by J. Lee Butts
Grabbed his bloody shirtfront and shook him. “Gonna keep bringin’ you back to life till you tell me where Bejarano lives.”
“Not sure.” Sounded like a man on his way to the bottom of a well when he stuttered out, “Stays on American side. Safer for . . . his . . . family. Biggest . . . house . . . in Laredo. See it from . . . this side. Bright . . . red roof. Can’t miss . . .”
He made a kind of huffing sound. Spit up a handful of blood. Startled eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Then he flopped into a gory, tub-sized pool that spread across the nasty floor toward the toes of my boots.
Holstered my pistol and grabbed the shotgun. Checked the loads and headed for the stairs at a trot. Got to the landing on the first floor and surveyed the destruction we’d wrought.
God above, but we’d made one hell of a mess that day. Couple of them Mexican boys as we shot in our initial assault died right where they fell. Them who managed to live were being attended by a swarming group of excited, chattering women who’d fogged into the cantina after Boz took off.
One of those angry mujers spotted me. As if on signal, they all went to pointing my direction and hollering in Spanish. Couldn’t understand much of what got said, but it sounded a lot like swear words.
Backed my way out the batwing doors. Shouts, jeering, curses, and flying debris followed. My friends had left Grizz tied near the Yellow Flower’s entrance. Animal snorted when I jumped aboard. Appeared to me as though he wanted away from all the noise and destruction of that border cantina as quick as I could make it happen.
Kicked for the first street that headed toward the river. Hadn’t quite turned the corner when the shooting started again. Just a few potshots here and there at first. Glanced over my shoulder and spied half a dozen uniformed federales hoofin’ it my direction. Mexican soldados fired as they ran. Bullets peppered the dirt, chinked the adobe walls of the buildings closest to me, and gouged holes in wooden porches and trim. One slug put a crease along Grizz’s rump and set him to rearing.
Jumped off and led the skittish animal to cover around a corner, then returned fire. Not my intention to kill any Mexican lawmen if I could help it. But I knew they wouldn’t quit coming unless I gave them something serious to think on.
As best I could, retreated toward the Rio Grande and safety. Kept Grizz close and maintained a constant barrage of return fire. Whole dance got pretty hairy along the way. Angry Mexican folks even went to chuckin’ garbage at me from above when I took shelter under their balconies.
Intense, door-to-door, running gun battle lasted almost a quarter of a mile. Finally, had to gamble some. Jumped back on Grizz, kicked hard for the water, and the hoped-for safety on the other side. A hailstorm of blue whistlers cut through the air. Hot lead fell all around, so thick I’m still amazed me and the horse made the riverbank alive.
Dropped off into some thick bushes hard by the river’s edge. Decided if I wanted to stay alive, was gonna have to get serious about driving my pursuers away. Pulled my rifle, shotgun, and three full cartridge belts of ammunition. Set Grizz loose and watched him pick his way down the tree-and scrub-covered slope to the water’s slow-moving edge. Knew he wouldn’t wander far.
Found a nice spot of cover at the base of some cotton-woods. Waited until some of those Mexican fellers came into the open area between Nuevo Laredo’s first group of adobes and my hidey-hole. Got a clear shot. Put two of them down right quick. Had the exact effect I wanted. Whole whooping, hollering bunch dragged their wounded friends away and retreated back into the safety of the village.
For about three hours—till just before dark anyway—we traded shots here and there. Time or two, a feller on their side of the dispute would get nervy and start hotfooting it my direction. But none ever got very close. I’d put a nick or two in them as ventured into the open. Then some of their friends would come out and drag them back.
Third or fourth time it happened, struck me as kind of funny. Guess they heard me laughing. Must have made them boys madder than a nest of those monstrous, orange-colored Mexican hornets. They poured a curtain of hot lead in on me, but never did hit anything.
’Bout the time night came down like thunder, spotted someone swimming a horse from the American side of the river. Got close enough, and I could tell it was Boz. He and his pony came up on the muddy bank right beside Grizz.
Heard him whisper, “Dodge. You still alive, boy?”
Stepped out of the bushes. Said, “Damned good to see you, old friend. Glad you came back for me.”
He stepped down, rushed over, and grabbed me like a long-lost brother. Hugged my neck and, in a voice filled with emotion, said, “Had to wait till it got some dark, you know. Would’ve been too dangerous otherwise. Damn, Lucius, thought you wuz a goner, son. From what I could see through my long glass, figured these Mexican fellers had done went and kilt the hell out of you.”
Pushed him back. “Don’t have a scratch on me. Let’s get mounted, my friend. We gotta get the hell outta here right now. Would bet the ranch these federales are gonna overrun this place in another few minutes. They’ve been waitin’ all day long for dark to come too.”
We got mounted and urged our animals into the cool, dark water. Boz headed out first. I followed. Held on and swam the horses toward the safety of the Estados Unidos.
Our retreat went right well till about halfway across. Then bullets went to falling around us like raindrops. But darkness, distance, and fatigue must have taken their toll on the shooters. Thank God them fellers weren’t able to do us any damage.
Soon as we pulled up on the Laredo side of the river, I stepped down and watched as men on the other side kept firing at anything moving. “Don’t appear they’re willing to give up on this shindig, does it?”
Boz slapped me on the back. “Mexicans are a determined folk when they get stirred up the right way, Lucius. Hope you’ve learned something from this little raid.”
“Oh, I learned plenty. Now, where’s Dianna?”
Even in the dark I could tell he hated to answer the question. “Well, I got her put up with a doc like you said. Stayed with the girl right up till I came lookin’ for you, son.”
“You left her alone in a strange place?”
“No. No. Nothin’ like that. Needn’t worry yourself, my friend. Ox stayed with her. Told him he’d best not let anything more happen to the girl.”
Exhaustion fell on me like a railroad locomotive dropped from heaven. “Sweet Jesus, Boz, it’s been an awful day. So tired I’m gettin’ stupid. Forgot about Ox. Did the doc say anything about how she’s doin’?” Deep down I knew exactly what he would say. But knowing is one thing; hearing bad news for certain is something else altogether.
“Not really. But I gotta tell ya, her situation don’t look good. She’s in mighty bad shape, Lucius.”
17
“I INTEND TO KILL YOU EXTREMELY DEAD.”
DR. F. SCOTT Bryles had a practice in Laredo about three blocks from the river. Small, stuffy, and filled with medical books in stacked, glass-fronted cases, the room where he’d laid Dianna out felt like the inside of a living animal.
Half-burned candle flickered on a table beside her bed. Dancing light threw a ghastly glow across a pale, badly bruised face. Antiseptic smells of alcohol, carbolic, and other things I didn’t recognize swept over me in a wave that singed the hairs in my nose. Pungent odors slipped into my lungs, squeezed all the fresh air out, and brought hot tears to my tired eyes.
Stepped inside, hat in hand, and almost passed out right on the spot. I’d thought for sure once a good pill roller got her cleaned up, treated all her obvious wounds and such, she’d come back from the other side and be herself again. When real love hits, Jesus, but a man can certainly fool himself with false hope.
Nothing I’d seen, or done, since her disappearance prepared me for the way she looked. Not even finding her tied naked to a bed in Nuevo Laredo. Wrapped in a white sheet from chin to foot, the beautiful girl, who’d inspired unquenchabl
e feelings of love and lust in me with so little effort, appeared dead and ready for burial.
Slumped into a chair crammed up beside the medical couch where she lay, and damn near wept. Remember thinking at the time that her entire head appeared swollen and bereft of anything like the color you’d expect in a living face. The once-flawless skin I’d kissed with such fervor and affection gave off a distinctly yellowish-blue tint—except those spots where the bruises and abrasions looked the worst. Detected knuckle marks on the cheek I could see best in the poor light. Couldn’t imagine the suffering she’d endured and managed, somehow, to survive.
Honest to God, it appeared as though she would surely drown in her own sweat. A glistening sheen drenched her face and hair and soaked the pillow beneath her head. Took less than a minute for me to make up my mind exactly what I had to do.
Hopped up and headed for the door. Barely crossed the threshold and almost ran into Boz and Ox. Said, “I’m gonna rent a coach and take her to Fort Worth.”
Boz looked like I’d slapped him. “Damn, Lucius. That’s more’n four hundred miles.”
“We’ll take our time. Go at it easy.”
Ox took me by the elbow. “Gotta think of the girl, Lucius.” Sounded like my father trying to convince me not to jump off the roof of the barn.
“Am thinking of her. Dianna Savage saved my life. Wasn’t for her, I’d of long since been worm food. If this poor girl hadn’t stepped up to the situation when no one else did, she probably wouldn’t be lyin’ in there like a corpse. I’ll hire someone to take care of her. Hell, I’ll hire Dr. Bryles if he’s willing to make the trip.”
“Why don’t we talk with the doc first, Lucius?” Boz tried to sound reasonable, but he knew me well enough to understand that I’d already made up my mind and nothing anyone else could say would change it.
“Sure as shootin’. Get ’im in here. Don’t mind talkin’, but when the talkin’s done, we’re headin’ to Fort Worth— whether he goes along for the trip or not.”
Fine feller, Doc Bryles. Short, dark, and intense. He said, “Lady’s physical injuries are abundant. Those might take weeks, perhaps months, to heal. But I have to be truthful and say also that some of her wounds may never mend. Whoever gave her the beating knew exactly where to hit a person to do the most painful damage. And while all that’s bad enough, it’s her mental condition that concerns me most.”
His assessment struck me as a reasonable, studied, and educated way to look at Dianna’s condition. Think we must’ve all said, “Mental condition?” at the same time.
He tapped pince-nez glasses against his thumb. “I could be wrong in my appraisal, of course, but it appears her mind might be more profoundly injured than her body.”
Ox surprised me when he said, “Could the beatin’ have damaged her brain, Doc? I’ve seen folks what got hit in the head who were never the same again. Feller worked on my ranch few years back got kicked over the eye by a horse. Turned a right nice young man into a slobberin’ idiot.”
Bryles shook his head. “Not certain how severe Mrs. Savage’s injures are. No way to know for sure just how badly she’s hurt. Only time will tell.”
“Can’t you even venture a guess?” I asked.
He glanced at me for about a second, then looked down at his feet. “If she’s not better in two or three weeks, I doubt seriously her situation will ever improve very much. Have to wait until she regains consciousness before we can really tell much. But you should be aware, gentlemen, my examination thus far doesn’t hold out much hope.”
A week later we’d obtained a wagon, hired a traveling companion for Dianna, and bought plenty of provisions for the trip. At the same time, I’d done some snooping and found Alfonso Bejarano’s home. Surprised the hell out of me when I discovered it was located but a pleasant five-minute walk from Doc Bryles’s office.
Spent every free second away from Dianna’s bedside watching the place. Eight-foot-high adobe walls made seeing inside right difficult. But through subtle questioning of neighbors, and local vendors who often visited the residence, I soon had a fairly detailed diagram of the main house and an assured, easy method of gaining entry.
A number of Laredo’s affable hawkers pointed out for me the very person of the benevolent and generous Señor Bejarano. The infamous borderland bandit, killer, and pimp made almost daily rounds to various street stands while buying vegetables, visiting, and such. Man acted as though the world remained his own personal oyster.
Found myself stunned by the despicable weasel’s appearance. I had expected a full-fledged, heavily moustachioed, bandolier-draped bandido of the first water. What befell my heated gaze was a dark-eyed, short, thin, well-dressed jefe given to a regal and pompous demeanor. His observable conduct bespoke a man who obviously thought himself safe from any harm on the American side of the Rio Grande.
Surprised and pleased me that I could detect no body-guard in evidence at his dwelling, nor did any accompany him during his afternoon shopping jaunts. When I cautiously inquired as to the advisability of Bejarano walking the streets unaccompanied, an affable taco dealer informed me, “Our patrón has nothing to worry himself about here in Laredo, Señor. La gente know what would happen if they should bring him, or any member of his family, to harm. He is perfectly safe.”
Rumors swirled amongst the peons that virtually every man under Bejarano’s employ searched northern Mexico for a band of killers who’d raided one of his extensive properties in Nuevo Laredo. Most people observed that, although the gringo marauders had managed to escape, Señor Bejarano appeared convinced that additional murderous brigands still lurked somewhere south of the Rio Grande and meant to do the great man extreme harm.
Much to my surprise, and satisfaction, I also discovered that Señora Bejarano and her two sons had traveled to Mexico City some weeks before our arrival to visit with the lady’s ailing mother. But for a few servants, Alfonso Bejarano’s house appeared empty. That pleasant news made what I had in mind considerable easier.
Night before we left town and headed north for Fort Worth, got the wagon packed and set up as best we could for Dianna’s comfort. Bided my time. Waited until my friends had drifted off to sleep, and then I slipped away.
Less than half an hour later, I carefully pushed a chair against the door to Bejarano’s night chamber and took a seat beside his bed. Huge, deathly pale moon lit the room like daylight. Could have easily reached out and touched the sleeping man.
Pulled a pistol and laid it in my lap atop a fringed pillow I’d found in the chair. Fished out the makings and rolled a cigarette. When I scratched a lucifer to life and sucked in a deep and satisfying lungful of the tobacco smoke, the object of my attention sat up in a wild-eyed panic.
He snatched the sheets to a trembling chin. Surprised me some when a high, thin voice squeaked, “Quien es?”
I’d never been as calm in my entire life. In as quiet and soothing a voice as I could muster up, said, “Habla inglés, Señor Bejarano?” Took a puff and blew the smoke in his face.
Man swallowed hard and blurted out, “Yes. I speak passable English. My many businesses on this side of the border require it.”
“Heard on the streets as how your family is in Mexico visiting relatives. That right?”
“Sí. Yes. Yes. Es muy correcto,” he stammered.
“You have any idea who I am? Why I’m here?”
“No. No, señor. I do not. A thief, I suppose.”
“Oh, no. I’m not a thief. Came here to rescue a friend of mine. Lady named Savage. She was brought to you against her will. Imprisoned at the Yellow Flower in Nuevo Laredo by men in the employ of you and Nate Coffin.”
He shook his head and looked right sneaky. “I know nothing of this, señor. Nada. Cero. Nothing at all.”
“Then you know nothing of Coffin’s untimely recent departure from this life to a preferred spot in Satan’s fiery pit?”
“While my English is passable, señor, I do not understand what you’ve just said
.”
“Well, let me see if I can enlighten you. Your friend Nate Coffin is no longer living, sir. I killed the son of a bitch. Shot him dead after he told me who held Mrs. Savage and where to find her.”
In the soft glow that flooded the room and lapped against all its furnishings, Bejarano’s chestnut-colored face went pale and pasty. Black eyes darted to the Colt lying in my lap, up to my face, and thence to the bedroom door.
“Not a chance in hell,” I said. “So don’t try it. Gonna have to just sit here and take the consequences of your actions like a man.”
“Is it your intent to kill me, señor?”
“Oh, without a doubt, you evil old bastard. I intend to kill you extremely dead.”
Terrified skunk flinched as though I’d slapped him. “You cannot mean that. Alfonso Bejarano is an individual of great importance in Laredo. I am acquainted with many of your type. Even one with your brutal background would never murder an unarmed gentleman, in his bed, at a time when he has completed his nightly prayers and is closest to God.”
“Normally you’d be right, Señor. But not in this particular instance. You see, Mrs. Savage enjoys a very special place in my heart. What you and your men did to her, you son of a bitch, can only be described as unforgivable. Such brutality cannot be dismissed. And will be avenged right here, tonight, before I leave.”
He got a bit nervy and sneered, “I have no fear of death. You can do as you will. But be aware, sir, my men will search to the ends of time to find you. They will kill you, as well as your entire family.”
“Seriously doubt your hired killers’ll care all that much once you’re gone. And besides, no one’s gonna ever know exactly what happened here tonight, or who did the world a favor by erasin’ your shadow from the earth.”
He lowered the sheet and talked to me as though lecturing a small child. “A proposition perhaps? I am the wealthiest man in Laredo and all of northern Mexico. I can pay you enough to live on for the rest of your life, if you are willing to reconsider.”
