The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  “Bandits,” said Gaston. Captain Gringo wondered what else was new. He said, “They’re down in the brush, between us and the ranch, at the base of this hill.”

  Gaston said, “Mais oui. I just saw one move. But they are outside the fire’s glow from the house. I can’t see how many of them there are.”

  The Detroit Harp came to join them, crouching with the machine gun on his shoulder. He asked, “Why haven’t they surrounded the place?”

  Captain Gringo pointed with his chin and said, “The rancher’s cleared the brush out back for his corrals and. garden. No cover that way. As I put it together, those bandits eased as close as they could through the chaparral down there and opened up on the patio without warning. Everybody made it back to the house but those two servants by the well.”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “Out. As usual, the family was taking the air after dark. If there are more than a dozen bandits down there, they are tres lousy shots.” Then he nudged Captain Gringo and added, “They ran off such horses as those unfortunate ranchers may have had when they fired the stable. I see no reason to wait and see how it turns out.”

  Captain Gringo turned to The Detroit Harp and said, “Give me the Maxim.”

  As the tall American took the machine gun and opened the breech to slip one end of the ammo belt he’d been packing into the action, Gaston said, “Tres noble, I agree, but have you forgotten those sailor boys are right behind us?”

  Captain Gringo sighed and said, “Can’t be helped. There’s a wife and daughter in that house.”

  “Goddamn it, Dick, they’re going to move on the sound of gunfire and you’ll be low on ammo when they get here!”

  “I know. I want you to lead the guys off along this ridge and hole up. If I can’t get back to you, get these guys to San Jose and make sure they get paid by that fucking Greystoke.”

  Then he started easing down the slope toward the besieged ranch without waiting to see his orders were obeyed. He moved slowly and silently, machine gun braced on his hip with the belt trailing behind him as he tried to spot the bandits in the brush ahead. He heard a twig break behind him and froze until he heard Gaston murmur, “The Harp knows the way to San Jose.”

  “Right. Watch where you put your feet, for Chrissake.”

  He froze once more as a gun fired just down the slope and the same voice called, “Hey, Don Alberto? You are really beginning to annoy us! Are you going to be reasonable, or do we have to rush you? If we get you the hard way, it will be most hard on your women, eh?”

  The rancher was too smart to answer. Gaston nudged Captain Gringo and said, “Those round patches in the brush look like straw sombreros, non?”

  Captain Gringo nodded grimly and moved closer as Gaston drew his own revolver. The tall American’s heel turned on a loose rock and he stumbled and staggered down the slope to recover his balance. One of the bandits hissed, “Atender! What was that?”

  Before anyone could answer, Captain Gringo opened up with the machine gun, sweeping a stream of hot lead back and forth as he fired half blind into the brush down the slope. Twigs, branches, dust, and straw sombreros rose darkly against the firelight as men screamed and rose to run. A figure wearing crossed ammo belts and a fancy black charro costume staggered out into the light, hands over his head as he sobbed for mercy. Captain Gringo kept sweeping the brush as a rifle squibbed from the house and tore the side off the bewildered bandit’s head. A gun flashed up at them from the brush and Gaston fired his pistol and said, “Got you, my enthusiastic friend!”

  And then the machine gun’s bolt clicked on an empty chamber and he added, “Merde! You used up all the ammunition!”

  “I think I burned out the bore, too,” said Captain Gringo as he dropped the useless weapon and drew his own pistol to say, “Watch it. I could have missed someone.”

  Gaston said, “I don’t see how! You fired enough rounds to massacre a regiment!”

  As they eased down the slope, a voice from the house called out, “Who are you, caballeros? Thank God you came! It was just in time!”

  Captain Gringo called back, “Stay under cover, señor! We’re still checking for live ones!”

  Gaston eased around a bush, rolled a body over with his boot, and said, “This one will shoot no more women at a well.” Then he said, “Ah, there is another, missing the top of his skull, and yes, two more hugging one another in that cactus clump like babes in the wood. I told you you were being lavish with that ammo, Dick. You killed the bastards more than once!

  The body count was eight as they moved closer to the light and could see the bandits spattered through the bushes. If anyone had gotten away, he was still running. Captain Gringo walked toward the houses, holstering his gun and he called out, “We got them. Are you people all right in there?”

  A tall distinguished looking man in white came out of the house, still holding his rifle, but lowered politely as he came to meet them. He held out his free hand and said, “I am called Alberto Moreno y Valdez. I am trying to find the words to thank you properly, señor but my language is most inadequate. Suffice to say, my house is your house and from this day forward I will stand with you to the death!”

  Captain Gringo shook his hand and said, “Por nada, Don Alberto. You can call me Ricardo and this is my friend, Gaston.”

  Across the patio, some cotton-clad ranch hands had come out to fight the fire and see to their dead without being told. Two women in black dresses walked through the confusion to join them, shyly. Don Alberto introduced them as his wife and daughter. It was hard to remember which was which, as both were bit old and fat in their widow’s weeds. Don Alberto was part way through explaining how the recent death of his son-in-law may have encouraged the bandits to attack an isolated ranch, defended by one old man, when Gaston tugged Captain Gringo’s sleeve and murmured, “Company.”

  The tall American turned and muttered, “Oh, shit,” as a skirmish line of men in navy blues and white puttees moved into the light with bayoneted rifles held at port. The C.P.O. in charge called out, “What’s going on here? Do any of you people speak English?”

  Neither Captain Gringo nor Gaston replied. Don Alberto said, “I speak English, señor, albeit poorly. Who are you, and what brings you here?”

  “We’re U.S. Shore patrolmen, after a gang of outlaws. We’ve been trailing them all the way from Punta Purgatorio. We saw your burning barn and heard gunfire. Now it’s your turn.”

  Don Alberto nodded politely and said, “You will find your bandits over there at the base of the hill. They attacked us, but, as you will see, my friends and I just had it out with them.”

  The C.P.O. turned to one of his men and snapped, “Check it out, Ryan.”

  Then, as the seaman trotted toward the bushes, he turned back to Don Alberto and asked, “Who are these guys?”

  “I just told you, señor. They are my friends.”

  The seaman sent to the brush line called out, “Hey, Chief? He’s right as rain! There’s a mess of guys over here, shot to shit!”

  The C.P.O. turned and walked toward the hillside, calling back, “I want eight bodies to report, Ryan. We’ve been following eight guys, and I ain’t going back without eight scratched off!”

  “You got eight, Chief. Funny, I don’t remember them sombreros, but we was looking at ‘em from a distance.”

  “Look for that machine gun. If they didn’t have that machine gun with ’em, they’re the wrong guys.”

  They both vanished from sight up the slope as the other sailors stood where they were, bemused. Finally, one of them said, “Hell, let’s give them a hand with that fire. I don’t know what the Chief is talking about.”

  As the shore patrol stacked its rifles and went over to pitch in with the peons, Captain Gringo turned to Don Alberto and said, “I suppose we owe you an explanation, sir.”

  Don Alberto shook his head and said, “It is we who owe you, señor. Who you are and where you may have come from is not important. You came here when we needed you!�
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  The C.P.O. came out of the bushes, carrying the beat up Maxim and a satisfied smirk. He said, “Those were the guys who smoked up our gunboat and busted the skipper’s pet balloon, all right. You folks sure fight like tigers! Three guys against eight and a machine gun! I’d have said it was impossible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  His assistant, Ryan, joined them with a fancy gunbelt as he chimed in, “Hell, we knew them guys were crazy. They must have been smoking that Mary Wanna stuff when they stole the balloon. Can I keep this for a trophy, Chief?”

  The C.P.O. shook his head and said, “No. I don’t want any wise-ass local government guys to accuse us of looting. We’ll pack the machine gun back to show the skipper we caught up with the gang. But that’s it, and we’d better get going. We weren’t supposed to move so far inland and the skipper’s probably worried.”

  He raised the whistle hanging on his chest and blew it before he yelled, “Come on, that fire’s almost out. Grab your weapons and let’s go.”

  Then he nodded to Don Alberto, Gaston, and Captain Gringo and said, “We have to shove off. So I’ll say adios. But you guys sure know how to fight. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  All things considered, the British agent, Greystoke, sounded distinctly undelighted as Captain Gringo finished telling him about his recent adventures. They were alone in Greystoke’s paneled office up in San Jose. Captain Gringo was seated, uninvited, in a comfortable chair, smoking one of Greystoke’s cigars, unoffered, as the dapper Englishman paced holes in his Oriental rug.

  Captain Gringo said, “You mentioned something about money, one time, Greystoke.”

  Greystoke stopped, turned, and gasped, “You expect me to pay you, after all the damage you’ve done?”

  “I thought that was what we contracted for, old chum.”

  “Well, damn it, you thought wrong! What the devil did you mean by going to the west coast? I distinctly told you to look for that German base on the east coast!”

  “I know. We were supposed to flounder around in the swamps until we gave up or got lost in quicksand. You were using us as a diversion until the Germans became convinced you had no idea their base was in that crater and stopped suspecting your agent over there, Ernestine Hoover.”

  Greystoke’s jaw dropped. Then he quickly recovered and asked, “Where on earth did you get a mad idea like that?”

  “Come on. She still had the marks of the beating someone gave her without getting her to talk. She somehow convinced them she wasn’t a British spy. But they started trying to kill her again as soon as we showed up. I figure her husband must be a fairly important German officer who’s convinced she’s okay. So some other Germans had to kill her, or try to, when he wasn’t looking. I can see why Hoover likes her. She was busting a gut convincing him by spying on me for him, too. Did she get out all right when the egg hit the fan?”

  “Goddamn it, Walker. I’ve a jolly good mind to have you killed myself! You totally ruined things over in Punta Purgatorio! The Germans took a terrible beating and, more important, they’ve evacuated the base.”

  “I thought that was what you asked us to do. I guess your real plan was to keep tabs on that sub pen until you had a war with Germany, someday, so that you could lob shells into the crater then, right?”

  “Of course, you stupid bastard! The only ray of sunshine is that the U.S. Navy doesn’t know it shelled a German base to smithereens and the Kaiser can’t afford to protest about it!”

  Captain Gringo blew some expensive smoke out of his nose and said, “All’s well that ends well. You should have told us what you wanted instead of using us as pawns in your dirty little game. I don’t care how you and the Germans work it out, if and when you get around to your war. My only care is that we contracted to seek out and destroy a secret German base, and you can’t say we didn’t do it. So screw international power plays and let’s talk about money!”

  Greystoke grimaced and said, “Screw the money, tool I’m trying to decide whether to sic my gunmen on you or simply turn you in to the U.S. Consulate down the street!”

  Captain Gringo smiled, but his eyes were hard as he said, “You’re not that dumb, Greystoke. You know the U.S. Government would question me about my recent activities before they got around to hanging me on that old bum charge. And you know I’d have no reason not to tell them the whole story. I figure that if you wanted Uncle Sam to know what British Intelligence is up to on this side of the Atlantic, you’d have told him, by now.”

  Greystoke sighed and said, “You’re right. I’d better just have you murdered.”

  “You won’t do that, either. Gaston knows the whole story. So do the other guys I brought back with me, the hard way. If they’re not paid, they’re going to be annoyed as hell. Gaston said something about the German consulate paying pretty well for information, too.”

  “You wouldn’t dare! How could any of you hope to get out alive after confessing to the Germans that you were responsible for all that death and destruction?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Most pros would forgive a lot to learn who was behind the attack, or that a top German officer is wrong about his Ernestine. They may act a little wild, though, so, all in all, I’d rather get the money from you.”

  “Goddamn you, Walker. This is naked blackmail!”

  “Bullshit. I could have blackmailed you without losing two guys doing just what you asked us to do. Once I figured out what was going on in Punta Purgatorio I could have sold the Germans all sorts of info, too!”

  Greystoke closed his eyes and muttered, “God give me strength.” Then he said, “I’ll give you half, Walker. Even you will have to admit you did a half-ass job.”

  “Horse feathers. I put that German base completely out of business.” Then he added, “I’ll tell you what, though. Pay me the full fee and I’ll tell you where the Germans are likely to set up their next base.”

  Greystoke blinked and gasped, “You know?”

  “Not exactly. But I know how you’ll know. You’re going to have to get Ernestine out of that situation with her German officer, right?”

  “Of course. The Germans will be too clever to use Jan Hoover as a cover again in any case, and she says he’s not very good in bed.”

  “I don’t know who they’ll use, next time, for cover. But I know their security officer, and they don’t know that I know. Do we have a deal?”

  Greystoke went over to his desk, took out a fat envelope and said, “Here. You don’t have to count it.”

  Captain Gringo muttered, “Bullshit.” and opened the envelope to count the money as Greystoke fumed. Then he said, “Okay, we spent most of what you advanced us, but this should stake us for a while,”

  “Damn it, you said you know how we can spot the next German operation. Give, you bastard!”

  “Well, I don’t have his name, but you probably have him on file. He’s that helpful Armenian who runs the cantina.”

  “Guderian? That’s insane. We checked out all the locals. He has no connections with Berlin.”

  “For God’s sake, are spies supposed to send Mother’s Day cards to Germany? The Armenian’s cantina is too big for a village that size. He also had a habit of knowing where I was all the time. Even when I didn’t offer to tell him. He has a teeny tiny agent working with him that’s a pisser, too. They were the only ones beside your agent, Ernestine, who knew which room I’d taken when someone lobbed a shell into it. The last night I was there the girl went above and beyond the call of duty to find out which end of a large sail loft I had my bunk in. If I’d hung around they’d have blown that up, too. But I moved too fast and, no matter, they didn’t get me, and, more important, they don’t know I was on to them. So, now that Guderian’s got no reason to hang around Punta Purgatorio, what will you bet he moves his business somewhere else?”

  Greystoke nodded and looked less likely to throw up on the carpet as he mused, “Hmm! Berlin does use sleeper agents who make no co
ntact for years at a time, but move in for the kill when a kill is called for. We’ll keep our eye on Guderian. But I must say, I’m rather sick of your grinning face.”

  Captain Gringo got to his feet with the envelope and tucked it away in his new jacket as he said, “Up yours, too.”

  “Where will you be staying in San Jose, in case I need you again?”

  “Surely you jest! From here on, I mean to stay as far away from you double-crossers as I can get!”

  “The feeling is mutual,” replied Greystoke, as the taller American turned and walked out of the room.

  Outside, the sun was shining, the highland air was perfumed with magnolia from the park across the way. Captain Gringo crossed the street jauntily and headed into the park to meet Gaston, lurking on the far side. But as he followed the winding gravel path, a feminine voice called his name and he stopped and turned in the shade on an ancient cedar tree.

  It was Helena. The little blonde was in high heels and a better dress than the one he’d bought her. He remembered Greystoke had said he’d get her a job around the British Consulate. He remembered she’d said she’d be waiting for him, too. As she joined him he put an arm on either of her shoulders and tried to look pleased. What the hell, he had plenty of money, she was great in bed, and he would figure out some way to let her down gent-

  Helena smiled timidly up at him and said, “I heard you were back, darling. I suppose you were wondering where to find me, no?”

  “I had some business to take care of before I looked you up. I didn’t forget you, querida.”

  She lowered her eyelids and murmured, “I will never forget you, either. But, while you were gone … Oh, how can I make you understand?”

  “You could always start by telling me what’s been going on while I was away.”

  She said, “There is this young man, a Costa Rican of good family who works for the British down the street.”