The Border Empire Page 4

  “For the same reason we’ll be spreading our blankets there,” Wes said. “Indians, outlaws, bears, or cougars all need water, and the farther we are from it, the less likely we’ll have to fight any of them.”

  “It still be light,” said Maria. “You will go to the stream with me while I wash?”

  “I reckon,” Wes said.

  She slipped out of her too-big clothes, and Wes followed her to the creek. She still had the bit of soap he had given her the day before.

  “You do not wash?” she asked as she began soaping herself.

  “I reckon I’d better not,” said Wes. “It’ll wash all the Mejicano off.”

  She laughed. “I fix more. Come.”

  The water did look tempting, and having stripped him to apply the stain, he decided she wasn’t about to be shocked now. Quickly he removed his hat, gunbelt, and boots. He then slipped out of his shirt and Levi’s. Careful to leave his Colt within reach, he got into the cool water. She immediately flung his face full of water, and he retaliated. Following a pleasant time in the water, they crawled out on the grass to dry.

  “We were like the niño,” said Maria.

  “Sí,” Wes agreed. “Like the child that I never was.”

  “Never?” said Maria wonderingly.

  “I don’t feel like I ever had a childhood,” Wes said. “My mother didn’t want me, my kin were ashamed of me, and I never knew who my father was until he was dead.”

  Her eyes met his, and the bleakness and regret in them stirred her to her soul. She crept close, put her arms around him, and he responded. Their emotions spent, they lay there in silence, watching the silver stars bloom in the deep purple of the sky. Mosquitoes began to feed on them, and they arose.

  “Come on,” Wes said. “Let’s get under those blankets before the varmints raise a mob and carry us off.”

  Chapter 2

  By the time Shatiqua and Boudlin reached the arroyo where their seven companions had died, the stench was unbearable. They stood on the rim and viewed the carnage below, speechless.

  “My God,” Boudlin said, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this. What you reckon was the cause?”

  “Hell, how should I know?” said Shatiqua. “Maybe some hombres bushwhacked ’em and took the horses they was bringin’ to Namiquipa.”

  “That don’t make sense,” Boudlin replied. “Why didn’t they take the horses our bunch was ridin’, along with the others?”

  “We’re gonna be needin’ some answers for Kazman when we ride back to Namiquipa,” said Shatiqua. “Them horses went somewhere when they left that arroyo. We’d better git down there and do some trackin’.”

  They studied the tracks of the horses as they had left the arroyo.

  “Nobody’s drivin’ them broncs,” Boudlin observed. “They scattered every direction.”

  “The shootin’ could of been done from the rim,” said Shatiqua, “but it would of took two gunmen to kill ’em all. They wasn’t a bunch of shorthorns.”

  “That means they’d of left their horses back a ways and snuck up on foot,” Boudlin said. “All we got to do is ride in a circle, an’ we’ll find some tracks.”

  “Hell, you’d have to be blind not to,” said Shatiqua, “with all them horses wanderin’ around loose.”

  “Suit yourself,” Boudlin said. “Where I come from, a man reads sign well enough to know a horse with a rider from a horse without.”

  Boudlin began circling and soon found the place where Maria had left the packhorse. Following the tracks of the packhorse were tracks of a second animal, and finally tracks of a third. There was a profusion of tracks near the creek where Wes and Maria had spent the night.

  “Three horses, three riders,” Boudlin said triumphantly, “and they rode west. I reckon we’d better follow ’em and see where they went.”

  “They’re headed straight to Chihuahua,” said Shatiqua, “where these tracks will be lost among a thousand others. Besides, there’ll be rain before we ride ten miles. No trail.”

  “You aim to tell Kazman that?”

  “If I have to,” Shatiqua said. “He’ll never be the wiser. Besides, it’s the truth.”

  “I’m a mite tired of bein’ stuck in Namiquipa, never seein’ nobody but that slicked-up varmint Kazman,” said Boudlin. “I wonder where Sandlin is.”

  “I been with this outfit five years,” Shatiqua said. “I ain’t never seen Sandlin, and I don’t want to. I know of at least one hombre that got curious about Sandlin, an’ one day he wasn’t around no more. Sandlin’s bad medicine.”

  From beyond the mountains to the west, a rising wind swept in thunderheads, and for almost two hours there was a drenching rain. Wes and Maria took shelter beneath some trees, which did little to keep them dry.

  “Tarnation,” said Wes, “that rain just blew in from nowhere.”

  “Sí,” Maria agreed. “Is no rain in winter, but per’ap every day in summer.”

  “How long is summer?” Wes asked.

  “Start in May, end in October,” said Maria. “It rain again mañana.”

  The clouds were soon swept away, and the sun quickly dried their clothing.

  “What you do when you reach Chihuahua?” Maria asked.

  “I haven’t decided,” said Wes. “I’ll likely have to spend some time in the saloons, if I’m to learn anything about the Sandlin gang.”

  “Saloons?”

  “Cantinas,” Wes said.

  “I go with you,” said Maria.

  “It’s no place for a woman,” Wes replied.

  “with my hair short and a sombrero, I no be woman,” said Maria.

  “If you aim to travel with me,” Wes said, “I want you to have clothes that fit. But if I get you a shirt that’s the right size, there won’t be any doubt about you bein’ a woman.”

  Maria laughed. “I fix that.”

  On the packhorse was part of a bolt of cotton muslin intended for use as bandages. When they stopped to rest the horses, Maria partially untied the pack and brought out the muslin. Wes watched in silence as she ripped off a two-yard length of it. She folded it lengthwise until it was only a few inches wide. She then removed her shirt and wrapped her upper torso with the muslin. When she tied it securely, her chest was virtually flat. She then donned the shirt, buttoned it, and jiggled herself around. There was no tell-tale movement beneath the shirt, and she grinned triumphantly at Wes.

  “Maybe you can become an hombre, after all,” said Wes.

  Chihuahua, Mexico, July 3, 1884

  Long before reaching the town, Wes and Maria could see twin towers reaching into the western sky.8

  “Is church, per’ap,” Maria said. “My padre be here once, and he say they elegante.”

  The town was strung out, separated from the railroad and the depot. There were hills to the north and south. The streets were teeming with horse- and mule-drawn hacks, pack-laden mules, and crude two-wheeled carts drawn by donkeys. On the street leading to the railroad depot was an elaborate building that Wes eventually learned was the State Palace. To the rear of it was a plazuela, with a fine monument, and beyond that was the building whose twin towers they had seen from a distance. Across the railroad tracks, to the west, were the markets, shops, hotels, cafes, cantinas, and the shoulder-to-shoulder residences of the poor.

  “I need sombrero,” Maria said.

  “You also need clothes that fit,” said Wes. “Before we attract too much attention, I reckon we’d better find a store. You still aim to become an hombre?”

  “Sí,” she replied.

  “I reckon I’d better buy myself some Mexican clothes,” said Wes. “I feel pretty good behind this Mejicano stain of yours. I don’t have Mejicano eyes, but changin’ out of Texas duds might help.”

  They reached what appeared to be a mercantile, and it was somewhat isolated, likely because there was penned livestock. There was a pen of sheep, one of goats, and a third of pigs. A pair of mules looked over the rails of a makeshift corral. There
were no horses, mules, wagons, or carts in sight, and the place looked deserted.

  “This is an ideal place,” Wes said. “Nobody else around. With any luck, maybe we can get in there an’ out without bein’ seen by anybody but the storekeeper.”

  They looped the reins of their horses around the hitching rail. Empty lay down next to Maria’s black. While the dog hadn’t become friendly to Maria, he had accepted her. With Maria leading, they entered the store. The old Mexican storekeeper was careful not to appear too curious. He allowed them to choose their purchases. Maria selected high-heeled riding boots, a loose-fitting cotton shirt, matching cotton trousers with a sash, and a wide-brimmed straw sombrero. Wes chose straw-colored trousers and matching shirt, and finally a wide-brimmed straw sombrero. He would keep his Texas boots. Maria paid for her purchases and Wes paid for his without a word being spoken. Quickly the storekeeper wrapped and string-tied everything in brown paper except the sombreros. Leaving the store, they mounted and rode in search of a lodging house or hotel. The lodging house they eventually chose was between the railroad and the street that seemed to house only cantinas, cafes, and bawdy houses.

  “I speak,” Maria said as they prepared to enter the lodging house.

  The old Mexican woman wore a shawl that obscured everything except her wrinkled face. She looked at Maria, then at Wes, finally fixing her eyes on Empty, who eyed her with suspicion. She finally pointed to Empty.

  “Uno, dos, tres,” she said.

  Maria nodded, paying what she asked. They were led down the hall and shown to a room. There was no key. When they were alone in the room, Maria laughed.

  “No perro,” she said, pointing to Empty. “He hombre.”

  “I noticed that,” said Wes. “If they serve grub here, he eats at the table with us. I reckon we’d better get into our Mejicano garb and find a place to stable the horses.” Maria’s new clothing was more in line with what a Mexican would wear. Her boots were simple, the shirt and trousers homespun.

  Wes removed his hat, gunbelt, and boots. He then stepped out of his familiar Levi’s and denim shirt, eyeing with some distaste the cheap Mexican clothing. It was loose-woven, a light tan in color, and appeared to be only a cut or two above burlap. The shirt fit well enough, and although he missed his belt, the trousers were adequate. The legs were long enough to conceal his Texas boots. The ungainly straw sombrero was the worst.

  “This damn thing’s as big as a wagon wheel,” Wes complained.

  Maria laughed. “Is Mejicano.”

  Wes gathered up his Texas clothing, including his hat. He wrapped it carefully in the brown paper in which the store had wrapped his Mexican garb. Maria brought him the too-big Levi’s and denim shirt. she had worn, and he included them in the package.

  “This goes on the packhorse,” he said. “Now we must find a stable.”

  “I ask,” said Maria.

  Dressed in Mexican clothing, a Colt belted around her lean hips, Wes had to admit the girl might pass as a young Mexican man. While he felt better about his own chances, he still was handicapped with blue eyes. Maria had gone in search of the old Mexican woman from whom they had rented the room, and when she returned, she knew of a stable where they might put up their horses. Leaving the packsaddle in the rented room, they then led their horses to a dilapidated livery barn a hundred yards down the rutted street. This was a poor section of town, and they saw nobody. Wes had tipped the cumbersome sombrero down over his eyes to lessen the possibility of his being recognized as an American.

  “I reckon there’s no point in goin’ back to that room,” Wes said. “Let’s take a look at the town and maybe get some grub.”

  Empty trotted along behind them, suspicious of this strange place. Once they reached the narrow streets lined with cafes and cantinas, Wes began to breathe a little easier, for he and Maria were dressed in the same simple fashion as were the Mexicans. Patient mules drew two-wheeled carts along cobblestone streets. Within the carts were pigs and various fowl, while young boys herded small bunches of sheep and goats. Except for an occasional beggar, all the men seemed bound for some destination. Two women stood outside what was obviously a bordello. But one thing bothered Wes. He and Maria were armed, and the belted Colts immediately set them apart. While the Mexicans avoided them, three men on the other side of the narrow street did not. Two were Anglo, while one was a half-breed, and all were dressed like the border outlaws who had gunned down Nathan Stone back in El Paso. Each wore a tied-down revolver, and they did nothing to conceal their obvious interest in the pair of Mejicanos who were similarly armed. The ‘breed said something, and his companions laughed.

  “Don’t look now,” said Wes, “but we’ve been discovered. We might have gotten by in Mexican clothes, but our guns are givin’ us away.”

  “What must we do?” Maria asked.

  “Into that cantina,” said Wes. “Maybe we can work our way out the back door.”

  But even as they entered the cantina, Wes turned his head just enough to see the trio crossing the street. The cantina was virtually deserted except for the little man behind the bar. Pointing to a keg on tap, Wes held up two fingers, and almost immediately before him were two glasses of vile-looking brew. There was the sound of boots on the wooden floor, as the three men entered the cantina. With his left hand, Wes took a gold coin from his pocket and dropped it on the bar.

  “Madre de Dios,” said the Mexican bartender.

  He held up both hands as though to push Wes away, his eyes on the gold coin that lay on the bar. It glinted in the faint light from a window, and Wes learned to his horror that it wasn’t a coin, but a coin-sized gold medallion. There was the unmistakable likeness of a dragon on the face of it. There was a sharp intake of breath as the significance of it struck Maria. She dropped behind a table as a slug ripped into the bar where she had been standing. Wes hit the floor, rolling to his left, his Colt blazing. Slugs crashed into the bar as the trio began gunning for Wes, but his first shot was true. One of the outlaws was hit in the chest, and when Maria fired from beneath the table, her shot killed another of the trio. Wes cut down on the ‘breed, and when the slug tore into his upper torso, he dropped his weapon and bolted out the door.

  “Come on,” Wes gritted.

  He caught Maria’s hand and they ran down a narrow corridor to the living quarters behind the cantina. There had to be a back door! When they found it—despite their need for haste—Wes eased the door open and peered out. He was looking into a narrow alley, at the backs of other cantinas and shops. There were piles of refuse, empty bottles, and a few discarded tables and chairs with missing legs. From the corner of his eye, Wes caught some movement, but it was Empty, coming on the run.

  “Whatever passes for the law in this town will be here muy pronto,” Wes said. “Let’s get out while we can.”

  They ran down the alley parallel to the street from which they’d entered the cantina, Wes hoping they might reach the lodging house before there was any organized pursuit. A door suddenly opened, revealing the curious face of a Mexican. But it disappeared just as suddenly when Wes drew his Colt. Aware of the danger, Empty ran ahead of them. When they reached the next cross-street, it appeared they had escaped the congested area of the shops and cantinas. Empty had turned back to the south, the direction from which they had entered the town, and the streets seemed deserted.

  “Sensato perro,” Maria said.

  “He’s smarter than I am,” said Wes. “When the shootin’ started up front, he headed for the back door. Now he figures we’re returning to the horses, and that’s where he’ll be takin’ us.”

  “Per’ap we hide in the lodging house,” Maria said.

  “I’m hopin’ you can,” said Wes, “while I lead them on a wild goose chase. I’ll take all three horses, and work my way back to the lodging house after dark. If they mount heavy pursuit, I don’t want them gunning you down along with me.”

  “I wish to go with you,” Maria said. “Per’ap I never see you again.”<
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  “We can’t risk it,” said Wes. “That damn coin I dropped in the cantina was our undoing.”

  “The image of a strange beast,” Maria said.

  “A dragon,” said Wes. “It’s their symbol, and since we’re not part of the gang, they won’t have to think long and hard to figure how and where we got it. By now they know about the seven dead outlaws in the arroyo.”

  Empty led them back to the livery barn by a series of twists and turns.

  “Now,” Wes said, “I want you to go back to the lodging house and stay there until I return for you. Keep the room dark. When they come looking for us, I want them to find tracks of three horses.”

  She didn’t want to go, and Wes watched until she entered the house. He then stepped cautiously into the barn, but saw no one. Listening, he heard a deep snore. In a stall, on a pile of hay, he found the old hostler. Dead drunk, an empty bottle lay beside him, and that suited Wes. He wouldn’t be able to tell the outlaws that Wes had taken the three horses and had ridden away alone. On an upturned wooden crate there was a lantern, and beside it Wes left a coin, careful that it was genuine. If each of the seven dead outlaws had been in possession of one of the devilish medallions, that meant there were at least six more of the golden emblems among the coins Wes had shared with Maria. Quickly, Wes saddled his grulla and Maria’s black. The bay still resisted the packsaddle, but Wes calmed him enough to accept his burden. With the bay and the black on lead ropes, Wes rode south. He chose a trail across open ground, leaving abundant tracks for the outlaws to follow. Time enough to lose them once he had led them away from Maria. Once away from the town and into a concealing forest, Wes turned north, seeking the mountains he had seen earlier. He circled the town, always looking back, but there was no pursuit. That bothered him, along with the growing realization he could—and should—have brought Maria with him. Waiting for darkness, he sorted through the gold coins he had taken from the dead outlaws until he found four of the dragon’s head medallions. Curious, he turned one over and found a number three. Quickly he looked at the others, and they were identical. He had no doubt the dragon’s head symbolized the murderous outlaws, but what of the number—a three—on the opposite side? Uneasily, he waited until the shadows fell before making his way to the distant town. While he had left an obvious trail, there had been no pursuit. That, with Maria on his mind, was enough to arouse a sense of foreboding. Keeping to the shadows, Empty trotting alongside, he rode to the back of the lodging house. There he left the three horses, Empty remaining with them. The back door of the rambling old house wasn’t even bolted, and he caught his breath when he stepped into the hall. The place was dark except for a wedge of light from beneath a single door—the door to the room where Maria was to be waiting. And Maria was there. What was left of her. On a nightstand beside the bed a lamp burned. Maria had been stripped and spread-eagled on the bed, her body a bloody mass of knife wounds. They had tortured her before finally slitting her throat. Wide open, her sightless eyes begged in mute appeal for mercy that had been denied. Her mouth hung open, her lips frozen in a silent scream of pain and terror. Wes ground his teeth in fury, cursing himself for a fool. On the nightstand—if he needed proof—was one of the gold medallions with the dragon’s head. The bastards wanted him to know they had murdered Maria, and they hadn’t followed him because they expected him to return. He knew then what he should have suspected. He had walked into a deadly trap! Empty began barking furiously, all the assurance he needed that the outlaws were waiting for him to break for his horses. Quickly he blew out the lamp. Even as he approached the window, it shattered in a tinkling crash. Lead slammed into the wall and sang off the bed’s brass frame. There was but one way out, and that was through the door and into the hall. The old house had a second floor, and Wes remembered the stairway in the hall. On hands and knees he crept through the door, only to have the hall floor creak. Immediately, from the end of the hall, there was the roar from three different weapons. Lead whipping over his head, Wes fired three times at muzzle flashes. There were groans of pain, gaining him a few seconds to get to the stairs. They creaked badly, but his pursuers didn’t know he had left the hall, and there was more shooting. Reaching an upper hall, Wes made his way toward the rear of the house. He hoped there might be a door leading to an upper balcony, but there was neither. Quickly he felt his way along the wall, searching for a door. Finding one, he stepped into a room where there was a window. But when he attempted to open it, the casing wouldn’t budge. It seemed to be nailed shut. In the dim light from the window, he could see a bed, and beside it, a nightstand. Seizing the nightstand by two of its legs, he used it to smash the window, frame and all. There were curtains, and the sudden draft sucked the loose ends of them out the window. The room being at the very rear of the house, the ceiling had begun to slope downward with the contour of the roof. The window was close enough for Wes, standing on the sill, to grasp the edge of the tiled roof. But the breaking glass had attracted the attention of the outlaws, and as Wes scrambled for the roof, lead began ripping into the side of the house.