There was a rustle in the bushes. I turned, and Fat Cat came out into the open. He was carrying a small rabbit impaled on a stick. “So you’re awake, are you?”
“I thought—”
“You thought I had left you?” He laughed. “I was only getting us something to eat. Now get us wood for a fire while I skin this little one.”
The rabbit was tough and stringy but I never tasted anything so delicious. When we had finished, all that was left was a little pile of bones. I wiped the grease from my face with my fingers, then licked them clean. “That was good.”
Fat Cat smiled and got to his feet. “Put the bones in your pocket. Then we’ll have something to chew on during the day.” He began to kick out the small fire. When he was finished, he turned. “Let’s go.”
I put the last of the bones in my pocket and followed him out onto the road. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Forget it.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you would have caught up with the others.”
His voice was gentle. “If it hadn’t been for you, my bones would be rotting back there in the valley. Besides, we never could have caught up with them.”
“What will we do?” I asked. “How will we get home?”
“Walk,” he replied brusquely. “Man walked before he learned to ride horses.”
I stared at him. Fat Cat hated to walk. It was two and a half days’ ride to Bandaya from our refuge in the mountains. On foot it would take more than a week.
Fat Cat’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Keep your ears open. If we hear anything, we leave the road. We take no chances. Understand?”
“Sí. Comprendo.”
At last we came to the top of the mountain and about a mile down the other side we found a small stream. “We will stop here and rest,” Fat Cat said.
I ran to the creek and threw myself down beside it. Thirstily I gulped. After a moment, Fat Cat pulled me back. “That’s enough. Rest awhile, then you can drink again.”
I lay back against a tree. My feet hurt. I took off my boots and rubbed them, then let them dangle in the running water. I could feel its soothing coolness run up my thighs. By contrast my body felt crawly with the dried-up sweat of the last few days.
“Can I go for a swim?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I were crazy. Mountain people didn’t believe in bathing. “All right,” he said, “but don’t stay in long. You will wash away the protection from your skin.”
I dropped my clothes and waded into the stream. The cold sparkling water delighted me and I splashed about happily, kicking up a spray. A thin silver fish streaked past me and I dove after it, hands outstretched. It slipped through my fingers when I raised my head from the water. Then I heard a giggle from the bank. I turned around.
Two young girls were standing on the bank watching me, and Fat Cat wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I sat down in the shallow stream quickly.
The smaller girl giggled again. The bigger one turned and called, “Papá! Diego! Come quickly. There’s a boy in the stream!”
A moment later two men came through the brush, the rifles in their hands pointed at me. “What are you doing in there?”
“I was taking a swim.”
“Well, come out!”
I started to get to my feet and then sank back into the water. “Throw me my pantalones,” I said, pointing.
The older man glanced at the two girls, then back at me. “Turn your backs,” he ordered.
The little girl giggled again as they turned. I stood up and waded for the bank.
“Are you alone?” the younger man asked.
“No, señor,” I answered as I took the pantalones from his outstretched hand. “I am with my father.”
“Where is he?”
“I do not know, señor,” I answered truthfully. “He was here a moment ago—”
“And is here again,” Fat Cat’s voice interrupted. He appeared through the bushes, his plump face shining in a wide-toothed smile. He took off his hat and made a sweeping bow. “José Hernandez, a su servicio, señores.” He straightened up, still smiling. “Mi hijo, Juan,” he added, gesturing toward me. “The crazy one likes the water.”
The older man turned the rifle on him. “What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously.
Fat Cat walked toward him as if he wasn’t even aware that the rifle was aimed at him. “My son and I return home from the valley. There is much trouble in Bandaya. El militar. It was no place for a peace-loving man and his son to seek employment.”
The rifle was almost touching Fat Cat’s belly now. “Where do you live?”
“A week’s journey from here,” Fat Cat replied. “Where are you bound?”
“Estanza.”
Estanza was a few days’ journey from Bandaya on the way to the coast. The road turned southward two mountain ridges beyond. At that point we would have to leave it and follow the paths through the woods and mountains.
“Perhaps the señores would permit us to accompany them.” Fat Cat bowed again. “It is said there are bandoleros.”
The two men looked at each other. “It is true,” the younger one replied. “El Coronel Guiterrez said the road has many bandits.” He turned back to Fat Cat. “Where are your horses?”
Fat Cat laughed. “Horses? Who has horses, señor? We are but poor campesinos. We would be lucky if we could afford one little burro.”
The older one looked at Fat Cat for a moment, then lowered the rifle. “All right, we shall go as far as Estanza together.”
“But, excelencia—” the younger man protested.
“It is all right, Diego,” the other said in a slightly annoyed voice. “What harm can one man and a small boy do?”
13
I sat on the tailgate of the wagon, my back to the two girls, while Fat Cat rode on the driver’s seat with Señor Moncada. Diego rode alongside on a large black stallion, his rifle resting casually across the saddle. Señor Moncada was a farmer who had come to bring his daughters home from a visit to their grandparents.
I stretched wearily and kept a hand on the side of the wagon to keep from falling off in case I dozed. I looked up at the sky. It was almost dark. We would have to stop soon, for the road was too dangerous to travel at night.
“There is a grove around the next bend,” I heard Diego call. “We can spend the night there.”
The wagon pulled off the road and creaked to a halt on the grass. Fat Cat was down from his seat and pulling at me almost before it rolled to a halt. “Hurry,” he said, “gather wood for a fire. Quickly, before the young ladies get a chill!”
I stared at him in surprise. Fat Cat never worried about anyone. Only himself.
“Snap to it!” he shouted.
I began to gather wood. Over my shoulder I could see Fat Cat helping the two girls down from the wagon. By the time I came back with the first armful, the horses had been tethered and watered and were already feeding on the grass. “Where do you want me to put it?” I asked.
Señor Moncada gestured at the ground in front of him.
I started to drop the wood there but Fat Cat stopped me. “I think it is too close to the road, señor,” he said apologetically. “It can too easily be seen. It might serve as an attraction for unwanted guests.”
Señor Moncada looked hesitantly at Diego. Diego nodded.
Fat Cat walked farther back into the glade. “I think here will be better.”
I dumped the wood where Fat Cat pointed. By the time I came back with a second armload a fire was already roaring heartily. I put the wood down and looked at Fat Cat. I was tired.
“More,” he ordered. He cut some long branches and trimmed them and formed them into a tripod. The next time I returned there was a heavy iron pot hanging from it, and already the aroma of hot beef stew was beginning to permeate the air.
“Enough?”
Fat Cat looked up at me, his face shining from the flames. “For now,” he said. “There is a brook about a hundred yards
down the hill. Get another pot and fetch fresh water.”
I walked over to the wagon. Vera, the younger girl, looked at me and giggled. I was annoyed. She was always giggling.
“What do you want?” Marta, the older one, asked.
“A pot for water.”
Vera giggled again.
I glared at her. “Why are you always giggling?”
She went off into a paroxysm of laughter. The tears began to run down her cheeks.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, beginning to get angry. Stupid girls.
She stopped her laughter. “You looked so funny.”
I looked down at myself.
“Not now,” she said quickly. “This afternoon. When you were in the water. You’re so skinny.”
I made a face. “It’s better than being fat like you.”
“Here’s your pot,” Marta said abruptly. I thought there was a hint of anger in her voice.
I took the pot from her hand. “Gracias.”
“No hay de qué,” she answered, equally polite.
Vera giggled again. “What’s the mater with her?” I asked.
Marta shrugged. “She’s only a child. She’s twelve. She’s never seen a boy naked.”
“You haven’t either!” Vera retorted.
Marta tossed her head. “But I’m fourteen and I don’t act like a child about it!”
Diego came up behind me. “Did you get the pot?” he asked suspiciously.
“Sí señor.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Fetch water like your father told you to.”
Silently I started off. I could still hear his voice as I walked away. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” Marta answered.
“Well, stay away from him.”
Then I couldn’t hear them anymore as I went into the woods and down to the stream. Fat Cat was waiting at the bank. “Hurry. The sooner they eat the sooner they will be asleep.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Steal their horses. We can be home in two days. Besides, I like the black stallion.”
“It won’t be easy,” I said. “Diego does not trust us.”
Fat Cat smiled. “I will kill him.”
There was a sound in the underbrush behind us, and Fat Cat got to his feet just as Diego came through the brush. He stood there, a rifle in his hands. Did he never put it down?
Fat Cat wiped his hands on his trousers. “I was just washing my hands.”
***
Some sound in the night awakened me. I rolled over in the blanket Señor Moncada had loaned me and peered over at Fat Cat. He lay there asleep, snoring slightly. I turned my head and looked for Diego. He was not in his blanket.
I turned over and glanced toward the wagon where Señor Moncada and his daughters were sleeping. No sound came from there. I lay quiet for a moment. Perhaps Diego had gone into the bushes to relieve himself.
I heard a horse whinny, and I turned my head. It was then that I saw Diego stealing quietly toward the wagon, his rifle cocked and ready.
“Psst!”
Fat Cat came awake like the animal he was named after. I gestured with my hand and pointed. Fat Cat rolled over on his stomach nearer me. “He’s going to kill them!” I whispered.
Fat Cat didn’t move. “Let him,” he whispered back. “It will save us the trouble!”
Diego crept up on the front of the wagon. I saw him brace his feet and begin to straighten up, the rifle coming to his shoulder, and then a thin scream suddenly rent the night air.
Diego fired wildly as Señor Moncada came down off the wagon. He tried to club him with the rifle, and as they both tumbled sideways against the side of the wagon Fat Cat was on his feet running toward them.
“The rifle!” he called back to me. “Get the rifle!”
He stopped near the struggling men. They rolled over and over, and I saw the flash in the moonlight as Fat Cat lifted his knife. He waited a moment, then suddenly the knife came down. There was a shriek as Diego came up from the ground, his hands reaching for Fat Cat’s throat.
Fat Cat stepped back for a moment and waited. Diego moved. The blade stabbed down and Diego doubled like a jackknife. Fat Cat brought up his knee sharply under Diego’s chest and he flew backward, head over heels.
Fat Cat turned swiftly, the knife ready in his hand. Señor Moncada’s back was to him as he got to his feet. Fat Cat brought up the knife but at that moment the other turned around, the rifle in his hand.
Fat Cat dropped his hands to his sides. “Are you all right, señor?” he asked, false concern in his voice.
Señor Moncada looked at him, then down at Diego. “The bandolero!” he cursed. “He tried to kill me!”
“It was lucky that I awoke, señor.”
Señor Moncada smiled. “I am in your debt, amigo. You have saved my life.”
Fat Cat looked down at the ground. For once he had nothing to say. But after a moment, he found his tongue. “It was nothing, señor. It was a small thing to repay your kindness.”
He walked to Diego and rolled him over with his foot. “He is dead. Where did you hire such a man?”
“In Bandaya,” Señor Moncada replied. “We were told there were bandoleros in the mountains and that it would not be safe to travel alone with the little girls. He was recommended by Coronel Guiterrez. He had been acting as a scout for el militar.”
“He was nothing but a bandolero,” Fat Cat said righteously. “He would have killed you and stolen your horses. He must have wanted your black stallion very badly.”
“The black stallion?” Señor Moncada asked in bewilderment. “He wasn’t mine. That was his own horse.”
Fat Cat’s eyebrows shot up. “It was?”
Señor Moncada nodded. “Under the law, he is now yours.”
Fat Cat looked over at me. He was smiling. It was the first time any law had worked to his favor. Whatever belonged to a bandolero automatically became yours if you took his life.
“Are you all right, Papá?” a frightened voice called from the wagon.
I had forgotten about the girls. I turned to the wagon. Marta’s face peeked cautiously over the side.
“We are saved!” Señor Moncada exclaimed dramatically. “By the grace of God we have been saved from death! This good man, at the risk of his own life, protected us from that assassin!”
A moment later the two girls scrambled over the side of the wagon. Their arms went around their father and they all began kissing and crying and exclaiming to each other happily. At last Señor Moncada turned to us, his face beaming.
“It was a lucky day for us when we met you this afternoon,” he said. “Now I understand why Diego did not wish you to join us!”
“It was a lucky thing for us all, señor,” Fat Cat answered. He looked over at me and spoke in the voice of a man of property. “Go make sure our horse is properly tethered!”
14
I had finished emptying the last bag of salt into the barrel of beef when suddenly I realized that the two girls were in the barn watching me. I picked up the lid and began to nail it down.
After a moment Marta spoke. “You’ll be going home tomorrow?”
It was more statement than question. I nodded. We had been at the hacienda almost a week. Señor Moncada had not wanted to make the rest of the journey alone, and the next thing I knew Fat Cat had agreed to accompany him. Especially after he heard that the good señor had cattle and was offering to compensate us with four barrels of freshly salted beef and a wagon to haul it.
Of course that meant that Fat Cat would have to leave the black stallion as security, but only until we returned the wagon, so the deal was made and we continued down the road to Estanza.
We had worked day and night to salt the beef and prepare it for the journey. I drove the last nail home and turned around.
“Yes,” I finally answered. “We leave tomorrow.”
“How old are you?” Vera asked.
“Thirteen,”
I answered, knowing she was twelve.
“No, you’re not,” Marta said scornfully. “I heard your father tell mine that you were only ten!”
“My father?” For a moment I had forgotten. Fat Cat, as usual, was out in the cooking hut making up to the cook and probably stuffing his belly.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Vera asked.
I shook my head. Now that I had stopped working it was beginning to feel cool in the shaded barn. I reached for my shirt and slipped into it.
“You’re skinny,” Vera said. “All your bones stick out.” She began to giggle again.
I looked at her in disgust. That’s all she ever talked about, how skinny I was.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Marta said. “She’s always trying to see what a boy’s got.”
“You are too! You were the one who followed Diego when he relieved himself!”
“You told me where he went!” Marta retorted. She shuddered delicately. “That terrible man!”
“You didn’t think that then. You said his was bigger than Papá’s!”
Now I understood.
Marta’s voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. “He saw us watching him. You know what he did?”
I shook my head.
“He came over to where we were hiding. His thing was still in his hand. We were frightened but he laughed and began to massage his thing. In a minute it got three times as big! It was all red on the end like the black stallion’s.”
“The black stallion?” I asked. I didn’t get the connection.
Marta nodded impatiently. “Papá said he will have all six mares knocked up by the black stallion by the time your father brings the wagon back!”
“Oh.” Señor Moncada was no fool. One colt alone was worth four barrels of beef.
“He kept playing with it and it got bigger and bigger,” Vera continued in a hushed voice.
“Who?” I asked. For a moment I had forgotten what she was talking about.
“Diego,” Marta answered in an annoyed voice. “He just stood there with a funny look on his face and kept playing with his thing.”
Now I began to be interested. “Then what happened?”
Marta’s voice contained a tinge of disappointment. “Nothing,” she replied. “We heard Papá coming so we ran back to the wagon.”
The Adventurers Page 9
