The Bloody Border (12 page)

“You can bet they’ll pay to get her back!” Ffauldes agreed eagerly. “There’re three small steam boats on the river. If you let me go to them, they’ll take me to Matamoros and I’ll bring you the money.”

“I’ll just bet you will!” Eve hissed.

“The
senorita
she don’ trust you,
hombre
,” Sandos remarked.

“What have I to lose?” Ffauldes spat back. “Let me go to the boats and I’ll arrange everything.”

“Go get on your horse,
senor
,” Sandos ordered. Without as much as a glance at Eve, Ffauldes started to obey. Sandos nodded as Ffaulkes walked towards the two horses left by Kraus. Even as Eve opened her mouth to scream a warning, two rifles cracked. Lead ripped into Ffauldes’ back and he sprawled face down on the ground. Letting her breath out in a gasp, Eve tried to go towards the stricken man.

“I think he wouldn’t’ve come back,
senorita
,” Sandos remarked, stopping her. “He look like my Uncle Sebastian and he one big liar. Will anybody pay to get you back?”

For a moment Eve did not reply. Then she realised that her only chance of staying alive would be to answer in the affirmative. Resistance would be futile, so she decided to go along with what might offer her a hope of escape.

“Yes. They’ll pay to get me back. Or the authorities over the border will give you money for me. I’m a United States agent. If you look for the boats, they’ll go at top speed to Brownsville for the money.”

“You a spy for the
Estados Unidos
, heh?”

“Yes.”

“I think you tell the truth this time. But it for Cosme to say what we do with you.”

“Is Senor Danvila hunting for Sam Ysabel?” Eve inquired, suddenly realising that Sandos had not mentioned the matter.

“Nobody goes hunting for Big Sam,
senorita
,” Sandos replied. “Not if they want to stay alive.”

“Even if he has fifteen thousand dollars in gold with him?”

“You make the joke with Sandos, no?”

“I’m not joking,
senor
. Ysabel and the Rebel Spy, a girl, are taking the gold to the French general at Nava.”

“Maybe they won’t get it there,” Sandos grinned.

“Why don’t you go and find them?” Eve asked.

“With six men?” Sandos scoffed and spoke to his companions.

Eve judged that he was telling them the news and all seemed to find the latter part highly amusing.

“If you don’t believe me, send one of your men along the river to find the boats,” Eve said. “They will tell him, the sailors. Or he could go to Pasear Hennessey’s cantina. Kraus’ man, Golly, came up river with the boats to tell everybody about Big Sam and the money.”

“Nobody from Charlie Kraus would come near us,
senorita
,” Sandos replied. “We take you to our camp and I send for Cosme. He say what we do.”

They mounted Eve on the sorriest of their horses when ready to move out, one which looked incapable of outrunning a turtle in its sway-backed, gaunt-ribbed condition. Gathering up all they wanted and hiding Ffauldes’ stripped body in the bushes, the men and girls surrounded Eve and rode off. Instead of sticking to the river’s bank, they rode parallel to it but some distance away. However the country was open enough for Eve to see the water and she scanned it eagerly in the hope of seeing the flotilla.

Manned by veterans of the Mississippi Squadron, who carried Navy Colts, cutlasses and Spencer carbines in addition to the cannons and Gatling gun, the three launches held the means of her escape. Although sailors, the crews knew plenty about land fighting and, if they heard of her capture, might contrive a rescue.

“Look!” one of the men said, pointing towards the river.

The three launches came into sight, going upstream. Instantly the Mexicans gathered closer about Eve and a knife’s point pricked against her ribs. Wisely she kept quiet and the launches went by without knowing of her presence. Then Sandos grinned at her.

“You behave good,
senorita
and I think maybe you tell the truth.”

Riding on, the Mexicans kept a watch behind them but the launches did not return. The river curved through a valley at that point, the Texas shore rising plainly on the other side. Down below Eve, thick clumps of bushes grew down to the water’s edge, interspersed with open patches of sandy beach that would be bays and back-waters in time of flood. Ahead the country became more open than ever and the bushes ended on a large patch of open beach.

A horse whinnied from among the bushes, the sound chopping off as if stopped in some way. Immediately the party came to a halt. An order from Sandos sent three of the men riding cautiously towards the source of the sound and the other three held rifles ready for use. Not that Eve saw a chance to escape, for the two girls flanked her holding knives ready for use.

Suddenly a rider burst into view, racing down the slope towards the river. Eve bit down a startled exclamation at the sight. Dressed in male clothing, with black hair cropped boyishly short, the rider was without doubt a woman. Unless Eve missed her guess, it was
the
woman, the Rebel Spy.

Flame ripped from one of the advancing trio’s rifle and the fleeing womans horse went down, pitching her from its saddle. She landed sprawling on the soft sand and, before she had recovered, the three men advanced surrounding her. Bending down, one of the three pulled the Dance Brothers revolver from her holster. Then he waved his companions to join him and the woman sat up.

Eve sucked in a deep breath as she rode with the others down the slope. It seemed that the Rebel Spy had fallen into the Mexican
bandidos’
hands. The problem facing Eve was what to do about it.

Chapter 12

“Lon’s coming, Miss Belle,” said Sam Ysabel, after making one of his periodic searches of their back-trail.

Relief lay under the laconic tone and Belle mirrored the feeling. Almost three days had gone by since they left the O’Malley
posada
. After the first day, Ysabel clearly expected the Kid to arrive by the hour. Although he never mentioned it, the girl guessed that he felt a growing concern for his son’s safety as the time went by.

Turning in her saddle, the girl looked back and saw only small, indistinct specks on the horizon. However she had seen enough of Ysabel to know that he would not make a mistake.

“There’s more than one horse,” she said after a moment.

“Mebbe Lon borrowed some from Rosey to ride relay,” Ysabel replied. “Only he’d’ve been along sooner if he had. He’s coming fast now.”

“We’d best wait for him then,” Belle suggested.

Nodding, Ysabel led the way to a clump of bushes. By the time they had halted in concealment, the blobs had come close enough for Belle to make out definite shapes. Ysabel saw far more. Enough to bring a low-voiced exclamation from his lips.

“Well I’m damned!”

“That’s more than likely,” smiled Belle, having grown to like and respect the big man during their journey. While he might lack many of the social graces, at no time had he acted in any but a proper manner towards her. “But why the sudden realisation?”

“If the boy ain’t wide-looped Bully Segan’s
bayo-coyote
hoss, I’ll be a Tejas Injun’s squaw.”

“I don’t know the gentleman—not that I suppose he is a gentleman—but I’ll take your word that it is his horse.”

“Bully won’t take happy to losing it,” Ysabel drawled. “That means—.”

Allowing the words to trail off, the big man made another of his careful searches of the surrounding country. Then he turned his attention to his son. No longer did the white stallion have black patches on its coat The
bayo-coyote
and the third horse showed signs of hard travel and use.

“Howdy, boy,” Ysabel greeted as his son rode up.

“Howdy,
ap
,” the Kid replied, using the Comanche term for father. “Howdy, Miss Belle. “Got me some antelope steaks for supper. Reckon we’d best be moving on.”

“How about the horses, Lon?” Belle asked.

“Hosses? Which hosses?” the Kid said innocently. “Oh, them hosses. I just happened on ‘em.”

“The Bully likely to be raising fuss about you ‘happening’ on to his
bayo-coyote
there?” Ysabel growled.

“I’d say ‘no’ to that,” drawled the Kid, eyes darting around him as he spoke. “Seems he got to blaming Ramon Peraro for the hoss going missing. Damned if he didn’t try to do the blaming with a knife.”

“Well doggie!” Ysabel ejaculated. “If that don’t beat all. So ole Bully won’t be coming along?”

“Nor Ramon neither,” the Kid confirmed. “One of Bully’s boys had a mite more sense and started throwing lead. I don’t reckon Ramon’ll be riding for a spell. I’d’ve been along sooner, only a bunch of Juaristas got after me and I led ‘em around for a spell afore losing ‘em.”

Which did not tell the entire story. Coming across the Juaristas without their knowledge, the Kid heard enough to know they hunted for his father and Belle. So he washed the stain from the white’s coat and allowed himself to be seen from a distance. Then he kept out of sight but left tracks for the men to follow. When sure they would be unable to catch up to his father, he lost his pursuers and resumed his journey. Heading south, he located his father’s and Belle’s tracks at last and found them. Doing so cost him one of the horses stolen from Segan’s gang.

“Saw some smoke this morning,” he went on. “Likely you couldn’t. Too much for just a camp fire. Figured I’d best catch up fast. Let’s go.”

Used as she had become to Sam Ysabel’s caution, Belle could not help but notice how much more alert he seemed to be when they resumed the journey. She put it down to fears that Bully Segan, whoever he might be, was on their trail. Yet that did not explain why the Ysabels freed their buckskin saddleboots and rode with the rifles still encased but across their arms. Still pondering on their behaviour, she turned to ask a question.

“Drop behind us, Miss Belle!” the Kid said urgently. “And take these hosses.”

“Wha—?” Belle began, accepting the reins of the spare mounts and pack horse which he thrust into her hands.

“Do it,
pronto
!” Ysabel interrupted. “And whatever happens, stop back there. Don’t make a move or speak unless I tell you.”

Although surprised at the man’s behaviour, Belle obeyed. She knew they must have good reasons for their actions, so she neither asked questions nor raised snobbish points of social standing, rank or sex.

For almost two minutes they rode on. Then, suddenly, the country before them became dotted with Indians. Squat, thick-set braves seemed to rise out of the ground, seated on their ponies and armed with a variety of weapons.

Immediately the Kid gripped his rifle at the wrist of the butt and end of barrel, raising it above his head. A moment later Ysabel repeated the gesture and Belle became aware that neither of her escort had removed the covering from his rifle. Fighting down a desire to draw her Dance, the girl sat still and waited to see what developed.

One of the Indians, sporting a long war bonnet, raised his war lance in the same manner. Lowering it again, he took his right hand away to make a sign in the trio’s direction. Taking his right hand from the rifle, the Kid held it palm downwards before his chest. Then he moved his bent arm to the right in a wriggling motion.

Whatever the sign might mean, Belle could see no change in the Indians’ attitude. After a moment they sent their horses leaping forward, charging down on the trio at full speed.

“Sit fast and don’t touch that Dance, Miss Belle!” Ysabel growled over his shoulder and the girl guessed he was speaking with the minimum of lip movement.

The next few seconds seemed to be the longest Belle could ever remember. Nearer thundered the Indians, looking meaner than all hell and more deadly than a stampeding herd of buffalo. Then, when there appeared to be no way to avoid being ridden down, the Indians split around them and came to a halt. Belle had never seen such fine riding, although she admitted that most of the finer points were lost to her at that moment.

For a moment nobody spoke, then the war-bonnet chief let out a guttural growl of words. Listening to the Kid’s reply, Belle caught only two familiar words, ‘Ysabel’ and ‘
Cuchilo
’ which she knew to be Spanish for knife. Her quick ears noticed that the Kid spoke more slowly than the chief—much as a Texan’s speech differed from a New Englander’s—but she put that down to his using a foreign language. She could not fail to notice the depreciating manner with which the Kid waved a hand in her direction, then indicated his father.

More talk followed, some laughter and the Ysabels passed out tobacco. Then the two parties separated. Even so, Ysabel warned the girl to remain behind and not until a mile lay between them and the Indians did he offer an explanation for his and the Kid’s behaviour.

“I reckon we can get divorced now, Miss Belle,” he said, halting the horse and grinning at her.

“Divorced?” she repeated. “What was that all about?”

“They’re
Pahuraix
, Water Horse Comanches, on a raid. Lon saw their scout just in time for us to make things look right. These medicine boots Long Walker gave us let ‘em know we belonged to the
Pehnane
band and we allowed that you was my squaw.”

“And no Indian would let his squaw ride at his side, or lead the horses with her along,” Belle smiled.

“Not on a trail in country like this,” Ysabel agreed. “We’re through ‘em now, but we’d best keep going.”

“It was a close call.” Belle stated rather than guessed.

“Too close,” Ysabel replied. “Happen we hadn’t been totting these medicine boots on the rifles, they mightn’t’ve give us time to start talking. With them, the
Pahuraix
figured they’d best see who we were afore they killed us. Lon’s Long Walker’s grandson, killing him’d start off a blood feud.”

Listening to the quiet words, Belle found herself blessing the good fortune which had given her such able companions, and not for the first time since meeting the Ysabel family. She could realise just how dangerous the situation had been. Only the Kid’s alertness and relationship to the
Pehnane
war chief had saved them.

As they rode on to the west, Ysabel explained how the Kid had used the traditional sign when the
Pahuraix
chief asked for information as to their tribe. Speaking the slow
Pehnane
dialect which had attracted Belle’s attention, the Kid introduced himself as
Cuchilo
, grandson of Long Walker and explained that he and his father were riding on private business, accompanied by the latter’s squaw. After an exchange of information and the latest jokes, the
Pahuraix
went on their way.

Despite their belief that the
Pahuraix
had accepted their bona-fides, the Ysabels insisted that they made a camp in wooded country that night. A
tuivitsi
, young warrior, might decide to ignore the threat of a blood feud with the
Pehnane
and try to win acclaim by stealing their horses. So they settled down for the night in an area through which silent progress would be difficult.

Always a light sleeper, Belle woke in the night. She saw the Kid and his father standing by the dying embers of the fire and sat up. Turning, the Kid raised a finger to his lips.

“There’s somebody out that ways, Miss Belle,” he said, coming to the girl’s side and pointing into the blackness.

“One of the Indians?” she whispered back.

“Nope. Too noisy and wearing boots. I’m going to take a look, see who it is. Stay put and keep your Dance handy.”

With that the Kid turned and disappeared into the woods. He went in silence, flickering out of the girl’s sight with his knife in hand. Joining Belle, holding a Sharps rifle, Ysabel nodded after his departing son.

“Knife’s better than any gun in the dark and among the trees.”

“I suppose so.” Belle replied. “We must be close to Nava now?”

“Be there late tomorrow night, or before noon the day after,” Ysabel replied. “Depends on who’s around.”

Five minutes went by, then a whistle sounded in the darkness.

“Lon?” asked Belle.

“Sure,” Ysabel answered, putting down his rifle at her side. “Wait here.”

Rising, Belle watched Ysabel walk away. In a short time he returned, helping his son to carry a man in uniform. Belle tossed a few sticks on to the fire and its glow allowed them to study the newcomer.

“A French Huzzar,” Belle said as the Ysabels lay the man by the fire. “He’s been shot!”

“Late this afternoon, I’d say,” Ysabel replied. “Lord knows how he’s come this far.”

“Maybe saw the fire and come towards it,” the Kid went on as Belle ran forward to kneel at the man’s side. “He’s near on bled white and just about gone.”

Opening his eyes, the Huzzar stared vacantly around for a moment. Then a flicker of realisation showed in them and he began to speak haltingly. Only by bending forward could Belle catch the words. At first he talked sensibly, then began to ramble. His hand clutched the girl’s arm, tightened and went loose.

“He’s done,” Ysabel said quietly.

“Yes,” Belle replied.

“What’d he say?” asked the Kid.

“That the fort is under attack by a large force of Juaristas armed with cannon,” the girl told her companions. “Klatwitter sent two of them to fetch help, but the Mexicans killed his companion and wounded him before his horse out-ran them. He doesn’t think they can hold out.”

For a moment neither the Kid nor his father spoke. Then the youngster let out a low-growled curse.

“That’s just about all we need.”

“Have the Juaristas any cannon?” Belle inquired.

“The Mexican army has, and a whole slew of ‘em are fighting for Juarez,” Ysabel replied.

“Can they take Klatwitter?” the girl asked.

“That fort at Nava was built to stand off Injuns, not soldiers with cannon,” Ysabel answered. “But if Klatwitter’s got a thousand men and guns of his own he just might do it.”

“Trouble being we just can’t go riding up there to see him,” the Kid put in.

“That’s for sure,” Ysabel agreed.

“The Juaristas might let us through if they knew why we wanted to see Klatwitter,” Belle remarked.

“Could be,” Ysabel said. “Thing being, can we trust the Juaristas? Some of ‘em we know and’re honest as they come. Others run Peraro and Bully Segan close for ornery meanness. Fifteen thousand dollars in gold’d come in useful to Juarez.”

“You don’t think we’d be advised to take it with us?”

“I reckon we’d be plumb foolish to take it,” Ysabel corrected. “Look, Miss Belle, what I’d say is this. We’ve got a hide-away down by the river, nobody’s found it yet. Let’s cache the money there. Then Lon and me’ll make a fast ride to Nava and see what’s doing.”

“We’ll go Injun-style, ma’am,” the Kid went on. “If there’s somebody we can trust with the Juaristas, we’ll talk to him. Then, if they’ll agree, we’ll come back to fetch you.”

“That would be best,” Belle admitted. “My orders are that this money must not fall into the wrong hands.”

“That’s how we play it then,” Ysabel stated. “We’ll take this feller into the woods and leave him. There’s no way we can bury him. Comes morning, we’ll head for the river.”

“Will it be safe?” Belle asked.

“Nowhere’s safe for us right now,” Ysabel replied grimly. “Only where we’re headed’s in Cosme Danvila’s neck of the woods. Him and Charlie Kraus hate each other like the devil hates holy water. I don’t figure Golly’d pass the word about us to Danvila. We’ll have to chance it and ride careful.”

Dawn found them riding in a north-westerly direction. They travelled fast, but with caution, and saw nobody all day. Towards evening they approached the Rio Grande and Ysabel called a halt while the Kid went ahead as scout. On his return, the youngster said that their hide-out remained undetected. So the party rode on once more.

Coming to a valley through which the river curved, Sam Ysabel led the way downwards. They watered their horses on a wide sand bank and the Kid used a leafy branch to wipe out their tracks. Taking the horses into the thick bushes which grew close to the sand bar, Ysabel ordered that they be picketed. Then he led the girl on foot through the bushes to where a section of the valley side fell in a cliff. Still Belle could see no sign of their destination. Thrusting through some bushes, Ysabel brought the girl to the concealed mouth of a cave. Small the entrance might be, but beyond it lay a large, roomy cavern. Striking a match on the seat of his pants, Ysabel located and lit a lantern.

Looking around her in the improved light given by the lantern, Belle saw a birch-bark canoe and several familiar-looking kegs in the cave.

“We helped Rip Ford raid the Yankees and he gave us those kegs of powder,” Ysabel explained. “We sent Mig and some of the boys up here with ‘em to be took over to Long Walker. He’s keeping the peace with the white folks and Rip figured a present was called for.”

Studying the powder and canoe, Belle formed an idea. The safety of the money seemed assured, but she wished to make certain that it would not fall into the wrong hands.

“Is the canoe safe?” she asked, taking the paddle from inside it.

“Why sure,” Ysabel replied. “Feller who taught me to make ‘em learned from the Blackfeet and Sioux up north.”

“Then we could take the money across the river in it?”

“Sure. But it’s as safe here as any place.”

“I thought that we might put it in the canoe, launched ready, and take it across the river if the Juaristas should refuse to let us see Klatwitter and come after it.”

“Might be best,
ap’
,” the Kid remarked. “One thing’s for sure. If we get it across, nobody’ll follow us.”

“Is the current so fast?” Belle asked.

“Nope. The bottom’s quick-sand once you get out a ways,” drawled the Kid. “Trouble being they might get to us afore we got the boat out.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Belle said. “If we could put the money into two or three of these powder kegs and load them into the boat, we could push it off and blow the lot up rather than let it fall into the wrong hands.”