Gringo Wade

by Tony Masero

  Judas waited patiently as Gringo came over and stood before him.

  “A word, Judas,” said Gringo.

  Judas laid aside his book and pipe and got to his feet. He stood above Gringo by a good ten inches and the scout had to look up at him, a thing he did not like to do.

  Something gleamed momentarily as the man moved and Gringo looked down to see the tomahawk fixed in his belt, the sharp little hatchet blade no more than three inches across at the blade with a round hammer head at the opposing end. The metal shone dully in the firelight and Gringo realized it was darkened with soot much as the Apache did with their own weapons when going on a raid. Long handled, the leather bound wood was fitted with brass headed nails for grip. The beads of brass rippled with reflected firelight like so many small eyes in the darkness. A businesslike device, the only levity about the weapon appeared to be a decorative tassel of feathers and horsehair that hung from the end.

  “What is it?” Judas asked. His deep voice, solemn and slow in presentation.

  “We are ordered on a mission by the Boosway.”

  All the men knew that La Touquet’s word was final, without his accepted dictatorial rule there would be no order and the independently minded men of the troop would not function as a unit. Most of them recognized this and acted accordingly, of those that could not follow the rule, the punishments for infringement were swift and severe. Simple banishment or the loss of some toes for the more serious offenders.

  “Tell me,” said Judas.

  “The Apache. We are to follow and bring back the child.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Ten.”

  “Just you and me?”

  Gringo shook his head. “No, one other. Allumette.”

  Judas looked at him for a long moment as if assessing the viability of it. “When?” he asked.

  “Now. Allumette prepares the pack animal. I will get a fresh mount and we’ll leave.”

  “You have eaten?”

  Gringo shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Then do it. I will get your mount.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the big man turned away and moved into the darkness as silently as a shadow.

  “You have an ‘ard one with you there,” called a strong French accent from the mess fire behind Gringo.

  “Oh, yes?” he said, turning.

  “My fren’ tread softly. That one, ‘e live with the dead, you know?”

  “I have heard the stories,” said Gringo.

  “Here,” said the Frenchman, a small man wearing a hooded, blanket-made blue capote with a black barred hem. “Come sit. ‘Ave a dish with us.”

  Gringo did not argue, he sat with the other men around the fire where a cauldron hung from an iron triangle over the flames. The Frenchman, who Gringo knew was called Batiste Laurenne, picked up a metal plate and filled it with stew from the pot before passing the plate and a hunk of bread to Gringo.

  “There, my fren’. Enjoy, I ‘ave cook this myself. It is good. Ground squirrel, you will like it.”

  Gringo had to admit he did, he had not eaten all day and after his earlier strenuous activities he was hungry and it only took a few minutes to devour the stew.

  “I tell you,” Batiste went on, ladling out another serving. “Judas is a good man in a fight. But ‘e is, ‘ow you say? Closed off. You know, the door is shut on life. Be careful, Gringo, ‘e is a man who wish to die, I think.”

  There was a low rumble of agreement amongst the others around the fire.

  “Are the stories true then?” Gringo asked.

  Batiste nodded. “Ah, oui. They are true. It is said that ‘e took thirty Apsaalooke scalp and keep them in a box. I ‘ave seen the box. ‘E kill them all and then leave his mark,” Batiste made a chopping motion with his hand. “With the tomahawk, you know?”

  “So they say,” agreed Gringo.

  “Way I heard it told, it was their heads he took,” corrected a man from the other side of the fire.

  “’Ead’s, ‘air, what does it matter?” said Batiste. “That one waits to go to ‘ell, ‘e ‘as nothing left to live for.”

  “You ready?” growled a low voice solemnly from behind Gringo.

  It was Judas, appearing magically from the shadows. They all jumped guiltily, for even though the men were attuned to hear every noise in the wild they had not noticed the big man’s approach and wondered if he had overheard their conversation. Judas made no mention and Gringo climbed awkwardly to his feet.

  “Thank you all for the stew, messmates,” he said, turning to leave.

  “Be strong, my bold fren’s,” Batiste called out loudly after them. “Carry the long gun and wreak ‘avoc among the savages.”

  Gringo heard Judas mutter a barely audible aside as they moved away.

  “Seul le silence est grand, tout la reste est faiblesse.”

  Gringo who was a capable linguist, translated and smiled at Judas’ oblique criticism of the voluble Frenchman.

  ‘Silence is great, all else is weakness.’

  It seemed his new companion was an educated man and Gringo thought that would be a good thing to keep in mind over the next few days, anyone who could read and understand Alfred de Vigny in the original French bore watching.

  Chapter Three

  He was called Litso Chíníí by his own people, the Jicarilla Apache.... Yellow Dog. As a child he had slain a large hungry wolf with a rock when it troubled the tribe’s ponies and when the men found the dead beast it had fallen amongst wild flowers and been coated with a layer of drifting pollen. Pollen, a sacred commodity amongst the Apache gave the deed added merit and also gave the boy a name.

  The Mexicans, made it a lot simpler, they called him Asesino.... Killer.

  He was of the Hoyero Jicarilla, the mountain people and his home was in the mountainous redoubts that reached from this Mexican owned part of the Americas right up to Colorado and that was where he and his band were bound. It had been a good life-taking this time. That had been the ambition they had set out on. A war raid. But now they had the bonus of twenty good horses to bring back with them.

  Asesino had heard of the Mexican authorities offer of one hundred dollars for an Apache scalp, they had even put a price on women and children’s hair too. He had lost an aunt and two uncles to such a wanton reward and it had sickened him and then angered him and so he had decided to make some Mexican’s pay a price in retribution. In company with others of a like mind from his own tribe he had taken the warpath to exact revenge.

  They had killed the four Mexicans and the white American woman and now they had the girl child who would one day bear children and replace the lost members of the tribe. It was a fitting result. In all Asesino was pleased and he rode at the head of his war party feeling the power of this success flow through him. Nothing though, showed of this pride in his face, he maintained the stony appearance that kept his thoughts hidden and gave him the air of authority the others respected.

  He rode with a mixed band. For once the tribes were at peace and working together against the invaders. Four of his men were relatives of the uncles and aunt and came from the people of his own tribe, the Gulgahén. Three others were southern neighbors from the Mescalero and two of the Cihéne, the red paint people, also rode with them. The latter were the most warlike and wore the Chiricahua stripe of red paint laterally across their faces to underline their aggression. It was they who had dismembered the staked out women, their hatred for the Mexicans almost equaling his own in its ferocity.

  Asesino was pleased with the war band, they were all of the ndé, the People, all hardened and experienced warriors except for one. His younger brother, Mapache, who travelled with them on the third of his four novice raids before becoming a full warrior. Mapache was fourteen years old and he carried with care the religious symbols of his standing where he rode at the tail of the company. Until completion of his four raids he would not own the spirit power of the feathered warrior’s war cap and so must take on a lowly
support role.

  They rode openly without fear of attack by any following enemy, yet Asesino kept scouts out in front and to each flank where he suspected that any danger would come from. Those who might have followed were all dead. It was true he would rather be on foot in this low lying land but with the herd it was necessary to stay mounted.

  He saw the dust ahead as one of the Chiricahua, Nachez, came loping back towards him from his position in front as point scout. Nachez was holding his newly won musket above his head in both hands. It was a signal that they should stop.

  Asesino raised a hand to halt the column and he waited patiently for Nachez’s report. He jerked a chin in query as the Chiricahua pulled up alongside him.

  “A white man’s ranch,” Nachez pointed back the way he had come. “They have cattle.” Nachez raised his eyebrows in hopeful query at prospect of the prize.

  Asesino considered. Cattle would be an even greater addition to their bounty. They could slaughter and then smoke-dry the meat. It would keep the hogans warm for many weeks in the cold winter months.

  “I will see it,” he said. “Show me.”

  With the herd circled and kept in check by a few riders, Asesino set off in the tail of Nachez. They spoke little, as was their rather stoic manner and rode in silence until approaching a row of high round-topped hills where Nachez made a motion to dismount. From there they approached on foot, climbing carefully so as not to raise any advertising dust cloud.

  Lying flat across the summit of the softly rounded mound, Asesino assessed the view across to the ranch.

  It was a well-positioned defensive site, the structure of the main buildings erected atop a hill opposite that lay at the center of an open plain. Five head of cattle were kept in the pens situated on the plain below whilst the ranch itself held the high ground surrounded by a secure wall of adobe.

  “It would be hard to take that place,” observed Asesino quietly.

  “But the cattle?” said Natchez, his eyes greedily taking in the small herd below.

  Asesino nodded. “In the night by stealth. No sound. Perhaps it could be done.”

  “Yes,” agreed the Chiricahua forcefully. “It can be done.”

  “It will take five of us. The rest can stay with the horses but we will have to travel hard afterwards. No sleep. Do you know how many white eyes are in the ranch?”

  Nachez shook his head. “Without climbing the wall into the ranch it is hard to be sure. I have seen three white men. One young, two older.”

  Asesino nodded. “There is the risk. We do not know our enemy’s numbers.”

  “But they are not the soldiers with long knives and wagon guns, Asesino. We can kill them if they come. They are only men.”

  “Maybe,” was all the agreement Asesino would give the fiery Chiricahua. “They will have guns though,” he warned.

  “We have guns,” the warrior moved the musket beside him in emphasis.

  “You have seen three men with guns, that is one gun more than we have and there may be others.”

  “It is a risk, Asesino but all life is risk. And we are warriors, we live to risk.”

  Asesino allowed himself a thin smile at the others determined spirit governed by the simple homily.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “If nothing else we will kill them all.”

  **********

  It was night and they moved on foot.

  Each man had trained to run great distances in such a way. Seventy miles in this manner was not extraordinary for the Apache. From childhood they had practiced running uphill with a mouth full of water to learn the value of breath taken only through the nostrils. So their passage was at an easy lope and the softness of their moccasin boots kept them silent as they moved.

  A full moon was riding high and Asesino considered that unfortunate. Disguising their movement was difficult in such brightness. The light was stark and he led them in single file within the blackness of deep shadow where he could. At this hour, early before the dawn, it was the moment when people slept the most deeply and this was the time he most favored for such raids.

  Then he saw the coyote.

  With a sharp intake of breath the party halted as one. Coyote, the Trickster. It did not bode well.

  The animal stood in their path, grey and still in the moonlight. It did not move but watched them with baleful eyes that glowed in the reflected moonlight. The five men and the beast stared at each other across the open space between them.

  “What do we do?” whispered Natchez.

  “Wait,” said Asesino.

  Both parties stood frozen and as they waited Asesino could feel a wave of superstitious doubt seeping into his men and filling them with uncertainty.

  Why did the animal not move, he wondered. It watched them fearlessly, surely it must be a spirit dog to show such courage. Asesino felt the doubt beginning to invade his own mind.

  “We should go back,” advised one of the others. “Coyote is warning us.”

  Asesino, in a bold gesture that allowed him leadership over the others, moved suddenly, walking towards the coyote.

  “Ho, Coyote!” he said in a low even voice. “If you are spirit then speak. What is it you want of us?”

  The coyote moved back a careful pace at his advance then it crouched down low a moment before turning and running off into the night.

  Asesino walked back to the band, he bade them squat down and they obediently lowered themselves in a circle around him. With a finger he indicated that two should face outwards and be on watch.

  When it was done, Asesino looked towards the Jicarilla shaman. No war party travelled without one and although a young man, With Eagle Glance was considered by the people to have the power of spirit wisdom.

  “What do you say on this, With Eagle Glance?”

  The shaman was silent. He sat on the ground and folded his legs before him.

  “It is said of Coyote that he is a trickster but once he was out-tricked by a man of the People,” he began and the others listened attentively. “It was told this way. Coyote came and took a man’s wife. The man wanted his woman back so he followed Coyote. He asked the owl and other creatures for direction and through them he found where Coyote had taken his wife and held her in a high place. The man prepared a feast for Coyote and he served him with great deference. It was all a ploy, for he had wrapped big round stones in fat and as Coyote took them and swallowed them whole with great satisfaction he did not know that there were stones inside. When he had eaten too many the stones weighed him down and it was then that the man could escape with his wife. The woman was purified and they lived in contentment from then on.”

  The group waited silently for Asesino’s assessment of the tale. It was his right to determine the significance and take the lead from its meaning.

  “The danger is on the hilltop, in the high place,” Asesino began slowly. “We, like the man in the story must use deception. Only when the white eyes are drawn out are they vulnerable and Coyote has shown us the way. Who amongst you can imitate the call of the coyote well?”

  Lapwing of the Mescalero raised his hand. “I am good with this,” he said.

  “Then this is how it must be,” Asesino went on. “Lapwing will go down amongst the cattle and stir them with the call of the coyote. He must make them restless so they make noise and panic, this will draw out the men from the ranch who will fear their animals are in danger.”

  “And if they have guards on the cattle?” asked one other.

  “Then they must be silenced,” snapped Natchez, the Chiricahua. “That I will do.”

  “If there is such a one then it must be done quietly,” warned Asesino. “Once it is done you must take the man’s place so the white eyes will think that a guard is still in position and so suspect nothing.”

  “I understand,” agreed Nachez.

  Without another word, Asesino got to his feet and the others followed as he turned and trotted off towards the ranch.

  **********

>   Billy Joe Bendigo hated the night watch.

  It was his bad luck to have it this week. The sleepless nights left him irritable and dull witted the next day and he was never was able to sleep properly in the daylight and recover. Just when he had met the girl too. What a beauty she had been. Billy Joe recalled her pale braided, almost white, blonde hair and ready smile and he grew restless at the memory of her tall slender figure as she led her small sister and brother by the hand and teased him with a coquettish glance. Ellen Darby. She had told him her name. At eighteen she was five years older than he and yet she had talked with him as if they were equals and treated him as if he were full grown. A feisty girl he thought, not one to mince her words being quite personable and able to take charge, a quality he supposed coming from the need to care for her younger siblings on the long trek west.

  Ellen’s family had been part of a group of wagons passing through and the young woman would probably never be seen again but she had fast become the source of all fantasy for the testosterone driven body of young Billy Joe as he approached a lonely puberty exiled in the desert.

  It was strange and most unusual to see American wagons and families down here and especially ones protected by a troop of Mexican military. There was no love lost between the two nations and yet this train had managed to get the accompanying lancers to ride alongside it. There had been much speculation amongst the Bendigo’s as to what it meant and they had been determined to ask their employer, Don Luis de Montoya when he visited them. Although, in truth, Don Luis rarely got out this far on his vast estate, the result of a grant bequeathed to his family by the King of Spain. Normally he stayed safely ensconced in his luxurious and well-defended hacienda and left the management and danger of his outlying properties to his vaqueros and in this case an American family he would not miss much if lost.

  Billy Joe’s thoughts turned again to his present predicament and he wondered how it was that his father Ben and elder brother Lucas seemed to have no problem spending a night awake and then a day at work whilst he, the youngest at thirteen years, seemed unable to adjust. Only his mother and younger sister Mary Jane had any sympathy for his plight and would try to maneuver extra helpings for him at breakfast. But even their kindness did little to ease his resentful mind and he usually pouted for the entire week after he kept the night watch.