by Jack Higgins
I stripped and stood there for a moment, the night wind cold on my flesh, feeling for the bruises gingerly and any sign of real damage. My ribs and the rest of me seemed intact enough and I moved out across a patch of shingle and waded into the water.
It was cold enough to freeze the marrow in the bones or so it seemed. I swallowed a howl and swam to the other side and back again. The effects were remarkably bracing and I stood under the waterfall for a moment or so, for the pool was nowhere more than four feet deep as far as I could judge.
Ten seconds of that icy deluge was all I could stand and when I waded out to the shingle strand, van Horne was standing watching me, the Enfield in his hand.
‘You forgot this again.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s what women do to a man, Keogh. The beginning of the end.’
‘True enough,’ I said, catching the blanket he tossed me. ‘But what an end.’
He smiled. ‘So your brains are unscrambled again? That’s a blessing. Do you try to commit suicide often?’
I shrugged as I rubbed myself down. ‘You know how it is.’
He paused in the act of lighting one of his cigarillos, the match flaring in his hand. ‘I’m not sure that I do.’
‘I don’t like to be leaned on,’ I said. ‘To be shoved against the wall. Brings out the worst in me and men like Jurado do, certainly. Probably something to do with my size.’
‘I had noticed,’ he replied, a touch of irony in his voice.
I pulled on my shirt and found a crumpled packet of Artistas in my trouser pocket. ‘What did you want to see me about?’
He seemed surprised. ‘Why, tomorrow, of course. What else?’
‘You still intend to go through with it, this walk nonsense?’
‘I’ll be outside the church at nine-thirty just like I said, ready to go and de la Plata will be there to stop me.’
‘With at least a couple of dozen men to back him up.’
‘And riding straight into ambush. Here, let me show you.’
He found a stick and drew a crude plan in a patch of damp sand. ‘I’ll be outside the porch waiting to go, with the image on a handcart I’ve borrowed from Moreno. I’ll have the Thompson and two or three Mills bombs handy.’
Strange what tricks the mind plays on us. For a moment, this might have been one of a hundred similar jobs I had planned and undertaken over the long dark years.
‘What about Janos?’
‘In the bell tower, same as yesterday, with the other Thompson. You’ll be on the other side of the square.’ He indicated the spot on his plan. ‘There is a broken-down stable there, no longer used by anyone. I’ve been up there tonight and left you the Winchester and three Mills bombs under an old sack in the right-hand corner by the loft door.’
‘What kind of a field of fire?’
‘Couldn’t be better. Forty yards from the stable to the church. I paced it out. You can’t miss from the loft door at that range. They’ll ride straight into the crossfire.’
I thought about it for a while, but could find no real flaws beyond the usual one that you could never depend on anything in this life, which meant that something unexpected was almost certain to happen.
‘One thing,’ I said. ‘I’ll be firing in your general direction. I hope you realize that.’
‘Son, I’ll be inside that porch so fast you’ll wonder if I was ever there in the first place.’
A fine, light-hearted attitude. I said, ‘It’s funny, but you had Janos and me worried back there at the church when you threw down the gauntlet to de la Plata. We thought you might be taking your role a little too seriously.’
He seemed genuinely astonished, then laughed harshly. ‘Sure I take it seriously, Keogh. Fifty-three thousand dollar’s worth.’
I could have taken him up on that, because in a way, he was protesting too much, but I had no choice for Nachita appeared from the cottonwoods like some grey ghost. Even allowing for his usual impassivity, I sensed there was something.
‘What is it?’
‘We have a visitor, señor. For you, father,’ he added, turning to van Horne. ‘The Señorita de la Plata.’
A night for surprises.
She stood holding the bridle of her horse just beyond the firelight. One could not see much of her face, but she seemed calm enough at first when she spoke. ‘Forgive me, father, but I had to speak with you. I saw Señor Janos at the hotel who thought you might be here.’
Van Horne took the reins from her and handed them to Nachita: ‘What can I do for you?’
Her voice was still calm when she said, ‘Father, I know my brother and I can tell you this. He and his men will be at the church in the morning at the time you have indicated. If he finds you there he will kill you. Nothing is more certain.’
Van Horne took her hands and was obviously about to reply when she cracked wide open and stumbled against him as if for support.
‘Help me, father. In pity’s name, help me. I can no longer carry this dreadful burden alone.’
He glanced over his shoulder at the three of us, hesitated fractionally, then led her to the tent and they went inside.
For quite some time there was bitter, agonized weeping, which finally subsided, to be followed by the low murmur of voices. It was strangely embarrassing, as if one were eavesdropping on something essentially private. We squatted by the fire without talking and drank the bitter coffee Victoria provided.
It must have been at least half an hour before the tent-flap was thrown back and they emerged, Chela de la Plata first. She avoided my eye rather obviously and hurried to where Nachita had tethered her horse to a tree.
Van Horne went after her and she turned and asked for a blessing. He responded without the slightest hesitation, the words clear on the night air as his fingers traced the sign of the cross.
‘Benedicat te Omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus.’
She mounted and galloped away and he stayed there looking after her. I moved to his side, but before I could speak, he said, ‘I expect you and Janos to be in position by nine in the morning, just in case. No need to meet again before then.’
He actually started to walk away and I grabbed his sleeve. ‘Just a minute, what was it all supposed to be about?’
‘You heard, she came to warn me.’
‘Not that, I mean the other business.’
‘She had a lot on her mind. She hadn’t spoken to a priest in a long time, that’s all.’
I said, ‘Are you trying to tell me you confessed her?’
He turned on me, eyes starting from his head and grabbed me by the lapel. ‘Does the thought amuse you, Keogh? What was I supposed to do? Say no?’
If ever I have looked at a soul in torment it was then. He pushed me away and snarled, ‘Anyway, what’s the odds? We could all be dead by nine-thirty-five in the morning.’
I watched him walk away, clear in the moonlight. For some reason filled with the most terrible feeling of desolation I have ever known. But no, that isn’t quite true. I had known it once and once only. A century or more before. The square at Drumdoon in the rain, my brother dead before me.
I went and lay on the blankets in the tent, staring into the dark and after a while, Victoria brought me a warm drink which obviously contained a sleeping draught of some description, for within minutes of taking it I was asleep.
13
I surfaced to the patter of rain against the canvas, the dim grey light of the old tent and lay there for a while, staring up at the ridge pole, relaxed and comfortable until I tried to stretch my arms and found that I could not.
For a moment, it was as if I was still asleep and dreaming, but I was very much awake as I realized when I kicked out frantically and discovered that I was bound hand and foot. I tried shouting, but after a while, the tent flap was pulled aside and Nachita ducked in. He crouched over me, his face grave.
‘Where is she?’ I demanded.
‘Gathering wood by the stream, señor.’ I tried to sit up
and he shook his head. ‘You will not go to Mojada this morning. She will not have it.’
I tried to stay calm. ‘What time is it?’
‘A little before nine, señor.’
‘For God’s sake, Nachita, you must release me.’
There was no sense in pleading for he simply got up and went out again. There wasn’t much left to do after that except pull the blankets away, which was easily enough done for my hands were tied at the front, presumably because she had wanted to hurt me as little as possible.
I barged through the tent flap head-down, falling on my face. They had rigged up an old tarpaulin from the tent to a couple of poles, the fire underneath and rain ran off the edge in a steady stream. Beyond, a heavy mist rolled down from the peaks reducing visibility considerably.
I tried to sit up and Nachita turned from the fire and gave me a hand under my elbow, putting my back against the saddle. At the same moment Victoria appeared from the trees, a bundle of branches in her arms. She wore an old blanket coat and a straw sombrero against the rain.
‘What in the hell are you trying to prove?’ I demanded.
She dropped the branches on the ground, knelt down and started to feed the fire without replying.
‘You found your tongue again last night, or had you forgotten?’ I leaned forward. ‘Answer me, you bitch.’
Nachita’s hand caught me across the mouth. She moved as quickly, getting between us and pushing him away. Her speech was slow and careful, the voice a little remote. ‘Your friend dies this morning, this is certain.’
‘But not me, is that it?’
Nachita was on his feet, rifle ready. He was too late. Horses splashed through the stream, riders pouring out of the trees to surround the camp, at least thirty of them. I recognized two or three faces although Jurado was conspicuous by his absence and then the line parted and Tomas de la Plata rode through.
He was dressed as usual with the addition of a cavalry officer’s caped greatcoat open down the front, presumably so that he could get out his gun if needs be.
He stared down at me for a moment, a frown on his face, and then dismounted and squatted on his heels before me. ‘So, a reluctant suitor, Señor Keogh? This is not what I was told.’
‘She thinks I’ll stand by the priest and get my head blown off if she doesn’t keep me here,’ I told him.
‘Indeed.’ He glanced at Victoria, then Nachita and returned to me. ‘She could have a point. Gringos stick together, an undeniable fact of life.’
‘All right, so I don’t want to see the man die. He’s an American citizen remember? Kill him and there could well be a lot of political pressure to have something done about it.’
‘His own choice, not mine.’
‘Then set me free and I’ll persuade him otherwise.’
‘But I do not want you to.’ He seemed surprised. ‘Why should I? If he wishes to martyr himself, I’ll be happy to accommodate him.’
I still had to play my part, to react as he might reasonably expect the person I was supposed to be to react. ‘But why? What can there possibly be in it for you?’
He waved a hand in a gesture that sent everyone back a few yards, then leaned towards me. ‘Have you ever considered that when Christ rode into Jerusalem, the authorities were compelled to act as they did? Had no choice? You see, it was impossible for them to exist side by side. A contradiction in terms.’
All this, he delivered in tones of the utmost seriousness and with a perfectly grave face. I had felt from the first there was a streak of madness in the man. Now I was certain of it.
‘An interesting parallel,’ I said.
‘Remarkably exact. How could a man like me exist in Father van Horne’s world or he in mine? I would have no reality and that would be impossible, for I truly do exist as all men know, which means this priest of yours should already be dead.’
I did not need that twisted logic to confirm me in the impression of a man who had definitely gone over the edge of things, for I saw nothing but madness in his eyes as he stood up.
He produced a gold hunter from inside his coat and flicked it open. ‘You will excuse me now, but in exactly twelve minutes I have an appointment and I like to be on time.’ He swung into the saddle and pulled in his horse which trampled through the fire, upsetting the coffee pot. ‘I am sorry to leave you like this, my friend. Someone should have warned you that you were playing with fire. Let us hope this little barbarian here keeps her knife in her belt.’
He cantered away into the mist, his men following him and I turned to Victoria and said desperately, ‘Release me now, I beg you, while there is still time.’
She started to turn away so I did the only thing left to me which was to drop forward on my knees and thrust my bound wrists into the scattered embers of the fire. The pain was unbelievable and I was unable to restrain a groan, but she was already on me, dragging me back against the saddle.
I said, ‘You have nothing to gain – everything to lose. Do you think that we could ever live together after a betrayal like this? That I could look at you and not remember?’
The great dark eyes widened and I knew that I had struck deep. She wavered, genuine pain in her eyes and I pushed my hands out towards her. ‘Anything later than now is no good.’
It worked. Her hand went inside the blanket coat and came out clutching a knife so sharp that she was through the rope in one easy slice. As she repeated the performance on my ankles, Nachita emerged from the tent and handed me the Enfield in its shoulder holster. I struggled into the straps and said, ‘I’ll be too late at the main gate. Is there another way?’
‘The wall crumbles at the top of the village near the church, señor. Easy to climb. I could show you.’
He glanced inquiringly at her as he said this and she nodded. I grabbed her hand as she turned away, pulled her round and smiled. ‘Believe it or not, but I intend to come back.’
But she didn’t believe me, not for a moment, I could tell as much from her eyes. To be honest, I wasn’t too confident myself considering the way things were going.
I took the nearest horse bare-back, with nothing but a rope halter to hang on to, putting my heels into him hard and galloped into the mist, urging him on with a clenched fist.
Nachita was beside me in an instant, drawing abreast to lead the way, riding magnificently, his old rifle in one hand. We went headlong through rough broken ground that had my heart in my mouth, turned into a deep arroyo with a few inches of rainwater in the bottom, scrambled up a steep bank at the other end and emerged into the open no more than twenty or thirty yards from the wall at the top end of the village.
I could see what he meant at once for in places the adobe brick had crumbled, reducing the height to about ten feet. I pushed my horse against the wall, stood on its back and Nachita crowded his horse in beside me to hold things steady for a moment. My height, as always, was the trouble. I was perhaps a foot short, but a quick jump took care of that and the gaps between the crumbling brick made excellent footholds.
I gave Nachita a quick wave and dropped straight over the other side into a small courtyard. There was a door in the far wall which proved to be unlocked. When I opened it I found myself in a narrow alley that emptied into the square no more than a couple of steps away.
When I peered round the corner I found myself perhaps forty yards from the church. The cart van Horne had mentioned was in position a couple of yards in front of the porch and had been covered by some kind of brightly covered blanket or tapestry. The image of St Martin de Porres stood on it in solitary splendour. There was no sign of van Horne and Janos, too, was keeping well out of sight for I could see nothing of him in the bell tower.
Somewhere I heard horses trampling over the cobbles on their way up to the village and it came to me then that this building here on the corner must be the stable van Horne had referred to.
A flight of stone stairs led up from the street through a wooden door. When I opened it, the loft door van Horne had me
ntioned stood wide giving a clear view of the church and a porch. I saw that he was standing inside, presumably sheltering from the rain.
I found the sacking in the corner as he had described, the Winchester and the Mills bombs, ready primed, I was pleased to see. I was barely in time for as I returned to the loft door, de la Plata’s men emerged from the left in a solid bunch, wheeled and turned to face the porch in a ragged line.
It couldn’t have been more perfect. I was aware of many things in that final moment. Tomas de la Plata himself in the cavalry greatcoat. Van Horne moving into the entrance of the porch in full regalia, including a superb gold cape, presumably in honour of the occasion.
I picked up a grenade, pulling the pin with my teeth and got ready to throw it and in the same moment, a rider thundered out of the street into the square, pulling in the horse so sharply between van Horne and Tomas that it slipped on the wet cobbles and slid back on to its haunches.
Chela de la Plata, arriving too late, for van Horne was already bringing the Thompson round from behind his back and firing and a grenade sailed down from the bell tower to explode in exactly the right spot to take care of half a dozen men and their mounts in one breath.
I lobbed mine in for good measure with a similar result for the woman was dead. Had to be. I caught a glimpse of her, the face drenched in blood, her brother beside her, trying to hold her in the saddle and then they went down together, horses and all, as Janos leaned out of the bell tower and started to work the other Thompson gun from side to side.
It was a bad mistake for they were firing back by now and suddenly, he stopped shooting and leaned across the window-sill, head down. Very slowly, pulled by his immense weight, he simply squeezed through and followed the Thompson to the cobbles twenty feet below.
During this time I had fired continuously, choosing each target carefully and had picked off four of them with complete certainty. In spite of all this, several riders had passed below me to make good their escape through the alley to my right.
