by Robert Knott
Virgil lifted his up some, and I did, too. We took a sip.
“More rum,” the lieutenant said to one of his men.
“Might have us another nudge,” Virgil said, “but seeing how this is your jurisdiction, I should make you aware of one thing.”
“What is that, Marshal?”
“We’ll be leaving two hours before sunrise,” Virgil said, “so you might want to go easy on the rum.”
The lieutenant laughed. The heavyset silver-toothed Federal laughed, and the slit-eyed sergeant major did not so much as grin.
70
After some time in the cantina it was clear what the lieutenant’s coyote-like intentions were. He was more interested in his evening rum and the prospect of us doing any gun work that needed to be done. It was obvious to us the lieutenant wanted to reassure us of his authority and his utmost interest in helping us find Catherine, but there was no doubt in our minds he was as untrustworthy as the day was long.
The next morning, two hours before sunrise, we tended to the horses and got ready to ride. The animals were in a corral divided by a long open shed. Virgil, Alejandro, and I had our horses on one side, and the Federales had theirs on the other.
The lieutenant and his men were slowly getting up and readying themselves to ride. It was certain they hadn’t heeded Virgil’s warning. They sounded rum rough. I was watching one of the hands. He was moving unsteadily, and I heard another one of them somewhere coughing up a gulletful of last night’s libation.
We were not the only ones up at this early hour. In the distance down the dock from the hotel I could see lanterns moving and hear the echoing voices of the fishermen as they readied their boats.
Alejandro placed the saddle blankets on his medicine-hat as he eyed the Federales on the other side of the shed.
“Once Alejandro leads us to where we are going,” Alejandro said, “what will make them not just kill me then and there?”
“Me,” Virgil said, “and Everett.”
“You will try.”
“More than try.”
“There are six.”
“I know.”
Alejandro picked up his saddle.
“And why would you do that, Virgil Cole? Why try and save Alejandro?”
“Our arrangement,” Virgil said.
Alejandro put the saddle on his medicine-hat.
“You remember our arrangement, don’t you, Alejandro?”
“Sí,” he said. “Proof.”
Alejandro situated the saddle where he wanted it.
“That’s right, prove yourself,” Virgil said. “Dalton proved himself to be a no-good. Your chance to prove yourself not to be a no-good is why you are here with Everett and me. You do that, you prove yourself, then we’ve both honored our arrangement.”
“Sí, honor,” he said, “arrangement.”
Alejandro flipped the left stirrup into the saddled seat, reached under the hat horse, got the cinch, looped it, and started snugging it tight.
Since the day we’d left San Cristóbal, Alejandro managed his own horse business, and he did so without complaint. He took good care of his tack and his medicine-hat with the blue eye. The hat’s name was Comanche, but Alejandro called him Man or Hombre when the hat was acting up or when Comanche didn’t want to do something Alejandro wanted him to do. Alejandro had gotten to be a pretty good hand at managing his business while wearing shackles.
“Arrangement or not,” Alejandro said, tilting his head toward the Federales, “they will honor nothing.”
“The Federales got one thing on their mind at the moment,” Virgil said. “You just do what you come down here to do, and me and Everett will do everything we can to square up the rest.”
Alejandro looked across the back of Comanche to Virgil.
“Virgil Cole, I told you what I believe, where Dalton said he would go, what he would do. Dalton told me more than once. Jedediah will know this, too. I did not tell Jedediah, but he knows. How he knows, I’m not sure—maybe this wife told him, maybe Dalton baited him like pork for crawfish, maybe he just knows. But I am sure of one thing: they have done this, they have been nose to nose with each other every day of their life, no matter if they are face-to-face or not. Like scorpion and fiddler. You said you want Alejandro to prove himself.”
Alejandro pulled a rosary from his pocket and pitched it in the dirt at Virgil’s feet.
“My mother’s. I took this from her as she was dying on the floor . . . Alejandro is here to do what you asked, and I’m shackled like a slave, a target for Federales, for everyone, anyone, without defense.”
Virgil did not reply, and Alejandro talked no more as we continued to ready ourselves to ride.
Virgil scooped the rosary out of the dirt and climbed atop Cortez. He rode to the opposite side of the shed and spoke to the Federales.
“Let’s get mounted, Lieutenant, hombres,” Virgil said. “Ready to ride.”
Virgil rode back around to our side, where Alejandro and I were finishing up with our horses.
“Everett,” Virgil said quietly and with a matter-of-fact tone, “get them shackles off Alejandro and give him your dingus.”
“Will do.”
I unlocked the irons from Alejandro’s wrists.
“Don’t make you a free man, Captain,” Virgil said as he pitched the rosary back to Alejandro, “but it makes you a whole lot closer to being so, providing you don’t fuck up.”
I pulled my derringer from my breast vest pocket and handed it to Alejandro.
“Do not under any circumstances pull that out unless you have to use it,” Virgil said. “You comprende?”
“Sí.”
“You try and use it on me or Everett,” Virgil said, “you will most assuredly be killed by me or Everett.”
“Comprendo, Virgil Cole,” Alejandro said as he stuffed the derringer into the pocket of his jacket.
Virgil turned Cortez for the gate.
“Virgil Cole? Alejandro has much respect for you and Everett Hitch. You are mis amigos. I will do my best for you.”
Virgil rode Cortez to the gate of the corral. He reached down, lifted the chain loop from the gate, and swung the gate open. Within a few minutes, and just as Virgil had proclaimed, we took off, two hours before sunup, and were headed for Bull River.
71
Alejandro led the way as we rode south through the narrow streets of Veracruz until we were out of the town and clear of structures. The temperature was pleasant, the air crisp, and the crescent moon provided us with enough light to make our way. We worked the horses down a rocky road toward the ocean and turned onto a well-traveled path that followed the water’s edge.
We rode the winding trail for almost an hour before the morning began to show light and the Gulf shoreline started coming to life.
It had been a long time since I’d seen the ocean. It was an impressive sight, and we watched the gathering light across the water as the sun made its way over the surface.
The sea was calm, and it was very quiet except for the calls of the gulls and the every-so-often wave that dropped with a thud on the sandy shore. Up ahead in the far distance it appeared the beach ended in a massive wall of rock that rose out of the ocean.
We continued on the path, riding for about thirty minutes, when the lieutenant held up, waiting for Virgil and me.
Virgil was riding just behind me, the last of the line of horsemen.
“Why is the prisoner no longer shackled?” the lieutenant said.
“Took them off,” Virgil said.
“I can see that,” the lieutenant said. “Why?”
“We need him,” Virgil said.
“For what?”
“For leading us to where we need to go.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Marshal,” the lieutenant said with a smile, “but there is no
need for him not to be shackled.”
“There is,” Virgil said. “Don’t want him getting into a situation where he could no longer be alive to assist us.”
“What sort of a situation are you referring to, Marshal?”
“For one,” Virgil said, “we’re going to cross a river.”
“He’s nothing but a desperado, interested in getting away.”
“I know who he is.”
“My concern is he will lead us into a situation and will try to run.”
“Understand your concern,” Virgil said, “but I don’t think that.”
“Have you thought maybe this is a trap?”
“I think things through, and I think it best he’s not ironed.”
“Well,” the lieutenant said. “You don’t want him getting away.”
“He won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“We got five Federales, six counting you, on fine, fleet-looking horses that won’t let him get away,” Virgil said.
“Let me remind you. Not only is he wanted in America, he is wanted in Mexico, and after this is over, he will be in my custody.”
“Appreciate it.”
“What?”
“Reminding me.”
“Don’t push your luck with me, Marshal.”
“Luck don’t got nothing to do with this,” Virgil said.
The lieutenant shook his head.
“We are here for one reason—a woman’s life is in danger, Marshal.”
He gaffed his bay horse and rode ahead.
“Likes to puff up his feathers, don’t he?” I said.
“He does.”
“Exercise his authority.”
“Yep.”
“He’s not very good at it.”
“No, he’s not.”
“One minute seems like he’s got a play, next he acts like he don’t.”
“If I was to bet on the come, I’d say he’s got a play.”
The wall ahead of us we had been riding toward was now in clear view. It was a massive rock bluff, and just this side of the bluff were washed sections of shoreline where river waters spread out into small streams that spilled into the ocean.
Alejandro stopped. He looked back to us, pointed west, and turned Comanche inland.
The southern side of the river was as Alejandro said: a rock wall that looked to be fifty feet high. We trailed out behind Alejandro as he rode west up the northern bank of the river. We rode for a ways and eventually the waters narrowed as we gradually made our way upgrade. It was not a long ride before we found the river to be full and swift. We followed the edge as the river continued to narrow even more. We wound our way through rocky hills, and after a while we were in forest. The river was not wide, but it was full of powerful swift-moving water.
“Bull River,” I said.
“Looks like a goddamn bull.”
“Does,” I said.
72
We continued on for a ways, following the wild whitewater river, then stopped when Alejandro stopped.
“A ways ahead will be the best place to cross,” Alejandro said.
The sun was fully up now. I could feel the heat from it shining through the trees. It hovered above the ocean to our left as we edged our way close to the narrow and loud river. The place in the river Alejandro had approached was wide, and the water appeared to be deep.
Alejandro turned Comanche to face us.
“Be best to swim them here,” Alejandro said.
“Swim them?” the lieutenant said.
“Sí,” Alejandro said.
“There have been plenty of low-water crossing we have passed,” the silver-toothed Federal said with a rough voice and thick Latino accent. “We will be best to find footing at a wide ford and walk them.”
“Go ahead,” Alejandro said.
Alejandro walked Comanche to where Virgil and I sat our horses.
“This is best here,” Alejandro said. “Put in here in the high section of full water. The water is moving fast, we need to be fast across. Across before we get pushed downriver to the white rocks. I can go first.”
“No,” the lieutenant said.
“Okay,” Alejandro said. “After you.”
“There has to be a better crossing,” the lieutenant said.
“I’ll go first,” I said. “Alejandro, you come behind me.”
I removed my bandana, tucked it under my hat, and nudged my horse to the water’s edge at the top of the full water section. He was resistant, but I stayed persistent, and within moments we were in the water. The water was cold and moving fast. I hung on to my saddle horn, urging him insistently, and within a minute of time we emerged out of the water on the opposite side.
I looked back, and Alejandro and Comanche were already in the water. Virgil followed on Cortez with no problem, and the first of the six Federales, the big silver-toothed hombre, was right behind him. He, too, made it. The others followed, including the lieutenant, and within a short time we were all now on the south bank of Bull River.
We took time to shed as much water as we could. We shook our firearms, exposing them in the breeze, blew out the chambers, and dried them with the bandanas we’d tucked inside our hats. After we got situated, we mounted up and continued our way to the Villa del Toro.
We weaved our way south some, through tall trees full of loud and exotic birds. They were squawking and crying as they darted around above us in the shining sun of the new day. The wind was picking up as we rode uphill. When we got near the top of the rise it was blowing strong coming up off the ocean.
Alejandro stopped Comanche and looked back to Virgil.
“This is it. Just over this hill here.”
“What is it that is just over?” the lieutenant said.
Alejandro did not answer the lieutenant. He turned Comanche and maneuvered him next to Virgil.
“The barn is just there, Virgil Cole,” Alejandro said with a point. “The casa is this way, toward the ocean.”
“Let’s tie up here,” Virgil said. “Lieutenant, be better than a good idea not to have everyone in this party come along.”
The lieutenant looked up the rise and shook his head.
“No,” the lieutenant said. “It will be best we stay together.”
Virgil didn’t say anything. He checked his Colt and started walking up. The Federales readied their pistols, I pulled my eight-gauge from the scabbard, and we all started up. Virgil stopped and turned to everyone.
“Silencio,” Virgil said. “Silencio.”
The men nodded. Virgil turned and continued walking up.
We walked up through dense vanilla with wide, waxy leaves that supported clumps of fragrant long beans and soon began to reach the top of the rise.
We could see through the trees a clearing ahead where the sun shone fully, and Alejandro and Virgil were the first of our party to crest the rise. They stopped, and in a moment all of us were looking to the open area where the sun shone brightly.
“¡Ay!” Alejandro said quietly. “This cannot be.”
“This is it?” the lieutenant said under his breath. “This? This is the destination? You have come this far to find this woman here?”
“You sure we crossed at the right place?” I said. “This is it?”
“Sí, Virgil Cole. Alejandro does not know what to say.”
“I do,” the lieutenant said. “In America, Marshal, I believe the proper phrase is railroaded. We have been railroaded.”
73
A hundred yards away, Alejandro and the rest of us were looking at nothing but ruins of an old home place. What most likely was once a beautiful hacienda was now a long-forgotten overgrown acreage with dilapidated structures.
“Virgil Cole,” Alejandro said. “I am very sorry.”
&n
bsp; “Some Mexicans give my country a bad name,” the lieutenant said with a snarl.
Alejandro just shook his head, looking out at the hacienda.
“You do not fool me,” the lieutenant said.
The rock walls of the huge main house were still standing, but from what we could see, they were covered with overgrowing ivy and the roof was gone. It appeared the place had burnt. Next to the main house was a carriage house. It still had its roof, but its insides brimmed with weeds that filled the windows and entrance.
“I warned you, Marshal,” the lieutenant said with a low, groaning voice, “your pathfinder is no pathfinder. He is a common desperado and no more.”
The lieutenant looked to Alejandro.
“You brought these lawmen to Mexico all this way for this?” the lieutenant said, shaking his head. “You will most certainly regret what you have done here.”
Virgil stepped out a ways.
“Let’s stay quiet,” Virgil said. “Everyone, stay quiet.”
“For what purpose?” the lieutenant said with an obliged low growl. “There is nothing here. What do you expect to find out here, Marshal?”
“Don’t know.”
In the distance, beyond the big house, stood a tall-gated entrance. The gates were missing, but the arch over the road leading to the house was still intact.
The large sloping acreage was bordered with a low rock wall, and within it there were weed-covered stone paths that probably once bordered gardens and orchards, but now only tall weeds and crippled fruit trees remained.
We could see the ocean, the curve of the earth, even from where we were, but this property that once had life and beauty was no longer.
The wooden barn was close to us, just to our right. It was upright, but it, too, was in bad shape, with missing doors and sections of its roof.
“Just follow me,” Virgil said quietly. “Let’s just have us a proper look-see.”
Virgil moved slowly, walking toward the barn. Everyone followed him across the weeded corral and into the wide opening of the back side of the barn.
