by Steve Hayes
There was a sharp cry and a body tumbled down, bouncing from rock to rock until it landed in a heap on the dirt. It was the youngest of the three bounty hunters, and his enraged father jumped up and pumped round after round at Gabriel.
Gabriel eased over behind the next rock, took careful aim and dropped the older man. He then stood up, and blazed away at the remaining son. Panicking, the bounty hunter scrambled over the rocks until a bullet in the head cut him down.
Gabriel watched him stagger and fall. His body slid limply down the steep rocky slope and landed in a heap in the gully. Feeling no remorse, Gabriel left the three bodies for the buzzards, shouldered his rifle and plodded on down the gully.
He found the stallion waiting about a hundred yards off. It snorted and gave him a look that showed how pissed off it was that he had whacked it. Gabriel knew that look and kept his rifle ready in case the Morgan tried to bite him. It didn’t. Gabriel swung up into the saddle, gripped the horn and spurred the horse forward – expecting it to buck. Again, nothing happened.
‘Don’t think you’re foolin’ me,’ Gabriel told the stallion as they rode off. ‘ ’Cause I’ll be burning in the fires of hell ’fore I believe you’ve gone soft.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Every summer San Dimas, a remote sunbaked pueblo in north-west Chihuahua, earned its nickname El horno del diablo, the devil’s furnace. Trapped between the Sierra Madre and the towering, sheer walls of the Cañon Solo, the town was plagued by searing winds off the desert that kept the air so stifling hot it burned the lungs. If that wasn’t enough, temperatures regularly soared above a hundred degrees and often stayed that way for weeks at a time.
Today was no exception. As Gabriel rode in from the desert, the sun hammered down on him, making breathing an effort.
On the outskirts he passed an old man, face hidden beneath a tattered straw hat, leading a burro loaded down with firewood. The man acknowledged him with a courteous nod and plodded on. On both sides of him white-shirted campesinos toiled in the bean fields, their heads shielded from the merciless sun by huge straw sombreros. Gabriel returned their waves and rode on, thinking how much he respected these gentle, compassionate people.
Ahead, women with bright-colored shawls over their heads sat in the doorways of hovels, grinding corn to make tortillas. They watched stoically as Gabriel rode past.
Their grubby, half-naked children weren’t so reserved. As soon as he approached they stopped playing in the dirt and came running up, hands outstretched to him, pleading for pesos.
Gabriel knew if he gave them money they would follow him everywhere. But he couldn’t resist their insistent pleas and tossed them a few coins. As they scrambled in the dirt for them, he spat out the dead cigar he’d been chewing, licked his parched lips for the umpteenth time and spurred the stallion into a canter, leaving the children behind.
He followed a narrow dirt street lined with old adobe dwellings into the plaza. A spear of welcome shade cast by the church bell tower temporarily soothed Gabriel’s squinted eyes. But moments later he was back in the sunlight, the glare doubly bright now, making him pull his hat lower over his eyes.
He rode on, skirting a pigeon-stained statue of President Porfirio Diaz, and crossed the plaza. Ever wary when among strangers, he noticed that the shops around him were open but the intense heat was preventing anyone from using them.
Neither could he see anybody working inside the office of the local Rurales, or any saddled horses tied up outside. In fact, other than a young woman nursing her baby beside a vegetable stand and two barefooted children carrying urns full of water, the sun-scorched square was deserted.
Gabriel reined up at the livery stable and told the hostler to ‘Grain him.’ Then he pulled his Winchester from its boot and asked the sleepy youth if he’d seen a gringo woman, dressed all in black, with an old Mexican driving a wagon. ‘They would’ve ridden in some time the day before yesterday,’ he added, ‘most likely late in the afternoon.’
The hostler shook his head. He’d seen no one like that. And he would have remembered them, he said, because he’d seen them earlier in the week when they drove in from the border.
Puzzled, Gabriel asked him if he’d heard anyone talking about them. The hostler shook his head again, yawned and led the Morgan away to feed it.
Concerned for Ellen’s and Escalero’s safety, Gabriel left the stable and crossed over to El Tecolote.
Inside, the cantina was not much cooler. A small boy with enormous black eyes sat in the corner under an old stuffed owl, tugging on a string tied to a ceiling fan. Its creaking, slow-turning blades brought the smell of greasy cooking from the kitchen in back.
Gabriel leaned on the bar and waited to be served. There were several other customers, all of them Mexicans. Gabriel recognized them from previous visits and knew they meant him no harm. He asked them the same question he’d asked the hostler. They all shook their heads and went on talking.
Just then the owner, Ramon Salazar, emerged from the kitchen with plates of tortillas, eggs and refried beans. After serving them to the men, along with bowls of chili sauce, he waddled fatly up to Gabriel. Without being asked, he poured Gabriel a whiskey and asked him what he wanted to eat.
‘Same as them,’ Gabriel said, thumbing at the other customers. He then questioned Salazar about Ellen and Escalero. But the owner hadn’t seen them either, and he waddled back into the kitchen.
Gabriel gulped his drink, poured himself another and tried to reassure himself that Ellie was safe. But since this was the only direct route to the border, and an easy trail to follow, he couldn’t convince himself that no harm had come to her.
He was halfway through his meal and still trying to decide what to do next when he heard horses reining up outside. Turning to the window, he saw it was the local Rurales – six enlisted men and an officious, mustachioed captain named Plaxido Morales. They all looked hot and weary from their long, hard ride. Their faces were sweat-caked, and their distinctive gray, silver-braided uniforms, red ties and big fancy sombreros were coated with dust.
Before Gabriel could figure out what they were up to, Captain Morales and his men burst into the cantina and aimed their rifles at him.
‘Espere! Sostenga su fuego!’ Gabriel yelled and quickly raised his hands. ‘Qué pasa?’ he then asked Captain Morales. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘You are under arrest, gringo!’
‘For what?’
Lights exploded before his eyes as Captain Morales struck him in the face with his pistol. Stunned, Gabriel dropped his Winchester and collapsed to his knees. As if from a distance he heard Captain Morales ordering his men to take him to jail.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gabriel sat on the bunk in the grim little cell and tried to collect his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. His face was bruised, lips swollen and his head throbbed with pain. And the heat, my God the heat was suffocating.
But bad as the heat was, the horseflies were worse. Their vicious bites kept him squirming. He swatted at them with his hat, wondering as he did why he’d been treated so harshly. Captain Morales had seen him many times before when he’d come to town and there’d never been a problem.
‘You! Gringo!’
Gabriel saw Captain Morales standing on the other side of the bars. The officer was holding a 44-40 Remington revolver. As Gabriel rose and came close he recognized it, and realized Ellie and Escalero must be in trouble.
‘This pistola – it is yours, yes?’
‘Yeah. Those are my initials, see,’ Gabriel pointed at the side plate. ‘How’d you get hold of it?
‘I will ask the questions, hombre.’
Gabriel waited.
‘The señorita,’ Captain Morales said, ‘the norteamericano with the pale hair cut so short, what have you done with her?’
‘Nothin’. Why?’
‘Do not bother to lie. I found this,’ he brandished the 44-40 Remington, ‘beside her overturned wagon.’
‘That’s
’cause I gave it to her driver, Miguel Escalero, for protection against bandidos. The old pistol he had was one shot away from blowin’ up in his face.’
‘I do not believe you, gringo. The old man was found lying not far from the wagon. He was shot many times.’
‘Jesus,’ Gabriel said. ‘Miguel’s dead?’ His blood went cold. ‘What about the woman? She dead, too?’
‘Only you know that,’ Captain Morales snapped. ‘I ask you again – where is she? What have you done with her?’
‘Nothin’. I already told you that, goddammit. Last time I saw her she was—’
‘Was it her gold you were after?’ Captain Morales held up a US gold eagle.
‘Where’d you get that?’
‘It was on the ground where you dropped it after robbing her.’
‘Robb—? Hell, I didn’t even know she had any gold.’
‘Why else would you kill them?’
‘I didn’t kill them.’
‘How much more gold was there?’ Captain Morales demanded. ‘And where did you hide it? Tell me and it will go better for you.’
‘Mean won’t hang me twice?’
‘Gringo, it is not wise to mock me.’
‘Then quit accusin’ me of somethin’ I didn’t do, for Chrissake! I liked that old man an’ I liked the woman too. But even if I hadn’t, there was no reason for me to shoot them.’
‘But you cannot deny they were at your rancho. I saw their wagon tracks there with my own eyes.’
‘Who’s denyin’ it?’
‘This makes you the last person to see them alive.’
‘Not the last. That’d be the hombre who pulled the trigger.’
Gabriel saw the officer didn’t believe him.
‘Look, Capitán,’ he said, trying to control his anger, ‘I know it looks suspicious. And I understand why you think I killed them. But I didn’t, so help me God I didn’t. The last time I saw Ellie an’ the old man, they were alive. We said goodbye an’ they headed back this way.’
‘When was that?’
‘Early mornin’, day before yesterday. They’d spent the night at my place. I even gave them food and water to take with them. Does that sound like someone plannin’ to shoot them later?’
‘A man with gold on his mind will do anything to get it,’ said Captain Morales. ‘You will either tell me where it is, and what you have done with the señorita, or I will whip it out of you. And then I will hang you.’
‘For what? You got no proof I shot anyone.’
‘That is where you are wrong, gringo. El director de pompas fúnebres is burying the proof at this very moment.’ He walked off, slamming the jail door behind him before Gabriel could repeat that he hadn’t shot Escalero.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alone, Gabriel lay on the bunk wondering if Ellie was still alive. And if she was, who had kidnapped her.
The obvious answer was bandidos de montana, as the locals called the renegades who roamed the Sierras. They had probably ambushed the wagon, gunned down Escalero when he tried to defend Ellen, found the gold and ridden off with her. But to where? And what did they intend to do with her? Torture her? Pass her around among each other? Give her to their whores for amusement? Sell her to other bandits? The possibilities were endless. And what would happen to her once everyone grew tired of her?
The answer to that chilled Gabriel’s blood. He sat up, his mind suddenly clear. He had to break out, track down the bandits and find a way to rescue Ellie. And he had to do it fast!
He clamped his hat over his face to protect it from the flies, closed his eyes and began thinking of how he could escape.
No one bothered Gabriel all day. He had expected to be interrogated again by Captain Morales, but afternoon turned into evening and the pompous, strutting little officer never showed. Neither did the jailor with food or water. Gabriel realized then that Morales was more interested in the gold than hanging him, and intended to force him into revealing its whereabouts by starving him.
Well, he thought wryly, why not give the man what he wants?
Dawn arrived. Since the cell had no windows Gabriel had to guess what time it was by the sound of the jailor stirring in the outer office. By now he had a raging thirst and could have eaten two of his own ham-eggs-and-biscuits breakfasts.
Presently the door opened and Captain Morales strutted in. Gabriel had to hand it to him. Despite the heat and the early hour he looked as immaculate in his fancy uniform as any parade officer!
Behind him slouched the jailor, carrying a small table and a chair. He placed them before Gabriel’s cell, withdrew then reappeared shortly with a bowl of fruit, two cups, pot of coffee and a pitcher of water. He set them on the table, saluted Captain Morales and left, locking the door behind him.
The officer sat at the table and smiled at Gabriel. ‘I thought perhaps you would enjoy sharing my breakfast,’ he said affably.
‘Nothin’ I’d like better.’
‘First, you must share something with me.’
‘I’m way ahead of you, Capitán. The gold’s hidden in my cabin.’
Captain Morales gave a wolfish smile.
‘It is not good to start a confession with a lie, gringo. My men have already searched what is left of your cabin. The gold is not there.’
‘Oh, it’s there all right. You just didn’t look in the right place.’
The officer studied him, not sure if he should believe him.
‘If you’ll take me there, Capitán, I’ll show you where it is.’
‘And if you are lying, gringo?’
‘Shoot me.’ Gabriel grinned. ‘It’ll save you the price of a hangin’.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hands tied to his saddle horn, Gabriel rode alongside Captain Morales at the head of the tiny column. The stallion, as if sensing the gravity of the situation, had made no attempt to act up during the entire ride. But now, as they crested a steep rocky rise and saw the vast desert valley spread out before them, the Morgan pricked its ears and, anxious to be turned loose, quickened its stride.
Captain Morales kicked up his horse, making it keep abreast of the stallion.
‘Do not do anything stupid,’ he warned Gabriel. ‘My men have strict orders to shoot you if you try to escape.’
‘Don’t boil your brains,’ Gabriel advised him. ‘I ain’t goin’ anywhere.’
It took them another thirty minutes to cross the flat, barren valley and reach the rancho. Captain Morales ordered his men to dismount and surround the blackened shell of the cabin. Despite the long ride and intense heat they obeyed at the double, sombreros flopping, spurs jingling, rifles held at the ready.
Captain Morales then pressed his pistol against Gabriel’s back, ordered him to walk slowly, and together they entered the ruins.
‘Before I give you the gold,’ Gabriel said, pausing amid the ashes, ‘do I have your word you won’t shoot me?’
‘As an officer and a caballero, I swear it so,’ Captain Morales said. ‘Now, where is the gold?’
‘Under here.’ Gabriel indicated the charred remains of the clothes’ chest. ‘Buried in the dirt.’
Captain Morales kept the pistol trained on Gabriel and ordered him to dig up the gold.
‘I’ll need your saber.’
Keeping his pistol trained on Gabriel, the officer drew his sword and stuck it in the ground.
Gabriel scraped the ashes aside and began to dig. When he was a foot or so down, he uncovered a rusty metal box.
‘Help yourself, Capitán.’
‘Lift it out.’
Gabriel obeyed and opened the lid to reveal a canvas sack on which lay coiled a – rattlesnake.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said as the alarmed officer jumped back. ‘It’s dead. See,’ he slipped the point of the saber under the snake, lifted it up and in the same motion flung it at Captain Morales.
The dead snake wrapped around the officer’s face. He stumbled back with a cry. Gabriel jumped him. Slugging Morales with the h
andle of the sword, he grabbed the pistol and pressed it against the captain’s temple.
‘Tell your men to drop their rifles an’ wait for you down at the creek. Do it, goddammit,’ he hissed when the officer hesitated, ‘or I swear to sweet Jesus I’ll put a hole through your brain.’
Captain Morales grudgingly obeyed.
Gabriel waited until the six unarmed Rurales were lined up in the hot sun like toy soldiers. Then he let Morales up and told him to join his men. The officer obeyed without uttering a word.
Gabriel then opened the sack and took out a well-worn gun belt, which was wrapped around a holster containing a Colt .45. He strapped it on, fastened the tie-down around his thigh, pocketed a box of cartridges and carried the sack outside to the stallion. He tucked it under his bedroll, mounted up and rode to the crest of the slope.
‘There is no gold,’ he shouted to Captain Morales. ‘Never was. That gold eagle you found, it must’ve belonged to the shooter.’
‘It is of no importance,’ Captain Morales replied. ‘I shall hang you anyway.’
‘We’ll argue about that later,’ Gabriel said. ‘Right now I’m goin’ after the woman. An’ if you or any of your yahoos try to follow me, I’ll dry-gulch every last one of you.’
He kicked the stallion into an easy lope and rode off toward the distant mountains.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That evening he made camp high in the rocky foothills. Towering above him the mountain peaks formed a jagged skyline. An eagle swept effortlessly over the treetops, its single cry soon lost in the vast silent emptiness.
Gabriel removed the saddle and bedroll from the stallion’s back, and left the Morgan untied so it could defend itself against any marauding mountain lions.
A bitter wind off the Sierras kept him shivering. But not wanting to attract bandits, he decided against lighting a fire. There were a few strips of jerky in his saddlebag; he chewed one of them, making each bite last as long as he could. But he couldn’t fool his belly and it grumbled for hot beans and coffee. Consoling himself with the thought that tomorrow he might get lucky and shoot a rabbit or a deer, he stretched out on his bedroll, rifle next to him, and lit a cigar.
