It was still dark outside when Wes and El Lobo were awakened by a thumping, like a horse was kicking its way out of a stall. Instead, they found José looking up at them from a circle of lantern light. He motioned them down and led them out the barn doors farthest from the Sandlin house. The moon had long since set, and dawn wasn’t too far distant. It soon became evident what José had in mind. Approaching a house that was totally dark, José knocked three times on the back door. When it was opened, the three of them entered and the door was closed. They were led to a room in which a single lamp burned. Each of the several windows were covered with blankets. Tamara, Renita, and a Mexican woman began bringing in food. Wes and El Lobo noticed, with some relief, there appeared to be no roast goat.
“Wes, Palo,” said Tamara, “this is Anna Marie.”
“Eat,” Anna Marie said. “You must go while the darkness hides you.”
“Wes,” said Renita when Anna Marie returned to the kitchen, “Shekeela was Anna Marie’s sister.”
“I hate it for her sake,” Wes said, “but we have her—along with Juan and others of his kin—to thank for us being alive. When I first came to Mexico to destroy the Sandlin gang, I was mad as hell, and I thought my hate for them would be enough. El Lobo and me rode around gunning down outlaws, but there was always more. Stomp on a rattler’s tail all day, and he’ll just go right on bitin’ you. You have to go for the head, and for the first time, that’s what we’re about to do.”
“Yes,” said Tamara. “When Sandlin’s Border Empire crumbles from the top, it will not matter how many outlaw camps remain or how many within the Mexican government have sold out.”
Conversation ceased. Wes and El Lobo had to return to the stable’s hayloft while the darkness concealed them. The meal was soon finished, and the trio returned to the safety of the stable.
“One thing we forget,” El Lobo said. “We not know who leave the Sandlin house in the dark.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Wes. “While it’s possible Sandlin could be removing things at night, it’s something we can’t help. If we’re figurin’ it right, the military can’t come up with any single crime they can charge to Sandlin. You can’t arrest an hombre for having his goods hauled somewhere else. Even to a ship in Tampico harbor.”
“So there be no reason to work in the darkness.”
“None that I can think of,” Wes said. “That’s why the Mexican people are with us. They know—as we do—what Sandlin’s Border Empire has done to them, but there is no legal way to destroy it. If we can’t do it, Sandlin will be here forever.”
“Why it not be legal to shoot bastardos who are so in need of it?”
“That’s kind of how it is in the American West,” said Wes, “and I hope I’m not there to see it change.”
Suddenly there was a growling below, and José appeared at the head of the ladder.
“That’s Empty,” Wes said. “He followed us here.”
Wes beckoned José away from the ladder and climbed down. José cautiously followed. Wes ruffled Empty’s ears, and the hound only looked at José with interest. Struck by inspiration, José went into the tack room and returned with two large hunks of roast goat. One of these he offered to Empty, and after sniffing it suspiciously, he wolfed it down. José offered him the second piece, and it quickly followed the first. José raised his empty hands. There was no more roast goat.
“Empty,” said Wes, “this is José. He is a friend, an amigo.”
Empty stalked around José, sniffing him, and the Mexican had the good sense to at least seem unafraid. Finally there was that friendly rumble that wasn’t quite a growl, and the hound lay down in a comer on some hay. Reassured, José grinned, and Wes climbed the ladder back to the loft.
Toluca, Mexico. August 21, 1884
“The Mexican brass is claiming victory over the infamous Sandlin outlaws,” Jarvis told Sandlin. “There hasn’t been a fight for two days now.”
“Splendid,” said Sandlin. “We want it to appear that we’re beaten. When all the dust has settled, there’ll be only you, Canton, Tafolla, Zouka, Sumar, Klady, Wittrus, Moke, and Undilay. There’ll be no more meetings until I give the word. Only you are to come here, and you will come and go only under cover of darkness.”
“Sounds like a smart move to me,” Jarvis said, “but what will I tell the others?”
“No more than what I’ve told you,” said Sandlin. “If you encounter any of the rest of the outfit—segundos included—tell them we’re finished in Mexico. If they continue to clash with the military, they do so at their own peril.”
“For them of us that’s to stick,” Jarvis said, “how long before we reorganize?”
“That I can’t tell you,” said Sandlin. “We’ve had too much negative publicity, and that fight in the courtyard was the last straw. We may be three months away from resuming any activity.”
“Some of the boys won’t like that,” Jarvis said. “That damn manhunt cut us all down to the bone.”
“That’s not my problem,” said Sandlin coldly. “Those who can’t survive a dry spell are welcome to move on.”
“I reckon that includes me,” Jarvis said.
“Yes,” said Sandlin, “that includes you. There is no room for sentiment within this organization.”
Jarvis said nothing, but after he left the house, he paused in the darkness, thinking. What he hadn’t told Sandlin was that the men Sandlin had named were already restless, and their trust in Sandlin had dwindled to a spark. There was speculation that Sandlin was preparing to run for it, and what Sandlin had just said would only add more fuel to the fires of discontent. It was late, but Jarvis decided to call a meeting of the disciples, and as he alerted them one by one, he got no argument.
“That’s Sandlin’s words,” Jarvis told them, in the dimly lit back room of a cantina.
“I don’t like the sound of it,” said Canton. “Hell, I only took enough money to put a roof over my head and to keep me in booze and grub. Sandlin owes me. By God, I ain’t settin’ on my hunkers for no three months waitin’ for some cash to dribble down.”
“Me neither,” Tafolla said.
“I reckon we’d better take a vote,” said Jarvis. “Them that can’t abide this order of Sandlin’s, stand up.”
There was a scraping of chairs, as all eight men got to their feet. Jarvis kicked back his chair and stood with them.
“Speak up,” Jarvis said.
“I think Sandlin’s getting ready to vamoose,” said Canton, “leavin’ us high and dry.”
“Them’s my sentiments exactly,” Tafolla said.
Zouka, Sumar, Klady, Wittrus, Moke, and Undilay agreed unanimously.
“Now that we’re all of the same mind,” said Canton, “what are we goin’ to do?”
“We can take turns watching the Sandlin mansion,” Jarvis said. “I’ve heard Sandlin’s got access to a fast clipper ship, that it’s anchored in Tampico bay. We need to know if there’s any truth to that, and if there is, we’ll know the direction Sandlin aims to run.”
“If there is such a ship, Sandlin won’t never get on it,” said Undilay. “I’ll be standin’ there with a cocked Colt, waitin’ to shoot the double-crossin’ bastard.”
“By God, you’ll have to get in line,” Klady said.
“Watching the house won’t be easy,” said Jarvis, “with it standing alone. The closest other building is that stable, owned by an old Mex.”
“Forget him,” Handley said. “The old varmint won’t even let us stable our horses in there.”
“This will be for nothin’ if Sandlin pulls out at night,” said Wittrus.
“I don’t consider that likely,” Canton said. “Sandlin’s always had a thing about gold, and it’ll take a wagon to move it any distance. I don’t remember there bein’ any decent road from here to Tampico. Can anybody say I’m wrong?”
“It don’t make sense, havin’ this ship at Tampico,” said Sumar. “Hell, there’s a pretty good wagon road south
, all the way to the Pacific, and it ain’t near as far as Tampico.”
“No,” Jarvis conceded, “but there’s no major Pacific port any closer than Mazatlán. In Tampico, what’s one more clipper ship? It’s a busy port, and it would be well worth the greater distance, not having this ship attract any unwanted attention. If there is such a ship, it’ll be in Tampico bay.”
“I reckon we can agree on that,” said Zouka. “Now, how can we watch Sandlin’s place without bein’ seen and identified?”
“There can’t be more than one man,” Jarvis said. “If we can’t use the stable, I can’t think of but one other place close enough, and that’s a cantina.”
“Yeah,” said Moke, “and there ain’t a window in the place.”
“Damn it,” Jarvis said, “you won’t be inside. Dress yourself like a poor Mex, tilt a sombrero over your face, and hunker outside like you’re soakin up sun.”
“In that case,” said Canton, “you can’t have a horse. What poor Mex could afford a horse? That calls for a mule, without a saddle.”
“No, by God,” Wittrus said. “It ain’t civilized, a white man ridin’ a mule, with or without a saddle.”
“Civilized or not, it makes sense,” said Jarvis. “All of us will have to wear the same kind of peon clothes, wear the same sombrero, and ride the same mule. It has to look like the same lazy Mex is there, day after day.”
“Suppose I’m on watch,” Handley said, “and I see Sandlin loadin’ a wagon? Damn it, I ain’t about to ride all the way to Tampico on a mule, with or without a saddle.”
“If you see Sandlin doin’ anything suspicious—like loadin’ a wagon—then follow just long enough to be sure of the direction,” said Jarvis. “There’ll always be another of us just waitin’ to side you. The two of you can then mount your horses and follow.”
“I’ll take the watch tomorrow, then,” Canton said. “Who’s got a mule I can borrow?”
Nobody had a mule, and some of the men laughed.
“See me at dawn,” said Jarvis. “I’ll find a mule.”
Toluca, Mexico. August 22, 1884
From their position in the stable’s loft, Wes and El Lobo could see the front and both sides of the Sandlin mansion. While they couldn’t see the front of the house, they could see the entrance to a distant cantina, and it was there that they first noticed some activity. What appeared to be a poor Mexican reined up his mule, dismounted, sat down with his back to the adobe wall, and tilted his sombrero over his eyes.
“He no Mejicano,” El Lobo said.
“How can you tell?”
“No can ride mulo. He used to horse, saddle, stirrup. Dismount hard,” said El Lobo.
“Now that you mention it,” Wes said, “there is something odd about him. Why does a man arrive a good three hours before a cantina opens, and why does he choose this particular cantina? The sun shines everywhere.”
“Sí,” said El Lobo. “Per’ap he look for somebody.”
“Amigo,” Wes said, “you have a habit of getting at the truth of a matter. I’d bet a horse and saddle he’s watching the Sandlin mansion.”
“Why? He no soldado.”
“We may not be the only ones who suspect Sandlin’s about to make a run for it,” said Wes. “I’d say some of the hombres here in Toluca are looking for a double-cross. If Sandlin’s inner circle is watching him, then our suspicions are well founded.”
“Sí,” El Lobo said. “We watch everybody.”
As the day wore on, the “Mexican” never left his position before the cantina.
“Por Dios,” said El Lobo, “no food, no water.”
“It’ll be interesting to see if he shows up tomorrow,” Wes said. “If he does, or one dressed like him, then we’ll know Sandlin’s bunch is watching the house.”
A few minutes before sundown, the “Mexican” stood up, stretched, and very clumsily mounted the mule. El Lobo laughed. When it was good and dark, José thumped on the wall, his way of telling them it was suppertime. Empty bounded ahead, for he knew they were going to the house to eat. Tamara and Renita became very excited when they learned that some of Sandlin’s own men might be watching the house.
“It is more than we could have hoped for,” Tamara said. “How can Sandlin not be brought down, with so many of us joining the fight?”
“We don’t yet know for sure,” said Wes, “but we should tomorrow. If there’s another phony Mexican over there tomorrow, I believe we can safely say he’s watching the Sandlin house.”
For three days, Wes and El Lobo watched the Sandlin mansion without seeing anyone arrive or depart. Each day, the nondescript “Mexican” showed up outside the cantina.
“That settles it,” Wes said. “Somebody’s watching that place besides us.”
“Per’ap Sandlin be gone when we come,” said El Lobo.
“I’m startin’ to wonder,” Wes said. “We’ll give it another day.”
On the morning of the fourth day, a woman emerged from the mansion. Going to a carriage house, she led out a horse and harnessed it to a buckboard. She then mounted the box and drove away toward the business district of the town.
“Sandlin’s señorita,” said El Lobo. “We follow?”
“I don’t think so,” Wes replied. “There’s nothing in the buckboard. Let’s see what our amigo does over yonder by the cantina.”
The “Mexican” near the cantina didn’t leave his post. Two hours later, the buckboard returned. The woman backed the vehicle into the carriage house, unharnessed the horse, and returned it to its stall. She then took her parcels and entered the house.
“We still do not know if Sandlin be there,” said El Lobo.
“No,” Wes said, “and I don’t know how we can find out.”
Tampico, Mexico. August 26, 1884
Aboard the Aguila, a clipper ship anchored in Tampico bay, Captain Agar studied the telegram he had just received. It said:Sail immediately per my instructions and do not return.
There was no signature, and none was necessary. Renaldo, first mate to the five-man crew, said nothing. Agar passed him the telegram, and after reading it, he grinned.
“It’s what we been waitin’ for, eh, Cap’n?”
“Yeah,” Agar said. “It means what we got on board is our last payload.”
“I never would of thought we’d be trusted this far,” said Renaldo. “Why you reckon Sandlin ain’t sailin’ with us?”
“Who knows?” Agar replied. “This particular plan was to come into play only if Sandlin couldn’t get away without bein’ followed. So much the better for us. Now we ain’t got to bother disposin’ of Sandlin. We’re still sailin’ to South America, but to a port of our own choosin’.”
“Haw, haw,” said Renaldo, “this’ll be the sweetest double-cross in the history of the world. What do you aim to tell the rest of the crew when we bypass Sandlin’s port?”
“Nothin’,” Agar said. “Once we’re in port, they’re expendable.”
Renaldo laughed, but had he been more observant, he wouldn’t have liked the crafty look in Captain Agar’s hard eyes.
Cord Sandlin paced the floor impatiently. The telegram to Tampico had been the least favorable of three possible plans, but Sandlin wasn’t sure the Mexican government hadn’t staked out the Aguila. The moment the craft prepared to sail, it might be boarded and searched. While there was no way the vessel or its cargo could be traced to Sandlin, the gold would be confiscated, and that would be regrettable.
But the Sandlin house held many secrets. Beneath the first floor was a cellar, and only Sandlin knew of the concealed tunnel that led to a vault containing millions in gold. There was a means—if circumstances warranted it—of collapsing the tunnel and sealing off the chamber. There was food, water, ventilation, and a means of escape of which only Sandlin was aware. There the gold would be secure until it could safely be removed.
“Damn it,” Canton said, “I don’t believe Sandlin’s in that house. He’s managed to find some female to s
tay there, figurin’ to throw us off the trail. Jarvis, you got to go back to that place and be sure we ain’t watchin’ an empty house.”
“I got no reason for goin’ back there,” said Jarvis. “You know what Sandlin said, and I ain’t wantin’ a tongue-lashing.”
“You know what the varmint’s doin‘,” Undilay said. “We been told to lay low for the next three months, and that’s what Sandlin’s doin’. By God, one of them servants is goin’ out for grub, and nobody—includin’ us—will lay an eye on Sandlin.”
“Yeah,” said Wittrus, “and me not knowin’ if Sandlin’s in there or not just rubs me the wrong damn way. Why don’t we ride in after dark and shoot up the place?”
“If that’s the best idea you got,” Jarvis said, “why don’t you ride over there and do it in broad daylight? All it’ll do is draw attention to Sandlin, and that three-month wait will stretch into never.”
“Yeah,” said Canton, “if we aim to hang on here, we can’t do anything more to stir up the military and these old Mexes that’s been raisin’ hell.”
“So we go on settin’ next to a cantina watchin’ the house, not knowin’ if Sandlin’s in there or not,” Zouka said.
“That’s how it is,” said Jarvis. “We got to do it Sandlin’s way or we’re on our own.”
“I think we’re on our own, anyway,” Klady said in disgust. “Hell, Sandlin’s stringin’ us along, so’s we don’t stir up trouble here in town. Let the dust settle, and Sandlin will run for it.”
“Klady’s right,” said Tafolla. “We ain’t gettin’ another peso out of Sandlin. We’re all supposed to get fed up and ride on, leavin’ Sandlin with all the loot.”
“All the more reason why I don’t aim to ride on,” Jarvis said. “I’ll be here until I get some satisfaction. I won’t fault any man wantin’ to move on.”
The Border Empire Page 24
