Paxton Pride (59 page)

“You return to the
cantina?
”

Marcelina smiled mysteriously. “I return.… It is better you do not know.”

“If you wish you may stay awhile longer. Sleep, if you like. Later I will have food for you. I will keep watch. When it is dark, you can …”

“Forgive me,
Señor
Flores.
Muchas gracias
, but I have eaten that which I should not, and I have slept long enough. Too long.
Adios.
” And she was gone.

Vance stared into the gloom, his mind racing. He'd spoken foolishly, angered Jaco all the more. What could he do? Time was short. If only he hadn't passed out, collapsed like a child on the floor. He felt better for the rest, but to what avail? The slightest movement sent waves of pain through his arm, left him weak and nauseated. Sweat beaded his forehead as Karen finished tightening the rags on his splint and tied the sling. Not sure the limb was broken, a bad bone bruise was certain. The splint would help either way. Five minutes later he felt better. Another half hour and he would be able to function.

Karen dabbed with a moistened rag at the swollen lump on Vance's shoulder where he had struck himself when he fell. The afternoon was nearly gone. They would have to try something. Better to die quickly than wait for Jaco to take his pleasure with them. What pain there was, he could live with. “How many guards?” he asked in a flat tone, gesturing toward the door.

“Only one at a time. Arcadio and Manuel alternate. Tonight it is Manuel.”

Vance nodded and accepted the dipper of water she handed him, drank deeply and raised his left arm in an attempt to work back some feeling into the stiffened shoulder muscles. “It will have to be soon. We cannot wait for Jaco to come.”

“Manuel is armed. What can we do?”

Footsteps sounded outside. Their conversation halted and Vance melted into the darkness by the door. The moment had come too soon. If Jaco was outside, they were too late. Instead, Manuel appeared in the doorway, his face pale. Crestfallen, he stepped into the room. Karen and Vance stared at him, puzzled by his appearance. As the bandit entered, Vance could see his holster was empty. Why, was evident in seconds, as Marcelina followed him inside, holding his revolver. Karen gasped, shrank back to the tentative safety of the shadows, expecting the worst front the distraught girl.

Marcelina's features grew even more tortured when she saw Vance for the first time. A terrible sadness filled her eyes, and in the darkness, pity welled in Karen, a pity so profound it overrode even her fear of what the girl intended. “I am weary of death,
señor,
” Marcelina said to Vance, her voice a hollow echo of the past. “It would be best if you took the gun. I have not the strength to do what must be done.”

Vance looked at Karen In surprise. The action gave Manuel his chance. He spun about and lunged for the pistol in Marcelina's hands, wresting it from her grip, trying to turn the gun, to get a finger on the trigger and fire a shot to sound the alarm. But Vance was already swinging his powerful right fist. He caught the youth flush on the jaw. Manuel's head snapped back and the gun jolted from his grasp as he collapsed like an empty sack. Vance, his left arm throbbing wildly, scooped up the gun and glanced at Marcelina, still shaken by his presence. “In the corral are horses. Saddles are in the
granero
, on the other side of the
tienda,
” she whispered quickly.

“I don't understand this,” Vance said, frowning.

“I have only begun to understand myself,
señor
. There is no time for the telling. Jaco will come soon. Keep to the back of the buildings, and go behind the
tienda
. If
th
e
viejo
sees you he will say nothing. Hurry.”

“But you are going with us?” Karen protested.

“No.”

“But you must. Jaco will know what you've done.”

“Yes.” Marcelina smiled. “If he does not, then I shall tell him.”

“We can't leave her, Vance.”

Vance extinguished the lantern and peered out the door toward the
cantina
. The story was as clear as if Marcelina had spelled out every detail. He turned back to the girl, read the corroboration in her eyes. The invitation he extended was silent, but she understood, answered negatively with a shake of her head. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I must stay.” Turning away from him, she picked up his torn and shredded shirt from the cot, held it for him while he shrugged into it. “I am very sorry.”

Vance took her arms, held them in a stiff grip. “Marcelina …”

“
Vaya con Diós, señor,
” she said, her head lowered. “
Por favor
. Now.”

There was nothing more he could say. “
Adios
, little one.” He glanced over at Karen. “We'd best get out of here.”

Karen frantically grabbed the girl, as if by her touch she could make her listen to reason. “You can't stay here.”

Marcelina held out her hand, opened and palm upward to reveal the cameo and chain. “I stole this from you,
Señora
Paxton. My jealousy made me a thief, and worse. Yet I robbed myself of much more. Take it,
señora
, and go. There is much to atone for and little time left in which to do it.”

“Karen,” Vance whispered, his voice insistent.

Karen took the cameo, handed down from her mother and her mother before. Quickly, she fastened the silver chain about Marcelina's neck, kissed her on the cheek and hurried from the room, her eyes burning from unspent tears.

They crossed unnoticed, keeping to the western edge of the plaza, away from the gradually increasing activity around the
cantina
where two outlaws lurched from the front door, Ursula between them. The bandits were obviously quarreling over the girl and she, her vituperations ignored, was irritated with both of them. Finally, she threw up her hands in disgust and turned back, leaving the two bandits to scuffle together, thoroughly occupied with each other and ignorant of the two figures revealed by the glare of the
cantina's
lights as Ursula opened the door and entered.

Behind the
tienda
at last, Vance began to breathe easier. Now, provided the moon remained obscured, they.… The back door of Flores'
jacalito
opened and Karen stifled an outcry as Vance roughly pressed her back against the building. A heavy shape—not the harmless old man of whom Marcelina had spoken—lumbered out. “Arcadio,” Karen whispered into Vance's ear. The outlaw staggered off into the night, a burlap sack bulging with goods hung over his shoulder. Vance soundlessly fell in behind him, but a few yards back. Karen glanced into the
tienda
as she walked past, the dark preventing her from seeing the battered, lifeless figure within. Suddenly, fearful of losing sight of Vance, she quickened her pace and stumbled in the brittle dry branches of a tumbleweed.

The noise was enough to break through Arcadio's liquor-befogged senses. “Who is it?” he slurred, wheeling about ponderously.

“Me,” Vance answered in a hoarse whisper, leaping the remaining few feet and smashing Arcadio full in the mouth with the barrel of the gun taken from Manuel. The outlaw staggered back, choking, spitting blood and shards of splintered teeth. He held up his hands to ward off further punishment, but too late. Vance bludgeoned him across the skull and the burly Mexican dropped with a groan, so much dead weight. Vance knelt by his side. The sack was full of food, food they would need desperately for their escape. “Let's go,” he murmured, heaving the sack over his shoulder and shoving Karen ahead of him.

The horses whinnied nervously as the two made then way across the corral to the shed-like barn. Inside they found saddles and gear as expected, and much more. Uniforms were piled high in stalls. Barrels of gunpowder and boxes of ammunition were stacked against the wall. Dominating the entire floor space of the small structure was a formidable-looking confederate four-pounder cannon which had found its way to Mexico, brought, no doubt, by unreconstructed Rebels who chose exile to surrender, “Jaco's army,” muttered Vance. He took a saddle and handed it to Karen, picking another for himself. “Quickly,” he said. “You'll have to help.”

Outside, he chose two mounts, roped them silently and led them to Karen for saddling. She expertly fell to the task, rapidly arranged blankets, threw the saddles over the horses, tightened the cinches and adjusted the stirrups. The sack of provisions he had taken from Arcadio tied behind his own saddle, Vance grinned. “You have learned,” he said. “Let's go.… Damn!”

“What?”

“I didn't take his gun,” Vance replied, thinking of Arcadio. The supplies had been uppermost in his mind. “No time now.… Wait. There's one thing I can do. Get the gate open. I'll be right back.”

Her mouth dry with the fear of discovery, Karen ran doubled over, slipped the tie rope and slowly swung open the gate, afraid the creaking sound would be heard in the
cantina
. The bandits who had been brawling were no longer visible, though, and after an eternity the gate finally stood wide. She stiffened as the door to the
cantina
opened and a lone,
serape
-draped figure stepped down onto the worn path leading to what had been their prison. Jaco.… She waited until his back was to her, then ran stealthily back to the barn and was about to call Vance's name when he reappeared in a new shirt, mounted and lashed a bundle to the cantle of his saddle. “Good girl. We'll scatter the horses on our way out.”

“Jaco just went out of the
cantina
on the way to.… What did you do in …?” Her question died in the asking, for she saw a fiery tongue of flame jut up and lap at the piled supplies inside the barn. Quickly, she mounted and together they bunched the horses and drove them from the corral, as slowly as possible in order to maintain silence. Another minute and they'd be free.…

Involved in the task at hand and the urgent need to get away from the barn, Vance failed to notice Arcadio stumble into the flame-illuminated corral, wipe the blood from his eyes, raise the revolver and fire. The outlaw's gunshot spooked the horses and they broke into a gallop as Vance lurched forward in the saddle. Arcadio fired again at the
gringo
, swung his weapon and emptied the remaining four chambers at the woman. Karen winced as something tugged painfully at her sleeve, as leaden death whined harmlessly past. Arcadio cursed and threw the pistol at the retreating figures, then smelled the smoke. Spinning around, he stared in horror at the flames greedily consuming the
granero
.

“The gunpowder!” a voice screamed in the back of his mind. Howling, he broke into a run across the corral. He saw the outline of the
tienda
, where lay the crumpled figure of old Flores, whom he had killed for a sack of food. He saw the figures burst from the
cantina
—his
compadres
, the
putas
who stole from him and whispered lies in his ears for no more than a
peso
. And as the voice in his mind rose to an uncontainable shriek which spilled from his mouth and filled the valley with an unearthly wail, he saw a child playing in the muddy alleys of his home village. The child was himself. As the boy looked up and his eyes met those of the running man he would become, there was a tremendous flash Arcadio did not see, a resounding explosion Arcadio did not hear. Nor did he feel his massive frame lift leaflike, high into the air and scattered over the countryside, torn limb from limb even as the dream fabric of the child in the alley was rent asunder and lost to the infinite dark.

Jaco whirled, crouched low, gun in hand at the sound of the gunshots. He saw the horses stampede from the corral. Behind them, someone on horseback. No, two. He looked back at the
jacalito
where his prisoners waited, then raced toward the barn and Arcadio's keening cry. The explosion shattered the night and he flung himself to the ground as bits of wood and dust whizzed over his head. The blast was followed by a second, then the riotous chatter from the scattered contents of the broken cartridge boxes. His head pounding, he crawled dizzily to his feet. A woman was screaming in pain, men staggered about crazily in the open. Enraged, he headed for the
jacalito
. His prisoners! Where was Manuel? As if in answer, the youth stumbled from the adobe structure. Jaco raced to the young outlaw, who, only half conscious, babbled meaninglessly, pointing toward the doorway. Jaco jumped past him and into the hut, his pistol drawn and ready, the fear of what he would find tight in his throat. He was met by laughter. Who …? A lurid glare from the fire across the plaza filled the room. Marcelina stepped into the light. “They are gone,
mi hermano
. They are gone and I am responsible.”

“You …!” Jaco's voice betrayed his astonishment.

“
Señor
Vance, the
gringa
, the gunpowder, the uniforms, the shiny cannon stolen from the
federates
. Your army.… Ha! All gone,
mi general.
”

Jaco lunged at her, his fingers digging into the coppery shoulders he had lovingly caressed only the night before. “
Puta!
Why have you done this?”

Marcelina stared at him defiantly, accepting willingly the pain in her arms. Her eyes no longer had the capacity for tears. “My brother! You knew! You knew, and we sinned together. We are both damned. What man would look at me without loathing, me, the woman who shared her brother's bed? What man will ride with you, the murderer of his mother and the despoiler of his sister? No
soldado
will follow such a
jefe
as you, not after this night. You have lost all. All! I have done this. Your
puta!
Your sister!” She spat in his face as the bullet slammed her backward into the wall, shattering the silver chain and driving the cameo pendant into her tortured breast. the price had been paid. Marcelina slumped lifelessly to the floor, hate leached from her heart by smiling death. Santa Maria, Madre de Diós …