Lone Star 03

by Ellis, Wesley

  Don Almendaro extended his hand, and Eusebio gave him the paper and left the room. Without apologizing to Ki, the hacendado unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly. His expression did not change as he read the message, nor as he refolded it, put it aside, and returned his attention to Ki.

  “Suppose you are right,” he asked. “Let us say that Guzman risks attacking the Rancho Mendoza. Adelita has told me that you wounded him with your cane or staff. How seriously did you injure him?”

  Ki thought of the bo thrusts he’d driven into Guzman’s groin and testicles. “Seriously enough to keep him from riding horseback for several days.”

  “If that is the case, I will not worry about posting a lookout tonight to warn us of an attack.”

  “There’s one possibility,” Ki said. “If Guzman decides to send some of his men without leading them himself—”

  Mendoza shook his head decisively. “No. Guzman would not do that. He must lead them himself, to show he is still able to command. It is that threat which allows him to terrorize San Pedro with so few men under him.”

  “You seem to be very well acquainted with Guzman, Don Almendaro.”

  “Lita has probably told you that I deal with him in some small matters. Guards for special shipments of bulls to their buyers, things of that sort. It is wise to be on good terms with the rurales. There are still armed bandits roaming Mexico, you understand, and it is to the rurales that we look for protection against them.”

  “But if Guzman should attack, you have enough men and guns to defend your ranch?” Ki asked.

  “Of course. I will lead my loyal men against anyone who threatens the Rancho Mendoza.”

  Ki decided it was time to offer a gambit. He said, “You haven’t asked me, Don Almendaro, but Miss Starbuck and I will be here only tonight and tomorrow. I’m sure your daughter has told you that we came to Mexico in search of cattle thieves, and we think we know now where their headquarters are located.”

  Ki’s remark did not seem to upset Mendoza. He nodded as though he had little interest, and stood up, saying, “I will not keep you longer, then. Goodnight.”

  It was only as Ki was walking back down the hall to the dining room that he realized Mendoza had not addressed him by name at any time during their conversation.

  Reaching the dining room, he found the double doors closed. He opened one and peered inside; the table had been cleared and Jessie and Lita were gone. Ki shrugged. Jessie would find her own way to see and talk with him later, he was sure. He returned to his quarters and, without undressing, anticipating Jessie’s visit, he stretched out on the bed and mentally juggled plans and possibilities until he dozed. A shift in the balance of the bed woke him and he opened his eyes to see Lita sitting beside him. She wore the same flowing nightdress that she’d had on the previous night.

  “Lita!” Li exclaimed. Then, knowing the answer before he spoke, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Jessie asked me to tell you that she will be walking in front of the hacienda just after sunrise tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t she come herself?”

  “Because we decided it would be unwise for both of us to be away from the house at the same time.” Lita ran her hand from Ki’s cheek down his chest, and stopped at his crotch. “And I am still waiting for the velada we did not have this morning.”

  “You thought it was unwise for both you and Jessie to be away at once, but not unwise to leave her alone and come here?”

  “Jessie and I understand one another, Ki.” Lita’s fingers were busy with the buttons of Ki’s fly. “I am no longer jealous of her. Tonight I will enjoy even more feeling you grow hard.”

  She pulled Ki’s trousers down, and stroked him with soft fingers. Ki reached up to caress her breasts, and Lita shrugged the nightgown off her shoulders to bare them to his hands. She was bending forward to take his shaft in her mouth when the door of the room burst open. Don Almendaro strode in, a revolver in his hand. Behind him came two men whom Ki had not seen before. They both carried shotguns. Before Ki could move, all three weapons were leveled at the bed.

  With Lita pressing down on him, Ki could not move. Had he been alone in the bed, he knew he could have handled them, for in a fraction of a second he saw the entire sequence of te moves that he would have made: a quick backward flip, a nagashi spin to kick up the muzzle of the shotgun held by the nearest man, and a strike to send the man crashing into Mendoza, who would reel into the second man. If Mendoza or the second man had fired, the first man’s body would have been Ki’s shield against a bullet from Mendoza’s pistol and the pellets from the shotgun.

  It would have been so simple, Ki thought, if Lita had not been in his way. As it was, he could only lay motionless.

  Don Almendaro said harshly, “Adelita! Cubri su verguenzo ! Tu es zorra! Puta! Vete a su cuarto inmediata mente !”

  Silently, Lita rose, pulling her gown up over her shoulders.

  “Don Almendaro—” Ki began.

  “Callate, hijo de cabrón!” the hacendadosnapped. Ki did not try to say anything more. Mendoza waited until Lita had left the room. “You will be punished, of course. The punishment will be death, but a simple death by a bullet is too easy for such as you. For the moment, I will leave you to worry your mind about the way you will die. When I have decided, I may tell you.” To the two servants, he said, “Tome este bastardo al sotano. Y guardele bien!”

  Ki found the cellar in which the servants locked him to be much darker than the night. Even after he’d closed his eyes for an extended period, when he reopened them he could not penetrate the blackness. He groped his way around the walls, and found them to be of stone, like the floor. Resigning himself to spending the immediate future in total darkness, Ki curled up on the cold stone floor. He lay quietly, thinking, until his body grew accustomed to the chill, then he went to sleep.

  The rattling of the padlock that secured the door roused him. Ki had no idea how long he’d been imprisoned, but from the emptiness of his stomach he decided the morning must be well along. Ki kept his eyes shut tightly to keep from being blinded when the door was opened, but even then his eyelids glowed red when the hinges creaked softly and a man spoke.

  “Andele, hombre!” the man called; Ki recognized the voice as being that of the servant whom Don Almendaro had placed in charge of his guards when he was captured. The man went on, “Vaminos.Quierete elpatrón.”

  Standing up, Ki found that the chill of the cellar had caused his muscles to grow cramped during his imprisonment. When he went out, he saw that the man who’d roused him was accompanied by two others. All three carried shotguns, and Ki decided the odds were against him with his reflexes slowed by muscle cramps. He let them march him into the hacienda, and down the hall to the office where he’d talked with Mendoza the evening before.

  Don Almendaro was behind his desk, leaning against the high back of his chair. His face was no longer contorted with anger, as it had been the last time Ki saw him. One glance at the black smoldering eyes that stared at him convinced Ki that he preferred Mendoza in a rage to Mendoza in the mood of cold, pitiless hatred that his features now displayed.

  In a voice as cold as his face, the hacendado said, “For shaming my house and violating my daughter, I have decided how you shall die.”

  Ki did not reply, but kept his face passively inscrutable. His lack of reaction touched a spark to Mendoza’s anger. When he spoke again, the old man’s voice was sharp-edged.

  “A Mendoza does not soil his hands by punishing a barefoot peon, even one who has dishonored our family’s good name,” Don Almendaro went on. “I will not give you the honor of killing you myself. But I have remembered that you spoke last night of a way men kill in your country, with their bare hands. What was the name you gave to this supposed skill?”

  “We call it te.” Ki replied. He was sure that he knew what was in Mendoza’s mind, but still he kept his face expressionless.

  “Since you have acted in a manner fit only for
animals, I have decided that an animal shall execute you. You will die on the horns of one of my brave bulls.”

  Ki did not move or blink, but kept staring impassively at the hacendado after hearing his death sentence pronounced. Mendoza stared in return, but Ki’s patience proved greater.

  “Have you nothing to say?” Don Almendaro asked at last. “No plea for mercy?”

  Ki shook his head. “Nothing I could say would change your mind.”

  “Most certainly not!”

  “I would like to ask you a question or two, though.”

  Mendoza hesitated momentarily, then nodded. “Ask your questions. I will decide whether or not to answer them.”

  As though inquiring the time of day, Ki asked, “I am to be allowed no weapons?”

  “None. You boasted of this skill you call te. I am giving you the chance to prove the boasts were true.”

  “When I kill the bull, you will be angry. Do you plan to kill me then? Or will I go free?”

  Mendoza replied unhesitatingly, “In the very unlikely event that you kill my brave bull, you will be released.”

  “I have your word as an hidalgo on this?”

  “I give you my solemn promise,” Mendoza agreed.

  This time, too, he replied without hesitating, but Ki had caught a tinge of doubt in his voice.

  When Ki said nothing more, Don Almendaro asked, “You have no more questions?”

  Ki shook his head, then said, “I suppose I will meet the bull in a corral or enclosure? If we must chase each other—”

  “I’m sure you have seen the small plaza de toros behind the hacienda, where the toreros watch my bulls being tested. It is there you will meet your fate.”

  “Or where your bull will meet his,” Ki said calmly.

  “Bah!” Mendoza snorted. “You cannot defeat one of my bulls with your bare hands! The bulls I breed have shoulders like the mountains, muscles of steel, horns sharper than the swords of the matadores who face them! You will be carried dead from the ring! No man can kill a Mendoza bull without a weapon! Even after the cuadrillas of the matador have done their work, when the bull is tired and its shoulders torn and bleeding, the man with the sword feels the sour bile of fear rise in his throat when he steps from behind the barrera and walks out to meet one of my bulls!”

  “A pretty speech, Don Almendaro,” Ki said levelly. “But you may have made it too soon. When do I kill your bull?”

  Still angry, almost choking on his words, Mendoza replied, “At noon. I sent men to the pasture for the bull soon after daylight, but they will not return for another hour. And the bull must be allowed to rest after having been driven here.”

  “To be fair, I must be allowed to rest too,” Ki pointed out. “And I have had no food since last night, while the bull has grazed freely. Certainly I must be fed too!”

  “Sangre de la Virgen!” Don Almendaro exploded. “You reason like a Jesuit!” He stopped, clenched his teeth, and then went on in a more controlled tone, “I am not an unjust man. There is truth in what you say. I will not return you to the cellar, but to the room you were given. And I will have food sent you.”

  Mendoza lived up to his promise. The meal he sent Ki was a generous one, and Ki ate hungrily, but wisely. Then, to conserve his strength, confident that his skill and trained muscles would respond to the challenge ahead, he stretched out on the bed to rest before the servants arrived to escort him to the bullring. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, when the door opened quietly and Lita slipped into the room.

  “Lita!” Ki exclaimed. He sat up on the side of the bed. “Where’s Jessie? What happened to her?”

  “Father has confined her in a room, but she’s perfectly all right. She told me to say you’re not to worry about her.”

  “And your father?”

  “He’s gone to inspect the bull the men have just brought in, and to see that the plazoleta de toros is in order.” Lita sat down beside Ki. “Is it true, Ki? Are you going to face a Mendoza bull with no weapons but your hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Madre de Dios, Ki! You cannot do this mad thing!”

  “I don’t have much choice,” Ki pointed out.

  “Ki, you must leave here at once!” Lita said urgently. “I will help you get away. The guard at your door is in love with my maid, and she has lured him away so that I can help you escape. Let me—”

  “No, Lita,” Ki broke in. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll kill the bull.”

  “You can‘t! Bulls bred for the corrida have an instinct to kill men! That is their breeding, their heart! The bull will kill you with the first toss of its horns!”

  Ki shrugged. “That’s a risk I take, of course. But it’s too late to change what your father has planned. Go back to the house now, and wait. You’ll see I’m right, later on.”

  “There won’t be a later on, Ki.” Lita’s voice was sad. She stood up, then bent to kiss Ki on the lips. “Vaya con Dios, Ki. You were a wonderful lover. I will regret that we never did enjoy the velada we missed.”

  Ki watched Lita’s back as she went through the door, leaving with him the finality of her farewell kiss. Ki smiled, then lay down and stretched out again for a final few minutes of relaxation. He was still lying there when the three guards came, all of them carrying shotguns, to take him to the bullring.

  They did not escort him through the wide door that led to the seats that arose in tiers above the small circular arena, but to a small door that opened into a narrow tunnel below the seats. Mendoza stood at the entrance to the tunnel.

  “I must be sure that you do not have a gun or a knife,” he said.

  Glad that the hacendado had been so specific about his weapons, Ki replied, “I have neither, Don Almendaro.”

  He opened his scuffed leather jacket and showed Mendoza that under it he had no gunbelt. The hacendado glanced at the cord of the surushin that Ki wore instead of a belt, but did not think of it as a weapon. He pointed to Ki’s feet, which were bare, and Ki pulled up the legs of his trousers to show that he had no knife strapped to the calf of his leg. He did not mention the large shuriken in their case strapped to his arm, or the smaller ones in his jacket pocket.

  Don Almendaro nodded. He said slowly, “I can almost find it in my heart to pity you. Almost, but not quite.” His voice hardening, he went on, “In the corrida, it is our custom for the bull to enter the ring first. Since you have not seen our plaza, I have decided that you may enter first, today. You will have a few moments to look around before you face the horns.”

  “How do I reach the ring?”

  Mendoza pointed down the tunnel. “A door, there. Outside is a small space between the wall and a length of fence, the barrera. After you enter the ring, you will have two minutes in which to inspect it. I have stationed two riflemen on the rim of the arena. They will shoot you if you try to run or if you hide behind the barrera to escape the bull. Do you understand?”

  “Quite clearly,” Ki replied.

  “Then may God have mercy on your soul!” Mendoza said. He walked out of the door and closed it behind him.

  Ki heard the rasping of a lock being secured as soon as Don Almendaro had closed the door. He kicked high a few times, and did a leg-bend or two, working the stiffness from his muscles. Then he went through the tunnel and out the door Mendoza had indicated. He walked around the edge of the barrera and stood on the smoothly raked sand of the miniature bullring.

  Chapter 15

  As soon as he saw the size of the small circular enclosure, Ki relaxed. His only concern had been how fast the bull would be moving when they came together. Ki knew the anatomy and vulnerable nerve centers of humans, but was not as familiar with those of a fighting bull. He knew where and how hard to strike when administering the single te blow that would paralyze an opponent; he knew the blow would be equally effective on a man of his own size or one weighing a hundred pounds more. What Ki still had to determine was the effect of his blows on a heavily muscled animal ten tim
es his own size and weighing nearly a ton.

  He was reasonably sure that many blows to the same nerve centers would be required to dispatch the bull. The problem he’d foreseen was that each blow must be delivered within a fraction of an inch of the same spot. If the bull was moving at a relatively slow speed, Ki was confident that he could administer the required blows with perfect accuracy, but he knew that the difficulty of doing this would increase in proportion to the speed at which the animal was charging.

  Ki’s first quick glance at the bullring told him it was not more than sixty feet in diameter. Any full-grown bull that Ki had seen on the open range needed fifty feet to reach its full speed in charging.

  Once he’d satisfied himself that the size of the ring would sharply limit the speed the bull could attain in a charge, Ki looked at the ring itself. The perimeter fence was made from timbers three inches thick; they were held in place by wide, thick iron straps, a greatly oversized version of the hoops that hold a barrel’s staves together. The barrera was also made of massive timbers, and like the walls of the bullring, it bore the splintered scars of many places where it had been struck by the horns of the Mendoza bulls.

  To test the footing, Ki took several steps into the ring. The sand covering was no more than three or four inches thick, raked smooth, and only lightly compacted. It gave with a springy feel under his bare feet, and did not seem treacherously soft enough to cause his feet to slip when he launched a jump or landed when completing one.

  Looking up at the seats that rose in tiers above the sides of the ring, Ki saw Jessie. She was standing between Don Almendaro and Lita, and Lita was arguing with her father. Aware that the two minutes promised him were ticking away, Ki quickly scanned the remainder of the ring. He saw the two riflemen, and across the ring from the barrera was the wide gate in the fence through which he guessed the bull would soon emerge.

  A metallic clicking reached Ki’s sharp ears, warning him that the gate was about to be opened. He gave in to the temptation to display a bit of bravado to Mendoza. Turning his back on the gate, he made a sweeping bow to the hacendado.