Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  "After we kill Remoza," Estraleta insisted.

  "Jesus, girl, you've got a one track mind," Kendrick growled. "You'll damn sure get your chance to kill Remoza, okay? I promise. But it might be he could prove useful before it comes to that."

  "Why wait? What use can that pig be to us?"

  "We want to draw those reinforcements in as close and as unsuspecting as possible, understood? They're gonna expect Remoza to be on hand to greet 'em. If they don't see him, it might all of a sudden make 'em edgy, put 'em on alert at the last second. Cause 'em to hold back a bit." Kendrick shook his head. "We don't want that. We want to do everything we can to catch 'em off guard."

  "So what are you saying?"

  "I'm sayin' we keep Remoza alive a little longer. Prop him out front of the rectory, just like he was when our boys showed up—get some good out of him for the sake of puttin' those reinforcements totally at ease until we spring our ambush."

  "I will never cooperate with such a thing!" protested Remoza, who was standing near enough to have overhead what Kendrick was saying. "Why should I? You are going to kill me, anyway. I will scream a warning the first chance I get and, for me, the end will be the same."

  Kendrick stepped over to him and, as he spoke, bared his teeth in a cold, humorless wolf's smile. "Oh, you're gonna get killed all right, you murderous sack of goat shit. But there are many different ways to die. A bullet is quick and clean. Way too good for you, come to think on it. But if you cooperate, that's the way we'll do it. Just like we planned. You don't cooperate—and those reinforcements will end up just as dead, either way—how about, instead of pumpin' you full of lead in that quick, clean way, we haul your ass up into the mountains and stake you out for the Yaquis to finish off?"

  Remoza's expression became horror-struck. "Mercy of God! Not that … You wouldn't!"

  Kendrick's eyes and voice were as cold as ice. "One way to find out, you blubberin' cur … What's it gonna be?"

  * * * * *

  The ambush was quickly prepared.

  The Gatling gun and a case of .45-70 cartridges were once more hauled to the top of the bell tower, the gun again mounted onto its swivel tripod. Estraleta and Jorge, both having donned caps and uniforms to pass for Rurale soldiers at a glance, were stationed there to operate it. Estraleta, with her flowing hair tucked up inside her cap, would do the firing; Jorge would keep the ammo hopper fed.

  Doc and half of the raiding party took positions in doorways and windows and on rooftops of the buildings immediately to the east of the church. The remaining raiders took similar positions along the southwest edge of the plaza. When the riders came in and crowded up near the front of the rectory, they would be placing themselves in the notch of a primed and waiting V-shaped crossfire. And, from above, Estraleta would be ready to rain Hell and hot lead down on them from the blazing muzzles of the Gatling.

  Kendrick stationed himself inside the rectory. Remoza was perched on a wooden stool out front. Kendrick knelt at the doorway of the priest's residence with the door standing ten inches ajar. Through this opening he could keep Remoza in his vision at all times while remaining out of sight himself. Across the top of his right knee, Kendrick balanced the double-barreled Greener. His intentions had been made very clear to Remoza: "I'll have you under both muzzles every second. You make one wrong twitch or sound, I'll blow your legs to ribbons. That'll still leave you alive for the Yaquis and it'll give you just a small taste of the misery they'll have in store when they get their hands on you … You don't do anything wrong, you'll get a quick final bullet like I promised."

  Ten minutes short of an hour from the time Jorge came galloping in with his report of approaching riders, the group of horsemen arrived on the outskirts of the village. Estraleta called down a warning and the ambushers got themselves set. Moments later, Park Rawson and his crew of Anglo outlaws entered on the south side of the plaza. They veered immediately toward the rectory, Rawson riding grim-faced at the head of the column. Through the doorway opening, Kendrick could see Remoza lift his head and his body go suddenly rigid in reaction to what he saw. What Kendrick couldn't know yet because his own line of sight was limited, was that the arriving men were not Rurales, as expected.

  From his vantage point, Doc saw the difference quickly enough and didn't care for it one bit because he didn't know what it meant and didn't like surprises. Luckily, one of the rebels hunkered down near him recognized Rawson and was able to explain how the group of men he was leading still amounted to soldiers representing Guerrero. "That's alright, then," Doc muttered. "As long as they're riding for Guerrero, we can still shoot 'em."

  Up in the bell tower, Estraleta also had no trouble recognizing Rawson and as a result felt an increased jolt of excitement for the chance to participate in cutting down the hated desperado.

  No reaction, however, was stronger than that of Royos Remoza. By the time Rawson reined up before him, the lieutenant's eyes were burning with nearly as much hatred for this man as that which he felt for the rebels who had him under their thumb. Kendrick could see neither Remoza's eyes nor his expression, since the lieutenant was facing away from him. But by now he could see some of the new arrivals as they milled into the plaza and fanned out in front of the rectory, entering his frame of view.

  He was momentarily surprised to note they were all Anglos in dusty trail clothes rather than uniformed Rurales. Considering what he knew of Bordados' recent history, however, it wasn't hard to conclude he was looking at several of the American desperadoes who had arrived to seek haven in the mountain village. One of them, the lanky, hard-faced gent who'd gigged his horse up ahead of the others so that he was almost on top of Remoza, appeared to be their leader.

  "Well, well, well," said Rawson, his somber expression giving way to a smirk so wide it nearly split the bottom half of his face. "Heard tell you had a spot of trouble up this way, Loo-tenant … And, judging by the appearance of things, I'd say that was exactly right. You're lookin' a mite abused and worse for wear your ownself, you don't mind my sayin'."

  "If I am, what concern is it of yours?" Remoza said through gritted teeth.

  Rawson leaned forward, casually resting an arm across his saddle horn, his smirk remaining firmly in place. "To tell the truth, I couldn't care two hoots in hell about you personally. But your situation is of concern to our mutual friend Colonel Guerrero—that is to say, he's mainly concerned about the Gatling gun you were supposed to be bringing him."

  Remoza jerked a thumb upward, indicating the muzzle of the Gatling jutting out from the bell tower. "As you can see, the gun is fine. I lost many men and I myself was seriously wounded, but we fought bravely to make sure the gun was kept safe for delivery to the colonel."

  "Well, that was mighty swell and noble of you, Loo-tenant. And now me and my boys are here to take the gun off your hands and finish up that little delivery chore." Rawson reached inside his vest and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "Just to prove we got the colonel's approval and blessing, I got a signed paper here that will—"

  Kendrick didn't need to hear any more. There wasn't going to be a better time.

  Once again moving in a graceful, fluid motion, he straightened up, kicked the door wide, and stepped forward to frame himself in the now-open doorway. "Take 'em!" he bellowed.

  As his command rang out, Kendrick triggered the first barrel of the Greener. The blast took Park Rawson full in the chest, lifting him up out of his saddle and hurling him backward to land on the ground five feet away. Mounted next to Rawson, Clyde Iverson was stung by the stray scatter of double-ought pellets and sprayed with the blood and gore that exploded from what used to be Rawson's chest. An instant later, Kendrick emptied the Greener's second barrel into him and Iverson flew from his saddle in a sticky red mist.

  Lieutenant Remoza pitched from his stool and hit the dirt, flattening himself in a desperate attempt to stay out of the line of fire.

  Simultaneously, Doc and the other raiders opened up from their positions and the pack of
desperadoes were instantly and viciously caught in the crossfire. Horses reared and shrieked, men cursed and cried out as bullets slammed and screamed all around them. A few desperado guns managed to make it out of their holsters only to be triggered blindly in feeble, fruitless attempts to return fire.

  From above, the Gatling poured down its own intense rain of punching, slashing, sizzling lead.

  Amazingly still alive, Park Rawson dragged himself across the ground in the midst of trampling hooves and pounding bullets, until he was less than five feet from where Remoza continued to lay frozen in fear.

  "You!" Rawson rasped as he drew the six gun from the holster on his hip, gripping it with blood-streaked, trembling fingers. "You set us up … you double-crossing greaser bastard!"

  Remoza lifted his face from the dirt, eyes growing suddenly huge at the sight of this bloody, snarling specter now threatening him. "No!" the lieutenant protested shrilly. "No, it was not like that—I had no choice!"

  Rawson extended his arm. The gun in his fist wavered unsteadily. But at point-blank range, there was no way he could miss. With blood bubbling on his lips, he husked, "Such a sweet deal we had … Now it's all gone, all shot to shit." His trigger finger jerked with a final spasm of life and then he died before he saw the result.

  The rest of it was over in scant minutes. When it was done, fifteen fresh bodies lay sprawled on the dusty, blood-splashed floor of the plaza. Everything turned silent and still for a long minute. The slowly swirling layers of gunsmoke and the yellowish cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the horses and the Gatling gun bullets hammering into the ground mingled to leave a kind of greenish haze hanging in the air.

  After emptying the Greener, Kendrick had ducked back inside the doorway, dropping once more into a crouch and drawing his Colt. But he never fired a shot with it. There'd been no need. The carnage in the plaza had been so complete and over so quickly there simply had been no targets left for him to draw a bead on.

  Re-holstering the Colt now, he emerged from the rectory and stepped out into the plaza. Slowly, as if in a dream—or, more aptly, perhaps a nightmare—Doc and the other rebel raiders also came out from where they'd been in hiding. Estraleta, having descended from the bell tower, materialized next to Kendrick. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright.

  "Another devastating blow to Guerrero," she said in a hushed voice. Her eyes lifted to gaze admiringly up at Kendrick. "Once again, my heart, you have performed magnificently for our cause."

  "Yeah … magnificently." Kendrick's tone was somewhat duller. His own gaze continued to linger on the sprawl of riddled bodies.

  Doc came over to stand beside them. As he absently thumbed fresh rounds into his pistol, he said in a low voice, "I always hated ambushes. Lousiest part of any war. Only thing worse than laying one is getting caught in one … but, either way, it's a sickening business."

  Kendrick nodded faintly. "I hear you. Even when you win, it still feels like you somehow lost."

  Estraleta frowned, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "What loco talk is this? How can you speak of losing? Any day our side can claim the killing of Royos Remoza and Park Rawson is nothing less than a day of victory! My only regret is that I was denied the killing of either one."

  Kendrick managed a fleeting, rueful smile. "Yes, my bloodthirsty beauty, we're all well aware of how you feel. You won't be satisfied until every Rurale between here and Mexico City has been killed."

  There was nothing shy or fleeting about Estraleta's return smile. "Si! And, ideally, I would like to be the one responsible each and every time."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "First nearly thirty Rurales—now a dozen-plus of the hated American desperadoes. All eliminated from Guerrero's forces in only a handful of days. You, my broad-shouldered friend, amount to a veritable juggernaut for our cause." Once again Hunt Bradley's mouth curved in his strange, thin smile as he addressed Kendrick. The two of them, along with Doc and Estraleta, were seated as before under the suspended canvas tarp that shielded against the late morning sun.

  The raiding party had arrived back in camp only a couple of hours earlier, having once again ridden through the night. The camp-wide jubilation over their safe return and the success of their raid had been immediate and enthusiastic and only now was it beginning to calm down as the booty they'd brought back was being tallied and either stored or distributed by those Bradley had assigned to the task.

  "Not to mention," the colonel continued, "over fifty rifles and pistols and more than fifteen hundred rounds of ammunition confiscated and added to our weapons supply. And, last but surely not least, the grand prize —the Gatling gun! Man, do you realize what a godsend you've proven to be?"

  Kendrick lowered his cup of mescal and shifted uncomfortably under the praise. Twisting his mouth wryly, he said, "Got serious doubts God would want his name roped in with all the killin' I've been part of these past few days … Can't say about the 'juggernaut' part, though. Don't rightly know what that means."

  "Well, you nevertheless are one. Take my word for it. Furthermore, you can—" Bradley broke off abruptly and went into a long, furious coughing fit.

  Kendrick glanced over at Turpin. The latter regarded the colonel solemnly as he hacked and barked and fought to regain his composure. Bodie could tell Doc was worried. With good reason. In the thirty-odd hours they'd been away from the rebel camp, Bradley's condition appeared to have taken a drastic turn for the worse. And in more ways than just the coughing. Even Estraleta, who saw Bradley only in the glow of her admiration for him and previously had seemed not to notice any sign of the disease that was ravaging him, now looked on with grave concern.

  When the coughing had subsided and Bradley was able to catch his breath, he said, "Whew! This damn heat and dust … Plus the excitement at hearing all the successes of your raid … Guess I got myself a little too worked up." He reached for his own cup of mescal and threw some down.

  "Given the frequency of your coughing," Doc observed, "your throat must be awfully raw. That firewater you're gulping surely isn't doing it any good. You'd be better off sticking to tea or some such—maybe some goat milk to help coat the rawness."

  "Goat milk, Doc?" Bradley looked highly dubious. "Jesus, you want me to maybe warm it up first and then drink it out of a bottle with a nipple on it?"

  Turpin shrugged fatalistically. "Do what you want. But you keep sucking down mescal and coughing like that, you'll be blowing blood and lung tissue before long."

  Bradley scowled.

  The look of concern on Estraleta's face had deepened. "Let me go brew some tea," she said. "I will bring sugar and some fresh cream to add to it. Will you drink some, Colonel? I will brew enough so we all can join you."

  Bradley shoved his mescal away. "What the hell. It looks like I'm outnumbered." His scowl softened and he looked at Estraleta. "Yes, dear. It would be very good of you to make tea. Certainly I will have some."

  As soon as the girl was gone, Bradley's expression darkened again and he raked both Turpin and Kendrick with a baleful glare. "It's getting worse fast. Harder to hide, harder to keep everyone from noticing. The simplest activity exhausts me. I ache like sin every waking minute and I haven't slept more than half an hour at a time since I don't know when."

  "What about the laudanum they gave you in El Paso?" Doc said. "Isn't that helping?"

  "I ran out day before yesterday." Bradley smiled bitterly. "Guess I was either hitting it too hard or I've lasted longer than that El Paso sawbones figured I would … The mescal helps some, but it's a damn poor substitute, let me tell you. And now you're saying I need to lay off that."

  "You do what you want, Hunt," Doc said softly. "And this time I mean it. Sorry to say, it probably won't make much difference one way or the other, anyway. And if the mescal cuts your pain even a little bit, then, by God, go ahead and drink all you want."

  "We'll see how it goes. But enough of that for right now. Before Estraleta gets back I want to move to somet
hing else." Bradley was wracked by more coughs, though this time not for as long. Once they'd passed, his expression was grimmer, more intense than ever.

  "You'll have to accept the boldness of my ego and forgive my lack of pretending any false modesty for what I'm about to say. I simply don't have time for such courtesies," he began. "I've already shared with you my concerns about the continuation of this … this revolution, or whatever the hell you want to call it … should my health completely fail before some irreversible level of success has been achieved. If I succumb too soon, I fear the whole cause will falter … And that, ultimately, would be sadder and more tragic than if we had never started at all."

  Bradley paused, his penetrating gaze searching the faces of Kendrick and Turpin as if seeking a question or counterpoint. When none came, he continued. "It's clear enough that the end is very near for me. If not the complete end, then certainly a point where I can no longer function in any meaningful capacity. Three days ago, that would have caused me great despair … Not so much for myself, I have come to grips with that. If you care to know, I have found a soothing degree of peace and contentment in believing that I soon will be with my wife and daughter again … Rather, my despair would have been for these people" —the colonel waved a hand, indicating the so-called "rebels" involved in various activities throughout the camp— "and the hope I've managed to raise in them, the hope I was afraid would flicker and die along with me."

  Suddenly Bradley's eyes grew brighter and still more intense. "But don't you see? Now—now with the events of these past few days—so much has changed. The whole tide of our situation has shifted! We are in a position to ride the crest of that tide and do something that seemed unimaginable before … Claim a hugely significant victory over Guerrero within the time I have left!"