by J. T. Edson
Serving as alcalde, mayor, of Escopeta alone would not have qualified Bordillo to take such a liberty with the proud and touchy bandido chief. He had other qualities which made him practically indispensible. Not only had he some very useful and influential political connections in Saltillo—capital city of the State of Coahuila—which offered a measure of protection for the illicit activities of the gang, but he had also frequently had access to information of value. Furthermore, he was related to a wealthy family with the power to ‘pull strings’ at national governmental level in Mexico City itself and obtain results which were even more valuable. As a consideration for keeping him out of the way, they had proved most helpful to Peraro since the liaison was formed.
Being ill-advised in his selection of partners for sexual excesses, the other members of Bordillo’s family had made arrangements for him to be settled in Escopeta. He had been sufficiently shrewd and alert to the danger to have acquired evidence of certain of their political and business activities, which would have led them to face execution if it was to fall into the wrong hands. This had ensured that they did not rid themselves of him in a more permanent fashion. They were, therefore, insistent that he must be kept alive and in what for him was good health. In addition, being aware of what their fate would be if anything should happen to el Cerdo, they had made certain Peraro was fully appreciative of how he personally would be affected if misfortune befell their errant kinsman.
All of which made the bandido chief consider that the alcalde was sufficiently valuable for him to accept, if not approve at heart, of such familiarity from him.
‘Of course they were,’ Edmundo “Culebra” Perez declared, with the slurred speech of one who was on the verge of becoming drunk. Raising a glass filled with mescal in the fashion of proposing a toast, he went on, ‘Nobody can tell it the way Don Ramon does. Saludos, patron.’’
Stocky, middle sized and a few years older than his leader, the speaker then tossed the whole of the fiery and potent liquor down his throat in a single gulp. There was something repellant, almost reptilian about him which accounted for his nickname, ‘Snake’. He had an oak brown, heavily mustached face—etched with such lines of debauchery and evil only an exceptionally doting, or blind, mother could have loved—and spoke with a harsh, rasping voice. Despite his prominence in the gang, his clothes were those that an ordinary vaquero would have changed into at the end of a day’s work if intending to go into town for a night of celebration. He had a plain yet very functional fighting knife sheathed on the left side of his belt and, disdaining the use of a holster, had a well used Colt Artillery Model Peacemaker thrust into it so the scarred walnut handle was available for grasping by either hand. As always, his feet were bare. There were calluses at least half an inch thick on the soles, preventing discomfort when they were in the stirrup irons of a saddle.
‘It’s breeding and family background which does the trick,’ Jesus “Obispo” Sanchez explained, his accent and demeanor suggesting a higher social status than that of Perez. After having duplicated the action of the other, but with a glass of wine and, sipping rather than gulping it, showing less signs of approaching intoxication, he continued, ‘Some of us have it, Culebra, my friend. Others don’t and never will.’
Tall, lean, somewhat younger and better looking than the man he was addressing, Sanchez clearly modeled his appearance and behavior upon that of his leader; but was sufficiently intelligent to make sure he never quite achieved the same aristocratic mien and bearing. His clothing, while of excellent cut and quality, was clean, tidy, yet somber in its elegance. Also armed with a revolver and knife, the former was a Smith & Wesson New Model ‘Russian’ rimfire in a cross-draw holster. He was completely bald, and his clean shaven face had an austere expression. This, the way he dressed, and the fact that he was a former priest unfrocked for choosing unwisely a young female parishioner with whom to have sexual intercourse resulting in her becoming pregnant, had created his sobriquet, ‘Bishop’.
Such an indiscretion could have been smoothed over, as had happened on two previous occasions, but the girl was the illegitimate daughter of a cardinal who yielded to the demands of her adoptive mother—his sister—to take punitive action. Finding himself unemployed and seeing no hope of obtaining an equally lucrative form of honest living, he had elected to become a bandido. Being of a sporting nature, he had taken an active interest in the use of firearms and fencing while still a man of the cloth. How well he had absorbed his lessons showed in the fact that he had not only survived in his very competitive new chosen field of Endeavour, but had risen to the point where he was competing with Perez for the position of segundo to Peraro and, like his rival, had ambitions to supplant the bandido chief.
‘It’s useful, as you and I know, Jesus,’ Peraro remarked amiably, having responded by raising his glass and taking a drink of what everybody in the bar-room—even the nominal owner—believed to be tequila, but was in fact nothing more intoxicating than appropriately colored water. He was too wise to ever allow liquor to get the better of him in such company. ‘But there are other qualities just as useful in our line of work, eh, Edmundo?’
Tact rather than politeness had dictated the bandido chief worded the reply in such a fashion!
Aware of just how precarious a position he had attained, as he remembered how he had acquired it from his predecessor, Peraro never allowed himself to forget there was always going to be somebody willing to supplant him by the same means. Nor did he exclude either of the men he had addressed so diplomatically from the possession of such an ambition. As a result of his very efficient espionage service, he knew their thoughts on the matter only too well and he used these same desires to form what might be termed a buffer state for his own protection between them. He had also learned from the same reliable sources that each preferred having him, rather than the other, as the head of the gang. They were conscious of how short an expectancy of life would lie ahead should he be replaced by one of the other of them.
Therefore, ever mindful of how much was at stake, Peraro invariably walked a delicately balanced path between the two potential candidates for his leadership. One of the tactics he employed to help bring this about was to strictly avoid showing favor openly or overtly in either direction. He did not doubt each man had a system of spying almost as effective as his own, watching himself as well as the other for any warning suggestion of favoritism on his part.
In addition to protecting himself against Perez and Sanchez as individuals, the bandido chief also needed to maintain the support of both as each possessed special qualities which were valuable to him. Both were almost as unscrupulous, ruthless and competent as himself and excellent fighting men in their own right. While Culebra was marginally better at using a knife, Obispo was fractionally superior when it came to handling a revolver. The superiority in each case was so slight that neither was willing to gamble his own life upon his ability to beat the other. They both had their adherents, but neither had so many he could exert dominance upon the other faction and there were sufficient owing allegiance only to Peraro—as long as he remained in power, at any rate—for neither group to threaten the collective power of the gang as a whole.
Despite his having fallen from grace, one of the most important qualities possessed by Sanchez was the contacts he maintained within the hierarchy of the all-powerful Catholic priesthood. These offered sources of invaluable information and details of who to approach for religious assistance should it become necessary. He could also mingle undetected, generally with a wig as a disguise, in a high class of society which was closed to his rival.
Possessing none of the social graces which made the other invaluable, Perez had the ability to duplicate his powers of associating with people, but at a lower stratum of the population. Employing cruder methods, if no less effective in producing results, he could extract co-operation and support from the poorer classes who were beyond the reach of Peraro—because of his aristocratic pretensions—as well as Sanchez.<
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Therefore, despite knowing that each was always waiting and watching for a way in which he could be supplanted, the bandido chief had no desire to lose the services of either!
As long as both Perez and Sanchez were still living, Peraro knew he was equally safe from the ambitions they respectively harbored!
The leader of the bandidos of Escopeta was too aware of how much his own position and continued existence depended upon keeping each of his prospective usurpers alive and in good health to want anything to happen to either of them, unless it also happened to the other!
‘To each his own, heh, amigos?’ the alcalde declared, filling his glass with mescal after having emptied it in response to the toast proposed by Perez. Then, gazing owlishly around him, he went on, ‘Hey, where’s Florencia got to?’
‘She’s probably gone up to her room in a sulk,’ Sanchez suggested in a sour tone, bitterly aware that the young woman had ousted the previous mistress which he had provided for Peraro, thus depriving him of a useful means of acquiring information. To make matters worse, he guessed Florencia was serving in a similar capacity for his rival. ‘From what I’ve seen of her, she never could stand being told she’d behaved badly.’
‘She’s one pretty tough kid, for all of that,’ Culebra stated, resentful of the attempt to belittle a person he was known to sponsor. Eyeing his opponent in a truculently challenging fashion, liquor always making him quarrelsome, he continued, ‘I remember how she took—!’
‘I feel more like playing cards than watching her dance right now!’ Peraro put in firmly, alert as always for a possible confrontation erupting when the shorter of his would-be successors had been drinking. While he knew the showdown was inevitable, he wanted it to be at a time and place of his own choosing. The present was neither the time nor the place. If certain arrangements he had made without their knowledge came to fruition, he would need both of them, and to have the gang disrupted at this stage by internal conflict was highly undesirable. Waving his hand at the cards and money lying on the table, he went on, ‘So what do you say we get on with our game and leave her where she is?’
‘Why not, indeed?’ Bordillo supported, having been fortunate in his playing for once and wanting to make the most of his interrupted lucky streak rather than deliberately trying to help the bandido chief keep the peace. There was, however, an expression of lascivious anticipation on his porcine face as he continued hopefully, ‘But perhaps we can have her down later. With the mood she’ll be in after you hitting her that way, Ramon, one wrong word will—!’
‘Not tonight, Marcos!’ Peraro refused, in a tone which men who knew him as well as the group around the table were aware would brook no argument. ‘Don’t forget we should have another “guest” coming in tomorrow and I need Florencia to take care of her.’
‘I hope she’s not going to rob this one,’ Sanchez commented, throwing a mocking look at Perez.
Before the shorter of the would-be leaders of the gang could reply, there was an interruption which diverted the attention of everybody in the bar-room.
Five – He Wound Up Dead
Following Tomas Acusar, the Ysabel Kid showed not the slightest suggestion of concern or perturbation as he came through the main entrance of Bernardo’s Cantina. While he was carrying his Winchester Model of 1873 ‘One Of A Thousand’ rifle across the crook of his left arm, it was covered by a Pehnane Comanche boot made from fringed buckskin and decorated with painted red, white and blue ‘medicine’ symbols. Ostensibly, this was to give notice of his pacific intentions. The main purpose of the concealment, however, was to prevent the superlative quality of the weapon from being seen by the occupants of the bar-room.
As far as appearances went, the young Mexican was far more worried than his black dressed captor about their arrival!
In fact, Acusar looked—and was—decidedly ill at ease!
Knowing the vicious temper of Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro when roused, the bandido was deeply disturbed by the thoughts of his possible reaction to the news which was forthcoming!
Much to his surprise and considerable relief, having discarded his knife as ordered, Acusar had found he was treated as he had been promised. It had been with great trepidation that he had watched the Kid collect the enormous James Black bowie knife from where it was embedded in the skull of his brother. After cleaning the blade on the clothing of Sebastian Montalban instead of that of the man it had killed (a gesture which did not escape the attention and gratitude of the young Mexican when he came to think about it later) the knife was merely used to cut away the shirt and expose his injury to view. Producing a small buckskin pouch from his saddlebags, the Texan had set about performing effective first aid. Staunching the flow of blood from the shallow groove with the dried and powdered leaves of a witch hazel tree, carried in a tobacco tin, he had bound it skillfully with a strip of clean white cloth.
With the treatment completed, the Kid had dressed and made preparations for departure. The commotion had caused the horses of the three would-be robbers to bolt and, knowing they would not have gone far with the reins dangling, he had set out to find them. Although the Kid had neither gathered up and rendered harmless the weapons which lay around, nor took his Winchester, Acusar had not attempted to profit from what might have seemed an incautious, even foolish, lapse. His captor might have gone, but the huge white stallion remained in the clearing and was watching him in a threatening fashion. At his first movement, an innocent attempt to reach up and touch the bandaged wound, it let out a snort so charged with menace he had concluded the safest thing to do was sit as if turned to stone until its master came back.
Returning with the three horses after a few minutes, the Kid had ordered his prisoner to pick up the revolvers and knives, then fasten them in a bundle using a poncho. While this was being done, showing not the slightest concern over the possibility of one of the Colts being turned upon him, he had taken a pencil and notepad from the saddlebag which had yielded the first aid pouch. Writing something on it, he had torn off the top sheet and placed it under a rock near his belongings. Commenting that the message was for his amigos who would be coming to the clearing very shortly, he had made the stallion ready for traveling. With that task completed, he had told Acusar to help him load and secure the bodies on the backs of their mounts. Much to his surprise, when the task was completed, the young Mexican had discovered the Texan intended to accompany him to Escopeta.
Setting off together, each leading a horse bearing the body of its owner, the two young men had made their way through the woodland. It had soon become apparent to the Mexican that, while he no longer earned his living as a smuggler along the Rio Bravo, the Texan had not forgotten the geography acquired in the pursuit of such illicit business. He had led the way to a secret crossing place which Acusar knew, but had not intended to make use of in his company. Before going over, he had done something which—if the bandido had given any thought to it instead of being engrossed solely in contemplating what lay ahead on reaching Escopeta—might have indicated he did not intend to return to the clearing. Rising to stand on the seat of the saddle, with the white stallion remaining as motionless as a rock, he had taken the body of the Canada goose from where it was suspended by the legs on the horn and hung it concealed in the branches of a white oak tree out of reach of any chance passing predator. With that done, the crossing was made.
Traveling in as nearly a straight line towards their destination as the terrain allowed, Acusar had watched his captor. He had soon concluded that the stories he had heard about the ability of el Cabrito to avoid ambushes, like those regarding the savagely effective fighting skills, were far from being exaggerations. Without appearing to, the black dressed Texan had constantly remained on the alert. His keen red hazel eyes and sharp ears had seen and heard everything which had gone on around them. He was ably aided in his vigilance by his big white stallion, which might have been a wild creature instead of a domesticated beast of burden the way it behaved. Between them
, it would have been almost impossible to approach or lie in wait without being detected.
The precautions had proved unnecessary, but Acusar felt sure his captor did not regret having taken them.
Meeting and seeing nobody along the way, night had fallen before the party reached its destination. On coming into sight of the lights of Escopeta, Acusar was given another example of how the Kid was determined to avoid taking any unnecessary chances. Turning aside into a small grove of cottonwood trees, he had brought them to a halt. Having tethered the horses carrying the corpses to trees, fastening the reins instead of relying upon ‘ground hitching’ them, the young bandido had received other instructions. The first had been to don his poncho, so that his bandaged shoulder would be hidden from view. While he was doing this, the Texan had concealed the Winchester in the Comanche medicine boot. Then they resumed the interrupted journey.
Aware that the arrival on foot of an obvious ‘Anglo’ would attract attention, even if apparently escorted by a member of the local bandido community, the Kid had elected to pass through the town on horseback. The ploy had been successful. Riding between the adobe jacales which housed the majority of the population, he and Acusar had not been challenged by the few people who had seen them. On reaching the roughly circular plaza, around which the few business premises, the office of the alcalde and—although it was a mere affectation as there was not and never had been a law enforcement agency to occupy it—the jail house were situated, they had not gone directly to Bernardo’s Cantina. Instead, they had left their mounts at the hitching rail of the alcalde’s office and walked the rest of the way. While doing so, the Kid had repeated the instructions on the way in which the young Mexican was to behave when they went in.
