doubling his knees he could brace his heels in the sod with his feet in the shade as well, and the strip of shade would widen more in a while, so things could have been worse. He took off his hat again, wiped his face, and lit a claro. The sunlit pond and waterfall in the distance sure looked inviting. But ladies brought up under Queen Victoria’s odd rules screamed so loud when they saw a naked man in public.

  He couldn’t imagine what in hell the dame screaming in the nearest pup tent had to scream about. But she was screaming pretty good. So he drew his .38 and rolled to his feet to run over and find out.

  As he dropped to his knees and opened the flap of the pup, he saw Pam huddled against the far end, wide-eyed, yelling for help, and brunette all over. She didn’t have a stitch on. She was staring not at him but at another visitor. A nasty-looking but harmless vinegarroon was crawling across her bedroll toward her as if it meant to crawl up her snatch or worse.

  Captain Gringo laughed, reached in, and grabbed the vinegarroon, saying, “Take it easy. You’ll have the whole camp here in a minute and it’s too hot to get dressed.”