by Lou Cameron
He headed on down to see what all the keening was about, holding his Winchester down at his side politely. It still seemed to scare the shit out of them when they spotted him. One of the women leaped up and ran away. The other, holding the man’s head, didn’t.
When he got within earshot, Captain Gringo called out, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
The one holding the man’s head sobbed and replied, “In the name of the Virgin, how much further can you hurt us, now? Why did you come back? You raped us both, you took everything we had, and my father is dying, you filthy ladrón!”
He came on in, saying, “You have me mixed up with someone else, señorita. I am called Ricardo Walker. I am not a ladrón. What happened here?”
The mestiza girl, for she was sixteen at the most, said, “See for yourself. They were not content for to shoot my father and rape both my mother and me. They torched our house after robbing us. Then they drove off all our stock. They even took our chickens!”
He nodded and knelt on the other side of the wounded peon to feel the side of his neck. He said, “He still lives. Where was he hit?”
“What difference does it make? Are you a doctor?”
“No, but have I got a nice surprise for you! First let’s see if he’s good for another half-hour or so. It’s going to take me that long to get help for him.”
“Do not hurt him,” she warned, as he gently opened the bloody front of the wounded man’s thin shirt. Captain Gringo whistled softly and said, “He’s lung shot. But it could be worse. I’m traveling with a medical team. Are either of you women hurt?”
“They beat us and raped us many times. The women with them laughed while they were doing it. Why would men who already have women with them wish for to humiliate us like that, eh?”
“We’ve agreed they were bastards. I think I know the band. If it’s any comfort to you, we’ve already shot about half of them.”
“It is no comfort. It will be no comfort if you shoot all of them. We have both been raped. I was a virgin, until tonight, and now I may be carrying the child of a filthy ladrón!”
He said, “Take it easy. The nursing sisters may be able to do something about that, too. I can’t do anything more here, now. But I’ll be back in less than an hour with medical attention for all three of you. Try to keep your father quiet and don’t try to move him. The less he moves, or breathes, the better. Understand?”
She shrugged and said, “Go with God, then. But my poor papa is still going to die, and I shall have to kill myself if I am pregnant by a damned ladrón!”
He got up and took off, jogging fifty and walking fifty in turn, and it still seemed to take forever to get back up the hill and along the trail to where he’d left the others.
He got there at last to find Gaston yakking with them about some damned burro. He shouted, “I need an emergency medical team on the double. Two raped and beaten women. A middle-aged man with a bullet in his chest and I think a collapsed right lung. I’m riding back on this mule, sidesaddle or not. The rest of you follow as best you can. But I’ll be mad as hell if there’s not at least one doctor with me as I dismount!”
He mounted one of the women’s riding mules, sitting it right, even if it did mean riding with only one stirrup, and headed back. He heard trotting hoofbeats coming after him, looked back, saw at least two other riders close enough to matter, and heeled the mule into a lope. So it was only a few minutes before he, Pam, and the Italian-Swiss doctor who thought best on his feet reined in near the burning shack.
The older woman had come out of hiding now. She still looked scared as hell. The Italian-Swiss, whose name was Luigi, Pam said, dropped to his knees by the wounded man and opened his medical kit to go right to work. Pam asked if there was anything she could do to help. Captain Gringo said, “Both the women have been raped. What do you suggest?”
Pam took her own black bag from her saddle and, in not too great Spanish but a no-nonsense tone, said, “You two had better come with me. We won’t want the boys watching what we have to do.”
As she led them into the darkness, Captain Gringo asked Luigi what the wounded man’s chances were. The Italian-Swiss said, “It depends on how healthy he was to begin with. A collapsed lung is not a matter to be taken lightly, even by a younger and stouter man. This poor specimen is undernourished, and from the color of his skin I would say he’s had a bout of malaria or jaundice lately. Maybe both. The sanitation down here I’ve seen leaves much to be desired. Let me see, now… Ah, here is the bullet, and thank God it did not break up when it went through the rib cage. Infection inside is in the hands of God. All I can do is clean the entrance wound and close it. His lung will reinflate in time if he lives that long. But how are these people to keep from starving to death first? You say the bandits took all they had?”
“Yeah, they didn’t even leave ’em a chicken. How soon will it be safe to move that guy, doc?”
“He’s hardly going to get much bed rest here. Are you thinking of taking him along with us, captain?”
“Got to. You just said we can’t leave them here without a bite to eat. The people in Guatemala need us too. What happens if we rig up a litter for him between two burros?”
“It can’t hurt him worse than leaving him behind. But it’s not what I’d order for a patient anywhere at all civilized. The odds are fifty-fifty he’ll die on the trail. I suppose that’s better than the certain death of leaving him behind.”
Captain Gringo couldn’t argue about that. Others were coming into view now. Gaston had mounted up to lead the way, on a little burro he was riding bareback. As he joined Captain Gringo he said, “Meet Pepito. He used to belong to a gunrunner who overloaded him shamefully. The .30-30 rounds I relieved Pepito of are coming aboard larger and stronger mules, hein?”
“Would you run that by me again, Gaston? What was that about a gunrunner?”
Gaston said, “I encountered a dear old man who lied like a rug. Do not worry about him anymore. He’s no longer with us. The point is that the lying bastard informed me the trail I met him on did not lead to Guatemala. Ergo, it must lead to Guatemala. He never picked up brand-new Yanqui ammunition on this side of the border. That is not how the game is played. Mexico has guarded seaports and an oppressive government but plenty of silver. Guatemala has a more relaxed customs service but is very poor, so—”
“I only asked what time it was, not how to build the clock!” Captain Gringo cut in with a laugh.
He saw the Italian-Swiss doctor consulting with some other medics on how best to sling the wounded peon between two beasts of burden, while Pam was returning from the darkness with the subdued but relieved-looking peon women. He nodded and asked in English how she’d made out. Before Pam could answer, the young girl dropped to her knees in front of Captain Gringo and took his hand to kiss it. He said, “Oh, hell,” and Pam said, “Her name’s Fabiola. I told her you were our leader. They both seem pleased with my, ah, standard first aid in such cases. The mother here is going to have a real shiner by morning. But they’re both in pretty good shape now.”
He helped Fabiola to her feet and told her they were taking the three of them along to Guatemala. Her mother keened some more and the peon girl explained that they didn’t want to go to Guatemala.
He asked, in that case, where they did want to go. Fabiola said, “We have friends and relations higher in the hills, señor. We are not supposed to discuss family business with strangers, but you are not strangers, you are lifesavers. If we can but make it up to some old Indian ruins our friends and relations sometimes use for to hide from Los Rurales …”
Gaston had been listening, bemused. He asked, “Would any of these relatives of yours include a man about my size and a little older, who, ah, cuts firewood on occasion?”
Fabiola replied, “That sounds like Tío Heman. Do you know him, señor?”
“We ah, traded burros earlier this evening, I believe. He said something about not wanting someone to recognize his burro,
wherever he was going with his, ah, firewood.”
She nodded and said, “That sounds like Tío Heman. He has always been the clever one in the family business.”
Captain Gringo just looked at Gaston, who looked back innocently and said in English, “How was I to know? She just said he was a liar.”
*
Gaston was too polite to point when the column passed the spot where he’d left the dead smuggler. He simply dropped back with a shovel and made sure no buzzards, or relatives, would find the remains by the dawn’s early light after all.
Since he still had the dead man’s burro to ride, it was easy enough for Gaston to catch up and rejoin an expedition forced to move no faster than its slowest pedestrian could walk. As he moved up to fall in beside Captain Gringo in the lead, Gaston didn’t mention what he’d just been up to. Little Fabiola and her mother were in earshot, leading the burros her wounded father’s litter was slung between.
Captain Gringo didn’t have to be told what Gaston had done. He had the natives near the head of the column both to verify the way and hopefully to keep their friends and relations from opening up on the Red Cross expedition on sight. It was clearer now what the wounded peon and his womenfolk had been grazing back at their out-of-the-way rancho. The bandits who’d shot them up had known about the fresh horses in their corral, too.
The moon was low and they’d covered lots of ground despite trail breaks when Fabiola showed that she’d recovered enough to think clearly once more. She called out, “Let me run ahead and tell our people who is coming and for why, Captain Gringo. They are not used to meeting strangers so high in these hills. It might be better if you all waited here until I return, eh?”
Captain Gringo nodded and called out, “Trail break, but no smoking and keep spread out.” Then he told Fabiola to go ahead. As the girl jogged out of sight up the trail, he saw the Italian-Swiss doctor and a Dutch medical opinion move in for another look at her wounded father. So he moved back to his own pack mule and unlashed the machine gun. He left it atop the saddle to be polite, but had it armed and handy just in case.
Pam and Trixie joined him as he draped the tarp, loosely folded, over the water jacket and let the ammo belt dangle. Pam asked if he thought there’d be any need for machine-gun fire and Trixie asked how he was making out with the pretty little greaser. He grimaced and said, “You keep talking like that and I probably will need to use a gun on her people, Trixie.”
Pam said, “She’s a mestiza, right, Dick?”
He shook his head and said, “For the record, I’d say nearly pure Indian. Probably a distant relative of the ancient Maya. This was Maya country, once. But they won’t mind if we mistake them for Spanish.”
Pam said she’d try to remember that and asked if there was anything they could do to help. He said, “Yeah, move back down the trail and give me a clear field of fire up it.”
Pam said, “Oh, he’s bitter again,” in a hurt voice and led Trixie away, bless her.
Gaston came over, leading his stolen burro, to ask what he could do to help. Captain Gringo said, “You might have gotten rid of that burro by now, you asshole. These people don’t think every burro looks alike.”
Gaston shook his head and said, “Mais non, that would be even more suspicious, Dick. I introduced Pepito to them just in case they had recognized him back there. Leave it to me should anyone ask for a bill of sale. You know how well I can shit the bull, hein?”
“You may be right. But for God’s sake watch your step. Fabiola’s friends and relations are only one step removed from out-and-out bandits themselves!”
“Oui, that is why I took out Tío Heman. Had I let him move on to meet the rest of these greenhorns, he might not have met them. He might have gone back for assistance in relieving them of their goodies. To these Indio hillmen, our boots alone represent a fortune, hein?”
“Okay. You probably did the right thing. What do you want, a kiss on both cheeks and a medal from me?”
Gaston laughed and said, “I’ll settle for that big blonde, Trixie. I can see you have the inside track with the petite brunette.”
“Don’t talk dirty. Don’t mess with that dumb blonde, either. She’s trouble with a big fat T!”
“Merde alors, all women are trouble with a species of T. But what else is there to fuck that is not disgusting and probably just as much trouble? I don’t think any of the men with us are mariposo, anyway, and the female mules are a little too big, even for me.”
Captain Gringo laughed at the picture but warned, “Stay out of that blonde anyway. If Fabiola can get us an Indian guide, we’re as good as there, and I don’t want any lovesick Red Cross dames slowing us down once we grab and run.”
“Can I make nice-nice with the over insured M’mselle Swann, if you don’t want her? She’ll doubtless be easier to convince, once one of us has seduced her, non?”
“For chrissake, don’t you ever think of anything else, Gaston? For all we know the dame’s a dog. Nobody told us what she looks like.”
“True, but who cares what she looks like? She has to be prettier than my fist. I am getting hard up again, since those adorable treacherous bitches ran away.”
Captain Gringo suggested he go into the bushes for a while .and, spotting the Italian-Swiss passing, called him over to ask what was up. Luigi said, “Actually, I’m on the way to take a piss. We think the wounded peon will live if the village his daughter mentioned is not too far from here.”
“Can we afford to leave him in their care, doc?”
Luigi shrugged and said, “He’d be far better off in a hospital, of course. But if infection doesn’t set in, bed rest and a lot of warm soup will do as much for him as we can, dragging him along. Dr. Kruger and I were just discussing it. Kruger agrees it’s better to risk leaving him behind as the lesser of more than one evil. We still have many more patients to worry about up ahead, and—”
Captain Gringo cut in to say he understood, and Luigi went to take his leak. Captain Gringo stepped into the nearest clump of chaparral to do the same while he had the time. Pissing was no problem. But it was sort of annoying to do so with a semi-erection. He wondered why he had one. He’d had more than enough sex with Pilar and Concepción the night before, and nobody around here seemed to be offering. So he told it to behave and put it back in his pants.
He moved back to the machine gun fast when he heard voices, a lot of voices, coming down the trail toward them. Some of the voices sounded like they wanted to argue.
Fabiola and a male chorus of bigger and tougher-looking natives joined him as Gaston drifted closer, Winchester lowered politely.
Young Fabiola introduced everyone. For some reason, all the Mexican Indians seemed to be her uncles. The one doing most of the bitching was Tío José. He said, “We mean no disrespect. The girl has told us what you people did for her own. But strangers are not welcome on our land.”
Captain Gringo smiled thinly and replied, “Your land? Funny, on the map it says these uninhabited hills belong to Mexico.”
Tío José spat and said, “I piss on the map. I piss on the grave of El Presidente’s whore of a mother, too!”
Captain Gringo laughed easily and said, “Great minds run in the same channels. We don’t like dictators either. Has Fabiola explained we’re only passing through on our way to Guatemala?”
“She has. You can’t go there by way of the trail we used to travel. It crosses the border near Boca Bruja, and the volcano has devastated everything for kilometers around.”
Another tío said, “Es verdad. Our amigo Heman just came from there with the last, ah, firewood. He said he was afraid he would not make it, as Boca Bruja rained cinders on him and his burro. When he topped a rise and looked back, near the border, everything in his wake was covered with smoldering ash.”
Tío José stared thoughtfully at Gaston and said, “Speaking of Heman’s burro. How is it this girl says you have it now? I do not wish for to call any man a liar, but I find it most strange that Hema
n would trade beasts with a total stranger, señor!”
Gaston shrugged and said, “I found it strange too. But what could I do? He was pointing a derringer at me.”
One of the other tios chuckled and said that sure sounded like old Heman. But Tío José said, “Not to me. Heman was a most cautious man. He lived to be very old by stealth, not gunplay. There is something most peculiar going on here!”
Gaston snorted in disgust and said, “Eh bien, if you must know, I stabbed your friend and robbed him of his burro. Then, having nothing better to do, I joined my friends in rescuing his relatives here. You know how idiotic we Frenchmen are, hein?”
It worked. Tío José still grumbled. But when Fabiola’s mother came over and wailed at them to cut the bullshit and get her man to safety, they grudgingly turned to lead the expedition on. As they did so, one of them warned Captain Gringo to consider it a one-way trip and that all bets were off if they ever spotted strangers on their smugglers’ trail again. The tall American assured them he had no idea how he’d ever be able to point it out on any map in any case. They told him not to try.
It wasn’t a village they led the expedition to. A side trail a casual passerby would have had trouble spotting led up to what looked at first like an outcropping of jumbled black rock but turned out to be on closer inspection a complex Maya ruin, overgrown with cactus and chaparral. The semi-permanent smugglers’ camp was set up in what had once been some sort of ceremonial courtyard. The substantial campfire in the center was invisible from any distance but illuminated the facade of Maya glyphs and gods all around. The Indians had erected brush lean-tos along the walls, and naturally a mess of women and children boiled out to giggle and point as the Red Cross column marched in. The tíos told them to move back and behave themselves as the wounded man was carried into one of the shelters with his worried wife and daughter. One of the tíos told Captain Gringo they could corral their mules and burros in another courtyard with their own stock and that they were welcome to use the fire, but that the smugglers had no food to spare. Captain Gringo said that was only just, but asked if they could hang around until daybreak. His informant nodded and said, “You will break your necks if you try to follow the trail south after moonset, sehor. As you shall see, it runs along the sides of sheer cliffs in places.”
