by J. T. Edson
“All of us?” Juanita asked.
“You and Rosa stop here to help Ruis guard the gringos,” Sandos replied and scowled at the girl. “Keep away from them until we learn what Cosme wants to do.”
“Si, Joaquin,” she answered. “Maybe then we have some fun with them.”
“Maybe,” Sandos grunted. “Lock them in the jacale.”
On entering the smaller building, Eve and Belle looked around them. From all appearances the building had been used before for a similar purpose. Since its construction the window had been closed to mere slits and the door made strong to resist being broken open. Trying to do so would make sufficient noise to alert their captors. Belle studied the building, trying to decide how they might escape.
“You thought fast back there,” Eve remarked, cutting into the other girl’s thoughts. “Trying to lead them off like that. Then giving the girl your boots. If we’d stayed around that sand bar much longer, somebody might have seen that canoe.”
“I don’t know what you-all getting at, for sure,” Belle answered. “When Bully comes—.”
“Drop it, Boyd. I know you now, even if I didn’t at the hotel in Matamoros,” Eve interrupted. “What’s wrong, did the Ysabels desert you?”
Realizing that her bluff had failed, Belle shrugged. “No. I suppose you’re a Yankee spy?”
“Yes.”
“Say! You must be Eve Coniston. I’ve heard about you.”
Despite herself, Eve could not hold down a beam of pleasure at the words. That the legendary Rebel Spy knew of her meant her work had not gone unnoticed. Usually when Eve announced her vocation, people asked if she was Pauline Cushman. However she put aside her thoughts and turned her attention back to their present situation.
“I thought one of them might see the canoe,” she said. “I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
“If I had, we might both be dead, or wishing we were. Where’re the Ysabels. Can we expect any help from them?”
“They went to Nava and won’t be back until late afternoon at the earliest.”
“1 don’t think we’ve that much time,” Eve remarked. “It looks like you and I work together—or die.”
“Why are they holding you?” Belle asked.
“For ransom,” Eve explained. “My loyal companion told them what an important person I am.”
Watching the bitter twist which came to Eve’s lips, Belle could see how she felt and guess as its cause. When word of Eve’s capture leaked out, the men who opposed using women for such important work would have another argument in their favor. Remembering the opposition to her own participation, Belly sympathized with Eve. She also realized that the other woman’s feelings might make her more willing to cooperate in escaping.
“What happened to him?” Belle inquired.
“They shot him down in cold blood. Lord! I can’t say I liked him as a man or a colleague, but even Ffauldes didn’t deserve what he got.”
“I don’t know what you think,” Belle remarked. “But I think we ought to try to escape.”
“So do I,” Eve stated grimly, showing Belle guessed correctly about her feelings. “The odds are steep against us doing it.”
“Sandos is taking all but one man and the girls across the river with him to look for their leader,” Belle said. “If we don’t escape before they get back with him, we’ll never make it.”
Before any more could be said, the door opened and the two Mexican girls entered followed by Sandos. The man indicated the tin plates loaded with food that his companions carried.
“Eat well, señoritas,” he ordered. “Cosme Danvila always feeds his visitors good—until he finds that nobody wants to pay to get them back.”
Taking the plate, Belle almost held her breath as she waited to see what happened next. Without even waiting for his prisoners to start eating, Sandos walked out of the cabin. Juanita limped a little as she followed the man and Rosa did not look any too happy in the unaccustomed foot-wear. As the lock clicked on the door, Belle looked at the plate. Then she smiled at Eve.
“I’ve an idea,” she said. “Let’s eat and I’ll tell you about it.”
For all the urgency of the business, Sandos and his men took their siesta before leaving to search for Danvila. Standing at the window slit in the front of the building, Belle watched the five men take their horses and ride away from the camp. She saw that four horses remained tied to the corral rails, but the man sat on the porch of the other jacale where he could see the animals and the front of the prisoners’ quarters.
“We can’t get to the horses with him there,” Eve said, after taking a look.
“He’ll have to be settled then,” Belle answered. “The girls are still in the other cabin. If they don’t come out before we’re ready, it’ll help us.”
“Let’s get started, they might remember the plates if we don’t,” Eve said.
Crossing to the rear wall, the two girls began to dig at the newer adobe of the window slit. At first they made no impression, then pieces began to crumble away with increasing regularity. Once started, the work progressed so well that one of them kept watch on the Mexican guard while the other continued digging.
“That’ll do,” Belle said at last, stepping back and studying the hole. “We don’t want it too big or he might wonder why you didn’t get through after me.”
“He’s still out front.” Eve replied. “No sign of the girls.” Changing places, Eve went to stand by the enlarged rear window. She looked across at Belle who halted between the door and the slit in the front wall. Then Eve turned and thrust her head through the hole.
“You stinking peckerwood 8 bitch!” the Yankee girl screeched at the top of her voice. “Come back here and help me!”
While the Mexican probably did not understand English. Eve declined to rely on it and so shouted the words she might have used at finding that her companion had deserted her.
“Ag—!” Belle began, then saw the man leap to his feet and run towards the building. He jerked a revolver Belle recognized as her Dance from his belt as he approached the door. “He’s coming. Get ready!”
Twisting away from the look-out slit, Belle flattened her back against the wall on the hinged side of the door. Tense and alert, she listened to the lock click and watched the door open. Leaping in, his revolver held ready, the man glared at Eve as she turned from the rear wall. His eyes went to the hole and he drew just the conclusions they hoped he would. Clearly the two prisoners had attempted to escape, but the slim one had wriggled through the hole before making it large enough for her companion. Knowing how he would act under the circumstances, the man saw nothing out of the ordinary in Eve’s behavior.
Letting out a snarl, the man advanced across the room. Again he acted just as Belle had hoped and placed himself in an ideal position for what she planned to do. Thrusting herself from the wall, she followed the man. The loss of her boots ruled out the use of several effective savate attacks, but She knew one that suited the conditions. Bounding into the air, she drew both feet up under her. At the full height of the leap, she straightened her legs and drove them at the man’s back. With all the force she could manage, she crashed the bottom of her feet into the center of the man’s back. Taken by surprise, he went reeling across the room. Eve sprang to meet him, side-stepping and sticking her right leg between his feet to trip him. Pitching head first into the wall, the man bounced away, landed on his back and lay still.
Rebounding from the man after delivering her frontal leaping high kick, Belle started towards him. She saw that Eve needed no help and turned to face the door. Through it charged Rosa, a pistol in her hand. The girl no longer wore her looted boots and so made better time than Juanita who clung to the foot-wear and was hobbling painfully across from the other jacale.
On arrival Rosa found herself faced with a tricky problem. The pistol she held was a muzzle-loading single-shot and two potentially dangerous targets confronted her. While she vacillated betwee
n the gringos, Belle took the problem out of her hands. Even as Eve flung herself past the unconscious man, Belle darted forward. Once again the slim girl leapt into the air, but not in a kick. Passing over the pistol, she wrapped her legs about Rosa’s neck. Breaking her fall with her hands, Belle let her shoulders hit the floor, then she twisted her body, pulling and using her weight to flip the Mexican over. A wail broke from Rosa as her feet left the floor, then she crashed down on to her back.
Beaten to Rosa by Belle, Eve still found work to do. Juanita entered the cabin walking awkwardly, which did not increase her efficiency. Springing past Belle, Eve slapped aside the revolver Juanita held. Then her other hand, knotted into a fist, drove hard into the Mexican girl’s sizeable bust. Giving a croaking cry, Juanita loosened her hold on the revolver. Eve slammed the trapped hand against the wall, completing the work of making Juanita release the weapon.
Turning her head, Eve saw Belle starting to rise and remembered about the canoe. The time for cooperation had ended and they became enemies once more. Catching the gasping Juanita by the hair, Eve hurled her at Belle. Just too late the Southern girl realized Eve’s intention. Juanita crashed into her and they went down in a heap. Swinging around, Eve darted through the door and slammed it behind her. For a moment she hesitated, hand halfway to the lock. Then she swung away without touching it. Maybe the Rebel Spy was an enemy, but Eve could not leave her trapped at the mercy of the bandidos. So she turned and ran to the waiting horses. Unfastening the reins of the best animal, she mounted. The stirrup irons hurt her feet, but she ignored the pain and started the horse moving.
With a heave Belle rolled Juanita from her and started to rise. Squealing curses, the other girl clawed at her and caught hold of her waistband. Cold rage filled Belle as she saw Eve’s departure. The Yankee girl was not fleeing in blind panic. She knew where to find the canoe and could possibly make her escape along the Rio Grande in it.
“Like hell she will!” Belle gritted.
Despite the weight of the Mexican girl clinging to her, Belle made her feet. Then she dug both hands into the black mass of hair and began to pull at it. Across the room, Rosa started to stir, moaning and writhing. Pain caused Juanita to draw away from Belle, although she still retained her hold. Up rammed Belle’s left knee, driving into the Mexican girl’s left breast. Twice more Belle sent her knee home before agony made the other release the hold on her belt. With a surging heave Belle threw Juanita from her. Going backwards, the Mexican girl landed on her companion just as Rosa sat up. Pain made the girls oblivious of each other’s identity. Hands dug into hair and they began to fight instead of rising to deal with Belle.
Running to the door, Belle tugged at it. Much to her surprise, she found it was not locked. However by that time Eve had mounted and was already galloping along the draw. Anger made Belle act rashly for once. Instead of returning to the cabin and collecting her Dance, she dashed across to the waiting horses. Unfastening one of them, she swung into the saddle and set off after the fleeing Yankee spy.
Fourteen – A:he – I Claim It!
Sitting their horses in cover, the Ysabel Kid and his father studied the fort at Nava. As Sam Ysabel had told the Rebel Spy, the walls, designed to stand off an attack by arrows and rifle bullets, fared badly when assailed by cannon fire. However the defenders were still holding out and there did not appear to be any chance of a rapid end to the siege.
“Can’t see anybody we know well enough to trust, boy,” Ysabel remarked.
“Nope,” the Kid replied. “But there’re a few there we know well enough not to trust. Damned if that’s not old Marcus back there, all fancied up like a regular army officer.”
“He was allus ambitious,” Ysabel said. “If Benito Juarez does chase the French out, he’ll have to watch his back against Marcus.”
“Somebody’ll chill Marcus’ milk if he gets feisty,” drawled the Kid.
Little did the Kid know, but he was fated to play a prominent part in the chilling process. 9
“We’d best not get down there,” Ysabel went on. “Marcus’d shoot us first and ask what we wanted while they buried us. Anyways, I don’t feel right about leaving Miss Belle back by the river.”
“Or me. What’ll she do, ap’?”
“Damned if I know. Even if the Juaristas don’t take the fort, I can’t see Klatwitter having enough men or ammunition left to make their raid on New Mexico.”
Turning their horses, they started the return journey. Indian-wise, they knew better than return along the route they had followed to Nava. Should somebody, French, Mexican or Kraus’ gang, have come on their tracks, the Ysabels did not intend to simplify matters by going back along them. By riding relay, they had covered the distance to Nava in fast time and intended to return in the same manner. Three miles fell behind them. Then the Kid reined in his white stallion and pointed ahead.
“No Juaristas’d make that much smoke,” he said.
“Nor Charlie Kraus, especially this close to Cosme Danvila’s bailiwick,” Ysabel went on, studying the column of smoke which climbed upwards from beyond a rim half a mile ahead. “They’ll be French soldiers, I’d say.”
Father and son exchanged glances. Several Mexican friends of long standing fought for Juarez, but the Ysabels had their duty to the Confederacy. So they must see if there was any way that relief could be brought to Klatwitter, even though doing so hurt the Juaristas’ cause.
“We’d best go tell ’em what’s happening at Nava,” the Kid finally said.
“It’s the only way,” his father agreed.
Attacking unexpectedly, even a moderate-numbered French force might drive off the Juaristas. If the siege could be raised, Belle Boyd might yet visit Klatwitter and decide whether to continue with the plan.
As they rode on, the Ysabels watched the smoke. Although they had only just come into a position from which they could see it, both realized that it must have been visible for some time in other directions.
“Those frog soldiers sure must be lucky,” the Kid remarked as they drew closer to the rim, “happen they allus make fires that smoke that ways.”
“Likely there’s no Injuns where they come from,” his father replied. “Although a Creole feller I knowed one time allowed they had Apaches in Paris, France.”
“I thought all the Apaches was over to New Mexico ’n’ Arizona, ’cepting for the Lipans in West Texas,” the Kid said. “Happen them French Apaches’re like our’n, I don’t see how whoever’s making that smoke’s not wound up with their ears hanging on some buck’s lodge-pole.”
Topping the rim, they looked down and marveled still more. Eight French troopers and a sergeant were gathered around a fire, their carbines piled out of reach. Standing aloof at one side of the men, a young lieutenant was smoking a cigar. While four sentries covered the main points of the compass, each held his carbine on the crook of his arm and was doing his work inefficiently. Not one kept truly alert and each was looking in the wrong places. Such lack of caution might easily spell disaster. Discounting an Indian attack, the Juaristas claimed enough wild-country brains to read the signs and take appropriate action from what they learned.
Not until the Ysabels started to ride down the slope did any of the French soldiers notice them. Then the sentry nearest to them jerked his head around, brought his carbine to the ready position and gave a yell. Belated though the warning might be, the soldiers moved with some speed. Dropping coffee cups, the troopers leapt towards their carbines. The officer spat away his cigar and swung to look at the newcomers. Discovering that they were not Mexicans, he barked an order which halted his men before they reached and un-piled the weapons.
Following the dictates of frontier etiquette, Ysabel halted his horse at the edge of the camp. He raised his hand in a peace sign and called, “Howdy. Mind if we’ns come up to the fire?”
“You may come,” the officer answered in good English. Swinging from their saddles and leaving the horses standing with trailing reins, the Ysabels wa
lked forward. Studying the Frenchmen, Sam Ysabel liked little of what he saw. Tall, slim, handsome, the lieutenant’s face held a hint of calculated cruelty. Ysabel summed him up as the kind of officer found all too frequently in the French army, a harsh disciplinarian who drove but never led men. Nor did the sergeant strike Ysabel in any more favorable a manner. Big, burly, brutal in appearance, he would blindly back up any order his officer gave.
“You gents headed for Nava?” Ysabel asked, noticing the envious manner with which the officer and sergeant were eying the four horses.
“Perhaps,” the officer replied coldly.
“Happen you do,” the big Texan drawled, “ride real careful. The Juaristas are attacking the fort down there.”
“They attack the fort at Nava?” the officer repeated.
“Foot, hoss and artillery,” Ysabel confirmed. “Happen there’s more of you around, I’d get ’em pronto. They’re being bad hit at Nava and could use some help.”
“Did Colonel Klatwitter send you?”
“He don’t even know we’re alive.”
“Then how do you know of the attack?”
“We was down that ways and saw it.”
“And what took you to Nava?” the lieutenant demanded.
“Me ’n’ the boy know some folks down there and went visiting. Only when we saw the fighting, we concluded to head back across the river to home.”
“Then why did you come to tell me of the attack?”
“You French folks’ve allus played square with the Confederacy,” Ysabel replied. “So we allowed to come and give you the word.”
All the time his superior and Ysabel were talking the French sergeant stood to one side studying first the Texans then their horses. Stepping forward, he saluted and spoke quietly to the officer in French. Nodding, the lieutenant replied and then turned back to Ysabel.
“Was the friend you intended to visit General Klatwitter?” he asked.
“Trouble, boy!” Ysabel grunted in Comanche to the Kid, although he never took his eyes from the officer’s face or allowed a flicker of expression to show. “Plain folks like us don’t get to make friends with generals, mister. So I don’t know what you’re meaning.”
