Miss Shumway Waves a Wand (6 page)

They even put my teeth on edge.

“Now, do you see what you’ve done?” I said.

“Get ‘em out of here,” Bogle said, confused. “They’ll raise the whole neighbourhood.” Myra and Doc Ansell came running out.

“What’s going on?” Ansell asked, looking over the top of his sun glasses in surprise.

“Notin’,” Bogle said between his teeth. “Just a couple of kids bawling. That ain’t anything, is it?”

Myra looked at him with withering scorn. “So you even bully children, you big cheese,” she said indignantly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Bogle closed his eyes. “You again?” he said, tapping ominously on the table. “Every time I open my mouth, I get a broadcast from you. Listen, these kids want to shine my shoes. Well, I don’t want my shoes shined see? Does that call for anything from you?”

The kids stopped howling and looked at Myra hopefully. They sensed that she was on their side.

“And why don’t you want them shined?” Myra demanded. “Just look at them! They’re like exhumed coffins.”

Bogle loosened his collar. “I don’t care what they look like. I don’t want them shined,” he said, furiously. “If I want them shined, I’ll shine ‘em myself.”

“How ridiculous!” Myra said. “I think you’re just being mean. You don’t want to pay these kids to shine your shoes. You want them to do it for nothing.”

Bogle picked up his pewter mug and flattened it between his hands. “I’ve changed my mind about having my shoes shined,” he said with a hiss.

“Changed your mind?” Myra repeated. “Who did you find crazy enough to swap with you?”

Bogle flexed his fingers. He seemed to have developed acute asthma.

“There’s no need to lose our tempers,” Ansell joined in, soothingly. “If Bogle doesn’t want his shoes shined, then there’s nothing more to be said. We came out because we thought someone was being hurt. Come along, Myra, well go back to our meal.”

“You might do those kids a lot of harm if you frustrate them,” Myra said warmly. “Haven’t you ever heard of repression?”

Bogle blinked at her.

“I wouldn’t have it on toy conscience,” Myra went on. “All for the sake of a peso. Don’t tell me you can’t afford it or have you a hole in your sock?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bogle said, becoming dazed. “Why don’t I let ‘em shine them? What do I care? Let ‘em do anything.”

“There now,” Myra said. “After all this fuss.” She smiled at the two kids and pointed to Bogle’s shoes.

They were on him like terriers on a rat. I’ve never seen anything like it. Bogle, the two kids and the chair went over with a bang that made Bogle’s teeth rattle. The two kids fought Bogle, fought each other and went back and fought Bogle again. They pulled off one of his shoes and threw it into the Square. Then they twisted his toes.

Bogle just lay on his back making a humming noise like he had swallowed a bee.

The kids fastened onto his other shoe. They smeared blacking on themselves, on the floor and on Bogle. White Shirt got so excited that he jumped up and down on Bogle’s chest.

Myra and I just clung together and wept.

Ansell took off his glasses. “I do hope they’ll be careful,” he said mildly. “They’ll hurt him in a moment.”

As soon as White Shirt had got his breath back, he seized Bogle’s other leg. When he found the shoe was missing, he threw it down and rushed at Red Shirt.

Red Shirt didn’t like the look in his eye, and tucking Bogle’s foot under his arm, he tore off in a circle, spinning Bogle round like a top.

Then quite suddenly they both seemed to lose interest in their work and they quit. Maybe, they thought they were giving too much value for money. They stopped rushing round in circles, looked at each other, nodded, regarded Bogle without interest and then put their shining materials away. They stood over Bogle, smiling at him, with two grubby hands held out for payment.

“You’d better pay ‘em,” I said weakly. “Or they might start all over again.”

Hastily he dug out a few coins which he threw at the kids. While they were chasing the money, he got painfully to his feet and inspected a long tear in his trousers.

“Don’t worry about that, Samuel,” Myra said. “It was time you got yourself a new suit anyway.”

Bogle gave her a blank look. Then he limped painfully across the verandah, into the Square and collected his other shoe. He put it on and regarded his feet with a sour eye. Before, his shoes certainly had looked dusty. Now they looked ready for the ash can.

“I hope you’re all satisfied,” he said, in a low, strangled voice.

“Just look at those kids,” Myra said, wiping her eyes. “They’re as happy as larks.”

“Yeah,” Bogle said, creeping back slowly on to the verandah. “As happy as larks.”

Myra heaved a contented sigh. “Well, I enjoyed that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You ought to be pleased you made those kids happy, Samuel. You’re quite a nice piece of cheese after all.”

She waved to the two kids who were standing watching with bright eyes and then she turned to go back into the lounge.

Bogle took out a silver peso and held it up so the kids could see it, then with a tired but triumphant gleam in his eyes he pointed to Myra’s shoes.

They were off the mark like a streak of lightning. Myra hadn’t even time to run for it. She gave a wail of terror and then her legs flew up and she came down on the floor with a jar that sounded like music in Bogle’s ears.

She disappeared under the two kids.

Bogle sat down and relaxed. There was a sharp, ripping sound of tearing linen. It seemed to do Bogle a power of good. For the first time, since I met him, he looked happy.

“Make a good job of it,” he said airily, and then catching my eye, he added, “Didn’t I tell you they were all right little punks?”

The dress was a cross between a nightgown and an Aimee McPherson surplice. It was simple, but it fitted her and she looked swell in it. There’s nothing like white silk to set off blonde hair and Myra looked like she had never said a bad word or done a bad deed when she got it on.

“That kid looks like a saint,” Doc said to me when she had gone to take it off. The old guy was nearly crying. “She looks like a saint.”

“If you mean a Saint Bernard, I’m with you,” Bogle grunted. “That camouflage don’t pull wool over my eyes.”

I didn’t worry what Bogle thought. He didn’t count. Ansell was right. Myra looked the part and if she didn’t startle this Indian fella then I’d give up.

Apart from fixing her up, rehearsing her in the part and choosing a few good showy tricks out of her repertoire, I had to fix the kidnapping angle.

This wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t going to let either Ansell or Bogle in on this. I had to find an excuse so that I could get into touch with this Mexican I knew and wise him up what was wanted.

Once I got hold of him, it was easy. He jumped at the idea. I’d known him for some time. His name was Bastino and he was lust a small-time bandit who got nowhere. I’d done him a good turn once and I knew I could trust him. All he had to do was to kidnap Myra from the inn where I had arranged for us to stay at Pepoztlan after she had returned from her trip to Quinti. I fixed everything and promised to let him know just when to pull it off. I gave him a hundred bucks as a down payment and promised him another three hundred if he pulled it off.

The set-up looked sweet to me. But, on the morning that we were to move to Pepoztlan, something happened t6t altered the whole plan.

We were just getting into the car when a guy from the Post Office came running over with his eyes popping out of his head.

“Now, what’s the trouble?” I said, going halfway to meet him.

He gave me a telegram and stood back, watching my face with excited interest. I shoved a half a buck into his hand and returned to the car, opening the telegram as I walked.

It was from Juden. When I read what he had to say, I cursed softly under my breath. The other three watched me.

“This tears it,” I said, leaning into the car. “Revolution’s broken out in the hills and I’ve got to cover it.”

“What do you mean… revolution?” Ansell said, sharply.

“Another uprising,” I said in disgust. “Can’t these guys keep the peace for five minutes? A bunch of bandits swooped on some Federal troops and cut their heads off. Federal troops are on their way from the capital to deal with them. I’ve got to get over there and give a report on the battle. It may last a week.” “You can’t do that,” Ansell protested. “I’ve fixed everything with Quintl. If we don’t loose Myra on him now, we’ll never do it.”

I thought for a moment. He was right. But, on the other hand, I’d got to look after the
Recorder
. The great American public would want to hear more about these Federal soldiers who had had their heads cut off. You don’t read about a little thing like that every day.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “But you’ll have to do this without me. It’s simple enough and I think I ought to be through in a few days. I’ll meet you at Pepoztlan. Get Myra to see this Quintl and then wait at the inn for me. Okay?”

Myra said, “So you’re going to walk out on me after all?”

“Now, don’t make it difficult,” I pleaded. “You’ll do fine. I know you will.” I put my hand on hers, “And wait for me, kid, I want to see you again.”

“If you ain’t in a hurry, I’ll get out and heave up,” Bogle said, grimacing in disgust. “This sloppy talk gives me a pain.”

That seemed to settle it. Myra, her face hardening, started the Cadillac. “Okay,” she said.

“Run after your stupid little revolution. Do you think I care?” and she drove away fast, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

That was that.

As I might have expected, the Federal troops made a mess of it. When they got to the place where their comrades had been decapitated there was no sign of the bandits and no sign of any bodies. I wasted a couple of days riding around with them, and then they got sick of it and gave up. All I got out of it was a photograph of the place and a dreary report of the unsuccessful hunt. I sent those off, said good-bye to the Captain of the troop who seemed glad to see me go and rode over to Pepoztlan as fast as I could go.

Pepoztlan was a tiny village on the mountain side. The main road had been hewn out of the mountain itself and the few houses of pink stone overlooked the exposed plateau beyond which lay the Indian settlement.

I found Ansell and Bogle resting in the shade at the inn. It wasn’t much of a place, but the wine was good and they did manage to carve up an occasional chicken. I’d been there before, so I knew more or less what I was in for.

I arrived on Saturday afternoon. Since Myra was to see Quintl on the previous Thursday, I thought the whole thing had been settled. My next immediate job was to get in touch with Bastino and fix the kidnapping.

It came as a surprise when I rode into the patio to find only Ansell and Bogle there.

I slid off my horse, tossed the reins to an Indian and went over to them.

“Where’s Myra?” I asked and I admit I felt anxious.

Both Ansell and Bogle looked a little sheepish. It was Ansell who did the talking. “She’s still there,” he said. “Sit down and have a drink.”

“Yeah, this is real tiger’s breath,” Bogle said, filling a horn mug and shoving it into my hand.

“What do you mean… she’s still there?”

“She’s made a hit with Quintl,” Ansell said uneasily. “They wanted her to stay.”

I looked from one to the other, “I don’t get it. How long do you think she’s going to stay there?”

Bogle took off his hat and scratched his head, “Brother,” he said, “them Indians scared the pants off me. I didn’t want to argue with them.”

“Quiet, Bogle,” Ansell said sharply. “Let me explain.”

“You’d better,” I said, feeling mad. “What the hell’s been happening?”

“The truth is, she overdid it!’ Ansell said. “I warned her, but she kept pulling tricks and I guess the Indians fell for her. They think she’s a reincarnated goddess.”

“So what?”

“They won’t let her go,” Ansell said miserably. “We tried to get her away, but they got nasty about it.”

“Knives,” Bogle said, with a little shiver. “Great big knives as long as my arm. I tell you, Bud, they scared me.”

“So you left her, eh?” I said, feeling blood pounding in my ears. “That was a swell thing to do. What sort of men are you—you yellow-gutted monkeys!”

Ansell mopped his face with his handkerchief. “I was waiting for you to come and then I thought we’d turn out the Federal troops,” he explained.

“They’ll take a month to get going,” I said angrily. “I thought you knew this Indian. Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t trust him?”

“It’s not that,” Ansell said quickly. “I’d trust him with my life. It was her fault. You ought to have seen the tricks she did. They were remarkable. I’ve never seen…”

I got to my feet. “We’re getting guns and we’re going right over there and we’ll bring her back. Do you get it?”

Bogle’s eyes popped. “Just the three of us?” he said faintly.

“Just the three of us,” I returned. “Get horses, while I get the guns.”

“You heard what I said about the knives?” Bogle said. “Great big stickers, as long as my arm.”

“I heard,” I returned. “We got this girl into the mess. We’ll get her out of it.”

I left them and dug out the innkeeper. “What have you got in the way of guns, pal?” I asked, after we had shaken hands and patted each other.

“Guns?” His little eyes widened, then seeing my look, he grinned. “More trouble, senor?” he said. “Always trouble with the white senor.”

“Slow up on the chatter and give me some action,” I said shoving him towards the house.

I got action and I got three express rifles and three .38 automatics.

By the time I got back the other two had found horses. I gave than a gun and automatic each and then climbed on to my horse.

“You wouldn’t like to put it off until to-morrow?” Ansell said hopefully. “It’s going to be hot on the plateau right now.”

“It’ll be hot all right,” I said and rode out of the patio. The way to the Indian settlement lay across the exposed plateau which was broken only by patches of forest. There was hardly any shade.

After an hour of heat and flies we came to the Indian village. The sordid settlement shocked me. There were six mud huts, thatched with banana leaves. They stood forlornly in the bright sunlight and the whole place seemed deserted.

I jerked my horse to a standstill and sat staring at the huts. Doc and Bogle came up and halted their animals by my side.

“Is this it?” I said. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yeah,” Bogle said, wrinkling his nose. “Not like Palm Beach, is it?” He rested his arms on the saddle and leaned forward. “Not the kind of glamour parlour Goldiocks is used to.”

“Button up!” I said, feeling furious with Ansell for even bringing Myra to such a dump, let alone leaving her here. If I’d gone with them, we wouldn’t have gone through with it.

Ansell slid off his horse and walked slowly down the beaten path between the huts. Neither

Bogle nor I moved. We sat, with our rifles forward, watching him.

“No one about,” Ansell said, coming back. “Maybe they’re hunting or something.”

In spite of the heat, I suddenly felt my flesh creep, as if a cold hand had touched me.

“You’d better find her,” I said quietly.

“Quintl’s got a place further in the forest,” Ansell said, urging his horse forward.

We followed him.

At the edge of the forest, amid scrub and stones, stood a solid little building made of grey rock.

“This is it,” Ansell said, dismounting.

Bogle looked round. “This ain’t a country to live in,” he said uneasily. “There’s something about this dump I don’t like. Do you feel it, Bud?”

“Don’t be a damned baby,” I said sharply, although I, too, disliked the dank atmosphere of the settlement. I guess it was the complete tillness and the silence that gave me the jumps. Even the trees were motionless.

I dismounted and walked up to the rotten wooden door of the building and thumped on it with my clenched list. The heavy silence was broken only by the sound of my fist.

I stopped and listened. Sweat ran down my face with the exertion of beating on the door. Ansell and Bogle stood a few yards behind me, watching.

“There’s no one there,” I said, stepping back. “They’ve taken her away.”

“I can smell something like a dead horse,” Bogle said suddenly, and he began drawing great breaths of air through his nose.

Ansell said: “For God’s sake, keep quiet.” He joined me at the door. “There must be someone there,” he went on, pressing against the door. “There’s no lock. It’s bolted on the inside.”

I drew back and aimed a kick at the door. It shivered but held firm. I don’t know why it was, but I suddenly felt scared. I felt that something was going to happen over which I had no control, but in spite of this I was going to get into that hut.

I turned to Bogle, “Get off that damned horse and help me, you useless punk.”

Glad to have something to do, Bogle hurriedly dismounted and came over. He examined the door and then drawing back, he crashed his shoulder against it. The door creaked loudly and Bogle’s second charge shattered the bolt and the door crashed open.

A violent, nauseating smell seeped out of the hut. We staggered back before it.

“What is it?” I said, holding my hand over my mouth and nose.

“Someone’s been dead in there for quite a time,” Ansell said, his face going pale.

Bogle turned green, “I gotta weak stomach,” he wailed, sitting down abruptly on the grass.

“I can’t stand this. I’m going to heave.”

I glared round at Ansell. “She’s not dead, is she?” I said.

“Don’t get excited,” Ansell said, struggling with his own nausea. “You wait here. I’ll go in.” He drew a deep breath and peered timidly into the darkness. His eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, could see nothing.

I shoved him aside. “Get out of my way,” I said, and walked into the awful, stinking oven of darkness.

I stood just inside the room, breathing through my mouth, feeling the sweat running from me. At first, I couldn’t see anything, then as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I made out a figure sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall. It was Quintl.

The old Indian was wrapped in a dirty blanket. His head was sunk low on his chest and his hands lay stiffly on the mud floor. I fumbled for a match and with a shaky hand, I scratched a light from the rock wall. Moving forward, I peered down at the Indian, holding the little flame high above my head.