Gun for Revenge (6 page)

Gabriel sat on the bunk in the grim little cell and tried to collect his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. His face was bruised, lips swollen and his head throbbed with pain. And the heat, my God the heat was suffocating.

But bad as the heat was, the horseflies were worse. Their vicious bites kept him squirming. He swatted at them with his hat, wondering as he did why he’d been treated so harshly. Captain Morales had seen him many times before when he’d come to town and there’d never been a problem.

‘You! Gringo!’

Gabriel saw Captain Morales standing on the other side of the bars. The officer was holding a 44-40 Remington revolver. As Gabriel rose and came close he recognized it, and realized Ellie and Escalero must be in trouble.

‘This
pistola
– it is yours, yes?’

‘Yeah. Those are my initials, see,’ Gabriel pointed at the side plate. ‘How’d you get hold of it?

‘I will ask the questions,
hombre
.’

Gabriel waited.

‘The
señorita
,’ Captain Morales said, ‘the
norteamericano
with the pale hair cut so short, what have you done with her?’

‘Nothin’. Why?’

‘Do not bother to lie. I found this,’ he brandished the 44-40 Remington, ‘beside her overturned wagon.’

‘That’s ’cause I gave it to her driver, Miguel Escalero, for protection against
bandidos
. The old pistol he had was one shot away from blowin’ up in his face.’

‘I do not believe you,
gringo
. The old man was found lying not far from the wagon. He was shot many times.’

‘Jesus,’ Gabriel said. ‘Miguel’s dead?’ His blood went cold. ‘What about the woman? She dead, too?’

‘Only you know that,’ Captain Morales snapped. ‘I ask you again – where is she? What have you done with her?’

‘Nothin’. I already told you that, goddammit. Last time I saw her she was—’

‘Was it her gold you were after?’ Captain Morales held up a US gold eagle.

‘Where’d you get that?’

‘It was on the ground where you dropped it after robbing her.’

‘Robb—? Hell, I didn’t even know she had any gold.’

‘Why else would you kill them?’

‘I
didn’t
kill them.’

‘How much more gold was there?’ Captain Morales demanded. ‘And where did you hide it? Tell me and it will go better for you.’

‘Mean won’t hang me twice?’

‘
Gringo
, it is not wise to mock me.’

‘Then quit accusin’ me of somethin’ I didn’t do, for Chrissake! I liked that old man an’ I liked the woman too. But even if I hadn’t, there was no reason for me to shoot them.’

‘But you cannot deny they were at your
rancho
. I saw their wagon tracks there with my own eyes.’

‘Who’s denyin’ it?’

‘This makes you the last person to see them alive.’

‘Not the last. That’d be the
hombre
who pulled the
trigger
.’

Gabriel saw the officer didn’t believe him.

‘Look,
Capitán
,’ he said, trying to control his anger, ‘I know it looks suspicious. And I understand why you think I killed them. But I didn’t, so help me God I didn’t. The last time I saw Ellie an’ the old man, they were alive. We said goodbye an’ they headed back this way.’

‘When was that?’

‘Early mornin’, day before yesterday. They’d spent the night at my place. I even gave them food and water to take with them. Does that sound like someone plannin’ to shoot them later?’

‘A man with gold on his mind will do anything to get it,’ said Captain Morales. ‘You will either tell me where it is, and what you have done with the
señorita
, or I will whip it out of you. And then I will hang you.’

‘For what? You got no proof I shot anyone.’

‘That is where you are wrong,
gringo. El director de pompas fúnebres
is burying the proof at this very moment.’ He walked off, slamming the jail door behind him before Gabriel could repeat that he hadn’t shot Escalero. 

Alone, Gabriel lay on the bunk wondering if Ellie was still alive. And if she was, who had kidnapped her.

The obvious answer was
bandidos de montana
, as the locals called the renegades who roamed the Sierras. They had probably ambushed the wagon, gunned down Escalero when he tried to defend Ellen, found the gold and ridden off with her. But to where? And what did they intend to do with her? Torture her? Pass her around among each other? Give her to their whores for
amusement
? Sell her to other bandits? The possibilities were endless. And what would happen to her once everyone grew tired of her?

The answer to that chilled Gabriel’s blood. He sat up, his mind suddenly clear. He had to break out, track down the bandits and find a way to rescue Ellie. And he had to do it fast!

He clamped his hat over his face to protect it from the flies, closed his eyes and began thinking of how he could escape.

No one bothered Gabriel all day. He had expected to be interrogated again by Captain Morales, but afternoon
turned into evening and the pompous, strutting little
officer
never showed. Neither did the jailor with food or water. Gabriel realized then that Morales was more
interested
in the gold than hanging him, and intended to force him into revealing its whereabouts by starving him.

Well, he thought wryly, why not give the man what he wants?

Dawn arrived. Since the cell had no windows Gabriel had to guess what time it was by the sound of the jailor stirring in the outer office. By now he had a raging thirst and could have eaten two of his own ham-eggs-and-biscuits breakfasts.

Presently the door opened and Captain Morales
strutted
in. Gabriel had to hand it to him. Despite the heat and the early hour he looked as immaculate in his fancy uniform as any parade officer!

Behind him slouched the jailor, carrying a small table and a chair. He placed them before Gabriel’s cell,
withdrew
then reappeared shortly with a bowl of fruit, two cups, pot of coffee and a pitcher of water. He set them on the table, saluted Captain Morales and left, locking the door behind him.

The officer sat at the table and smiled at Gabriel. ‘I thought perhaps you would enjoy sharing my breakfast,’ he said affably.

‘Nothin’ I’d like better.’

‘First, you must share something with me.’

‘I’m way ahead of you,
Capitán
. The gold’s hidden in my cabin.’

Captain Morales gave a wolfish smile.

‘It is not good to start a confession with a lie,
gringo
. My men have already searched what is left of your cabin. The
gold is not there.’

‘Oh, it’s there all right. You just didn’t look in the right place.’

The officer studied him, not sure if he should believe him.

‘If you’ll take me there,
Capitán
, I’ll show you where it is.’

‘And if you are lying,
gringo
?’

‘Shoot me.’ Gabriel grinned. ‘It’ll save you the price of a hangin’.’ 

Hands tied to his saddle horn, Gabriel rode alongside Captain Morales at the head of the tiny column. The
stallion
, as if sensing the gravity of the situation, had made no attempt to act up during the entire ride. But now, as they crested a steep rocky rise and saw the vast desert valley spread out before them, the Morgan pricked its ears and, anxious to be turned loose, quickened its stride.

Captain Morales kicked up his horse, making it keep abreast of the stallion.

‘Do not do anything stupid,’ he warned Gabriel. ‘My men have strict orders to shoot you if you try to escape.’

‘Don’t boil your brains,’ Gabriel advised him. ‘I ain’t goin’ anywhere.’

It took them another thirty minutes to cross the flat, barren valley and reach the
rancho
. Captain Morales ordered his men to dismount and surround the blackened shell of the cabin. Despite the long ride and intense heat they obeyed at the double, sombreros flopping, spurs jingling, rifles held at the ready.

Captain Morales then pressed his pistol against Gabriel’s back, ordered him to walk slowly, and together they entered the ruins.

‘Before I give you the gold,’ Gabriel said, pausing amid
the ashes, ‘do I have your word you won’t shoot me?’

‘As an officer and a
caballero
, I swear it so,’ Captain Morales said. ‘Now, where is the gold?’

‘Under here.’ Gabriel indicated the charred remains of the clothes’ chest. ‘Buried in the dirt.’

Captain Morales kept the pistol trained on Gabriel and ordered him to dig up the gold.

‘I’ll need your saber.’

Keeping his pistol trained on Gabriel, the officer drew his sword and stuck it in the ground.

Gabriel scraped the ashes aside and began to dig. When he was a foot or so down, he uncovered a rusty metal box.

‘Help yourself,
Capitán
.’

‘Lift it out.’

Gabriel obeyed and opened the lid to reveal a canvas sack on which lay coiled a – rattlesnake.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said as the alarmed officer jumped back. ‘It’s dead. See,’ he slipped the point of the saber under the snake, lifted it up and in the same motion flung it at Captain Morales.

The dead snake wrapped around the officer’s face. He stumbled back with a cry. Gabriel jumped him. Slugging Morales with the handle of the sword, he grabbed the pistol and pressed it against the captain’s temple.

‘Tell your men to drop their rifles an’ wait for you down at the creek. Do it, goddammit,’ he hissed when the
officer
hesitated, ‘or I swear to sweet Jesus I’ll put a hole through your brain.’

Captain Morales grudgingly obeyed.

Gabriel waited until the six unarmed
Rurales
were lined up in the hot sun like toy soldiers. Then he let Morales up and told him to join his men. The officer obeyed without uttering a word.

Gabriel then opened the sack and took out a well-worn gun belt, which was wrapped around a holster containing a Colt .45. He strapped it on, fastened the tie-down around his thigh, pocketed a box of cartridges and carried the sack outside to the stallion. He tucked it under his bedroll, mounted up and rode to the crest of the slope.

‘There is no gold,’ he shouted to Captain Morales. ‘Never was. That gold eagle you found, it must’ve belonged to the shooter.’

‘It is of no importance,’ Captain Morales replied. ‘I shall hang you anyway.’

‘We’ll argue about that later,’ Gabriel said. ‘Right now I’m goin’ after the woman. An’ if you or any of your yahoos try to follow me, I’ll dry-gulch every last one of you.’

He kicked the stallion into an easy lope and rode off toward the distant mountains.

That evening he made camp high in the rocky foothills. Towering above him the mountain peaks formed a jagged skyline. An eagle swept effortlessly over the treetops, its single cry soon lost in the vast silent emptiness.

Gabriel removed the saddle and bedroll from the
stallion’s
back, and left the Morgan untied so it could defend itself against any marauding mountain lions.

A bitter wind off the Sierras kept him shivering. But not wanting to attract bandits, he decided against lighting a fire. There were a few strips of jerky in his saddlebag; he chewed one of them, making each bite last as long as he could. But he couldn’t fool his belly and it grumbled for hot beans and coffee. Consoling himself with the thought that tomorrow he might get lucky and shoot a rabbit or a deer, he stretched out on his bedroll, rifle next to him, and lit a cigar.

As he smoked, to keep his mind off Ellie he idly toyed with his Peacemaker, spinning the cylinder and twirling the heavy single-action Colt around on his forefinger. The .45 had fancy ebony grips which were worn smooth from constant use, so smooth he could barely make out the initials M. J. engraved on them.

Mesquite Jennings, he thought wryly. How the hell did
he ever come up with a dime-novel name like that? He chuckled, more from disgust than amusement, and tucked the gun back in its holster. After crossing the border and isolating himself in the cabin, he’d never expected to use it again. He’d also felt that by burying the gun he was
burying
his past. But, as he had learned so often over the years, gunmen with a price on their head seldom got to bury their past or choose their own future.

Resting his head on his saddle, he gazed up at the dark clouds that were gathering overhead. Luck was with him, he realized. Without a moon, anyone passing would not see him hidden among the rocks.

Somewhere, far off, a mountain lion screamed.

It was the last thing he remembered before falling asleep.

He woke up before dawn broke. A dense white mist had descended from the mountains, shrouding everything. Its cold dampness made him shiver. Still huddled under his blanket he listened for a moment, trying to pick up any threatening sound. All he heard was silence. He pulled on his boots, stamped a few times to get his blood going, then relieved himself behind a rock before saddling the
stallion
.

Oh, Lord, what he wouldn’t do for a cup of hot coffee!

He tied his bedroll behind the saddle and went to put his boot in the stirrup. But the horse suddenly shied away and Gabriel went sprawling. Cursing, he slapped the
stallion
on the rump until it backed up in between two rocks. Then he tried again. The Morgan twitched a few times and cow-kicked, but made no attempt to buck him off.

‘I’m probably givin’ you too much credit,’ Gabriel told it, ‘but if that was payback for me whackin’ you with the
rifle, we’re even now. So don’t give me any more crap.’

Pissed off because of the way the day had begun, he cut his last cigar in half, lit it and tried to enjoy it as he rode up into the mountains.

Usually, the higher the elevation the thicker the mist. Today the world was upside down and after a few hours he broke through the mist and found himself following a narrow trail that curved sharply up between dense patches of green shrubs and bushes. Ahead, much higher, dense oak and pine forests clung precariously to the increasingly steep rocky slopes.

He craned his neck and looked up at the rugged peaks that surrounded him on all sides. Silhouetted against the pale blue sky they looked so wild and majestic that normally they would have taken his breath away. But today his mind was on Ellie, and how he must find her quickly, and the scenery had no effect on him.

The trail climbed ever upward. As if to match it the
brilliant
sun climbed higher in the sky. Gabriel felt its heat through his hat. He closed his eyes and dozed, trusting the stallion to find the easiest way through the mountains.

He must have fallen asleep in the saddle because the next thing he knew the Morgan stopped so suddenly that he was thrown against its muscular arched neck.

Jolted awake, Gabriel looked over the stallion’s head – in time to see a green rat-snake slither across the trail.

‘Calm down, you big baby,’ he told the jittery horse. ‘It ain’t gonna bite you.’

The non-venomous constrictor disappeared into the bushes. Gabriel nudged the stallion forward and tried to go back to sleep. It was impossible. The trail had become so steep he had to cling onto the horn just to prevent himself from sliding backward out of the saddle.

They were high up now, and even the invincible Morgan began to labor in the thin air. Gabriel hated to push it beyond its limits, but every second was precious and he spurred the stallion onward.

Shortly after, they rounded a corner and Gabriel saw a large boulder blocking the trail. He grinned as if seeing an old friend. How about that, he thought. After all these years, and he’d found it like it was marked on a map.

He dismounted, and led the horse around the boulder. The trail was covered in loose shale, making it treacherous under foot. Several times the ground suddenly crumbled away causing Gabriel to stumble and almost lose his balance. Ahead, the trail became dangerously narrow in places and the outer edge of the cliff dropped straight down for 1,000 feet.

Gabriel kept his eyes fixed in front of him, leading the nervous stallion along a winding dirt path that cut through giant slab-sided rocks before disappearing into a wooded
barranca
.

Pausing at the mouth of the deep canyon, he stripped off his shirt and swapped it for one he took from the sack. This shirt was white and loose-fitting, like a
poncho
, and hung below his belt. He removed his hat, took out a red cloth and wrapped it around his head. Then he remounted, spurred the stallion forward and rode into the woods.

Soon he smelled burning pine needles. He slowed the horse to a walk. They passed under a large rocky overhang. Ahead, the tree-studded cliffs on either side of him were dotted with caves. Smoke curled out from some of them. And as Gabriel rode closer he glimpsed a white-clad figure holding a bow and a fistful of arrows, watching him from behind a rock.

Making sure his hands were not near his rifle or
six-gun
, he rode further into the canyon. Eyes watched him from various caves and rocks. Gabriel ignored them. Shortly, he reached a clear, shallow stream. He dismounted, knelt and drank from it. The stallion waded in and drank greedily. When Gabriel had quenched his thirst he sat hunkered on his heels and smoked the second half of his cigar.

Nothing stirred. High overhead two hawks circled, drifting effortlessly on thermals.

Gabriel waited patiently, slowly smoking the cigar down to the ash. Then he heard a faint movement behind him. He made no move to see who it was. A shadow passed across his face as a Tarahumara Indian shyly joined him. About Gabriel’s age but much smaller, he wore a
poncho
shirt hanging over his loose white pants, a red headband and
huarache
sandals. He sat cross-legged beside Gabriel but never once looked at him.

Moments later, two more similarly dressed Raramúri – The Runners as they call themselves – arrived. They didn’t look at him either. He ignored them and chewed on his cigar butt.

After a long wait their chief, Victoriano Guitierez, joined them. He was dressed like the others, except he wore a wraparound loin-cloth instead of pants and a
colorful
beaded belt around his waist. Under a red headband his long black hair was streaked with silver and his brown face was badly crinkled. But his eyes were still
beaver-bright
and his smile ageless. A lifetime of running up and down mountainsides had kept him lithe and graceful and he walked silently or, as their cousins the Pimas say ‘with air under his feet’.

Sitting opposite Gabriel, he said. ‘Welcome. It is good
to see my White Brother again.’

‘You too, Victoriano….’ It had been ages since Gabriel had spoken Tarahumara, one of the many dialects of the Uto-Aztecan language, and he hoped he was pronouncing the words correctly.

‘We’ – Victoriano gestured toward the three-man
council
– ‘have long wondered what it was we said that offended you so badly you stayed away all these years.’

Remembering it was considered impolite to speak too quickly after another had spoken, Gabriel waited a moment before explaining that no one had offended him. On the contrary, he said, the Raramúri had sheltered him when he needed shelter, befriended him when he needed friends, and, above all, treated him with kindness and respect, making him feel like a man again. Pausing to let his words sink in, he then added that the reason he had not returned to see them until now was because for most of those years he had either been in prison or hiding from the law.

Victoriano and the council absorbed Gabriel’s words in solemn silence. Presently they nodded to each other as if agreeing to accept his explanation for his long absence.

‘We are pleased to hear you say this,’ Victoriano said to Gabriel. ‘Because to insult a guest, even unintentionally, brings great shame and dishonor to our people.’

Now that the ice had been broken Gabriel and the
soft-spoken
, reclusive Indians talked about everything from his previous stay with them to how poorly their crops had grown this year. Hunting too had been bad. Their finest trackers and distance runners had only run down six deer since the season of the hot sun began.

When Gabriel enquired whether there was any reason for the lack of game during summer, the council
exchanged troubled looks, as if uneasy about answering his question.

‘Has my absence been so long,’ Gabriel asked them, ‘that my brothers can no longer tell me the truth?’

Victoriano spoke for the council. Ever since the Spanish arrived many centuries ago and tried to conquer them, he said, the Raramúri had been driven higher and higher into the
Barranca del Cobre
. But they had always remained free and supported themselves by hunting, farming and cattle rearing. Now, he added angrily, rumors of silver mines had lured hordes of whites and mestizos into the mountains, their need for fresh meat threatening to exterminate all the deer and other wild game.

When Gabriel asked Victoriano what the council planned to do about the invaders, the chief shrugged and replied, what could they do? Unlike the whites, who were more numerous than raindrops, the Raramúri could not afford to start an all-out war. For, regardless of the final outcome, the great loss of young men would make them losers.

‘No,’ he concluded bitterly, ‘war is not the answer for my people. We must avoid conflict at all costs.’

‘We shall move our families higher into the mountains,’ Luna Chacarito, the youngest council member, put in angrily, ‘as high as the Cloud Forests if necessary. For only that way will our women and children be safe from the guns of the whites and mestizos.’

There was a long silence. Gabriel hoped he wasn’t
looking
at a people facing extinction. He also hoped he could find a way to mention why he was there without offending them or making it seem like he was only there for his own benefit. The Raramúri were a generous, sensitive, giving people and expected little in return. But they were not
stupid and knew when they were being used.

As if reading his mind, Victoriano said: ‘Enough about our pain. Why has my White Brother chosen this day to return to us?’

‘I need your help,’ Gabriel replied. He then explained about Ellen being kidnapped by bandits, adding that
eventually
he could track them down and perhaps find a way to rescue her. But this would take time, lots of time, and by then the woman might be dead or worse. But if he could use one of their expert trackers, he’d find her quickly and maybe still save her life.

Victoriano and the council nodded to show they
understood
his urgency, but no one spoke. Sensing they wanted to discuss the matter alone, Gabriel excused himself and sat on a rock while the Indians talked.

Above him, now that he’d been accepted, women in bright-colored sacklike tunics and long woolen skirts emerged from the caves with their children in tow. Gabriel recognized some of them and waved. They shyly
acknowledged
him and went about their daily chores.

Time dragged by. The Raramúri were a deliberate people and Gabriel knew better than to try to rush them.

At last the council discussion ended and Victoriano joined him. It was decided, he said. Their best tracker, Cerrildo, would go with Gabriel to help him find his woman. But before this could happen everyone had to participate in a special
tesguinada
. At the religious
ceremony
the men would consume large quantities of an extra-strong
sugiki
, allowing their spirits to roam free so they could persuade their God to look favorably upon Gabriel’s search.

Gabriel, who’d often gotten cockeyed drunk on maize beer when he’d stayed here before, wished he could start
searching for Ellen at once. But there was no chance of that, not if he wanted Cerrildo to track for him.
Tesguino
, he knew, was as important to the Raramúri culture as astronomy was to the Mayans. So he unsaddled the stallion, left it loose, and accompanied Victoriano and the council up the steep rocky slope to the main cave.