by J. T. Edson
As it was, Mavis realized, there was no chance of her companion being able to join her in flight!
At least, it would not be possible for Hettie to rise and run quickly enough to escape the attentions of the men who were unaffected by the result of her attack!
The correctness of the latter assumption was soon made apparent!
Chuckling at the discomfiture of the felled trio, the largest of the unaffected bandidos went quickly and effectively to their assistance. Stepping around, making no attempt to draw a weapon, he drove a kick as hard as he could into Hettie’s side. A gasping cry of agony burst from her as the sharp toe of the riding boot struck home with a brutal and nauseating force against her side and broke two of her ribs. The sheer pain of it numbed her senses and rendered her helpless. Feeling the choking grasp of her fingers relaxing on his throat, Cantrell surged upwards to topple her without resistance from astride himself and the pair of cursing men struggling to escape from beneath him.
As Mavis saw the treatment to which her companion was subjected, anger drove all thought of flight from her!
And every other sensible consideration!
The yell of rage which the red head let out Was closer to animal than human!
Forgetting the lessons of basic self defense acquired during her harum-scarum tomboy childhood, when she had found the companionship and games played by boys more to her liking than those of her own sex, Mavis hurled herself bodily at the Mexican who had delivered the kick. Acting on pure, primeval instinctive guidance, she arrived with arms and legs flailing wildly. Sending the sombrero flying from his head until it was halted by its barbiquejo chinstrap, while her feet were hacking at his shins, she sank the fingers of her right hand deep into his long, lank and greasy black hair. At the same time, the left started raking at his face in a mindless reaction which—due to her always keeping the fingernails trimmed off—was neither sufficiently damaging nor painful to prove effective. In spite of that, the sheer animalistic fury of her attack forced him to stagger backwards with her clinging on and continuing the unthinking and not over productive onslaught.
‘It looks like Juan Pablo isn’t doing too good,’ remarked the shorter of the remaining pair who had avoided being felled by Hettie.
‘We’d better go and rescue him, amigo,’ replied the other, also clearly finding the predicament of their companion more amusing than alarming. ‘Come on!’
Before the bewildered Juan Pablo could think of offering any resistance to the furious hair pulling, kicking and clawing of the red head, the two men came to his assistance. Closing in from the rear, although it was unlikely she would have noticed them if they had approached from in front of her, they each grabbed her with both hands. Feeling herself caught by the arm and shoulder from each side and dragged backwards, she was unable to retain her hold on the bandido. For all that, on being hauled away, she tore out the handful of hair she was grasping. As he stumbled clear of her, bellowing in rage and pain, she gave all her attention to trying to escape from the restraint being placed upon her.
Such was the wiry strength induced by the physical exercises and healthy life Mavis led, that the violence of the vigorous resistance she was expending made her captors hard put to keep their holds on her. Its sheer fury prevented them from taking more effective means of subduing her. Nor did the sight of Cantrell rising and starting to deliver kick after kick to the head and body of her recumbent companion do anything to make her desperate struggles diminish. Instead, she tried even harder to get free so she could go to the rescue of the helpless woman.
Snarling profanities in Spanish, the man from whom the red head had been dragged returned to the fray. However, remembering the way in which their leader expected a kidnap victim to be treated, caution tempered his anger. Knocking aside her right foot as she tried to kick him, he knotted and swung his other fist. The hard knuckles caught the side of her jaw, snapping her head over. For a moment, her vision seemed to erupt into a series of exploding brilliant lights. Then everything went blank and, although she knew nothing of it, she slumped to hang limply in the hands of the two bandidos who were holding her. Preparing to deliver another punch, Juan Pablo saw it would not be needed and, mindful of the way in which Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro was apt to deal with those who went against orders, he allowed the fist to drop to his side.
‘Hey there, Matteo!’ called the bandido supporting the now motionless and unresisting red head from the left side, as he and his companion allowed her to fall to the ground. ‘Take it easy with the old woman!’
‘Take it easy with her, you say?’ Cantrell snarled, looking around after he had driven another vicious kick into the unmoving and unconscious body of his victim. ‘I’ll cut the bitch’s throat!’
‘You do and Don Ramon will cut yours when you get back!’ Juan Pablo warned, gingerly massaging the spot from which Mavis had wrenched the hair. ‘You know what he said for us to do with her!’
For a moment, it seemed Cantrell would ignore the warning. Then, having no doubt his misconduct would be reported to their leader if he should cause the woman to be unable to carry out the orders he had been instructed to give her, he decided discretion was the better part of velour. Letting out a snort, he turned and went to look into the Surrey in the hope of finding something worth stealing.
‘She’s still alive, at least!’ reported the second of the men who had dragged the red head from Juan Pablo, having come over and examined Hettie. ‘But it will be a hell of a time before she’ll be able to get back to Wet Slim and take word of what’s happened to the girl’s family.’
‘Don Ramon’s going to be riled as all hell if she can’t get there!’ the man who had been Mavis’ victim declared and, there being no love lost between himself and the younger bandido who had been given command of the expedition, he had a suggestion of malicious satisfaction in his voice. ‘It’s lucky for you he gave us that letter telling what’s happened and what he wants, in case she isn’t going to be able to.’
‘You should talk about what I’ve done to her,’ Cantrell protested, being determined to avoid having all the blame laid upon him. Having nodded to the unconscious black woman, he indicated the equally unmoving red head and went on, ‘The patron isn’t likely to give you any bonus for what you’ve done to her.’
‘She’ll be all right, except for a sore jaw, in a few minutes,’ Juan Pablo asserted. ‘And Don Ramon will understand when I tell him how it happened.’ Still fingering his head gently, he continued with something close to admiration, ‘That gringo girl’s as bad a hell-cat as Florencia Cazador.’
‘That’s for sure, amigo,’ grinned the man who had examined Hettie. ‘The way she jumped you put me in mind of a mother tigrillo protecting its cubs.’ 22
‘She was giving you and Pepe enough trouble before I came and quietened her down,’ Juan Pablo answered, being on sufficiently good terms with the speaker to accept the reference to his misfortune without taking offense. ‘How about going to fetch the horses so we can get moving.’
‘There’s no rush to be off,’ Cantrell put in, having been on the point of giving a similar instruction, but resenting what he considered an infringement of his command. ‘By the time the old woman’s able to get back to Wet Slim, the shape she’s in, we’ll be back across the Rio Bravo. Once we’re over, even if her folks are loco enough to try to send them after what the patron says in his letter, no Anglo lawmen can come after us.’
‘And I hope nobody else is loco enough to try it, either,’ Juan Pablo declared. ‘Because, it will be god help her if they should.’
‘Looks like I called it right last night, Thunder hoss!’ breathed the Ysabel Kid, standing in the concealment of a clump of bushes and, although he knew the precaution was unnecessary, he was holding the head of the big white stallion. Studying how the party who were passing some fifty yards away was comprised, he went on just as quietly, ‘Yes, sir, I was doing good ole Don Ramon an “unjust” and he hadn’t sent them after me.’ After hav
ing completed the loading and dispatch of the two bandidos he had killed (knowing that the horses would deliver both them and his message to Escopeta without needing any guidance) the young Texan had returned to the fire he had lit as a lure for his trap. He had no intention of remaining by it, but left it burning to distract anybody else who should have been sent after him. He had been sufficiently far away not to hear ‘Cousin Gomez’ and was unaware that the delivery of the message would take place more quickly than he had anticipated.
Having ridden for a couple of hours in the direction of the secret crossing, the Kid had decided to call it a day. He was making camp in an area which satisfied his need for concealment and which would cause difficulty to anyone trying to approach while he was sleeping when he had heard horses moving in the distance. They had been coming from the direction of Escopeta, which he considered was a matter demanding investigation. Taking his Winchester Model of 1873 rifle—the rounds he had expended earlier having been replaced prior to leaving the vicinity of the ambush—and trusting the well trained stallion not to betray its presence to the riders by making a noise, he had set off after them.
Employing the stalking skills of a Pehnane Comanche Dog Soldier, which he had acquired during his childhood, the black clad Texan had been able to get close enough to the approaching party to study them without being detected. Six in number, one of whom was leading a saddled and riderless horse, they were all men he recognized as having been in Bernardo’s Cantina at Escopeta earlier in the evening. But for all their appearance, he had concluded that—unlike the previous pair from the town—they were not searching for him. If Ramon Peraro had sent them after him, being aware of his reputation as a night fighter, he could not believe they would have been traveling in such a noisy and incautious fashion.
Waiting until the riders had passed and the sounds of their departure had faded into the distance, with nothing to suggest they were up to mischief as far as he was concerned, the Kid had rejoined his horse. While he had been curious about the reason for their journey and felt it almost certainly boded ill for somebody, according to his code, he had not considered it to be any of his business. If he had suspected there might be danger to a friend or close acquaintance, he would have followed to intervene. The only person in the vicinity qualifying for that category was Jock McKie, residing in Wet Slim. Although the town was not large, even by the standards of the Texas border country, it was too well populated for a mere half a dozen bandidos to pose any great threat to the well-being of the elderly leatherworker. Therefore, satisfied that Peraro had not reneged on the promise he had been given, he had felt it was only fair he should keep out of the affair. With that in mind, he had settled down and, using the earth as a mattress and the open sky for a roof, as he had so often throughout his eventful young life, he had rolled himself in his blankets, then gone to sleep.
Being tired as a result of his exertions in the past twenty-four hours on top of having traveled a good distance during the past few days, the Kid had slept somewhat later than usual that morning. Rising, he had eaten a breakfast of pemmican and jerky; both of which were nourishing, long lasting and easy to carry. With this done, he had saddled the white stallion and sought for a place where he could carry out his ablutions. Finding a small stream he had washed and, using the razor sharp five inch long blade of a clasp-knife from his war bag, shaved. 23 With that task completed, he had made his way in the direction of the secret crossing. It was his intention to collect the Canada goose he had hidden prior to entering Mexico and deliver it to McKie as he had meant to do before being diverted.
Especially after the way he had worded his message, which they both knew did not restrict the threat of repercussions to Jesus ‘Obispo’ Sanchez and Edmundo ‘Culebra’ Perez, the Texan had not relied upon his belief that Peraro would behave in an honorable fashion. Nothing he knew had led him to assume the bandido leader would keep to the promise he had been given if it could be broken without the betrayal being discovered.
With that point in mind, he had taken precautions against either pursuit or ambush as he was making for the Rio Grande. This reduced the speed at which he was able to travel and he was still some distance from the river when he had become aware that the party was approaching. Taking cover, he had watched them drawing nearer.
Seeing the previously unused horse was now carrying a rider, the Kid had no longer any need to wonder why the bandidos had been riding in the darkness!
To be fair to the young Texan, he had not envisaged the possibility of the kind of crime which he now suspected was being committed!
While the Kid was aware that kidnapping formed a substantial part of the illicit revenue for Peraro, if he had thought of the contingency which he now saw taking place, he would have dismissed it as most unlikely. Never before had anybody other than wealthy Mexicans been selected as victims. Yet the evidence of his eyes was implying that this was no longer so. Nor, in view of all he had heard about this particular kind of crime as perpetrated by the bandidos of Escopeta, did he believe the capture of the victim had merely come about by chance. According to the information which had come his way, every kidnapping was carefully planned and organized, and the victim was always affluent, or had sufficient rich connections to make it profitable.
Studying the slender red-haired girl slumped in the saddle of the horse being led by Matteo Cantrell, the Texan saw nothing about her attire apart from the gold pendant watch suspended around her neck to suggest she would have struck the bandidos as being a worthwhile candidate for kidnapping if they had come upon her accidentally. Should they merely have found her as they were passing on an ordinary looting mission, which was something Peraro did not encourage north of the Rio Grande as he was too wary to invite repercussions from the Texans, they were more likely to have raped and killed her rather than bring her back alive. What was more, the fact that they had brought along only one spare mount suggested they had been looking for somebody specific to take back to Escopeta with them.
The fact that the girl was accompanying the bandidos, clearly against her will, was pretty conclusive proof that she was the person they had been seeking!
Satisfied in his own mind that the red head was the victim of a deliberate plot, the Kid next turned his attention to what he should do!
Studying the girl and her captors, the Kid began to draw his conclusions. He derived little satisfaction, or relief, from his deductions. While the bruise on the side of her cheek suggested she had had some rough handling, she did not appear to have been hurt to the point of incapacitation. What was more, despite showing signs of being under a considerable strain, she gave no indication of anything approaching a state of mindless panic. For all that, she was far from being in a position which would permit her to take advantage of any diversion he created. Her ankles were lashed to the stirrup irons and her wrists were tied to the dinner plate sized horn of the saddle on a horse which was of far lower quality than those ridden by her escort. The loop of a lariat encircled her waist and its other end was attached to the saddlehorn of Cantrell. Either the rest of the bandidos were expecting pursuit, or they took such a precaution on every occasion while making their way to Escopeta from the scene of a kidnapping. Whatever the reason, they were formed in a loose semi circle around the girl and the man leading her. Each of them had a repeating rifle of some kind resting across his knees ready to be brought into rapid use should the need arise.
Regardless of the comparative ease with which he had handled Sebastian Montalban and the Acusar brothers, the Texan knew it was practically impossible for him to be able to achieve a similar success under the present circumstances. While his presence was as unsuspected on this occasion as it had been in the clearing north of the Rio Grande, the rest of the situation was an entirely different kettle of fish. Then, he had been dealing with a trio of raw and not particularly competent youngsters. The men riding around the girl were all mature and experienced bandidos, possessing a fight savvy almost the equal of his own.
Even aided by his exceptional skill and the extremely high rate of fire offered by the mechanism of the Winchester he was holding, the Kid realized he could not hope to kill all six men in such rapid succession as to prevent the survivors turning upon him. Fear for his own safety would not have made him pause, however. There was the safety of the girl to consider. No matter how swiftly he fired, or who was hit, those who remained would not be thrown into a state of panic. They might flee, but were sure to kill their captive by way of reprisal before doing so.
‘Take it any way you want, Thunder hoss!’ the Texan whispered sotto voce. ‘Should I cut in unless the time was right, there’s no way I can stop that red haired gal from winding up as dead as a six day gone, stunk-up skunk. Which same wouldn’t do her any good at all.’
Nine – Mr. Handle Don’t Need No Advice
Night had just fallen when, having passed along the main street, the Ysabel Kid brought his big white stallion—to which the application of a powder he carried for such a purpose had given the appearance of a skewball 24—to a halt outside a fair-sized, one story, adobe building in the town of Wet Slim. Light showed through the windows and, above its open front door was a weather-warped wooden sign, the sun-cracked, faded white lettering of which announced, ‘JOCK McKIE, FINE LEATHER WORK’. The Kid was pleased to notice that the establishment was still open and that, in all probability, the owner would still be on the premises. This would save him having to spend time seeking out his old friend and, perhaps, discussing the events of the day somewhere offering less privacy.
In spite of his summations and the sotto voce comment made to the horse, the young Texan had decided to follow the six Mexicans and their captive for a few miles!
