by J. T. Edson
The remuda came in so that all might pick themselves a good horse. Dusty did not intend to use his paint and told Waco and Mark to select other mounts. The Kid changed from his black clothes once more and with the aid of charcoal changed his horse into what looked like a piebald of black and white. He needed a stallion if he rode scout ahead of them and so employed an old smuggling days’ trick.
There would be little chance of so large a party slipping unnoticed through the patrols, but Dusty could see no sense in advertising that el Cuatro rode with the party. A small Marcus patrol, knowing no love to be lost between them, might hesitate to bother such a large party of vaqueros. Nor were Texans so infrequent visitors below the line as to excite comment at seeing four riding with a haciendero. Sure they would see four Texans, but not four riding the type of horses which had become known as the mounts of el Cuatro, Dusty also hoped that, believing him to be dead, any patrol they passed would not connect the haciendero they saw with Don Francisco Almonte.
They were long chances, but so was this entire business. All a man could do would be to take the chances as they came and hope he held a winning hand when the showdown call be made.
With the Kid ranging ahead as scout, Waco far in the rear watching their back trail, Pancho out to the right and Sanchez’s best man on the left flank, the small party rode across the range in the direction of Casa Almonte.
Twice during the daylight hours one of the scouts saw a Marcus patrol in the distance, but in neither case did the patrol see them. Night fell with its welcome cover and soon flickering red spots of light showed scattered over the range as various patrols made camp. From that time Dusty’s party had little cause to worry for all they needed to do was watch for a camp fire’s light and then avoid it.
Just after dark the flank and rear scouts came in to join the main body but the Kid stayed out ahead. For an hour they rode at a good pace and without chatter while Dusty, in the lead, kept his eyes and ears open. Yet, even after years of seeing it, the Kid’s silent appearance—from behind a bush which did not seem large enough to hide a pronghorn—came as a surprise. With his Indian-dark face, his clothes—which, although not their usual black, were dark in tone—and the charcoal patched coat of the horse, merged into the darkness, the Kid seemed to move in a cloak of invisibility through the night.
‘We’ve got trouble, Dusty,’ he said quietly as the others drew their horses to a halt and waited to hear his report.
‘I’ve never yet seen a time when we hadn’t. What is it this time?’
‘There’s a bunch of them, maybe ten or a dozen, camped outside the house and cussing fit to make a man blush ’cause the others won’t open up and let ’em in.’
‘Like you said,’ Dusty agreed, ‘we’ve got trouble.’
With a party camped outside the house his plans needed hurried revision and change. They would certainly have horses with them and the same horses would make a noise. Dusty knew of nothing more calculated to start horses neighing and kicking up a fuss than hearing others of their species close at hand.
In his first plan Dusty intended they should ride to the back side of the bosque, leave their horses in its cover and move in on foot to the entrance of the tunnel. That would be their best way and also leave them with a chance of escape should they have to defend the house against an overwhelming force and be forced to retire. Now he dared not take the risk of going so close with horses. He would leave a man to watch the horses, but one could not hope to watch and silence the mounts of fourteen. This would not have mattered too greatly without the party beyond the walls. The horses might have made some slight noise, but were unlikely to start neighing if alone. Even should a sentry inside the building hear the noise he would have been unlikely to bother about it and definitely would not leave the safety of the walls to investigate. But if he, or the men outside, should hear a horse neigh in answer to one of their own mounts, they most certainly would check up.
‘How much further to the bosque?’ he asked.
‘About a mile. But there’s a draw about half a mile further on.’
Dusty could trust the Kid to make his own estimation of the situation and come up with the right answers. Half a mile was about as close as he would risk taking the horses in.
At that moment Dusty remembered Almonte. He turned and found the haciendero listening. Their eyes met and Almonte smiled.
‘We’ll have to leave the horses in that draw, sir,’ Dusty said. ‘Reckon you can make it?’
‘I think I can.’
‘Let’s go then.’
After leaving the horses under guard in the draw, Dusty led his men out and through the darkness. Cowhand and vaquero boots had never been made for walking long distances in but the party made good time at first. Then Almonte stumbled and almost fell.
‘I’m all right!’ he hissed as the men halted.
But he knew he lied. His leg ached and would barely support his weight. It took an effort to place the foot upon the ground and rest his weight upon it even without the muscle-tearing agony of trying to walk with it.
Dusty came out of the darkness and faced the old man. ‘You’ll take help from two of the boys, sir,’ he said.
‘No! I can—’
‘Pancho, Carlos, lend Don Francisco a hand!’ Dusty growled out the words and the three men from the O.D. Connected knew that tone. When Dusty used it all the ranch’s crew jumped to obey without question.
Proud and imperious though he could be, strict leader of men he had undoubtedly been, but Almonte recognized the tone. He gave Dusty permission to lead the raiders before they left and he must obey like the others. In a situation such as this there could only be one leader and Almonte was not him.
Without a word more of argument, forgetting his false pride, Almonte allowed his men to help him. Help, they were all but carrying him along. A smile played on the old don’s face. He had never had the pleasure of meeting Old Devil Hardin, but remembered much of what he heard about that doughty Texas warrior’s way. Dusty Fog must be much like Ole Devil, most probably modeled himself upon his uncle’s ways. One thing Almonte knew, it would go hard for any man who disobeyed Captain Fog when on a dangerous mission such as this.
Twice before they reached the edge of the bosque Dusty changed the men helping Almonte. He wished to have all his force in as good a condition as possible when the time for action came, not to have some of them weak and slowed by exhaustion.
For the same reason Dusty halted the men at the edge amongst the trees and allowed the Kid, whose wiry, Indian-tough frame never seemed to tire, to make a scout and ensure none of the soldiers were there gathering firewood or for any other reason. A man who took chances did not last long in the dangerous game they played that night and Dusty wanted to stay alive, so he took every precaution he could think of.
‘Not one of ’em about,’ announced the Kid, if one could make an announcement in a whisper. ‘They’ve settled down, bedding in around the fire. Looks like they don’t figure on getting in tonight.’
Dusty had hoped the men might still be yelling abuse at the guard on the wall and debating the issue amongst themselves so their noise would cover any sound his party made. Well, a man could not expect all the breaks his way. It meant they would have to go a damned sight more careful, that was all.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Lead the way, Carlos.’
Again this was a simple precaution for the Kid did not know where the slope and rock might be, although given time he would easily find them. The point was Dusty and his party did not have time to spare.
Moving brought another problem. It would be difficult for three men to walk abreast in silence, which made the carrying of Almonte even harder. Although he could understand the old don’s reasons for wishing to return to his home, Dusty wished he had taken a firmer stand and insisted Almonte stayed in el Laberinto. Not that Dusty wasted any time in futile wishing. Almonte had come and so must be helped along.
‘How about it, Mark?’ he a
sked.
The big Texan grinned, handed his rifle to Waco and stepped forward. ‘It won’t be dignified or comfortable, but I reckon I can.’
Bending, Mark slipped an arm between Almonte’s legs and draped the old man over his shoulder in the manner of a fireman carrying a victim of the flames. In such a manner was Don Francisco carried through the woods on a mission to recapture his home. Not like his Conquistador forebears who rode to war on white chargers, but he raised no objections.
After a short walk, with Mark doing his best to avoid slamming Almonte into tree trunks or impale him on branches, the men reached the slope. Ahead of them, bulky, large against the earth, stood the big rock which blocked their way into the secret tunnel.
From his first glance Dusty knew they had another problem to solve. He had first hoped to bring horses in and use their power to haul the rock aside, but they were too far away and would have been no use for the area had thick bushes which restricted free movement. On leaving the horses Dusty had told four of the men to bring ropes, hoping to be able to get loops over the rock so that all of them might help pull. Now, with their movement restricted by the bushes, they would be unable to do so or not without more noise than they could risk.
‘How did you move the rock in?’ he asked turning to Almonte who sat with his back to the bank.
‘Levered it with poles. I had them taken well away from here after we used them so they could not be found and connected with the rock and the tunnel.’
It seemed that everything which possibly could go wrong was doing so that night. A man might be excused if he gave vent to rage, to cursing or fell into blank despair at so many repeated reverses.
‘My father once told me he saw two men move the rock by hand,’ Almonte went on, while Dusty tried to think how they might get into the house without using the tunnel. ‘They were his father’s peons, men noted for their great strength.’
Not only had Dusty heard this, Mark listened and then turned to walk towards the rock. He walked along one side, running his fingers over the rough stone. Down it, near to where it rested against the slope, he felt a deep groove such as might have been carved by men seeking to make a handhold. If he could get a hold, brace his feet against the slope, he might—no, that mass of rock would resist the strength of one man, even Mark Counter.
Yet according to Almonte, two men had moved it. With this thought in mind Mark walked to the other side of the rock, feeling the surface. Sure enough, there lay another groove. Something might yet be done. But only one man could get to either side. Who could he use; who might best balance his strength?
Turning, Mark saw every eye directed at him. He took in each shape, but he knew there could be only one choice.
‘How about it, Dusty?’ he asked.
None of the others, with the exception of Waco and the Kid, knew why Mark selected Dusty to help him. The Almonte men had all seen examples of Mark’s enormous strength during his time with them. The men with Sanchez remembered seeing the burly Marcus sergeant hoisted into the air and held at arm’s length over Mark’s head on the night of the baile. Yet not one of them knew why he picked the smallest of their party to help him move the rock.
Mark showed Dusty the hand-hold, pointed out what he thought would be the best way for them to move so as to bring their full power to bear. For a moment Dusty looked at the rock, then nodded his agreement.
‘Lon,’ Mark said. ‘Watch until we’re both ready, then say pull.’
If they were to succeed in moving the stone it would call for concerted effort on both their parts, not sporadic and separate pulls.
‘Ready, Mark?’ asked the Kid when both men took their places.
‘Yo!’
‘Set, Dusty?’
‘Yo!’
‘Pull!’
If ever a man shouted in a whisper the Kid managed it. Dusty and Mark stood beside the rock, their fingers in the grooves, their legs bracing against the wall and both began to pull. Muscles bulged, swelled, writhed and tensed under the strain.
‘They’ll never do it!’ groaned Pancho.
And so it seemed for long seconds. The rock stood firm and without movement as if a solid part of the surrounding earth.
‘Look!’
Sanchez hissed the word. Every eye saw the rock shiver in its bed. Or had it? Yes! It moved. Only an inch, but it had moved. Another inch, then two and three and four! Slowly, that mass of rock slid forward across the ground. Nor did the two straining Texans offer to release their hold until they had dragged the heavy weight far enough to give access into the tunnel mouth behind it.
‘Stop!’
On the Kid’s word both Dusty and Mark ceased their pulling. They leaned on the rock, gasping for breath. Mark knew for sure his strength alone could not have moved the rock. He also doubted if any of the others, even Waco, could have supplied the necessary extra power needed to move the dead weight from its place.
‘I don’t believe it, even though I saw it!’ Sanchez breathed to the Kid. ‘A man of Captain Fog’s size—’
‘Tell you something, Sanchez,’ replied the Kid. ‘Was Dusty as tall as Mark I’d bet on him having even more heft and muscle.’
When he thought of it later, and gave Dusty closer scrutiny, Sanchez was inclined to agree with the Kid.
Fourteen – You’ve Made One Hawg-Stupid Mistake Too Many
After a few seconds Dusty and Mark recovered sufficiently from their exertions to accept the whispered congratulations of the other men and prepare to lead the way into Casa Almonte.
‘Let’s go,’ Dusty said. ‘Carlos, take the lead. I’ll come next.’
Probably Carlos knew the tunnel better than any of the others, even Almonte, for the young man had passed along it recently. He stepped through the gap and faded from sight. Dusty, having retrieved his carbine, followed with Mark on his heels.
The men who made the tunnel for Almonte’s ancestors did their work with the intention that it remained for many years and subsequent generations of the family kept up its repair. Even Mark could stand erect, although his hat just brushed the roof and there was room for two men to walk abreast. Waco supported Almonte, the old man’s arm across his shoulders and his powerful young frame taking the weight.
‘Now this here’s what I call a real good idea,’ he whispered to Almonte, too excited to keep quiet for long. ‘Be real handy should your good borrowing-neighbors come to call.’
‘I think the tunnel was built for more dangerous visitors than borrowing-neighbors,’ Almonte replied, talking to try and forget the agony of his leg.
‘There’s nothing more dangerous than borrowing-neighbors,’ grinned Waco. ‘I tell you, sir, they’d borrow the food offen your plate, than take the table as well ’cause you didn’t need it no more.’
‘Boy,’ growled Mark’s voice from the Stygian blackness which surrounded them. ‘Happen you don’t stop tromping on my heels, I’ll fix your wagon but good comes us getting out of here.’
‘Whyn’t you-all try it?’ the Kid replied from between Mark and Waco.
‘Thought it was that danged young fool, Waco,’ said Mark in disgust. ‘Ought to have remembered you damned wild Comanche war whoops always jump a man in the dark.’
The Kid chuckled then asked, ‘Got a match, boy?’
‘Buy some of your own! I’ve been keeping Mark and those other jaspers in smoking ever since you left.’
‘I always heard a fool and his tobacco were soon parted,’ put in Pancho who had been one of Waco’s team of raiders and felt he was being disparaged.
Bracing Almonte, Waco hooked back with his boot, hoping to land on Pancho’s shin with a rowel. He missed and carried on. Further back Sanchez let out an explosive grunt.
‘I always thought gringo cowhands were loco. But since meeting you bunch I don’t think so any more. I’m sure they are.’
‘And I always allow a segundo’s a feller even cowhands reckon is loco,’ Waco countered. ‘Whooee! All this here walking’s plumb
dangerous. Knowed me a cowhand once, he caught walking-on-the-feet, plumb sickened right off with it. Didn’t kill him though, just wore his ankles down to the knee bones. We called him Shorty after that.’
The others chuckled, not loud enough to cause echoes, but loud enough to let Dusty know their spirits remained high. One day when he had nothing to do though, he would have to take that hell-twisting kid and teach him to keep quiet.
On through the blackness the men tramped. For some moments none of them spoke but Waco could not keep up the silence for long.
‘Dusty, hey Dusty!’
‘Yeah?’
‘Happen we come up in Dodge City I’ll buy you the best meal the Texas House can give.’
‘We are nearly there, I think, Captain!’
Carlos gave the warning quietly and Waco’s talk finished without his needing to be told. The other men became tense and alert, no longer talking in undertones or chuckling at the youngster’s words.
‘Do you need a light?’ asked Dusty.
Flame flickered up as Carlos rasped a match without waiting to reply. Ahead of them stood a wooden door, a key hanging on a peg inside it. This puzzled Dusty but Carlos explained it was always left there so that anyone who came in through the tunnel could open the door. He had locked the door on the inside and hidden the key he used rather than take the chance of being found with it.
Turning the key in the lock, Carlos inched open the door. They heard voices although not too close at hand, angry voices from the sound of them for the words could not be distinguished.
The door swung inwards and its face carried a covering of what looked like the same rock as the rest of the cellar. They were at the very side of it, hidden behind a row of large wine barrels. Carlos squeezed his way along with Dusty and the other men following.
Dusty and Carlos peered around the end of the barrels, towards the lights some distance away. Looking along the space between the wine racks, Dusty gave a low whistle of surprise at the sight he saw. He and Carlos moved out into the open and Dusty looked back.
