by Lou Cameron
Everyone politely looked away as the big dog lay on its side with one leg raised and began to lick its bright red erection. The Divine Rowena’s face was almost as red as she kicked the mutt surreptitiously and batted her eyelashes at Gaston, saying, “Heavens, I think you just saved my life! I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to repay you!”
Gaston smiled gallantly and replied, “We’ll work that out later.”
Captain Gringo put his reloaded gun away and stood up, saying, “I’m going to have a look back in the other coaches. Somebody might have been hurt and the conductor doesn’t seem to be coming to fill us in.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Liza.
He started to shake his head. Then he decided it was a good chance to give Gaston a shot at his chosen quarry and, what the hell, he’d watch the luggage even if the Divine Rowena said yes.
He waited until Liza put her gun back in her purse and then he helped her up and led her back along the swaying corridor. None of the people they passed in the other first-class compartments had been hit, but most had been scared silly and it was sort of noisy.
They crossed to the next car back. The Divine Rowena’s manager, Jason, was waving his horse pistol about for no reason Captain Gringo could see. Apparently the other people around him were the troupe of touring players. They were reliving the attack in English and most of them had Northern European features. Unlike their flamboyant star, they were wearing sensible travel dusters over their clothing. A couple of the women wore hat veils. One of them didn’t look bad. But he hadn’t come back to meet any more actresses. He asked Jason if anyone in the group had been hit. The manager said, “No, thank God. I emptied my gun into the rascals and I’m sure I hit some. I saw them fall off their horses.”
“I noticed. Why don’t you reload that piece and put it away for now? Didn’t you tell us there was an armed military detail aboard?”
Jason pointed aft and said, “Next car. I didn’t hear any of them shooting back at the bandits. But, of course, I was shooting myself and my ears are still ringing.”
Captain Gringo nodded and led Liza on. When they found themselves alone on the platform between cars, the English girl asked, “Did you notice that none of them inquired about the Divine?”
He smiled crookedly and said, “Fair is fair. She didn’t seem to be worried about them.”
“There’s something funny about that woman, Dick.”
“I noticed that, too. I’ll bet when she puts on Romeo and Juliet she opts for a happy ending. But, what the hell, I doubt that Henry Irving and Ellen Terry play South America often.”
Liza laughed and said, “I’m surprised you know so much about legitimate theater, Dick. When did you ever get the chance to see Ellen Terry on the stage?”
“I used to live in the real world. I wasn’t always a bum.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, dear.”
“Skip it. Let’s see why our soldados are so shy.”
He slid the door to the second-class coach open, and took the lead. The coach they found themselves in had bench seats, but it was too crowded for everyone to have one. The peones were yelling back and forth above the sound of the railroad wheels and the cackle of chickens and geese. Near the center of the car, the crowd had made a circle around a woman spread out on the floor. The window above her had been shot out. So had one of the peon woman’s lungs. She lay in a nasty mess of blood and broken glass. Nobody seemed to be doing anything about it. Captain Gringo knelt to feel the wounded woman’s pulse. She wasn’t young and she’d never been pretty, but when she smiled up at him shyly, he smiled back and asked, “How do you feel, muchachita?”
“Very frightened, señor. Am I going for to die?” “Of course not. There’ll be a doctor in the next town, if there isn’t one aboard this train.”
He looked up hopefully at the others standing around. Most seemed sympathetic, but helpless. A sad-eyed fat woman crossed herself over and over, silently crying. A man with Indian features squatted down and reached in his dirty shirt as he said, “I have some coca, señor. Coca is very good for pain, but she says she does not feel any pain.”
Captain Gringo glanced at the dried leaves in his fist and said, “You are very kind, señor but we need bandages.”
Liza knelt, raised her skirt, and as some of the peon women gasped in awe, she began to tear a strip from the hem of her petticoat. He knew it was clean, but she did have TB and this was a lung wound they were talking about. As if she’d read his mind, Liza hunkered down beside him and said in English, “Let me do it, Dick. It won’t save her, but we have to do something.”
He nodded and held the wounded peon woman’s head and shoulders in his lap as Liza opened the front of her blouse. The woman murmured, “Oh, I must not expose myself, señora!”
Liza looked up and said firmly, “All of you men turn around and look the other way.” She’d forgotten she “didn’t speak Spanish.”
All but Captain Gringo did so, sheepishly. He apparently didn’t count, since he was a foreigner as well as the only male first aid available. In truth, there wasn’t a hell of a lot to get excited about when Liza had the woman exposed from the waist up. Her brown breasts were wrinkled and half empty. The bullet had entered just over the left one and her chest was a mess. Liza started chatting with the woman as she gently packed linen into the gaping wound. The woman said, “Forgive me if I seem disrespectful, señora. I am having trouble following you.” Then her head rolled limply and Captain Gringo murmured, “Is she unconscious?”
“Dead,” Liza said in a bleak voice, as she buttoned the woman’s blouse over the bandaged wound. He grimaced and said, “I feel better about the ones I shot back there, now. I don’t like to take sides before I know who’s fighting whom, but I don’t care who they were, now.”
Liza wiped her hands on the remaining scrap of improvised bandage and said, “I know. There ought to be a way to leave innocent bystanders out of these affairs, but nobody ever seems to manage.”
He lowered the dead woman’s head gently to the blood flecked-flooring and got to his feet, helping Liza to hers. As they stared together down at the pathetic figure at their feet, a burly man in a sergeant’s uniform blustered through the crowd and demanded, “What is going on up here? Where is the conductor?”
Captain Gringo said, “Nobody’s seen the conductor since we were shot up. I understand you have some other soldados aboard, Sergeant?”
“Si, one car behind. But what is it to you, señor? Hey, you are not from this country, eh?”
The tall American took out his passport. “We’re Canadian. My wife and I are bound for the capital to cover the debates for our newspaper.”
The sergeant shrugged and said, “That is none of my concern. We are only here in the lowland for to keep the peace.”
“That sounds reasonable. How come none of you boys fired when those whatevers attacked the train just now?”
“Are you trying to get smart with me, gringo?”
“No, just trying to be informed. I think I mentioned I work for a newspaper, and that I’m here with the permission of your government, didn’t I?”
“Hey, don’t get touchy, amigo. I don’t want no trouble. I got trouble enough already. You wish for to know why my men did not shoot? I will tell you for why my men did not shoot. It is all the fault of the crazy guns they just issued us. What was wrong with the old guns we had, eh? Madre de Dios, nobody needs a gun he does not know how for to shoot!”
“Really? What kind of guns do you have?”
Liza nudged him as the sergeant said, “Bah, first they give us these bolt action German things for rifles. Now we have a sort of Gatling gun, but it is not a Gatling gun. It has no hand crank for to turn.”
“You mean a machine gun? What kind is it, a Maxim or a Spandau?”
Liza took his arm and said firmly, “We have to get back to the others before they become worried, dear,” and he nodded as the sergeant shrugged.
“Si, I think so
meone said the piece of junk was a Belgian Maxim. Do you know about such weapons, señor?”
“Uh … I know what they are, of course. I’ve never fired one.”
“Ah! I was afraid of that. When those banditos attacked we cursed and swore, but the foolish machine gun refused for to shoot. Now we look most foolish, too, eh?”
Captain Gringo smiled at him and said, “Oh, I’d hardly say you and your men looked foolish, Sergeant. After all, some of the outlaws were hit, too, weren’t they?”
The sergeant looked surprised, but said, “Si, I counted four or five going down as we tried to clear our jammed machine gun. God knows who got them, but it was very nice shooting.”
Captain Gringo said, “I told you I was a reporter. I’m going to say one passenger and six bandits were killed in a running gunfight when I send my story on the wire. Some of the others on the train may have accounted for one or two, but it stands to reason that you trained soldiers must have nailed most of them, doesn’t it?”
The sergeant’s jaw dropped as he asked, “Hey, you intend to report it that way? For why, señor?”
“Why not? We’re all friends who just went through fire together, aren’t we?”
The burly man clapped him on the back and said, “¡Es verdad! We are comrades in arms and nobody can call you a gringo but me!”
He laughed and added, “As a matter of fact I don’t want for to call you gringo, either. How are you called, señor from Canada?”
“Uh, I’m Ian MacUlrich and this is my wife, Liza.”
“Bueno, I’m Sergeant Jose Vallejo and I am your amigo. Do you wish for to come back and meet the other boys? We got some aguardiente. We got some cerveza, too.”
Liza was tugging urgently at Captain Gringo’s arm. He didn’t really need her to tell him of the dangers involved in drinking beer and brandy with a band of celebrating soldiers.
He smiled wistfully and told the sergeant, “Maybe another time. We really have to get back to our friends up forward. How far up the line are you and your men going, Sergeant?”
Vallejo said, “To the foothills and beyond, to the next rail connection. We shall see that you, these others, and the mail, is safely on its way under the protection of the next division.” He looked uncomfortable and added, “This is the first time they have ever attacked a rolling train. Usually, one expects them to attack on the trail, when everyone is moving slowly. You first-class passengers, of course, will ride. But the mule trains move no faster than the second and third class can walk.”
Captain Gringo glanced around and couldn’t help saying, “If this is the second class, I’d hate to ride third.”
Vallejo shrugged and said, “You don’t have to. All North Americans are rich. These people have seats for to sit on and windows for to look out of. Perhaps that woman at our feet would have done better to ride third class, no? Nobody got hit, back in the boxcars. The banditos have it in for the upper and middle classes. They always shoot for first and second class.”
“I thought you said this was the first time they’ve smoked up a moving train, Sergeant?”
“I did. When we stop at the end of this line, you and your friends will spend the night in the best part of the tourist posada. We and the second class will shelter for the night under shed roofs inside the walls. Everyone else will sleep on the ground outside. The banditos never shoot at the probrecitos camped outside. They always try for to kill those who have the funds to travel in style.”
Captain Gringo glanced down at his “wife.” Liza was paler than usual, which made it pale indeed. He said, “Well, we’ll see you later this evening, then, Sergeant. It’s been nice talking to you. May we assume somebody is going to do something about this dead woman?”
Vallejo shrugged. “It is not my duty. Perhaps the conductor will leave her at the next station. Perhaps they will carry her to the end of the line. Who knows?”
Captain Gringo nodded and left them to sort it out as he led Liza back toward their own car. As soon as they were alone, she asked, “Have you gone mad, Dick? That soldier will remember us if we ever meet him again!”
He said, “Sure, that’s why I took the time to bullshit with him. You have to understand that we’re bound to attract attention down here, Liza, if only for looking well-fed, if not for our shoes. Trust me, I’ve been at this a while. Everyone comments on a strange Anglo. It helps if you have a local who shrugs it off and says he knows you, see?”
“I hope you’re right. I thought I’d faint when I thought you were going to show him how to shoot his machine gun.”
He laughed and said, “Hey, I’m cool, not stupid. I know my rep. Anyone expecting me will expect to meet me in the vicinity of a machine gun. I think I’d better start thinking of a better way.”
“Is there a better way for you, Dick?”
“Not really. I’m generally hired to do something noisy and there’s nothing much noisier than a Maxim or a Spandau, unless it’s dynamite. I don’t know which they’ll issue me when I make contact up the line. Meanwhile, I’m staying very quiet.”
“I thought that was why you credited those useless soldiers with the job you did on those rebels or bandits.”
“Nobody is useless, Liza. Bread on the water and all that crap. I’m pretty sure those gunmen were rebels, by the way. Vallejo’s story sounds like guys with political motivation.”
“I agree, but you certainly never hesitated when it came to shooting them.”
“Look, they were shooting at us. I don’t know which rebel band you Brits are backing but Gaston figures there has to be at least four or five rebel factions in all of these countries. I didn’t like that last bunch much.”
“But what if they turn out to be the ones the .American State Department wants you to work with, Dick?”
He shrugged and said, “I guess I’ll have to work with them. They could use some lessons in basic tactics, whoever they are, and you just saw me shift the blame for the ones we had to nail to more deserving shoulders.”
They came to the last private stretch of corridor before their own compartment. He stopped her and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away and asked, “Have you lost your mind?”
He laughed and said, “No. Just trying to change the subject to my favorite topic. Why don’t we duck into the ladies’ room, lock the door, and try for some vertical sordidness?”
She grimaced and said, “Sordid is right! I’ll bet you would do it standing up in all your clothes, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, all men are beasts. But how do you know you wouldn’t like it?”
“I have no intention of finding out. Let’s go back to our seats and see how Gaston and the dogs are making out.”
He laughed and said, “You say I have a dirty mind? Old Gaston accused the poor frump of bestiality, too. What made you suspicious?”
“Dogs that introduce themselves by sniffing at a lady’s crotch are rather obvious, don’t you think? We had a girl like her at school, back home. She and her sheep dog were inseparable, until the head mistress caught them in flagrante delicto and expelled them both.” She laughed as she added, “Some of us thought the poor dog might have been given another chance.”
It was his turn to wrinkle his nose. He said, “You’re starting to convince me. Gaston’s pretty good, but he’s never faced rivals like that for a lady’s favors.”
“I’m betting on Hengist. Did you notice the size of that big mutt’s tool?”
“Yeah, and he’s got a longer tongue than Gaston, too.”
Chapter Twelve
The first rail line ended against a steep escarpment. They arrived just at sundown and of course nobody in his or her right mind would attempt going on by mule or shank’s mare in the dark, bandits along the steep mountain trail or not. But as Sergeant Vallejo had said, they found a walled inn waiting for them when they disembarked from the train. There was a telegraph station, too. So as Gaston arranged quarters and saddle mules for the next leg of their journey at dawn, Captain Gringo
filed a report for the Ottawa Observer, detailing the attack on the train, but putting it down as an attempted robbery and crediting the soldiers with a magnificent display of courage.
He had no idea whether anyone in Canada would ever read the foolish tale, but he knew people who were worried about them would intercept it and know they’d made it thus far. Anyone suspicious of strangers would hopefully think, if they intercepted his message, that he was indeed a harmless reporter, friendly to the Colombian Armed Forces.
When he returned to the courtyard of the posada he found Gaston had engaged rooms for them on the top floor: one for Gaston and a corner honeymoon-suite for the English girl and himself. It was a good thing they’d gotten sexually acquainted on the steamer. There was only one four-poster bed, and the mattress sagged alarmingly.
Liza was waiting for him in their room, wearing all her clothes and a wary expression. She said, “Dick, I just checked the lock on that door.”
He closed it experimentally and twisted the big Spanish key in the massive lock. He said, “Looks pretty stout to me, doll.”
“Look at the key, damn it!”
He took the key out and held it up to the light. He nodded and said, “Yeah, it’s pretty primitive. Looks like those Crusader keys on the Pope’s coat of arms.”
“Pooh, it’s even simpler. I’ll bet anyone could open that lock with a pen knife or a hair pin. What are we going to do?”
He shrugged. “Well, when in Rome. I’ll hang my gun belt on the headboard and we’ll pile some furniture against it. Who were you expecting?”
“God only knows! Anybody could burst in on us and rob or kill us in our sleep!”
“Not without making a lot of noise, doll. I think you’re getting worked up over nothing. We haven’t got all that much to steal and if anybody wants to kill us, they’d do better by waiting until we were out in the open. Gaston’s next door, and those actors and some other first-class passengers are all around the balcony.”
