“Señorita, gasolina. Gasolina,” one of the teamsters called out from the far side of the building. Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing to smell.
“No!” The men ran to the door and began pounding. “No! No!” they yelled.
*
Seconds later, in the darkness, they heard gunfire, yelling, and then nothing.
“Who’s there?” Maria called out. There was no reply.
Then, one of the large doors slowly creaked open. It was Mr. Jones. “They have Daniel, and I do not know about Mr. James,” she told him, excited. “I must ride to Villa and warn him. The general will surely kill Daniel, along with the Carrancistas.”
Mr. Jones nodded his head. Behind him, three Mexican soldiers lay dead on the ground, their rifles beside them. A torch made of rags lay smoldering on the ground beside one.
“What do you mean, señorita?” José asked, surprised.
“I made a deal with him, José. I told him about the shipment and where it was going. General Villa is waiting in the foothills.” She shook her head. “I have no time to explain. We must act quickly. Find Harry. Daniel is with the German and will be caught in the middle of the fighting.”
The older man now held her firmly. Her efforts to break free were futile.
“You knew of this, Viejo?” José looked at Mr. Jones for an answer.
The old man again nodded.
“You make deals, señorita,” José said angrily, “and with muchachos we cannot trust.”
“Did you expect me to allow Obregon and his Germans to destroy the revolution?” she hissed. “Now, I must go.”
“No, señorita!” José told her. “It is too dangerous for you. I will go.”
Maria nodded, appearing to acquiesce. Hesitating at first, Mr. Jones finally let her go.
Before either man could react, she jerked out the old man’s automatic. “Lo siento, amigos. I got us into this. Now, I will get us out of it.” Maria held the weapon in the air for everyone to see, then ran toward Mr. Jones’ mount just outside the door. It was her own stallion. She smiled at them, took the reins, and swung easily into the saddle. “Wait for me up the coast. You know where,” she said, throwing down the saddlebags.
Mr. Jones picked up the bags.
“There is enough money to take care of everyone,” she said. “If I do not return in one day, go to the hacienda.” She spun the horse and left. Seeing no soldiers, she headed up the street to the hotel to find James.
“What happened to the tall American?” she asked the desk clerk in Spanish.
Finding that her man, too, was taken by the soldiers, she rode off toward the south at a full gallop, keeping the Gulf on her right.
*
The train of seven heavily loaded wagons was escorted by 20 riders. The trip down the coast had been fast, with the road clear all the way. Harrison rode in the lead beside Colonel Von Moltke, his wrists loosely tied in front of him, while Daniel was tightly bound, hands behind his back, in the second wagon. A Mexican soldier sat on each side of him.
On the first day, the group traveled for only several hours, then made camp. But by evening of the third day they had reached Culiacan, a Carranza stronghold. Here, they rested the animals and men to prepare them for the journey through the mountains.
Very little had been said between the two white men during the trip south to Culiacan. After arriving in the dusty little pueblo, the Colonel immediately circled the wagons just outside of town and stationed guards to protect the valuable cargo.
Harrison insisted that both he and Daniel were civilians and noncombatants. Von Moltke ordered that they be treated as criminals. “You do not have proper papers, Herr James. The Mexican Government will determine your fate—with my help,” Von Moltke stated when Harrison demanded an explanation. “I suspect that both of you are spies for the Villaistas,” he said. “I suggest you prepare a defense.” The German smiled.
“What good am I to you, Colonel?” Harrison asked when they arrived in Culiacan. “You know I’m not a spy.”
“Herr James, as I said, your presence is a welcome surprise for me personally. I know much about you and your family’s influence. Randolph James, Commodity Brokers, is very wealthy, I am told. But Herr James, I don’t care about such things. I will keep you with me as insurance. If I must, I will ransom you for safe passage back to Germany.”
“Not all that sure of Germany’s victory, colonel?” Harrison said.
“The German Empire will always continue,” Von Moltke replied with certainty. “But a soldier’s life is not so certain—as your brother discovered.”
Harrison glared at the soldier, hating him even more.
“I will keep you safe in a good Mexican prison, Herr James,” Von Moltke continued, “because you already know too much and cannot go free. Maybe when the war is over—if the Mexicans don’t shoot you—then, perhaps, you can go home to your Chicago.” He smiled that evil smile.
“I will escape,” Harrison answered. “I will fight you until my last dying breath.”
“That, too, can be arranged.” The German smiled. “If you try to escape? In that case, you will be turned over to the Mexican government and hung as a spy. I promise you that.”
*
James stayed that evening with Von Moltke in a large hacienda on the edge of town, while Daniel, under heavy guard, slept under a wagon.
James and Von Moltke sat in front of a blazing fire following a meal of red beans and rice washed down with tequila. Two guards with rifles stood against the wall behind them.
“Colonel, did you have my brother killed?” Harrison asked directly, the two men sitting in front of a blazing fire, each with a tumbler of tequila in hand.
“Herr James, I will tell you a secret, since it is no longer important to me and my work here in Mexico. When we discovered we had been betrayed, we set a trap. For bait, we used documents that were of no value.”
“No good?” James was confused.
“Bait for our little trap.”
“To capture my brother?”
“Not your brother,” Von Moltke said. “His agent. When the treaty was revealed to the Americans, we figured out that it was your brother who had received the information, but from whom?”
“The woman,” James said. “Who told you about Bart’s other activities?”
“He had been betrayed.”
“By one of your agents?”
“Da, Mr. James. One of our new agents, and very reliable, too.”
“Do you pay your agents well to spy on my country, Colonel?”
“That way is the best, I think,” Von Moltke replied seriously. “No passion, no politics, just the exchange of money for information. Here in Mexico, where politics change often, that way works best,” Von Moltke said. “As an American, I think you understand this.”
“You were after just one spy then?” James said, sipping from the tequila. He handed the German the bottle. He refused to pour for him.
“It was only the woman on my staff we worried about. Your brother led us right to her. They were so clever, but not clever enough. She was preparing to tell the Americans what more she learned when we silenced her.”
“Who told you?”
Von Moltke smiled. “Herr James, I cannot tell you that, of course. But our agent said to watch Captain James closely. He is much more than an officer of infantry.”
“Is he an American?” James asked, persistent.
“You will never know,” Von Moltke smiled.
“You must protect your agents, eh?”
“Of course.”
James watched him finish off his glass of tequilla. He had a difficult time believing Von Moltke did not order Bart killed. James continued to watch the German with hatred.
“Your brother’s actions threatened my mission here in Mexico, and greatly disturbed me.”
“So you had him killed?”
“We could not allow
our mission to fail.”
“You’ve answered my question, colonel,” James said, his voice steady, without emotion. Cold as ice.
“I must tell you, it is good for us that Captain James is dead.”
“I must know the name of the man who killed by brother,” James said. “Please, tell me. What difference does it make now?”
Von Moltke looked long and hard at James, as if trying to make up his mind. “Before you die, Mr. James, you will learn his identity. But not before.”
The Prussian Colonel looked again into the fireplace, staring at the flames. He smiled, but suddenly felt weary. He poured himself another drink, then refilled the American’s glass. “Drink up, Mr. James. The next few days will be very difficult for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The train of wagons resumed its march eastward before dawn the following morning. The day was bright and still. A great cloud of dust from the plodding hooves hung in the air above them. It could be seen for miles. By early afternoon, they had reached the foothills of the Sierra Madre. The terrain became rougher, the road narrower as they began their ascent into the mountains of central Mexico. The train of heavily loaded wagons moved slowly upward. Harrison surveyed the narrow road rising into the distance.
“Who controls this part of the country?” he asked Von Moltke, raising his voice above the noise.
“Herr James, no need to worry. The Mexican Army will protect you,” Von Moltke replied confidently, then galloped forward to study the road, leaving his prisoner behind.
Harrison worked at the rope loosely binding his wrists. He turned to look. Daniel was still two wagons back and under heavy guard.
As Harrison tried to free himself, two rifle shots echoed from the overhanging cliffs. The shots were followed rapidly by a full volley. The firing was directed at the front of the column. Men and mules fell, stopping all forward movement.
Finally slipping free of the rope, Harrison rolled from his mount just as a second fusillade of gunfire erupted. He picked himself up quickly from the rocky ground, crouched down low, and ran to the second wagon, reaching its metal step in one determined movement. The guards were taking cover along the road. Harrison pulled Daniel off the wagon, lifting him by his shirt collar. Daniel partially jumped from the seat, his hands still tightly bound. He hit the ground on his shoulder, rolling to break the fall.
As Harrison dived for cover behind Daniel, he saw the first wagon’s driver fall to the right and forward, the side of his head disintegrating in a bloody spray. Soldiers, desperately seeking shelter behind the large rocks alongside of the trail, began to return fire against the shadowy targets in the cliffs above them.
“Under the wagon!” Daniel yelled at Harrison as he rolled across the hard ground. Bullets shattered the stones, sending splinters of rock in all directions. Daniel scrambled to get under the wagon.
Harrison managed to pick up a dead soldier’s rifle as he, too, crawled under the wagon. They looked at each other.
“Untie me!” the younger man ordered.
Harrison released the young man. To escape, they would need each other.
Heavy firing continued all along the mountain pass. Once over their surprise, the Colonel’s Carrancistas put on a vigorous counterattack. Harrison looked for the German. He saw him ten meters up the road, at a bend in the trail. Still mounted, Von Moltke commanded a few soldiers near him. Vigorously waving his arm, he directed them to climb the rocks and meet their attackers. Behind him, further down the road, James saw that the rearguard, although still fighting, was being picked off in ones and twos. Time was running out.
“Follow me,” Harrison yelled, grabbing the shorter man by the arm and leading him forward.
“A donde?” Daniel was frightened and confused.
“Get up the road, quickly!” Harrison ordered. The two men ran low to reach a large boulder beside the trail. Dangerously close to a steep ravine, they balanced themselves on a narrow lip of rock. Harrison had picked up another rifle and bandoleers of ammunition lying nearby. Both now armed, they looked up and down the road for an avenue of escape. Harrison knew they had to move, but where?
Behind them, the firing intensified with the Colonel’s men now engaged at close quarters with Villa’s, who began to pour down the side of the mountain. The wagons were frozen in place, with their teamsters dead or running. The rebels, dressed in colorful cotton and wearing large sombreros, were easily distinguished from Von Moltke’s uniformed soldiers. The bearded, and in some cases bare footed, army rushed forward to claim their prize.
The fighting continued ahead of them. The Colonel’s men held positions between the attackers and the road. James noticed that the German himself had dismounted to climb the jagged, boulder-strewn mountain.
“Come on!” he yelled to Daniel, seeing an opportunity.
Rifles in hand, they dashed for the bend and two horses without riders. One soldier had remained on the road to hold the mounts. Harrison was almost upon him when the soldier turned. Seeing the tall man racing towards him, the soldier quickly dropped the reins and drew his revolver. Another shot sounded, and the soldier fell to the ground, a single bullet hole in his head. Harrison looked behind him.
“We are even now, gringo,” Daniel yelled from a kneeling position five meters back. He worked the rifle bolt to expel the empty casing and insert another cartridge.
“The horses! Before they get away,” Harrison shouted, pointing. Reaching the horses, both mounted quickly.
“Up the mountain,” Daniel yelled.
*
They rode up the mountain, rounding a bend in the road twenty meters from where the battle raged. Suddenly, three barefooted gunmen stepped onto the road from behind large boulders. They looked like children, still their rifles were pointed directly at Harrison and Daniel.
“Pare,” the middle one ordered in a high pitched voice.
The two men reined in their horses to stop.
The young soldier motioned with his rifle for the riders to dismount.
Daniel and Harrison did as ordered. For what seemed like an eternity, they stood facing off with the three young gunmen. No one spoke. Finally, another man stepped onto the road. He was dressed differently from the others, wearing high cavalry boots and a gray suit coat. A pistol was strapped to his side. He wore a fedora with a wide, rounded brim. The hat set back on his head, exposing a full head of dark hair and a high forehead. His face was creased and furrowed from years in the Mexican sun. But it was a very animated face, with clear brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Harrison felt his dark eyes on him, like Maria’s, taking his measure.
“Oiga, amigos. Where you go?” the man asked, then gave a quick order to his soldiers. They lowered their rifles, but remained in place blocking the road.
Harrison decided the man must be an officer. “You speak English?” Harrison asked. Daniel said nothing.
“Of course. I like gringos, so I learn English,” the man said. “Are you the one called Harry?”
“Who’s asking, amigo?”
“Perdón a mi. I am not very polite,” he said sincerely. There was a shyness about him, stated in the way his dark eyes looked down. “I am called General Francisco Villa.” He bowed from the waist. “Now, I ask again. “Are you Harry?” The shyness quickly changed to a cold demand.
The gunfire just behind them continued.
“I’m Harrison James,” he replied, suspicious. “Who told you my name?”
“A very beautiful señorita,” Villa answered with a smile. “She said I must save you. But I see that it was not necessary.” He then looked over to Harrison’s mount. “Is that the horse of Von Moltke?”
“I don’t know,” Harrison said. “It was the first horse I saw.”
Villa gave an order to one of his men. He ran to Harrison’s mount, removed the saddle bags, then, just as quickly, returned to hand them to the General.
Both Harrison and Daniel still held th
eir rifles, but neither threatened to use it.
“Gracias, muchacho,” Villa said, taking the saddle bags. He quickly untied the strap from one of the leather bags. Looking inside, he smiled broadly. “Muy bien, Harry,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Harrison said.
Villa reached in and pulled out a bundle of American currency. “The money for the guns, amigo,” he said. “It is here.”
At that moment a voice from above them in the rocks called down, “You mean my money, General.”
Harrison and Daniel looked up to see Maria standing above them. She made her way to the road. Two more of Villa’s men followed her down.
“Maria,” Harrison said surprised. “Yes, it’s you.”
Villa looked up at the young woman coming toward him and roared with laughter. “Of course, señorita. Your money.”
When Maria reached the road, she ran to embrace Harrison, then kissed Daniel on the cheek. “You both are alive,” she said concerned for them. “Did that evil bastardo hurt you?”
“I’m okay, sister,” Daniel said, embarrassed by her fussing.
“General Villa watched them with great interest, as if he were jealous of the affection they were receiving. “My sister, Maria. And my ally, amigos,” he announced. “Now we can continue to fight for justice.”
Another of Villa’s men approached from the scene of battle. He carried two rifles. The firing became sporadic. The man, older than the others, spoke quickly to his general, then handed him one of the rifles.
“Good news, amigos,” Villa announced to Harrison, Daniel, and Maria. The fight is over. Obregón’s men are defeated. And we have an important prisoner.” He held the rifle in the air and shouted, “Viva la revolución! Viva México!”
A great cheer went up from around the mountain top.
Villa began to carefully examine the weapon.
Harrison looked Villa’s soldiers over. He saw that the men who had come down with Maria weren’t much older than the others already on the road, and dressed just as poorly—frayed and patched clothing, simple straw sandals, and several were missing sombreros. But everyone had bandoliers of ammunition crisscrossing their thin chests. They were armed with rifles of various models and makes.
Chasing Pancho Villa Page 22
