The Devil's Staircase

by Randy D. Smith

  Boson Books by Randy D. Smith

  Sunday's Colt and Other Stories of the Old West

  Bohanin's Last Days

  Dodge City

  Fort Larned

  Heroes of the Santa Fe Trail: 1821-1900

  Hunting Modern South Africa with Powder and Ball

  Lovell's Prize

  Scott City

  The Devil's Staircase

  The Red River Ring

  _____________________________________________

  THE DEVIL’S STAIRCASE

  by

  Randy D. Smith

  ______________________________________

  BOSON BOOKS

  Raleigh

  Published by Boson Books

  3905 Meadow Field Lane

  Raleigh, NC 27606

  ISBN 1-932482-13-X

  An imprint of C&M Online Media Inc.

  © Copyright 2004 Randy D. Smith

  All rights reserved

  For information contact

  C&M Online Media Inc.

  3905 Meadow Field Lane

  Raleigh, NC 27606

  Tel: (919) 233-8164

  e-mail:boson@cmonline.com

  URL: http://www.bosonbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  Sergio Quintero placed a heavy clay pot beside his well and paused to catch his breath. Only twenty more jugs and his corn would be watered for the day. He gazed with pride at a hundred small circles of corn nestled in neat rows down the valley flood plain. Each circle received one three-gallon jug of well water, a ritual that he performed each day while the weather was dry; and it was always dry. Still, the old Mexican was a good farmer and his corn always did well. The little ones would eat well in the winter. With his goats, the jalapenos and his corn field there was always enough for his family and a little extra for the market.

  He frowned when he saw the rider approaching along the river. It took only a few moments for him to realize what the rider was. Quintero decided to lower his well bucket and act as though he didn’t see him. Perhaps he would ride on.

  The rider approached slowly as Quintero carefully poured well water into the jug. "Buenos dias," he said quietly as he stopped his horse within a few feet. "Que pasa?"

  Quintero looked up at the rider and smiled broadly. It was best to smile at such men and act as though he was welcome. To show any sign of hostility could mean death.

  "Do you speak English?" the rider asked. He was a thin, dirty, unusually tall and lanky Anglo with a broad brimmed, low-crowned sombrero, crude leather shirt and unbleached cotton pants. He wore leather knee-length chaparejos of the Mexican style over Anglo leather boots. His beard and hair were long, dark and unkempt. His eyes, under the shade of his hat, were hunger hollow and tired. His gelding was emaciated and trail weary. Most importantly he was unusually heavily armed with a pair of massive percussion single shot pistols nestled in holsters on either side of his saddle horn, two Colt Patterson revolvers in holsters on his hips, a large Bowie knife in a scabbard across the small of his back, and a large caliber muzzle loading carbine resting across his lap.

  "Yes, I speak a little," Quintero smiled. "You are a Ranger?"

  "Yes. Do you know a man named Tomaso?"

  Quintero thought quickly. To lie to a Ranger and be found out would mean his death. He owed Tomaso, a bandito and everyone in the valley knew it, nothing. He owed the Anglo even less, however. He would try to be clever and hope the Ranger would ride on. "There are many Tomasos," he smiled.

  "I am looking for a man of average height and heavy build. He has a long scar across his neck under his left ear."

  Quintero could not lie. The description was too good and the Ranger would know later if he found the bandit. "Si, I know this man. He lives with his woman in the canyon to the west."

  "Que tan lejos?"

  "Only a little ways. The canyon reaches high into the hills. It is the only one. His house is at the back above the spring against a high wall of the canyon."

  "No guards?"

  "Only him and the woman."

  "No children?"

  "He only took the woman a few weeks ago. There has been no time for children."

  The Ranger seemed to relax. He smiled and nodded. "Your corn and your peppers look good. You’ve got a nice place. Lots of shade and water. I hope all is well for you."

  Quintero smiled and nodded, thinking it odd that a Ranger would even care to talk to or compliment a Mexican. "Muchas gracias. Would you care for some food or drink?"

  "Thank you, no. I must go on."

  Quintero thought for a moment as the rider started away. He decided that this Ranger might be different. Perhaps he was worth helping. "Be careful, senor. Tomaso es un hombre muy malo."

  The Ranger held up his mount and turned in his saddle. "Thank you, sir. I know how dangerous he is, but I appreciate the warning.

  Sergio Quintero nodded. He thought of the early days just after the revolution when the Rangers came in the night, hung or shot whoever was accused without trial, then moved on. He remembered the beating he took when he tried to help a fellow Mexican being pistol-whipped by an angry Ranger. He remembered how his family had lost its estate after the war with Mexico and how it was Rangers who threw them off the land. He remembered the Gonzales brothers; three of them left hanging by their necks because an Anglo had simply accused them of stealing cattle. He wished he had not warned the Ranger.

  * * * *

  Tomaso rolled over on his side and felt the bare ass of his woman. She was sleeping on her stomach and there were beads of perspiration on the small of her back. It was hot even in the cool of the night within the walls of his adobe. It was too hot for lovemaking and she would not be agreeable. He rolled on his back and listened to the night sounds.

  A form in the corner of the room made a slight movement. Tomaso was startled and spoke swiftly. "Que este?"

  A candle was held to the fire’s embers and the light revealed the stranger sitting in a chair backwards leaning forward against the back, the candle in one hand, a Colt Patterson revolver in the other. "Don’t make any moves, or you’re dead."

  "Who are you?" Tomaso asked as he sat up and slid his back against the wall.

  "Jack Ransom. Mean anything to you?"

  Tomaso nodded. "So, Black Jack Ransom, El Tejano Diablo, has come to murder me in the night."

  He nodded and a faint smile crossed his face. "Yeah."

  The woman stirred as she awakened from her sound sleep.

  "Better cover her ass and get your pants on," Ransom said pointing with the barrel of his Colt.

  "What for? If I am to die, what better place than here beside a beautiful woman?"

  "Where is Rafael?"

  "Quien sabe? If I knew, the last man in Texas that I would tell would be you."

  The Colt fired and bits of Tomaso’s left elbow shattered against the wall behind him. The woman screamed and crawled from the bed to the floor and into the corner. She huddled there screaming in terror.

  Tomaso cried out in pain and held his arm.

  "Where is Rafael?"

  "Pincha caron, perro!" he answered angrily.

  The Colt fired and blood exploded from Tomaso’s right shoulder. She screamed again and tried to crawl deeper into the corner.

  "One piece at a time until I hear what I want," Ransom said calmly. "Where is Rafael?"

  "Quit your screaming, woman. You cry like a child," Tomaso yelled.

  The Colt fired and Tomaso’s left knee splintered into gray bone and bloody flesh.

  "Hurts don’t it? I wonder how she felt when you raped her and skinned her alive. How do you think she felt when you bashed her baby’s brains against the wall of the cabin?"

  Tomaso’s eyes grew wide. "
Was she your woman?"

  "Where is Rafael?"

  Tomaso nodded. "I see. That is the reason. She was your woman."

  The Colt fired and Tomaso’s right elbow exploded.

  The woman was now quiet, listening, trembling.

  Tomaso gasped to catch his breath. The pain was not so bad as shock set in. "For what it is worth, I did not agree with it. He was drunk, and I, and the others. We should have stopped but." He paused. "But I had never seen such a thing done and." He smiled wickedly to take what revenge he could before dying. "She was so beautiful."

  The Colt fired and Tomaso’s right knee came apart.

  "Where is Rafael?" Ransom asked drawing his second revolver.

  "You have wasted your bullets, Diablo. I have not seen him in three years."

  The Colt fired and Tomaso’s head rocked forward, then his body fell from the bed to the floor.

  "Didn’t waste my bullets. I really didn’t think you would know. Even if you did, I knew you wouldn’t talk." He sat quietly, staring at the body, replaying the images of Elisabeth and the baby when he found them. After a while he rose from his chair, walked toward the body and spoke to the woman without looking at her. "You need to get out of here. This will be nothing you want to see."

  "Did he really do those things?" she asked in broken English.

  "I won’t hurt you. Get something on and get out."

  She slipped on her skirt then her blouse as he stood over the body, waiting for her to leave. "I did not know," she said very quietly.

  "I figured as much. You ain’t much more than a child yourself."

  "I have no place to go."

  "You have every place to go. You’re just too young to know it."

  She quietly slipped out of the door and into the night.

  Ransom drew his Bowie and went to work.

  Chapter 2

  Sam Houston, President of the Republic of Texas, leaned back in his chair and smiled at the woman. "I have a man I want to send with you. He is a little rough around the edges but he has an interest in this and his courage is without question."

  Dona Elaina Valverde nodded regally. "I trust your judgment on these matters, Mr. President." She was an unusually tall, beautiful woman of Spanish heritage.

  "Where is this man?" Antonio Ortiz, a tall handsome caballero asked as he stood behind her chair.

  "He’ll be here shortly. I had him get bathed, barbered and outfitted in a new suit of clothes before I thought you should meet him."

  "I hope you are not placing us in the hands of some ruffian, President Houston. Senora Valverde is not used to such men."

  Houston smiled and nodded. He thought of her husband in his fine uniform when he surrendered at San Jacinto. Valverde was one of the officers who had massacred the Goliad men after they surrendered. He wondered if either of these two dandies really knew what a "ruffian" she had married in spite of his fine clothes and manners. "I can assure you, Don Antonio, this man is just right for this job. I can think of no better to be responsible for your care."

  A pale, balding secretary followed a knock on the cabin door. "He’s here, Mr. President."

  "Send him in."

  Black Jack Ransom entered uncomfortably, wearing new clothes, a Mexican sombrero and holding a canvas bag. His hair and beard were freshly barbered but he seemed hampered by his frock coat. The Colts, looking out of place and heavy, were holstered over his buttoned coat.

  Houston stood and pointed at the bag. "I’ll take that, Jack. We’ll discuss it later."

  Ransom stepped by the Spaniards and awkwardly handed the bag to Houston who quickly placed it behind his desk. Ransom nodded toward the woman, then the caballero before remembering to remove his hat.

  The Spaniards looked at him with an expression of having suddenly smelled an unpleasant odor.

  "I’ve got an assignment for you, Jack. It’s different than you are used to but I think you’ll find it appealing."

  "What’s that, General Sam?"

  "I want you to escort this lady to Santa Fe as part of her personal body guard."

  Ransom started to laugh then stopped himself. "Shit, General, you don’t want me to do that."

  The Mexicans’ features hardened.

  "I mean, hell, what you want me doing something like that for? I ain’t never had no learning. These people wouldn’t know what to do with me."

  Houston poured Jack a whisky and offered him a seat. Jack took the whisky but chose to stand in the corner.

  "Ranger Ransom has been with me since the beginning. He was seventeen when we charged Santa Anna at San Jacinto. Ever since he’s been one of our best Rangers. He knows the country, he speaks Comanche, and he’s never shirked his duty."

  "I trust your judgment, Mr. President." She rose from her chair. "We will leave at dawn tomorrow. If you will instruct Senor Ransom to meet us there, I will be most grateful. Until then I believe our business is concluded." She left the room before Houston could stand.

  "Mil gracias," Don Antonio said as he bowed and briskly followed her out the door.

  Black Jack downed his whisky. "General, what the hell do you want to do this for?"

  Houston shook his head looking at the bag. "What the hell are you carrying that in here for? Who is it?"

  "Tomaso."

  "I suppose you’ll put it with the rest."

  "Yes, only one man left."

  Houston gently pushed the bag under the table with his toe. "Sit down, Jack. Have another whisky. I want to talk to you about this job."

  Ransom took his whisky and looked about the room for a chair wide enough to accommodate his revolvers. He decided on a stool in the corner and brought it to the center of the room.

  Houston filled his glass and returned to the table that functioned as his desk. "Do you know who that woman was?"

  Ransom shook his head and stared at his whisky. "Some uppity Mexican I suppose."

  "Her name is Dona Elaina Valverde and she was the wife of Colonel Francisco Valverde."

  "What the hell is she doing in Texas?" Ransom asked, his full attention gained.

  Houston smiled. "She never left. She’s one of the few aristocrats supporting Santa Anna who managed to hold on to her estate after the revolution."

  "What ever happened to the Colonel? Did he choke on a frijol?"

  "I don’t know. He never came back and she never left Texas."

  "Seems strange. You’d think she’d want to be with her own kind."

  Houston smiled again. "Or she can’t afford it."

  Ransom was confused.

  Houston rose and stepped to the open window. "The story is that when Santa Anna came up here with his army, he brought along a chest of gold pesos to cover expenses, perhaps as much as twenty thousand dollars worth. When he divided his armies, he detailed Colonel Valverde to secure the funds in a safe place and Valverde left with the money. You and I both know that he was at San Jacinto so he couldn’t have been gone for very long, certainly not long enough to go back to Mexico and he didn’t take the money to General Cos. I suspect that he took the money to his hacienda and left it there for safe keeping until Santa Anna could retrieve it after he had done away with us. Trouble is, we did away with them and Valverde couldn’t get back to the hacienda without raising suspicion. Whether he died in service, or was executed, or choked on a frijol, is unimportant. He never came back here and she has no inclination to go back there. If she did she’d have to give up the gold to El Presidente and explain why she held it so long.

  "Why don’t you just seize it?" Ransom asked.

  "For two reasons. I wouldn’t know where she has it hidden and she maintains a force of at least fifty armed vaqueros. Secondly, I would tip her off to the fact that I suspected she had it. For all she knows I’m ignorant of the whole affair."

  "So what can we do?"

  "Until now, there was nothing. But something new has developed that could shake this whole thing out. She sent word to me through Ortiz that she wanted a personal audi
ence. He told me that her daughter had been kidnapped and held for ransom. The money is to be delivered to Santa Fe and the exchange made. She wanted an escort of Rangers to guard the ransom and escort her through Comanche country."

  "Why doesn’t she just use her vaqueros?"

  "I’m guessing that she doesn’t trust them, especially Ortiz. Once she’s out of Texas, she has no protection. She wants Ortiz and her vaqueros to watch the Rangers and Rangers to watch them. The problem is I don’t have any Rangers to spare, except you. You’ve been on this special assignment for these last three years and I think you’ve got more than a passing interest in this."

  "How so?"

  Houston faced Ransom. "Because she claims that her contact in Santa Fe is a bandit named Rafael."

  Black Jack rose from his stool. "My Rafael?"

  "Don’t know for sure but how many bandits do you know of that go only by the name, Rafael?"

  "None."

  "Sit down and have another whisky. I’ve got more to say." He took Ransom’s glass, refilled it, and handed it back. "The ransom is significant. I’m thinking a good portion of Santa Anna’s gold. Texas needs that gold. I need that gold. We’re bankrupt, Jack, and until we get the United States to bring us in as a state on our terms, we’ve no way to even pay the interest on our debts. Anson Jones will be assuming the Presidency and has no working funds to draw from. If Polk is elected all that could change, but until and if that happens this republic needs money. Getting Rafael is your pleasure. Getting the gold is your assignment. I’m going to make you a Captain with the authority to recruit a company. How you get the gold is up to you. I don’t want to know. Once you’ve seized the money and until you get that money back to me, you’ll be a hunted man and I will deny any knowledge of this conversation. When I get the gold I’ll turn it over to President Jones and you’ll go back on Ranger duty as a Captain but until then you’re on your own. No one other than you and I will know anything concerning this arrangement." Houston studied Black Jack’s reaction. "What do you think?"