El Paso: A Novel (70 page)

EARLIER THAT MORNING
Arthur ran fresh out of patience. He’d discussed his decision with his father and the others after they’d come into the camp with Henry Flipper in the lead. It had been nearly a week and both the Colonel and Johnny Ollas had recuperated enough to be on horseback, though Johnny had to be strapped into his saddle. Riding was painful, but little more so than bouncing around in the back of Ah Dong’s infernal wagon. Ah Dong had made crutches for both of them so they could hobble around.

“We can’t keep on following him all over Mexico,” Arthur said. “I’m going to make my move.”

He told them he was going to ride ahead with Bob and Slim and confront Villa personally, and alone.

“Not so long as I can still sit a horse,” the Colonel told him. “I’ve come too far and been through too much to squat on the sidelines now.” Johnny Ollas insisted on coming, too. “It’s my wife,” he told Arthur. By the time it was over, all of them said they were going—even Flipper, who, against his better judgment, refused to be left behind. By late afternoon, they had caught up with Villa’s party, who had camped in a grove of trees.

Some kind of celebration was in progress. Through his field glasses Arthur could see that they had strung a large object from a tree branch and somebody was swatting at it clumsily with a stick. From the distance faint sounds of laughter wafted back toward them. Arthur motioned them forward at a slow, even pace so they wouldn’t be taken for attackers.

TIMMY HAD BEEN SWATTING AT THE PIÑATA
for nearly ten minutes, blindfolded, as was the Mexican custom. He’d only hit it once or twice, and it remained intact. When it was Katherine’s turn she, too, stumbled around swiping thin air, but finally with a lucky strike whacked it solid, and the piñata burst open, showering them with the little gifts Tom Mix had collected from the men. There wasn’t much of real value, but everybody had contributed something. There were centavo coins and some little paper Mexican flags, and someone had even thrown in some used pencils.

There was a faded picture of a soldier and his wife, and a pair of shoelaces, and some brass cartridge casings that had been hammered into tiny candlesticks, as if for an altar. Also a number of good-luck charms—rabbits’ feet, bear claws, buckeyes, and other jujus. Someone had coughed up a tooled leather belt, and the mess men had baked a lot of cookies and cakes, in fact used up nearly all their sugar. Villa himself had even whittled a couple of his little wooden animals, one in the shape of the jaguar that Katherine had had her run-in with. He’d also considered carving a gila monster but thought better of it.

The soldiers surrounded Katherine and Timmy, laughing and drinking coffee, and pointing as they examined their tender treasures being found. There were more smiles than anyone had seen in months. Just then came a cry from one of the guards.

“Vaqueros!”

They all turned toward the party of people riding slowly toward them. Villa thought he recognized the woman who hobbled behind on foot. As they got closer, he recognized Johnny Ollas, too, minus a leg. He shook his head. Who was going to turn up next—that old gringo Jack Robinson? Villa’s men had mounted and now rode out to the edge of the woods to meet them, rifles at the ready.

Arthur had put on his most somber expression and his mood matched it. Far as he was concerned, it had come down to live or die. Mick’s death still lay heavily upon him. It was as if, by dying to help save Arthur’s children, Mick had somehow cheated him out of vengeance. Arthur no longer felt angry with Mick; he didn’t feel sorrow, either; instead there was just an awful sad weight that nagged in his mind.

“
Buenas tardes
,” Villa said. Katherine had a pincer grip on her brother’s arm to keep him from shouting out. She wasn’t sure what the plan was, but didn’t want to spoil anything.

“I recognize Señor Ollas here,” Villa said. “I’m glad he survived his ordeal. And I’m surprised to see old Bob, and Slim, too, as well as this woman. So I suppose I can guess you must be Shaughnessy.”

“That would be me. I am Arthur Shaughnessy, and I’ve come for my children.”

“Then I expect you have come here to kill me, huh?” Villa’s eyes were narrowed. A little smile began to curl beneath his mustache, but his hands remained by his sides.

“Whoever says that is a liar,” Arthur said.

“I believe it is so,” the general replied.

“Why?”

“Because everybody says it is so. They believe that you were responsible for the attack on my headquarters back at Reyes.”

“Do you always believe what everybody says?” Arthur asked. He leaned back in the saddle and crooked his leg over the pommel so that he was sitting brazenly and impertinently, almost sidesaddle.

“Of course I do,” Villa answered. He spat on the ground.

“Well, General,” Arthur continued, “do you always believe what everybody says about
you
?

“What do they say about me?”

“That you’re a lying, thieving, kidnapping, no-good son-of-a-bitch.”

Villa looked puzzled for a moment. He squinted even harder and turned his head slightly to the left, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. From the blue sky behind Pancho Villa, unexpectedly there emerged a small butterfly that fluttered about his hat. It was a white-darted yellowheart, an extremely rare species Arthur had seen in picture books but had not yet collected, or even seen. In fact, the only known collected specimen had been lost in a fire.

“They say this about me?” the general asked.

“I’m saying it,” Arthur replied, and with an almost noiseless motion, so deft and smooth and sudden even the ferocious Fierro did not detect it in time, Arthur whipped his revolver out of its holster so that in a flash it was cocked and leveled at Pancho Villa.

“And,” Arthur continued, “if you don’t return my children right now, I’ll blow your greasy head off.”

Villa looked as though his feelings were hurt. Behind them, Colonel Shaughnessy cleared his throat, plainly not approving of the way the conversation was developing.

Villa looked back at his men, who had by this time raised up their weapons. Then he turned to Fierro and asked something in Spanish.

“Greasy,” the butcher replied. “You know—
greasy
.” He tapped his head. “He called you ‘greasy,’” Fierro said.

Pancho Villa began to scowl and turned icily on Arthur’s little band. “I wasn’t sure I heard you right,” he told Arthur.

The white-darted yellowheart butterfly continued to flit around Villa’s head, rare and beautiful as the Hope diamond. Arthur couldn’t help imagining how impressive it would look pinned in a special case in his collection on the wall of his study back in Boston, and the thought of a net fleetingly crossed his mind. At almost the same moment an irony occurred to him: that he was actually in one of those famous Mexican standoffs he’d read about.

“I apologize for any offense,” Arthur said. “I just want my children back.”

Villa couldn’t tell exactly where this was headed. Of course, his men could blow Arthur to rags, but he doubted they could do it before Arthur put a hole through him first.

“You sent a man to negotiate a ransom,” Villa said.

“And you murdered him in a despicable way.”

“So why can’t you and I negotiate something? Just us two parties.”

“I’m negotiating right now,” Arthur said. “Your life for my children. Take your pick.”

He was hoping Villa would blink, but it occurred to him they could also stay here all night and somebody would get tired or mad and call his bluff.

But Villa saw something in Arthur Shaughnessy’s eyes he didn’t like, and the way the words rolled off Arthur’s tongue sent chilling reverberations through his body.

“I don’t like holding people’s children,” Villa informed him. “I’d much rather go for bigger game.”

“What might that be?”

“You.”

“Why? I don’t have any money.”

“You own a railroad, don’t you?”

“No. My father does, but it’s broke, anyway.”

“Is that a fact? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s in debt. There’s more money going out than coming in.”

“Railroads have property, don’t they? Cash some in and I’ll give you back these kids.”

Arthur heard his father clear his throat again. “I think the person you want to ransom is me,” the Colonel said.

“You? Who are you?”

“I am Colonel Shaughnessy. I own the railroad.”

“I have met you before, señor. You’ve aged.”

“So have you, but it’s beside the point. Why don’t you turn those children loose and take me instead? I’m the only one who can raise a ransom.” Arthur wanted to turn and look at his father, but knew if he did Villa’s riflemen could blow him and everybody else to Kingdom Come.

“You’ve injured yourself, señor,” Villa observed.

“I broke my leg trying to find you. Release these children and take me in their place. I’ll see what I can do. They can’t get you any money, but I can.”

Villa considered this for a moment. He didn’t want to waste time, seeing as how a gun barrel was pointed at his heart, and might even go off accidentally.

“Colonel—” Arthur began. He hadn’t taken his steely glare off of Villa, but his father cut him short.

“Don’t contradict me, son,” the Colonel growled.

“You’d better to do it, Chief.” These tense words belonged to Tom Mix, who’d been watching from the crowd.

“Who asked you?” Villa snapped. “I don’t take orders from capitanes.”

Mix went on. “I’ve been the one responsible for taking care of those kids and they don’t belong out here; too many things can happen.”

Villa mulled this over, too. He wanted to get this over with and not have a gun pointing at him. “Those kids have been a burden to me,” he said finally. “Besides, they need to be in school.”

“What about my wife?” Johnny Ollas asked.

“I’ll throw her in for good measure. She’s rude to me and calls me names,” Villa told him.

The Colonel nudged his horse forward. “Somebody’ll have to help me down,” he said. Villa motioned for some soldiers to assist the Colonel.

Arthur felt completely undone by what was happening. It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way, but he could see the perfect sense in his father’s argument. The children would be free, and at least the Old Man might be able to hold his own with someone like Villa. Still, he was torn by the idea that now his father would have to survive in the hands of such a creature. Would it never end? He could think of nothing to say, and while he was saying nothing Villa told Mix to bring the children.

“What’s to keep you from killing us all once I take this gun off you?” Arthur asked prudently.

“My word says so,” Villa responded.

“All right, I’ll take it,” Arthur said. “But before I put this back in its holster, I also want your word that you’ll keep open some kind of line of communication with us. Keep us informed about my father. We’re going back to El Paso. The telegraph depot will know how to reach us.”

“Done,” Villa said.

Katherine and Timmy were standing in front of Arthur’s horse. Donita Ollas had already swung up behind Johnny. Arthur took Katherine, and Cowboy Bob pulled Timmy up in the saddle in front of him.

“I hope you’re a man of your word,” Arthur said to Villa.

“Ask around,” the general told him.

With deep reservation as well as great relief, Arthur eased the hammer down on his revolver and put it away. He looked down at his father.

“Papa, I don’t know what to say to you except that this is the most generous and honorable thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“We’re a generous and honorable family, son,” the Old Man replied. “And don’t worry about me, I enjoy adventures and General Villa and I can get to renew our acquaintance.”

Arthur nodded. When he looked into his father’s pale eyes, he saw a different man; for the first time he seemed much older and frail. But there was nothing left to say, so he turned the horse and rode off east, toward the railroad. They’d gone a long way before he unclenched his teeth and let his muscles relax. They topped a rise and could see the river. Arthur’s heart lifted; they were almost there.

SEVENTY