Ghost Warrior (9 page)

Z
ak and Jeff left their keys at the front desk and walked outside the hotel. The street was nearly deserted except in front of La Copa Plata, which was lined with horses and men standing outside, their cigarettes glowing in the dusk, their voices floating down the adobe canyon lined with closed shops.

“Nice evening,” Jeff said. “I wonder what's going on at the post.”

“Put those matters out of your mind, Jeff. We have more important things to do.”

“I'm trying my best to be unmilitary.”

Zak laughed. “It's probably something you can't do. You can wear civilian clothes, but there's starch in your backbone and that doesn't wash out easily.”

“Does it show?”

“If anybody asks why you stand so straight, tell them you got bucked off your horse.”

“So, I look stiff,” Jeff said.

“As an iron flagpole,” Zak said, then stepped onto the street. Light from the hotel threw a parallelogram in front, and an oil lamp near the entrance made their shadows loom long across the
dirt street, spilled its own light into a warped circular pool that wavered with the flicker of the flame inside the glass.

Zak stopped, put out a hand to hold Vickers back. Across the street, in the shadows, he saw the glow of a cigarette. His hand dropped to the butt of his pistol. Jeff saw the orange glow, too, and slid his hand down his hip until he felt the grip of his sidearm.

“Zak,” a voice called.

“Show yourself,” Zak said, easing his pistol an inch out of his holster.

“It's me, Randy Bullard. Maybe you better walk over here, out of the light.”

Zak let the pistol fall back snug into his holster. Jeff breathed a sigh and relaxed his own gun hand.

“What in hell are you doing here, Sergeant?” Vickers demanded. “And how did you know where to find us?”

“Sir, I come down to Biederman's to buy some store-boughts. Since Colonel Loomis is planning a campaign, I thought this would be my last chance. I got a pass.”

“And you knew where to find us?” Zak said.

“I had a drink at the Silver Cup with some of the other troopers who come in with me. I got to get back, but I heard tell about two new hardcases in town what was stayin' at the Hacienda. I figgered it was you two.”

“Randy,” Zak said, “does Naldo Dominguez have a brother?”

Bullard dropped the butt of his cigarette on the street, ground it out with his heel.

“Yeah, he sure does. Forgot about that. Jorge. He works at the Silver Cup.”

“Did you see him when you had your drink?” Zak asked.

“Nope. He only works days, I think.”

“Is this what you came down here to tell us, Sergeant?” Vickers said. “We know about the campaign and Colonel Loomis.”

“No, sir, I come to tell Zak here, I mean the colonel, that a while ago, that sheeper rancher, Delacruz, he come to the Presidio. They sent him over to see Colonel Loomis.”

Zak felt his breath hold fast in his lungs. Bullard had caught him by surprise.

“Do you know what Gregorio told the colonel?” Zak asked.

“Hell, two privates, a corporal, and a sergeant-at-arms heard him tell Colonel Loomis that his neighbor had eighty, ninety head of sheep run off last night by Navajos. He said it was Narbona and Largos. His neighbor, a feller by the name of Lorenzo Villareal, got told by Narbona the same thing he told old Delacruz. Go tell the soldiers to come.”

“Any white men with Narbona?”

“Delacruz said no.”

“Why didn't Villareal come in with Gregorio?” Zak asked.

“The way Delacruz told it, he was buryin' some herders. His wife and daughter got stole, too. Delacruz is plumb scairt out of his wits.”

“Where is Delacruz now, Randy? Do you know?”

“He didn't go back to his ranch, that's for sure.
I think he knows people here in Santa Fe. He was asking for military protection, same as Villareal. There's somethin' else you maybe ought to know.”

“What's that, Sergeant?” Vickers said.

“Colonel Loomis ain't goin' to wait no three days to go after Narbona. He's hoppin' mad and issued orders to his officers to be ready to ride out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Zak said.

“Yes, sir, that's why I got to get back. I just come in to get some Piedmonts. Each man is to carry a week's rations, fifty rounds of rifle ammunition, slickers and tents.”

“Anything else, Randy?” Zak asked.

“Yeah, he's takin' artillery with him, mountain howitzers, a couple of four-pounders, maybe a Gatling gun.”

“Shit,” Vickers said. “Zak, I have to go back to Fort Marcy.”

“You're staying with me, Jeff.”

“But—”

“No argument. Randy, you haven't seen us. Now, get on back to the post. Thanks for the information.”

“You be careful, Zak. You, too, Captain Vickers.”

“Don't you salute us, Randy,” Zak said. “Somebody might be watching.”

Zak and Jeff walked away, leaving Bullard in the shadows. Vickers seemed ready to explode, but he held his tongue.

“Loomis double-crossed us,” he whispered to Zak when they were well away from Bullard.

“I figured he couldn't wait three days,” Zak said.

“You did?”

“That's why we've got to finish our business tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“If we can. I have a hunch we'll know more by morning than we do now.”

“How's that?” Vickers asked.

“If you can't beat 'em,” Zak said, “join up with 'em.”

“Yes, but we've got loyalties and duties and—”

“And we'll stay loyal and do our duties, Jeff. Now, go back to being a civilian. We're almost there.”

La Copa Plata was a blazing beacon of light in the darkness of the street. The strains of lively music, guitars, trumpet, drums, blared out into night, and the sound of voices was a low drone under the melody.

As soon as Jeff and Zak cleared the batwing doors, Pete Carmody strode up to greet them, a grin on his face as wide and white as a bib.

“Leo's right over there, gents,” he said with a wide sweep of his arm. “Just follow me.”

Zak spotted the man in the center of the room. He looked like a king holding court. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a ruddy face, wearing a white Stetson. He looked like a Washington politician, except for the hat, which would have put him squarely in Texas. But all the other attributes were there: the ready smile; the hearty handshake; the wet, puckered lips, suitable for kissing babies and young mothers.

“Mr. Biederman—Leo—this is Zak Cody and Jeff Vickers, the two men I told you about.”

The woman sitting next to Biederman had a face that appeared carved out of dark teak, with high cheekbones; a small, pudgy nose; bright brown eyes; and hair so black it shone like a crow's wing under the spray of the lamplight. She had rouge on her cheeks and lipstick the color of blood on her thin mouth. Her clothes were fancy—black lace with trims of red and green woven into the sleeves and collar.

“I'm Leo, and this is my wife, Minnie,” he said, gesturing to the woman. “Minnie's a full-blood Navajo lady and the light of my life.”

Minnie didn't smile but looked at Zak darkly, skimmed her glance over Jeff, and then shifted back to Zak, appraising him with the hooded eyes of a savage, not of a wanton.

After the “pleasedtameetchas” Leo told Jeff and Zak to sit down, then raised a hand in the air. The band stopped playing
Green Grow the Lilacs
, paused and then broke into
La Macarena
, the song that was always played at bullfights in Spain and Mexico.

Zak sensed that they were sitting with a shrewd man who played his cards close to his vest. Behind the twinkle in Leo's merry eyes, there were shadows that disguised his true feelings. He exuded power, like magnetized steel, whether he was standing or sitting—it emanated from him. He watched Vickers, who seemed awestruck by the magnanimous gestures and flamboyant manner of Leo Biederman. But Zak kept his eyes on Minnie, who had her own quiet strength. He could see the tears of her people in the lines etched into her face, feel the great sorrow and pride of an entire race who had
once owned land that stretched farther than the eye could see. She, too, was magnetic, but in a different way from her husband. She was the rock and granite of the mountain, while he was the ermine snow shining on its peak, supported by a woman who had once walked with giants of her own race and now found herself surrounded by fawning, obsequious lackeys who thought the world owed them a living. She, Zak could see, felt that it was the other way around. Her people owned the earth and nurtured it, roamed it, hunted on it, but never staked a claim to either water or dirt.

“Tell me, Cody,” Leo was saying, “what brought you out West to our part of this great country?”

Leo's laughing expression had vanished from his eyes, and he wore a serious and skeptical frown.

“Possibilities,” Zak said.

Leo's face went blank for a second; then he reared back in his chair and roared like a bull. “Haw, that's what you got here, son! Possibilities. Ain't no end to 'em. And about you, Mr. Vickers, do you share that dream?”

“I go Zak one more, Mr. Biederman,” Jeff said. “Probabilities.
Carpe diem
. That's my motto.”

“Ah, you are a scholar, I see. Latin. Yes, that's my motto, as well. ‘Seize the day.' Make hay while the sun shines, gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

“You've got us tagged, Leo,” Zak said. “We shucked off civilization and all its trappings, came to the heart of the trading world, Santa Fe, the center of the universe.”

“You're a man after my own heart, Cody,” Leo said. “Now, Pete tells me you're looking for honest work.”

“Did he say ‘honest'? I don't think that word was ever spoken by me.”

“It's a figure of speech, of course. Work is its own reward, of course.”

“Of course,” Zak said.

Jeff licked his lips, and a waiter appeared to take their orders. The Mexican band played a mournful tune from Jalisco, a sad song of love and betrayal and a woman's tears at the foot of the gallows tree where her man swings in the wind, his neck broken by a thick rope knotted just under his ear.

“Whiskey,” Vickers said.

“I'll have the same,” Zak said and saw Leo nod his approval.

He noticed that Pete was not drinking and there was no sign of the German, Zigler.

“Do you know anything about our history, Cody?”

“Some. Not much.”

“First were the Navajos, of course. Then, the Spaniards—damn their black hides—came, and then the Mexicans revolted, the poor people and the Indios swept the bastards out of Taos and cut their balls off in Santa Fe. And then the Santa Fe Trail opened up our city to the east and to the world. And the gringos took the country at the point of a gun and subjugated the Mexicans just like the Mexicans conquered the Indios. One bloody battle after another, with Kearney and Carson and Washington. Now we got soldiers running the damned government, and all the Navajos tucked away on god-awful reservations, where they can't grow corn or beans or anything but dog shit and disease.”

“Pretty grim history, all right,” Zak said.

Leo turned his hand into a fist and slammed it into the table. The glasses shook and some of the men at the surrounding tables jumped in surprise, drawing back in their chairs.

“The army don't know what land is, what riches can be got from it. All they do is build forts and dams and strut around looking like peacocks, when all they are is banty roosters. We don't need an army here. We ain't prisoners.”

“You're right about that, Leo,” Vickers said, and Zak was proud of him at that moment. “Anywhere the damned army is, you got people with jackboots on their necks.”

Zak tried not to show his surprise.

“Gentlemen,” Leo said, leaning over the table in a conspiratorial manner, “maybe you'd like to be part of a great enterprise. Join me and you'll see the army tuck its tail and run all the way back to the east where they belong, and the lands open up again, prosperity and freedom return to a great country where the races mingle and thrive, and riches flow like the milk and honey of a new Canaan.”

The waiter appeared with their drinks and Leo leaned back in his chair as if he had just finished revealing a great secret.

The band struck up a lively mariachi and men danced with pretty women and laughter rippled through the room.

Zak took a swallow of whiskey and felt its fortifying heat. He looked at Leo hard and long.

He was certain, now, that the man who sat across from him at the table was mad—truly mad.

But for the first time that evening, he saw the flicker of a smile on Minnie's face.

Though insane and megalomaniacal, Leo was a hero, plain to see, in her eyes.

And perhaps, Zak thought, the savior of her people.

B
efore he had finished his whiskey, Zak realized that Leo was waiting for someone. He kept looking toward the batwing doors and over at Pete, who also held a fascination for those swinging, slatted pieces of wood.

So far, Leo had not divulged his “divine plan,” but Zak sensed that he was ready to sweep him and Jeff up into his camp and make them both true believers in his cause.

Leo smoked cigars and the table was wreathed in blue smoke. Minnie smoked a cheroot, held it as daintily as any court maid back in England. She did not drink whiskey, though. She drank tea, not from a cup, but from a glass, so that anyone would think she was right up there with the boys, swigging down hard liquor with the best of them.

Beneath the raucous music, Zak heard the
whick-snick
of cards being dealt, the clatter of wooden poker chips, the clanking of bottles and jars, and the reedy thrum of masculine voices intermingled with the high, lyrical curl of women's laughter. As he sat there, he longed for the quiet of a lonesome hill, a solitary camp by a woodland creek or the
peace that came when a man lay on the prairie at night and stared up at billions of diamonds. He was not a man for saloons and city lights, but someone who felt at home in the wild. He drew comfort from the simple sight of a deer grazing in a meadow, a gold aspen leaf jiggling in the wind, sunlight dappling the freckled backs of brook trout in a clear stream, the towering mountains when the shade under their brow was deep lavender.

Zak noticed that waiters were carrying trays of food to some of the tables. His stomach roiled with hunger. “Mr. Biederman, Leo, Jeff and I haven't taken supper yet. Will you excuse us? We'll get another table and order.”

“By all means. And supper's on me, Cody. You and Jeff eat hearty, then join us later for some fine brandy.”

Jeff scooted his chair back from the table. He bowed to Minnie, and Zak nodded to her as he left the Biederman party. Pete smiled at them.

Zak chose a table along the wall that seemed more isolated from the throng. He and Jeff sat down. A waiter brought them slates with the evening's fare written in chalk. They both ordered
bistecas y papas
.

“Mr. Biederman has requested me to serve you wine with your supper,” the waiter said. “Would you prefer a French burgundy, or perhaps a sauterne?”

“Burgundy,” Zak said before Jeff could say anything.

“Perfect,” Jeff said, and they grinned at each other.

The waiter left and Zak leaned over the table, a
look of earnestness on his face, his eyes narrowed, his gaze intense.

“Jeff,” he said, “why did you join the army, go to VMI?”

“What an odd question, Zak.”

“Can you answer it?”

“Sure. My daddy was in the army, and so was my grandpa. I grew up on an army post. My father was a sergeant major when he was killed at Harper's Ferry. I suppose I wanted revenge. But it was also a way to escape my mother.”

“That's an honest answer, anyway.”

“My mother made life at home a living hell. Which was why my father preferred the field of battle. There, he had a chance of winning.”

“Are you loyal to the army?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Leo Biederman has a different opinion. You seemed willing to back him up.”

“I'm an actor tonight. You said so. I was playing my part.”

“That's good.”

“How about you, Zak? You're still in the army, even though you don't have to join muster, salute, or obey orders.”

“The army gave to me. I'm giving some of it back.”

“What did the army ever do for you?” Jeff asked.

“It gave me an education, gave me good friends, made me into some kind of man, good or bad.”

“That's an honest answer, too, I guess. But, you're not even army material, at least by my standards.”

“And what are your standards, Jeff?”

“VMI standards, I guess. You don't look army, you don't act army, yet you enjoy the friendship of fighting men like General Crook and General—now President—Grant. You're a rare breed. But you don't really fit in. At least you don't fit in anywhere I've been or anyplace I know.”

“Does whiskey loosen your tongue like that, Jeff?”

Vickers smiled.

“I suppose so. It just came out. I've been studying you, Zak, ever since I saw you up on the flat when I got back from Delacruz's sheep ranch. I guess I'm getting an inkling of why people call you the Shadow Rider. You are outside the circle of most any group. You just don't fit, and that bothers any military man—bothers me. We are used to discipline and duty, taking and giving orders, never questioning, but taking ‘arms against a sea of troubles' on this earth, ‘and by opposing end them.'”

“So, you are a scholar, as Biederman said. Shakespeare falls trippingly off your tongue.”

Vickers smiled.

“You have evidently read a book or two yourself, Zak.”

The steaks arrived on warm pewter plates. The waiter brought flatware wrapped in napkins, a bottle of burgundy, and two wineglasses.

Both men avoided looking over at Leo's table until they were finished eating.

“Good wine,” Jeff said.

“The steak was as tough as an army boot,” Zak said.

“You've eaten an army boot?”

“And a belt or two,” Zak said.

The two got up from their table and walked over to Biederman's group. Pete waved a hand at their empty chairs.

“Saved them for you,” he said.

Biederman pulled two cigars out of his vest pocket, handed them across the table. Jeff took one. Zak waved the other one away.

“Don't smoke,” he said.

Biederman's eyebrows arched as he drew back his head and stared at Zak in disbelief.

He put the other cigar back in his pocket.

“How about some brandy, then?” Leo said.

“Sure,” Zak said.

“Good. I own a vineyard and this is
Aguardiente
, made with my own grapes. Someday, maybe I'll show you my winery. It's up in Taos, but I may open one here. Soon, maybe.”

Zak's ear was attuned to the nuances of Leo's speech, and his last two words sparked his interest. Biederman was a man with plans, and it was evident that he intended to expand his business interests.

So far, though, Leo had not divulged any secrets, not expressed his intentions. But Zak was almost certain that Biederman intended building an empire around and in Santa Fe, and that he resented the army's intrusion into his affairs. It was a good bet that Leo had something to do with the recent raids along the Rio Grande. He could not prove it, but there was strong evidence that Biederman was behind the Navajo uprisings, because Pete and Ralph had been with Narbona when they
struck the Delacruz ranch. He was only surprised that the two men had been so open about it, not concealing their faces.

Biederman, Zak decided, seemed pretty sure of himself. He might be in the background, but his men were pretty brash and bold. Why? Didn't Biederman care? What was he planning, exactly? Did he want to lure the army into Navajo lands in the Jemez and once they were there, come out in the open with his scheme? If so, it was a pretty bold move, even for a man with Leo's confidence. Perhaps he had an ace in the hole that Zak didn't know about.

Perhaps he had more than one ace up his sleeve.

Leo snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared with a tray, two bottles of L&M Aguardiente, and a half dozen snifters. The waiter set the glasses around, one before Leo, another in front of Minnie, one each for Pete, Jeff, and Zak, and the last one at an empty place.

“Tell Clarita to join us, Fred, will you?” Biederman said to the waiter.

“Yes, sir.”

Fred uncorked one bottle, poured brandy in each snifter, except for the one at the empty place. He set the bottle down, left, and a few seconds later the woman with the fan came to the table. Pete got up and pulled her chair out. The chair was next to Zak's place at the table.

“Clarita, this is Mr. Zak Cody, and his friend is Mr. Jeff Vickers. Cody, this is Miss Clarita Mendez. Fred pour some brandy for Clarita, will you?”

“Of course,” Fred replied and poured brandy into her glass.

She set her fan on the table and raised her glass to her nose. She sniffed it and nodded to Leo.

“This is your best yet, Leo,” she said.

“Why, thank you, my dear,” he said.

“Cody, Miss Mendez is the daughter of a prominent Santa Fe judge. She expressed an interest in meeting you. So, let's drink to that meeting.”

“I'm flattered,” Clarita said. She had only a slight accent.

Zak said nothing, but lifted his glass to her, then drank some of the brandy. It warmed his mouth and throat, then hit his stomach like a fireball. The fumes from the snifter made him slightly dizzy for a few seconds. His eyes watered and he gulped in air.

“Very fine brandy,” Zak said, and Leo laughed, upended his own glass, and drained the snifter without a trace of discomfort.

Clarita put her hands in her lap and one of them brushed against Zak's leg. He did not move his leg, but something inside him twisted a turn or two, as if an auger had bitten into his flesh.

Jeff coughed as the fumes struck his nostrils and the brandy scorched his tongue.

Leo didn't bat an eye.

“You two have been drinking too much cheap red-eye,” he said. “Brandy is good for the soul, isn't that right, Minnie?”

“You are right, my husband,” Minnie said, but she hadn't touched her drink.

Leo's gaze shifted to the doorway again and this time, his eyes widened. Zak turned slightly and saw, out of the corner of his eye, two men enter the cantina.

One of them was Jorge Dominguez.

The other was Ralph Zigler.

They made straight for Leo's table. Jorge hung back, but Ralph leaned over and whispered something to Leo. Jorge looked at Clarita and nodded. A look passed between them.

“All right, Ralph. You and Jorge get something to eat. I'll talk to you both later.”

The two men walked toward the bar. Leo struck a match, bit off the end of a fresh cigar, and lit it. He stretched his hand across the table toward Jeff. Jeff bit off the end of his cigar, leaned into the light, and puffed on his cigar.

Smoke shrouded the glasses, bottles, and table-top.

“Cody, do you and Vickers wish to join my gallant band of mercenaries? The pay is one hundred dollars a month and found, but I promise you riches beyond your dreams, once we have accomplished our mission.”

“Just what is your mission, Leo?” Zak asked, and he felt Clarita's hand squeeze his knee under the table.

“Let's just say you'll be acting as messengers. Pete and Ralph will show you what to do. Tomorrow, before dawn, you'll slip out of town and cross the Rio Grande. There will be some other men going with you.”

Leo pulled out a wad of greenbacks, peeled off two hundred-dollar bills. He handed one to Zak, the other to Jeff.

“Here's your first month's pay, but there will be a bonus if you're successful, payable upon your return.”

“Messengers?” Jeff said.

“And observers, shall we say? Easy work, but lots of riding in rough country.”

“Where is this rough country?” Zak asked.

Leo smiled.

“Ever been to the Jemez?” he said.

Both Jeff and Zak shook their heads.

“Ever hear of it?”

Again, both men indicated they had not.

“You'll see it tomorrow. Now you'd better get a good night's sleep. Pete will wake you when it's time to saddle up. He'll have grub and water for you and extra ammunition.”

“It sounds to me like you're planning to start a war,” Zak said. He made it sound offhand, as a joking statement, but he was dead serious.

“Ah, you never know, Cody. Wars start over women, water rights, land, and politics. Some say the war between the whites and the Navajos never ended.”

“So?” Zak said, pressing for an answer.

Leo blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Gone was his affability, his charm, gone in that one puff of his cigar and the blown smoke.

“So, maybe someone is going to hold up a flag of truce, Cody. Maybe the war will finally be over.”

“And the winner…?” Zak said, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Leo shrugged.

“Who knows?” he said. “War is unpredictable. So is peace. But, to the victor belong the spoils. And when the stakes are very high, the spoils can be something grand.”

“Do I have to kill anybody?” Zak said with a look of innocence on his face.

“Do you want to kill somebody, Cody?” Leo asked.

“Not right now,” Zak said, and everyone at the table laughed except Minnie.

Clarita found Zak's hand under the table and pressed something into it. Then she closed up his fingers. It felt like a piece of paper rolled up tight. He slipped the paper into his pocket and stood up.

“Good night, then,” Zak said. Then to Pete, “See you in the morning.”

“Sleep tight,” Pete said.

Zak and Jeff walked outside and headed for the hotel. Neither spoke until they were well away from the Silver Cup.

“Are you going to ride with Pete in the morning?” Jeff asked.

“What do you think, Jeff?” Zak said, and the lamplight cast his face into a saffron mask with hard shadows along the jawline.

Somewhere a dog barked and they heard the chords of a guitar coming from the saloon. The moon hung in the sky like a great eye dripping quicksilver onto the adobe walls and dirt streets, as shadows skulked around them like a pack of prowling wolves.