by J. T. Edson
‘Get some water and wake that hombre up,’ the Texan commanded, indicating the guard who was already showing signs of regaining consciousness. ‘Time he’s got loose and taken my message to Don Ramon, we’ll be long gone. Only you’d best pray to every saint you know that what I say gets done and nobody except Peraro and the gringo gal come after us.’
‘All right, Cabrito, I’ve done as you asked. How do we make the exchange?’
When Ramon Peraro had received the news of what had happened at the stable and what was expected of him, he had already been in a far from amiable mood!
Contrary to the suppositions of the Ysabel Kid and Jock McKie, the bandido chief had not had posted lookouts at the various crossing along the Rio Grande. Instead, he had relied solely upon the two men whose arrival had inadvertently played its part in causing Perez to be captured. They had been in Wet Slim and returned with the news that the rescue bid anticipated by Peraro would not be taking place. Much to their surprise, he had seemed more annoyed than pleased by their information. Dismissing them, he had not returned to bed and was still brooding upon his thwarted plans when the guard from the stable had brought the ultimatum from the young Texan.
On reading the note, the bandido chief had known there was no other course open and he must do exactly as he was instructed. Even if he was willing to accept the loss of his prize stallion, which he had been warned would be shot at the first suggestion of pursuit, he could not dispense with the respective services of either Perez or Bordillo. Therefore, he had no choice in the matter and, galling as the prospect might be, had to comply or suffer the consequences. The only slight consolation he could draw was that, having been drugged with laudanum to silence her wailing and whining, Florencia Cazador was unconscious. However, being of a more stoic nature, the gringo girl had not received similar treatment. Instead, she had been allowed to take a bath and, having received clothing to replace that destroyed in the fight, was now sleeping in the guestroom’.
Sending the guard off to saddle two horses, Peraro had dressed. Then, going next door, he had woken up Mavis Dearington. Giving her a man’s shirt, trousers and a pair of moccasins, he had told her to put them on. Taking her to the stable when this was done, he had used his knife to ensure the bandido would not spread the word in his absence of the humiliation he was suffering. Leaving the man dead on the floor, he had set off with the girl towards the stipulated rendezvous. While passing through the silent and clearly sleeping town, realizing that el Cabrito had entered on two occasions—the second time leaving accompanied by his highly prized stallion and a pair of his men—also without being challenged, he had promised himself there would be a tightening up of his security arrangements when he returned.
As was required in the written instructions, full daylight had arrived before the bandido chief had seen a black clad figure he recognized walk with empty hands from among the trees some seventy-five yards ahead. Studying the surrounding terrain as he was bringing his horse to a halt, he was willing to concede he would have sought for just such a location if he had been conducting a similar transaction from the side which was making the demands. He and the girl had been riding towards the fairly dense woodland which fringed that section of the Rio Grande, making for the secret crossing as instructed, but there was only completely open ground for more than two miles to their rear. It would have been impossible, particularly when in contention against a person of el Cabrito’s proven ability, for anybody—even a single man—to have followed them at a distance sufficiently close to be of use, without being detected.
‘Get down from your horses where you are,’ the Kid called back, also stopping and keeping his hands clear of his sides. ‘Hang your gunbelt over the saddle and bring the girl forward on foot. I’ll shed my rig the same way, then fetch Perez and Bordillo over to meet you. Is that all right with you?’
‘What about my stallion?’ the bandido chief demanded.
‘I’ll leave him with your other horses, tied to the bushes up here. When me and the girl’ve ridden off, you can come to collect them.’
‘How do I know I can trust you to leave him?’
‘You’ve got my word on it,’ the Kid replied. ‘Anyways, that old Thunder horse of mine and him likely wouldn’t get on too well together should I take him with me. Do we trade my way?’
‘I will do as you ask,’ Peraro affirmed.
Swinging from his saddle and telling the girl to do the same, the bandido chief ensured his hands remained in plain view of the Texan while he was removing and draping his gunbelt across its seat. He had agreed to leave the weapons because, having suspected this would be demanded, he had taken a precaution against such an eventuality. He was carrying a second fighting knife in a sheath behind his back, tucked into the waistband of his trousers and with its hilt concealed beneath his waist length bolero jacket.
While Peraro was doing as ordered, he heard a whistle and saw the big ‘skewbald’ stallion coming from the woodland followed by his two men. For a moment, he thought it was not the horse usually ridden by the Kid. Then, remembering the reference to ‘Thunder,’ concluded it had been disguised. Having an idea why such a precaution had been taken, he glanced at Perez and Bordillo. Both had their arms bound, with their hands obviously tied behind their backs. However, his main attention was directed towards their captor.
What he saw filled the bandido chief with a sense of satisfaction!
Unbuckling the black gunbelt, using his right hand only and holding aside the left with the palm upwards, the Kid hung it over the saddle of his horse. Having done so, he gave the order for his captives to start walking. Making what was clearly another sign of good faith, he gave a signal which caused the stallion to stand still as he followed them.
‘Come along, señorita,’ Peraro said, considering everything was going as he required.
Wondering why her uncle was using a stranger to effect her release in such a fashion, Mavis advanced with the bandido chief. Despite the grueling experiences of the past twenty-four or more hours, apart from her left eye being swollen and discolored, she gave no sign of what had happened in the bar-room of Bernardo’s Cantina. Such was her superb physical condition, she had thrown off the exhaustion caused by the fight. Apart from a few aches, she was feeling no after effects whatsoever.
‘That’s close enough,’ the Kid stated, as the two parties were some fifteen feet apart and they all came to a stop. Stepping between his captives, he stared at the girl for a moment and went on, ‘Those boys of yours were a mite heavy handed on the lady, Don Ramon.’
‘Not my men, Cabrito,’ the bandido chief corrected. ‘Florencia Cazador, you probably don’t know her but she’s my current mistress, tried to rob Miss Dearington and bit off more than she could chew.’
‘They had a fight?’ the Texan growled.
‘The best I’ve ever seen,’ Peraro declared. ‘I must admit the young lady surprised me, the way she went at it.’
‘You mean you let it happen?’ the Kid challenged, being aware of how the bandido chief was noted for insisting that his kidnap victims received good treatment until it was obvious no ransom was forthcoming.
‘Of course,’ Peraro confirmed. ‘It was quite an enjoyable sight.’
Puzzled by the news he was receiving and not caring for the speculations which it was arousing, the Kid was less alert than would otherwise have been the case. While the conversation was taking place, he had failed to notice Perez was moving back until standing alongside him. Twisting around as his leader was making the admission, Culebra sprang into the air. Having his hands bound behind his back did not prevent him from launching an effective attack. Opening his legs, he clamped them around the arms and torso of the young Texan.
Taken completely unawares, the Kid lost his balance and toppled backwards with the black Stetson slipping off as he went down. Its loss proved beneficial. Pinioned by limbs to which much horse riding had given great strength, he was unable to use his hands as an aid to breaking the fa
ll. Fortunately, instead of being driven against the hard ground, the back of his head struck the crown of the hat and it acted as a cushion. However, although he avoided being stunned, he was still far from out of danger or free from trouble. Despite descending upon the left leg of his assailant in what must have been a painful manner, neither this nor having been brought down with him caused the scissor hold to be broken.
‘Pronto, jefe!’ Perez bellowed somewhat breathlessly, the gag having been removed earlier that morning so he could slake his thirst. He knew his leader well enough to feel sure another weapon was available despite the removal of the gunbelt. ‘I’ve got the bastard!’
While Peraro had the means of justifying the suppositions of Culebra, it had not been his intention to use the knife until el Cabrito had turned and was walking away from him. When this had happened, he had meant to draw and throw it. However, seeing the opportunity with which he was being presented, he was all too willing to revise his plan. Watching Bordillo glance back then swing around so as to attack the trapped Texan, the bandido chief reached behind him. Passing beneath the bottom of the bolero jacket, his right hand grasped the hilt and slid the knife from its sheath.
Sixteen – You Were Meant to Be Killed
‘Thunder!’
Realizing he had never been in graver peril, the Ysabel Kid yelled the name of his big white stallion. At the same time, he was trying to free himself from the grip of the legs Edmundo ‘Culebra’ Perez had wrapped about him. They held firm and he could sense Marcos W Cerdo Bordillo approaching. Cowardly though the alcalde was, he clearly was satisfied he could launch an attack without danger to himself. Either by kicking or stamping, he would be able to add to the difficulties of the Kid. What was more, bringing a fighting knife into view from behind his back, Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro was striding past Mavis Dearington.
Although the young Texan did not know it, help was already forthcoming!
Even before its name was called, seeing the attack upon its master, Thunder gave a snort of fury and lunged forward. At the sight of it rushing in his direction, its mane bristling and eyes seeming to be rolling in rage, Bordillo forgot about going to the assistance of Perez. Trying to change his advance into a very hurried retreat, he tripped and crashed supine to the ground.
Having heard stories about the savagery of the big white stallion owned by el Cabrito, the bandido chief was all too aware of the danger it posed to his companions. However, he found he had something much closer at hand to distract him. The problem was of his own making. Despite having been told about and seen at first hand the kind of courage which the American girl was capable of displaying, such was his eagerness to avenge the humiliation placed upon him by the kidnapping of his horse and men, he went past her without so much as a glance. Instantly, she sprang and encircled his arms from behind with her own.
Perez heard and guessed what might be implied by the drumming of rapidly approaching hooves, but he was not granted any opportunity to take action for his own protection. Thrusting forward its neck, the magnificent horse seized him by the right shoulder with its jaws. Pain and alarm caused his legs to relax their hold. Feeling the Kid starting to roll free, he was unable to prevent the escape. Dragged upwards and flung aside, he landed not far from the alcalde. Before he had time to gather his wits, much less prepare to fight back, the white stallion was upon him. Screaming in the awesome fashion of its kind when launching an attack, it reared and the iron shod feet smashed down upon him. Shrieking in terror, Bordillo rolled away from the scene of carnage as swiftly as he could force his gross body to move.
Snarling with rage, Peraro began to spread his arms and jerked himself around. Unable to retain her hold, so furiously did he struggle, Mavis was pitched away from him with such violence she could not control her movements or keep her footing. Sent sprawling on to her hands and knees, she saw him recommence his advance. Glancing around, she discovered that the young Texan had escaped from the clutches of Perez and was already springing to his feet. While there was no longer any danger from the other Mexicans, remembering how he had discarded his weapons before coming forward, she assumed he was unarmed and would be at the mercy of the knife held by the bandido chief. With a sensation of despair, she realized that she could not hope to rise and intervene a second time before Peraro reached and dispatched him.
Seeing what was happening to Perez gave an added urgency to Peraro as he resumed the interrupted attack. Except for how it affected him personally, he cared not the slightest for the fate of his subordinate. If the attempt to rescue the gringo girl had taken place as he expected, he had arranged that neither Culebra nor Jesus ‘Obispo’ Sanchez would be alive at the end of it. During the fighting, men he trusted were to have assassinated both in a way which would have led their respective adherents to blame the attackers. As it was, because of the activities of el Cabrito, he was being robbed of the buffer between himself and the surviving sub-leader.
Other thoughts flooded into the head of the bandido chief. According to his watchers in Wet Slim, the intended rescue had been prevented by a Comanche driving off all the horses of the would-be attackers. Yet no Comanche had carried out such a raid for a number of years.
Unless—!
The black dressed young man towards whom Peraro was advancing had Comanche blood!
For some reason of his own, Cabrito had elected to carry out the rescue himself and had removed the means by which the larger force would have done so!
The realization did nothing to improve Peraro’s state of mind. Rather, it drove out every remembrance of all he had heard about the capability of the Ysabel Kid. Instead of making a careful approach, watchful and ready to deal with whatever defensive measures might be employed by one who—empty hands notwithstanding—was famous for his skill at knife fighting, his tactics were closer to those of an enraged bull charging blindly to the attack. Coming into range, he sent forward his weapon in a thrust intended to disembowel the cause of his plans being ruined.
Having made the most of the brief yet urgently needed respite granted by the girl delaying the bandido chief, the Kid was ready to defend himself. What was more, despite having risen with his hands empty, he was not unarmed as Mavis and his assailant believed.
Like Perez, the Texan had suspected Peraro would be carrying a concealed weapon and had taken a similar precaution. Without having allowed either prisoner to see what he was doing, he had opened and tucked the clasp-knife inside the left sleeve of his shirt before leaving the woodland. It must be admitted, however, that fortune had continued to favor him in spite of the situation having otherwise turned adverse. In addition to his head having landed harmlessly on the crown of the black Stetson, he had had another piece of luck when Culebra jumped him. Despite the weapon being far from secure in its place of concealment, necessitating the removal of his gunbelt with the right hand only, the legs which closed around him had trapped it between his forearm and side. This had prevented it from slipping out as he was knocked to the ground and it was still available for use.
Under such circumstances, the kind of reckless attack being launched by Peraro was most ill advised being directed as it was to a person who had won the man-name ‘Cuchilo’—meaning ‘the Knife’—among the Pehnane Comanche by virtue of his skill at fighting with one. It proved to be the most costly error of Peraro’s evil and misspent life.
An outwards swing of the Kid’s right arm struck the wrist behind the approaching weapon and deflected it. At the same moment, he shook the clasp-knife from the sleeve in which it had been hidden and it slid point first into his waiting grasp. While he could not duplicate the completely ambidextrous prowess of his amigo, Dusty Fog, long hours of training enabled him to wield a knife just as competently with either hand. Nor was his ability reduced by having to rely upon one which was so much smaller than his bowie. Like the latter, the clasp-knife had been a product of the late and great master cutler, James Black. There was, however, one major difference in the manner of its const
ruction. It had been made from the same superlative steel which was used to forge the legendary weapon of James Bowie. No other metal yet made had such strength, nor could take and keep so sharp a cutting edge.
Peraro had only an instant in which to appreciate just how wrong his tactics were!
Thrust beneath the two right arms, the blade of the Kid’s knife sliced through Peraro’s shirt just above his trousers and made a gash across his stomach. Pivoting aside while delivering the blow, in the fashion of a matador avoiding the charge of a bull, the Texan allowed the impetuous rush of the bandido chief to carry him by. Although he gave a cry of pain, he was far from incapacitated by the cut and still retained his hold on his weapon.
Knowing his adversary was still far from finished, the Kid completed his evasive turn. Sent out as if delivering a fencing lunge with a rapier, the spear point of the knife sank into Peraro’s back and impaled the kidneys. Just as the hard-case had when assailed in a similar manner with the butt of the quirt, the bandido chief collapsed. However, his condition was far more critical. While the hard-case had merely been rendered senseless and would recover, he was dying by the time he landed face down on the ground.
Drawing free his knife as Peraro was going down, the Kid took stock of the situation. In passing, he noticed that his gunbelt had been dislodged from the saddle when Thunder attacked Perez and lay a short distance away. Face white as a sheet and showing revulsion, the girl was starting to rise. She was staring to where, sprawled on his back with arms and legs splayed out, Culebra made a gory and gruesome spectacle. The steel shod hooves of the stallion had smashed open his skull like a crushed pumpkin and he must have been killed instantly. Close by, babbling prayers for mercy and forgiveness, Bordillo lay face down. His voice was attracting the attention of the horse and it was about to move in his direction.
