The Steel Angel

by Ray Hogan

  “I’ve got enough cash to pay you both off … but I’d like to have you stick with us. It’s going to take one man driving and one standing ready with a rifle on each rig, all the way. How about it?”

  Fox gave Gannon a slanting look, shrugged his thick shoulders, and started across the clearing. “Reckon if you birds figure you can make it, I can, too.”

  Bill Gannon watched the Missourian for a moment, spat, and then, swaggering slightly, followed. Instantly, a cheer went up. Adam silenced the men.

  “I want to say this once more. You’re giving me your word … nobody backs out.”

  “Won’t be none of that,” someone answered. “Let’s get to rolling.”

  Again, the crew turned away, moved hurriedly for their wagons. Rait caught at Denver, halted him. “Joe, I’ve got a job for you.”

  The teamster wheeled. “Something special?”

  “Take Hanover’s horse and ride back to Galveston.”

  “Get Escobar, that it?”

  Adam nodded. “He said, if we wanted him, he’d be at a friend’s place. Francisco Chavez. Probably a hacienda at the edge of town.”

  “What’ll I tell him?”

  “That we’re ready to make a deal. Bring him back with you … along with all the cash he can scrape up. We’ll be needing supplies.”

  “You going to wait here?”

  “No, we’ll pull out right away. I want to get across the Trinity. Expect the best place to meet you’ll be on the Brazos.”

  “It means you’ll be cutting due west.”

  “For the first few days.”

  “Ought to put you somewheres around Dackett.”

  “Make it a couple of miles below. I aim to stay clear of towns. The less people know we’re traveling through, the smaller chance there is for trouble. Likely, we’ll be getting there first, so we’ll wait.”

  “I’ll find you,” Denver said, turning toward Hanover’s tall black. “So long.”

  Adam lifted his hand in salute, his mind already swinging to other matters. He’d put Gannon on the lead wagon. He didn’t like the man, trusted him not at all, but there was no avoiding the fact that he was one of the best.

  And the de Aceras. That was something else that must be attended to. He called instructions to Gannon, placing him in charge of the teamsters, and crossed to the de Acera carriage.

  Hernando stepped out to meet him, polite and stiffly formal. Angela remained inside the barouche, cool and aloof. Adam touched the brim of his hat.

  “A decision to change our plans has been made,” he said in Spanish.

  De Acera bobbed his head. “It was heard … because of your war’s end. It is understandable.”

  “We travel west, no longer north to Marshall. I regret we must part here.”

  “Of course,” Hernando said, bowing slightly. “But does not Fort Worth lie to the west, also? Would it be possible to continue our journey in your company to a point below the city of Austin? When there, we could turn north to Fort Worth.”

  Hernando was correct in his understanding of directions, but Adam was in no mood to shoulder any more responsibility than had already been thrust upon him. It was best to look at the situation from the worst possible viewpoint—that from then on the train would be a prize certain to attract every plunder-hungry renegade and Indian in southern Texas.

  “We shall avoid the main roads,” he explained. “You will find greater safety in going on to Marshall.”

  “As you say,” Hernando replied, disappointed but still polite. “It is farewell, then. A thousand thanks for your company.”

  “It is nothing,” Rait said, and glanced up to see Angela studying him thoughtfully. She smiled, and, touching his hat, he turned away.

  Chapter Ten

  Leaning forward in the barouche, Angela thrust her head outside and said: “Sergeant, stop beneath those trees.”

  Obediently, Martinez swung the carriage off the road and halted it in the shade of several clustering pecans.

  Hernando—in reality General Hernando Bernal of His Royal Majesty Maximilian’s Imperial Mexican Guard and in no way related to Angela de Acera—kicked open the door and leaped out. Walking quickly to the top of a hillock fifty yards back on the road, he threw his glance to the west. Within moments he returned.

  “They cannot see us here,” he said, climbing into the carriage.

  Angela shrugged. Such had been apparent to her, but Bernal, with his infernal military efficiency, had to make sure. She watched idly as he drew a cigar from his pocket, placed it between his lips, and struck a match. She decided she’d never learn to like the man.

  He exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, settled back. “It is necessary to make new plans,” he said briskly. “Although we encounter failure, nothing must dissuade us.”

  Angela brushed at the film of dust gathered on her lap. Outside, Martinez had moved off his perch and was fiddling with the harness. The day was warming rapidly, and soon the heat would be intense.

  When she made no comment, Hernando said: “Haste is now of importance. My soldiers await their instructions.”

  Angela stirred. “Of what use are twelve soldiers against thirty well-armed men such as accompany Adam Rait?”

  “Twenty-seven, if one does not count the cook, the boy, and the hostler. I do not speak of a squad, but of a company awaiting my word at a secret base.”

  “Just where is this mysterious rendezvous, General?”

  “A matter of no importance to you, my lady,” Bernal replied with an offhand motion. “At this moment they are valueless to our movements anyway. We were cautioned not to bring uniformed soldiers onto North American soil. The government cannot afford to further antagonize the United States.”

  “I recall well what was said.”

  Hernando sighed. “It is a matter I find most difficult to understand. With my own eyes I have seen soldiers of the Indian Juárez on this side of the border. Why is it permissible for them but not—?”

  “The North Americans prefer to ignore their presence. Perhaps it has to do with their own war against the English king a hundred years ago. They believe Benito Juárez to be engaged in a similar struggle.”

  “The gringos and their wars. It was an evil blow that this most recent one has ended. It creates serious complications. Even so, had you not failed to persuade Hanover …”

  “He was very drunk,” Angela cut in coldly. “So much so, there was no reasoning with the man.”

  “Very possibly, yet had you yielded to his desires, a bargain may have later been struck.”

  “He was very drunk,” Angela repeated. “As to the other, my judgment is best.”

  “Very well. There is nothing that can be done about him since he is dead.”

  “An error on your part, my general. Had you not acted in panic and ordered Martinez to use his knife, a second opportunity may have been afforded me.”

  Bernal frowned darkly. “I did so in the best interests of my country. When failure became evident—”

  “You listened outside the tent?”

  “I did, in the nature of duty. When it was evident this Hanover would not succumb to your—shall we say charms?—I determined such action was necessary. Of this I was convinced when I recalled Hanover’s words, wherein he said that Adam Rait was his heir should an accident befall him.”

  “A jest.”

  Hernando smiled knowingly. “It would seem you assume in error. Has not the wagon train with its cargo become the property of Rait?”

  “Of him … and those who accompany him.”

  The officer shifted irritably. “Another matter I cannot comprehend. What sort of man is this Adam Rait who gives away a fortune that rightfully becomes his?”

  Angela considered Hernando Bernal through half-closed eyelids and wished again that those in command at Mexico City h
ad selected a different officer to accompany her on the mission. But there had been reason for it, and while it was not pleasant, she would make the best of a disagreeable situation.

  But she didn’t have to like the man. He was a small-minded puppet, given to show and the display of unnecessary authority. Callous, ruthless, and weighted with the supercilious snobbery of the elite military, he still was not above groveling and self-abasement if, by them, his purpose could be achieved.

  “No, he is one you will never understand,” she murmured, staring out across the flats.

  “Eh? Oh … it is of no importance. Let us think, my lady. Let us put our heads together and devise a plan of infallibility.”

  Bernal tossed his cigar through the window. Leaning forward, he placed his hand on Angela’s knee and pressed gently. “But that your efforts with Hanover should not go unrewarded, I—”

  She brushed his fingers away. “The general forgets himself.”

  Bernal frowned. “I do not understand!”

  “I believe you do,” she replied coldly. “I accompany you for the sake of Mexico … and Maximilian. I shall do the job I was assigned … that of convincing Kurt Hanover, by any means in my power, to—”

  “A dead man cannot be convinced of anything.”

  “Very well. I must try to convince Adam Rait to sell to us the cargo of rifles and bullets in his possession. Beyond that, I have no obligation—particularly to you.”

  The general shrugged. “Let us not quarrel.”

  “Let us not indulge in wayward thoughts,” Angela snapped. “As you have said, we are faced with change. Do you have a plan?”

  Bernal, still sulky, drew forth another cigar, held it poised. “I have. One of simplicity.”

  Simplicity. That, of course, meant the persuasion of Adam Rait would depend upon her. Angela looked at Hernando and waited.

  “We follow the wagon train at a discreet distance. Since it moves generally westward, it is to our advantage. Escobar has been sent for. Martinez will be dispatched to prevent his arrival, thus voiding the intended agreement before it can be made.”

  The officer paused, studied the unlit end of his weed. “At the proper time we will make a reappearance. Our position will be made known, and your ties will begin. Meanwhile, Martinez will continue to the secret base along the border and advise the troops to hold themselves in readiness.”

  “You will make use of these soldiers?”

  “Should you again fail,” Bernal said, spacing his word deliberately, “I shall abandon the plan thought to be effective by those in the court, and resort to the more dependable military. I will breach North American soil and take the wagon train by force.”

  Angela, ignoring the sly jibe, nodded. “A sensible plan, although you risk displeasure of both governments. Is this base where your soldiers wait near the border?”

  “Very near,” he said. “I have hopes their use will not be necessary. You have doubts as to your effectiveness with this Adam Rait?”

  She smiled. “Who knows? There is an old saying among the North Americans, my general. One never counts chickens before they are hatched. It is a wise proverb.”

  Hernando Bernal frowned. “But if one hesitates to try,” he began, missing the point entirely, “I fail to see—”

  “It is of little consequence,” Angela said wearily. “Can we now move? The heat is unbearable.”

  “Agreed.” The officer turned to the window. “Sergeant!”

  Martinez, dozing in the shade thrown by the horses, scrambled to his feet, hurried to the side of the carriage.

  “Yes, my general!”

  “Return to the settlement near to where we encountered the North American, Hanover. We will rid ourselves of this accursed hearse and obtain saddle horses and clothing more befitting our duties in the days to come. Make haste!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Late in the afternoon of the second day Adam Rait, astride the bay gelding, watched as the wagons, one by one—and with spare teams standing by, ready for emergency use—forded the Brazos River. The crossing was made without incident, and he swung the train south, pointing for a distant grove of trees that would serve as an acceptable location for night camp.

  There was no sign of Denver and Emiliano Escobar, and that disturbed him somewhat. The train, delayed by slow progress, due to the loose nature of the soil over which they traveled, was several hours late, and he had expected the men to be there well ahead of the column. That they were not could only mean Denver, too, had encountered trouble in some form. Perhaps he was having difficulty in locating Escobar. And there was the possibility the Mexican agent had returned to Juárez City.

  Adam considered that at length, concluded it would not seriously affect his plan for selling the cargo to Benito Juárez and his government. Failing to negotiate a prearranged deal with Escobar, along with a request for an escort that surely would be needed, he would simply have to proceed without either.

  Juárez would buy the rifles and ammunition—there was no doubt as to that—but it would take more time. He would follow Joe Denver’s suggestion of setting up camp on the American side of the border and riding on to Juárez City to talk with the Mexican presidente himself. When all was agreed upon and payment in gold was available, delivery would be completed.

  The wagons reached the grove and swung into their customary formation. By the time the teamsters had seen to their equipment and Adam had made his usual inspection, Felipe was rattling the bucket, summoning all to the evening meal. Ordinarily garrulous, the men were quiet, eating their food and drinking their bitter coffee with only occasional comments. It had been a hard day.

  When supper was over, and the teamsters had begun to unroll their blankets, Adam called Felipe to him. He felt a fire should be maintained throughout the night as a guide for Denver and Escobar, should they have trouble locating the camp. Not a big one, he explained to the boy; he didn’t want to attract the curious from nearby Dackett, but a small, steady blaze that could be spotted by someone moving along the river.

  When Felipe signified his understanding and hurried off to drag in a supply of dry wood, Rait turned to Sancho. “They’ll be hungry. Have food ready.” The cook nodded and immediately began to fill two plates from his blackened pots. Adam, restless, drew one of the cigars removed from Hanover’s effects from his pocket and returned to the fire for a light.

  Jules Bundy, sitting nearby sucking at his pipe, looked up. “Suppose something’s happened to Joe?”

  Adam shook his head. “He’ll be here.”

  The teamster puffed thoughtfully. “Yeah, reckon he will.”

  Rait wheeled slowly, strolled to a low hump a short distance below the camp. The night was warm, with only a suggestion of a breeze filtering in from the south, carrying with it the pleasant promise of spring. Overhead the sky was dark velvet across which diamond dust had been flung.

  Finding a stump, Adam sat down, inhaled deeply, and allowed the smoke to trickle from his mouth. He could hear Sancho rattling pans as he finished up his work, and Felipe was throwing more wood onto the fire, building the blaze. One of the men—he had no idea who—was singing an old Southern favorite, “Lorena,” in a surprisingly good tenor voice.

  He listened until the sorrowing words ended and found himself thinking of Angela de Acera, remembering the way she looked that night they had walked in the grove.

  She was a woman to move a man deeply, turn him from his purpose, and hold him tight in a snare of excitement. He was glad he had insisted she and her brother continue on to Marshall. Having her near, seeing her, feeling her soft eyes upon him, was a disturbing influence—and he could afford no distractions.

  But she was not so easily forgotten, and he found it difficult to wipe her from his mind. He inhaled again, enjoying the bite of smoke in his lungs. Maybe—when this was all over and he had money in his pockets—he’d
take a ride up to Fort Worth and see if he could find her …

  A hallo from across the river brought him to his feet. Joe Denver. At last! Tossing aside the cigar, he trotted back to camp. Shortly Denver, followed by Emiliano Escobar, rode out of the darkness into the circle of firelight.

  Both men were worn, covered with dust. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped around the Mexican’s right arm. They dismounted stiffly, turned their horses over to the wrangler.

  “We would’ve been here a couple hours sooner,” Denver said, looking toward the chuck wagon, “only some potlicker tried to ambush us. The señor got nicked.”

  Escobar smiled. “It is of no consequence.” He accepted the plate of food Sancho offered him, thanking the old cook in his quiet, grave manner.

  “Any idea who it was?” Rait asked as the men began to eat. Several of the teamsters, aroused by the arrival, had moved up to the fire.

  Joe swallowed a large mouthful. “Road agent looking for easy pickings, I expect. Give him something to be remembering. Winged him when he took off.”

  It came as a surprise to no one. The country was overrun with hungry men, broke and desperate, looking to make a dollar in any way possible.

  Escobar finished his meal quickly, consuming about half the portion Sancho had put on his plate. Handing the dish to the cook, he thanked him again, faced Adam. “My heart was gladdened by the words brought to me by Señor Denver. The people of Mexico will forever be in your debt.”

  “Matter of business,” Rait replied. “We’re selling and you’re buying. You in position to make a deal?”

  “I am. The value of the cargo, as I recall, was placed at forty thousand dollars in gold. Is that not correct?”

  “It is. It was Hanover’s figure, however, not mine.”

  “He was an honest man and I have no reason to dispute the amount. It is agreeable, and I am empowered by my government to negotiate on that basis. Payment is to be made upon delivery to Juárez City.”