Knight of the Tiger

by W. Michael Farmer

  Leaving the Gadsden, I saw a sign down the street that read “R.H. Thigpen, M.D.” I opened the door and looked inside, but the office appeared empty. I called out, “Hello?” and heard a chair scrape the floor in a back room. A middle-aged man in his shirtsleeves appeared in a doorway. He smiled and stuck out his hand as he came to meet me.

  “I’m Doctor Thigpen. How can I help you, sir?”

  I smiled, and we shook hands.

  “Good morning. I’m Doctor Henry Grace from Las Cruces over in New Mexico. I’m a Villa medico, and I need to buy medical supplies. I was hoping you might tell me where I can find them.”

  The thick bushy brows rose on Thigpen’s high forehead. “Doctor Grace, if I might ask, how did you come to help General Villa?”

  “I knew him from before the revolución and owe him a debt of honor. I hate to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you tell me where to go for supplies?”

  “Oh, yes. We have an excellent pharmacy about three blocks west of here and it’s very well-stocked. If you need anything just let me know, and I’ll be glad to help you.”

  “Thanks, you’re very kind. I hope we can visit again when I’m not quite so rushed.”

  I found the pharmacy Doctor Thigpen described, and learned the pharmacist had the medical supplies in the quantities we needed.

  The sun was more than halfway to the western horizon when we finally headed north out of town before swinging southeast toward Gallardo Pass. At dusk we found Villa’s wagon and Juan busy at his fire. He ran up to take our horses and said the jefe was talking with his generals but would be along soon for supper.

  Juan returned to his stew. In an hour or so, Juan started ladling stew into pie pans, and Villa walked into the circle of firelight. “Buenas noches, señores. Are you back to tell me what I already know?”

  Yellow Boy’s face remained mask-like, but Quent and I frowned, unsure what Villa meant. Quent said, “General?”

  Villa smiled as if he knew all the great secrets of the universe and wasn’t telling. “Sí, Queentin, mis scouts tell me Calles makes good use of the extra men sent him, men sent from Texas and across Nuevo Mexico and Arizona. A great trench surrounds Agua Prieta and is filled with men and machine guns. Barbed wire is rolled out around it, and for hundreds of yards in all directions, the brush is cut and land mines are planted to blow us all up. Oh, sí, General Calles tries to make Agua Prieta impregnable with his guns and mines, but my hombres have not come empty-handed. All that work and broken men it took to get my big guns across El Paso Púlpito, now it will pay off, eh, Hombrecito?”

  I smiled and nodded. “I hope so, General. We paid a very high price to get them here. I know your wagons are loaded with many shells.”

  Quent said, “General, I hope these shells explode better than the ones at Celaya and León.”

  Villa’s smile grew. “Sí, Queentin, these shells have mucho power. They’re shells made in Europe that we captured and saved during our fight against Huerta. We’ll pound Calles so hard in Agua Prieta, he’ll either explode in the dust or disappear across the border to his gringo protectors. Then we’ll walk into Agua Prieta without firing a shot. My men will die of hunger before they die from a Calles bullet. They fight for food and new guns and bullets in Agua Prieta. Ready and desperate to fight Calles, they want to fill their bellies and their rifles.”

  Quent said, “From what I’ve seen of Calles’s defenses, your artillery must shoot with great accuracy to accomplish what you want. It’s too bad Angeles is no longer in charge of your artillery. He’d know exactly how to do it.”

  Villa shook his head and stared at the ground. “It’s my fault he left, Queentin. He never returned from a mission to the United States after someone convinced him I believed he was a traitor and wanted to execute him. I have one angry moment, and a skilled commander leaves. I don’t blame him. I’m too quick to judge him, for, as usual, his advice logically fit exactly what I needed to do. But he trained many skilled artillerymen. We’ll be okay.”

  He was quiet, staring at the fire awhile. Then he said, “Hombrecito, did you find the places of the medico supplies and order the clothes and hay from El Paso? The Americano soldiers let you cross the border without holding you up?”

  “Sí, General, I found the medico supplies. They’re there if we need them, and the clothes and hay will be on the next train from El Paso. The Americano soldiers let us pass as long as we carried no guns or bullets for the battle.”

  “Bueno. Mañana we begin the work of the people against Carranza.”

  CHAPTER 26

  AGUA PRIETA

  We followed the dusty road out of the mountains and saw Douglas shimmering far in the distance. A barren strip of creosote bushes and mesquite on its south side separated Douglas from Agua Prieta, a small white patch inside a black rectangular outline, a literal death trap, and General Calles’s trench. Outside the trench, the bare ground stood out in sharp contrast to the llano surrounding it. The bare earth looked mottled, the dirt churned up by crews chopping away the brush to leave sharp white and tan spikes waiting for a running horse or man to impale a foot, and hidden just below the surface of the churned earth, those exploding pots of death we saw men burying a couple of days earlier.

  Quent, Yellow Boy, and I rode in the group of dorados following Villa in front of the cavalry. Villa stopped off to one side of the cavalry column to talk with its commander. With broad arm-swinging gestures, Villa told him to lead the column wide of the cleared area, go around Agua Prieta, and camp on its western side. He planned for the infantry to camp on the eastern side and for both units to stay out of range of Calles’s artillery.

  About three miles east of Agua Prieta, he stopped, called his artillery commanders, and pointed toward a line of low depressions and swales just to the north of the road. They talked for a few minutes before the commanders rode off toward the north to scout positions for artillery placement.

  Quent said, “Villa will probably put his cannons in those low places. At this range, the gun flashes will be hard to see from Agua Prieta and should reduce the accuracy of returned artillery fire. From those positions, he can also shoot almost directly west and not worry about hitting Douglas, which would, no doubt, bring the American army out against him.”

  An American army contingent chugged up to the border fence in staff cars, grinding gears, raising a dust cloud. One of the cars had two gold stars painted on the doors. The officers climbed out of their cars and studied us with large-lens binoculars.

  Villa turned his stallion off the road and headed for them at a gallop. Instinctively, they stepped back from the fence and closer to the safety of their automobiles. Quent and I followed Villa. Pulling the stallion up in a cloud of dust, Villa dismounted, grinning. He walked to the wire fence, reached across to shake hands with an officer, and said, “Buenos días, Major. I’m General Francisco Villa come to relieve General Calles of his command at Agua Prieta.”

  Villa then introduced each of his commanders, who stepped up to the fence and reached across to shake hands with the American officers.

  Introductions complete, Villa pointed to the cars. “You know, señores, your gringo army becomes too dependent on automobiles. The only reliable transportation in this country is a horse. Take care you treat your putt-putts well, or you might wind up walking in the heat of the day. Ha!”

  One of the officers, a lanky, blond lieutenant with his campaign hat pulled down to his eyes asked, “General, do you expect to take Agua Prieta today?”

  Villa grinned from ear to ear. “Sure, Mike. Just as soon as the rest of my army gets here.” Then he asked, “Will the Americano army help Calles?”

  A short officer, not over five-four, two stars on his collar, in his late forties, walked up and asked, “Is this General Villa?”

  The lieutenant nodded. “General Funston, allow me to introduce you to General Francisco Villa.”

  Villa and Funston shook hands across the wire, and Funston said, “Allow m
e, sir, to assure you that the United States intends to remain neutral in any coming battle between you and General Calles. However, I must warn you in the strongest possible terms, if you fire into the United States, the army will not hesitate to retaliate. I hope we understand each other?”

  Villa looked down at General Funston and grinned. “Oh, sí, General Funston, we understand each other very well.” Then the smile disappeared, and his expression became deadly serious. “Hear me, señor. My cannons and rifles do not now, nor have they in the past, pointed toward the United States. I give you a message for your Presidente Wilson. I know about this illegal and immoral thing he has done to Mexico. I won’t tolerate the passage of more Carrancista soldiers through the United States. I’m warning Señor Wilson that if such a thing happens again I, Francisco Villa, will not feel responsible for the lives of Americans in my territory.”

  He motioned toward Quent, who had his notebook out, transcribing everything he heard. “This is Señor Queentin Peach, a reporter for the El Paso Daily Herald. Queentin, I want you to publish what I have just told General Funston. I desire los periódicos tell the world what I have said.”

  Quent nodded. “It will be published, General.”

  Funston stared a moment, smiled, and said, “I’ll send Mr. Wilson your message, General Villa.”

  They shook hands again, and Villa said, “I’m in your debt, General. Adiós.”

  Villa grabbed his saddle horn, swung into the saddle like a young man, and led us back toward the road where División del Norte continued to march.

  We rode wide of the minefields, and Villa again stopped about a mile due south of Agua Prieta, where he and his commanders spent a long time studying the tiny village with their binoculars. They said little as the horses stamped and swished their tails at buzzing flies tormenting them in the warm sun.

  The coming battle would be the first I’d ever witnessed involving more than about ten men. I had no military knowledge or skills, only the philosophy Yellow Boy and Rufus Pike had taught me years ago about the need for being “cold and cakilatin” to survive in hard and dangerous country. Villa needed to be “cold and cakilatin” as a military commander. But he also had maybe ten thousand men who were fast running out of water and starving.

  At last Villa lowered his glasses, turned to us, and asked, “What do you think, Queentin?”

  Quent shook his head. “I’m not an expert, General, but it looks like a mighty hard nut to crack, maybe even impossible. Your men will be cut to pieces by all those machine-gun positions and riflemen in the trenches, not to mention all the land mines scattered over that bare area the men have to cross. And there’s the artillery, if Calles decides to lower his guns. What’s your strategy?”

  Villa leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes glittering. “Three words: Attack. Attack. Attack. That’s my strategy, and it always will be. First, use the cannons we worked so hard to get here. We’ll pound away on Agua Prieta and the minefield until it’s gone. The men with machine guns and rifles can’t shoot what they can’t see. The moon will not be up until an hour or two after midnight. By that time, we’ll be across the barbed wire and fighting in the streets.”

  “That all sounds reasonable, General, but what about the searchlights Doctor Grace and Yellow Boy saw? They’ll be a lot brighter than any moon.”

  “Queentin, where is the electricity in Agua Prieta to power these lights? They are useless without the electricity.”

  Quent nodded. “You’re right, General. There’s no power in Agua Prieta. The Americans have electrical power in Douglas. Do you think they’ll let Calles use it?”

  Villa stared at Quent and shrugged. “General Funston says the Americanos will favor neither side. Does he lie?”

  Quent stared back at Villa’s narrow, questioning eyes. This time, Quent shrugged.

  Villa rode west toward the place where the cavalry made camp. We rode back to the eastern side, near the artillery, and made camp in a low area behind a slight rise that put us out of sight of Agua Prieta. We made a fire and brewed coffee while we waited for the infantry, artillery, and medico wagons to arrive. Looking back at the pass, we saw the high dust clouds typical of cavalry and wagons, and then, a few hours later, the lower clouds from the shuffling feet of the infantry. It took the cavalry a couple of hours to get past us before the artillery and supply wagons began appearing. Soon we flagged down Juan and showed him where we were camped.

  Agua Prieta sat on the only accessible water wells except for a sulfurous one several miles out on the plains. The water barrels on the supply wagons were nearly empty, and after the three days’ march from Slaughter’s ranch, most canteens were dry. Villa sent wagons around Agua Prieta to get water from the smelter drainage ditches. That water was dark and had a hard, nasty taste, but the animals were thirsty enough to drink it, and it kept them from dying of thirst.

  All morning of the second day, a steady stream of messengers came to Villa’s command wagon. They reported on cannon locations, artillery shell counts, readiness to fire, status of cavalry and infantry units, all the myriad things that tell a general if his army is ready to fight. Scouts, Yellow Boy among them, managed to creep up close to the edge of the clearing surrounding the Agua Prieta trench. They brought details of artillery positions and how soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder in the trench and how the village was filled with men in Carrancista uniforms.

  At noon, commanders gathered around Villa’s wagon to discuss strategy. Villa asked Quent, Yellow Boy, and me to listen in. He sounded angry as they talked and made frequent references to how the Americans had betrayed him. He planned to soften up the Agua Prieta defenses with artillery fire late in the afternoon, blow apart sections of barbed wire, explode the mines in the cleared area, and then punch through the barbed wire and eastern trench with a hard assault. If need be, they would attack a second time, still focused on the east, but with assaults on the other sides, including the one next to the border, to keep Calles too busy to support the east with reinforcements from those positions. If those attacks failed, the artillery would rain down death and destruction once more before another attack.

  “No one,” Villa said, pounding his thigh with his fist, “no matter how well-defended, can stand against such an attack. We’ll slaughter them all. Those who escape from Agua Prieta, the cavalry will ride down. If they surrender and pledge to me, let them live. If they don’t, execute them. It will take time in the dark to cross the minefield and dodge a few bullets until we’re on the wire. The cavalry must wait for the first breach, or they’ll be riding over the top of our own infantry.”

  Quent cut his eyes to me and shook his head. Yellow Boy, his face a mask of frozen concentration, listened. I didn’t know what to think.

  The meeting soon broke up, the commanders, heading back to their men, ready for the evening dance of death. We stood to leave, too, but Villa waved us over to his table. “What do you think of the plan, Queentin?”

  Quent grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know, General. Maybe it will work. I’m not a military man, but it seems to me that Agua Prieta is just too well-defended and has too many soldiers inside the trench. Yes, you probably outnumber them maybe two or three to one. But they’re behind trenches and piles of dirt, and your soldiers are exposed. Many will die. It’s better to just bottle them up or pound them with artillery until they surrender.”

  Villa shook his head and, in a moment of lucidity, said, “Those goddamned gringos have done this to me. I’ll fight them, too, if I must. I can’t stay here for long. Obregón will send armies from the south, from Guaymas and Hermosillo, and corner me against the border. I’m out of supplies. My men need good water, beans, and tortillas. Most of all they need bullets, and my artillery needs shells. We can march around Agua Prieta and never fire a shot, but always Calles will be at my back as we go south. Unless he’s stopped, I’ll always worry about being trapped between two armies.” His fist pounded his table. “We . . . must . . . take . . . Agua Prieta. Do yo
u understand this, Queentin?”

  “Sí, Jefe, I understand. I say only it will be a very hard battle with many losses.”

  “Perhaps, Queentin, perhaps. We’ll see. Hombrecito, are the medicos ready?”

  “Sí, General, we’re ready, and as I told you earlier, I know where to buy more supplies in Douglas if we need them.”

  “Bueno. Keep your big rifle close by. You may need it. Muchacho Amarillo, I ask that you stay with me to carry my directions to the commanders and tell me the truth of the battlefield.”

  Yellow Boy nodded. “Sí, Jefe. I go where you tell me.”

  A distant boom sounded, trailed by a low whistle. Villa was instantly up and moving toward the rise from where he’d studied Agua Prieta. To the north, there was an explosion high in the air in the direction of Villa’s artillery placements. Within seconds, there was thunder from Villa’s artillery and louder whistles. At the top of the rise, we saw flashes of fire over Agua Prieta followed by distant pops and little puffball clouds that drifted toward the east. Flashes and distant booms came from the artillery in Agua Prieta followed by brighter flashes, immediate booms, whistles ending in bright flashes, loud, drum-like thuds, and gray puffball clouds. More of Villa’s cannons returned fire, their aerial explosions creeping closer to the western side of Agua Prieta. Several rounds fell in the cleared area outside the barbed wire, and a few tripped mines, setting off secondary explosions.

  Villa, arms crossed, stared at the artillery exchanges, a sardonic smile under his mustache. I heard him mutter, “So, Calles, you think you find my guns and make me waste shells. Don’t worry, amigo. I have plenty of both, and when I finish with you, the gringos in Douglas will know the power of my guns also.”

  Quent asked, “General do you mean that? You’ll turn your cannons on Douglas?”