Chasing Pancho Villa

by R. L. Tecklenburg

  “Why speak to him, private?”

  “We’re friends. Jus’ a question, lieutenant.”

  “Permission granted, private,” the young officer said and turned his mount to prepare to depart. “Men, get ready to move out,” he called to the others.

  “There’s a big reward for them smugglers, Harry. How ’bout helpin’ yur buddies, eh?” Charlie asked, moving his horse closer and lowering his voice. Harrison could smell tobacco, bad teeth, and yesterday’s cheap whisky.

  “I have never heard of them, Charlie.”

  “Hey, Harry, you lyin’ to us?” Charlie asked, certain Harrison was holding something back

  “I beg your pardon, trooper?” Harrison answered coldly.

  “Lieutenant, he know’d somethin’ that he’s not tellin’,” Charlie shouted.

  “Lieutenant, I could cut short my camping trip and we could return to the fort. Then you could explain to your commanding officer why you detained me.” Harrison smiled, trying to appear calm.

  “Lieutenant, stop him. He knows them smugglers, sure,” Charlie insisted.

  “That’s enough, private. Let ’em go,” the lieutenant snapped. The last thing he wanted was some damn civilian making trouble for him.

  “The man’s lyin’, sir. I know’d it,” Charlie said angrily.

  “Lieutenant, I have met this man before,” Harrison told the lieutenant, deciding it was time to act. “But he is not a personal acquaintance of mine. And I hope he’s not a reflection of the U.S. Cavalry, which until now I’ve had only the greatest respect and admiration for.”

  “Sir, I apologize for this man’s rude behavior. Private, return to the ranks now,” he ordered Charlie. “Men, allow them passage.” The troopers pulled aside so the two riders could pass. “Good day, Mr. James. Sergeant.”

  Before Charlie left James’ side, he leaned over. “We be a watchin’ ya, Harry,” he murmured.

  “Don’t get in my way, Charlie.”

  James and Parilla rode south and east toward Columbus. Watching, they saw the cavalry patrol move in the opposite direction, toward Tres Hermanas.

  An hour later, Harrison abruptly reined in tight, forcing his mount to stop. He dismounted and waited for Juan to pull up close. “Sergeant Parilla, where do you stand on all this?” James asked directly when Parilla was closer. “I need an answer before we get back to town.”

  Juan also dismounted. “Señor?” he asked, caught off-guard.

  “You are a soldier in the U.S. Army, yet you are a friend of smugglers,” Harrison said. The two men were standing a few inches apart. “I don’t know what side you’re on, and that makes me nervous.”

  Juan thought before answering him. “The señorita is my friend for many years. She does not disrespect me. I have respect for her. Your brother was my commanding officer, who I always respected. I do not know how he died. But I tell you this: I am a man of honor. If you do not like me or what I do, tell me to my face. We settle it now.” He stood facing Harrison, casually ready, a compact man with no sign of fear about him.

  “You’ve made your feelings clear,” Harrison said, pulling on his reins to bring the horse closer. “Let’s ride.” He then remounted.

  Juan remained standing. “Listen to me, Señor Gringo.”

  “What?” Harrison replied, surprised. He sat was on his horse, studying Juan’s quiet intensity.

  “This. Every hombre has a right to be respected. No man can take it away. It is for him only to lose it. Without respect there is no friendship and no justice,” Juan said. “We could be friendly, gringo. But you must first respect me, and I must respect you. From this comes friendship, then trust. If you do not respect my life—the way I live—I will give you time to get off your horse. Now choose your answer,

  “I respect you, Juan,” Harrison answered, not used to being spoken to in such a manner. This man has an honest way of seeing the world, he thought. “And I appreciate your helping me.”

  “Okay, Harry,” Juan smiled. “Now we can go on.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Harrison sighed, massaging a tense neck with his left hand. The Jack Daniels began to work its magic. He sat in an old wicker chair—the only chair in his hotel room—with his vest unbuttoned and his boots propped up on the windowsill. He had returned to Columbus with Sergeant Parilla several hours earlier, without incident. Finishing the drink, he poured himself two fingers more. He needed to think things over.

  “To mater,” he toasted aloud, holding the glass up to the window. “And to Bart.” He sipped. “Hell, to me!” He held the glass up again before taking a final gulp, throwing it down his throat quickly. “No, mater, you do not have a fool, a worthless dandy for a son,” Harrison told himself. The whisky lay in his belly, warming his thoughts.

  He was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Señor James?” the voice asked. “Señor James, I have a message for you. Muy importante.”

  “One minute, please.” He set the now empty glass on the windowsill, buttoned his vest, and threw his coat over the holstered automatic. He opened the door to see the young desk clerk. “Yes?”

  “Buenos noches, Señor James,” the young man said with a smile.

  “Good evening,” Harrison responded politely. “You have something for me?”

  “A message, señor. The man who come, he left it and went away.” He handed over the note

  “Who is it from?” James asked.

  “An old man, Señor James. I do not know him.”

  “What did he look like?” James held the note in his hand without opening it.

  “A very old Negro, señor. The old man did not speak, and when he handed la carta to me, he was gone muy rapido.” The young clerk gratefully accepted a piece of silver and quickly pocketed it.

  “Thank you, amigo.” Harrison led him to the door without opening the envelope.

  “If you need more assistance, Mr. James, por favor, ask for Miguel.”

  “Yes, thank you, Miguel. I will.” He closed the door, then opened the sealed note and read:

  Dear Harrison James, It was a great pleasure to finally meet you. I am grieved it could not be under happier circumstances. Forgive my brother, but he is a very angry man and blames white people for his troubles. I have valuable information concerning your brother and his duties here. But it is now too dangerous for me to cross the border to the United States. Please come to Las Palomas as my guest. An old man will come to your door in one day to receive your reply. He will know what to do. Do not tell anyone. You must come alone. Your friend, Maria.

  *

  He read and reread the note, then carefully folded it and put it in his grip. He slid the bag under the bed. It’ll keep, he thought. But he suddenly felt restless. He needed another drink and some conversation.

  Harrison meticulously brushed off his hat. Using a corner of the bedspread, he buffed up his boots and, finally, he strapped on the pistol harness and put on his coat. He carefully locked the door on his way out. Walking up the street, James was guided by the raucous sounds of the late night saloons.

  *

  The Indian watched the tall, well-dressed white man walk past him as he sat slumped on a wood bench outside the hotel where the whites stayed. A large sombrero covered his face. He had learned from the previous evening out in the desert that the white man was un hombre muy peligroso. The gringo could interfere in business and could ruin everything. Carlos stood and followed the tall gringo down Broadway at a safe distance. In his mind he considered his options for dealing with Señor James. Without thought, he touched the .45 under his long shirt.

  *

  Harrison entered through the double wooden doors of the Last Chance Saloon, stopping at the long bar. “A beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon, please.” He recognized the bartender from his earlier visit.

  “Evenin’ squire. I might have a bottle, at that,” said the broad, red-faced Irishman. With a flourish, he produced one from under the counter. He sm
iled and uncapped the bottle, still cold and dripping from the ice water.

  “And a clean glass, please,” Harrison said without looking up. He laid a fifty-dollar bill on the bar.

  Paddy produced a clean glass. “’Tis a poor man I be, squire. Only a widow’s son. And that bein’ so much fortune in a single bit of paper, so it is,” he said, staring at the large bill.

  “So it is,” Harrison said. He left the money on the bar.

  The bartender looked at him more closely.

  “And what might be bringing yer lordship to Columbus, sir? Business? Columbus is a long way from the big city,” he said, polishing the bar with a rag. “And you bein’ such a fine gentleman an’ all.”

  “Business,” Harrison replied shortly.

  “A kind of business that would bring a man such as yerself to my humble establishment, sor?”

  “Harrison slowly surveyed the room. “Perhaps you could direct me to some entertainment. A game of chance, perhaps? Poker is my preference. An acquaintance, Lieutenant Floyd, comes here often, I’m told.” He looked down at the large bill.

  “Aye, well ye come to the right place, so you have. Now, Lieutenant Floyd, you say?” Paddy looked down at the greenback, then peered through the smoke at the room filled with soldiers. “I know the lad, sure.”

  “He seems to be both a Southern gentleman and a sportsman. Does he like a drink sometimes?” Now Harrison tapped the bill.

  “He be known to take a wee drop and indulge himself in a game of cards now and again.” The middle-aged Irishman squinted at the well-dressed customer. “The lieutenant be a man of good taste, sor. In his women and his whisky. But he be luckier with his women than with his cards. If ye follow me meanin’, squire.”

  Harrison smiled and nodded that he understood. “He being a man of such good taste, I suppose he comes here often?”

  “Aye, he’s one of me best customers.”

  “Is he?” Harrison looked at Paddy. “I wouldn’t mind a few hands of poker tonight.”

  The bartender looked down quickly at the bill. “The lieutenant is a grand an’ generous soldier who don’t cause me no trouble.” He paused to tap a mug of beer and slide it to a soldier across the bar. Then he eyed James cautiously. “I think I be helpin’ ye thar. Jus’ leave it now to ol’ Paddy.”

  “Thank you, Paddy,” Harrison said.

  Paddy squinted at him. “Ye be alookin’ fur other entertainment? I be helpin’ ye with that, too. Jus’ look ‘round ye, eh?”

  “Oh yes? What else do you have, Paddy?”

  Derry looked around before answering. “Depends on what a lad likes. Ye know me meanin’?” He winked at Harrison, and then nodded to one of the few women in the saloon. She responded with a calculating glance at the stranger.

  The woman approached the mahogany bar. She was a big boned blond with dark roots and large breasts, her skin was very pale. Harrison noticed dark rings shadowing her gray eyes. She wore a bright red and green colored dress cut low to show off her endowments. He guessed her for late thirties, but trying to look ten years younger.

  “So old Floyd likes the ladies,” Harrison said, guessing.

  The woman put her arm around his neck, pressing a breast into his arm. “Hi sugar,” she whispered with a husky voice. “Buy me a drink?”

  “Get the lady a drink, Paddy.”

  “I don’t say nothin’ ’bout his habits now, squire,” Paddy said as he poured whisky. “But ye might ask the lieutenant yourself.” “He might be willin’ to share his ’speriences.” Paddy quickly handed the woman a shot glass brimmed with house whisky.

  Harrison did not respond.

  “Me place is the place ta be. Money everywhere, an’ it buys a lot of entertaining, squire. Women, all ye want.” He looked at the woman. “Or a friendly game of chance? Well, ye come ta the right house. Yes sir, right here.”

  The woman finished her drink in one swallow, without expression.

  “Another, Paddy, but some of the good stuff,” Harrison said. “For the lady.”

  “Tell me yur name, handsome,” she said, purring in his ear.

  “Where’s all the money coming from out here, Paddy? Harrison,” he said to the woman.

  “My name’s Sal,” she said, running her hand up and down his back.

  “It be a rich lan’ and no need to dig potatoes, squire. Opportunity fur ever’body, I think. Ye come here lookin’ for a pot a gold, now, Mr. James?”

  “More than that, Paddy.

  Paddy gave him a hard look.

  Sal listened attentively.

  “Hey Sal!” a soldier yelled from behind, but close to the bar. “Sal, git over here!”

  “Shut up now, Stewart. I’m talkin’ to a gentleman. Cain’t ya see?” Sal answered, turning to face the man.

  “I don’t care none ’bout yur gentleman,” the soldier told her. “Hey boys,” he called loudly to three soldiers sitting at the table. “Sal’s found herself a gentleman.”

  They laughed and began to whistle and yell at her.

  “Leave her be, boys. She be busy now,” Paddy called over. “Drink up, lads.”

  “Mr. James, I hope ye enjoy this fair country, now.”

  “I appreciate that,” Harrison told him. “You appear to have one of the better establishments that I’ve seen.” He was looking around the room. “Business is good.” He smiled at Sal.

  The bartender laughed. “Oh, aye, lad, business is good. For now, anyways.”

  Sal smiled back at Harrison.

  “Mostly soldiers who come in?”

  “Aye, soldiers. But businessmen, too. Things are moving in Columbus these days, squire.”

  “What kind a business are you in?” Sal asked. “One a them travelin’ salesmen come in on the train from the East? They’s ma favorites.”

  “No, I’m not a salesman. Another for the lady,” Harrison said, noticing that she had finished the second shot. “You ever meet a soldier in here by the name of James—Captain Bart James, from the camp?”

  “No, I sure haven’t met that one. He some relation of yurs, is he now?” she asked.

  “He was my brother.”

  Another customer tapped his glass on the mahogany to catch Paddy’s attention.

  He poured a drink for the customer, then one for Sal.

  “Well, thank ya, mister,” Sal said.

  Paddy just grunted, then walked down the line to wait on another customer.

  Sal moved even closer to press her breast firmly into James’ arm. With her left hand, she began softly to rub his thigh and crotch. “I could show you a real good time, handsome,” she whispered in his ear.

  Harrison smiled, but wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He had other things on his mind.

  Sal threw down the third shot like a pro.

  Harrison felt her swerve slightly on his arm.“Lieutenant Floyd—do you know him, Sal?”

  “I know that one real good, Harry,” she said with a slight slur, looking at her empty glass.

  “Does he talk with you much?”

  “We talk, Harry,” Sal answered. “He’s here almost ever’ night. Cain’t avoid ’im.”

  “A good man, is he?” Harrison asked. “I mean, does he treat you right, Sal?”

  “Jimmy is good to me, ’specially when he’s got money to spend.”

  “Give the lady another,” James called to Paddy.

  “Bartender, I need a couple of beers,” another customer called from the end of the bar. “Right now!” he demanded.

  “I heard ye now, sergeant. I’m comin’,” Paddy called back.

  “How often is that, Sal? That he has money in his pocket, I mean?”

  “He had a lot of money last spring, but not so much since he got back from Texas. Told me he does some kind of business.”

  “What kind of business?” Harrison saw that she loosened up when the bartender was gone.

  “Don’t know an’ don’t want
to know. You understand?”

  “Tell me, Sal. Do Paddy and the lieutenant know each other very well?”

  “Those two know each other real well. I hear Jimmy does things for Paddy. An’ Paddy pays ’im real good.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Like I tell ya already, I don’t want to know. Paddy can be real mean sometimes ’bout askin’ questions. But I’ll say one thing: It pays money.” Sal winked.

  Derry returned. He gave Sal a hard look.

  Harrison saw it. “Sal, I thank you for telling me about the beautiful views you have around here. I think you and me should take a buggy ride out to those mountains. Maybe on Sunday?” he said, then he leaned over to kiss the nape of her neck. Sal smiled. “She was describing what a nice place Columbus is, and that I should stay around for a while, Paddy.”

  “Yeah?” That gomerel be lyin’ through his teeth, Paddy thought. He be the devil himself. “She don’t have the time, gov. I keep her busy here,” he growled.

  “That’s too bad. You and I were talking about Floyd’s friends, Paddy?”

  “Why don’t ye ask ’im yurself. I take ye up and set ye in the game, gov. No problem.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” James smiled. “Drink up, Sal.” He threw down a twenty-dollar bill.

  “You a real gentleman there, Harry. You different from the rest, I can tell,” she said, grabbing the twenty from the bar and sticking it between her breasts. “Later maybe, eh?”

  “Yeah Sal, maybe later. And I’m not really a gentleman,” he said with a smile from watching her dispose of the greenback.

  “Ye want change for this?” Derry asked.

  “If you get me into Floyd’s game, I’d call us even, Paddy.”

  “C’mon, gov. Follow me,” Derry said. Then he walked around the end of the bar. “The game be upstairs.”

  Harrison caught up to the shorter man and followed him up the stairs. He took his beer with him.

  “Sal, ya my woman, ya are,” a soldier said, now standing behind her grinning. He ran his hands over her buttocks slowly then, in one hard thrust, he pushed himself against her.

  Pushing him back, Sal turned quickly with knee raised. In one great effort she rammed it into his groin.