“I was wondering if that bandit chief Movo would be there,” Garrity said.
“Sure,” Lola said. “He took a woman to bed with him.”
Garrity grinned. “You sure got problems with your man’s faithfulness, don’t you?”
“Hey! He don’t love her,” Lola protested. “What do I care, eh?” She looked at Wildon. “You better don’t forget he loves your wife. Want to go now?”
“Yes,” Wildon said impatiently.
“Then let us go,” Lola said. She picked up a sombrero and serape off the table where she had been working, and walked out the door with the barmaid following.
“Wait a minute,” Garrity said, pointing to the younger woman. “What’s she coming along for?”
“There is a reason, gringo—” Lola said. “You will see.”
The four people skirted around the back way of the town. Keeping to the deep shadows, they walked behind the various huts and shacks until they reached a point that looked directly at the bandit chiefs large structure.
Lola looked carefully around. She snapped her fingers and the barmaid scurried up to her. Lola pointed to the guard in front of the Castle. “Andale!”
The girl pulled her blouse off her shoulders and down far enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Walking seductively, she boldly crossed the open space and walked up to the guard. She and the man spoke for a few brief moments. Finally, after looking carefully around, the two walked quickly away from the door to the other side of the building.
“Now we go,” Lola said.
The trio quickly approached the Castillo, going up to the entrance. Lola pulled a large key from her skirt and carefully inserted it, turning it slowly until a click sounded. She pushed the portal open, leading them into the foyer and to a staircase.
A light from a lamp suddenly came on from a room off to one side. Lola pushed Wildon and Garrity to the other side of the stairs.
“Quien esta?” came Señora Gonzalez’ voice. Lola went to her door. “Soy yo Lola.”
The old woman mumbled something but turned her lamp off. Lola beckoned to the two cavalrymen. They followed her up to the second floor. After going into another room, Lola grabbed Wildon’s arm. “She is in there.”
Wildon, walking rapidly but carefully, went to the door on the far side of the chamber. He opened it and stepped in. “Hester darling?” he called out in a loud whisper. “Hester!”
There was a rustle on the bed. A figure sat up.
“Who is there?”
Wildon rushed over. “Dearest! It’s me. Wildon.”
“Darling!” she cried out.
“Shhh!” he cautioned her.
Hester slid off the bed and rushed to his arms. They embraced tightly, kissing each other’s face over and over before settling down to one long buss on the mouth. When they parted, she reached out and felt his face. “Oh, dearest Wildon! I knew you would come.”
“Are you all right, my love?” Wildon asked.
“Yes! Yes! Now that you are here,” Hester said. “Oh, sweet Lord, Wildon!”
“We have to be fast, darling,” Wildon said. “We’ve planned this out. Three horses are waiting for us.”
“Three?”
“Yes. Sergeant Garrity came with me,” Wildon explained.
“Bless his brave heart,” Hester said. “And yours too.”
“Now you must be quiet, darling. It is very dangerous.”
The two went into the next room. Lola, without ceremony, handed over the sombrero and serape. “Wear these, gringa,” she said. “And keep the hat tipped low, eh? We don’t want nobody to see who you are.”
“What is she doing here?” Hester asked coldly.
“I’ll explain later, dearest,” Wildon said. “Please put the things on.”
Hester quickly slipped the serape over her shoulders and set the sombrero on her head. She noticed Garrity standing to one side. “Hello, Sergeant Garrity.”
“How are you, Mrs. Boothe?”
“I’m—”
Lola hissed at them. “Are you going to talk all night or get out of here?”
The Mexican woman turned to the door and led them back down the stairs. After being extra careful when they passed Senora Gonzalez’ room, the group eased back outside. Once there, they moved back into the darkness.
Garrity pulled his pistol and tapped Wildon’s shoulder. “Watch out for Jorge, sir.”
“Right,” Wildon said. He put one arm around Hester while holding the Remington in his free hand.
But when they reached the back of the cantina, the only living creatures were the three horses. Lola pointed to the animals. “Now! Larganse—get out of here!”
They got into the saddles. After Wildon reached over and pulled Hester’s sombrero even lower, they allowed the mounts to walk slowly over toward the main entrance. A bright lantern burned where the two guards sleepily stood their posts. As they drew closer, Hester suddenly stiffened.
“What’s the matter?” Wildon asked.
“One of those men knows me,” Hester said. “He plays the violin.”
“Violin? What in the—”
“Never mind,” Garrity interrupted. “Keep your hat down low, Mrs. Boothe.”
They continued to approach the guards. Both bandits looked over at them, displaying no special sign of recognition. The three drew closer until they were within fifteen yards of the exit—then ten yards—and finally five yards.
The sentries, bored, sleepy, and tired, showed no interest. After a cursory glance, they simply looked the other way. Wildon, Hester, and Garrity rode into the lantern light and turned toward the path that would lead down Bandido Mountain.
A man, on foot and limping badly up the trail toward them, suddenly came into view in the pale illumination. He looked at Wildon and Garrity, then shouted, “Alto! Alto! Son soldados americanos!”
It was the bandit they had accosted earlier with the lame horse.
Fifteen
Wildon swung up the barrel of the Winchester and pulled the trigger in a coldly calculated but instantaneous act. The bullet hit the bandit in the chest, lifting him up off his feet and flinging him straight onto his back.
Garrity’s pistol barked three times. The first bullet went into Julio Montenegro’s abdomen, folding him over before he twisted to one side and hit the ground. His violin-playing days ended as he rolled onto his stomach to die. His companion, sleepy and slow, also went down. Two of Garrity’s bullets had torn him up inside. He slumped to his knees, then pitched face forward into the dirt.
“Ride out!” Wildon said to Hester.
She was already slapping the reins and kicking the horse’s flanks when her husband spoke. Now the two men followed, wasting no time in beginning the run for freedom. The echoes of the gunplay still sounded through the mountain passes as they thundered down the long trail to the desert below.
Up in the bandit camp, the more sober inhabitants were awakened by the shots. Most sighed in minor irritation, rolling over to go back to sleep. Others, more curious about who had shot whom, came out of their quarters. The fight had been so abrupt and lasted such a short time that no one knew exactly what had happened. Most milled around a bit, thinking that a violent argument, so common in their group, had broken out and was now settled. Nothing to become excited about. The bodies could always be buried the next day.
Up in his room, Hubert Mauveaux sat up in bed. He slapped the buttocks of the wench beside him. “Go to the window and see what’s going on.”
The woman slipped from the covers and padded over to look outside. “There was a fight by the entrada,” she said. “There are three men dead.”
Mauveaux was thoughtful for a few moments. “What could have happened to cause a fracas there?” He joined the woman at the window. He could see one of his senior lieutenants below. “Oye, Paco! What has happened there?”
Paco Fuentes looked up at the window in El Castillo. “I don’t know, mi general. I was getting ready for bed when I heard the shots
. Then some riders headed down the trail. It seemed like somebody fought their way through the guards. Porque?”
“I don’t know why,” Mauveaux said. “We have no prisoners locked in the carcel. So who—” He stopped speaking in mid-sentence as his eyes widened. He turned from the window and rushed from the room. Running down the hall, he burst into the dining room and hurried to the door. He opened it and looked at the bed where Hester Boothe slept.
“Vide “ he said in French. “She has been taken away.” The bandit chief ran to the nearest window. “Paco! Paco!”
Fuentes had started back to his hut, but he quickly responded to his chiefs call. “Si, mi general?”
“Call out our best men,” Mauveaux shouted. “Someone has taken my woman.”
"Immediatemente!” Fuentes, knowing the importance of such an event to Mauveaux, rushed to obey.
The moonlight was erratic because of the clouds. Moments of good visibility offered only the barest minimum of glimpses at the trail before it quickly grew dark again. Garrity fully realized the peril of continuing the ride at the rapid pace they were maintaining.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” he called out. “Hold it up!”
Wildon, a few paces ahead of Hester, pulled in on his reins and moved his horse over to force hers to slow down. When they stopped, he turned and waited for Garrity. He was irritated by this halt in the escape. “Yes, Sergeant?”
“We can’t keep riding this fast, sir,” Garrity said. “Or we’re gonna take a wrong step and go off the trail.”
“I’ve been thinking about that too, but I was in too much of a hurry to consider slowing down,” Wildon admitted, glancing over at the empty blackness. “It’s hundreds of feet to the desert floor. But if we slacken our pace too much, the bandits will catch up with us.”
“Yes, sir. I figger they’re getting ready to come after us now. We got to hit that desert with enough time to outdistance ’em.”
“The only obvious answer is a rear-guard action,” Wildon said, pulling his Winchester from its boot. “You are to escort my wife back to the baggage train, Sergeant. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Garrity shook his head. “Your missus needs you more’n me, sir."I’ll do it.”
“No, Sergeant,” Wildon said. “It’s my duty. Get her back to our people.”
Garrity leaned forward in the saddle. “You listen to me, young Lieutenant. This is one order you ain’t giving. I’m in command right now. I’ll stay here and delay the pursuit. Then I can cut loose and catch up with you. By then you ought to be out in the desert.”
“Just a goddamned minute!” Wildon protested. “Be logical, sir. Your wife isn’t going to leave you here. I can travel a hell of a lot faster than you two and I can rejoin you. If I don’t make it, it’s soljer’s luck. If you didn’t make it, I’d have to face your missus.” He grinned. “Frankly I’d rather go gun-on-gun with ever’ bandit up on Bandido Mountain.”
“I can’t say I blame you,” Wildon said. Hester interrupted. “Will you two stop talking about me as if I were someplace else? And Sergeant Garrity is absolutely right, darling. I will not leave without you.”
“That’s that, sir,” Garrity said. “Ride!”
“Yes, Sergeant. I’ll expect you to catch up with us on the desert.”
“Count on it, sir,” Garrity replied.
Wildon turned and, with Hester at his side, set off down the trail at as fast a pace as safety allowed.
Garrity waited until they were completely out of sight. He took his horse farther below and found a place to tie him to a manzanita branch. When the animal was secure, the sergeant went upward and found a good fighting position within the rocks. He made sure the Henry rifle was fully loaded, and set a few loose rounds in front of him.
Then he settled down to wait.
Ten minutes passed in silence. The moon eased past the clouds and cast its bright yellow light over the scene. Garrity could see the trail upward for fifty yards. He picked a spot where the bandits would first appear.
It was a quarter of an hour later when Garrity heard the approaching hooves. He picked up the Henry and waited. The shadows of the riders appeared at a higher level on the trail. The sergeant waited until the first man reached the point he had chosen.
The shot blasted out, rolling the rider over the rump of his horse. The second shot emptied another bandit saddle, and the third brought down a horse. A warbling, fading scream showed the rider had been pitched over the side of the trail.
Garrity worked the lever of the rifle. He coolly recalled a similar incident on a backwoods Virginia road in ’64 as he listened to the sounds of men bringing their animals to quick stops. He could see a crowd of them ganging up on the trail. The sergeant didn’t take time to aim. He pointed the barrel at the small mob and let the Henry blast away.
Shouts and curses sounded along with two thuds as a pair of the desperados fell to the ground. The survivors rode back in a spontaneous move.
Garrity took advantage of the lull to shove some more rounds into his weapon. He licked his dry lips and reached for the canteen he had slung over his shoulder. The water was still cool and sweet. Tomorrow on the desert it would be warm and stale.
If he were alive to drink it.
An abrupt thundering of hooves sounded above. Garrity knew what they were trying to do. They would make a wild rush, hoping to overpower the ambush site. Prepared and determined, he waited as he carefully watched his chosen aiming point. When the first man reached it, the Henry belched fire and slugs again.
The first man was blown sideways from the saddle, hitting the rocks and the inside of the trail when he fell off. The bandit immediately behind him bumped into his friend’s hesitant horse. That made his own mount veer and he rode straight off the trail into empty sky. Both he and his stallion silently sailed downward to be crushed on the rocks below.
Garrity missed the third man, but he picked up the fourth and took him out with a head shot. Then he turned his attention back to the third who was now pounding closer. The sergeant pulled his revolver from his holster and fired two times. The man slipped off and bounced on the trail twice before coming to a stop. His horse continued galloping toward the bottom of the mountain.
Getting very serious, Garrity fired methodically. He picked each target, took careful aim, and shot each man. He was almost rhythmic about it as he performed the action eight times to hit as many bandits.
Now it was silent except for the whining breeze.
Garrity knew the bandits had pulled back. Not knowing what they faced, there was no doubt they would slow down their attempts and make a time-consuming sneak attack against his position.
But the sergeant wasn’t planning on sticking around.
Keeping to the shadows, he eased back to his horse. Garrity led the animal for fifty yards down the mountain track before he mounted up. Then he rode down the trail toward the desert to link up with Lieutenant Boothe and his wife.
Garrity had gone a bit over two hundred yards when he heard the shots ahead. Going for his pistol again, he drew the revolver and slowed down his horse. When he came around a bend, he saw Hester Boothe behind a large boulder holding onto two horses.
“Mrs. Boothe!”
She turned and looked back at him. “Thank God you’ve come, Sergeant Garrity.”
He was puzzled and worried. “What’s going on, ma’am? You should’ve been down in the desert by now.”
“We almost stumbled straight into some guards on the trail,” Hester explained. “Wildon has been trading shots with the rascals.”
“Well, ma’am,” Garrity said. “Here’s one more horse for you to take care of.” He handed her the reins and crept forward. He finally spotted Wildon behind some rocks. “Lieutenant! It’s me,” he said to announce himself and avoid accidentally getting shot. “I’m coming down there.”
“Come ahead, Sergeant,” Wildon Boothe shouted back.
Garrity made his way through the rocks. A bullet st
ruck close by his head, ricocheting off into the night. “Goddamn!” he panted. He took a deep breath, then sprinted forward to fling himself down beside the lieutenant. “How’re you doing, sir? Can you see ’em good?”
“There’re two of them,” Wildon said. “In a little natural fort about twenty yards ahead. I couldn’t get past them.” He raised up slightly and fired a shot. He ducked back down. “How’d you do?”
“Fine, sir. The bastards is holed up right now, but when they figger I’m gone, they’re gonna come hell-for-leather down that trail.”
“In other words, we must get out of here,” Wildon said.
“Them’s the exact words, sir, and we ain’t got a whole lot of time,” Garrity said. He raised his head for a quick look, then stooped back behind the rock.
“I think it’s time for fire-and-maneuver,. Sergeant,” Wildon said. “It looks like we can go wide left and right and keep them in the middle. If we cover each other, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”
“Let’s make it five, sir,” Garrity said. He pulled his pistol again. “I’ll go right. Cover me, sir.”
Wildon once again raised up. He fired rapidly while Garrity ran to other cover farther ahead. When the sergeant reached the point, he began a rapid fusillade.
Now Wildon made his move. He veered off left and ran as fast as he could. After diving behind some rocks, he came up shooting.
Garrity took advantage of his turn to gain some higher ground. When he reached the point, he could see a couple of more good firing sites to move to.
Bruised and scratched from diving into a pile of rocks, Wildon didn’t notice the pain as he raced toward a stand of manzanita growing beside a large slab of rock. When he arrived, the lieutenant was able to cut loose with another volley before he had to reload.
By that time Garrity was again on the move.
The action was repeated three more times. The pair of bandit guards had grown confused by the tactics. The first indication they were in serious trouble was when some shots from their left hit one of them. He slumped to the ground. His friend unwisely but instinctively pulled back from the direction of attack.
Blood of Apache Mesa Page 12
