The Long-Knives 5

by Patrick E. Andrews

  was quickly followed by Lola. The angry beauty of her face could be seen from the lantern light cast from the rear window.

  “You are not bandidos” Lola said. “You are

  here to find the gringa!”

  “Just a minute, lady!” Garrity said alarmed. “You got us wrong.”

  “If you lie to me, I tell Jorge to kill you,” Lola said.

  Jorge the bartender exhibited a determined, silent sneer as he raised the double barrels.

  Julio Montenegro’s eyes were closed as he gently wafted the “Blue Danube Waltz” from his violin. Hester, remembering it was the first song that she and Wildon danced to at Fort MacNeil, could not smother her sentimental thoughts. She fought back the tears, but they trickled from her eyes.

  Hubert Mauveaux, sitting across from her at the table, sighed aloud. “Ah, ma cherie Camille! The beautiful song has touched your heart.”

  Hester’s temper flared. “My name is not Camille! It is Mrs. Wildon Boothe. How many times must I tell you?”

  “But" Camille,” Mauveaux said, “it would be so unromantic to say to you, ‘I adore your beauty, Mrs. Wildon Boothe.’”

  “You should not speak to me that way, monsieur,” Hester insisted. “It is not proper.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Mauveaux said, smiling in a cocky manner. “Did you not fight over me with the fiery Lola?”

  “She attacked me!” Hester protested.

  “That is not what Senora Gonzales told me,” Mauveaux said. “She said you two were like tigritas in your feminine fury.”

  “I don’t care what that old lady said,” Hester cried out. She suddenly realized her protests might be easily misinterpreted by the megalomaniac sitting at the dining table with her. She calmed down, deciding to use the Mexican woman to her personal advantage. “Lola loves you, monsieur. Call her to your side and reward her faithfulness. Marry her. For the love of God, marry her!”

  “I cannot, for she does not have my heart,” Mauveaux said. He snapped his fingers as a signal to Julio.

  The violinist immediately changed his tune to Tchaikovsky’s “Francesca da Rimini.”

  Mauveaux reached inside his uniform and produced a small velvet box. He slid it across the table. “Open it.”

  “I most certainly will not!”

  He laughed. “Your teasing is so tantalizing, Camille.” He took the box and opened it himself. Inside was a gold ring with a single, large pearl mounted in it. “To seal our pact of love, ma cherie.”

  A sudden idea leaped into Hester’s mind. She damned herself for not thinking of it sooner. “Wait, monsieur!” Hester jumped up and ran into the next room where the bathtub still sat. She quickly returned with the soap clutched in her hand. “Regardez!” she cried out, tossing it on the table.

  “Ah,” he said with an unmistakable tone of relief in his voice. “You are going to bathe, non?”

  “No! Look at that soap!”

  Mauveaux, puzzled, shrugged. “A quoi ga sert-il?” he asked.

  “It is Bristol soap, monsieur,” Hester said. “It is manufactured by my family.”

  “Your maiden name is Bristol?” he asked.

  “I, sir, am Hester Bristol Boothe of Lake Champlain, New York,” she said proudly.

  “Hester!” he cried out. “Your name is Hester!”

  “Oh, God!” Hester moaned.

  “It is more lovely than Camille,” Mauveaux proclaimed.

  “You are missing the point, sir,” Hester insisted. “My family will pay you handsomely to release me. All you have to do is have me delivered to my husband.”

  “I cannot give you up for money,” Mauveaux exclaimed. “I am too much in love with you.” He got up and walked around the table.

  “Stay away from me!” Hester demanded as she fled to the other side.

  Julio continued to play his violin rather absent-mindedly as he watched the drama being carried out before his eyes.

  Mauveaux continued the chase, forcing Hester to flee around the table several times. The Frenchman was not discouraged. “We call this la chasse, no? Very well then, my lovely Hester. I am le chasseur d’amour!”

  Hester’s fury mounted. She began to find Julio’s playing irritating. Finally, the next time she scurried to the other side of the table, the angry young woman grabbed the man’s violin and spun around. When Mauveaux approached, she brought it crashing down on his head.

  The Frenchman staggered back, bruised but happy. “Mon dieu!” he cried out. “I believe you would be a tigress in leather!”

  “Keep the hands high!” Lola warned Wildon and Garrity. “If at anytime I don’t see them, I tell Jorge to shoot. One shot kill you both from the scattergun, hey?”

  “Seguro Garrity agreed in Spanish. “Don’t let Jorge get too excited now. There’s no reason for it.”

  Jorge emphasized his perfect understanding of the situation by swinging the barrels back and forth a bit. “I kill you, gringos “ he said.

  “Not to worry, sir and madam,” Wildon said in a soothing voice. “I believe this can all be sorted out.”

  “I know you came to look for the gringa that Movo came back with,” Lola said.

  “No, senorita” Garrity said, vigorously shaking his head remembering that the girl in the farming village had identified the bandit chief as Movo. “We are—”

  “Silencio!” she hissed. “Do you think I am an estupida?”

  Wildon decided it was time for candor. “We can make a deal with you. If you don’t turn us in, we can make it well worth your while, madam.” Lola laughed. “You don’t understand, gringo. I want you to take her away.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Wildon said, not quite believing he had heard the words.

  “I don’t like that americana, see? Movo is mi hombre—my man,” Lola said. “He is wild about her. So much so that he has not even touched her.”

  Wildon’s eyes opened wide in happy surprise. “Really?”

  “I know it for the truth,” Lola said. “The old woman who works there has told me this.” Wildon sighed with relief. “I shall guarantee you our most enthusiastic cooperation.”

  “He means we’ll do our best to get her away,” Garrity said. He pointed to Jorge. “Don’t think he could put that thing away now?”

  “Sure,” Lola said. She nodded to her bartender. “Abaja la escopeta.” When he had obeyed, she turned back to the two soldiers. “I tell you the truth, I want to kill her. I want to scratch out her eyes. But to do so would only make Humberto hate me. I could not stand that. But if she goes away, he will forget and love me again.”

  “You’re certainly right about that,” Wildon said enthusiastically.

  “Where is she being kept?” Garrity asked.

  “In the big building there in the middle,” Lola explained. “It is called El Castillo.”

  “We noticed it earlier,” Wildon said. “It seems a well-guarded place. I believe it would be most difficult to break into.”

  “I can get you in there,” Lola said. “But not tonight. I must make arrangements. Do you have horses?”

  “Yes,” Garrity said. “But only two. We need one for the young lady.”

  “I will get you one,” Lola said. “Tomorrow night you come back here with your horses. Come to my cantina and wait. When the time is right, I will take you to El Castillo. We will go inside and get the girl. Then we come out, and you get on the horses and leave.”

  “After we leave with the americana, we will have to wait in our camp until daylight,” Garrity pointed out. “It will be too dangerous to go down the mountain in the dark.

  “They will find you,” Lola said. “The best thing is to go straight to the front entrance and down the path. If you are bold and act like you belong here, the guards will not bother you.”

  “It is risky,” Wildon protested.

  Lola laughed sarcastically. “Jorge will be nearby, senores. If you fail or falter, he will kill you. I do not want you to become prisoners and betray me to my beloved Hu
mberto.”

  “Looks like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” Wildon said.

  “That is absolutely correcto,” Lola replied. She waved them away. “Hasta manana en la noche— until tomorrow night.”

  Fourteen

  Wildon Boothe had never been a patient person. Adulthood had done nothing to curb the disquiet he had as a youngster. In those days he had always been impetuous and anxious for any sort of physical action. He would spend sleepless nights in anticipation of the next day’s hunting or horseback-riding excursion. Now, with Hester’s rescue close at hand, every nerve in his body seemed to be in a screaming state of alertness.

  Garrity, calmly smoking his pipe as he leaned up against his saddle, thought it best to keep the officer’s mind occupied. “At least one problem is took care of, sir.”

  Wildon, nervously scratching nonsensical designs in the dirt, looked over at the sergeant. “What sort of problem?”

  Garrity pointed to the horses and saddles. “If we couldn’t bring them back with us, we’d be in a lot of trouble.”

  “You mean if we had to steal bandit horses for the escape?”

  “Yes, sir,” Garrity said. “If we abandoned our mounts, it would be a loss of government property.”

  “I wouldn’t give a damn,” Wildon said.

  “You’d still have to write a report,” Garrity pointed out. “Sergeant Mulvaney would be fit to be tied when we showed up without the stuff we left with.”

  “Even if we sacrificed it to rescue my wife?”

  “That wouldn’t make any difference according to the regulations,” Garrity said.

  “God damn the regulations then,” Wildon said. “But you’re right. They’d probably have taken it out of my pay.”

  “That’s for sure. And you’d probably never get a promotion. You’d end up being the oldest second lieutenant in the history of the United States Army.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a hell of a note?” Wildon remarked.

  Garrity finished his pipe and knocked it against a rock to get the ashes out. “As it is, you’re going to have to write one hell of a report to explain why you left your command in the middle of an official transfer.”

  “Believe it or not, I’ve given some thought to that between worrying about Hester,” Wildon said. “I think I can justify it though.”

  “It’d be a pretty cold-blooded board of officers that would give you a hard time over that,” Garrity agreed. He stuck his pipe in his jacket pocket. “We really should give more thought to that Mexican woman.”

  “Lola?” Wildon asked. “What do you have on your mind?”

  “I’m hoping like hell we can really trust her,” Garrity said.

  “Sure we can, Sergeant,” Wildon said. “I believe her when she says she wants us to get Hester away from there. If she wants to marry that man, she’d do whatever necessary to get rid of any competition.”

  “Maybe,” Garrity mused. “But she would still accomplish her aim if the three of us were gunned down.”

  “I don’t think so,” Wildon said. “Remember the woman told us that the bandit chief would never forgive her if she killed Hester.”

  “If she killed her,” Garrity said. “But what if that goddamned Jorge cut loose on us with the scattergun? Lola would be in the clear and her barkeep could claim he was just shooting up some outsiders without knowing the woman was there.” Wildon was thoughtful. “That takes some of the brightness out of the picture, doesn’t it?”

  “This thing has been chancy from the start,” Garrity said. “We shouldn’t let our guard down just because we’ve been offered some help.”

  “Then I say we go in and out of there expecting the worse,” Wildon said.

  “I’m all for that,” Garrity replied. With that bit of business settled, the sergeant yawned. “This seems like a good time for a nap.”

  Wildon stood up. “Sleep is out of the question for me. Maybe I’ll go for a walk.”

  “It’d be better if you walked down instead of up the mountain, sir,” Garrity pointed out. “There wouldn’t be as big a chance of being spotted.”

  “As usual, Sergeant Garrity, your advice is sound,” Wildon said. “I’ll stroll down the slope a bit. Maybe it’ll take away some of the tension, and I can get some sleep before tonight’s action.”

  “I’ll see you later, sir.” Garrity rolled over and placed his hat over his head to shield him from the sun.

  Wildon walked slowly and thoughtfully, picking his way carefully as he left the camp. He stopped and stared out over the panorama that spread out from where he stood on the mountain.

  The terrain’s appearance was alien to the native New Yorker. Bare, sun-baked boulders swept downward from the top of Bandido Mountain to the desert floor below. From that point on, the land was as flat and featureless as a table top. Smooth and unsullied, the badlands rolled on undisturbed to the far horizon. Wildon had never appreciated distances in the past, but it was breathtaking to consider the hundreds of square miles that were visible to the naked eye.

  The scene, rather than making him feel insignificant with the awesome display of natural magnificence, gave him a feeling of power. Manly pride crept into the young cavalry officer. With the ~ thought of rescuing his wife from bandits that night heavy on his mind, he felt aggressive and anxious to fight. He looked out over the endless landscape.

  “This is my land,” he said softly to himself, “and I was put on this earth to conquer it and call it a part of my own people’s domain.” He felt like an officer of an ancient Roman legion bringing civilization into the land of the Goths.

  He resumed his walk, treading easily across the rocks as he descended another hundred feet. Breathing deeply and moving with restless energy, his steps were measured and regular despite the rugged terrain.

  The Indian dove on him from behind, coming out of a hidden crop of boulders.

  Both men crashed to the ground. Instinctively angry, Wildon kicked out and got to his feet. His opponent had done the same. Without hesitating, the Indian launched another attack. It was then that Wildon noticed the knife in the man’s hand. When the attacker lunged with it, Wildon locked his hand on the man’s wrist, reaching for his pistol. But the Indian now held the white man’s wrist.

  They struggled against each other, grunting and pulling, each trying to bring the other down. Dust flew up as they kicked and scuffled. Their whirling battle reached the edge of a slight ledge and they fell off, once again rolling and grappling.

  The Indian was husky and short, with heavy muscles in his shoulders and upper arms. Although Wildon was much slimmer and lighter, his fury gave him extra strength. The fight was nip and tuck, but finally Wildon’s lesser physical abilities began to allow the other an advantage. The „ attacker pushed and pressed with all the power in his body, until he finally pinned the white man down.

  Wildon struggled, but eventually he could feel the knife edge across the top of his forehead. Then he realized the Indian meant to scalp him alive. He frantically renewed his struggling, but his opponent maintained his advantage, pressing the knife into his skin.

  Suddenly the Indian’s eyes opened wide and blood gushed from his mouth. His muscles relaxed a bit and Wildon kicked him off. He scrambled back and saw Garrity calmly pulling his knife from the man’s back.

  “Hell of a fight, sir,” Garrity said. He rolled the man over and cut his throat with a deep gash, causing blood to spurt out and run down the rocks. "That’s a goddamned Yaqui,” he said stepping back to inspect his handiwork.

  Wildon stood up, feeling shaky. "Do you think he was a part of the bandit gang?”

  “No,” Garrity answered. “Them Injuns don’t do nothing ’cept with their own kind. He’s part of a hunting group or a war party that must’ve wandered in through here.”

  Now Wildon drew his pistol. “You mean there’re more than just this one devil?”

  “Damn right,” Garrity said. “And we’d better get outta here.”

 
; Wildon looked back at the Yaqui. The Indian’s head was set at a strange angle due to the deep cut across his throat. “What the hell did he attack me for?”

  “Hell, sir, he didn’t need no reason,” Garrity said. “The sonofabitch just likes to kill people.”

  “This is a cruel land,” Wildon said, suddenly not feeling quite so sure of himself.

  “That’s why men like us is out here, sir,” Garrity said. “Leading thirteen-dollar-a-month cavalry troopers to tame it.”

  Wildon looked again at the mutilated cadaver, the eyes open wide as they still displayed savage rage. “That is a mean son of a bitch,” the lieutenant said.

  “Sir,” Garrity replied. “He is probably the meanest sonofabitch you’re ever gonna meet.”

  “Then I got that over early in life, didn’t I?” Wildon said. “By the way—thanks a hell of a lot.”

  “Don’t mention it, sir,” Garrity said.

  “Well, let’s get back up into camp and rest up for tonight.”

  The Santo Domingo Mountains were cloaked in inky blackness. Only the occasional flashes of lamps or fires from various huts where people were staying up late lit the bandit town.

  Garrity stepped out into the open from the boulders. He took a quick look in all directions, then signaled Wildon to follow. The officer, leading their mounts, walked into the camp, handing over Garrity’s reins to the sergeant. Wordlessly and with forced nonchalance, they strolled between the ramshackle buildings until they reached the back of the Cantina Americana. They saw another horse, saddled and ready, already tied up there.

  Wildon rapped lightly on the door. It was opened by a young woman he recognized as one of the barmaids. She beckoned him and Garrity to enter.

  Lola, drinking coffee and counting her receipts for the evening, glanced over at them. “Momento” she said.,

  Jorge the bartender, without the shotgun but wearing a pistol, looked dully over at the two Americans.

  When Lola finished, she put the money in a small strongbox. Jorge walked over and picked up the heavy item, walking out the back with it.

  Lola put a shawl over her shoulders. “You are ready?”

  “I was wondering if that bandit chief Movo would be there,” Garrity said.