Gringo Wade

by Tony Masero

  Without saying another word, he understood their rejection and slowly bowing his head Cuchillo faded back into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness.

  “It gives me shame,“ said Nachez when he had gone. “That one of my people could behave in such a way.“ Mournfully he sunk his chin to his chest.

  “The shame is not yours,” Asesino advised him tactfully. “A man is his own responsibility.”

  “But still, he is of my tribe and he did not fight to the end and protect your prize.”

  “We will get back what is ours,” Asesino said forcefully and the band collectively grunted approval.

  “Then when do we attack the wagons?” asked Nachez.

  “We are too few and they are too well guarded for us now but I have plans for them, do not concern yourself,” said Asesino. “First we see to my brother.”

  Swiftly, the shaman, With Eagle Glance completed a truncated version of the death ritual and the warriors mouthed the songs wordlessly lest their sounds be carried to the nearby wagon train. When he had finished they hastily bound the body in a blanket, dug a hole in the ground and covered the grave with stones. Finally the shaman nodded acceptance that all had been done as well as it could be and with an angry nod, Asesino hurriedly bade the warriors mount up.

  Asesino’s face was twisted in a bitter anger as he led the band out. A rage burned in his chest at his loss and its manner. In his heart was resentment for the exiled Chiricahua, Cuchillo, the lone survivor. Even though the man had brought his brother’s body back to him he still felt as leader of the group Cuchillo should have stood his ground and died with his men. He vowed he would not forget or forgive the omission.

  Dawn was threatening the sky and breaching the cold desert night with its warmth. Soon it would be hot and Asesino longed for the burning rays to scold his skin. He wanted the searing heat to keep alive the smoldering fire of vengeance that burned in his heart and filled him with the single intention of finding the white man that had slain his brother and tearing him limb from limb.

  Chapter Eight

  Ellen awoke with a start.

  She was sure she had heard something and she listened intently. Through the wide weave of the sacking they had hung over the wagon mouth for privacy she could see the sky was brightening and knew that the solid black of the desert night was giving way to the intense blue that heralded the day. She could hear nothing now, pushing aside her covers and careful not to disturb her sleeping family she raised the sacking and peeked out.

  The Mexican Cazadore night guards were nowhere to be seen and she guessed they had done as they usually did and absconded for a forbidden nap amongst the dunes. They were lazy, simple creatures and prone to always take the easy route. Peons conscripted against their will and forced into a regime they had no natural liking or willingness to follow.

  A warm wind was beginning to blow. It flapped the canvas and raised swirls of dust on the desert floor. The cold air of the night meeting the heat of the coming day and as the two collided they raised a balmy breeze.

  Barefoot and dressed only in her nightgown, Ellen climbed down from the wagon and stood, arms spread wide ready to feel the warm breath against her sleepy skin. She breathed deeply, enjoying the moment, knowing full well it would not be long before this pleasant moment gave way to the hot hammer blows of an intense sun beating cruelly against the anvil of the desert.

  Brewster watched her silently from beneath the bed of his wagon. He was a light sleeper and had heard the creaking wood as she had descended from her family’s wagon. His eyes narrowed as he watched the wind press the thin material and mold it tightly to the girl’s form. Ellen had developed into a fully figured young woman with high rounded breasts and a narrow waist and the sight stirred Brewster as the long nightshirt was pressed even deeper between Ellen’s parted legs by the caressing breeze.

  The sight of the young creature was too much for Brewster and common sense gave way to a rampant lust in his mind. He slid from under his blanket and with a lascivious grin began to crawl out from the wagon shadow and across the ground, he moved in a wide circle that would bring him up behind the girl. Ellen, meanwhile, ignorant of her observer, stood enjoying the sensory moment of solitary pleasure. It felt good to have some freedom away from the ever-present company and she savored the privacy, closing her eyes and raising her chin as the wind carried her fair hair away behind her.

  Suddenly, Billy Joe Bendigo came into her mind and she smiled. He had seemed such an ardent friendly young fellow and she almost wished he were here with her now. But he had only been a boy and her thoughts turned to the more attractive and bolder figure of the handsome Captain Alcazar with his chiseled lips and brown skin. She wondered girlishly what it would be like to be enfolded in his athletic arms and press her mouth to his.

  Ellen had never been kissed. At least, not properly. Only the briefest of brushes on the lips by embarrassed young naval officers at dances on the base and those stolen away from under the ever-watchful eyes of her parents. Propriety forbade her delving deeper into any more physical expectations but she had read enough romances and her youthful fantasies dwelt on the possibility of a brave hero that might rescue her from some obscure danger and carry her off to the safety of a desert fastness there to live in a vague and nebulous paradise of loving bliss.

  The hand that clamped down over her mouth and the arm that held her tight around the waist and lifted her bodily caught her completely by surprise and promised none of those romantic fantasies. She smelt the taint of Brewster’s tobacco breath and felt his unshaven chin against her cheek.

  “There, lovely,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. “I have you now. No harm, no harm,” he hushed with fake reassurance.

  Wide eyed, Ellen kicked. Her legs thrashing wildly as Brewster carried her. He was strong and held her fast in his tight grip despite her struggles.

  “Now, now,” he chided, carrying her bodily and making his way out away from the train and towards the enclosing dunes. “It’s going to be fine. Old Caleb won’t hurt you. Just a little fun and games.”

  Ellen tried to scream but his hand successfully muffled her cries. Brewster was panting now, his breath coming fast and beads of sweat crowning his brow as they crested a rise and sunk below the level of the dune, out of sight of the train.

  “There, there,” he growled, pushing her and forcing her face down into the dust. “Be quiet now, girl. Don’t make a fuss.” His voice had taken a harder edge and Ellen looked fearfully over her shoulder as he began to lift the hem of her nightdress.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please don’t.”

  “Oh my,” husked Brewster, spreading his fingers and spanning the back of Ellen’s exposed thigh. “What a fine plump little chick you are.”

  He knelt before her and began to unbuckle his belt. “Won’t be a moment, my dear. Not a moment,” his voice quivered with expectation and Ellen took the opportunity to corkscrew under him, turning and pushing at his chest in an attempt to get out from under.

  With a dark frown, Brewster swung back his arm and backhanded a stinging blow across Ellen’s forehead hard enough to make her see stars.

  “There,” he snarled, as her head rolled away, stunned. “I didn’t want to do that but you’re forcing me, girl. Now you just rest easy. You’ll like it, you see if you don’t.”

  With a smug grin, Brewster straddled her and began to slide her nightdress above the thigh. Ellen’s dazed eyes filled with shock and terror as she felt the indistinct loom of Brewster’s dark shape press down over her.

  There was hard smacking sound, the crack so loud it made Ellen jerk out of her stunned state and brought her to her senses again. Brewster’s silhouette slid sideways and she felt relief as his weight slipped away.

  “Senorita, senorita, are you alright?”

  It was Captain Alcazar. He knelt beside her and patted her cheek gently. Her vision cleared and she could see his worried face staring down at her.

  “I’m….
I’m…. he tried to….” she mumbled.

  “I know,” said Alcazar, pushing his pistol back into his belt. “Don’t worry he will pay for this. Now, come on. I will carry you.”

  He swept her up in his arms and from within his firm grasp she looked down and saw the unconscious body of Brewster spread-eagled on the ground.

  “You hit him, Captain?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, I hit him with my pistol butt, you can be sure,” answered Alcazar as he climbed up the dune. “He is lucky I did not do worse. For one of my own men it would have been a bullet in the brain.”

  Ellen was savoring the moment. It was bizarre, she thought. Only minutes before, it seemed, she was fantasizing of such a moment under some similar circumstances. One minute she is in the brutish grasp of a callous thug intent on taking her honor and the next a handsome cavalry officer has swept her into his arms. It was almost as if it were all a dream.

  “My God! What has happened, Captain Alcazar?”

  It was her father, hurrying towards them, looking faintly silly she thought, as he was still in his nightshirt and sleeping cap.

  “Your man, the driver Brewster,” explained Alcazar. “He tried to force himself upon your daughter.”

  Darby spread his arms out to take his daughter and Alcazar passed the girl across.

  “Put me down!” Ellen snapped in annoyance, preferring to have stayed in Alacazar‘s arms. “I am quite capable, Father.”

  Darby set her down with a frown and studied the rising red mark where Brewster had hit her. “What happened here, Ellen?”

  The camp was awake now and Ellen’s mother came hurrying across as Alcazar turned to two sheepish looking Cazadores night guards and ordered them to bring in Brewster.

  “The guards should have been more attentive,” Alcazar apologized. “This man, the driver,” Alcazar explained to Mrs. Darby. “He attempted to take advantage of your daughter.”

  “But, what were you doing outside the wagon, my dear?” asked Ellen’s mother with a worried frown. “You know full well the dangers.”

  Ellen was a little distressed by all the attention and her recent close call. “I was merely taking the morning air,” she said haughtily.

  “In your nightdress?” asked her father with one eyebrow raised critically.

  “Father,” explained Ellen, with embarrassed patience. “I did not know anyone else was about.”

  “Get along back to the wagon, go on, go with your mother,” he turned to the Captain. “Now,” he said, with cold calmness. “Let’s see what this fellow Brewster has to say.”

  The Cazadores came over the dune dragging a stumbling Brewster, who shook them off irritably.

  “Get your miserable hands off me,” he snarled, rubbing the side of his head where Alcazar had struck him.

  Stony faced, Darby faced the man. “What’s this about, Brewster?” he asked sharply.

  “Nothing, sir,” whined Brewster innocently. “I was just walking out with your daughter, seeing she was safe, is all. Then this dago here,” he turned spiteful eyes towards Alcazar. “He struck me down. Look here, raised a lump on my head the size of a turtle egg.”

  Darby was silent a long fuming moment. “I think not, you despicable creature. Remember, man, I know of your history. Force yourself on my daughter, would you? I could kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Don’t take on so,” Brewster was regaining his composure and he pushed his chest out belligerently. “The girl has been offering herself the whole trip. Teasing and sashaying about. Its only natural a man should respond.”

  Darby started forward but held himself in check only by force of will and Alcazar‘s hand on his arm. “You miserable swine,” he spat at Brewster before turning suddenly to Alcazar. “I’d be obliged, Captain, if you’d take this man into custody. We’ll mete out punishment in due course.”

  “You can’t do that to me!” cried Brewster. “I’m an American seaman, a white man and a citizen, you can’t let these foreign greasers take ahold of me.”

  “You’re a seaman under my command,” snapped Darby. “And I’ll do with you as I will.” he turned again to Alacazar with a questioning look.

  “It shall be done, Senor Darby.” Alcazar nodded at the Cazadores speaking rapidly in Spanish and the two soldiers grabbed hold of Brewster and dragged him away.

  “You’ll be sorry!” cried Brewster as they carried him off. “I’ll not forget.”

  Darby stood there watching, his face a brew of distressed thoughts. “The fool, what a damned mess,” he muttered.

  “What will you do?” asked Alcazar.

  “I’d like to shoot the scoundrel,” said Darby bitterly. “But unfortunately we need him, he’s a Master Gunner, important to our mission. Any other and I’d have him hung up by the neck before I shot him myself.”

  “You cannot let him get away with such an outrage whatever he is, senor.”

  “I know,” answered Darby grimly. “Discipline must be maintained. We’ll deal with him in the old Navy way, have no fear.”

  Later, when Darby had gathered the entire convoy together, he ordered the nature of the punishment. They stripped Brewster of his shirt and tied him, face to a wagon wheel, and spread out wide and bound at both ankles and wrists.

  “Kirby,” Darby ordered one of the sailors. “Take up the bullwhip and see to it.”

  Kirby, who was a large, able-bodied deck hand, took a deep breath and coiled the long snake of braided leather into a coil.

  “You dogs!” howled Brewster. “Messmates, you’ve no right to do this, I‘m one of your own.”

  “Get it done, Mister Kirby,” said Darby sternly. “Twenty lashes and I want to see you lay it on, if you don’t you’ll be taking his place.”

  The lash whistled out and cracked across Brewster’s naked back. He cringed and gritted his teeth as the leather hit, his fat body shivering as if cold.

  “Make it count, Kirby!” barked Darby.

  Kirby stepped back a couple of paces and delivered a more forceful snaking blow, the long whip popped in the air and snapped across Brewster’s pale skin raising a livid welt. It took three more of the deck hands strong lashes before Brewster began screaming.

  Darby stood and watched along with the gathered Mexican troops, his face dark and determined. Ellen meanwhile had escaped her mother’s attention and stood in hiding behind her family‘s wagon. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to forget the ugly attack and the dreadful events that were taking place. Her mother and the children crouched in the body of their wagon with hands pressed over their ears as the blood curdling cries faded finally to a sobbing whimper.

  At the twelve count, Brewster had sagged down to become a semi-conscious and incoherent figure. He hung from his bonds, his back a mass of weeping flesh.

  Kirby looked questioningly at Darby. “Sir?” he asked.

  “Carry on,” Darby said quietly.

  “Senor,” interrupted Captain Alcazar. “There is no point, he can no longer feel a thing.”

  Darby whirled on the Mexican. “He set about my daughter, Captain. What would you do if it was your child?”

  Alcazar compressed his lips and nodded silently.

  “Get on with it,” Darby said to Kirby.

  There were two other watching seamen on Darby’s team apart from Brewster and Kirby. The Master of Ordnance noted their faces from the corner of his eye. Pale and grim faced they watched tight-lipped, it was obvious they did not approve and for the sake of his gunnery team’s morale Darby relented.

  “Belay that order, Kirby. Cut him down.”

  Brewster’s fellow sailors quickly rushed forward and supporting the limp figure, cut him free from his bonds.

  Kirby coiled the whip and casually wiped the blood he found on his hands down his trouser leg, he turned to Darby and spoke quietly.

  “Best watch your back now, sir. Brewster’s a mean one, he’ll not forget this.”

  “And neither will I, Mister Kirby,” Darby was bitter,
thinking of his daughter‘s bruised face. “Neither will I.”

  At that moment and unnoticed by the others, Cuchillo was dragging a resisting Ellen away from the wagons and into the dunes. He held her easily. He was a strong warrior and carried her slight figure under one arm whilst he kept a strong hand clamped over her mouth. He squeezed her steadily around the middle, driving the air from her lungs until her eyes rolled back and she fainted away. Then, he slung her still form over his shoulder and loped off to find his pony.

  It had been simpler than he thought it might be. A proof of his bravery was required and he determined that some exploit to prove his courage would be possible around the white men’s wagon train. Their distraction whilst they beat their fellow man had allowed Cuchillo to approach with ease and he had spotted the young woman standing alone and out of sight of the others. With no difficulty he had come upon her silently and soon she was his. A prize, well worth taking back and showing to Asesino and the others as evidence of his capabilities.

  Chapter Nine

  Gringo was getting a crick in his neck from watching their trail behind.

  He did not like their slow journey. It was an onerous task, herding the livestock, caring for the distressed children and keeping an eye on the wounded Judas. The dour mountain man seemed to be bearing up well, despite his wound. They had bound him up tightly and although he bowed a little in the saddle he remained clear eyed and attentive. Gringo had bade him take the lead and scout ahead whilst he and Allumette kept the herd in line, each of them carrying a child before them on the saddle.

  Although the horses moved along sprightly enough, the steers complained and plodded along more slowly. They all needed water and Gringo hoped that a watering place would appear soon.

  They were leaving the arid sand dunes with their dry covering of sagebrush and chaparral as they approached a low range of granite topped mountains. Gringo was gratefully sensitive to the slight shift in temperature as they came in sight of the range with its promise of water.