“Per’ap we take shells from those hombres that wish us dead,” said El Lobo.
Wes laughed. “I reckon they’d object to that.”
“They no object if they be dead,” El Lobo said.
The day was still young, and there were few people on the streets. El Lobo pointed to a long, low adobe building in the next block. The faded sign across the front was all in Spanish, and there was only a droop-eared mule tied at the hitch rail. El Lobo entered first, and by the time they reached the counter, the storekeeper was there to greet them. He was a balding little Mexican in a white apron, and he wasn’t happy to see them.
“I am not open for business, señors.”
“We pay,” El Lobo said softly. “Oro.” On the counter he dropped one of the gold medallions, and in the light from a single window, the dragon’s head had never seemed more forbidding.
The little storekeeper’s eyes darted to the tied-down Colts and then back to the unsmiling faces of the formidable men who stood before him.
“Por favor,” he said. “I make the mistake. Satisfy your needs, señors.”
“Sí,” said El Lobo. He returned the dragon medallion to his pocket, replacing it with a pair of gold coins.
Chapter 7
By the time Skull Rudabaugh, Stem Wurzback, and the outlaws from Guaymas had ridden to the cabin, Burke Packer had regained consciousness. Rudabaugh took charge.
“If you ain’t able to talk, Packer, I’ll question these other hombres. I’m from Nogales, and we’re organizing to counter these attacks.”
“I can talk,” Packer replied, “and it’s my responsibility. I underestimated that pair of gunmen. They’re curly wolves, and they aim to kill us all. Before we could flank ’em, they rode right over Hanson an’ me. Hanson’s dead, an’ they near killed me.”
“And you had how many men?” Skull asked.
“Five,” said Packer, “an’ I didn’t reckon we’d need more. I told you I underestimated that pair of gun-throwers.”
“I can accept that,” Skull replied, “but how is it this pair of hell-raisers managed to find this place and trap you? Your four remaining men should have ridden them down.”
“I was unconscious,” said Packer. “I paid for my mistake.”
Skull said nothing, shifting his eyes to each of Packer’s men.
“Packer was hard-hit,” Blake said defensively. “I lit out for town to git the doc, while the others brought Packer an’ Hanson here.”
“Simple enough, I reckon,” said Skull. “The gunmen just followed you.”
“That’s how it was,” Blake admitted. “Hanson was dead, an’ we was tryin’ to save Packer.”
“So they stampeded your horses,” said Skull.
“Yeah,” Blake said. “Last night, durin’ a storm. We tried to get to ’em first, but the bastards cut down three of us an’ run off the horses.”
Stem Wurzback laughed. “My God, what a feather-legged bunch.”
“That’s enough!” Skull shouted.
Some of Packer’s riders had their guns half drawn, their vengeful eyes on Wurzback.
“This is no time to be fightin’ among ourselves,” said Skull, his eyes on Wurzback. “I reckon there’s sense to what Packer’s told us. These hombres are no ordinary gun-toters, and they’re just a hell of a lot more than a man expects. That’s how they wiped us out in Namiquipa and Chihuahua.”
“We’re gettin’ nowhere standin’ here palaverin’,” Wurzback said, “while that pair’s gittin’ farther an’ farther away.”
Mayfield laughed. “They sure enough dropped your carcass in the dirt, an’ as I recall, you was runnin’ the other way.”
Wurzback was furious when the rest of his riders laughed. Skull Rudabaugh spoke.
“We don’t have to worry about losing that pair. They’ll find us, likely when we’re not expecting them. As long as we’re on the defensive, they’ll stay one jump ahead of us, taking other outposts by surprise like they took Namiquipa and Chihuahua. I aim to telegraph Dolan Watts, at Nogales. While I can’t tell him just how serious this situation is, I can tell him it calls for a grouping of men from our outposts all over Mexico. I’ll be asking him to telegraph every outpost, asking them to send as many riders as possible, and we’ll meet in Durango. From there, we’ll send an army of men across Mexico.”
“I like the sound of it,” said Packer, “but it’ll take months. Some of our outposts—Tampico, Poza Rica, Chilpancingo, Mexico City, and others—are hundreds of miles away.”
“You’re forgettin’ somethin’,” Skull said. “Thanks to the mines—iron ore, silver, and gold—there are railroads all over Mexico. Load men and horses into boxcars, and they can travel hundreds of miles in a matter of hours.”
“You’re takin’ a hell of a lot for granted,” said Wurzback scornfully. “Them railroads are government-owned. Do you aim to take command of them, too?”
“If necessary,” Skull said. “I have some influence in Nogales, and Nogales can get to the right people in Mexico City, if need be. That’s why Dolan Watts sent me here, gents. I have the authority to resolve this sorry situation in any manner I see fit. I can demand and get every damn locomotive and railroad car in Mexico, should I need them. If there are questions or doubts, let’s hear them.”
“One question,” Blake said. “What are we goin’ to do for horses?”
“Hermosillo’s a fair-sized town,” said Skull. “There must be wealthy Mejicanos with a horse or two they could be persuaded to contribute to the cause. When you’re ready to go after them, you’re welcome to borrow some of our mounts.”
“I don’t git my horse back,” Wurzback said angrily, “somebody gits gut-shot.”
“Wurzback,” said Skull, “if anybody’s gut-shot, it’ll be you, and I’ll personally take care of it. Now shut the hell up.”
“I’m ready to go after them horses,” Blake said. “Who’ll go with me?”
All of Packer’s able-bodied riders volunteered to go, and they rode out on borrowed horses, bound for Hermosillo. Skull Rudabaugh rode with them, prepared to send a telegram to Nogales, drawing the Sandlin outlaws from all over Mexico.
Nogales, Mexico. July 18, 1884
Dolan Watts studied the telegram he had just received from Skull Rudabaugh. While it was, of necessity, shy on detail, the enormity of what Rudabaugh had requested told Watts much. Jules Sumner, Watts’s second-in-command, was aware of the crisis and of Skull Rudabaugh’s mission to Hermosillo. Before making his next move, Watts met with Sumner.
“There’s a hell of a lot ridin’ on Rudabaugh’s judgment,” Sumner said after reading the telegram. “How far do you aim to go?”
“All the way to Durango,” said Watts. “I’m wirin’ every outpost to send at least six riders, well armed, for an undisclosed mission. I aim to be there. You’ll be in charge here, and I reckon I don’t have to tell you we’re operatin’ under the utmost secrecy. I’ll outline all this for Rance Stringfield and send a rider to Juarez. I’ll want six of our most dependable men to ride with me.”
“It’s a mighty long ride,” said Sumner.
“We’ll ride to El Desemboque and take one of our packets to Mazatlán,” Watts said. “From there we’ll ride to Durango. We’ll ride at dawn. You may not hear from me until our mission is accomplished, and don’t use the telegraph unless you have to. This is a touchy situation.”
“It’s just hard to believe two hombres can raise so much hell,” said Sumner.
“Believe it,” Watts replied. “Just what they’ve done already is enough to discredit us, if word gets out. They must be stopped.”
“Maybe you oughta put a price on their heads,” said Sumner. “That would sweeten the pot, far as the gang’s concerned.”
“Maybe I will,” Watts replied. “Five thousand dollars for each of them.”
“Dead or alive?”
“Yes,” said Watts, “but preferably dead.”
Wes and El Lobo reached the foothills, and when W
es reined up, El Lobo reined up beside him.
“Damn it,” Wes said, “I can’t see ridin’ to another town lookin’ for more outlaws when that bunch from Guaymas came lookin’ for us. It bothers me that they somehow got the word. That means other outposts may have been warned, and there may be more warnin’s goin’ out from Hermosillo. If I could get my hands on a telegraph instrument ...”
“The telegraph talks to you?”
“I know it backwards, forwards, and upside down,” said Wes. “I spent considerable time with the railroad. If the Sandlin gang’s dug in all over Mexico, they must be usin’ the telegraph.”
“There be telegraph in Hermosillo?”
“I’d bet on it,” Wes said. “Generally, where there’s a railroad, there’s a telegraph line.”
“When dark come,” said El Lobo, “per’ap we find this telegraph?”
“Exactly what I’m thinking,” Wes said. “With any luck, the telegrapher will close up shop and leave the instrument. Half those outlaws are without horses, some are wounded, and I doubt they’ll be ready to come lookin’ for us before tomorrow. Maybe by then we’ll know what their next move will be.”
They rode on, and reaching an elevation where they could view the distant town, they unsaddled their horses and prepared to wait for darkness.
Reaching Hermosillo, Skull Rudabaugh parted company with Burke Packer’s riders. He headed for the railroad depot and the telegraph office, while Packer’s men went looking for new mounts to be acquired by whatever means might be necessary. The Mexican telegrapher sent Rudabaugh’s message and accepted payment without comment.
“I’ll wait for an answer,” Rudabaugh said.
There was a trio of ladder-back chairs against one wall, and Skull sat in one of them.
“Señor, you are not permitted to remain in here,” said the telegrapher.
Rudabaugh took from his pocket a gold medallion, offering it on the palm of his hand, the dragon head up. The telegrapher backed away, his hands raised as though he expected Skull to physically attack him. He retreated to the cubicle where the telegraph instrument was and remained there for an uneasy hour, until Skull’s answer came. It was brief:Durango proposal accepted stop. Go there with riders from Hermosillo and Guaymas stop. Wait for orders.
There was no name, and none was necessary. Mounting his horse, Skull rode back to the outlaw cabin, prepared to counter any doubts. Only Stem Wurzback had doubts, and he wasted no time making them known.
“So you’re aimin’ to take half the riders from every Sandlin outpost in Mexico. That’s leavin’ ‘em all at half strength, just invitin’ this pair of killers to ride in and wipe ’em out, while ever’body else hunkers in Durango.”
“Win, lose, or draw,” Skull said, “it’s my responsibility, not yours. You won’t have to worry about your outpost bein’ attacked. All your outfit and all of Packer’s will be goin’ to Durango as soon as Packer’s able to ride.”
“We all lay around here while that pair of killers just rides away,” said Wurzback. “I think some of us oughta take their trail. At least we’d know where they are.”
“That would be insubordination, and you know it,” Skull replied. “If you ride out of here against orders from Nogales, don’t bother comin’ back.”
Wes and El Lobo were far to the south of Hermosillo, and at a high enough elevation to see the Sandlin outlaws, should they attempt to ride out. But as sundown approached, their vigil had gone unrewarded.
“They’re plannin’ something,” said Wes.
“Sí,” El Lobo agreed. “Per’ap telegraph talk to us.”
Wes and El Lobo prepared their meal and doused their fire well before dark. Some of the lights of town had already begun to wink off when they saddled their horses and rode out. Empty trotted ahead. They reached the railroad several miles south of Hermosillo and followed it until they could see a few dim lights in the distance.
“Lucky for us the Mexicans build their railroads away from town,” Wes said. “There’s a good chance we can bust into the telegraph office and get away without anybody knowin’ until morning.”
Eventually, in the starlight, they could see the shadowy hulk of the water tank, and beyond that, the darkened railroad depot.
“You stay with the horses, within the shadow of the water tank,” said Wes. “I’ll take Empty with me. If there’s any commotion, if I’m discovered, bring the horses on the run.”
“Sí,” El Lobo replied.
Wes reached the shadow of the depot. The building faced the railroad track, and Wes slipped cautiously to the comer of the building, where he could see the front. Through the front window, a lamp glowed. Keeping within the shadow of the roof overhang, Wes crept to the door. It was common for one man to serve as telegrapher as well as agent for the railroad and, in isolated areas, to have living quarters within the depot. There was but one way to find out. Wes knocked cautiously on the door, and when he received no response, he knocked again. Empty stood behind him, and there was no warning growl.
“Stay, Empty,” said Wes.
Drawing the throwing knife from his boot, Wes slipped its thin blade between the edge of the door and the doorjamb. Releasing the latch, he entered without difficulty. The lit lamp proved a blessing, for on the desk next to the instrument was a substantial stack of papers. From his own experience with the railroad, Wes recalled that most telegraphers kept copies of messages sent and received. He dragged a chair over next to the lamp and began going through the dog-eared papers. The very first received message that he read bore the day’s date, was scribbled in Spanish, and had been sent from Nogales. It had no signature, but the brief text told him much. It mentioned riders from Hermosillo and Guaymas, and an eventual meeting in Durango. Hurriedly, he looked for the original message to which the answer had been sent. He found it, written in English, recommending a coming together in Durango. Obviously the outlaws were using the telegraph as little as possible. He replaced the sheaf of papers where he had found them and was about to leave the office when he was struck by inspiration so bold, so outrageous, he laughed aloud. With the outlaws attempting to conceal the devastating attacks on their outposts, suppose the telegraph lines were suddenly ablaze with the very news the Sandlin gang was trying so hard to conceal? Wes sat down before the telegraph instrument. Knowing nothing of the procedure in Mexico, running his fingers swiftly over the key, he requested permission to send. To his surprise, permission was immediately granted by an operator in Nogales. Wes quickly tapped out his message:Hombres of the dragon’s head empire are gathering in Durango stop. Two gunmen seek to destroy the Sandlin outlaws stop. Outlaws in Namiquipa and Chihuahua are dead stop. All Sandlin riders ordered to Durango to search Mexico for these two hombres stop. Receiving operators are ordered to relay these words.
Wes signed off, and the operator in Nogales clicked out his signal that the message had been received. Immediately the instrument began to chatter, requesting permission to send. Wes granted it, and received the brief message:Identify yourself.
Wes answered with a single sentence.
We are the two hombres who will destroy the Sandlin gang stop. Death to dragon.
He signed off, and before the instrument could respond, he found a pair of pliers and clipped the wire. From his pocket, he took one of the dragon’s-head medallions and left it on the desk where the telegraph key had been. Hanging from a nail on the wall was a set of lineman’s spurs—climbing hooks—and he took them. With the telegraph instrument and the climbing hooks, he stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Empty was waiting, and they soon were lost in the concealing shadows beneath the water tank.
“What telegraph say?” El Lobo asked.
“Plenty,” said Wes. “Let’s ride back into the hills and make camp, and I’ll tell you.”
Wes and El Lobo unsaddled their horses, and in the starlight, El Lobo looked wonderingly at the items Wes had taken from the telegraph office.
“They’re callin’ the gang tog
ether to come after us,” Wes said.
“The telegraph say that to you?”
“Yeah,” said Wes. “I found a copy of a message sent to Nogales by one of the Sandlin gang. It suggested that Sandlin riders from all over Mexico travel to Durango. Then there was an answer from Nogales directin’ riders from Hermosillo and Guaymas to go to Durango and wait there for orders. Those messages have to involve the Sandlin gang. Nothing else makes sense.”
“Why they don’t talk about us on the telegraph?”
“We’re hurting them,” Wes said, “and we’ll hurt them more when word gets out about what we’ve done in Namiquipa and Chihuahua. These outlaws, with their dragon-head coins, have a reputation, and everybody’s afraid of them. What do you reckon will happen if all Mexico knows the Sandlin gang is on the run from just two hombres with guns?”
“Comico,” said El Lobo. “They be disgrace.”
“I used the telegraph to tell Mexico about the gang, and about us,” Wes said, “and I brought the instrument with me. I’ll have chances to use it again.”
“How you do that? There be no wires to it.”
“See these climbing hooks?” said Wes. “With them on my boots, I can climb any telegraph pole. When I patch the instrument into the line, I can send messages anytime.”
“We ride to Durango?”
“I think so,” Wes said. “The message I just sent will play hell with the Sandlin gang’s reputation, and when they learn we can use the telegraph, we won’t have to look for them. They’ll be huntin’ us with every man that can straddle a horse and use a gun.”
Juan Pablo, Hermosillo’s constable, had been called to the railroad depot the following morning, and he didn’t relish the task that lay ahead. The cursed gringos bought and sold señoritas for putas, rustled horses, and laughed in his face, but this time they had gone too far. Taking the medallion with the dragon’s head that Wes had left behind, Pablo mounted his horse and headed for the distant cabin occupied by Burke Packer and his riders. He was seen as he came over the rise, and half a dozen of the outlaws were waiting for him. He reined up, and since nobody asked him to step down, he remained in the saddle. With a sigh of resignation, he spoke.
The Border Empire Page 11
