The bandit poured them glasses of the fiery liquor. Each man licked the top of his hand between thumb and forefinger, then sprinkled the wet area with salt. After touching their tongues to the spot, they took generous swallows of the tequila, finishing off the near ceremonial procedure with bites of lemon.
“You look well,” Raul said. “It seems things are going fine with you.”
El Demonio shrugged. “I cannot complain. But one always wishes things were at least a little better, no?”
“It is human nature.”
“Yes,” the bandit agreed. “I remember you better now. You were just a half-grown boy when I last visited Rancho San Andres. As I recall, your older brother Roberto was complaining that you were such a hellion.”
“I remember.”
El Demonio suddenly laughed, the booming sound so loud the people toward the edge of the camp turned to see what was amusing their chief. “In fact,” he said, “your brother threatened to send you with me to become a bandit.” His laugh roared out again as the memory became clearer in his mind. “And you wanted to go!”
The others around the porch joined in the merriment, emphasizing their appreciation of the leader’s humor by slapping their thighs or neighbor’s backs.
Raul grinned.
One of the bandits suggested, “Maybe that is why he is here, jefe. He wishes to join our band of brave men.”
“You are a tough-looking hombre,” conceded El Demonio. “But I find it hard to believe that you would seek the glory and adventure of a bandido’s life.”
Another hanger-on chided, “He has even brought a servant. While he is holding his pistola on his victims, the peon can go through their pockets. So dainty!”
“Cuidado — careful!” warned the first bandit. “I saw this Mackenzie in a gunfight up in Nogales a year ago. The man was seventy or seventy-five meters from him, and he fired only twice before he hit his opponent. They say that is not unusual for him.”
“Well,” El Demonio said, impressed. “If you have come to join me, perhaps it is my lucky day.”
“I did not come to join you,” Raul stated flatly.
“In any case, another drink!” El Demonio announced.
Others now joined them as the tequila, along with salt and lemons, were passed among the small crowd. After everyone had taken a drink, the bandit chief settled back once again. “Perhaps you are here on business from Rancho San Andres, no?”
“No,” Raul replied. “I am here on business, yes. But it does not concern my family. I represent the Slattery Ranch outside of Mackville.”
“Mackville? Slattery Ranch?” El Demonio asked, shrugging. “Those names mean nothing to me.”
“You robbed a stagecoach between Applegate and Loma Verde a couple of weeks ago,” Raul stated.
“How do you know it was me?”
“You were seen,” Raul informed him.
“Seen? There was nobody left to see me.”
“There was a man that crawled off into the bushes,” Raul informed him. “He saw you.”
El Demonio reached out and playfully slapped a subordinate near him. “I told you there were four people inside the stagecoach, not three.”
The man shrugged. “I only counted three, jefe.”
“Counted three! Everyone knows you cannot count past two,” El Demonio said, laughing at him. The others joined in the hilarity directed at the embarrassed bandit. Their leader signaled for quiet and turned his attention back to Raul. “So how does this concern you, Señor Mackenzie? We were not aware that any of the people or property were connected to Rancho San Andres.”
“That is true,” Raul said. “I am here to represent Mr. Slattery of Mackville. It involves the girl you took with you.”
“Ah! La huera — the blond. Most beautiful.”
“She is his niece and he wants her back.”
“How much will he pay?” El Demonio asked.
“Two hundred dollars,” Raul replied.
“He must not want her back very badly. Such a treasure is worth at least five thousand to her family.”
Raul suddenly felt uneasy. Two things were bothering him: Slattery hadn’t told him the girl was beautiful and El Demonio didn’t seem to indicate she was close at hand. “Before I discuss this with you, I want to see the girl. I wish to speak with her.”
“Un momento,” the bandit said, standing up. He signaled to one of his men who was obviously senior to the others present. They went into the shack.
Raul walked over to Angel and pulled a cigar from his jacket taking the light offered by the young peon.
“How does it look, patron?”
“I am not sure,” Raul answered in a soto voice. “Demonio’s reaction to the ransom offer was not what I would have expected. He did not seem too enthusiastic about a chance to make a large quantity of gringo dollars.”
“Perhaps he has fallen in love with the pretty girl, eh?”
“Believe me, Angel, he is not the sentimental type.”
“Then perhaps the girl is dead,” Angel surmised. “One time the bandidos came to our village in the night and we were not able to hide the girls in time. They took one into a house and they all had their way with her. When they left she was bleeding through her thing. The women tried to help her, but she kept losing blood all night and in the morning she was dead.”
“That is possible,” Raul remarked in a tone of worry. He turned as his name was called from the porch.
“I must tell you something, Señor Mackenzie,” El Demonio said. “I will not try to fool you.”
“Is the girl dead?”
“No. She is alive. I sold her to the traficante Vasquez four or five days ago.”
Raul’s mind reeled. Traficante — a trafficker. This was real trouble involving a highly organized criminal cartel.
“He has taken her south to Mazatlan.”
Raul hid his disappointment. “Then I must seek her in Mazatlan.”
“She is a beauty,” El Demonio reminded him. “It could cost a lot of money if he wants to sell her. She is blonde and that will drive the customers mad with desire. Vazquez may want to keep her.”
“I understand then, that she has already been ravished.”
“Of course,” El Demonio said, grinning.
“I must at least try to recover her,” Raul said.
“I wish you luck, Señor Mackenzie.”
After one more drink and making the customary farewells, Raul and Angel mounted their horses, and rode through the camp toward the trail that would take them down to the desert floor. They saw the homely captive girl again, this time carrying firewood on her back. She looked up this time, her eyes meeting Raul’s.
“Por favor, Señor,” she pleaded miserably.
“I can help you, señorita,” he said. “But only after I return.”
The girl spoke out in a desperate voice. “Why not now? Oh, please, kind señor, I beg of you. I will not be any trouble.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of the fat woman who was in charge of the girl. “If you want her you must pay. If not, go on your way. She belongs to my man and his brothers. If you desire to enjoy her, then it will cost you two pesos. But if you use our shack instead of the bushes you must pay three.”
“I have no time, señora,” Raul said respectfully. “But I would like to do more than take quick pleasure with her. I shall buy her from you when I return.”
The crone laughed and slapped the girl. “You have not enough money even for la fea — the ugly one.”
Raul indicated El Demonio’s dwelling with a nod of his head. “Ask your jefe about me. He will verify I can meet your price.” He reached inside his jacket and brought out several heavy silver peso coins, tossing them to the ground in front of the woman. “This is my deposit. We will agree on a full price later. In the meantime, you treat her well. Your husband and his brothers must not touch her again. If she is damaged, I will not pay much,” he said, feigning callousness. “Or maybe not at all.
You would have to give me back the silver pesos.”
The old woman smiled at him, her gap toothed mouth wide in happiness. “Señor, she will be like a daughter to me.” She gently took the girl’s arm. “I will personally see that she is treated with great tenderness and respect from now on.”
The girl’s eyes brimmed with tears and she grasped Raul’s leg. “Gracias, señor! I shall wait for you! God will reward you for your kindness!”
Raul pulled on the reins and turned Borrasca toward the trail. “Be patient, señorita. I promise I will take you away from here.” He gave the crone a frown. “Remember to do exactly as I told you, señora. If not, I guarantee to you that I will be very angry, and will complain to Demonio.”
“I will see that she lives the life of a princesa.”
“Very well,” Raul acknowledged, then urged Borrasca to move on.
“I am glad you can help this girl,” Angel said. “Now she will be left in peace and be well fed, if only to increase her value. You are indeed a kind man.”
“I can afford to be.”
“I also know you can help the American girl, patron. But I know of traficantes. What you are attempting to do is very dangerous.”
“Just about everything I do is dangerous,” Raul replied.
Chapter Five
The trek to Mazatlan would take a bit more than a week if Raul Mackenzie and Angel Moreno rode hard and rested enough to be merciful to their horses. As Raul pushed the pace, he was pleased to note that Angel kept up without difficulty. It was obvious his riding skills were improving as he spent more time in the saddle. Raul now realized how intelligent and adaptable Angel was.
Late on the fourth day they made camp out on the desert as Angel scurried around organizing things to cook their supper. Raul watched as the peon skillfully prepared a rabbit for roasting that had been shot earlier in the day. “Tell me, Angel, where did you learn to cook so well? Surely such activity is beneath a man’s dignity in your village as it is in others parts of Mexico.”
“All peones can cook,” Angel replied, sprinkling the rabbit with herbs and seasonings he carried in a small goatskin pouch. “No matter what village. Our young women are stolen so often that many times a man finds himself without his wife or female relatives. Yet he must cook food for his hungry children.”
“I suppose I’ve never paid that much attention to the small villages,” Raul said. “It must be a difficult life.”
“Yes, patron. But I have pondered upon it for many hours and I think there is an answer to the poor people’s miseries that will someday present itself.”
“I cannot think of anything short of the second coming of Christ to put such things right.”
Angel smiled. “Cristo would be a great help, of course. But until he visits the world again we wait for another type of messiah.”
“What kind is that?”
“Somebody to show us how to fight,” Angel said. “And who can get guns for us to use in that fighting. Then we will end the oppression of the bandidos and the soldiers of the government. That includes injustices from wealthy and powerful businessmen and politicians.” He paused and smiled shyly at his employer. “But I do not mean that the good people of Rancho San Andres would do such bad things.”
“What evil do the rich do?” Raul asked puzzled. “Unless you farm their land or work on their ranches they have no power over you.”
“Ay, patron, there are many things in Mexico of which you know nothing. There exists countless injustices that you could never dream of in your good heart.”
“Tell me about them, Angel,” Raul requested. “You must educate me about those conditions in our country of which I am so ignorant.”
Angel took one more careful look at the rabbit and, satisfied the meal was progressing nicely, sat back on his haunches. “Sometimes in the mines that are in the Sierra Madre mountains they have accidents and many miners are killed or crippled. Also some run away. This makes the rich owners of the mines angry because they need people to go into those pits of hell and extract the precious minerals put there by the good Lord. No one in his right mind would voluntarily enter those death traps, so soldiers are sent out to round up men to take the places of the missing miners. After they empty the jails, they go out into the back country to poor, isolated villages and entice the ignorant young men with false promises of high wages and good working conditions. Those unlucky youths end up having to toil in those mines sixteen hours a day, six and seven days a week until they, too, die or are hurt so badly they can no longer work. In the meantime they do not get enough money to send home to their hungry families.”
“Then the people of such villages should move to a city or town where it would be impossible for bad men to do such things,” Raul suggested.
“I am a farmer and I own goats, patron,” Angel said. “What could I do in a big city to make a living? Besides, if all the poor peones moved to the city, the authorities would think up excuses to throw them in jail. Then the mine owners would get their slaves from there. Or the poor detinidos would be forced to labor on their fincas in those awful jungles in the south. That is where they grow coffee and need workers to pick the beans. And others need men to chop down the mahogany trees in the heat that is as steamy as a boiling pot of coffee.”
“And that is why you wanted to be a bandido yourself?” Raul asked. “But you would be preying on your own people.”
“Ah! Patron, I would not rob or kill my own people,” Angel declared. “I would learn to be a bandido to teach my brothers how to fight. I would lead them in a war against all the oppressors.”
Raul, despite his family’s warm relationship with the people who worked for them on Rancho San Andres, was alarmed by the grim determination in Angel’s voice. If those people ever did revolt, how many would know of the benevolence of the Mackenzies? More than likely an army of infuriated peones would sweep down unexpectedly on Rancho San Andres some night and butcher everyone who lived in the large main house.
“Is that rabbit ready yet, Angel?” Raul asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Just a few more minutes, patron,” Angel replied with a warm smile. “It is going to be delicious; you just wait.”
~*~
Raul’s uneasiness over Angel’s revelations of the peones’ misery hadn’t subsided even by the next afternoon as they continued their southward journey. The fact that those poor people’s submissiveness could disappear in a flash of spontaneous rage was evidenced by the way Angel had repeatedly smashed the skull of the drunken bandit he’d found.
Raul now sensed that when the young peon had donned the bandit’s ammunition belts and taken his weapons, there had come an irreversible change in the boy. Never again would he tend a small plot of land or herd goats. Nor would he endure having himself kidnapped to labor in some rich man’s commercial enterprise, or allow a young wife to be taken from him without putting up deadly resistance. Perhaps someday Angel Moreno would be that deliverer of the masses of whom he spoke with so much fervor.
Raul’s thoughts were broken by the ricochet which sounded at just about the same time as the gunshot that caused it.
He spurred Borrasca to a gallop sensing that Angel was closely following. A quick glance to the rear showed they were being pursued by a dozen or more men.
“Demonio?” Angel shouted as they rode hard.
“Who knows?” Raul answered. He was desperately scanning the area for some spot of cover as they pounded across the open ground.
“Let us stop and fight!” Angel yelled. “We will kill them all!”
“We shall fight,” Raul hollered back. “Do not worry about that. We have no choice in the matter. But I want to find a good place to do it.”
Angel smiled grimly and drew his pistol. He pointed back in the general direction of their pursuers and rapidly fired several useless shots. “Some fun this fighting, hey, patron?”
“Save your bullets,” Raul ordered. “There will be a lot more fun in just a few
minutes.” He had sighted an elevated area of ground that sported several saguaro cacti. He heard Angel yell out again and turned to see the youngster’s horse roll to the ground in a cloud of dust. Raul whirled Borrasca around and galloped back.
Angel, thinking quickly, abandoned his dead horse, but not his carbine. He stood ready, anticipating Raul’s actions. He held out his hand, and Raul grasped it, pulling the kid up behind him. Raul took time to aim carefully with his own carbine and knocked one bandit off his horse to fall sprawling and cursing in the sand.
“Do not go yet, patron,” Angel said, fumbling with his pistol again. “I want to shoot too.”
“It would be foolish,” Raul said, once again galloping for the stand of cacti. “I want something to hide behind when I start serious shooting.”
“A sus ordenes, mi patron!”
Raul let Borrasca pick his own spots when entering the prickly plants, and slid out of the saddle just an instant after Angel leaped to the ground. “Bajate!” Raul commanded, and the horse that was well-trained in the style of the charros, went to the ground and rolled over on his side.
Angel fired his pistol again but Raul stopped him. “Use your carbine! It shoots straighter and farther. Always save your pistol for close-in work when a long barrel is unhandy.”
“A good lesson in fighting!” Angel exclaimed in fierce happiness. He reholstered the pistol and reached for the carbine. He fired and cocked the lever through three firing cycles.
Once again Raul gave him quick words of advice between his own shots. “Keep your eyes open when you fire. And aim carefully.”
“Si, patron!” Angel replied. He coolly picked out a target among the bandits who were now reining up and seeking their own cover. Angel pulled the trigger and was rewarded with a man shouting and grabbing his leg. “I hit him! But not where I wanted to.”
“You jerked the trigger,” Raul admonished him. “Pull steadily and slowly. Concentrate on keeping your carbine on the target during that time. Comprendes?”
“Yes, I understand. I will try again!”
The man who had been shot was having trouble controlling his horse. Angel took a deep breath, then held it as he got the bandit in his sights. He slowly squeezed the trigger until the weapon fired. The victim somersaulted off the back of his horse as if hit by lightning.
Pistolero Justice (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Page 4
