The Captive Heart (18 page)

Chapter 25

T
wo hours later they set out on foot toward the bottom of the bluff, quietly, keeping to the shadows. They stopped once while Domingo debated about whether to circle around and silence the lookout on the bluff, but in the end he decided it was too risky. If the guard got off a single shot, the others would be warned and there would be no chance of escape. He moved ahead slowly, staying under the trees.

Working their way over boulders and rocks, hugging the bottom of the sheer cliff to avoid the eyes on top, they rounded the bluff and got their first glimpse of Diablo Canyon, past the bluff and down to the left.

Some of the bandits had built a huge fire in front of a long bunkhouse, and by the light of the fire Domingo and Jake could see the lay of the place. The house and bunkhouse sat opposite them on the other side of the canyon, and in the weak light of a half-moon they could just make out the barn and corral, deeper into the canyon to the left.

“We have a chance,” Domingo whispered. “Rachel is in the barn, and if we are careful we can get to it without being seen.”

“How do you know she's in the barn?” Jake asked. Domingo's reasoning constantly baffled him, though he was seldom wrong.

“She is too valuable to tie her outside for the coyotes, and there are only three main buildings. The outhouse and smokehouse are too small, and the woodshed is falling down, so Rachel is either in the house, the bunkhouse, or the barn. I know that El Pantera has a woman, and his woman will never allow a pretty young girl to stay in the house. If he put her in the bunkhouse with thirty men she would not last the night.” A shrug. “Unless she is dead, she has to be in the barn.”

Jake nodded. “So how do we get to the barn?”

“
We
don't. You will wait here and watch. I will stay under the canyon wall where the lookout can't see me until I can get behind the corral fence and follow it to the barn. Watch for me to come around the back side of the barn—with Rachel, I hope. When you see us come out, I want you to get back to the horses,
quietly
. Bring them down to the trail and wait for us. We will need to get away quickly.”

“I want to go with you. Rachel is my girl.”

Domingo patted his shoulder. “I know this, but your clumsy gringo feet would get us caught, so
listen
—you must do exactly as I say. There will be a guard at the barn, and I will have to take him down. If you hear a shot, or if you see me come out on horseback, run. Don't wait for me, just run back to the horses as fast as you can and get away from here. Do you understand?”

Jake nodded. “Be careful, amigo.”

Domingo disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jake to wonder if maybe he should have brought along the rifle, just for consolation.

A half hour passed and nothing changed. The men around the campfire came and went, laughed and sang and gambled and squabbled, but none of them made a move toward the barn.

And then, suddenly, Jake sensed movement in the corral. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. He held a hand up to block the glare of the distant campfire, and in the moonlight he could make out forty or fifty horses shifting like a tide in the corral, the whole herd trotting toward the far end in the shadow of the canyon wall.

Something had made them nervous. Jake couldn't see him at that distance, but he knew it could only be Domingo, creeping along behind the fence toward the barn.

He held his breath, watching so intently that he was completely unaware of anything behind him until he heard a little noise like metal scraping against leather. It was a faint sound, and very brief, like a pistol being drawn from a holster. And it was very close.

He froze. He lay perfectly still on the rock, waiting, hoping he was mistaken.

But then someone whispered into his ear.

“Did you really think it would be so easy, gringo?”

Jake didn't look around to see who it was. It didn't really matter—his job was to watch out for Domingo. He yelled as loud as he could.

“DOMINGO! IT'S A TRAP! RUN!”

He expected to be shot any second, but all he heard was laughter. There were
two
men behind him—he could hear them both laughing.

One of the bandits cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted even louder than Jake, “Sí, Domingo! It is a TRAP! Run, Domingo, RUN!”

The two bandits cackled at themselves, and in the dark distance Jake saw a figure rise up from behind the fence.

Domingo. He had almost made it to the barn.

Two shadows appeared from behind the barn, two more rushed around from the front, and two others rose up from the field behind Domingo. All six dark figures converged on him and a short, furious fight ensued. No shots were fired, but a minute later Jake could make out a small gang of men dragging a limp body up the rocky road toward the campfire.

He rolled over slowly and sat up. One of his captors held a revolver, the other a shotgun.

“If you have a weapon, gringo, you would be wise to hand it to me. Slowly. My amigo, his shotgun has a very light trigger and he is always a little nervous.”

“I have no weapons.”

Again they laughed. “What were you going to do, throw rocks?”

“Maybe the gringo was going to shout insults at us,” the other one said, and then doubled over, chortling at his own joke.

“Come, get to your feet, boy. Ochoa will be here with your horses in a minute. Oh, sí, we know where you hid your horses. Our sentries have been watching you all evening. We thought you two young fools would
never
make your move.”

———

There were at least twenty bandits sitting around the campfire in front of the bunkhouse on makeshift benches and short sections of logs, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and swigging from whiskey bottles and pottery jugs. The bandoliers were gone, and most of the pistols, but the men looked as fierce as ever. El Pantera himself rose from his seat near the fire and set his jug on the ground as the horses trotted into the firelight and his men tossed Jake roughly to the ground in front of him.

Domingo lay at the far end of the circle holding his ribs, one eye swollen nearly shut, bleeding from his mouth, his hat missing. He rose up onto an elbow and looked at Jake. In place of his usual blank defiance there was a note of apology in the native's face, of sorrow. More than anything else, the look in Domingo's eyes struck fear into Jake's heart. If Domingo was defeated, all hope was lost. They were going to die.

“Put their horses in the barn,” El Pantera said. “I will look them over in the morning and decide. As for this one”—he nudged Jake with his foot—“he is young and healthy. What do you think, my compadres? Perhaps we should liven our fiesta with a little sport?”

A cheer went up and half the men jumped to their feet, shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

El Pantera knelt down and helped Jake to his feet—gently, smiling as if he were a friend. He slapped the dust from Jake's shirt and squeezed a shoulder, then turned to his men with a look of exaggerated fear.

“I don't know. He is a strong young buck . . . perhaps I should let someone else try him first. I am afraid he will
hurt
me.”

Raucous laughter and more cheers. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

He turned back to Jake and shrugged. “What can I do? My men have been with me in the field for a month and they have fought very hard. They are good men, and I have promised them a grand fiesta. Now they want their entertainment and I cannot deny them.”

A large knife appeared from behind his back and he held it in front of Jake's face. Firelight glinted from the steel. His men cheered, chanting him on.

“What do you say, young buck? You and me,
mano a mano
!”

Jake didn't answer.

El Pantera held his free hand out to one of his men, wiggled his fingers. The ragged bandit grinned, drew a knife from a sheath at his belt and handed it, butt first, to his leader. El Pantera lifted Jake's hand, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and stepped back.

“I will make you a deal,” the bandit said. “If you win, my men will let you and the girl go free, no?” He looked to his men, who grinned broadly and laughed, nodding agreement. These were men who had fought alongside El Pantera often, in close combat. They knew how this would end.

Jake stared, holding the blade loosely at his side. When the clamor died he said calmly, “I don't fight,” and tossed the knife into the dirt at its owner's feet.

El Pantera blinked. His brow furrowed and his head tilted.

“You don't
fight
?” He squinted, his mouth slightly open. Quick as a snake, his fist slashed through the air and struck Jake flush in the jaw.

Jake staggered, but didn't go down. Holding his arms down at his sides, refusing even to rub his aching jaw, he straightened up and stared.

El Pantera turned to his men, eyes wide with mock surprise. “He doesn't fight!”

More raucous laughter as El Pantera looked Jake up and down—his farmer's clothes, the flat wide-brimmed hat, the bowl-cut hair.

“I
see
,” he said. “You are from Señor
Bender's
tribe! I have heard rumors that your people don't believe in fighting, but I thought this could not be true. Is it?”

Another nod.

The bandit leader stroked his chin, thinking. “I wonder, do you believe in
dying
?” The tip of his knife came up slowly and pressed against Jake's belly. “This knife has already met one of your kin. Tell me, young buck, if I am about to do the same to you, will you fight
then
?”

Jake shook his head. “It is a sin to kill. It is against Gott's law.”

El Pantera chuckled, shaking his head as he lowered the knife.

“
Ayeee
. You people are
loco
.” He turned away and paced beyond the fire, stopping at the other end of the little circle made by his men. He stared down at Domingo. Holding his ribs, Domingo hobbled to his feet and stared back, defiant.

Standing nose to nose with Domingo, El Pantera said, “Tell me, young buck—what would you do if I was about to slit your
friend's
throat while you watch? Would you fight then?”

El Pantera raised the knife and casually laid the razor edge under Domingo's jaw. Domingo didn't flinch, his hands hanging at his sides. The bandit turned and leered at Jake, his white eye reflecting the red of the fire.

Dead quiet hung over them until one of the men hissed, “Do it!
Kill
the traitor, my
capitán
.”

“Silence!” El Pantera shouted. The smile disappeared from his face and he glared at Jake, waiting for an answer.

Jake's breathing quickened, but he was not looking at the bandit leader. With deep sorrow he looked Domingo in the eye and said quietly, “I fear hell more than I fear you, El Pantera. If you choose to murder this man in cold blood, it is between you and Gott. I will not throw away my own soul.”

El Pantera considered this for a second and his eyes grew fierce. He shoved Domingo down and stalked back toward Jake.

“But this makes no sense!”
he raged, waving his arms, the knife still flashing in his hand. “Look around you! I am king of this place! Why would a young man think he can come into my camp and steal a girl, a girl who belongs to
me
, without a fight?”

Then he froze, peering deep into Jake's eyes as the answer came to him. He crept closer so that their faces were mere inches apart, and a knowing grin turned up the corners of his lips.

“Aaaaahhh,
now
I see. A young man would only do this if he was
not
thinking. A young man would only do this if he was in
love
with the girl! Tell us the truth, gringo. This girl, she is your lover, no?”

Jake swallowed hard, but said nothing. It was answer enough—the bandit read his eyes.

“Rodrigo!” he shouted. “Bring the girl!”

One of the older bandits trotted away toward the barn. A few minutes later he came back dragging Rachel by an arm. He flung her down next to the fire, and she looked up at Jake, her eyes red with weeping.

She shook her head slowly, mouthing the word
no
.

His heart melted when he saw the terrible sorrow in her eyes, for he knew his Rachel did not fear for her own life. He nodded to her, slightly, his heart grieving already over the life they would never share, and hoping his own glance conveyed as much as hers. Even now, she was the finest sight in all the world.

Chapter 26

E
l Pantera paced back and forth between them.

“Do you see my problem, young buck?” He spread his hands and collected devoted gazes from his men. “We are having a fiesta! My men are weary, and like any benevolent leader I want to entertain my troops.

“Now, I have had a taste of tequila and I am in the mood for a fight, but if you will deprive my men of their sport, then I think the next best thing is to offer them this little red-haired girl as a reward and let them amuse themselves. For me this would be a shame because my men, they are rough, and they will ruin her. She is a great prize and I would lose a lot of money, but what else can I do? I have already promised and I cannot disappoint them. I am a man of my word, young buck.”

Their eyes locked and El Pantera waited for his answer, the only sound the crumbling of a spent log in the campfire. Sparks danced upward, and one last desperate gamble came to Jake's mind. There was still a small chance.

“I will fight you,” he said at last. “But not with a knife. I will wrestle with you.”

The men laughed uproariously at this, slapping their knees and pounding each other's backs.

Grinning, El Pantera held up a hand to silence the laughter.

“Wrestle?”
He raised his knife between them in a clenched fist. “To die on an enemy's blade is an honorable end, a warrior's death. You would rather have your neck twisted like a chicken? I do not understand you at all, gringo.”

He stared a moment longer in silence. When Jake didn't answer, the bandit shrugged, tossed the knife away and took off his jacket, still shaking his head in disbelief. “But if this is your choice I suppose I must honor the wishes of a guest.”

Jake reluctantly tossed his hat aside and took off his work coat, the gravity of the situation only beginning to sink in. His chances against this seasoned warrior were extremely slim. He would most likely lose—and die. But a slim chance was better than none, and El Pantera had given his word in front of his men that he would let Rachel go if Jake won.

The bandits made a great happy fuss as they moved back to make room, tipping the short log sections they'd been sitting on and rolling them out of the way while El Pantera dropped his gun belt and stripped off his shirt. A scattering of glossy scars pocked his lean frame, the residue of many battles.

Jake declined to take off his shirt with Rachel watching, but he removed his suspenders. No sense giving El Pantera one more thing to grip.

The bandits closed about them in a ring, shouting and cursing, cheering on their leader. Jake and El Pantera circled each other in a crouch, feinting and testing, looking for an opening until suddenly the bandit rushed him and they locked arms.

El Pantera tried to sweep his legs right away, but Jake was ready. He kept his feet back, wide apart, so as the bandit tried to sweep he took advantage of the split second when the taller man was off-balance. He surged forward and both of them toppled to the ground with Jake on top.

But he couldn't hold El Pantera, who was lean and strong, with ropy muscles as hard as iron. In a wild, unexpected flurry of twisting and writhing and jolting elbow shots, the bandit escaped his grasp and crabbed away.

They both jumped up and circled each other again, the hoots and shouts of El Pantera's cheering section more raucous than ever. They went at each other for ten minutes, neither of them able to get a clenching hold on the other, but then Jake began to notice that the older man was panting. He pressed, keeping the pressure on, never giving El Pantera a chance to catch his breath, and finally found an opening.

He noticed that every time he charged, El Pantera tried to hook him with his left arm and take him down.

Jake charged again, but this time he blocked the left with a forearm, ducked under it, and before the bandit knew what was happening Jake's arm was locked around his neck from behind. El Pantera fought like a wildcat, clawing at Jake's forearm, hooking his legs, flailing with his elbows, but Jake had him. He would not let go.

They toppled over, Jake landing on his back in the dust with El Pantera on top of him. The bandit flung himself from side to side, twisting, squirming, trying to turn over or find some leverage so he could get that crushing arm off of his throat, but Jake had him and would not let up.

Suddenly El Pantera's hand ceased clawing at Jake's forearm and flopped into the dust beside him. His whole body went limp. Assuming the bandit had lost consciousness, Jake released the pressure on his neck, shoved El Pantera aside and rolled away from the limp body.

He crawled a few feet and stopped to catch his breath, still on hands and knees, his heart already swelling with joy and pride. By some miracle he had
won
, and now he would claim his prize.

There was a strange murmur among the bandits as Jake drew himself up onto his knees, but he didn't realize what was happening until a boot crashed into the side of his head. He spun around and hit the ground, dazed.

El Pantera leaned over him, his grinning face swirling among bright spots of light.

“Perhaps next time you will not be so quick to believe your victim has gone to sleep. Ahh, but then there will be no next time for you, young buck.”

Jake tried to roll away and get to his feet, but before he could get up El Pantera's bony fist smashed into his ear. This was not wrestling, and Jake knew nothing of boxing, but they were in El Pantera's camp and the rules, apparently, were flexible. A rousing cheer went up from the other bandits as Jake staggered to his feet and stumbled backward, reeling before a hail of blows to his face, and went down again. This time the bandit pounced on him, straddling his chest and locking his long fingers around Jake's throat.

Jake bucked and fought with all his remaining strength, trying to pry the bandit's hands from his throat, but there was no escape. El Pantera's iron claws held, and his thumbs pressed hard into Jake's windpipe. The cheer began to fade into the distance as Jake's vision narrowed so that he saw only the bandit's grinning face.

He had lost. As the world began to slip away his last thought was of Rachel, and how he had failed her.

But then, amid angry shouts from the bandits, the hands released their hold as El Pantera was violently wrenched from his chest. Jake rolled onto his side, coughing, gasping, and opened his eyes. El Pantera lay on the ground with Domingo on top of him, pummeling his face for the few seconds it took for the others to close in and drag him off their leader. A half dozen of them threw Domingo to the ground and attacked him, all of them at once.

El Pantera sat up, wiping blood from his mouth. Domingo lay six feet away, facedown, unconscious, with a bandit's pistol pointed at the back of his head. The bandit, a toothless old man in a straw sombrero, held a tenuous finger on the trigger and looked to El Pantera for approval.

But El Pantera shook his head, raised a hand. “No, Miguel, save that one. If you shoot him now he won't even feel it. I want to take my time with him. Before I am finished he will beg for a bullet, but it will not come.”

Getting slowly to his feet, El Pantera limped over and picked up a bottle, bit the cork out of it and took a long pull. When it came back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand and waved roughly at the prisoners.

“Take the three of them and chain them in the barn. Tomorrow, after the
jefe
comes for the girl, we will take our time with the other two.” He glared at Jake as he said this, and the look in his eye sent chills down Jake's spine.

Rachel lay curled up in the dirt, weeping into her hands. One of the bandits grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet and shoved her toward the barn. Another very large man lifted Domingo like a rag doll and slung him over a shoulder while two others prodded Jake toward the barn with their rifles. Rachel broke away from her captor and threw herself at Jake.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her warmth, a touch of heaven in the middle of hell. She looked up at him, her eyes full of questions.

“How did you find me?” she whispered, in Dutch, so the guards wouldn't understand.

The two Mexicans behind him cursed and jabbed Jake with their rifles, but he only held her tighter and kept walking.

“Ada,” he said. “She made it all the way home—with Little Amos.”

“Oh, thank Gott! Did you find Aaron?”

A guard clouted his ear with a fist, but he clung to Rachel, shielding her.

“Jah, and he was still alive when I last saw him, but just barely.”

She buried her face against his chest and wept.

The guard punched him in the back of the head, shouting, but then the one carrying the lantern intervened and said, “Let the two young lovers have their little moment. They don't know what is coming tomorrow. A moment of bliss will only make their torture worse.” All the guards laughed, as if this was a cheerful thought. They kept on prodding Jake with their rifles, but at least they let Rachel walk with him to the barn.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears, and cried, “Jake,
why
? Why did you come to this awful place?”

He tried his best to smile with his swollen face, refusing to let even a hint of regret tinge his voice. “Rachel, how could I not come for you? How could I live with myself if I didn't try?”

“But now they will take your life!” she wailed.

He pressed her head to his chest and whispered into her ear, “You
are
my life.”

Once inside, one of them grabbed Rachel by the hair and snatched her away. She screamed, reaching out to Jake, and he fought to get to her, but two others took his arms and dragged him to a stall on the opposite side of the barn.

As the bandit flung Rachel into her stall, he could hear her sobbing, even above the rattle of the chains.

The big man dumped Domingo's limp body in the same stall with Jake, then turned around and left. Domingo never even twitched.

Two bandits remained in the stall with a lantern. One of them knelt down with a pair of irons, pulled out a little T-shaped key and fastened the irons onto Domingo's wrists.

A log chain snaked through the dirt and straw of the stall, its ends padlocked to the corner posts. The bandit snapped a padlock through a link in the middle of the log chain, securing Domingo's shackles to it.

Tightening the screws on Jake's handcuffs, the other one said, “There is enough slack in the chain so you can reach the water bucket, gringo.” He nodded toward a grimy oak bucket against the wall. “We wouldn't want you to die of thirst—El Pantera knows much more interesting ways to die. Someone will bring food later, if there is anything left after the hogs are fed.”

Both bandits laughed at this, but the younger one, lifting his lantern and looking around the stall, said, “Miguel, where is the other lock?”

The toothless old bandit shrugged. “
No sé.
”
I don't know.
“Maybe Pablo took it with him. He's an idiot.”

The younger one railed, “There were six locks in here only a few days ago! What do these morons
do
with them? How can you expect me to put this gringo on the chain without a lock?”

“No sé!” Miguel repeated with raised eyebrows and an exaggerated shrug. “I work the garden. I don't know nothing about no chains—
you're
the jailer.”

Both of them were weaving and slurring a bit. The mescal had been flowing all night, and it made Jake think maybe there was one slim chance left. Maybe they didn't know. It was worth a try.

“Um,
excúsame
,” he said, and both bandits stared at him as if they didn't know he could talk.

“Do you have a key to
that
lock?” he asked, pointing to the padlock that held the end of the log chain around the corner post.

“Sí,” the younger one said, holding up a key ring full of keys.

“Well then, why don't you just pass the chain through my arms and lock it back to the post? It will be easier for me to move around the stall, and you won't need another lock.”

Jake held his breath, afraid the two bandits would know what he was up to, but they just looked at each other, shrugged and went to unlock the chain from the corner post. After they passed the long chain through Jake's arms they padlocked it back to the post, picked up their lantern and left him in the dark.