Renegades

by William W. Johnstone

  “I am fine, Captain,” Don Felipe replied stiffly. Frank instantly sensed the dislike between these two men. “Please, avail yourself of the comfort of my home.”

  The Rurale captain swung down from his horse and barked a command at his sergeant for the men to dismount. He handed the reins of his horse to the sergeant and turned back to Almanzar, Antonio, and Frank.

  The officer was tall and lean, with a narrow face and a neatly trimmed mustache. He smiled, but his dark eyes were cold as he glanced at Antonio. They warmed slightly with a spark of interest as his gaze turned toward Frank.

  “A visitor from north of the border,” he murmured.

  Don Felipe gestured toward Frank. “Señor Frank Morgan, of Texas,” he said. “Señor Morgan, this is Capitán Estancia of the Rurales.”

  The captain actually clicked his boot heels together as he nodded to the American, and Frank thought that somewhere along the way the man must have been drilled by a Prussian mercenary. Frank knew that El Presidente, the dictator Porfirio Diaz, had hired professional soldiers from all over the world to help train his army.

  “Captain Domingo Estancia of the Gendarmeria Fiscal, at your service, Señor Morgan,” the officer said in English. “What brings you below the Rio Bravo?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Frank lied. “Don Felipe was kind enough to extend his hospitality when I found myself on his land.”

  Almanzar said, “Señor Morgan is too modest. He was responsible for saving the life of my daughter when she was attacked by a mountain lion.”

  Estancia’s thin eyebrows arched. “Indeed?”

  “I was in the right place at the right time to lend the young lady a hand,” Frank said with a shrug.

  Don Felipe added, “And before that, he was attacked by bandits.”

  Estancia was even more interested in that. He leaned forward as he asked sharply, “The ladrones who ride with the Black Scorpion?”

  “I don’t know who they were,” Frank said. “I never got a look at them.”

  Captain Estancia waved a hand toward his men, who had all dismounted and were being taken into the bunkhouse, probably to be fed by Don Felipe’s cooks. “My men and I have been in pursuit of the Black Scorpion for days now. Anything you can tell me that might help us will be greatly appreciated, Señor Morgan.”

  “Sorry,” Frank said. “Like I told you, I never saw whoever it was who took a potshot at me.”

  Estancia took a deep breath, the nostrils of his high-bridged nose flaring. “Very well. On behalf of El Presidente Diaz, I apologize for what happened to you, Señor. Such disgraceful things are a shame on our beautiful country.”

  “I’m all right. Nothing to worry about, Captain.”

  Estancia looked around. “I do not see Señorita Carmen, Don Felipe. I trust she was not injured in her encounter with the mountain lion.”

  “My daughter is fine,” Almanzar replied, the chilly stiffness in his voice again. Obviously he didn’t want to discuss Carmen with the Rurale captain. “She is resting.”

  “Ah. Perhaps I will be blessed with the beauty and graciousness of her presence at a later time.”

  “Perhaps,” Don Felipe said curtly. “For now, Señor Morgan, Antonio, and I were about to sit down to dinner. You will join us, of course?”

  “Of course,” Estancia said.

  The four men went into the hacienda, trailed by Esteban and the other servant carrying torches, which were extinguished once the men were back in the soft yellow glow of the lamps.

  At an order snapped by Don Felipe, the Indian women hurried to set an extra place at the table. Unlike the simple meal earlier in the day in the parlor, this one was more elaborate, served on the gleaming hardwood table. At each place setting were fine china, silver, and crystal.

  “After many days on the trail, this reminds me of El Presidente’s palace,” Captain Estancia remarked as he sat down. He had given his sombrero to one of the servants to hang up on a peg, and the light from the chandelier above the table shone on his scalp. Frank thought it looked a little like a skull. Estancia went on. “I appreciate your hospitality, Don Felipe.”

  “As always, it is my pleasure to host the representative of El Presidente.” Don Felipe didn’t sound all that pleased, though, Frank thought.

  The women brought out platters of thick steaks, tortillas, and corn on the cob, bowls of beans and peppers and thick sauces. There were enchiladas and tamales, pots of stew, bowls of cut-up squash and tomatoes and peppers, pork ribs, rice, and fried chicken. Maybe not quite enough food for an army, Frank mused, but nobody was going to leave this table hungry.

  The men dug in, eating heartily, washing down the food with wine from glasses that never seemed to empty. Frank just sipped his, knowing that he wanted to keep a clear head.

  After some time had gone by in relative silence, Antonio asked, “What deviltry has the Black Scorpion been up to this time, Captain?”

  Frank saw Estancia’s fingers clench harder on the silverware he held, as if the mere mention of the Black Scorpion angered him. “The damned bandit and his rabble blew up a railroad bridge south of here. When a train came along and was forced to stop, they boarded it and looted it, robbing all the innocent men and women who traveled on it.”

  “When was this?” Don Felipe asked.

  “A little over a week ago. We were able to get on their trail quickly, but despite that, the devils have eluded us.”

  Frank took a sip of his wine and then said, “I heard something about this so-called Black Scorpion on the other side of the border. Folks up there are blaming him for a raid on a ranch northwest of San Rosa several days ago. How could the same gang be operating on both sides of the border with such a short amount of time in between?”

  “Nothing seems to be beyond the capabilities of the Black Scorpion, Señor Morgan,” Estancia replied solemnly. “He crosses the Rio Bravo with impunity, daring both the Gendarmeria Fiscal and the Texas Rangers to capture him. He seems to know all the trails, all the ... what do you call them? ... shortcuts.” The captain gave an eloquent Latin shrug. “So far, the Black Scorpion has had things all his own way But the time is coming when justice has its day.”

  “That is all one can pray for,” Don Felipe said. “That justice will triumph.”

  Estancia cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course.”

  Once more Frank sensed some byplay under the surface in the comments by both men, especially Don Felipe Almanzar. He wondered what the chances were that the man might open up to him and reveal what was really going on here. Pretty small, Frank decided, at least for the time being. It would take a while to build up some trust between them. The fact that Frank was a gringo wasn’t going to help.

  Antonio took a drink of his wine and then said, “I’m not sure anyone will ever catch the Black Scorpion, Captain. It is said that he can disappear like a shadow in the night or a puff of wind.”

  Estancia scowled. “Any man who is human can be caught, and the Black Scorpion, despite being in league with Satan, is human.”

  “Are you so sure?” Antonio smiled.

  “We have no need of such talk, Antonio,” Don Felipe snapped. He must have known, as well as Frank did, that Antonio was goading the captain. The dislike in the air was palpable.

  Estancia narrowed his eyes as he studied Antonio over the rim of his wine glass. “The task of capturing the bandit would be less difficult if he had not terrorized all the peasants and small landholders into helping him. They fear his wrath too much to cooperate with the authorities. Perhaps one day they will realize there are others whose wrath they should fear even more.”

  “Perhaps,” Antonio said. “But perhaps they already know this and consider the Black Scorpion the lesser of two evils.”

  Don Felipe changed the subject by saying, “While your troop is here, your men should feel free to fill their canteens and replenish the supply of grain for their horses, Captain.”

  Estancia inclined his head. “Gracias, Don Felipe.”<
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  “And as late as it is, you are welcome to spend the night, of course.”

  “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

  “I suspect, though, that your quest will force you to leave on the morrow.”

  “Unfortunately true. Our scouts are out now, seeking the trail we will follow.” Estancia turned his head to look at Frank. “Señor Morgan, I would know more of you. Your name ... It is familiar to me for some reason.”

  Before Frank could answer, Antonio said, “North of the border Señor Morgan is a famous gunfighter, Captain. Perhaps you have heard of the man called The Drifter?”

  Recognition flickered in Estancia’s eyes. “Of a certainty. You are very well known in your country, are you not, Señor Morgan?”

  “Too well known, sometimes,” Frank said. “Trouble seems to find me whether I’m looking for it or not.”

  “To one degree or another, that is the way of the world, is it not?”

  Frank nodded. “Seems to be.”

  He didn’t care for the sort of verbal fencing that was going on at the table. Don Felipe and Antonio didn’t like Captain Estancia, and it seemed like the Rurale officer didn’t care much for them, either. Antonio was still suspicious of Frank, and now Estancia was, too. And over it all, somehow, loomed the shadow of the Black Scorpion.

  “Father,” Carmen said reproachfully from a balcony overlooking the dining room. “No one informed me that we had visitors.”

  The four men came quickly to their feet. Captain Estancia did that heel-clicking thing again, and this time he bowed all the way to the waist. “Señorita Almanzar,” he said as he straightened. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

  “Carmen, I thought you were resting,” Don Felipe said as Carmen walked over to the staircase that led down to the dining room.

  “I was,” she said, “but I feel much better now.”

  Estancia was right about one thing, Frank thought: Carmen was beautiful. She wore a long, light blue gown that left her shoulders and throat bare down to the top of the cleft between her breasts. Her arms were bare, too, and Frank thought she must have been a little chilly in that getup. The servants had started a fire in the fireplace in the parlor—Frank could hear the crackling of the wood through the open door—but the warmth of it hadn’t spread very far into the dining room.

  Looking elegantly lovely, Carmen came down the stairs. Captain Estancia was the closest to her and might have stepped forward to take her hand, but Frank saw the fires of anger burning in Don Felipe’s eyes and moved quickly, sliding around Estancia to reach Carmen first. He ignored the pain that the hasty action caused in his sore ankle. He took Carmen’s hand and found it smooth and cool.

  “Allow me, Señorita,” he murmured. Holding her hand, he turned to escort her back to the table.

  When he did, he saw the dark glower on Captain Estancia’s face. He had sensed before that the officer disliked him; now he was certain of it.

  Frank didn’t care. A young woman like Carmen didn’t need the attentions of a man such as Estancia.

  Don Felipe was about to call the servants to set a place for Carmen when she stopped him.

  “I am not really hungry,” she said. “But I would like a glass of wine.”

  Don Felipe frowned. “I do not like to see you drink wine, Carmen.”

  “I am old enough,” she shot back. “I am old enough for many things now, Father.”

  At that, a smile appeared on Estancia’s face that was just short of a leer. Frank saw it and thought that he didn’t like Estancia, so the feeling was mutual now.

  Don Felipe flicked a hand at Esteban, who poured a glass of wine for Carmen. She sipped it and smiled and laughed and flirted with Captain Estancia as he made small talk with her. The faces of Don Felipe and Antonio grew darker.

  Frank asked himself what in blazes Carmen was up to. Was she just feeling giddy because earlier tonight she had been with her mysterious lover?

  There was no telling what sort of blowup the strained atmosphere in the dining room might have culminated in, because the sounds of a disturbance came abruptly from outside. Men shouted angrily in Spanish. The commotion sounded like it might turn into a brawl.

  But then a shot rang out and an even more ominous silence fell, the sort of quiet that could usually be heard just before all hell broke loose.

  14

  The four men started up from their chairs. Even Carmen tensed and leaned forward. “The Black Scorpion!” Estancia said.

  “I doubt that,” Antonio said. “The Black Scorpion has never bothered us.”

  “Raiders sent by Cecil Tolliver!” Don Felipe said. “That is more likely.”

  Frank didn’t think the ruckus was caused by either of those things. It had sounded to him more like an argument between two groups of men. Almanzar’s vaqueros and the captain’s Rurale troops, most likely.

  Don Felipe and Captain Estancia started to stalk toward the door at the same time. Ever the polite host, Don Felipe stopped and let Estancia precede him. He and Antonio were right behind the officer, though. So was Frank.

  When they reached the courtyard in front of the hacienda, they found about what Frank expected. Don Felipe’s vaqueros were bunched up on one side, muttering and casting dark, furious glares toward the Rurales on the other side of the courtyard. While the vaqueros all wore six-guns, none of them had drawn a weapon. That was probably because the Rurales had rifles leveled at them. It must have been one of the Rurales who had fired that warning shot a moment earlier, Frank decided.

  The subject of the disagreement was in the front ranks of the Mexican police. One of Don Felipe’s men was held tightly in the grasp of two of the Rurales. He struggled to get loose, but they hung on. Blood dripped from a cut on the captive’s forehead.

  “What is going on here?” Almanzar demanded in a loud voice.

  Captain Estancia strode forward and barked at his sergeant, “Explain yourself, Cabo!” The Spanish words flew quickly, but Frank understood them.

  The sergeant, a swarthy, heavy-mustached man who looked more like a bandit than any of the men Frank had seen in the camp of the Black Scorpion the previous night, gestured toward the prisoner and said in a guttural voice, “This man spoke against El Presidente! He said the people would be better off without his foot on their neck! And then he called us Diaz’s dogs!”

  An angry murmur went though the ranks of the Rurales at that.

  Don Felipe stepped forward and said to the captive, “Is this true?”

  The vaquero being held by the Rurales blinked blood out of his eyes and said, “I only spoke what all of us feel, Don Felipe. These men come swaggering in here and eat our food and lust after our women, and when one of them demanded that I give him my tobacco, I told him that I do not share with dogs!”

  The sergeant turned and rammed the butt of his rifle into the vaquero’s belly The man gasped in pain, then bent over and retched. He would have fallen if not for the cruelly tight grip of the men holding him.

  “See?” the sergeant said as he turned back to Estancia. “Sure disrespect cannot be permitted, mi capitán.”

  Frank glanced over at Antonio and saw that the young man was trembling from the depths of the outrage he felt as he looked at the prisoner. “Father,” he said quietly to Don Felipe, “are we to stand by and watch one of our men being treated this way?”

  Don Felipe looked furious, too, but he had his emotions under control. He kept a tight rein on them as he said, “Captain Estancia, I must protest. This is my land, and my men have the right to speak as they please.”

  Estancia sighed. “Unfortunately, this is not the case, Don Felipe. You know it is against the law to foment rebellion against the rule of El Presidente.”

  “Rebellion!” Don Felipe flung a hand toward the prisoner. “He just didn’t want to give up his tobacco to one of your men!”

  “The Gendarmeria Fiscal is empowered to commandeer anything we may need to fulfill our mission,” Estancia said.

&
nbsp; “But tobacco!”

  “It is not for refusing to give up his tobacco that this man must taste the whip,” Estancia said. “It is because his disrespect is an affront to our president.”

  Don Felipe drew himself up, and Frank could tell that his self-control was fraying. “The whip?” he said in a disbelieving voice.

  “Five lashes.” Estancia shrugged. “It is a serious offense, but since I have such great respect for you, Don Felipe, I will levy only a minor punishment.”

  Five lashes with a whip didn’t sound like such a minor punishment to Frank. Judging by the angry mutters that came from the crowd of vaqueros, they didn’t care for it, either. But if they tried anything, those Rurales would fire the leveled rifles, and the volley would be deadly at this range. In a matter of seconds, the courtyard would turn into the scene of a bloody massacre.

  Don Felipe had to know that, too. He drew a deep breath and then said, “Five lashes. It is ... just.” The words sounded like they tasted as bitter as wormwood in his mouth.

  Captain Estancia smiled, snapped his fingers, and gestured for the prisoner to be brought over to a hitching post. The rest of the Rurales covered the vaqueros while the sergeant drove the butt of his rifle into the small of the prisoner’s back and knocked him to his knees. His hands were jerked above his head and bound with rawhide thongs to the hitching post. The man who tied the knots drew them cruelly tight.

  Then the prisoner’s shirt was ripped off him, leaving his back bare. Knowing what was to come, he whimpered a little even though he had not yet been struck. The sergeant went to his horse and came back holding a coiled whip. He shook the coils loose, and the whip fell loosely around his feet, slithering in the dust of the courtyard like a snake.

  Frank glanced at Don Felipe. The man’s face might have been carved out of mahogany for all the emotion it displayed at this moment. The same couldn’t be said of Antonio, who stood there horror-stricken with his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. The vaqueros looked much the same way. They wanted to come to the aid of their comrade, but there was nothing they could do as long as they were menaced by those rifles.