Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  While this was going on, two additional Yaquis broke into sight, clambering adroitly down the opposing cliff faces to join the activity below. Amid increased whooping and yipping, the dead soldiers were roughly stripped of their shirts, sidearms, and rifles. These newly attained weapons were brandished excitedly and several shots were fired aimlessly into the air.

  Once all of the Rurale corpses were snared and tied to Yaqui ponies, the Indians re-mounted and prepared to ride back the way they'd just come. Before departing, however, one iron-eyed warrior—apparently a chieftain of some sort—paused to fix his penetrating gaze directly up at the spot where Kendrick thought he was hidden.

  The warrior raised his rifle above his head as if in a silent salute, held it there for a long moment, then wheeled his pony sharply and led the others away, the stripped bodies of the slain Rurales bouncing and flopping across the ground as they were yanked along in the riders' wake.

  Kendrick watched the Yaquis ride off, frozen in place until after their dust cloud had faded to a few thin wisps. He straightened up slowly and stepped out into the open, exhaling a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding in.

  "I'll be damned," he muttered hoarsely.

  And then, inside his head, a by-now familiar refrain echoed: You can never count for sure what Indians might do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "What an extraordinary turn of events," marveled Hunt Bradley. "But then, from the things I've been hearing about you, Mr. Kendrick, extraordinary events seem not uncommon where you're concerned."

  "Don't know about all that," Kendrick replied, shrugging dismissively. "But havin' those Yaquis show up the way they did this morning, that was damn sure a lucky turn of events. Lucky for me, no denyin'."

  "They must have been drawn by the gunfire when you were shooting it out with the Rurales down in the gulch," Doc Turpin said. "Then, when it came down to just you and those last few soldiers up on the higher ground, they decided to get involved. Nobody hates the Rurales more fiercely than the Yaquis, and Yaquis are at their best on high ground and in mountainous terrain. They didn't earn the name el tigre de rocas—the tigers of the rocks—for nothing."

  "I suppose," Kendrick said grimly, "I'm better off not askin' what they did with the bodies they drug off."

  Bradley shrugged indifferently. "Let's just leave it at saying the heads of those soldiers are right about now on prominent display in some Yaqui camp."

  "Just remember," Estraleta pointed out, "that with or without the Yaquis, Kendrick was far from defeated. On his own, he still would have carried the day against what was left of those Rurale pigs!"

  They were seated on rough-hewn wooden stools in the shade of a large canvas tarp that had been stretched between the points of four upright poles, expressly erected for the purpose of providing relief from the brutal mid-day sun. Their stools and two or three other unoccupied ones were arranged around an equally rough-hewn table strewn with weighted-down maps and other papers.

  On this occasion, four gourd cups and a straw-wrapped bottle of mescal were also present on the table. The canopied area was where "Colonel" Huntsford Bradley typically held meetings to plan strategies and review recent developments pertaining to the Bordados uprising. When necessary, guards were posted to keep un-welcome ears from eavesdropping on critical details. Today there were no guards and, in the rugged clearing surrounding them, various activities were taking place throughout the rebel camp with little or no attention paid to the current discussion being held.

  Back in the foothills, once the Yaquis had left, Kendrick had climbed down again to the gully floor and proceeded to walk in the direction Estraleta had ridden, hoping to eventually come across Blockhead. Before that could happen, however, he heard riders approaching from somewhere ahead of him. He hastily concealed himself in some rocks only to recognize, once the riders came into view, that it was a force of heavily armed rebels with Estraleta and Doc mounted at the lead.

  Kendrick stepped out and halted them with a sharp whistle. After a quick round of reunions—with Doc, Estraleta, and also Blockhead, who was being led by one of the nameless rebels—they'd gotten out of there and headed back to the rebel camp, where Hunt Bradley awaited.

  "Well, one thing is for certain," Bradley was saying now. "No one has ever joined our cause with more fanfare or with higher credentials. First, from what I'm told, you single-handedly wipe out an entire platoon of Rurales down in Ocochillo. Then, to add more directly to our local excitement, you skirmish with a patrol out of Bordados and leave all of them—albeit with a touch of assistance—dead in your wake."

  "That's my boy Bodie," said Doc, grinning. "He decides something is worth doing, he don't mess around doing it small."

  "You make jokes? You ridicule this man?" Estraleta scowled disapprovingly. "Senor Kendrick risked his life to save me—twice! And in the matter of only a few days he has killed over two dozen of our hated enemy. You make light of such a thing?"

  "Calm down, Estraleta. Don't get your hackles up," cautioned Bradley.

  Estraleta drew the heavy revolver from her hip. "This came off the slain body of that filth, Lieutenant Remoza. Does this look like a joke?"

  "That's enough, Estraleta," Bradley said, more sternly now.

  "Really," Kendrick told her. "It's okay. Nobody's ridiculin' me. They're just pokin' a little fun, that's all."

  Estraleta stood and swept each of them with her scowl. "All men are loco!" she declared. "I do not understand 'poking fun' over something so serious. And I do not wish to sit here and listen to any more of such nonsense. I have better things to do." So saying, she rose and stormed away.

  "Whew," said Kendrick, watching her go. "She's got a temper, don't she?"

  "Hair-trigger and Hell-hot," Turpin agreed.

  "Luckily," added Bradley, "it usually cools as fast as it flares … Unless, that is, you are a Rurale or one of the desperadoes riding under Park Rawson. For them, her fire never fades."

  Bradley was a gaunt-faced, rather frail-looking man of average height. Early fifties, Kendrick judged. He wore rust-colored trousers tucked into high black boots and a loose-fitting white shirt not too dissimilar from the peasant garb favored by most of the other men in the rebel camp. On a head of reddish hair peppered with flecks of silver sat a battered old Confederate cavalry hat so faded and caked with dust that its once proud gray color was all but lost. A cartridge belt was buckled around his spare waist and from it hung a heavy, long-barreled revolver in a military style flap holster. Yet despite his overall un-imposing appearance (except for the revolver), there was an unmistakable aura of confidence and authority about the man that Kendrick had felt the minute they shook hands. Bradley's fingers were long and delicate but their grip was firm, strong.

  "Park Rawson," Kendrick echoed. "Don't recall hearin' that name before. Sounds Americano."

  "He is," Bradley confirmed. "He's what you might call the de facto leader of the outlaw bunch that Colonel Guerrero allowed to take over Bordados. Our initial uprising took out a lot of those human reptiles, but unfortunately the head snake of the nest made it out alive. He wants 'his' town back the way it was, so him and what's left of his men are riding and fighting with the Rurales. Against us."

  Kendrick's mouth twisted with a wry smile. "This party you got goin' on down here sounds more and more charmin' by the minute."

  "You must like what you're hearing about it," Doc pointed out. "You sure as hell went to a lot of trouble to get yourself involved."

  "If you hadn't took off from New Gleanus without explainin' a damn thing to anybody, maybe my curiosity wouldn't've got the better of me."

  "Let's not start with that again. I already told you, I didn't figure I owed anybody a long-winded explanation on my comings and goings. Besides, I did leave you that note about looking after my bank account and said I'd be in touch. How was I supposed to know you were such a worry-wart old hen that wouldn't be enough to suit you?"

  "Now don't you two go getting your hackle
s up," said Bradley.

  Kendrick waved him off. "Don't worry about it. I got the answers I was after."

  Bradley suddenly erupted into a series of ragged coughs. He turned quickly away, pulling a multi-colored handkerchief from his pocket and holding it over his mouth. As the coughing subsided, he wiped aggressively at his mouth with the cloth. For just an instant Kendrick thought he saw a splash of fresh blood on the hanky, but it was hard to be certain amidst the pattern of various colors.

  Turning back to them, stuffing the hanky once more into his pocket, Bradley reached for his gourd cup of mescal and took a quick gulp. "Damn dust around here," he muttered. "Does that to me sometimes." He tipped the cup again and took a much longer pull.

  Doc had been watching the man closely through all of this. He continued to do so until the cup came down for a second time. Then, softly, he said, "Hunt, it seems to me that Kendrick has bought in pretty solidly to what you've got going on here. I know him, I vouch for him. I say it's only right we level him about the whole truth of things."

  Bradley's eyes flashed and he shot a hard glare at Turpin. After only a moment, however, the heat left his eyes and he looked away. He stared down into his cup for the better part of a minute, as if wanting to take another drink. But he didn't. When he lifted his gaze again he fixed it on Kendrick. "A moment ago, Mr. Kendrick," he said, "I made the presumption that you were here to join our cause. Is that, in fact, your intent?"

  Bodie shifted somewhat uncomfortably under the direct question. "Don't rightly know, to tell you the truth," he answered. "It's not what I started out to do, I've already explained that … But, considerin' how things have worked out, it sorta seems like I'm in whether I meant to be or not."

  "You can always ride away."

  Kendrick cast a glance first in Doc's direction and then let his gaze slide off in the direction Estraleta had gone. "No," he said. "Reckon I don't see that happenin'."

  Turpin chuckled. "That comes dangerously close to making you sound like a volunteer … You know what they say about volunteers, don't you?"

  "Born fools, damn fools, and volunteers."

  "And yet here we all are."

  "So you fit where?"

  Doc arched a brow. "I was invited, remember? And, you might be surprised to hear, not necessarily for the reasons you think."

  "What Doc is referring to, in a rather circuitous manner," Bradley said, "is that I sent for him not to solicit his gun for our cause, but rather for his medical advice. In the late war, you see, Doc served as a medic under my command for over two years. I value his opinion—medically as well as in other ways—as highly as any man I know."

  "I appreciate that, Hunt. I don't fully understand it—especially the medical part, since I got thrown into that role on a battle field and my only training was a manual somebody stuck in my hand, followed immediately by the endless parade of wounds and maladies that lasted right up to the end—but I appreciate you saying it."

  "You were a natural healer, Doc. And you memorized that manual inside and out. I saw you perform nothing short of miracles with some of the patients brought before you."

  "The key word being 'some'. There were a helluva lot of others I couldn't do anything for."

  "No, and not even true miracles could have saved those boys," Bradley insisted.

  Kendrick took a drink from his own cup of mescal. As the smoky liquid went down, he tried to figure out what the thrust of this conversation really was.

  "At any rate," Bradley said, turning back to Kendrick, "that was my purpose in sending for Doc—to get his medical opinion on a severely personal matter that I will explain in a minute." He regarded Kendrick more intently. "What I'm about to share with you is something so far known only to Doc and me. But, as he suggests—for the sake of what you've already done and for the further commitment you seem willing to make—you deserve to know the whole story."

  Bradley hesitated, looking to all sides to make sure no one else was within earshot before continuing. "You see, Mr. Kendrick, I am a dying man. In here somewhere" —he thumped a fist against his chest— "there is a cancer eating away at me. Six months ago I weighed forty pounds more than I do now. I had twice the strength and endurance. When I first felt it coming on, without yet realizing what it was, the progress was slow. It is now growing much faster."

  "Cancers will do that," Turpin said solemnly.

  "At my wife's insistence," Bradley went on, "I traveled to El Paso to get a thorough checkup. That was when I first received the diagnosis. It was while I was away that some of the vermin who'd infested Bordados rode out to my ranch and … "

  "I know that part of the story," Kendrick said. "You needn't go into it more."

  "Then I guess you know, too, that out of retaliation or revenge or whatever you want to call it, I started this." Bradley waved a hand, indicating the encampment about them. "People think I am a tragic, courageous figure for taking up this cause. It's easy to be brave when you're dying anyway, Kendrick. My condition will soon reach a stage where a Rurale bullet would be a blessing. But these people, these truly brave souls who have risen up with me, they are fighting for their very existence—for their future. And I cannot let them down!"

  "Don't rightly see how you could do that, no matter what happens," Kendrick said. "You've already rallied 'em to fight back, shown 'em they don't have to keep livin' under the boot heels of men like Guerrero and this Rawson. If they're as brave as you say and want out from under bad enough, then at some point it's gonna fall to them to keep going, with or without you."

  Bradley's smile was as thin as a razor cut. "That's exactly the point. At the risk of sounding terribly pompous, I need for these people to believe in themselves and their cause as much as they believe in me. Unfortunately, that is not yet the case. And if I fade and falter from my damnable disease before this thing is over or before they quit being so reliant on me … then I fear all the blood and sacrifice that's already been spent will have been for nothing."

  "You see a chance for 'this thing' to be over any time soon?" Kendrick asked.

  Bradley's expression turned grim. "It's possible. So far—except for that first night, when I led the surprise attack on the desperadoes infesting Bordados—our battles have been little more than skirmishes. But something much bigger is brewing. Guerrero has brought in more men and weapons. Even Rawson seems to have somehow attracted more of his ilk to replace the ones we initially cut down. But so far they haven't made any move on our stronghold here, even though they must have a pretty good general idea where it is."

  "It's in Guerrero's best interest to try and get this little dust-up stomped down as soon as possible," Turpin explained. "The arrangement he had going with Rawson and the others like him—making Bordados available as a haven from the law north of the border—was strictly something cooked up without the sanction of the central government down in Mexico City. Oh, they must have heard something about it, considering how long it was in operation. But they've got their own problems throughout the rest of the country, and political corruption ain't exactly something Guerrero invented. So as long as he ran his operation and things stayed relatively quiet in the area under his jurisdiction, eyes obligingly looked the other way. Likely the good Colonel fattened a few purses now and then to help keep it that way. But now—now that Hunt here has got things stirred up in a way that's drawing more and more attention—Guerrero had better get it under control before too much longer or some of those who've been looking the other way won't have any choice but to take notice."

  "Back in Ocochillo, I had an real up-close look at the Gatling gun that's on its way here. And Estraleta mentioned something about rumors of a cannon Guerrero is supposed to be bringing in." Kendrick nodded. "Yeah, I'd say it's pretty clear he's gearin' up for something bigger than a skirmish."

  "A cannon to blow us down out of our stronghold … a Gatling gun to cut us to ribbons when we're flushed into the open." Again Bradley's mouth curved in that strange, thin smile. "Our Colo
nel Guerrero may not be big on complex military strategy, but he clearly knows how to hammer down a nail."

  "On the other hand," said Turpin measuredly, "if that already misfortune-plagued Gatling happened to … oh, I don't know … somehow get permanently detoured so it never made it into Guerrero's grubby paws at all … "

  Chapter Fifteen

  The messenger from Ocochillo shrank back, trembling in fear at the violent rage Colonel Anselmo Guerrero instantly erupted into upon reading the note just delivered to him. Guerrero's temper tantrums were legendary down through the ranks of the Rurales, and all during his ride here—knowing the words he was delivering from Lieutenant Remoza would not be welcome news—the messenger had been dreading this moment.

  Fortunately, in this case, the colonel's ranting was directed at his wretched luck, at all the gods in all the heavens he accused of conspiring against him, and most of all at "that damned, arrogant, incompetent Remoza!" The messenger was left ignored and, except for the assault on his ears, unscathed. The walls of the room where this tirade was taking place—the parlor of the finest house in Bordados, commandeered by the colonel to serve as his headquarters subsequent to his decision to remain in the area for however long it took to beat down these rebels under Hunt Bradley—fairly shook from the outburst.

  When Guerrero seemed at last to be running out of laments, curses, and (thankfully) breath, the third man present in the room spoke in a quiet drawl. "Not takin' exception to anything you just said there, General, especially the part about that pompous jackass Remoza, who you always seemed so high on up till now. But—"