Across the Río Bravo

by R. W. Stone

McCallum chuckled, remembering the old days. “Of course. Sure there was. In fact, I once went after this one particular con man who kept changing identities on me so often it felt like I was chasing a ghost.”

  “That so? Clever fellow he was?” Pedro asked, smiling to himself.

  Thad poured himself another cup of coffee, set his pipe down for a moment, and popped a piece of licorice in his mouth. “Clever would be putting it mildly,” he replied, pressing a hand to his stomach to ease the discomfort of his attack of indigestion.

  “His name was Gary Simmons, if I remember correctly, but he went by a dozen or more aliases. He worked his cons all over the country. I got involved after he left Chicago to go West and the Pinks got called in.”

  “So why did they send you after him?” Pedro asked.

  “Well, he kept on the move so often, he’d be out of the local law’s jurisdiction before you could say Davy Crockett. Sheriffs had put out warrant after warrant on him, but this Simmons was a smart one. He’d change his looks … grow a beard, or wear an eye patch … just to confuse anyone who paid attention to the Wanted posters.”

  “And so?” Pedro said, encouraging his friend.

  “Well, let’s see. One of his con jobs turned out to be an embezzlement scheme he pulled on a rich Chicago railroad baron who had no forgiveness in his soul. Man by the name of Aaron Phillips. He got so fed up waiting on the law, he hired the Pinkertons to track this Simmons fellow down.”

  Thad put his coffee cup aside, picked up his pipe, and re-lit it. “As I remember, Mister Phillips said he would double the posted reward, but only on the condition that we bring Simmons back to Chicago and drop him off at Phillips’ office and leave the two of them alone for a half hour before taking him to the police station.”

  “I can imagine what he had in mind for that little reunion,” Pedro chuckled. “Phillips being a railroad man and all, no, jefe?”

  McCallum nodded, grinning. “Yeah, but better you don’t ask about that part. At any rate when the Pinks found out that Simmons had left Illinois, heading for the western plains, they notified my office and I took the assignment. At first I thought it was going to be rather routine, but, like I said, this Gary Simmons fellow was trickier than a Mississippi cardsharp.”

  “How so?” Pedro asked.

  “Seems like he carried at least five full changes of clothes wherever he went and constantly traded horses. He made sure there was nothing to distinguish him from the crowd. He had no characteristic habits, never worked with a partner, and there was never anyone other than his victims who knew him well enough to identify him.”

  “So, how’d you find him?” Pedro asked.

  Thad blew a cloud of smoke and thought for a moment. “Well, over the years I’d noticed that men on the run usually use aliases that are similar to their own names. It makes it easier for them to remember who they are supposed to be. Robert Smith might change to Richard Schmidt or Jake Thompson might be changed to Jack Thomas. Get the idea?” Pedro nodded over his cup of coffee. “So, I went to the towns where his scams had been run and started collecting names.”

  “That doesn’t seem like it would be of much help if he already had left town,” Pedro observed.

  “That alone wouldn’t be, but next I began marking all his previously known locations on a map. After a while I noticed a pattern.”

  “A pattern, jefe?”

  “Sure. You see, most criminals always make some small mistake that turns out to be their Achilles’ heel. I noticed that Gary Simmons always traveled from big city to big city. After all, that’s where the money is, not in small backwater hick towns.”

  “That’s true enough, I think,” Pedro observed, rolling up a cigarette.

  Thad continued his tale. “His flaw was that, instead of traveling from city to city in a random fashion, north, south, east, or west, he seemed to me to be traveling toward San Francisco in an upside-down curve on my map. Then I noticed he was usually last seen in banks and telegraph offices. It stood to reason he was wiring his ill-gotten money ahead in case he was caught and searched, or even robbed on the trail. Fact is, criminals ride on stagecoaches and railroads just like normal folks do, and, as we well know, these occasionally get robbed.”

  “So, jefe, if he was so tricky what did you do to finally catch him?” Pedro asked lighting his cigarette.

  McCallum smiled broadly and fiddled a moment with his pipe, rubbing the bowl wood with his thumb. “I traced out the next two big cities on the curve of my map, and then, using this hunch, I traveled to the second city as fast as I could, skipping the city I believed was his next destination. Since Simmons often used name variations of the abbreviations GS and because I figured that, sooner or later, once he arrived, he would want to pick up the money he had wired, I staked out the telegrapher’s office.”

  “Very clever move,” Pedro agreed.

  “Turned out that way,” McCallum replied. “A few well-placed bills helped convince the station operator to tip me off when a Gregg or Gary or Gavin with a last name starting with the letter S arrived to pick up a money transfer. The rest, as they say, was history. I turned him over to another agent for transport the rest of the way back to the Windy City.”

  Peralta looked perplexed.

  “It’s what they call Chicago, Illinois,” McCallum explained.

  Pedro nodded. “Bravo, jefe. Very well done.”

  Thad tapped the tobacco ashes from his pipe. “Yep. That’s what that fellow Phillips from Chicago said when our agent showed up at his office with Simmons in cuffs. Word is Simmons ended up at the police station alive, but not much else.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “He’s gone completely off his rocker,” Jeff said quietly to Mercedes. They were standing in a dark corner behind the hacienda’s stables. “I can’t continue with this. I’ve got to get away.”

  “You will die trying,” Mercedes replied. She hesitated before adding, “I don’t want any harm to come to you, mi querido.”

  “My love?” Jeff repeated, realizing what she had just said. “So, you do care for me as much as I do for you.”

  “Julio would kill us both if he were to find out,” Mercedes remarked sadly. She was obviously worried and afraid.

  “I don’t care. I’d rather die than think of you ending up with him for good,” Jeff said angrily.

  Mercedes glanced around the corner, making sure that no one could hear or see them. “Then we must plan our escape very carefully. We will need horses, food, and water. Can you shoot a gun?” she asked.

  “I may not be the strongest or smartest man you ever met, but I am the son of a soldier,” Jeff replied proudly. “If it fires, I can shoot it, and I usually hit whatever I aim at. Hell, I was taught to shoot before I learned the alphabet. That’s one thing my father taught me.”

  Mercedes’ expression was clearly one of doubt.

  Jeff frowned. “Fine, don’t believe me. Obviously, I can’t play William Tell here, so you will just have to trust me.”

  Puzzled, Mercedes asked, “Who is this William person?”

  “An old army marksman,” Jeff joked. “He taught my father.” She looked at him curiously. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself if given half a chance.”

  “Julio won’t give you half a chance, and now I believe Villa won’t give you even that much if he catches you escaping.” She considered things for a moment, and then added, “Maybe if I were to help you get away first, I could join you later.”

  Jeff shook his head. “You got me all wrong, sweetheart. I’m not the sort to leave here without you,” he insisted. He took her in his arms and kissed her, long and hard. She melted into his embrace. Jeff was a little surprised at his newfound confidence around Mercedes.

  After a few brief moments of tenderness, Mercedes pulled away, straightened her hair, and looked up at the face of the one whom she now realized was
, as old-fashioned as it sounds, her one true love.

  “We shall see, mi querdio, we shall see. But for now, I need to think and plan,” she said firmly.

  “¡Mercedes! Donde estás?” a voice suddenly yelled out from the darkness.

  “It’s Julio,” Mercedes cried, recognizing his voice. “He’s looking for me. You must go, Jeff. He must not catch us together. Please, go. Hurry!”

  Shaw shook his head. “Give me a gun and I’ll kill that son-of-a-bitch right here and now!”

  Mercedes was shocked at the intensity of his outburst. “Don’t be a fool. Even if you did manage to kill him, every gun in the camp would finish you off, and pronto. Now go, that way … around the back of the barn.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “The thought of you being with him is unbearable,” Jeff replied.

  Mercedes smiled at him and made a get-going gesture with her hands. “Better unbearable than dead. Now go!”

  Jeff shrugged and hurried away into the night. Behind him, he heard Mercedes shout out, “¡Aqui, Julio, here I am!” Jeff shuddered with anger and jealousy.

  “What are you doing here at this hour?” Julio asked. He was clearly suspicious.

  “I was checking on my horse. I was worried … he’s been off his feed lately. I thought it might be colic,” Mercedes replied.

  “Colic, huh? So, how is he?”

  Mercedes answered without hesitation. “He seems to be eating better tonight, but not as much as he usually eats.”

  “Julio nodded. “Bueno. So, where is the gringo?”

  “How should I know?” she hissed scornfully. “At this time of night, he’s probably sleeping in his tent or over at his wagon. Why do you ask me?”

  “Just you stay away from him,” Cardenas ordered. “You hear me? You are my woman.”

  Mercedes glared at him with fire in her eyes. “Understand this, Julio. I am not anyone’s woman. I am a Villaista. I will be with whomever I choose, whether you like it or not.” Then to calm down the captain she pressed her hands on his chest. “Cálmate, chico. Relax. Think about it. Why in the world would I choose such a boy over a man like you? And a gringo besides?”

  Cardenas looked at Mercedes lustily. “So then come back to the big house with me,” he replied encouragingly.

  “I would, Julio, but I am going to stay with my horse for a while, and then I am going to take a bath and go to sleep. You wouldn’t want me smelling like a horse now, would you?”

  Cardenas smiled wickedly. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”

  “Cerdo.” She laughed. “You might want to consider taking a bath, too. Now leave me be and go.” Mercedes gave him a small kiss on the cheek and pushed him away.

  Julio Cardenas grunted and walked off. Mercedes suddenly went weak in the knees and had to lean against the stable wall for support. She knew it was a very dangerous game she was playing. She shook her head and mumbled aloud, “Ay, chica, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Following the Columbus raid the usual and expected political negotiations took place between the United States and Mexico. While the army started making its preparations for the punitive expedition, United States Secretary of State Lansing began to negotiate with Mexico’s President Venustiano Carranza to allow the United States to enter Mexico without his government’s interference.

  At first El Presidente balked at granting approval for such an invasive expedition into his country. Carranza had insisted that his own troops could track down Villa. The United States, however, flatly refused this offer, and after a week of back and forth negotiations, Carranza’s government reluctantly agreed to allow the Americans to cross the border with the condition that they went no farther than the state of Chihuahua.

  When General John J. Pershing finally crossed the Río Grande, he did so at the head of an enormous army. He had a long line of horses, mules, and some primitive Dodge cars and trucks. The trucks were valuable because the Mexicans had initially refused access to their railways.

  To complicate things further, local authorities continuously cut the telegraph lines that the army had laid.

  Eventually President Carranza agreed to limited use of Mexico’s railways, but by that time the army had already set up its own supply routes to follow Pershing into Chihuahua.

  By April 8th, the American expedition was more than four hundred miles into Mexico with a total troop strength of almost seven thousand men. The force was divided into two flying columns with orders to search for Pancho Villa, who was believed to be making his main base camp at Casas Grandes, Chihuahua.

  Because of the continued disputes with the Carranza administration over the use of the Mexican North Western railway to supply Pershing’s troops, the United States Army employed trucks for the first time to convoy supplies to Pershing’s headquarters. The expedition set up its headquarters in the town of Colonia Dublan. Its supply base was located on a large tract of land near the Casas Grandes River.

  Since he had no idea how long he would be in Chihuahua or how much farther south he would have to penetrate before locating Villa, General Pershing wanted to ensure that his army was well supplied.

  When the expedition had been denied the full use of the Mexican railway system, Pershing turned to his motor transport companies to pick up the slack. The problem with that was that the army did not have nearly enough trucks to transport all the needed food, clothing, weapons, and ammunition that had been stored in Columbus.

  Pershing’s Punitive Expedition, as it came to be known, started out as a logistical nightmare. Nothing of this magnitude had ever been attempted by the US Army on foreign soil. Word of this dilemma was eventually forwarded back to the Secretary of War Newton Baker, who somehow managed to appropriate $450,000 in government funds to purchase new trucks.

  The government’s money was well spent as eventually more than ten thousand tons of supplies were delivered to Pershing’s army by these vehicles. Moving supplies by truck, never an easy feat, was made worse during this expedition because the routes depicted on available maps turned out to be nothing more than rough trails that were hopelessly impassable during inclement weather.

  As a result, army engineers were forced to rebuild many of the Mexican roads. To a large extent, the expedition still had to rely on mules and wagons to keep its supplies moving.

  General Pershing picked a young West Point second lieutenant from the Eighth Cavalry, George S. Patton Jr., as his aide-de-camp. As such Lieutenant Patton was tasked with overseeing the logistics of Pershing’s transportation as well as acting as the general’s personal courier.

  In mid-April, Second Lieutenant Patton, always the eager military fire-eater, asked General Pershing for the opportunity to command troops of his own, and so was reattached to the Thirteenth Cavalry to assist in the manhunt for Pancho Villa and his subordinates.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  McCallum looked over his map. “How far is it to the next town?” he asked Pedro. The two men had stopped by a small creek to water and rest their horses. It had been a solid week of hard riding across a barren landscape.

  Pedro pushed his sombrero up higher on his head and, putting his hand over his eyes to block the glare of the sun, stared off into the distance. “I would say two more days’ ride and we should be there, jefe. Maybe less.”

  McCallum popped some licorice into his mouth and sighed. “I sure could use a fresh bath and a nice cold beer.”

  His friend nodded in agreement. “A pretty señorita playing a guitarra wouldn’t be so bad, either.”

  Thad laughed and nodded his head. “Wouldn’t be half bad at that, but, knowing you, it would probably take a couple of horses and mules to pull you away. Wouldn’t mind it myself iffen it wasn’t for that damned boy down here.”

  “Don’t worry, jefe, we’ll find him,” Peralta assured McCallum.

  �
�Well, I’ll tell you what, Pedro. We find that boy in one piece, I’ll find you that señorita. How’s that sound?”

  Pedro chuckled and picked up his reins. “Sí, jefe, you have a deal.”

  When they finally rode into town, it was a toss-up as to which was more run down, Thad, Pedro, or the livestock. McCallum was beginning to think that they were destined to ride forever, visiting small Mexican towns that were all mirror images of each other. He was tired and annoyed at their lack of progress. His body ached for a nice thick bed with a thick pillow or two.

  Even as exhausted as they were from their ride, the two rode to the livery stable first. After all, no true rider cares for himself before his horse.

  Once dismounted, McCallum clung to his saddle for a moment before leading his horse inside.

  “You all right, jefe?” Pedro asked, concerned.

  McCallum took a deep breath and sighed. “Knees locked up on me for a moment. I’m all right. Just got to get the blood circulating.” He shook his legs a mite and arched his back. “I’m fine. Let’s get these animals boarded, and then see about a room and a bath. If it’s all right with you, let’s worry about señoritas some other time. Damn, I hate this growing old horseshit.”

  “Fine with me, jefe, whatever you say.”

  They found a suitable hotel about five blocks from the livery stable. The sign read Hotel La Sombra, or loosely translated, the Shady Inn. McCallum hoped it would provide some cool comfortable shade for a change.

  Pedro arranged for two rooms on the second floor with the hotel’s desk clerk, a short, rotund fellow with a droopy black mustache. Although he appeared unfazed about having an Americano in his hotel, Pedro noticed the man’s eyes never left McCallum’s back.

  “Which one do you want, Pedro?” McCallum asked, opening the door to the first room.

  “They are probably alike, so you go ahead and take this one,” Pedro replied. “I’ll take the one across the hall, here.”

  “Meet you for dinner at seven tonight,” McCallum stated. “I’m gonna take a bath, if there’s one available, and then doze off till my stomach wakes me.”