by Tony Masero
“Yes,” said Bowley, slapping Kirby on the shoulder. “That takes a mighty man with some real muscle.”
“It does indeed,” grinned Brewster. “Now, you fellows know, I’m not a one to complain but I don’t take kindly to being banged about in front of them foreign dogs. And for what? A bit of slap and tickle with a lass. Who of you hasn’t done the same in his day or, setting eyes on that little hussy Ellen Darby hasn’t had exactly the same thoughts?”
“She’s a fair enough piece of skirt and that’s the truth,” agreed Kirby.
“I like her,” mumbled Jinks, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. “She’s nice.”
“Nice!” snapped Brewster. “Nice? Wanton little slut if you ask me. Came up to me on the wagon seat, pressing up close and making all sorts of promises. Why, I was led on by her wayward ways.”
“Is that a fact?” asked Bowley. “You mean it wasn’t you that carried her off.”
“Come on, Bowley, what do you take me for? She’s the one that offered and I accepted.”
Brewster lied with such conviction that the others frowned collectively, feeling the injustice of the beating he had received even more severely.
“Far be it from me to say but I think that Darby has overstepped the mark,” Brewster said finally with a pretended show of reserve. “Offering judgment without hearing all the facts, just because it was on his daughter’s say so.”
“Well, I never knew that‘s how it was,” growled Kirby. “That’s not right, it surely isn’t. Man shouldn’t have to pay for temptations placed in his way like that.”
“Darby’s got delusions of grandeur,” Brewster went on. “I’ve seen it happen a million times before aboard ship. We all have, haven’t we? They get a bit of a position and suddenly they act like gods, walking all over their old shipmates and treating them like dogs.”
“Yes,” Bowley smiled slyly. “But, aboard ship, they always get their comeuppance don’t they?”
Brewster nodded, letting the venom he had spread take root. “To be sure they do.”
The men looked silently at each other across the firelight, an unspoken idea creeping into their collective minds.
“Are you thinking what I am?” asked Kirby quietly.
All of them nodded agreement except for Jinks who looked around dumbly. “What?” he asked.
“The ‘what’ of it is that we take over the gun, you dummy,” said Brewster. “Poor mister Darby has a little accident just as he would as if he were an unpleasant officer aboard ship. You know, those ones that mysteriously vanish overboard one dark night and are never seen again. With him out of the way, we call the shots, quite literally too as these greaseballs will never know how to fire the Standalone themselves. That means real power, messmates. We control the cannon and make a pretty poke of Mexican gold for ourselves into the bargain.”
“I like it,” grinned Bowley. “Yes, indeed I do.”
Kirby was doubtful, “We’ll never be able to go back home though.”
“Why not?” said Brewster. “We’ll be rich men. All of us. With gold in our pockets nobody will dare question us.”
“I suppose,” agreed Kirby.
“But he’s the commander and aimer,” complained Jinx.
“So?” said Brewster. “You think we can’t fire the cannon without his nose stuck along its sight. I’m a master gunner, I can do his job and all of yours besides.”
“Yes,” mumbled Jinks. “You can.”
“That’s right, I can. So are we all agreed. The Master of Ordnance takes a little tumble and we all walk in to fill his place?”
They all growled agreement. “We’ll need a plan,” said Kirby. “And what about his family, the wife and two little ones?”
Brewster shrugged. “Can’t say as I care overly. They can come with us or stay here if they like. I reckon once the old man’s out of the way, they’ll only be too glad to do as we say.”
“Maybe we should just do with them all in one go,” said Bowley.
A silence hung in the air as they all digested that prospect.
Brewster broke the silence. “Might be the best all around.”
“And the Mexicans, that Captain Alcazar is no fool?”
“What can he do?” asked Brewster. “They need us too much for him to quibble. He still has to carry out his orders and bring the cannon in. I tell you fellows, it’s all ours for the taking. We just have to rid ourselves of Darby.”
“So, how do we do it?” asked Kirby.
“I’ve a plan,” said Brewster. “And it’s all going to be down to you, seaman Kirby….”
**********
Panic had overtaken the camp as the Cazadore pickets picked up the approach of Gringo and his party next morning. They arrived in the midst of a moment of high drama.
It had been mid-morning when the great wagon bearing the cannon had developed a list on one of its rear wheels, the wheel leaning at an angle, its hub perched dangerously on the lip of the axle. On the request of Kirby who was supporting the wheel rim, Darby had knelt down and taken a look under the teetering wagon wheel to see if the ground was firm enough for a prop. It was then that the wheel seemed to give way completely as Kirby lost his grip and the heavy wagon had dropped, collapsing on top of the wheel with Darby pressed beneath it. The Master of Ordnance lay trapped under the wheel with the full weight of the wagon keeping him pinned. He cried out once in anguish and then was silent.
“He still breathes,” said Kirby, amidst the screams and cries of alarm.
Captain Alcazar turned as he heard the warning call from his Cazadore guard. He saw the band of men approaching with Ellen in their midst and with a nod of relief at her rescue turned quickly to the more immediate problem.
“Lift!” he cried. “All of you, get the weight from off him before it crushes the breath from his body.”
Mrs. Darby, trembling hands clasped over her mouth saw Ellen then and screamed. A cry of terror and joy, she herself did not know which. Ellen ran to her and they clung to each other as they watched the men struggling with the wagon.
The three mountain men dismounted and leaving Lucy still seated on his saddle, Gringo walked over to the accident site.
“Who are you?” asked Alcazar, as he waved over more of his troops to help raise the heavy wagon.
“Gringo Wade, scout for the Le Touquet expedition. We found the young lady a prisoner of the Apache.”
“I sent out a patrol of lancers….”
Gringo shook his head, “The Apache ambushed them.”
With a bitter frown, Alcazar turned his attention again to the straining band of men around the wagon.
The men were sweating and heaving, Brewster making a show of urging his fellow sailors on as they laid a long timber under the tail and tried to lever the shaky timbers. It appeared they were making little impression though, the wagon barely shifting under their efforts and as Gringo looked down at the pallid features of Ellen’s father he knew the man had little life left in him.
“Offload the wagon,” he said.
“We can’t,” answered Brewster. “It’s a solid mass, too heavy without block and tackle.”
“You have barrels, crates?” Gringo asked. “Get them to prop it up underneath.” He looked over his shoulder at his companions. “Judas, can you try?”
Without a word the big mountain man handed his musket to Allumette and came over, he brushed his way through the gang of heaving sailors and Mexicans and squatted down until his broad shoulders locked underneath the sagging axle.
“Now, you men,” he growled. “We do it together. On the count. One - two - three, LIFT!”
With a grunt, Judas began to press upwards and with a collective cry the others joined in and struggled to lift also. The wagon creaked, its timbers complaining under the strain. It shifted uncomfortably and dust drifted down from between the planking onto the heads of the men.
Judas gritted his teeth, the veins beginning to stand out on his forehead. His th
ighs trembled as his shoulders took the weight and he levered upwards. Judas’ chest heaved, he took great gulping gasps of air and then with a mighty cry he made his last extreme effort and the wagon lifted.
“Quick!” called Gringo. “The barrels, prop the axle, let them take the load.”
Barrels and beams of timber were thrust underneath and although they sunk in the sand beneath the terrible weight of the wagon, they held it fast and high enough to clear the wheel from over Darby and finally free him. Ellen and her mother rushed forward as the man was released, kneeling they covered his body, hugging him close as tears streamed from their eyes.
Standing looking down at the scene, Brewster sucked air through his teeth, “He’s gone,” he said stone faced, then taking the pipe from his pocket and stuffing a wad of tobacco into it he added, “Didn’t stand a chance.”
Gringo thought he noticed a look passing from the man to the rest of the sailors. He was not sure but the scout thought it could appear to be a smug little smile of victory if one were to interpret it in such a manner.
“Oh, my dear. My dearest man,” sobbed Mrs. Darby, she looked around desperately at the watching men. “Does he live? Tell me, he lives.”
Ellen stared at Gringo, her tear streaked face begging him.
Gringo knelt and with a hand reached out and felt Darby’s cold features, he turned to Mrs. Darby. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Deeply sorry but I fear he has gone from us.”
Captain Alcazar slapped a defeated hand against his thigh and hung his head. “It is terrible! My condolences, ladies. I am truly sorry. Have no fear my men will see to everything.”
“None of that Latin stuff,” growled Brewster. “He was an American and he’ll be laid out as such.”
Alcazar whirled on Brewster. “The proprieties shall be observed, have no fear, senor Brewster.”
Gringo could see that here, just as on a more national level, there was little love lost here between American and Mexican.
“Somebody got a blanket to cover this poor man,” he said.
**********
The wound on Judas’ back had opened up again after his struggle with the wagon and Mrs. Darby was distracted from her grief by the necessity to play nurse to the mountain man. Ellen meanwhile tended to the children and Lucy was soon integrated into the company of Ellen’s little sister and brother.
The mood in the camp was somber as preparations were made to lay Darby’s body in the ground and Gringo took the opportunity to spend some time with the Mexican captain, whom he felt was a man of some understanding.
“May I ask what happened here, Captain?”
Alcazar pouted slightly with down turned lips and shrugged. “Maybe an accident, I am not sure. There has been little love lost between your fellow Americans and their commander. The man Brewster was recently punished. It was not a popular decision, I think.”
Gringo looked across at the group of sailors standing around Brewster, they spoke in quiet tones together, smoking their pipes and watching as the Cazadores dug the grave.
“You say you are on a mapping mission, senor Wade but where is your main party now?”
“Oh, some way off,” Gringo brushed past the query noncommittally. “We were sent to bring Miss Darby back to her people.”
“For that I am grateful, we were sorely worried on her behalf.” He paused thoughtfully, “My men, the patrol sent out after her, they were ambushed?”
“I’m afraid none survived, Captain. Be assured though we laid them out decent.”
“Thank you for that, senor. And the Apache….”
“All slain bar one.”
“So we are safe you think?”
Gringo shrugged. “As one can ever be.”
“Then that is a relief. It will give us time to fix the wagon and bury senor Darby. Will you join our camp for a midday meal, senor?”
“Thank you but let me offer the services of our Allumette, he is a fine cook and will prepare a good meal for us all I am sure.”
Alcazar offered a slight bow. “You are most kind.”
Brewster came over and brusquely interrupted, his attitude was now blatantly more aggressive.
“So, what do we do now?” he asked Alcazar, glancing once at Gringo dismissively.
“Why,” shrugged the Mexican. “We continue, of course.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Brewster. “Circumstances have changed now. We have no commander and as American servicemen we are not about to fall under Mexican control, my fellows and me won’t have it.”
“You have made an agreement with my government, senor Brewster. The delivery still has to be made.”
“The agreement was made with Darby and in case you haven’t noticed he’s not with us no more.”
Alcazar was calm, although Gringo could see his temper was being stretched, “You have received a portion of your fee in advance, have you not?”
Brewster nodded, his face a picture of arrogant confidence. “Well maybe we should renegotiate our arrangements now the commander is gone.”
“You speak for all your men,“ Alcazar asked.
“I do, I’m the next highest ranked rating here. Its me you have to deal with now.”
“Well, senor Brewster, my task is to see to your safe passage only. That is as far as my orders extend, I cannot deal with any financial negotiations, that will be up to my superiors when we reach our destination.”
“Just so we understand ourselves, Captain. I am in charge of the American detachment now, there’ll be no orders given to my men unless they pass through me.”
With a face like thunder, Alcazar spread his hands in surrender and Brewster, with a sneering glance at the two men, turned on his heel and walked away.
“Pleasant fellow,” observed Gringo.
“Hmm,” Alcazar made no other comment but his features spoke volumes.
Later when they had all feasted on a surprisingly good dish created by Allumette from little more than pinto beans and bacon in a sauce created from dried apricots, brandy and flour. It was decided the burial would take place in the late afternoon when the sun had dissipated some of its heat.
Dutifully they all gathered around the dark hole with bowed heads as the sun sunk low and Ellen attempted to lead the service until she faltered and joined with her mother’s sadness and broke down in tears.
Gringo kept Lucy close to him, his hands resting on her shoulders as they stood at the graveside. The perceptive child knew full well what was happening and she watched Ellen’s distress with sympathy until her own loss was stirred and she too gave way to tears in memory of her mother. She pressed into Gringo’s comforting hands and he swept her up and held her sobbing little body against his shoulder. It was a natural act and only later did Gringo wonder at his actions, surprising himself with the show of tenderness.
When the service was over and the children placed in the Darby wagon for sleep, there was a general solemn silence that fell over the camp and only then did Gringo find an opportunity to talk with Ellen. He found her standing beside her father’s grave, her hand resting lightly on the rough cut wooden plank they had set in the ground and bolstered with rocks.
“It’s not much to remember him by is it?” Her fingers running over the hot-poker burnt sentiments on the surface of the panel.
It read - ‘Commander Joseph H. Darby. Gave up the Ghost in this Year of 1844, May Angels Guard’
Gringo stood behind and brought his arms around and enfolded her.
“You will remember him with affection I am sure,” he said.
“I will. He was a good man and a loving father to me. I wish you could have known him.”
“Then he will live on as long as you think of him so.”
She snuggled back against him and sighed. “Will you care for me?” she asked. “I feel very alone just now.”
“I will care for you always,” he whispered in her ear. He looked down at the marker and the mound that covered the Master of Ordnance. “I did no
t meet you, sir, and I fear now I never shall. But know this, I am for your daughter’s hand. I shall cherish her and give her all I can for her prosperity, you have my word on it.”
She turned in his arms and kissed him urgently.
“As I shall for you,” she said. “Before my father’s grave I swear it so.”
Even in the dim light he could see her eyes burning into his with the fervent promise.
Chapter Fifteen
Asesino was surprised at the number of Indians in the encampment.
He was told that refugee members of the Mohave and Yuma tribes had arrived and built their wikiups amongst the Cahuilla. As he strolled through the vast camp he could see that of all the tribes it was the Mohave that were no farmers and obviously the most warlike. Asesino found himself naturally gravitating to their company. They wore little in the way of clothing but tattooed their bodies freely, using ink made from the cactus plant. The designs spoke a language of their own and only gradually did the Apache begin to discover the significance of the striped panels and chin marks that covered the flesh of the Mohave Indians.
All these people were being pushed deeper into the desert by the advent of the whites and the murderous aggressiveness of the Mexicans. Old enemies were forced into truces of convenience and the combined encampment was spread across a wide open plain in a new found peaceful coexistence.
As Asesino walked through the camp he saw the differences amongst the tribes plainly marked through the basketry, beadwork and tattoos. The women ground mesquite pods on metate, and busily fashioned their baskets whilst the men worked on weapons, using grooved soapstone arrow straighteners. Their weapons he noted were mostly stone tipped and no match against the white men’s muskets but what stirred his interest was the sheer numbers of men.
He decided then that if he could use this convenient gathering of the tribes to his benefit there was a veritable army in the making that needed only one thing: a war chief to direct them.
