by Tony Masero
‘I don’t give a good goddamn what the Colonel says,’ Royce went on. ‘He and that General have their own agenda. By God! They’re in each other’s pockets. They’ll be looking after that General’s boy first and foremost and I aim to make sure we don’t get left behind.’
‘Well, I don’t know….’ began Reese doubtfully.
‘Look here!’ barked Royce, his cheeks reddening. ‘These people I have brought in are the very best. They come at a high price, which alone convinces me that they know what they’re doing. The best don’t come cheap. Now do you want a part of this, or not?’
Reese was thoughtful for a moment, ‘I suppose it can do no harm. After all these people will be a kind of affiliated force to the army, will they not?’
Royce was dismissive, ‘I expect they’ll be a darned sight more effective. They’d better be or I’ll want to know why. Five thousand dollars is the fee with a thousand dollar bonus for each child returned safe and unharmed.’
‘Certainly an incentive,’ agreed Reese.
‘It’s no good me asking the other parents, they’re all to bound up with self-pity and nerves. You’re the only one I’ve entrusted with this information, Reese. You’re a cold fish but an astute businessman and I thought you’d see the benefits right off. So don’t tell me I’m wrong.’
Reese fluttered his hands, ‘No, no, please don’t misunderstand. It’s just that I want to grasp all the permutations.’
Royce smiled wryly, ‘You truly are a bookkeeper, aren’t you? Like all the dots and crosses in place.’
‘Oblige me, just exactly who are these people and what is their pedigree?’
Royce eased his large body back into his chair, that squeaked in protest at his weight, he steepled his stubby fingers and ticked off the crew he had hired.
‘They are led by a fellow named Captain Christopher Cromwell, ex-army officer with plenty of experience Indian fighting. He lost his position as he was deemed a might over-eager by the military. Slaughtered a few too many red men in a village raid apparently, crucified some of the protagonists and allowed his men free range with the women. The army did not like it but to my way of thinking that’s the sort of fellow we want just now. There’ll be four of them in total, some kind of half Mexican tracker, a woman, would you believe, but considered remarkable in her abilities to read sign. Name of Jan Marques. He brings two other men with him, one a sharpshooter who goes by Warren, travels with a long gun and apparently can knock the spot off an ace card at eight hundred yards. Lastly, Raymond Kant, a scalp hunter by trade, a rough body and something of a callous character so I’m told. Has a particular bent against the Indians, I believe his family were wiped out by them. Now he sells Indian hair to the Mexican authorities for bounty money.’
Reese wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘They sound a remarkably unpleasant bunch.’
‘What do you expect? A church social? We might not like this sort of scum but when it comes down to it we need the hardest and toughest to get our children back. I for one, don’t give a damn what they do as long as they achieve their objective and bring my boy Butler back safe and sound.’
Reese shrugged, ‘Very well then, if you think its best, I agree.’
‘They’re down there now,’ said Royce, thumbing the window. ‘You want to meet them?’
‘I suppose its necessary. I prefer to know where my money’s going.’
Royce snorted a laugh and getting to his feet, he opened the window and crooked a finger at the bodies across the way.
In a leisurely manner, Chris Cromwell eased himself away from the porch post and with a slow glance at the others, stepped down to cross over the road.
‘Gentlemen and lady,’ greeted Royce when they were all in the room. ‘This is Mister Delvin Reese and I am Clairmont Royce of the Royce Ranch. Would you like some refreshment?’
The four stood silently and somewhat awkwardly in a line before the room’s closed door.
‘For me, no,’ said Cromwell, sweeping off his hat and inclining his head in a polite show of greeting.
‘You got whiskey?’ asked Raymond Kant, sniffing noisily and eyeing Royce coldly.
‘I believe we do,’ said the rancher. ‘I wonder Reese, will you help our guests.’
Reese frowned; he did not like being treated as servant, but eased himself up and crossed to the drinks cabinet.
‘Seems you’re well equipped,’ observed Kant, taking in the array of bottles on the cabinet.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Royce. ‘Anybody else? The lady perhaps?’
The two remaining members of the group both shook their heads negatively.
‘You can fill her up,’ directed Kant brusquely, noticing the meager supply he was getting from the abstemious Reese. ‘I don’t mind a full glass.’
‘Your man said this was a recovery mission?’ interrupted Cromwell, directing the question at Royce.
‘Indeed, Captain,’ agreed the rancher. ‘Our children, five in number have been kidnapped by a bunch of miserable Comanche’s. The army is sending out a patrol, small patrol I hasten to add and led by some aged scout that they have recalled to service. Fellow was already retired, so I don’t have much confidence there.’
‘I see,’ said Cromwell slowly. ‘And where did this incident occur and how long ago.’
‘On the road up from Mexico, we were all caught and separated in the wretched uprising they have going on there at the moment. Army were supposed to bring our children on up here but were attacked and wiped out.’
‘Some days past then?’
‘Five days now to be exact,’ cut in Reese with precision.
‘We shall need descriptions of the children, perhaps photographic images if you have them. And given the nature of this brand of Indian I think the sooner we are on the trail the better.’
‘Here,’ said Royce, taking out a bulky envelope from his inside pocket and laying it on the arm of his chair. ‘Full descriptions are inside plus a fifty percent down payment, the rest on your return with any bonuses that have accrued.’
‘Excellent,’ said Cromwell. ‘You do realize, I trust. That after this length of time there is no doubt that some of the children will be tarnished in some way. Any females for instance?’
‘Two girl’s, one a baby child the other more mature,’ Royce allowed.
Cromwell shook his head, ‘Unfortunately, the Comanche have no knowledge of the proprieties. I fear the young woman will already have been….’
‘We know that,’ said Royce brusquely. ‘We have been well informed on their disgusting behavior, believe me.’
‘Well then, you will understand, that we can accept no responsibility for any such personal invasions of that nature.’
‘Just go get them and bring them back alive,’ spat Royce, tiring of the ex-officer’s polite manner. ‘If not the others then certainly my boy Butler and Reese’s son, Oban. Those two are your prime objectives.’
‘Understood,’ said Cromwell, crossing the room and taking the package from the chair arm. ‘If that is all we’ll take our leave of you then,’ he said, offering his hand.
Royce ignored the offered hand; ‘Forget the niceties, Captain,’ he said, looking at the man from beneath lowered brows. ‘Just do your job well and do it in any way you see fit to gain a successful outcome.’
‘Oh, we shall, sir,’ answered Cromwell, blandly withdrawing his hand. ‘We certainly shall.’
‘We got time for a refill?’ asked Raymond, holding out his empty glass.
‘Not now,’ said Cromwell sharply. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Royce once the two men were alone.
‘Certainly unsavory,’ allowed Reese. ‘But doubtless cool and confident, except for that Kant, he was particularly unpleasant.’
Royce was standing at the window watching the group of hunters collect their ponies. ‘I believe they are merciless killers, the whole lot of them. Probably no better than the Comanche’s in nature, they may be animal
s but at least they are our animals.’
‘What do we tell the others?’
Royce turned on him, ‘Nothing! We say nothing. You have seen how their gabbling wives behave, they’ll be throwing tantrums and fainting away with the vapors and before long word will get back to the army. No, this is our business. It’s needs a strong hand, Reese, we don’t need any of those other namby-pamby’s involved, too many of them are under their wives thumbs.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ agreed Reese airily. ‘One needs to maintain a secure hand in the family situation. I definitely have a firm hold on my wife and son, that is for sure.’
‘So you should, sir. So you should.’
The four exiting the fort gateway spread out to span the road, in a naturally protective file.
‘So,’ said Cromwell, keeping his attention ahead without turning to look at any of the others. ‘Are we all clear on this?’
Jan and Warren nodded in agreement, Kant just looked off at the horizon then turned to glance back at the fort.
‘Those boys are pretty rich, ain’t they?’
‘They are,’ Cromwell agreed.
‘Might be we could squeeze them for more,’ Kant advised.
‘We’re getting enough.’
‘Just saying.’
Cromwell turned to Jan riding alongside, ‘I’d appreciate it if you rode ahead and gave us direction. Find out what you can about these Comanche.’
‘They will be murdering swine, this I can tell you already,’ said Jan, her dark eyes flashing. She spoke with a faint hint of Spanish accent and Cromwell found he quite liked the soft tone.
‘No doubt,’ he agreed. ‘But we need some sort of heading if we are about to catch up. Wouldn’t want the army collecting all the glory now, would we. Ride hard and fast, senora.’
‘Don’t call me that!’ snapped Jan.
‘Apologies, Miss Marques, now will you get on, please?’
With a snap of her quirt across the pony’s haunches, Jan drove her animal off at a fast gallop.
‘She’s some red hot pepper, ain’t she?’ observed a lustfully smiling Kant, as he watched Jan’s tight little behind bobbing on her saddle as she rode away. ‘Wouldn’t mind that with a little lemon on the side.’
‘I should be careful on that score,’ said Cromwell. ‘I believe you might meet your match with that particular lady.’
‘Shoot! Captain, I had me more Mex mulatto cross-bred whores than it takes to count beans, she ain’t that special.’
‘Maybe so,’ allowed Cromwell, coolly facing front again.
‘Fancy yourself the lady’s man, do you, Kant?’ grinned the rifleman, Warren.
Kant shrugged, ‘I take what I can get. Right now, I’m looking forward to a slice of that five thousand we been promised.’
‘Need to find those kids first,’ said Warren.
Kant spat through his teeth, a thin stream of sputum that arced into the dust. ‘We’ll get them and I’ll get me some hair along the way, don’t you doubt it.’
‘First the children,’ admonished Cromwell.
‘Call it my additional benefit. Nothing like a nice Indian pelt for Mex gold, believe me.’
‘A thousand plus per head of these kids, ain’t that bonus enough already?’ asked Warren.
‘Taking hair is what I do,’ shrugged Kant.
‘We work as one in this,’ said Cromwell. ‘No sidelines.’
‘Or what exactly?’ asked Kant with a show of cocky dismissiveness.
‘Or, my friend, I shall put your fucking head on a pole.’
Kant turned to look at him angrily but he was met by a stare of such coldness and pitiless intensity that the rebuff was stilled in his throat.
‘Yeah, sure, Captain,’ he mumbled uncertainly. ‘Of course.’
After that they rode on in silence.
Chapter Nine
‘Bellamy,’ asked Britt over their morning coffee. ‘You used to be a wrangler, didn’t you?’
‘In another life,’ the trooper agreed.
‘Do you think you can round up some of those runaway mustangs?’
Bellamy shrugged, ‘I guess, they won’t have gone far. Water and graze will be what they are after, it’d take a few days though.’
‘What’s your reasoning here?’ asked O’Brien from across the other side of the cook fire.
‘I talked it over with Kilchii and he reckons the Comanche are far out from home here. Their country is across The Staked Plain over in Comancheria in Texas and they will want to get back but they have little to show for it right now. Four kids, a few dead and nothing else, that’s not a lot of reward for their homecoming. So he reckons that Esacona will be wanting to make another raid before he quits.’
‘Will he come for us again, you think?’
‘He’s had a bloody nose at our hands twice now. No, I reckon he’ll cut and run and try and pick up something along the way back to his own lodges.’
‘So what’s your idea? To make a trade for the babes with some ponies?’
‘There’ll be no trade with this Indian,’ said Britt. ‘He rather cut his own tongue out than make a deal with us. My idea is to offer him a prize he can’t refuse. A horse herd, particularly one he’s just lost. These people live for their ponies, and they favor pintos and paint above all others. They love them so much that they breed with the coloring in mind, if we can present them with a few they will not be able to resist.’
‘So you want to draw him out into the open and snare the fellow, is that it?’ asked O’Brien.
‘Well, partly,’ Britt agreed. ‘I have a notion that we divide our force and whilst the pony herd leads them away we can make a move on wherever they are keeping the prisoners captive.’
‘Fair enough,’ said O’Brien, who was usually game for anything.
‘All right,’ said Britt. ‘Bellamy, you Shane and Kilchii go see what you can call up in the way of horses. Niyol, Sergeant O’Brien, and me will try and keep them busy until the herd is together. Rawlings, you and Governance stay with us and bring up the chuck wagon. We all okay with this?’
‘Talking of chuck wagon, darling boy,’ said O’Brien. ‘We’ll be needing some supplies pretty soon. Running low on grain and bacon for a start.’
‘Already?’ asked Britt.
‘Well, there was only enough for three days and we’re running short.’
‘All right, we’ll swing by that trading post at Rio Penasco and pick up what we need. Meantime you fellows hustle up as many ponies as you can and we’ll send a runner back to tell you where we are in a few days time. Okay?’
There were collective nods of agreement around the fire.
‘Then let’s do it.’
The Rio Penasco was a nine-mile long spring creek running down from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains on the western side of the country and the trading post sat at the tail end in a clearing amongst green banks of three-foot high watercress. The low built wooden building stood within a grove of trees and the moderate temperature and pleasant climate encouraged by the river and nearby springs made for an agreeable oasis of change after the trail through the hot desert.
Britt led the way as they forded the low waters of the twenty-foot wide river and pulled up outside the long single story building. There were a number of horses tied off outside and the owner, Jacob Hands, was sitting on the porch shelling peas into a bowl on his lap.
‘Howdy, fellas,’ he called. ‘What’s the army doing out here?’
He was a none-too-clean looking individual with a scrawny unshaven neck, a battered bowler hat on his head and a short and grubby canvas apron worn under a heavy pistol and gun belt.
‘Looking for some supplies,’ answered Britt as he dismounted.
‘Sure thing,’ said Hands, setting aside his peas and getting to his feet. ‘Step inside, guess you could do with a taste whilst you’re here?’
‘That would go down tolerably well, sir,’ agreed O’Brien readily.
‘Well, come
on in and join the company. Just had another party pull in for a feed as well, so make yourselves to home.’
They all trooped up onto the porch as the chuck wagon drew up behind them beside the hitching rail.
‘You can leave that around the side, and the Indian stays with it. Don’t allow none of them in my store.’ frowned Hands, crooking his head in indication.
Britt glanced at Niyol, who shrugged; unfazed by this usual treatment he received from whites.
Hands meanwhile swung the plank door open and ushered them in, ‘So what will you boys be looking for?’
‘Beans, bacon and coffee,’ O’Brien advised him. ‘Some tobacco if you have it.’
‘That we can do,’ Hands said cheerfully.
Inside the place was gloomy and dank with the damp smell of mold and river water. The supplies lining the shelves gave off an odor of dried beans and the musty smell of herbs. A long counter marked the back of the room and a variety of small barrels were loaded at one end where the vinegary scent of stale liquor was evident.
Propping that end of the bar was a bulky man who eyed them all carefully as they entered. Beyond him seated at a table were a group of three others. A tall man dressed in black, a woman and skinny fellow hugging a long rifle in a leather sleeve.
‘This be Captain Cromwell and his party,’ introduced Hands. ‘They’ll be out Comanche hunting, same as you, I guess?’ He was being sly as he sidled over behind the counter, whether it was to start trouble or plain curiosity, Britt could not decide.
‘That a fact,’ said O’Brien, brusquely stepping up to the bar and locking eyes with Kant as he did so.
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Cromwell. ‘Very pleased to meet you all.’
He moved little as he spoke and Britt was hard put to make out his features in the dim light inside the post. The woman seated at his side, lounged back casually and studied them whilst the rifleman turned his back and concentrated on the tall schooner of beer in front of him.
