The Devil's Staircase

by Randy D. Smith

  Kyle nodded and spoke quietly. "Next time we go drinking, don’t tell Patch. I don’t particularly like his company just now. That is, if we ever go drinking again."

  The circling dance began again. Ortega’s eyes cut to Wilkes’s blade then back to his face in rapid succession. Patch waited for his chance, never taking his focus off Ortega’s face. When Ortega shifted his eyes back to the blade, Patch took a step forward and pulled hard against the scarf, throwing the Mexican off balance. Ortega caught his footing and slashed upward with his blade to drive Wilkes back. As the knife slipped past Patch’s right shoulder, he slashed up slicing a deep gash across Ortega’s upper arm.

  Ortega cried out dropping his knife and the scarf. He stepped back clutching the wound, blood flowing heavily through his fingers. He eyes cut to Wilkes, his face red with anger.

  "Don’t do it, Mexican," Wilkes said coldly. "Not if you want to live."

  Ortega blinked to control his temper, hesitated and nodded concession. "You have won. Take the stallion."

  Patch turned his attention to the vaqueros and recognized their anger. "Keep your stallion. Look to your amigos for a hundred dollars. I will be satisfied if you can raise it."

  Ortega blinked in bewilderment. "I do not understand."

  "Look to your amigos for the hundred dollars. Keep your stallion."

  The vaqueros were surprised. One at a time they began counting out their pesos.

  "It was not their wager. Take the stallion," Ortega said as he realized his friends were preparing to pay.

  The vaqueros ignored him and placed their money in a hat. "We have three hundred pesos. That is all," one of them said.

  Patch nodded. "That’ll do. I’ll call it even."

  Ortega grimaced as a vaquero drew the scarf tight against his wound. "Why?"

  Patch cut an evil grin. "Why not? I don’t know how many times some uppity Mexican has tried to humiliate me with the blade. Next time you want to back down a Texan, remember how I played the game and turned the tables on you." He cut his gaze across the faces of them all. "All of you."

  Sullen silence reigned as they digested his words.

  Patch waited until he was certain his point was made. "Now I’ve got three hundred pesos to spend. Let’s get drunk…all of us."

  Smiles slowly cut across their faces, then some head shaking and laughter. Ortega’s features softened. "A drink. Yes. I will join you as will my amigos."

  As the men circled around a fresh crock of pulque, Segundo stepped to Patch’s side. "You play dangerous games. Why did you press them so far?"

  Patch smiled and spoke softly. "Make no mistake. I intended to take the stallion. But this time I played the game too well. I burned them too badly. I have no intention of dying for some damned horse. This time I learned a lesson just as hard as Ortega. This way I walk away with pride and some respect from them. To have played it any other way would have meant my death. You know that as well as I do."

  Segundo nodded. "You are wise, senor. I have gained a new respect for you."

  "Well, hell," Patch said as he accepted a fresh cup of pulque. "That’s worth three hundred pesos."

  Chapter 8

  Tanto Corrello waited in the shadows listening to the men in the distance as they drank. He jumped when he heard a noise behind.

  "Careful, there. You’re likely to piss your pants," Patch said. "What have you learned."?

  Corrello spit. "How the hell did you know I was here? I’ve been watching for you for nearly an hour."

  "Those boys are feeling no pain right about now. I had to bide my time until I was certain I could get clear without anyone noticing."

  "I got the guns and made the offer to Yellow Wolf. I had a devil of a time linking up with him. He wanted more. I promised him all the livestock from the raid as well."

  "Fine with me. I ain’t planning on starting no burro and mule ranch. What about extra riders for us?"

  "I got six men left. That’s it. After Ransom chewed us up in that last raid, there ain’t many eager to take him on again."

  "Six is enough. If we can get Yellow Wolf to make the raid, all I need is a small group of men to get the goods and make for Santa Fe."

  "Santa Fe? Why not back to Texas?"

  "I got me this itchy place right where I sit when it comes to this whole deal. Houston is involved in this and he probably knows that Ransom has me riding for him. If there’s as much gold as I think there is, I might have to steer clear of Texas."

  "How much do you think there is?"

  "A bunch. I’m betting she has every penny she owns packed on them mules. She’s running and she has enough that she feels she can abandon a mighty fine ranch. That’s a lot."

  Tanto cut his eyes to the campfire in front of the cantina. "I probably need to ride. Yellow Wolf is planning on hitting the caravan at Pancho Pass in the Glass Mountains. You’re going to have to watch your ass. His bucks ain’t going to worry much whether you live or die. You will be on your own."

  "Don’t worry about me. Once we reach the pass I’ll slip clear and get out of the road. I don’t want to be anywhere near that fight."

  "Then that’s it."

  "No, not quite. Francisco Gomez will have riders escorting the caravan as well. I just learned that he has agreed to help Valverde get the gold to the Rio Grande. That means the she will have at least ten or twenty more riders escorting the gold. Juan Ortega will be leading them. He’s quite an hombre. I’ll remember that every time I reach for a drink for a while."

  "Hell, Yellow Wolf doesn’t need to know that. All he knows is that we’re going to hit the caravan."

  Patch nodded. "Good enough. Keep your eyes sharp. When I break clear of the caravan, I’ll want your people watching out for my ass. Most of all I don’t want to face Black Jack Ransom alone. Whatever happens, if I want to sleep nights, Ransom has to be dead. Otherwise none of our lives will be worth a plug nickel."

  * * * *

  When Tad, Kyle and Toby finished telling the tale of the dual the following morning, Black Jack nodded and smiled knowingly. "So Patch traded the stallion for a good drunk and his skin. I wonder what he has up his sleeve this time."

  The men were confused by his reaction.

  "What you mean, Captain?" Tad asked.

  "Where’s Patch now?" Ransom asked brushing the question aside.

  "Don’t know. Sometime during the fandango, he disappeared. We figured he came back to camp."

  "He did," Wilkes said as he stepped from behind a tent. "If I waited for you daisies to wake up, I’d a got a hitch in my get-along from lying around all day."

  "Where you been?" Ransom asked.

  "Taking a shit. Did you want to hold my hand?"

  Ransom chuckled. "No, I’ll pass. How bad did you get cut last night?"

  Wilkes fetched a cup and poured a coffee. "You know me, old compadre. I was raised with a Bowie in my belt. I’ve been getting sliced on since before you were sucking on the sugar teat."

  "Yeah, I know you. How come you backed down on the stallion?"

  "Those boys were a rough bunch. I figured that pony would cost me my life."

  Ransom got his own cup of coffee. "Since when? I’ve seen you face down worse odds than it sounded like you had last night."

  Patch tipped his cup to cool the coffee. "You weren’t there. Besides, I’m getting long in the tooth. I came damn close to getting beat last night. I was a cat’s whisker from losing my hundred bucks. I wasn’t in any mood for more trouble."

  Ransom studied him closely. "You know, Patch, I’m puzzled with that answer. I hope that’s all there was to it."

  "That’s all there was to it. You seem mighty jumpy here of late, Jacky."

  "Maybe I am. Keeping an eye on you is not something I want interfering with my chance to get Rafael. I’d take that real personal."

  "Seems like every time we get together here of late, we end up having the same conversation."

  Ransom smiled and tossed his dregs into the campfi
re. "It does for a fact. We ought to do something about that."

  "Ortiz is coming this way," Tad said. "He’s got several men with him."

  Antonio Ortiz, Segundo, Francisco Gomez and Juan Ortega rode toward the camp.

  "We’ll take this up later," Ransom said to Patch as he stepped forward to greet them.

  "Buenos dias, Capitan Ransom," Ortiz said. "We have some planning to make with you."

  "Step down. There’s coffee on the fire and you’re welcome."

  The men dismounted and gathered round the fire. Tad and Kyle served up coffee.

  Segundo and Ortega tipped their sombreros to Patch. Their manner demonstrated that the events of the night before had been forgiven. Patch returned the gesture but remained squatting by the coffee fire.

  Ortiz took a sip of his coffee. "Ah, this is good. There is nothing to equal good Texas coffee."

  "Soldier’s coffee," Ransom said. "Tad made it."

  "Have you met our host, Senor Gomez?"

  "I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure," Black Jack said as he tipped his hat.

  Gomez was portly, in his seventies and sported a long mustachio. In spite of his wealth, he was dressed little better than a common peasant. "I have heard much about you, Capitan Ransom, not only from the senora but from others who have traveled this way. The Comanche have great fear of you. They call you El Tejano Diablo, the one with no mercy."

  "Well, yes sir, but I really don’t know if it is good or bad to have such a reputation."

  "It is very good. It is considered a great honor for the Comanche to give a man such a fearsome name. Believe me, Capitan, to be feared by the Comanche in this lonely country is a good thing. They will think twice before making war on a man with a distinction such as you have."

  "Senor Gomez has agreed to send some of his vaqueros with us to provide additional protection against the Comanches," Ortiz said.

  Jack nodded. "Good. We can use all the help we can get. How many?"

  I have ten good men who will help you through the Glass Mountains," Gomez said. "Ortega will act as my representative. I am too old to be making the ride."

  "Ortega’s a good man," Patch said from the fire.

  Ortega smiled and nodded recognition of the compliment.

  Gomez eyed Patch icily. "I have instructed him that there will be no more affairs of honor such as last night. I expect my words to be honored…by both sides."

  Black Jack nodded. "There will be no more dances or any other such contests. You have my word."

  "Bueno. I trust you will insure my orders."

  "Like I said, you have my word." Black Jack cut his eyes toward Patch. "My men will follow my orders."

  Patch smiled faintly without looking up, swirled his coffee and spit into the fire. Ortega stepped to the fire and spit. He smiled broadly looking down upon Patch.

  "I told Don Francisco that I have no ill feelings. I was prideful and it was a sin. It was time for me to learn the price of the sin of vanity."

  Patch did not look up. He smiled and nodded. "For both of us, amigo. It is not a challenge I would care to attempt to meet again."

  Gomez nodded and opened his arms. "Then the matter is settled. I have no concern."

  Antonio Ortiz nodded. "Bueno, the senora will be greatly pleased. Passage through the montanas will be much safer with ten more riders."

  "Maybe," Black Jack said. "But we still have to be very careful."

  Gomez nodded. "Very careful. Yellow Wolf is a most dangerous advisory. More than once he has made many widows among my people."

  As the men talked Patch caught sight of Tanto Corrello standing near the hacienda corrals smoking a cigar and holding a white bandana in his left hand. Corrello had been able to get word to Yellow Wolf. Patch reasoned that he must have ridden through the night to be back so soon. All was in play for the Pancho Pass raid. Patch rose and threw the dregs of his coffee into the fire.

  "We will leave in the morning," Ortiz said. "I will send Rigundo out immediately to scout the trail through the mountains."

  "I’d like to send one of my men with him. I hate to see a man ride out alone," Black Jack said. "You ready to ride, Patch?"

  Wilkes smiled broadly. "The sooner the better, Captain. The sooner the better."

  Chapter 9

  Pancho Pass looked like a hellhole. Black Jack sighed heavily as he held up his mount and studied the terrain. The rugged slopes on either side of the narrow canyon were strewn with jagged rocks, cactus and mesquite. To try to break a horse into a run anywhere other than the narrow trail snaking along a dry arroyo down the center would almost certainly end with a lame animal. The wagons would fare worse no matter how careful they were. He held up the column and signaled for Rigundo to come forward. Ortiz, Segundo and Wilkes joined him as well.

  "You boys certain this canyon is clear? I never laid eyes on a better place for an ambush."

  Rigundo shrugged his shoulders. "We swept both sides of the canyon. Nothing was there. But that was yesterday. Hoy, quien sabe?"

  "We can take another look for you," Patch said.

  Jack shook his head and examined the percussion cap of his carbine. "No, I’m going." He placed the carbine across his lap and examined each of the big horse pistols from his pommel holsters. He drew each Colt in turn from his holsters and checked the loads.

  "You are expecting trouble?" Ortiz asked.

  "It could get pretty lonely back in there if it is full of Comanches."

  Segundo adjusted himself in his saddle. "I will go with you."

  "No, I don’t want to have to worry about anybody’s skin but my own. I want you out here to get your men organized if it turns bad. I know what I’m doing."

  "Then what are your orders?" Ortiz asked.

  "Don’t do anything until I come back out of this canyon. I’ll come back and talk to you. If you see me waving you forward from a distance, it’s a trap. If you hear shooting, I’d appreciate some help but don’t send more than three or four riders. Use the rest to fort up and get ready, because sure as sunrise, they’ll hit you right here if they’re found out."

  The men nodded solemnly and checked their own loads. Black Jack urged his horse forward.

  Ransom rode easily up the narrow trail; his right hand on the wrist of his carbine his thumb resting along the side of the hammer. A cool gentle breeze from the canyon blew softly across his face. As his horse followed the trail up the narrow arroyo the walls of the canyon became steeper and other than the echoes of the horse’s hooves against the hard packed trail only the sound of the breeze through the mesquite could be heard. Ransom kept his face straight ahead, his eyes darting across the landscape for any sign of movement. The trail turned to the right and the canyon walls shadowed the narrowing passage. A turkey vulture made a slow pass along the rim of the canyon in a tightening circle.

  The trail turned again to the west after several hundred yards and made another steep incline toward the top of the rim. Ransom held up his horse and listened carefully. He thought he heard a few stones rolling near the canyon rim. He lifted the carbine and set the butt on his leg, his thumb across the face of the hammer. After a few moments of silence he urged the horse forward. He craned his neck up to better see the canyon rim. He thought he saw a dim shadow fade back almost imperceptibly from a large boulder slightly below the rim. He ran his tongue along his lips and clinched his jaw. He didn’t like it. He had that itchy feeling along the back of his neck. It was too quiet and there was subtle movement along the rim of the canyon. He held up his horse and waited.

  He concentrated on the trail ahead. A boulder rested precariously between the trail and the arroyo fifty yards up the canyon. A man could wait on the other side in ambush and there was no way of telling if he was there or not. If there were Comanches in the canyon, Ransom reasoned that they would try to take him quietly, hoping the caravan leaders would become impatient and follow without waiting for his all clear. Comanches were a devilish lot. They were smart and lived by the
ambush.

  He concentrated on the boulder. His guts told him that he needed to do something other than take his chances that the boulder was clear. He slipped the carbine into the crude leather scabbard attached to the horn and drew a Colt. He urged the horse toward the boulder and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn. As he came to within a few feet of the boulder he stepped from the saddle and gently urged the horse forward.

  As the horse passed the boulder, he quickly slipped around the far edge, his Colt cocked. A Comanche warrior crouched against the rock, a spear in his hands waiting for the horse to pass. Ransom pointed the revolver at the back of his head and squeezed the trigger.

  The horse bolted away at the shot. Ransom jumped past the body of the Comanche and grabbed hold of the bit. Without waiting he holstered his revolver, grabbed the horn and swung into the saddle. As he swung the frightened horse around, several arrows from above ricocheted off the bolder. He felt his horse shudder as an arrow drove into its left hip. He wheeled about quickly drawing the carbine from the keep. He swung the carbine up drawing his eye to the sights.

  He caught a Comanche in his sights several yards above and fired. The warrior dropped his bow and fell back into the rocks. Ransom swung the horse around, dug in his spurs and slipped the carbine into the keep. As the horse careened down the trail he slipped the reins between his teeth and drew both the single shots.

  The canyon was suddenly full of Indians raining arrows down on him. Ransom knew he was in trouble and doubted he would make it back to the others. As an arrow struck his horse in the neck behind its ear, a brave stepped into the trail ahead of him and drew his bow. The shot from Jack’s right pistol sent him rolling down the arroyo. Another brave jumped at Ransom’s horse and was blown back against the canyon wall by his second shot.

  Segundo and Rigundo boiled around the bend of the trail and drew up their mounts when they recognized Ransom riding toward them.

  "It is bad, Diablo. Muy malo," Segundo yelled. "They are everywhere."

  "Have they hit the caravan?"