Before setting out, Cassandra assured DeSoto he would soon be on his way back to town. Wearily the man had forced himself to his feet and had asked her how she knew that. Almost as if on cue, at the top of the hill that once led down to the bridge, the rickety donkey cart at last appeared. They saw the driver lift his sombrero off his head, and, over the dying wind, they all could hear his shouts of astonishment regarding the now missing bridge.
“He’s not getting to San Sidero today,” Cassandra had said. “He’ll take you back to Natchez.”
***
For four frustrating miles, the Wilde sisters had shadowed the rushing San Sidero River downstream until at last they had found a place where they felt they could make it to the other side. The crossing had proved to have been fraught with risk and a great deal of exasperation for their horses, not that either woman could blame them.
Four large, flat rocks, not unlike the one Catalina had clung to earlier, formed almost a zigzagging pattern leading to the other side, and the last one in the series was very close to the opposite shore. At this location, the river had been fairly shallow close to shore unlike in the area where the bridge had once stood. Cassandra had reasoned that they could brave the current long enough to make it out to the first flat rock, but from there it was going to require their horses to leap the roughly four feet between each of the miniature stone islands.
Cassandra could only shrug when the incredulous Catalina had rightly blurted out that they were horses not jumping frogs like from Calaveras County in that Mark Twain book their father had in the library at Cedar Ledge. Worse yet, they would have to get them to make the leaps from a standstill. It was either that or keep going further down the stream searching for somewhere else they could ford giving the Sanchez gang an even bigger lead on them than they already had, Casandra had replied, so the two women resigned themselves to her plan.
Given the small surface of the rocks, barely a couple of yards across, they would have to go one at a time. Cassandra was adamant that she go first should something go wrong, and she be plunged into the river and swept away. Horse and rider made their way to the first rock where the river was still shallow enough for Lily to step up onto it. That had been when the frustration had set in.
Lily was a good horse and a faithful mount, but she was already skittish about having traversed the swiftly flowing water that forced her to have to walk nearly sideways to advance to the first rock. It took serious cajoling and coaxing for Lily to make the first jump to the next rock. Ultimately, she had made the vault flawlessly, and Cassandra praised and petted her considerably before urging her to make the next leap.
It was rinse and repeat the whole way over, but Cassandra eventually had made it to the other side and waved for Catalina and Pretty Feet to start their traverse. Catalina’s experience had been a cookie cutter version of Cassandra’s crossing filled with near endless cajoling and subsequent praise, but at long last, both sisters and their horses were safely on the opposite bank. From there they had to backtrack the four miles until they reached the spot where the bridge had been and the road to San Sidero. They were happy to find that there was no sign of DeSoto and the donkey cart knowing the men would be on their way back to Natchez.
Now at long last, they were approaching the St. Inez of the Holy Trinity convent after a two-mile ride down a winding side road that had split off from the main trail to San Sidero. The sign of fresh tracks made by three horses that dovetailed with the number of bandits they were after aggravated Cassandra and left her with dread at what they might have done once they reached the convent.
Rounding the last bend, the abbey came into view, its adobe walls awash with the afternoon sun, and the reddish tiles of the roof beneath the bell tower were illuminated under the same rays of warmth and light. It was wedged between a small stream that might possibly have been a tributary to the San Sidero River and a canyon wall. Cassandra decided caution called for them to approach on foot and leave the horses around the bend. It was likely the criminals had come and gone by now, but they would not be certain until they made it to the building.
As they approached as quietly as possible, Cassandra slid her well-cared-for six-shooters out of their holsters ready for them to blast their lead in the direction of any Sánchez’s that might still be lingering around, but there was no sign of their horses—or of anyone else for that matter. What caught her attention the most was that the twin doors to the chapel were wide open, but at her current distance, she could not see inside, leaving the entryway little more than an inky black square that looked more than a little menacing.
Years of working together meant that when she gave Catalina a specific hand signal, she instantly knew what she wanted. Both women would take a position on either side of the door, and when she gave a second signal, they would sweep in side by side with Cassie aiming low and Cattie taking high. The closer they got to the nunnery sounds began to emerge, and they were not good ones. Sounds of sobbing and confused voices met their ears.
Peeling off to each side of the door with their guns raised the women pivoted around and launched themselves into the chapel. Cassandra had just enough time to see a group of nuns, bathed in the dim light filtering in through the stained-glass windows, huddled around a figure lying before the altar underneath a sheet, before she heard Catalina shout followed by a blast from a gun, but it wasn't Catalina's weapon that had done the firing. Over their heads, the round from a double-barreled shotgun splintered the door frame showering them with bits and pieces of wood as the group of nuns by the altar screamed in terror.
Cassandra swung her guns up and only had a split second to shout to Catalina not to fire. Her sister was already squeezing the trigger, but she managed the jerk her gun to the left and instead of her bullet impacting into the body standing on a walkway that ringed the nave, her bullet shattered one of the stained glass windows, spilling more light into the gloomy chapel but also eliciting more screams from the Order.
“Drop it right now, sister! You'll never be able to reload in time! “To her side, Catalina repeated her words in Spanish in case the nun didn't speak any English. For a long moment, the nun stood there, her hands gripping the stock and barrel so tightly that even from down below in the dim light they could see her copper-colored hands turning a shade of white.
“We mean you no harm! We’re here to help!” Catalina called up to her again in Spanish but when the woman answered it was in heavily accented English.
“If that is true, then you will throw down your weapons the same moment that I do!”
“Absolutely!” Cassandra agreed, and their standoff continued along for another few moments before the nun let go of shotgun even as all three of the Wilde’s Colt .45’s clattered off the stone floor.
“I’m coming down.”
***
In the next few minutes, the Wildes learned all that had happened while they had been racing to St. Inez from the shotgun-wielding sister. It turned out her name was Sister Amalia, the assistant to the Mother Superior who unfortunately was the figure that lay dead at the altar surrounded by the grieving order of nuns.
Three ruthless men had burst into the chapel while prayers were in session demanding Luciana be turned over to them. The men had mouthed surprise when Luciana had stepped forward though others tried to hold her back. One of the men had said he thought that she was just hiding out there and couldn’t believe that she was wearing the attire of a nun. Luciana had bravely demanded to know what they wanted.
According to Sister Amalia, the gringo among them had said she should know exactly what they wanted—a payroll. Luciana had told them if they would leave and not hurt anyone, she would tell them where they could find it. The largest of the men waved a paper around that said it was one half of the map leading to where it could be found, and she was to sketch the other part of the map that they had lost.
As the other two men held their guns on the group of nuns, Luciana had hastily used the surface of the pulpit
to put pen to ink that one of the other nuns had been sent to retrieve and made the sketch the men were demanding. Studying the map, he ordered her to talk it through, step by step, so everything was clear including the part of the map they had, to make sure her version of it matched with the one Lyle Pike had made for the authorities.
The group had silently prayed that if the men were satisfied, they would leave without incident, but suddenly one of them stepped forward. They thought he had been referred to by the others as Tio. He was saying they shouldn't trust her, that she had left them in the lurch with Lyle after his brother Orrin was killed to save their own skins instead of rendezvousing as planned. Tio said it was entirely possible her half of the map might not lead them to where theirs picked up and reminded her that she could be a liar and a tramp from when she hung out with the gang and that a change of clothing to a nun's habit could mean nothing. They had to take her with them!
The trio had quarreled briefly with one man saying she might slow them down, but the white man had lost the argument with the other two. The men had moved to take Luciana with them, but the Mother Superior had stepped in front of the gang. The woman had valiantly reasoned with them that God had set the young woman on a holy path, and they must go and leave her to it. That was when the snickering Tio had said that there was only one true path in life and that was to the graveyard, and he was going to hasten the Mother Superior along that path and had shot her in cold blood.
Pandemonium erupted at that point, and the big man wrapped his arms around Luciana who was screaming out the Mother Superior’s name as he began to drag her away over the cries and shrieks of the Order.
Sister Amalia looked from Catalina to Cassandra as she finished recounting the horror that had gone down on what had started as an ordinary day for the sisters.
"What they didn't know was that I had remained in my room having told the Mother Superior I needed to pass on the prayers as I was not feeling well. I may be a nun now, but I'm still a woman subject to our monthly "ordeal,” she said as the Wildes shook their heads in understanding as Amalia continued. “When they let Sister Joyala leave to get the pen and paper, they didn’t think they had anything to fear letting her go off on her own. She came straight to me, and that’s when I got the shotgun and headed up the stairway to above the chapel.”
“You ever fire one of those hand cannons before?” Catalina asked.
“I wasn’t always a nun. I’m a lot like Luciana. I ran with a bad crowd before I saw the error of my ways and realized the living God had a plan for me, and I repented. I will admit I was rusty, and I took a shot at them, but I missed as I did with you."
“Thank God! Whoops, sorry,” Catalina said sheepishly.
“Instead of turning to fight, though, they hurried off with Luciana. While the others tended to the Mother Superior trying to save her, I remained up here and reloaded. Back in that other life, I had been around enough bad men to know that there was a possibility they might come back if they decided they did not wish to leave any witnesses. Unfortunately, the Mother Superior’s soul has left her body despite our desperation to save her.”
As her voice trailed off the other nuns now sitting in the pews, their shoulders slumped, some with their faces buried in their hands, quietly began a new round of weeping.
“That is how things were when you showed up. Forgive me for shooting first without even waiting to see who it was. I have enough to atone for in my life without the sin of murder as well.”
Cassandra put her hands on her hips and looked around as she considered their next move. As she did Catalina quickly explained the events leading to them being here. In the end, Cassandra knew there was only one avenue left open to them, and it all came down to one of the crying nuns—or so she hoped.
“Listen up, ladies!” she clapped her hands. “I need your attention!” Teary, reddened eyes slowly turned their focus on her. “I know you’ve suffered a great loss today. A woman who gave her life to God has gone home to Him before her time, and another friend of yours is in the hands of monsters.”
A heavyset nun in the pews to the right of her began sobbing even harder than before at Cassandra’s words. Cassie held up her palms in front of her.
“My sister and I are here, and we will see that the Mother Superior gets justice and that your friend is returned to you, but I need your help.” She had their full attention now.
“Whoever has the best memory, well, we need you to recall step by step everything that Luciana said about the route to the money.” She pointed to the altar and nodded her head to Catalina who went and found the paper, the pen, and ink was still there, and she brought them down to Cassandra.
“Please. There must be one among you who can recall.”
A small, timid voice sounded from one of the pews, and the two siblings watched as a tiny slip of a woman, perhaps even more petite than Lijuan, rose and made her way past the heavyset nun. She spoke in Spanish, and Catalina translated.
“This is Sister Carmelita. She said ever since she was just a girl, she could remember things—whole conversations. She can see them like pictures in her mind. Carmelita is sure that she can tell us what we want to know as to what Luciana said about how to reach the money.”
Cassandra smiled at the girl who looked like she could be no more than sixteen, laid a hand on her shoulder, and motioned for her to take the pen, paper, and ink. With Catalina translating bit by bit, the way towards the lost payroll became known. Soon the Wilde sisters were atop their mounts and riding back to the entrance to the convent where Sister Amalia stood. The other nuns had dutifully gone off to prepare the Mother Superior for a service and then her eventual burial in the small, respectful cemetery that graced the back of the St. Inez.
Amalia peered up at the sisters and gave them a hard look. “You meant what you said before—about getting justice for the Mother Superior yes?”
“Absolutely,” Cassandra answered solemnly.
“Well, what I’m about to say next isn’t Sister Amalia talking, it's the woman I once was, Feelena Chavez, petty thief, and saloon rat." For emphasis, she pulled back her habit and lush, wavy brown hair dropped down to her shoulders. "If they have harmed one hair on Luciana's head, then I pray that the Lord Himself will deliver justice. That is the Lord of the Old Testament. You ladies know what I mean?”
Catalina smiled. “Si! The God that didn’t give a lick about throwin’ around a little fire and brimstone when necessary and who had no problem smitin’ down a bad apple when He saw one!”
“Now that’s a God I can get behind,” Cassandra said as she dug in her heels. Lily began to move off, and Catalina did the same.
“If those men need it, then I hope you ladies will be His agents. Godspeed!” And with that, Amalia pulled up her habit, slipped back inside, and was gone. Within moments the pair had thundered back across the little bridge over the stream and around the bend heading back towards the vast, unforgiving wilderness.
CHAPTER 6
With her hands on her hips, Cassandra’s eyes were locked on the ground at the sight of multiple hoof prints, proving that the Sánchez gang had been to the first of the landmarks that led to the stolen loot. Her eyes then followed the tracks about ten feet before they disappeared into non-existence into a rocky wasteland. Tilting her head backward, her gaze found a new target as her eyes traveled up the sixty feet of the vertical rock column known in the area as Anchor Rock.
Earlier Cassandra had been happy to learn that Catalina knew of the landmark from her summers living in the valley growing up. As they rode toward it, Catalina had said it had been aptly named. By a quirk of nature and millennia of erosion, the rock did resemble a sea anchor with the vertical column serving as the shank or stem-like on an anchor down to where two rocks flared out curving in nature. If the stakes weren't as grave as they were, Cassandra would normally have been impressed to see such a remarkable landmark for the first time. At this moment, however, it was an obstacle they needed to overcome.
“Sure, you don’t want me to climb?” Catalina said as she drew up next to her after completing her task of tying up their horses to a nearby bush.
“I appreciate that, but you’ve taken enough punishment today with that little dip in a river of fire. I’ll do it.”
“All right then, but damn. I gotta admit I was hopin’ we’d come upon one of them jaspers lyin’ at the base of this thing like some busted up China doll.”
Cassandra nodded, having one of the bandits falling to his death while attempting to get a bearing on the next landmark would have been a boon. However, no such luck. There was no body or blood anywhere to be found, so whichever one of the murdering scourge had made the ascent, he had gotten back down safely. She sincerely hoped she would have the same luck.
She drew up to the rock and cautiously began to search for handholds that held promise. Before long she found a couple and began to pull herself up. Gingerly, she felt around with her booted feet until she found purchase. It was going to be like this all the way up the sixty feet, and she resigned herself that there was nothing that could be done about it. With a sigh, her hand shot up and began feeling once again for a hold.
When she was midway up, she took a final look down at Catalina who was staring up at her. She was too far up now to see the look of worry on her face, but she knew it would be there. For the rest of the ascent, Cassandra resolved that there would be no looking down. It was true she didn’t have a fear of heights, but a person would be loco if they pretended that the danger didn’t exist.
Instead, she let her mind flow free, carrying her to the past. It was a place she liked to visit often because of who was there waiting for her. Mrs. Kate Warne who had been more than a mentor to her at the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, she had also been her partner and her best friend. All the adventures they had in and around Chicago and beyond she still carried with her until this day. It had been work, but Kate had made it fun when they would don disguises and adopt different identities all for the purpose of solving their cases.
The Boot Hill Express: Special Edition HBH Version (Half Breed Haven Book 12) Page 7
