Angel laughed. “You are right, patron. I was not even aware when the carbine was going to fire.”
“That is the way to do it,” Raul said with approval. “And keep it up. I do not know if you have noticed or not; but there are more of them than us.”
“Ha!” Angel exclaimed. “I am not afraid. We will shoot them all. Do not worry.”
Their attackers had by now situated themselves and began a growing fusillade that sent chunks of cacti spinning through the air. The firing quickly heated up in intensity.
“They are trying to keep us pinned down for a rush,” Raul said. “We will have to chance exposing ourselves to stop them. If enough of them get close enough, we are doomed.”
“I am ready,” Angel answered. “Ay! Look! Four of them over that way.”
Some of the bandits on foot, were racing toward the cacti as the other ambushers stepped up their firing. Raul and Angel positioned themselves where they could get good sightings on the assailants. The pair fired methodically, and in less than half a minute the quartet of attackers was down. One rolled around in agony as another crawled painfully back to his original position. The other two lay still.
Then the firing suddenly stopped.
Angel peered out into the open countryside. “What are they doing now?”
Raul eased himself up for a look. “It appears they have found a gully or low lying terrain to use for cover. They are no doubt resting up and trying to decide what to do next.” He settled back and looked over at Angel. “You picked up this shooting game very quickly.”
The boy smiled modestly. “You are a good teacher.”
Raul reached for a cigar. “You are not afraid, are you?” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, patron.”
“You are not afraid to die?”
“Under some circumstances, yes,” Angel admitted. “But here, fighting with a gun in my hands? No, patron, I do not fear this kind of death. In fact, I prefer it to living as I formerly did.”
There was a shout from the bandits’ side of the fight. “Escuchan — listen up! We want to talk with you!”
“Que quieren — what do you want?” Raul yelled back.
“We want the one who was riding the horse we shot,” the bandit spokesman demanded. “The other can go free. In fact, he can leave now. We will not shoot. I speak truthfully, amigo.”
Raul shouted an obscenity at him. “I’m going to kill you just for insulting my intelligence, you hijo de la chingada!”
“Why do you speak so badly of my sainted mother?” the bandit yelled back. “She has done you no harm.”
“She shit a turd like you into the world,” Raul retorted. “That’s enough for me to hate la puta — the whore.”
Angel chuckled. “A clever reply, patron.”
There was a pause in the bandit’s palaver as his temper boiled over. “As for you,” he said after thinking up an answer, “I spit in your mother’s milk!”
“I piss in yours!” Raul replied.
Angel laughed so hard he rolled over. “This is making the fight more fun.”
Raul was grinning despite himself. He shouted to the bandit, “Your feeble wit is boring me, idiota. Tell me why you want the one of us whose horse was shot.”
“We saw you when you came through the arroyo earlier,” the bandit called. “We recognized the horse as well as the jacket and sombrero. They once belonged to a dear amigo of ours. We think you killed him.”
Angel grasped Raul’s arm. “They are the ones who raided my village.” He leaped to his feet and shouted as loudly as he could. “My name is Angel Moreno of the village of Las Chivas in Sonora! I killed your friend by bashing in his head with a rock! And now I am going to kill you bastardos with his carbine and his bullets!”
Raul dove at Angel and dragged him to the ground as the air was suddenly filled with the buzzing of slugs flying into the cactus patch. There was no necessity of further words or explanation as both prepared for the onslaught the bandits would soon launch. The bushwhackers had no alternative. Angel’s declaration had made the fight a matter of honor. Now there was no doubt it would be to the death.
The course of action chosen by the bandits was revealed within a few short minutes. It was typically simple. They mounted up and rode hard toward the concealment that hid Raul and Angel.
While the attackers’ accuracy was badly affected by their reckless charge, their concentrated firepower more than made up for it. Raul and Angel returned fire as quickly as they could, but registered no hits as the bandits swept through the area and rode out to the other side, drawing out of range.
“We can get them eventually if they keep that up,” Raul said. “But I expect they will change their tactics soon enough.”
Dusk was now falling and the bandits celebrated the event with a charge from two sides at once. Two of them went down in the volleys from the defenders. One stayed on the ground as the other limped off into the growing darkness.
Angel laughed. “You see, patron? Little by little we are winning.”
Raul didn’t smile. “We are running out of ammunition, Angel. A few more of those charges and we will be defenseless.”
Angel, still not worried, smiled. “Then we should not shoot so much.”
“A gunfight is mostly fast shooting to accomplish one of two things,” Raul explained. “To either keep your adversary pinned down or to discourage him from too much aggressiveness. If we slow down, the bandits will have more time in which to overwhelm us.”
“Then it is destined that we die here,” Angel said, accepting the situation. “Should we say our final prayers?”
“We do not have time,” Raul cautioned him. “Here they come again.”
The bandits had split up into three groups, this time staggering their charges. Raul and Angel had to shift their firing positions and waste more of their fast dwindling ammunition.
With barely enough daylight to see, the bandits came on again. This time making feints and circling the area before drawing off again.
Raul slumped down. “This is it, Angel. One more charge is all we can hold off. They’ll be all over us.” He crawled over to Borrasca and urged the large gelding to his feet. “But they will not have you, old friend.” He stripped the horse of bridle and saddle, then slapped the animal’s flanks. “Vaya — go!” he commanded. Borrasca trotted out of the cactus and broke into a gallop just before disappearing into the darkness.
Raul settled back with Angel to wait. They were both silent, barely breathing as they lay as still as possible. After several moments they could hear the bandits’ voices and the metallic clicks of firearms as the gang loaded and checked their weapons.
Gunfire now sounded at the bandits’ position, causing Angel to give Raul a quizzical look. Raul shrugged. “They are probably celebrating their coming victory. If they caught sight of Borrasca galloping away without his saddle, they have figured we are out of ammunition.”
The firing continued for several more moments, then gradually died down until an eerie silence gripped the darkness. Several long minutes passed as Raul and the young peon waited for their fate to be decided in a final assault. Each licked dry lips and cleared their throats nervously as the silence dragged on.
“Mackenzie!”
The voice floated across the night air, but Raul didn’t answer.
“Mackenzie! It is I; Demonio. Hey, amigo, is everything fine with you?”
Now Raul recognized the voice. “Seguro — sure. I am quite well. What are you doing over there?”
“My men and I just killed your attackers,” the bandido chief explained. “We were out for a ride and heard the shooting. We came to take a look and found our old friend in trouble. So we decided to lend a hand.”
“Muchas gracias,” Raul said, standing up.
“I am coming over to you,” El Demonio said. “And look who I have with me.”
Raul peered through the gloom until the bandit chief came into sight. He was leadin
g Borrasca. “When we saw your horse had been turned loose, we expected you were ready to make a last stand.” He laughed loudly. “Or had already made it. At any rate; how fortunate we came along, eh?”
Raul wiped the perspiration from his face. “I am grateful. And my family at San Andres will be grateful too.”
“De nada — it was nothing,” El Demonio said. “How is your man? Was he shot or hurt?”
“I am fine, señor,” Angel said. “But I have no horse now.”
“We will leave you one of the dead men’s,” El Demonio said. “Come! You can take your pick now.”
The two walked out of the cactus patch and across the open ground to where El Demonio’s men stood around the dead bandits. Angel picked a horse from among the bandits’ and led him back to Raul.
El Demonio mounted his own and turned to Raul. “We must go now. I wish you a safe journey to Mazatlan. Adios, amigo.”
The bandit chief and his men, wheeled their horses and rode away. Raul spoke to Angel. “Let’s make camp for the night and we shall resume our travels early in the morning.”
“A sus ordenes, patron,” Angel acknowledged. “We are lucky that Demonio happened by, eh?”
Raul shook his head. “He did not just happen by, Angel. He was following us. It was just unlucky for those bandits that they chose to attack us. The unfortunate wretches were watching us so closely they failed to be aware of Demonio and his men in the area.”
“But why would Demonio follow us?”
“I would say that our quest has rekindled his interest in Slattery’s niece,” Raul replied.
“Do you think he will give us trouble when we try to return her?”
“You can count on it.”
Chapter Six
Raul Mackenzie and Angel Moreno arrived in Mazatlan ten days after the gun battle and the meeting with El Demonio. The early morning sun was just off the mountains to the east as the duo sat in their saddles and gazed across the wide beach to their front. They took note of the fisherman’s nets hanging on racks to dry and the boats that had been pulled up on the sand after a night’s fishing.
Angel looked in astonishment at the body of water that stretched out to the far western horizon. “Ay! Que grande es el lago!”
Raul grinned. “It is not a lake, Angel. It is the ocean that is known as the Pacifico.”
“How far is it to the other side, patron?”
“It is so vast that I cannot tell you,” Raul answered. “Come on. We will get something to eat at the market, then take care of our business here.”
Angel, the peon from the desert, was to see more strange things he had never seen before. As they threaded their horses through the early morning shoppers, the fishermen’s catches were displayed for sale at wooden booths along the street. Local housewives, who were experts in the best selection of fish, carefully scrutinized the various sea bass, groupers, barracudas, sea rays, flounders, and more.
“Patron,” Angel asked. “What are those things?”
Raul answered, “Pescados — fish. They are good to eat.”
“I do not think so,” Angel said with an expression of disgust. “They are ugly and smelly.”
“You’ll see,” Raul said. He looked around and pointed. “There is a small café over there. Let us enjoy some breakfast.”
They rode to a thatched, open-front establishment with some tables and chairs under an awning. After tying up their horses at the hitching post, the two sat down for service. A middle-aged woman and a younger female were behind the counter. The older looked across at Raul and Angel. “Buenos días, señores, que desean?”
Raul replied, “What fish do you have this morning?”
“Fresh sea bass,” the woman informed him. She nodded toward her companion. “My daughter here just purchased them not half an hour ago.”
“Give us six tacos of the sea bass with green salsa and refried beans,” Raul said. “And four bottles of beer.”
“Por su puesto, señor,” the woman said with a wide smile. “You must be hungry.”
“Indeed we are,” Raul replied. “We have traveled far in the past week.”
The meal was quickly prepared and the younger woman sat it on the table between the two diners. Raul reached out and grabbed a taco, taking a big bite. Angel watched him chew a few times, then slowly took one for himself. He gingerly bit into it, and slowly masticated.
“Que delicioso!” he declared, then began some serious eating.
It took no more than twenty minutes for them to finish off the meal. With full bellies, they relaxed and sipped the beers. Angel belched. “So what is the next thing we must do, patron?”
“I will make inquiries where we will find this fellow Vasquez,” Raul said. “Then we shall set about completing our obligation.”
After paying the bill, they returned to their horses and walked the animals through the town. Raul estimated Mazatlan to be quadruple the size of San Tomas. Most of the activity going on took place close to the ocean. The community could boast of an impressive deepwater bay with several docks to accommodate visiting ships.
Raul spotted a group of sailors at an open-air bar having a few beers. He knew they would have the information he sought. A few moments of questioning the seamen revealed the location of the local red light district. The mariners informed him the neighborhood was known as La Colonia Roja.
The site was not far away and it took only a few minutes for Raul and Angel to reach it. When they arrived, Angel could not believe his eyes. He was certainly no stranger to sex, having experienced more than his share of dalliances with village girls, but La Colonia Roja surprised him as much as did the fish. The sight of so many women making themselves available to passing men overwhelmed him. The area boasted everything from several fine cantinas that offered truly pretty girls that could be taken to small, but tidy apartments, right down to the meanest cribs where worn-out whores, wasted by age, disease or both, sold their favors for a few paltry centavos.
Raul knew the cheaper sections of the area would provide him no information about a trafficker such as Silvestre Vasquez. Angel followed as they rode among the more affluent establishments.
Raul caught sight of a brawny bouncer who was taking a turn of fresh air in front of a prosperous looking cantina. He approached the man and asked, “Where do I find Silvestre Vasquez?”
“Vasquez?” the man asked with a shrug. “That is a common name.”
“You must know,” Raul said.
Again the man shrugged. “I cannot take the time to speak with everyone who might be named Vasquez.”
Raul knew this was a place where inquiries by strangers would be largely ignored. He urged Borrasca to continue the slow walk up the narrow street. Each time he came across someone who looked as if he were employed in the area, Raul would halt and inquire after the trafficker. The answer was always the same; a shrug and denial of knowing anyone who called himself Vasquez.
“Ay, Dios!” Angel suddenly exclaimed.
Raul’s hand went to his pistol. “What is it?”
“A girl from my village is standing over there,” he said, pointing. “We thought she was dead.” He kicked his horse’s flanks before Raul could stop him and rode over to where a rather plain, young prostitute stood in front of a two-storied adobe building. Angel reined up, looking down at her. “Serafina!”
The girl obviously didn’t recognize him with his accoutrements of guns and ammunition belts. She thought perhaps he was a customer who had bought her favors in the past. “Que tal, corazon?” she asked, suddenly smiling. “You have come to see me again, eh?”
“Do you not recognize me, Serafina? I am Angel Moreno from our village of Las Chivas.”
The girl’s face paled, then she recovered slightly. She stepped closer to him, making an unabashed inspection of his appearance. “So you are now a bandido, eh, Angel?”
“Of course not,” Angel replied, dismounting. “I serve my patron on his many adventures.” He told the story
of meeting Raul, going to El Demonio to look for the gringa, the fight with the bandits and finally of how they were searching for a man called Vasquez who purchased the American girl from El Demonio. Then he paused, eyeing her carefully. “Your parents think you are dead.”
Her voice quavered. “I am dead.”
“But no, you are alive,” Angel countered. “I remember when the bandits took you. A year or so ago, verdad? When we could not find you, everyone thought the bandidos had killed you and thrown you away.”
“They sold me to Vasquez.”
“Do you know where this Vasquez lives?” Angel asked.
“Of course not. He does not associate with the putas he buys and sells.”
Angel stood straighter and patted the pistol at his side. “In any case I will take you home.”
“No!”
“Why not? Would you not like to see your parents again?”
“What is the sense of my returning to Las Chivas?” Serafina argued. “What is there for me now?”
“It is your home.”
“What would happen to me in the village? Perhaps some more bandits would take me away again.”
“You need a husband to protect you,” Angelo pointed out.
The girl laughed bitterly. “What protection does a girl get from the men of Las Chivas?”
Angel’s face reddened. “I am one who now knows how to fight with guns.”
“Would you marry me, Angel?”
“Well…”
“None of the boys would marry me,” she snapped. “You idiotas cannot keep girls from being ravaged by the bandidos, but when one of them escapes or is let loose by those animals, you will not marry her. You treat her as if she were diseased or disgraced by something over which she had no control or defense.”
“A man wants…”
Serafina spat. “A man wants his way with a woman and that’s all he wants. Now if you desire me you must pay. If not, then go away. I must earn money. I live better now and have more things than if I married one of you pandejos in the village. I have three pretty dresses and other nice things. What would a boy from Las Chivas buy me, eh?”
Pistolero Justice (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Page 5
