The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

by John Horst

  Chica looked down at the ground and saw the rubber ball she’d recently given the little boy. It stood out bright amongst the starkness of the desert floor like a solitary wild flower. She reached down and picked it up, put it in her pocket. She surveyed the area, her mind racing to formulate a plan.

  A sudden storm came in, as if God was in congress with the black hearts who’d destroyed their train, disrupted the lives of the fortunate and destroyed the lives of the less so. The air was ozonized, metallic, cool and it made the women cold.

  And then, just as oddly, incongruously as the entire surreal experience laid out before them, a middle-aged man, a retired soldier, a veteran of the Indian wars, appeared before them seemingly unscathed. He was a fit looking and handsome man with a tiny beard and thin mustache, salt and pepper hair with more white than grey in the sideburns and throughout the hair on his face. He was dressed smartly in a grey pinstriped ditto suit and had a large six shooter stuck in his tailored trousers.

  “Ladies.” He bowed to them and tipped his Homburg and was soon distracted by the vision off in the distance, further down the track. He looked on.

  One bandit remained. Too greedy to give up on the site and too bent on squeezing out the last bit of booty. Chica saw him from a distance, recognized him as the bandit on the horse just before the explosion. She squeezed Abuelita’s hand, pulled her close and whispered into her ear without taking her eyes off the bad man, she told her to stay still and to listen to her every command. They waited for what was to come next.

  The gallant soldier took charge. He was performing for the ladies now. He’d do something brave to impress the beautiful one. He marched up on the bandit and pointed at him, as he’d likely done a thousand times in his life as a leader, a soldier, ordering a private or scout or Indian brave or squaw around.

  The bandit looked down upon him from his horse and unceremoniously shot the old gent through the head. All the energy left the soldier’s body. It immediately relaxed, he dropped to the ground as if his legs had magically been turned to jelly.

  Alice Walsh was immediately ill. The world spun all around her, out of control. She’d never seen a man murdered and she was certain she would vomit or faint or both. Chica sensed it through the loosening grip in her hand and she shook the woman, brought her back out of her trance.

  The bandit rode past the corpse as he casually holstered his six shooter and stopped next to the women. He smiled at them and did not speak as he dismounted. He walked up to Chica and grabbed the pretty neck, pushed his ugly lips against her mouth, as if he were planning to devour her. He stood back and looked her up and down. She stood still, emotionless, waiting. He ran his hands along her body and made a cursory inventory of her nether regions. Abuelita stood, shocked and mortified, first the poor soldier, and now her daughter-in-law, it was nearly too much to bear. She could not understand her companion’s complacency.

  He held out his dirty hand and the two women handed over their valuables. First the watches pinned to their blouses, then the rings, then the necklaces and earrings.

  Chica looked the man in the eye. She waited for him to put his booty in a pocket, then gave him the look she had not had to use on men for many years. He was pleased.

  With great deliberation, as if performing for him, performing a special seductive little show that would ultimately, inevitably end in pleasure, she put her left foot high up on one of the broken wheels of the train. She steadily slid her long skirt up, all the while looking the bandit in the eye, above her ankle, then shin, then knee, then thigh.

  Abuelita could not comprehend what was happening. The bandit swallowed hard, felt the stirring deep in his loins. He was pleased that he had not ridden off with the others. He was missing out on the abuse of the big red haired one, but this one was superior. He could not believe his good luck, such a beauty so willingly succumbing to his power.

  She finally stopped at mid-thigh, holding off revealing her pelvis, pudenda. But that was not a problem, it was okay to let the seduction last a little, let the moment and the promise of what lay ahead last a little longer. They were such beautiful thighs and he could not contain himself, could not wait for what lay in store. She had reached the object tightly secured near the garter at the top of her stocking but he didn’t care, paid no attention to why she was acting in such a way. He was mesmerized and, seemingly as if by magic the gaping holes of the Remington’s barrels stared, like a death’s head into the bandit’s eyes. He dared not move, and he waited.

  Chica lowered the gun and pressed the trigger, once, then twice, and two forty-one bullets crashed into the man, first through the left lung, then through the right. He crumpled and Chica was on him. She pulled the big knife from his belt and grabbed his greasy hair. He looked at her, all fear and bewilderment. She spit into his eyes and spoke close to his ear, gave him a moment to blink the spittle clear. “Culero, I am going to kill you, but not yet. Do you understand?”

  “Sí, sí.” The bandit nodded his head slightly.

  “Culero, how did you like to kiss me? You din’ know you were kissing the one sent by God to kill you, did you? That kiss was nothing compared to what the devil have in store for you, cagada. I hope you enjoyed it.” She tested the edge of the knife with her index finger. “Ah, nice an’ sharp. I think you could shave with this, mierda.” She dragged the blade across his cheek, changing its angle and fileted a bit of skin away. “No, I guess not. You keep a pretty good edge on your blade, though, mierda.” She got closer to him, speaking into his ear.

  “I will kill you fast if you tell me what I want. If you do not tell me what I want, I will cut your cojones off and shove them up your ass. Do you understand?” Abuelita gasped behind her, Chica ignored her.

  “Sí, sí.”

  “Tell me, Culero, what happened to a pretty little black-haired girl with blue eyes?”

  “No sé, Señora, No sé,”

  “Come now, excremento, you mus’ remember.” Chica took the point of the big knife and pressed it into the corner of his mouth, she pulled sideways and slit the man’s cheek halfway to his ear. He winced but did not cry out.

  Chica continued, matter-of-factly, “She had a pretty blue dress on and a blue ribbon in her hair. You must remember her. There was no one like her.” She stuck the knife’s tip up the man’s nose and pulled outward, separating his left naris into two. He once again remained silent, his face now freely draining blood. “I will ask one more time, cagada, and then I start cutting down there.” She grabbed the man’s trousers and ripped them downward, exposing his midsection.

  “Don’ make me grab your greasy member, Pendejo. I will not like it, and you will hate it.”

  “No, no Señora, por favor.” The man spoke with difficulty; the open wound on his face flapped and gaped, exposing partially toothed gums.

  “Maria, please no.” The old matron could just begin to comprehend. Her daughter-in-law had become a wild beast, transformed before her eyes. Chica looked back at the old woman. She looked unnatural, as if she were in a kind of trance. The old woman was suddenly terrified of the young beauty she’d known so well and had loved for so many years.

  Chica pointed the bloody knife at Alice Walsh. “Shush, Abuelita.” She went back to work on the bandit. “What do you say, shit? Shall I start cutting?”

  “No, no, Señora. The girl was taken. She was taken with the other survivors, to San Sebastian.”

  “By who?”

  “Que?” The bandit’s lungs were filling with blood and it now ran out his nose and from the corner and gaping wound of his mouth, a frothy pink mass of lung blood. He would be no use to Chica soon.

  She pressed the knife against the corner of his eye, her rage now nearly uncontainable. “Goddamn you, I am going to pop your goddamned eyes from your estupido head. Who is the leader you stupid shit?”

  “Sombrero del Oro.”

  “Good, good, mierda. I will not cut off you balls and I will not remove your goddamned eyes. I will let you die
in peace. Where is your horse?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply and began pulling the bandoliers from the dying man, causing him to wince and make gurgling sounds of pain as he choked on his blood. She pulled his gun belt off and checked his six shooter. She put the rig on. She checked his pockets and retrieved the jewelry he had stolen from them, handing the old woman the items she had just surrendered without looking at her. She found some cigars and matches in his vest pocket and lit one. She smoked while the man breathed his last.

  She finally seemed to remember her mother-in-law and looked back at her. The woman stood, jaw gaped at the transformed mistress of her son’s ranch. She looked wicked and wild and barely recognizable.

  Chica gently touched the old woman’s face. “Abuelita, I am sorry you must see such things. But it cannot be helped. The worst is yet to come.”

  “What…what do you mean, child?”

  “I have to go get my girl back, Abuelita, and I will have to kill many of these bad men.”

  “But this is for the law, child. Let the law handle it.”

  Chica seemed not to hear her and began walking in the direction of the bandit’s horse. She looked about for other guns. Nothing of any value seemed to be left anywhere.

  “Maria, stop. Maria.” Alice Walsh jogged to catch up.

  She turned and faced the old woman. “You stay here, Abuelita. Soon there will be help. Go to Arvel and tell him what has happened and tell him I am getting Rebecca. He will know what to do. There is no law to help us, Abuelita. Sombrero del Oro has done what he has wanted for many years, and he will not be stopped by any law.”

  “Then I will go with you, child. I must go with you.” Chica stopped at the wreckage of the baggage car. Boxes were strewn everywhere and she began breaking them open, found one box hidden deep in the rubble, overlooked by the bandits. She was lucky and retrieved two shotguns and boxes of shells. She grabbed them and put them in a sack. She found a Winchester.

  “You can ride, I know this, Abuelita, but you know nothing of what must be done. You are a pacifista, and you will not like the things that must be done. That back there,” she pointed to the dead bandit, “was not much compared to what I will be doing to these bandits.”

  “Then I will just have to learn, my dear, I will just have to learn.” The old woman grabbed Chica’s arm, stopping her from her tasks. “I am going with you, Maria.”

  “Okay, well, go an’ find a horse, then Abuelita.” She held the woman’s hands and gripped them tightly and looked her in the eyes. “But you jus’ remember, Abuelita. You do everything I say, and you never, ever tell me no, Maria, don’ do that, whatever I do, you understan’? No matter what I do or say, no matter how terrible, you promise?”

  “Ye…yes, Maria. I understand.” Her mind reeled and wondered at what she was committing herself to.

  “You promise! You tell me you promise, right now, or you may not go.”

  “I promise, I promise!”

  “Okay, then. Go get your horse, and come back here.”

  They were riding toward the bandits in short order. Alice Walsh was exhausted. She was seventy-nine years old. She was fit and a good rider and could ride to the hounds with the best of them all afternoon through the Maryland countryside in mid-winter, but she was exhausted now. The big roan stallion she had found hurt her legs as he was too wide and the great Mexican saddle was huge compared to the nice sleek jumping saddles she rode in all her life. She was sore all over and it was beginning to get hot. She watched Chica’s back as they rode along the narrow trail. She did not even look like the beautiful wife of her only son. She now looked like a man, a terrible, terrifying cruel man.

  Chica had found a couple of sombreros in the wreckage and put one on the old woman’s head. She cut a slit up the center of their dresses and tied the bottoms to their ankles to protect them from the sun and allow them to ride more comfortably. Chica’s new gun belt and bandoliers were sickeningly deadly and the old woman felt that she must be living a nightmare.

  Perhaps she would awaken soon. She thought about Chica. She thought about how she handled the bandit. She did not know that Chica carried a gun. They’d traveled together, all over California for the better part of a month and she never knew that Chica was armed. No one she’d ever known carried a gun. No one in Maryland had to carry a gun. It just wasn’t done.

  She knew Chica was tough. She’d heard bits and pieces about the big fight and how Chica saved Arvel’s life, but it never had much of an impact on her. It was so long ago, and the girl had become so used to living on the ranch, so used to dressing like a lady, the only time she’d ever known Chica to touch a gun was when bird hunting, and that was not anywhere near what she’d just witnessed now.

  She shook inside when she thought about this and she should have been revolted, but something about it made her, well, proud of the girl. She was so worried for her little granddaughter, she knew why Chica was acting this way, and she secretly approved of it.

  She thought back to the poor soldier. He seemed a nice man. He seemed a capable and tough man and he was snuffed out so casually, so unceremoniously. This is what these bandits were like, they not only cared nothing for the law, but they cared nothing for humanity. They were the worst kind of brutes and now they had her precious, sweet little granddaughter. She reproached herself for trying to stop her daughter-in-law, and she resolved to keep quiet the next time. As they rode, the path widened and she came up next to her companion.

  “What will they do to her if we don’t rescue Rebecca?”

  “Our little girl dying is not the worst thing that can happen to her, Abuelita.” She did not look at the old woman as she spoke. She looked up, far up on the trail.

  “Could we pay a ransom, Maria? I have a big fortune. I will pay it all to get her back, Maria.”

  “Sí, I know you would, Abuelita. I know very well that you would do this. And we will see if this thing can be done.” She rode on and looked down, studying the ground from the back of her horse. She stopped and put her hand up for Abuelita to stop. “I know where these bastards are going, Abuelita. I know where they will camp.”

  She stopped and they rested for the remainder of the day. The old woman slept soundly and Chica checked the guns and made her plan. She remembered her little Remington and reloaded it, replaced it in her garter holster. She killed a couple of chickens with one of the shotguns from the train and cooked them while her mother-in-law slept. When the old woman had awakened it was going on dusk.

  “I am sorry to sleep so much, Maria.”

  “It is okay, Abuelita.” She ate her chicken. “You are old and I hope that I am so fit when I am so old as you.” She looked over at Alice Walsh and smiled.

  “Are you sad to see me act this way, Abuelita?”

  “No. I am not sad, Maria. I am shocked. But I am not sad. And I must tell you, I am not sorry you did what you did to the bandit. I am not sorry at all, Maria.”

  “This is good, Abuelita.” She took a long drink from her canteen and handed it to Alice who drank deeply. “You must understand these people, these excremento we are after. They are no like human beings and they cannot be treated like they are. They understand one thing and that is more brutality than they can give out. Do you understand?”

  “I do, Maria. I do.” Alice wiped her forehead and replaced her sombrero. “Have you known much of this, Maria?”

  Chica stiffened. She would not share with anyone, not Arvel, not the old priest she’d known, not Abuelita what she had known. Her past was her own and she shared it with no one.

  She snapped her reply. “That does not matter.” She caught herself and softened. Looked the old woman in the eye and managed a weak smile.

  “Did Arvel never tell you about me, Abuelita?” She looked down and adjusted the gunbelt.

  “He told me that you were courageous, Maria. He said you were Artemis in the flesh.”

  “You two are very funny, Abuelita. You talk of things I know nothing about.
What is this Artemis, Abuelita?”

  “She was a Greek goddess, a huntress, a protector of children and of women. Arvel says you are a hunter of bad men, and that you are fearless and good and never use your powers for evil.”

  “My Arvel. He is a good boy, eh, Abuelita?”

  “Yes, Maria. He is a good boy.”

  “It will break his heart if we do not get our Rebecca back right away. So we will do this thing, Abuelita, you know this, right?” She did not wait for an answer but began preparing to move out. They’d ride again and catch the bandits camping.

  The old woman waited in a washout in the dark, all alone, next to the horses. Chica was suddenly next to her. She was preparing her guns. “Abuelita, they are all getting drunk. I could not see Rebecca. She is probably not with them.”

  “Should we just go around them, child?” Alice Walsh was suddenly terrified. She did not want to fight the gang of men. Her legs and arms felt leaden, as if she would not be able to get them to work when it was time. She began shaking again. “If Rebecca’s not with them, why fight them, Maria?”

  “The more we kill now, the less of them we will have to worry about later, Abuelita. They must all die.”

  She worked the action of the shotgun. “Do you know this gun, Abuelita?” The old woman did not. “No matter, this is what we will do.”

  The bandits sat smoking and staring into the fire. They felt good. They made a good haul at the train and had some good captives to trade further south. They had plenty of good whiskey and mescal and had not been followed and soon they’d be in Mexico and into the wild where no one wanted to follow.

  This was the best of times for them. They were slovenly, worthless beasts. They did not like to work or be productive or have a family or make something of themselves. They lived for slothful pleasure; they lived for malice and depravity. They could neither give nor receive love.