Terror of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “So, you have come back,” the old man said. “Have you decided to pay what I have asked, for allowing you to keep your horses in my canyon?”

  “You are a gringo?” Keno replied.

  “Sí, I’m an American. What of it?” the old man asked.

  “You are an American, this is a Mexican canyon. How can it be your canyon?”

  The old man laughed, though it sounded more like a cackle than a laugh.

  “It’s my canyon because I was here first. You have two hundred horses, that will cost you ten pesos per horse. That will be two thousand pesos.”

  Because of the challenging way he spoke, Rosita thought he must either be very brave or very foolish.

  “I will pay you nothing, and I will take your house, gringo,” Keno said.

  “Like hell you will. This is my place. Get out of here, now! And if you aren’t going to pay to keep your horses here, take them with you!” The man pointed.

  “You will not be needing money or the house anymore,” Keno said, and at a nod, at least three of his soldiers shot the man.

  Rosita had never seen anyone killed before, and watching the man shot down in front of her, knowing that one moment he was alive, and the next moment he was dead, had shocked her into horrified silence. Her eyes reflected the terror she felt, but was too frightened to express.

  Rosita was lifted down from the horse, and as the man did so, his hands managed to squeeze her breasts. She gasped in pain and surprise, and the smile on the man’s face told her that it wasn’t an accident.

  “Take her inside,” Keno ordered. “And do not put your hands on her that way again.”

  “Sí, Coronel.”

  Rosita’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Her shame of being handled so had been seen by the others.

  “Did you see what happened to the gringo, when he did not listen to me?” Keno asked Rosita when he came into the cabin with her.

  She nodded.

  “That is exactly what will happen to you, if you do not do everything I tell you to do,” Keno warned. “Do you understand me?”

  Rosita nodded but, again, made no audible response.

  “Is the girl loco?” Vargas asked. “Why does she not speak?”

  “What does she have to talk about?” Keno asked, then he laughed out loud at his own joke.

  “Why does she not scream in fear?” Vargas asked.

  “Who, besides us, would hear her scream? Would it do her any good to scream?” Keno asked.

  “No,” Vargas agreed. “It would do her no good to scream. Still, I do not know why she does not cry.”

  Rosita wanted to cry. She wanted very much to cry, but for some reason that she couldn’t understand, the tears wouldn’t come.

  “Sit in that chair,” Keno ordered.

  Rosita did as he directed, sitting in a straight-back, wooden chair.

  “Vargas, tie her hands behind the chair.”

  “Please do not tie me, señor,” Rosita said. “My wrists hurt.” These were the first words Rosita had spoken since they had left the village.

  Keno tossed a short piece of rope to Vargas.

  “Do as I said.”

  Vargas pulled Rosita’s arms around behind the chair, then tied her hands. As he did so, it became obvious that, though she was only thirteen, she was developing into a woman.

  “How old are you, girl?” Keno asked.

  “I am thirteen.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just telling me that? You know what I will do to you if you lie to me.”

  “I am thirteen!” Rosita repeated, desperately wanting him to know that she wasn’t lying.

  Keno pulled a knife from his belt and approached her.

  “You aren’t going to cut her up, are you, Coronel?” Vargas asked, surprised to see his leader approach the young girl with a knife in his hand.

  “I am not lying!” Rosita said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt the point of the knife sticking her through the top of her dress just between the breasts. She felt his hand move quickly and she gasped in fear, then relief as she felt, not the sting of the blade, but the coolness of the night air. Keno had just cut her dress.

  “Let’s get a better look,” Keno said, and he took the two halves of the dress then split it all the way down. He pulled it down across her shoulders so that her frontal nudity was completely exposed to the lustful staring of Keno, Vargas, and at least two more of the soldiers. Someone said something, speaking in a voice that was too quiet for her to understand. Whatever he said elicited laughter from the others. The just-burgeoning young breasts she had been so proud of, the same breasts the man had grabbed as he lifted her down from the horse, were now a source of shame for her. And not only shame, they were also reason for her to be frightened.

  “You are going to be a beautiful woman someday,” Keno said, speaking in a voice that was almost respectful. “You could become a puta and make a lot of money.”

  “Please, señor, cover me,” Rosita begged.

  “Vargas, find a needle and thread. Then sew the dress back so that the girl is covered.”

  “Sí!” Vargas replied with a broad smile.

  Because her hands were tied behind the chair, there was no way Rosita could close the gap in her dress that left her exposed. She kept her eyes tightly shut as Vargas began sewing the dress back together. She felt her flesh crawl as his hands found every opportunity to grope and fondle her.

  “Pequeñas y agradables tetas,” he said in a lecherous voice.

  “Por favor, señor.”

  “Please? You mean you want me to make a woman of you?”

  “No, señor!” Rosita gasped.

  “Vargas!” Keno said. “Leave the girl alone.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  “Gracias, señor Coronel,” Rosita said with a sense of relief. That relief was short-lived, however, when Keno spoke again.

  “If anyone is going to make a woman of you, I’ll be the one.”

  Rosita wasn’t exactly sure what “making a woman of her” meant, but the lewd smile that followed Keno’s comment suggested that it wasn’t something that she wanted to experience.

  “Vargas, when you are finished, take the rope from her wrists. I think there is no need to keep a young girl tied up to the chair. Surely an army can keep track of one young girl.”

  Rosita breathed a prayer of thanks. The ropes were beginning to hurt her wrists, and having them free would be some improvement in her situation.

  Once the ropes were removed, she began rubbing her wrists in an effort to restore circulation.

  “Can you cook?” Keno asked.

  “Sí.”

  “Good. Find whatever food the gringo had and cook something.”

  “For everyone, señor? I do not think there is enough food for ever yone.”

  “No, not for everyone. For me,” Keno said. “You do not belong to everyone, niña. You belong only to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Having become sufficiently proficient in the use of the Morse code to warrant Smoke’s confidence in their use of the mirrors, and with their weapons and ammunition packed, the group made final preparations to leave. Smoke and the others were wearing their butternut uniforms as they stood by their horses, just after dawn on the day Smoke had chosen for them to get under way.

  Tom and Hazel Byrd, as well as Stan Hardegree and the other cowboys of The Wide Loop, turned out to see them off.

  “Prepare to mount. Mount!” Smoke called.

  “Don’t you go ordering me around, Smoke Jensen. This is no army,” Sally said, and the others laughed.

  “Uh, would you folks kindly get mounted, please?” Smoke asked, and again the cowboys laughed.

  “If you put it that way, yes, we would be glad to get mounted,” Sally replied, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

  “Well, I guess we can see who is foreman of this outfit,” Hardegree said.

  Hazel waited until everyone was mounted, then
she stepped down from the porch. It wasn’t until then that everyone noticed she was holding a couple of cloth bags.

  “I know you’ve got jerky, bacon, and beans,” Hazel said. “But I hope you don’t mind that I’ve fried up a few chickens and made some biscuits. I’ve got ’em in these bags here.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Byrd, you didn’t have to do all of that,” Sally said.

  “I know, but I wanted to. I’m sure Katrina would have wanted to do something like this for you if she was still alive. I do hope you will take it.” She held the two cloth bags up toward Sally.

  “Of course we will take it, and we thank you for it.” Sally tied the two bags to her saddle horn.

  “Miss Sally, if them bags is goin’ to be in your way, I’ll take care of ’em for you,” Pearlie offered.

  “Lord no, Miss Sally, don’t do that,” Cal said. “Pearlie would have everything ate up before we stopped for our first lunch.”

  “That’s the truth,” Hardegree said, and all the cowboys who had gathered to watch them leave, laughed.

  “Thank you, Pearlie, but I’m sure they won’t be a problem for me to handle,” Sally said. “But it was a nice try,” she added with a smile.

  “We’d better get going,” Smoke said, and clucking at his horse Seven, he turned and started away. The others followed him.

  “I’ll be praying for you!” Hazel called as she and the others waved good-bye.

  As they rode away from the Big House their route took them past a little mound of earth, still covered with flowers, and marked by a shining new headstone. All removed their hats as they rode by Katrina’s grave.

  “I’ll always love you,” Cal said, though he spoke the words so quietly that none of the others heard him. Neither did anyone see the tears that had sprung to his eyes.

  Fifteen minutes later the hooves of their horses were churning up the water of the Rio Grande as they rode across a shallow ford. Emerging from the river into Mexico, they continued on down to Nuevo Pacifico, which was where Smoke believed they would either find Keno, or at least find some information that would lead them to the bandit colonel.

  Nuevo Pacifico was a small town consisting of a group of low-lying, flat-roofed, adobe buildings. Smoke and Cal rode into town together, leaving the other three behind, where they had set up camp in an arroyo. Just ahead of them, on the right-hand side of the street, they saw a cantina.

  “If you want to find out what’s going on in the States, you go to a saloon,” Smoke said. “My guess would be that it is pretty much the same here. What do you say we get us beer?”

  “Can we get beer here?” Cal asked. “Or just tequila?”

  “That looks like a beer to me,” Smoke said, pointing to a painted mug of beer.

  “A beer would taste good about now,” Cal agreed.

  The cost of the beer was fifty centavos, but using Mexican money wasn’t a problem. Before leaving Brownsville, Smoke had converted five hundred dollars to just over five thousand pesos.

  They tied their horses off out front, but before they could go inside, they were met by three men, all of whom were wearing bullet-filled bandoliers angled across their chest. They were also holding pistols in their hands.

  “Gringos, welcome to Nuevo Pacifico,” one of the men said.

  “Not a very pleasant welcome when you are holding guns in your hands,” Smoke said.

  “Oh, this?” When he spoke the word, it sounded like “theese.” “We carry guns because we must collect a tax from all gringos, and sometimes a gringo doesn’t want to pay.”

  “What is the tax for?”

  “It is for the people’s revolución.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a revolution.”

  “Sí. Coronel Keno is leading a revolution of the people against the government in Mexico City.” The armed Mexican smiled.

  “I thought the people of Mexico were pretty well satisfied with their government. What do they think about this Keno person attempting to make a revolution?” Smoke asked.

  “Coronel Keno is much loved by the people of Tamaulipas. They do not mind paying a tax. And gringos who come into our land should not mind either.”

  “All right, how much is the tax?” Smoke asked.

  “It is fifty pesos.”

  “Fifty pesos? That is a lot of money, just to be here.”

  “It is fifty pesos for each of you. That will be one hundred pesos.”

  Smoke whistled. “Oh, that really is a lot of money.”

  “Sí. It cost much money to fight a revolución.”

  “But we are americanos. Why should we have to pay the tax?”

  “It is so you will do what is right for the people.”

  “All right,” Smoke said. “I do want to do what is right for the people, so I’ll pay the tax.”

  Smoke took out a bound packet of money, making certain that the three men saw it. He counted off one hundred pesos, which did little to decrease the size of the stack, then passed the bills over to the man who had been the spokesman for the three.

  “You have a great deal of money, señor,” the spokesman said.

  “Yes, we have come to Mexico to buy horses. Do you know where we might find some?”

  “Sí,” one of the other three said. “Coronel Keno has . . .”

  “We do not know where any horses are, señor,” the spokesman said, interrupting the other in mid-sentence.

  “You say no, he said yes,” Smoke said. He addressed the man who had responded in the affirmative.

  “Do you know where we can buy horses?”

  “No, señor.”

  “That’s too bad. Well, now that we have transacted our business, my friend and I would like to go into the cantina to enjoy a drink. May we do that?”

  “Sí,” the spokesman of the three said. “You may go into the cantina.” He waved Smoke and Cal in, and as they stepped up onto the porch of the cantina, the three Mexicans who had stopped them holstered their pistols.

  Instead of the swinging batwing doors Smoke was used to, the entrance to the cantina was guarded by hanging strings of multicolored glass beads. The beads clacked audibly as Smoke and Cal pushed their way through them.

  There were only six small windows to the building, and the light the windows let in was filtered through the dirt on the panes. As a result, the cantina was in so much shadow that it required several candles to push away the darkness.

  Smoke ordered two beers, and as they were waiting for them, he noticed there were two men gathered around a third man at the far end of the bar. The third man appeared to be very distressed.

  “Your beers, señores,” the bartender said, setting two golden mugs before them.

  “What is wrong with the man at the other end of the bar?” Smoke asked.

  The bartender shook his head, but said nothing.

  “What is wrong?” Smoke repeated. “Why is he upset?”

  “I cannot say, señor.”

  “You can’t say, or you won’t say?”

  “It is . . . dangerous . . . to say.”

  Smoke put fifty pesos on the bar, covering it with his hand so that only the bartender could see it.

  “It is his daughter, señor. She has been taken by Coronel Keno. He demanded more payment, and Miguel gave him more, but Keno did not give the girl back. Now Keno has gone, and he took the girl with him.”

  “What is the girl’s name, and how old is she?” Smoke asked.

  “Her name is Rosita, and she is but thirteen years old.”

  “Do you know where Keno has gone?”

  “I do not know, señor.” As the bartender answered the question, he looked around, in obvious fear.

  “That’s all right,” Smoke said. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, or get you in danger. But I am looking for him, because I have my own score to settle. If I find him, and I see the girl, I will do what I can to get her back safely to her family.”

  “Gracias, señor.” Without any further conversation, the bartender w
alked away.

  “Smoke,” Cal said after the bartender left. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you pay those men out front? You know they are just going to use the money for something evil. And why did you show them that we had so much money?”

  “Why do you ask? Do you think they might try and hold us up as we’re leaving town?”

  “I think they just might.”

  Smoke chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I think too.”

  For just a second Cal stared at Smoke, then a big grin spread across his face. “I’ll be damn, that’s what you want them to do, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s face it, Cal, we are so badly outnumbered, that the only way we are going to come out on top of this is by fighting a war of attrition.”

  “A war of what?”

  “We’re going to have to cut their numbers down, wherever and whenever we can, and we may as well start with these three. I just thought it best not to do it in the middle of town. We won’t have to go to them, they’ll come to us.”

  “Yes,” Cal said.

  Just as they got up to leave, Miguel came over to them.

  “Señores, I am grateful that you have shown concern for my daughter. Que Dios esté con ustedes. May God be with you,” he repeated in English.

  Miguel reached out to shake Smoke’s hand, and as he did so, Smoke felt him pass a piece of paper.

  Nobody else in the cantina, not even Cal, realized that Miguel had passed anything to Smoke.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Not until they were outside and mounted, did Smoke look at the piece of paper Miguel had given him. It was written in Spanish, but Smoke was able to make it out.

  “I think Keno may be in the Sierra Veinte Casas mountains.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Miguel told me.”