by J. T. Edson
‘There is still money left,’ the girl stated.
A calculating look came to Marcus’s face, then worry and evasion as he tried to avoid meeting Margarita’s eyes.
‘How about it?’ Chavez asked.
‘I have my own funds. To buy uniforms, matching horses, fine saddles for my personal guard,’ Marcus finally confessed.
‘To hell with that!’ barked Chavez, flinging his cigar to one side.
It landed at the feet of Captain Barrio as he stepped through the door. The handsome, immaculate captain looked down, then raised his eyes to Chavez’s face.
‘To hell with what?’ he asked.
Apart from his three Texas men, and possibly some of the other Americans who rode in the army, Chavez knew of only one man his reputation did not scare. Barrio feared neither man nor devil. He also did not like Chavez and the dislike was mutual as might be expected. Barrio, with his sophisticated charm, his gentleman’s manners, had his eye on Margarita de Plonchet and could cut the ground from under Chavez’s feet any time at the art of successfully squiring a lady.
However, this time Chavez let his animosity slide. He explained what had happened, seeing the faint sneer on the other man’s face when he spoke of losing the money. Barrio held his caustic comment and listened to the idea of using Marcus’s personal fund to buy the arms they needed.
‘I agree with Señor Chavez,’ he said at the end. ‘And we must send all the money this time or Vincent will not wait.’
‘But all my money—!’ began Marcus.
‘Think of our cause, General!’ interrupted Margarita. ‘That is of more importance than decorating your personal guard. Without the guns Vincent offers us you will have no need for a personal guard. And if we succeed do you think you will have to buy clothes or horses? All Mexico will flock to give you their best, to prove their loyalty to you.’
Marcus grumbled a little under his breath. He did not know how many of his men remained loyal to him. Most certainly he did not know that Margarita had not sufficient of them behind her to cast him aside. The girl knew this and so did not try stronger measures with Marcus. Later, she promised herself, she would toss him aside, but at the moment he still proved useful. Marcus may have suspected this, but he gave no sign. Before the weight of the girl and the two most powerful men in his army, he gave way.
‘Take the money,’ he said. ‘All of it. How do we deliver it?’
‘I will take it, in my coach,’ Margarita replied, throwing a defiant look at the men.
‘Then I go with you,’ suggested Barrio. ‘It seems that our gunfighting friend could not handle the Four.’
A low snarl from Chavez’s lips and he thrust himself forward, hand hovering the butt of his Colt. He saw the way Barrio stood, feet apart, fingers caressing the butt of the sword at his side. Not a cavalry saber, but a basket hiked fighting rapier, with slender blade carrying a cutting edge as well as a needle sharp point. Chavez might make coarse jokes about the efficiency of such a weapon but he knew all too well how deadly it could be in the skilled hands of a master such as Barrio.
For an instant death hung heavily in the air. Whang stood back and watched his boss for in his creed and code of life a man must stand and fall alone in a fight against a single enemy. Marcus also stood, his mouth hanging open, not able to decide what might be the best for him to do. He knew he ought to step in and order them to stop, he also knew how little notice they would take of him. If they fought now one at least would die and leave him with an enemy, or at least a dangerous rival the less.
‘You must stay here, Captain Barrio!’ Margarita snapped, stepping between the men. ‘I will take Señor Chavez and his men as my escort.’
She knew that Marcus’s men were unnerved by the attacks Dusty Fog and his three friends made upon them. Without the strong hand of Barrio to control them, they might break and run. She also guessed that to leave Chavez with Barrio would see one of them dead and there would be time for that after they carried out their plans. Besides, Chavez’s men were the toughest and most reliable, as long as she kept them under her eye.
‘That is an honor, señorita" Chavez told her, not without a triumphant grin at Barrio. ‘This time there will be no drunken sentries to let attackers through to us.’
‘That I will make sure of,’ Margarita promised him grimly.
‘I hope we meet those Tejanos again,’ Chavez went on, spitting the words out in fury.
Before his eyes as he spoke appeared a picture of the small figure which burst in through the door of the Inn of Cocks and whose gun roared even before he could draw his Colt. Chavez had a lot of pride in his gun skill, he thought himself to be the fastest hand with a Colt alive and he wanted to see how that small man could get into action starting from leather.
The girl gave him no chance to talk, she returned to the table and took up the letter from it then turned to the men.
‘This is from our le—chief agent in Mexico City,’ she said. ‘Telling me of the state of affairs there. He says all is set at his end for he knows the way most of the army will go.’
‘Which way?’ asked Barrio.
‘For Lerdo.’
She made the reply in a matter of fact tone. All the men knew that this mysterious agent in Mexico City hoped to gather support from the Army. Now it seemed they would have to stand alone.
‘It’s the first plan then?’ Marcus asked.
Margarita nodded. ‘It is. That means we definitely must have the weapons. If we could rely on the army to join us they would not be so important. But we need them, first to give the impression of force when we raid the towns and also to hold this house against a regular army attack should one be directed at it.’
Before she could say any more, Margarita’s eyes went to Whang who lounged against the wall. The big Texan knew nothing of their main plan, only that they planned a revolution to overthrow the elected Mexican Government. Margarita did not know how Whang would respond to the idea of attacking Texas border villages and towns, slaughtering innocent women and children. Catching Chavez’s eye, the girl made a gesture towards the door.
‘Come on Whang,’ Chavez growled, taking the hint. ‘We’ll go and make ready for our departure.’
‘Let Señor Whang take the pick of the harness horses for my coach and bring spares along,’ Margarita suggested. ‘If he will arrange it, you might accompany General Marcus to collect the money. In a locked saddlebag if you please, General.’
With muttered agreement the men left the room, only Barrio remaining. On hearing the door close he stepped forward, caught Margarita by the arm as she turned to the table. The next moment she was in his arms and his lips came down to her face. At first she kissed back, then she thrust him away and stood with hot and angry eyes glaring at him, little hands clenched into fists.
‘That will be enough, Carlos!’ she gasped. ‘You know I am spoken for by our leader.’
‘Leader!’ Barrio spat out the word. ‘What do you see in him? An ill-mannered, uncouth and unwashed lout with only the poorest pretensions towards social graces.’
‘He is the most intelligent man I have ever met,’ she replied. ‘Who else could have thought up this plan. Or be clever enough to think of a way by which we can take this country without the aid of the army.’
All through the discussion none of the party in the room had paid the slightest attention to that glowering portrait of Don Francisco Almonte which hung on the wall. Even had they looked at it, none could have realized that the eyes were merely two holes, or that human eyes peered through them at the room and keen ears behind the picture listened to every word said. Marcus had never been in such a fine house as Casa Almonte and gave no thought to secret passages behind the stout walls when he drove Almonte out. Strangely neither Margarita nor Barrio, both of whom were used to living in fine old colonial homes, gave a thought to the possibility of hidden passages and lookout points. Casa Almonte had been built by and for people to whom intrigue was a breath of life, a wa
y never to be passed over. Many of the old tunnels had been blocked, or fallen into disuse, but the one leading to behind the library remained open. The library would serve as a meeting place no matter who owned the house and meetings be held in it, so the tunnel and the lookout point for a spy had been carefully preserved.
After hearing the plans to send more money to the man across the border, the spy prepared to leave. Although posing as one of the bandido army he still managed to retain his decent upbringing. If Barrio and the girl were merely lovemaking he would not watch. The words Margarita said made him change his mind. Often he had heard references to the mysterious agent in Mexico City and gained the impression that the man was more than just a spy.
More and more as he stayed around the house and listened in on private conversations, the spy felt sure that Marcus was no more than a dupe, a figurehead, and the man in Mexico City really organized and bossed this monstrous plot to overthrow the Government. So he waited hoping to hear a name or learn something which might identify the man.
Before either Barrio or the girl could say more, much to the listening man’s annoyance, Marcus and Chavez returned, carrying heavy saddlebags.
‘Enough here,’ growled Chavez.
‘More than enough,’ Marcus went on sullenly.
‘Look!’ snapped Margarita. ‘Vincent can sell the repeating rifles to the Apaches, and the ammunition he has. He can get rid of the two Gatling guns to buffalo hunters. So he can make his own terms. Now to business. Señor Chavez, we depart in one hour’s time. Captain Barrio, I want you to take out a force of men, leave only a bare garrison for the house. Split your men into small patrols and have them on the lookout for the Four. Keep them out until after we have returned with the weapons. Scour the countryside. Keep Captain Fog and his men occupied to the south if you can.’
‘How did they learn about the money we carried?’ Chavez asked.
‘That is something I would like to know,’ replied the girl. ‘You said they had vaqueros with them. Did you recognize any of them?’
‘None.’
‘Then it may have been luck. Although why they should have come here— Of course. Villeneuva! The two men who returned from hunting him could have been lying when they said they killed him before the Tejanos drove them off. He must have either been uninjured, or have lived long enough to talk.’
Anger flushed the girl’s face. She looked at the fat General with cold loathing. Every time some setback to their plan came it always seemed to be his men behind it.
‘So Villeneuva has reached Texas,’ Barrio said. ‘According to that man of his we captured, he knows our plans. Yet our—agent in Mexico City has not heard of any official complaint from the United States Government!’
‘Why not?’ asked Chavez.
‘Such things take time,’ replied Margarita, showing that she had intelligence and knew how to use her head. ‘And that is why Captain Fog and his men came to Mexico, to buy that same time. That is why they raid us, they know of our plans.’
‘Then what do we do?’ Barrio asked.
‘Hunt them down like dogs. Hold them here until we have the weapons. Kill them if you can,’ she answered calmly. ‘Once we have the weapons we can put our great plan into operation, it will be too late for them to stop us.’
Eight – Head for the Border
‘Reckon they got their horses back yet, Dusty?’
Mark Counter addressed the question to his small amigo as they rode the stolen horses through the gathering dawn light. He looked across at the saddlebags slung behind Dusty’s saddle, noting the musical chink they gave off.
‘I’d be tolerable surprised if they have,’ Dusty replied. ‘Anyway it’ll be the crowbait the innkeeper owned that come back first and they haven’t the legs of these horses.’
‘What you aiming to do now?’ Waco asked, looking at Pancho who rode by his side, bringing up the rear while the Kid ranged ahead of them.
‘Take you to my patron as I said. After that it will be up to him and to Captain Fog.’
Turning in his saddle Dusty studied the range around him. He doubted if the men at the Inn of the Cock would be able to organize any pursuit for some time to come, if they did come after his party and not return for reinforcements from Casa Almonte. Now he wished to meet Don Francisco Almonte and learn how best they could co-ordinate their efforts.
For all that they would have a long journey as Pancho remarked when they rode from the Camino Real in the darkness. He looked at his big paint stallion, then at the other horses they brought from the O.D. Connected. Even with their remounts at the expense of the Marcus army all their four personal mounts had been hard run over the last two weeks. Maybe they had not been ridden all the time, but they had been taken along on most of the raids and covered many miles. If he could find a safe place he wanted to leave the horses to rest up, but he also did not wish to give Marcus’s men a breather from their attacks.
The obvious thing to do would be question Pancho on where his boss hid out, Dusty thought. He could, however, see why Pancho might not wish to go into too many details. Five men and ten horses formed a large party, one which could not easily hide. At any time they might be located by a bunch of Marcus men, attacked, held down until such a force gathered that they could be taken by sheer weight of numbers. In such an event Pancho would not wish any of them to be in a position to tell where Almonte was hidden.
So for most of the day they kept riding, heading south-west into an area the Kid, for all his knowledge of the Aquila country, could claim never to have been in. They were in rough, hilly country and clearly, as the sun sank, would not reach the hideout that night.
This proved to be correct for Pancho found a small stream and suggested they made camp. Dusty accepted the suggestion for he had respect for Pancho’s judgment and knew the young vaquero had good reason for halting.
Next morning they pushed on once more and after riding for a couple of hours seemed to be making down a slope, towards some open country, rough, barren and rocky land at the other side of which rose a high, sheer escarpment with cracks in its face.
‘I’ll tell you one thing, Pancho,’ drawled Waco, eyeing the cliffs at which they rode. ‘I’m not taking a hoss up there.’
Pancho turned a grinning face to the youngster. ‘Of course, if you can’t take your horses up this gentle slope ahead we must go the easy way. Though I have always heard you Tejanos boast you can ride a horse where a mountain goat would fear to go.’
‘That’s right, too,’ Waco agreed. ‘I’d like to see the mountain goat that dare go along Trail Street in Abilene during the trail drive season. But I done it twice.’
While Waco and Pancho talked, the Kid had been studying the cliff wall and the cracks which ran down it. Some half forgotten fact, a story heard as a boy, came to him and at last he gave a low grunt of satisfaction.
‘This is the Laberinto country, ain’t it, Pancho?’ he asked.
‘It is.’
Before Pancho could make more than the bare affirmative to the Kid’s suspicions, he swung his horse and headed for the wall. He turned the horse into a gap which might have passed unnoticed for the wall at the right overshot the left. This left barely enough room for one horse and rider to pass, but Pancho eased his mount through and the borrowed horse followed him.
‘Keep close together, amigos,’ he said. ‘It would not be well for you to become separated and lost in here.’
Dusty went next, followed by Mark and Waco. The Kid took one quick searching look around to make sure they were not observed by prying eyes and followed on the heels of the horse Waco led.
Beyond the crack the trail opened out a little but still not enough for two riders to pass each other.
‘This here’s what I call a one way trail,’ drawled Waco, eyeing the towering walls around him. ‘Sure wouldn’t do for to bring ole Big Ethel from Diggers Wells along here.’
Within ten minutes Dusty could see why Pancho insisted they waited until mor
ning before trying to come through the narrow gap into the Laberinto, the Maze country. The trail wound about with numerous offshoots, some of them with horse droppings in them, some obviously dead ends, but others which might wind off for miles. The hard rock floor of the trail prevented any sign of the passing of horses to anybody tracking, or trying to trail his way through the passages.
For almost an hour they wound about through the narrow valley, then Pancho brought his horse to a halt, reached down to draw his rifle. Three times he struck the wall with the rifle’s butt, paused and repeated the blows twice more. With that done he started forward once more.
The knocking on the wall must have been some kind of signal for, after about five minutes, they turned a corner and found themselves out in the open. Drawing their horses to a halt Dusty and the other three looked around. They sat in a valley, maybe four miles long and three wide, surrounded by sheer, towering cliffs of the Laberinto. Yet this valley did not look the same as the arid, rocky passages through which they came. It had deep, lush grass and two streams glinted as they wended their way from underground springs to disappear into the ground by the sheer walls and become underground rivers.
Ahead of them, some fifty yards from the entrance, a short stocky vaquero stood behind a line of large rocks, a Winchester across his arm. Beyond him lay a group of four adobe houses laid out in a position of defense which brought a grudging nod of approval from Dusty. A stream must actually start inside one of the houses, from a spring, which meant a constant supply of water for the defenders. If the rocks ahead had a guard who could handle his rifle, this place would be all but impregnable.
‘Hey, Pancho!’ greeted the sentry. ‘We thought Marcus had caught you.’
‘He had,’ grinned Pancho. ‘But Cabrito saved me.’
