Crossing Fire River

by Ralph Cotton

  Lupo didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to comment on Anson’s prowess as a scout, nor was he going to mention that almost anybody he’d ever known could have found a campfire in the middle of the night, especially trailing a man who had no idea he was being followed.

  “Let’s not fall for the oldest trick in the book,” Lupo said quietly. He looked at the horses and mule standing at the outer glow of firelight, the blanket-wrapped corpse lying on the ground near their hooves. He noted the low flames and the ragged poncho spread over the man sleeping close to the flickering fire. He slept with a saddle as a pillow, his battered top hat covering his face.

  “Trick? It’s not a trick,” Anson said defensively. “I just caught him off guard. He’s ours now. I’ll walk in alone and wake him up if you want me to.” He jiggled the rifle in his hands.

  “No,” said Lupo. “We’re all moving in closer. You and Wallick lead the way. When we get close enough Lilly and I will lag back and shadow you, in case this does turn out to be a trick.”

  “That’s playing it safe enough, I reckon,” Anson said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “I’m honored that you agree with me,” Lupo replied in the same sour tone. He stared hard at him in the grainy moonlight. “Now, will you do as I say, or do I tell the general you refused to follow an order?”

  An order . . . ? Anson fought back the urge to remind Lupo that he was not a soldier and that Lupo was not his superior officer, only his employer, the way he saw it. But he managed to hold his tongue for the time being. “You heard him, Wallick,” Anson said, gripping his rifle at port arms. “Follow me. . . . Try not to trip and fall over your own feet.”

  Wallick just stared at him sullenly.

  The two moved forward slowly, quietly, keeping an eye on both the figure sleeping near the fire and the body wrapped in the blanket lying near the horses. A few feet behind them Lupo and Lilly crept along, watching both sides of the campsite, ready for anything. When Lupo decided he and Lilly had gone close enough, he held a hand out to his side and halted Lilly while Anson and Wallick crept closer and stopped at the outer circle of firelight.

  “Watch the body lying near the horses,” Lupo whispered sidelong to the Scotsman. “If this is a trick, it will come from there. . . . He thinks we won’t expect anything from a dead man.”

  Lilly didn’t reply.

  Lupo looked toward him in the darkness but could no longer see the wiry Scotsman’s silhouette. “Lilly? Do you hear me?” Lupo whispered, searching the dark purple moonlight.

  Still no reply.

  At the edge of the dim circle of firelight, Anson and Wallick heard a thud followed by a deep grunt, as if one of the two men had tripped and fallen. Anson looked back over his shoulder. “Now who’s making all the noise?” he murmured under his breath. He turned back quickly and studied the man sleeping beneath the spread poncho until he was certain the disturbance hadn’t awakened him.

  Behind him, he listened to the faint sound of footsteps advancing toward him and Wallick. “Here they come,” he whispered to Wallick as he took a cautious step forward. “Let’s get this done while there’s still some time left to get in a good night’s sleep.”

  “You’re too late for that,” a voice said gruffly behind him.

  “What the—?” Anson and Wallick spun around and saw Lupo standing only five feet behind them, his palms raised, his eyes wide in fear. But it wasn’t Lupo’s voice they had heard.

  “Drop the guns,” Shaw said, standing behind Lupo, a forearm around the Mexican’s neck, his Colt cocked against the side of Lupo’s bare head.

  Wallick’s gun hit the ground at his feet. But Anson stalled, looking the situation over warily.

  “You heard him, Anson,” Lupo shouted in a frightened voice, “drop the gun!”

  “Not so fast,” Anson said. “First I want to know what the deal is here.”

  “What the deal is?” said Lupo in disbelief. “He cracked Lilly’s skull, and he is holding a cocked gun to my head! For God’s sake, you fool, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing’s the matter with me,” Anson said defiantly, keeping his eyes on Shaw’s shadowed face in the darkness. “Just because he’s got the drop on you don’t mean that I ought to throw down my gun and—”

  Before he could finish his words, Shaw’s gun swung away from Lupo’s head and fired. The shot hit Anson solidly in his left shoulder and spun him backward to the ground like a scarecrow. The roar of the shot resounded in the Mexican’s ear. Shaw shoved him away, then stepped forward and reached down to pick up Anson’s rifle from the ground where it had fallen. Wallick and Lupo crouched near the ground, Wallick with his hands chest high, Lupo cupping one hand to his right ear.

  “I—I cannot hear anything,” he said, his voice still shaken by the sudden impact of the gunshot.

  “Shake it off,” Shaw said with no show of concern. He stepped away from the wounded Anson, picked up Wallick’s gun and shoved it down in his belt beside a Colt and bowie knife he’d taken from the knocked-out Scotsman. “It’s better than what you deserve, slipping around bushwhacking folks in the dark.”

  “We were not out to harm you, Senor,” said Lupo, managing to hear Shaw through a thick ringing in his head. “We just wanted to know what you’re doing riding Claw Shanks’ barb. We saw the body on the mule. We thought it might be Shanks.”

  “Are you friends of Shanks?” Shaw asked Lupo as he reached down, lifted Anson’s Remington from its holster and shoved it down behind his gun belt.

  “No, we’re not friends of his,” said Lupo. “We were tracking him and Paco Zuetta. I’m an investigating agent for the government of Mexico. We are investigating the robbery of the National Bank in Mexico City.”

  “I see,” said Shaw, not sure if he believed a word of it. He eyed Lupo in the grainy moonlight. “Shanks is dead, so is his pal, Paco. But it was neither one of them you saw tied over the mule.”

  “Then whose body is it?” Lupo asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Shaw. “I found it in a cave among the rocks. He’s been dead a long time.”

  “I see.” Lupo pondered the matter. “Did you kill Shanks and Paco?” he asked with a tone of authority, seeing this man was going to be hard to deal with, having the upper hand on them. As he asked he looked Shaw up and down, noting all the guns in his position.

  Not liking the Mexican’s tone of voice, Shaw didn’t answer. He motioned for Wallick to help Anson to his feet. Then he turned his gun sight back toward Lupo.

  “If you did kill them, I’m sure it must have been in self-defense,” said Lupo, softening his tone at the sight of the big Colt pointed at him. “I know the kind of men they were. I only need to know what happened in order to report to my superiors.” He kept his hand cupped to his ear. “If you will, por favor.”

  “Don’t belly up for this sonsabitch!” Anson growled, clutching his upper shoulder in pain. He glared at Shaw in the pale purple moonlight. “We ought to haul him to Mexico City for a trial and a long stretch in the—”

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Lupo shouted, his head pounding above the ringing in his ears. He said to Shaw, “Pay no attention to him, Senor. I had him released from jail and brought him along as a scout. But I’m afraid he is turning out to be an idiot.” He turned a harsh stare to the wounded scout.

  Shaw looked the Mexican up and down. “Who are you, Mister?” In the pale moonlight he noted Lupo’s good clothes, good English and good manners in spite of the smell of sand and horse sweat.

  “I am Juan Lupo.” Out of habit he gave a slight head bow. “I serve the emperor of Mexico under Generalis simo Manuel Ortega.”

  Juan Facil Lupo . . . Easy John, Shaw remembered, recognizing the name right away, but making no mention of it. “You’re searching for the gold stolen from the Mexican National Bank,” Shaw said.

  “Oh . . . ?” Lupo gave him a suspicious look. “What do you know of the stolen German coins?” he asked.

  “Nothing. But tha
t’s all I’ve heard everybody talking about since the day the gold was stolen,” Shaw replied. He thought about the shiny new coins he’d taken from Claw Shanks’ body. He wasn’t about to mention them. “You figure Shanks and his pal had something to do with that big robbery?” he asked Lupo.

  “Never mind what I think,” said Lupo. “I am the only one who should be asking the questions, not you.”

  “But I’m the only one holding a gun,” Shaw said flatly. “The one you were about to bushwhack.”

  “If we were bushwhacking you, Mister, you’d be lying dead back along the trail hours ago,” Anson growled through his pain.

  Lupo shot Anson a cross look. “As I said before, we were not going to bring you harm, Senor,” he replied to Shaw, “only question you about Claw Shanks and Paco Zuetta.”

  Shaw looked away for a second as if dismissing the matter. Then he said to Wallick, who stood beside Anson supporting him, “You best stop the bleeding.”

  “Don’t tell us what we need or don’t need,” Anson said in an angry, scorching voice.

  Shaw gestured a nod back over his shoulder and said to Juan Lupo, “Your other man is knocked out back there where I left him. I shooed your horses away. With any luck, you should have them rounded up come morning.” He backed away a few steps. “Start walking. Stay away from my camp until I clear out of here,” he warned. “I’ll leave the shooting gear along the trail a couple of miles ahead.” He touched two fingers to his forehead and backed away into the darkness.

  “What if we’re come upon by Apache?” Anson called out, his voice sounding strained by the throbbing pain in his wounded shoulder.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Anson,” said Lupo. He turned and stomped away, walking back toward the spot where Lilly lay stretched out on the ground. When Wallick and Anson had caught up to him, he stood over Lilly, who lay moaning on the dirt.

  “I never seen a man slip up and get the drop on four men at once,” Wallick said. He stooped down over Lilly, pulling him upward as the Scotsman groaned and murmured in confusion.

  “You have seen it now,” said Lupo, disgusted, but keeping it from showing. He helped him raise Lilly to his feet. “Let’s get after the horses, before they wander out onto the desert floor.”

  “Once we gather our cayuses, I say we quit this chase,” said Anson, holding his bloody shoulder. “Claw is dead, so is Paco. I’m wounded, Lilly is knocked senseless. This whole thing has gone to pieces, if you ask me.”

  “It was you and your roosting vultures that put us here,” Lupo said in a tight and lowered voice. He had just caught a mental flash of himself spinning around, grabbing Anson by the throat and choking him to death with his bare hands. But he fought hard to keep from turning the dark vision into a reality.

  “I’m not blaming anybody,” Anson said, “although if I had been—”

  “One more word, and I’ll drag you back to the general in chains,” Lupo said, with no anger in his voice, only resolve. He picked up Lilly’s hat, slapped it against his thigh and shoved it down onto the Scotsman’s addled head. He looked back at Wallick and Anson. “Both of you, spread out, find the horses,” he said. “We still have a job to do, wounds or no wounds.”

  Lilly staggered in place, but began to realize what had happened to him. “I—I didn’t know what hit me.” His hand went to his empty holster. “My gun is gone.”

  “Of course it’s gone. He took it,” said Lupo, struggling to hold on to his patience.

  “But don’t worry,” said Wallick, “he’s going to leave our shooting gear along the trail.”

  Lupo just stared at the dull-witted gunman for a moment. Then he looked back toward Shaw’s camp as he saw the glow of firelight go out, leaving a rising gray spiral of smoke in the night. Clutching his fists tightly, Lupo said almost to himself, “So you saw us coming and you set your trap. And like fools we fell into it.”

  “Outsmarted by some ragged-ass saddle tramp,” said Anson in a sarcastic and accusing tone, as if he had nothing to do with being caught by surprise.

  “Oh? A saddle tramp?” said Lupo. “Is that what you say he is?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I say he is. I can’t say for sure,” Anson said, pressing Lupo ever closer to a breaking point, “since you didn’t even manage to ask his name.”

  Lupo said, “Maybe I didn’t have to ask his name. Perhaps I already know who he is.”

  “If you do, maybe you ought to let me in on it,” Anson said, gripping his wounded shoulder. “I’d like to know the name of the man I’m fixing to kill as soon as I come upon him again.”

  But instead of answering, Lupo only smiled slightly to himself. He decided he’d rather let Anson find out for himself who had put a bullet into his shoulder. He gazed back toward the spot where the campfire had been only moments ago, seeing even the smoke dissipate into the night. He knew that by now the lone gunman had vanished into the rock hillside as if he’d never even been there.

  “Let’s get after those horses,” Lupo said, looking all around and seeing neither sign nor silhouette of the animals against the purple night.

  Chapter 4

  At dawn, after searching the rock lands the rest of the night, the four men found two sets of horses’ hoofprints in the blue-gray light and followed them down onto the desert floor. The two sets of prints joined another set in a patch of soft sand and, a few hundred yards farther on, Anson pointed out a fourth set of prints trailing down out of the rocks from a different direction.

  “All right,” Anson said, “I’ve found them for you. Now I’ve got to get off my feet for a while.” He staggered toward a large rock alongside the trail.

  “Nobody stops. . . . We keep moving,” Lupo said. “Once the sun is standing over us, it’ll boil our brains out. If we don’t find those horses soon, we’ve got to stick and get off these flats back into the rocks.” He walked toward Anson, waving the tired scout back into pursuit of the horses.

  “Damn it,” Anson cursed. But he was savvy enough to know that Lupo was right. Gripping the dark bloodstained bandanna tied around his upper shoulder, he swayed back onto the hoofprints and struggled on. Lilly, sore and cross from the pounding inside his knotted head, followed silently alongside Wallick, until the four managed to once again space themselves out single file in the rising morning sun.

  An hour later, as the morning sun began scorching their backs through their shirts and coats, they stopped and stared ahead through the wavering heat at a gathering of black spots in the distance. “Apache, you reckon?” Wallick asked.

  “What’s the difference who they are?” said Anson. “Whoever they are, they’ve got us dead-to-rights in this damned furnace.”

  The four stood squinting in glaring sunlight. “It’s not Apache,” said Lupo. “They wouldn’t be out in the open this way.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Anson lamented. “They probably watched us from afar. They know we’re afoot, got no guns, no way to protect ourselves or outrun them.”

  Lupo didn’t bother to answer. He trudged forward, leaving the other three to decide whether or not to follow him.

  In the distance, at the far edge of the sand flats, Merle Oats stared through a powerful brass-trimmed naval telescope at the four exhausted hikers. “Well, well, look who we got coming here,” he said with a dark chuckle. “If it ain’t ole Easy John Lupo himself.”

  Beside him Bobby Freedus sat with his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. He shook his head, squinting toward the four, unable to make them out with his naked eye. “What are we going to do, give their horses back?”

  Merle Oats held the big telescope with both hands for a moment longer. Then he lowered it and laid it across his lap for a moment before shoving it down into its leather sheath. “Yeah, I expect we will,” he said, “else this desert is going to bake them into the ground.”

  “That’s no skin off our backs,” said Freedus. “Lupo being dead wouldn’t hurt my feelings at all.”

  “Maybe,” said Oates, “unless he’s
found information about the gold that we need to know.” He looked back at Iron Head, who sat holding the reins to the four lost horses. The two dead outlaws’ heads hung in bloodstained feed sacks from the half-breed’s saddle horn. “Lupo can keep us from toting these stinking sonsabitches all the way back to Mexico City.”

  “I don’t mind us toting them,” Freedus replied.

  “That’s because I’m doing all the toting,” Iron Head said sourly.

  Oates continued grinning, as if not hearing the other two. “Beside,” he said almost to himself, “I would kind of like to see his face when we come leading their horses up to them. He’ll be beholden to us whether he likes it or not.” He gave another dark chuckle.

  Bobby Freedus managed a crooked grin, starting to like the idea himself. “Come on up here, Iron Head,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll lead a couple of those horses myself, if it’ll keep you from feeling put-upon.”

  Twenty minutes had passed by the time Lupo and the other three recognized the riders coming toward them at an easy gallop. As the men drew close enough for him to spot his and the others’ horses being led by Freedus and Iron Head, he murmured a curse under his breath.

  “Hola, gentlemen, and a good morning to yas all,” Oates called out as the three reined their horses down twenty yards away and put them at a walk. “Nothing like a good long morning stroll to steady up a fellow’s constitution, eh, Easy John?”

  Easy John . . . Lupo gritted his teeth, but he only stared at him grimly, dirt covering his black duster, his hat, his face and boots.

  Oates chuckled under his breath as he lifted a canteen strap from his saddle horn and pitched the half-full container to Lupo. “What brings you fellows out onto the desert floor at this hour? I hope you’re not overextending yourselves in this heat.”

  “Those horses,” Lupo said flatly, uncapping the canteen and throwing back a drink. “We’ve been searching for them all night.”