Chasing Pancho Villa

by R. L. Tecklenburg

  When he and Private Burns arrived at the headquarters tent for 3rd Battalion, 24th Infantry, they discovered that Major Snow had not yet returned from Texas, where he had testified for the prosecution in the court martial. The news frustrated James. “When can I speak with the major?” he asked. The young clerk did not answer. He was staring at Private Burns as though he were seeing a ghost. “Private?” Harrison asked again.

  “Sir?”

  “I want to speak with Major Snow. When will he be coming back?”

  “Sir, he’s expected tomorrow. I will inform ’im that you’ve asked, sir.” He turned to Burns. “Burns, we weren’t…. That is, you’re back. We heard you was hung.”

  Burns shrugged. “So did I.”

  “Where’s Sergeant Parilla,” interrupted James.

  “Sir, he ain’t here, either. I’ll tell the first sergeant that you asked for him, too, sir.” The clerk continued staring at Private Burns. “He’s off duty, sir.”

  “Good bye, Private Burns, and good luck to you,” Harrison said, shaking his hand. “You know where you can find me if you need me.”

  “Good-bye, Mista James. I surely thank ya fur what ya done fur me. Yes, suh, I do,” the private said with simple dignity. He left the tent escorted by another Negro soldier.

  Harrison turned to leave, then he stopped. “By the way, is the cavalry still here?”

  “Yes, sir. Still patrolling the border, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  *

  Harrison returned to Columbus and the hotel. At the door to his room, he reached for the Colt as he checked the door. He inserted the brass key, and entered cautiously. The room was undisturbed.

  Shortly after dusk, he heard a knock.

  “Señor…Señor James, venga! You have message. Muy importante, I think. Venga!” Miguel whispered through the door.

  “Harrison opened the door. “Who’s it from?” he asked.

  “La policía, señor. Muy importante. The constable bring it. He give me to give you, señor.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Ahora, treinta minutos, no mas.” Miguel looked over his shoulder down the shadowy hallway. Lowering his voice, he repeated, “Muy importante, Señor James. He say to tell no one.”

  “Why didn’t the constable deliver it directly to me?”

  “You were not here, señor. He was in hurry and leave muy rapido.” Miguel motioned with both hands.

  James unfolded the yellowed slip of notebook paper. “Come to my office tonight. I have information for you.” The message was signed “Amos Arnold, Constable.” He reread it slowly. “You say the constable himself?” Harrison repeated to the clerk.

  “Sí, the constable.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Harrison refolded the note and slid it into his trouser pocket, already considering. He turned and went back down the stairway. The clerk followed.

  “Señor James, I see you mas tarde,” Miguel said at the hotel doors.

  “Yes, later,” Harrison replied absently.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The two riders tied their mounts behind the Columbus Jail in a dimly lighted area used to store harness and wagon wheels. The old adobe building, with its three small rooms, had been built during quieter times to handle the occasional small town drunk. The night was overcast and dark. They entered through the back door. It was unlocked. In the dimness, they walked past the two empty cells before they saw light through the barred window of the door leading to the front offices. The light was above Constable Arnold’s desk. The door was ajar. The two men quietly opened it and stepped lightly into the small room.

  Arnold looked up and smiled. He had been waiting. “Well now, I was about ready to give up on you, Washington,” he said, watching them come through the door. “Who’s your buddy?”

  “Carlos. He works for us,” Daniel said quickly. “You wanta talk about a deal?”

  “Maybe. It depends,” the constable told him.

  “Depends?” Daniel responded. “Depends on what? That’s not what you said in the message.” The younger man leaned over the constable’s desk in a threatening manner.

  “Depends on what you have that I can use. That’s what.” Arnold said, looking the two over carefully. He saw that the Negro was unarmed, but he couldn’t tell about the other man. “Your message said you was coming in to give yourself up. You got something to say, say it.” His right hand dropped to the butt of his pistol.

  “I never sent you a message.”

  Carlos stepped away from the young Washington.

  “What’s this? Some trick?” Daniel asked. He turned to look at his companion.

  “Constable,” Carlos said, stepping behind the large desk to stand beside the lawman. He reached behind his back.

  “What the hell…?” Arnold looked up at the Indian, surprised. Then he pulled his gun and slid the chair back to stand. “Hold it, amigo,” he said to Carlos as he started to rise from the chair.

  A hand reached over to hit the light switch. The jail went dark.

  *

  James arrived at the old jail, surprised to find it silent and dark this early in the evening. Someone had to be on duty. He peered through the dirty front window but couldn’t see anything.

  He then stepped back to survey the building. The front door was slightly ajar. Harrison reached for his Colt as he stepped into the darkened building. The floorboards creaked beneath him.

  *

  “Daniel,” Carlos was whispering in the dark, holding the constable’s pistol. ‘Venga!” Then they heard a noise. Someone comes, Carlos thought. Both men froze in the darkness.

  “Constable,” Harrison called softly. He felt for a light switch, but couldn’t find one on the wall near him. His fingers gripped firmly around the Colt. “Anyone here? Constable? Deputy?” he called again.

  He thought he heard a noise in the back of the building near the cells. Holding the automatic out in front of him, Harrison moved forward slowly and carefully into the deeper darkness beyond. He found the door to the constable’s office open. He took a breath, then slid quickly through in a crouch. He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. A bit of starlight shone through the narrow cell window, highlighting a corner of the constable’s large desk.

  Harrison moved toward that spot. Before he could reach it, the toe of his boot caught against something. He bent down to touch it with his fingertips. Soft. A man’s leg. Kneeling, he lightly moved his free hand over the prone figure. A large man. No pulse. Still warm, but he wasn’t breathing. Harrison touched the man’s head. There was blood on top, in his hair. The man’s skull had been shattered. It felt soft. Blood still trickled down to form a pool on the floor

  Harrison remained in a crouching position, his pistol pointed ahead with the safety off. He began inching back to the office doorway, but saw something move in the shadows across the room. He raised the Colt. In the far corner, behind the desk—he was sure it was a man.

  “Don’t move!” Harrison yelled. Light from the window reflected off a gun barrel.

  There was a clicking sound. In the stifling quiet of the room, it was the unmistakable cocking of a revolver.

  James instinctively fired off two rapid shots. His target fell backward, firing his weapon into the ceiling as he disappeared.

  I’ve got to get the hell out of here, James thought. Still holding his pistol out in front, he continued to move back toward the door to the front office. A board creaked. He turned to shoot, but he was struck from behind before he could fire. The hard blow across his wrist jarred the Colt free. Another caught him across the back of the neck. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. Harrison fought to stay conscious. Flashes of pain shot up his neck and burst in his head. Stay awake, he ordered himself. He moaned at the pain.

  He heard his assailant run across the wooden floor and out the back.

  With his other hand, Harrison swept the area around h
im for the Colt. He found it and struggled to his feet. With his left arm he wiped the blood from the gash. In the outside light coming through the open backdoor, Harrison saw his assailant mount a horse. He struggled to reach the door, but too late. The man was already riding west down the almost deserted street.

  “Stop him!” Harrison yelled. “Murderer!”

  One horse was still tied to the post. He reached for the reins and mounted. Unsteady from the blow to his head, Harrison nudged the animal with sharp kicks in the flanks. The horse responded immediately, and Harrison pointed him west.

  A deeper darkness began to overtake him after leaving Columbus, but he recognized a faint smudge that was a horse and rider ahead as a sliver of moon broke through. They were riding across an area south of Tres Hermanas. With a pounding head and arm, Harrison continued the pursuit. Turning south off the road, the rider ahead led him into a dry riverbed with large rocks strewn about. To avoid being ambushed, Harrison was forced to dismount and leave his horse. He walked carefully forward, his weapon in his one good hand.

  James heard a boot scrape on a rock above. He turned, looking up, then raised the Colt with safety off. He saw no movement.

  A figure leaped onto him out of the darkness, like a panther. Harrison fell, struggling to throw the man off. Overpowered, he was struck hard again on the side of his head. A deeper darkness rushed in on him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Harrison first heard the wind as a humming in his ears. His head pounded. The space behind his eyes throbbed steadily, sending waves of pain down through his body. His right arm would not move, so with his left he reached up to touch his face, then the back of his head.

  He felt dried blood. Moving his hand across his scalp, he felt another lump over his ear covering a large, jagged gash, again caked in blood. Slowly, his right eyelid opened, then his left. The first thing he saw was the hazy, deep blue sky. “Alive,” he muttered. He struggled to sit up, but couldn’t.

  What day? The question formed in his mind as he tried to focus. Slowly, the pain subsided a little. His vision sharpened. He tried again to get up, and finally, with great concentration, got to his knees. But after a moment, he went down on all fours to regain his balance.

  Get to the rock. With a fierce will, he forced his body to move. On all fours, he swayed toward a large boulder.

  Bracing himself with his back, Harrison pushed upward against the boulder until he stood. He was shaky, but standing. Looking around, he saw the three peaks that were Tres Hermanas. Must be north, he thought. I’m close to the border, west of Columbus. Head still throbbing, he looked southeast, to face the morning sun. Nothing, as far as he could see. Not even a dust cloud. To the south and west the terrain appeared more rugged—gullies, canyons, more mountains. He knew that already. Best to walk east, Harrison thought. He sat again in the shadow of the boulder to gather his strength. “You’ll walk,” he told himself finally. “You’ll rest ’till nightfall, then follow the stars.”

  Harrison’s mouth was dry. He sat, feeling the dull, constant ache in his head and right wrist. Swallowing hard, he remembered Juan’s warnings about the dangers of being on foot in the desert. Look for land marks, and don’t let the distances fool you.

  When the day finally dissolved into desert starlight, Harrison, feeling better, began to walk. His gait improved as he established a shuffling rhythm. The stars guided him.

  After an hour, he found himself on the weathered rim of a dry gulch. He stopped to rest and check his course. The stars seemed to be in the correct position. A distant light he’d seen ahead seemed to be larger.

  Harrison looked down into the ravine. In the moonlight he thought he saw horse tracks in the pale sand. He slid down the embankment and felt them in the sandy soil. “They’re still soft,” he whispered hopefully. He couldn’t tell how many, but they led down the ravine in two directions—east and west. Harrison started walking toward the east. His strength was fading, and a raging thirst began to overpower him. Long before the sun broke the desert darkness, Harrison had collapsed. He lay in the ravine, fighting to stay awake. His mouth was parched, and he could swallow only with difficulty. “Get up,” he ordered in a raspy whisper through cracked lips. Standing slowly, he managed only two reeling steps before collapsing again, body sprawled full length in the sand. He thought of cool water, the ice of Lake Michigan, and of his brother.

  *

  Harrison awoke slowly, surrounded by darkness. The desert ravine was gone, and there were no stars above him. He struggled with his body and was able to move first his arms, then his legs. I’m in a bed…with linen sheets, he thought, touching the covers. They were soft against his sunburned skin.

  He carefully raised his right arm to his eyes. The bandaged wrist was sore and swollen from the blow he had received in the jailhouse. Then he touched the cotton swathed around his whole head, above his eyes. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He looked around the room.

  Harrison recognized that large, unshuttered, open window. He was in Maria’s bedroom.

  Stretching out one leg, then the other, he felt the floor of polished hardwood. It was real. He tried to stand. Wobbly at first, with the aid of a bedpost Harrison managed to balance on both feet. He reached out for the wardrobe against the wall. “That wasn’t so difficult,” he told himself. “Now see if you can navigate to the door.”

  Finding the knob was easy. Standing naked in the darkness of the room, he hesitated, then opened the door.

  The first thing he saw in the lighted hallway was Maria walking toward him, carrying a tray of bandages and ointments. She stopped and looked him over from head to foot. Then she smiled that lovely smile. But Harrison saw the tears in her eyes.

  “Harry, you have come back to me,” she said, still standing in front of him. “For a while, we did not know. You have spent many hours between the living and the dead.” She set her tray down on the floor to assist him.

  He felt her strength under his arm as she helped him back into bed. They both looked down. She smiled and kissed his lips. “We have plenty of time for that, my love. But first, we get you well again.”

  “What happened? Maria, how did I get here?”

  “Harry, there is much to tell, but first….”

  “No. Now, Maria,” he demanded. The exertion made his whole head throb.

  “Harry, I will tell you when you are better. So lie down,” Maria commanded. She removed the old dressings, then began to clean and re-bandage his wounds.

  He fell asleep with the taste of salt on his lips from swallowing small teaspoons of warm broth. He dreamt of the desert and of Maria’s beauty.

  *

  With several more days of bed rest and constant attention by Maria, Harrison’s strength returned. At night, they made love in the warm darkness. At first, their lovemaking was slow and careful. Maria would rest astride him, moving over him in a slow rhythm. As his strength returned, their joining became more physical and passionate.

  She would not answer any of his questions. She would only say that the time was not yet right. “Get stronger, Harry,” she would say.

  When Harrison awoke before dawn one morning a week later, he was surprised to find she was not beside him. He hastily threw on his shirt, trousers, and boots.

  Opening the door, he peered down the staircase. He saw light and heard voices coming from her study, the command center for her smuggling operations.

  Quietly, he walked down the stairs and made his way toward the room. He thought he overheard the voice of Maria’s brother above the rest. “Vayámonos, Maria,” he said.

  “Tranquilo, hermano!” she responded in her strong voice. “Yo soy el jefe ahora.”

  “Pienso que el gringo, James, ese una problema—una problema grande. Es la verdad?” Daniel responded coldly, still in Spanish. “You put him above everything. We can all see this,” he reverted back to English.

  “Es su problema, hermano. Por que hombre?” she snapped
back. “Are we murderers now?”

  Harrison was unable to understand all the words, but he heard his name and that was enough.

  “I would like to hear the answer to that question myself,” he said, swinging the door open to stand in front of them.

  “Ahh, the gringo,” Daniel responded with open contempt. “The last time I saw you, gringo, you were stalking the shadows. Who did you think you were hunting, eh?”

  Harrison went for the younger man in one swift, flowing motion. His eyes were blue flame. He saw only Daniel.

  “Wait!” Maria stepped in front of him, but she could not stop him. Harrison picked her up and swung her aside as if she were a doll. “Mr. Jones, José,” she commanded. There wasn’t the slightest hint of fear in her voice. “Ayude me!”

  Harrison lashed out, his fists a blur. Daniel’s head snapped back. Blood poured from his nose. The younger man had no time to react to the barrage of fists. Then the other two men were on James. José caught his right arm in mid air while Mr. Jones, from behind, reached for the other. With some effort they were able to subdue him. At first, Harrison struggled, raging at them. But he gave in as he slowly regained his sense.

  “Let me go!” he ordered finally. Neither man responded.

  The old man’s eyes were wary.

  “You want to get even, eh, gringo?” Daniel said, smiling. He wiped blood from his nose and mouth.

  Mr. Jones knew that Daniel was too young and inexperienced to be afraid of this man, even now.

  “Harry, will you listen to me?” Maria asked, now standing directly in front of him. “No more fighting?”