by R. W. Stone
“What is it, jefe?” Pedro asked.
“There’s a pair running from some Mexicans. Looks like a man and a girl. And, if I’m not mistaken, the man looks to be American. As hard as it may be to believe it, we may have stumbled upon the lad we’re looking for.”
“Got to be him, jefe,” Pedro observed. “How many gringos on the run are there this far south? He must have escaped from the Villaistas.”
“Doesn’t look like they’ve escaped just yet,” McCallum replied grimly. “Those riders are catching up mighty quick. Here, look for yourself.”
Thad handed the binoculars to Pedro. Down in the valley the pursuers were firing at the two from horseback.
After he took a look, Pedro handed the glasses back. “They’ll make it to the ranch, I think, but they are going to need help once they get there.”
“Well,” Thad shrugged, “that’s why we came.” He quickly put the binoculars away and removed the thong from his holster. Pedro did the same. Both McCallum and Peralta dropped the ropes to the pack mules and pulled their rifles from their sheathes.
“On the count of three,” McCallum said, adjusting the rear sight on his Winchester. Once Thad reached three, both men began firing from the crest of the hill. One of the Mexican rebels fell from his horse, forcing the others to rein in quickly. The fallen rider was helped back onto his horse.
At that distance neither Thad nor Pedro had expected to be lucky enough to hit anything. The best they had hoped for was to slow the pursuers down long enough for the pair in front to get to cover. It appeared they had been successful at that.
“Time to ride, my friend,” Thad indicated, tightening the strap on his hat.
“One last time, jefe?” Pedro asked.
“Hell, I hope not.” McCallum’s voice rose with excitement. “All right, once more into the breach, Pedro!”
Peralta gave out a loud vaquero yell, and then both men charged down the hill.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You hear that?” Patton asked Corporal Murphy. Given the heat in that part of the country, the windows in the Dodges were rolled down. In fact, the lieutenant had been riding with his head sticking out the car window.
“Must be one of the cars backfiring, sir.”
Patton looked over at him in disgust. “Bullshit. You know as well as I do those were gunshots.”
The corporal shrugged. “If you say so, sir.”
“Damned right I say so. All right, Murphy, ride straight toward the gunfire.”
The lieutenant stuck his arm out the window, waving the other two cars on. “Follow us!” he yelled. Turning again to Murphy, he said, “Come on, give it all she’s got, Corporal. Push her as fast as this metal contraption will go.”
Bouncing along the road, if one could call it that, the three cars followed the sound of the gunfire. As they topped the hill, Patton had the cars come to stop. He got out of the lead car and walked quickly back to the sergeant, who by this point had already exited his car. The two studied the ranch below.
“We are going to ride around to the back of the place, and then drive straight in,” Patton explained. “As soon as we get inside the compound, I want everyone out, guns loaded. Spread out and use the cars for cover if you have to. Got it?”
“Yo!” replied the soldier.
The lieutenant returned to his automobile and watched the sergeant sprint back to the last car to give them the orders. After returning to his own car, Patton patted Corporal Murphy on the shoulder. “All right, Murphy, time to earn our pay. Drive on around behind the ranch.”
* * * * *
As the army’s cars headed down the hill toward the ranch, McCallum and Peralta were already galloping through the front gate. Both men slid their horses to a halt and jumped from their saddles at the same time. McCallum winced a little when his leg hit the ground. He was too energized to worry about the pain, but in the back of his mind he knew that his right hip would give him hell later.
“The two are in the house on the left, Pedro. Spread out!” McCallum yelled.
McCallum knew Peralta could read the situation as well as he could, but Thad wanted to make sure neither was hit unnecessarily by the crossfire of either friend or foe.
They started firing together as they ran toward the house. McCallum fired his Winchester repeatedly, levering it from the hip. Peralta carried his rifle in his left hand and had drawn his pistol and was thumbing it with his right hand.
“Americans coming in!” McCallum shouted, crashing his body through the door and into the house where the man and the woman were holding out. As the door crashed open, he could feel a sharp pain rack his left shoulder.
“Goddamned rheumatism!” he cursed, thinking that his shoulder would be yet another part of his body that would be reminding him of his trip to Mexico once he made it home.
A girl turned and, aiming her pistol at the new arrivals, was about to shoot when Pedro entered and yelled in Spanish, “¡Somos amigos¡ ¡No disparen!”
Jeff stepped over to Mercedes’ side and put his hand on her pistol, pushing it down. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Your name Shaw?” the American asked.
Both Jeff and Mercedes were shocked.
“Yes, sir, it is,” Jeff replied.
A windowpane shattered, the glass exploding into the room. Pedro ran to the window and fired two pistol shots toward the attackers. He used the barrel of his gun to dislodge the remaining shards stuck in the window’s frame, then, stooping, he settled his rifle through the opening.
McCallum quickly looked around the room and told Jeff and the girl to get down and stay away from the windows. He took a position at a window near Pedro, levering two rounds in succession. As he was doing so, he instinctively surveyed the yard and its structures.
The Mexicans had taken cover in two buildings adjacent to each other directly across from the house. Based on where the shots were coming from, McCallum guessed there were two men in each building. They were protected by solidly built walls and would be hard to hit and even harder to dislodge. Considering everything, he and Pedro had been lucky to get inside the house without being hit.
* * * * *
“Mierda,” cursed Cardenas. “Where the hell did these two come from and who the hell are these cabrones?”
There was no answer from the rebel at his side.
“Reload faster!” Cardenas ordered. “I want those two dead.”
As soon as Cardenas started firing, the other three Mexicans began shooting rounds into the house.
Inside, the three men and Mercedes were hunkering down as windows shattered and wood splinters flew around the room.
“Look on the bright side, jefe,” Pedro shouted above the noise.
“What bright side?” Thad responded, ducking a shot. “What now?”
“Well, for one thing we found the muchacho alive.”
Another round pounded into the wall behind McCallum as he glared at his friend. “Yeah, that he is. Or at least he is for now.”
“We can shoot. Let us help you!” Jeff shouted above the firing.
McCallum shook his head violently. “We’ve come too far to see you get your head blown off. You stay down, or I’ll shoot you myself. I promised I’d get you back to Maggie and that’s what I aim to do.”
At the mention of his mother’s name Jeff stood up in surprise. A peppering of bullets broke through one of the windows and almost hit him, missing his head by mere inches.
“Damn if you ain’t got the brains God gave a goat,” McCallum commented. “Is there a part of stay the hell down that you don’t comprehend? I swear someone must have beaten Al to the punch, ’cause you can’t be his kid.”
Jeff dropped down and covered Mercedes. “Who the hell are you?” he asked McCallum again. He was more puzzled than ever.
At that precise moment, th
ey heard the motorcars roar through the back gate. They listened as the engines stopped to the south of the house, and the men exited the vehicles. Several minutes elapsed before they began shooting at the two structures where the Mexicans had holed up.
“Sounds like the cavalry has arrived, jefe,” Pedro observed happily. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than shots began being fired at the house, too.
McCallum stormed to the door and stuck his hat out. He quickly realized he would have to prove he was an American and on their side, or, in the heat of battle, they’d end up dead right along with the Mexicans.
“Stop shooting at us you flat-footed, limp, illegitimate sons of drunken marines,” he shouted when there was a pause in the shooting. “We’re Yankees in here, god dammit! If you sons-of-bitches ever stopped playing with yourselves long enough to pass basic training, you’d know to shoot at the other buildings where the rebels are and leave us the hell alone. We’re on your goddamned side!”
While Lieutenant Patton caught only some of the words McCallum was shouting, he knew they were coming from an American. He ordered his men to stop shooting at the house.
“Looks like we have at least one American civilian inside,” he remarked to Corporal Murphy.
“From the sound of it, if he’s a civilian now,” Murphy observed, “he wasn’t at some point in his life. Sounds more like a pissed-off drill sergeant to me, sir.”
Patton grinned and fired a shot off at one of the outbuildings which held two of the rebels.
The patrol’s sergeant crept over to Patton, sliding on his side next to him. “Those bastards are solidly under cover, sir. We’re getting nowhere fast this way.”
“You have something in mind, Sergeant?” Patton asked.
“Remember the dynamite sticks in the trunk, sir?”
Patton grinned again. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Turning to the civilian guides, Patton ordered them to stay put.
“Corporal Murphy, you go get the dynamite ready,” he directed. “Sergeant, you get into that house somehow and tell them what we’re planning to do. I’d suggest they join us as soon as the fireworks begin.”
The sergeant looked at the space between the cars and the house where McCallum and the others were hiding out and grimaced. A volley of rifle fire was directed at the motorcars. “Yes, sir,” he replied, swallowing with difficulty.
“We’ll cover you. Stay low and run hard.”
“No shit. As if I couldn’t figure that one out … sir,” the sergeant replied sarcastically.
“Hey, you in there, I’m coming in. Don’t nobody shoot me!” the sergeant yelled as he began to propel himself across the open space between the car and the house. Patton’s men started firing at the two outbuildings as soon as the sergeant had warned the house. Still, bullets from the Mexicans peppered the ground around him as he ran. He gained the porch, then crashed through the doorway that had been opened by someone inside, fell, and rolled. When he regained his feet, he was surprised to be looking at a fully armed Mexican. He steadied his gun.
Thad edged away from the window and warned, “Easy does it, Sarge. Pedro, there, is an American, too, and he’s on our side.”
The soldier was skeptical, but then seemed relieved. “What are you all doing here?” he asked.
Jeff Shaw was about to answer when McCallum beat him to it. “The lad is on the run from Villa’s men. His pa’s ex–regular army. We’re here to bring him home. I have no idea who the girl is.”
Jeff looked up, surprised. “She’s with me,” he explained. Turning to McCallum, he repeated, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
Thad ignored him for the moment. “What’s the plan, Sarge?” he asked.
The sergeant recognized a commanding presence when he met one. Regardless of who these other folks were, it was obvious that the tall, older man was in charge. Pedro had returned to the window and was once again firing his rifle at the rebels.
“The lieutenant has decided to use dynamite to deal with the situation. It’ll either kill them or bring them out in open. So, as soon as it starts getting even noisier out there, we all bail and join him,” the sergeant explained. Taking in the room, he asked, “Anyone else around here we need to know about?”
“Not as far as we can tell,” McCallum answered, shaking his head. “The locals probably beat it the hell out of here as soon as they heard gunfire, or the place was abandoned before today. I count four of them shooting.” He ducked as a rifle bullet slammed into the wall.
“I make it to be four, too, jefe,” Pedro commented between shots.
“One of them is Julio Cardenas,” Mercedes broke in. “He is one of Pancho Villa’s captains. He is muy malo. A very dangerous man.”
“A real hardcase, eh?” the sergeant said. “Well, we’ll see how he handles some TNT. It shouldn’t be too long before all hell breaks loose. Then we’ll take off.”
Thad gestured at the pair kneeling on the floor. “The sergeant and I go first, then you two follow, and I’d advise you to cling to us like flypaper. Pedro, you follow behind them, and try not to get your ass shot off.”
Peralta smiled and nodded. “Same goes for you, jefe.”
The sergeant had cracked open a small side window where he had a view of the Dodge cars. The army riflemen were shooting steadily at the opposite buildings, giving as good as they got. He watched as Corporal Murphy pulled out a dynamite stick. Another soldier, one the sergeant recognized as Private O’Neill, lit it. As soon as that happened, the corporal threw it. He lit a second and third stick in quick succession and hurled them as hard as he could in the direction of the two outbuildings.
The first blast caused part of the front wall to cave in on the building on the left. When the second and third blasts went off, the sergeant gave the signal to run. The small group hurried through the door of the rancho as fast as they could. As the sergeant, Jeff, and Mercedes headed for the cover of the cars, McCallum and Peralta veered over to where Patton had positioned himself once the first stick of dynamite exploded.
Not surprisingly, Patton was the only one out in the open in front of the three vehicles. Standing erect and fearlessly, he was in the process of pulling cartridges from his gun belt.
“Come on out of there, you damned rebels and give yourselves the hell up!” he shouted, reloading his Colt pistol. He had barely glanced over when Thad and Pedro joined him, but now he addressed them: “Welcome to the party, boys.”
“Hell of a party, señor,” Pedro remarked.
The three stood there, awaiting a response from the damaged buildings.
“Reckon we got em?” Patton wondered aloud.
McCallum shrugged, saying, “I can’t see how we couldn’t have.”
The three watched and waited for several minutes, the shooting having ceased. Slowly two figures coated with adobe dust emerged from the right-hand building. Then another staggered from the other structure, collapsing before taking ten steps out into the sunlight.
“Guess not,” the lieutenant observed. Turning his head back to the cars, he ordered, “Hold your fire, men!” Then, in the direction of the Villaistas, he shouted, “Do you surrender?”
It occurred to both the men under Patton’s command, as well as to Jeff Shaw, that the lieutenant and the two men next to him out in the open were crazier than hell.
But instead of surrendering, the two rebels bolted for their horses. As they attempted to mount, they fired at the Americans. In response, and almost as one, McCallum, Peralta, and Patton fired back. Both rebels fell to the ground. Their horses spooked and took off.
As the attention of the Americans was drawn by the escape attempt, Cardenas emerged from the right-hand building and whistled for his horse. By the time anyone noticed him, he was in the saddle.
McCallum and Patton raised their pistols at the same time, took aim, and fired. For a moment, Pedro w
as not sure they had hit anything, but then Cardenas fell from his horse, facedown, into the dirt. His horse took off as if chased by a lightning bolt.
The trio holstered their weapons, and then walked slowly toward the bodies. Pedro went to check on the man who had barely made it out of the building before collapsing. He was dead.
“Nice shooting, I’d say,” Patton remarked. Thad glanced over at him. “Yours, not mine,” the lieutenant added.
McCallum shrugged. “Pretty close, if you ask me, sir.” It was a force of habit to always credit the officer in charge when success was achieved, but deep down he knew his shot had hit its mark.
Mercedes ran to Cardenas’ body, and dropped to his side. Rolling his body over, she ran her hand over his face to clean it. He may have tried to kill her, but, still, they had once been lovers.
“It’s Cardenas. Captain Julio Cardenas,” Jeff explained as he walked over to Thad’s side. “He’s General Villa’s right-hand man. Or at least he was,” he said as he kept his eyes on Mercedes.
Patton looked over and studied the young man before addressing him. “If you and the girl came from Villa’s camp, we need to talk to you about his whereabouts.”
Having returned to the small group, Pedro responded before Jeff could even open his mouth. “Even if they told you, it wouldn’t help. Once Villa hears about this, he and his men will be long gone.”
No one contradicted him.
Thad saw the look on Patton’s face, and decided to make introductions. “This is Pedro Peralta, my ranch foreman and friend, and my name is Thaddeus McCallum.” It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised, Jeff Shaw, Lieutenant Patton, or his sergeant. The three looked over at McCallum as if they were looking at a ghost.
“You’re my Uncle Thad?” Jeff asked. “I mean … are you my godfather?”
