The Mission War

Table of Contents

 

 

Silent Death in a Mexican Street...

A
bandido
appeared from nowhere, directly in front of Jessica and Ki, who were pouring kerosene onto a pile of wood beside the town hall.

 

 

There wasn't time for Ki to react and his hands were busy, but Jessica moved. Seeing the
bandido
draw his holstered gun she threw her knife at him with deadly accuracy. Ki had spent hours showing her how to use a knife and now that training paid off.

 

 

The knife struck the heart muscle, and the bandit staggered back, already dead...

LONGARM AND THE LONE STAR LEGEND

LONE STAR ON THE TREACHERY TRAIL

LONE STAR AND THE RENEGADE COMANCHES

LONE STAR ON OUTLAW MOUNTAIN

LONGARM AND THE LONE STAR VENGEANCE

LONE STAR AND THE GOLD RAIDERS

LONE STAR AND THE DENVER MADAM

LONE STAR AND THE RAILROAD WAR

LONE STAR AND THE MEXICAN STANDOFF

LONE STAR AND THE BADLANDS WAR

LONE STAR AND THE SAN ANTONIO RAID

LONE STAR AND THE GHOST PIRATES

LONE STAR ON THE OWLHOOT TRAIL

LONGARM AND THE LONE STAR BOUNTY

LONE STAR ON THE DEVIL'S TRAIL

LONE STAR AND THE APACHE REVENGE

LONE STAR AND THE TEXAS GAMBLER

LONE STAR AND THE HANGROPE HERITAGE

LONE STAR AND THE MONTANA TROUBLES

LONE STAR AND THE MOUNTAIN MAN

LONE STAR AND THE STOCKYARD SHOWDOWN

LONE STAR AND THE RIVERBOAT GAMBLERS

LONE STAR AND THE MESCALERO OUTLAWS

LONE STAR AND THE AMARILLO RIFLES

LONE STAR AND THE SCHOOL FOR OUTLAWS

LONE STAR ON THE TREASURE RIVER

LONE STAR AND THE MOON TRAIL FEUD

LONE STAR AND THE GOLDEN MESA

LONGARM AND THE LONE STAR RESCUE

LONE STAR AND THE RIO GRANDE BANDITS

LONE STAR AND THE BUFFALO HUNTERS

LONE STAR AND THE BIGGEST GUN IN THE WEST

LONE STAR AND THE APACHE WARRIOR

LONE STAR AND THE GOLD MINE WAR

LONE STAR AND THE CALIFORNIA OIL WAR

LONE STAR AND THE ALASKAN GUNS

LONE STAR AND THE WHITE RIVER CURSE

LONGARM AND THE LONE STAR DELIVERANCE

LONE STAR AND THE TOMBSTONE GAMBLE

LONE STAR AND THE TIMBERLAND TERROR

LONE STAR IN THE CHEROKEE STRIP

LONE STAR AND THE OREGON RAIL SABOTAGE

LONE STAR AND THE MISSION WAR

 

 

A Jove Book/published by arrangement with
the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition/June 1986
All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1986 by Jove Publications, Inc.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016

eISBN : 978-1-101-16984-1

 

 

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.
The words “A JOVE BOOK” and the “J” with sunburst
are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.

Chapter 1

The Canon del Dios, a time eroded, weather scoured twisting channel of red stone, gaped before the three riders who picked their way across the cactus studded foothills.

“This is it, senor, señorita,” the Indian said. “This is the Canon del Dios.”

The Indian's name was Squirrel. He was a Papago, a short, very dark man with his black hair hacked off unevenly. He had a cast in one eye and a crooked foot that caused him to hobble along clumsily when afoot. Just now he was mounted on a stubby, spotted pony, and on horseback Squirrel was at home. He knew this land intimately and he deftly guided Jessica Starbuck and Ki toward the mouth of the great canyon.

“How far now, Squirrel?” the woman with the loose honey-blond hair, startling green eyes, and exquisite figure asked their guide.

“Five miles up the canyon, along the creek, you will see,” the Indian answered without glancing back.

Ki was half white, half Japanese. He was a man who had trained his body and his mind so that he was never truly ill at ease. He knew his capabilities and they were remarkable.
Te,
the art of empty hand fighting, was his way of life, a way which subdued the mind and lent an amazing, controlled vigor to his lean body. Such a man does not worry much.

Still Ki was beginning to grow doubtful. They had entered the canyon now. Massive red walls closed them in on either side. A narrow, silent blue creek ran past them, winding through the willow brush and occasional sycamore tree. Crows called to each other from the branches of a twisted tree and took off in a flurry of black wings as the riders approached.

Ki glanced at the blond woman beside him and then lifted his eyes to the canyon walls. Now he began to see the cave dwellings, their windows and empty doorways like dark, watching eyes.

“Jessica,” Ki said, and when she looked at him, he pointed to the cliff dwellings above them.

“Is anyone still living there?” she asked their guide.

Squirrel turned in the saddle and shook his head. “Not here anymore. Farther up. Here is where the raiders came. Here is where the slavers took away my people.”

Jessica nodded. The cave dwellings, ancient and bleak, hung over them. There were signs of recent habitation nearer the river, on the flats: drying racks for fish, a stand of gradually dying corn, stretched hides on the ground.

The slavers had come, however, and these things would be used no longer. The work would be left undone.

That was what had brought Jessica Starbuck and Ki to Arizona this time: the slavers.

There was nothing new in slaving along the Mexican border. It had been going on for hundreds of years. The Apaches were old hands at it, gathering up people from the smaller tribes, driving them southward into Chihua hua and Sonora.

This was different. The cartel was behind it.

The cartel, a power hungry, violent international organization, cast its shadow across youthful America, recognizing the lack of organized law enforcement in the West and rich opportunities.

The cartel had murdered Jessica Starbuck's father and her mother. Alex Starbuck had been a powerful and wealthy man, and he had been too upright to stomach the cartel. In the end they had eliminated him, leaving his daughter, Jessica and Ki to carry on the fight.

Now the fight had come to the Gila River, to the small tribes here.

According to Jessica's informant this slaving operation was far larger, far better organized than any previous one along the border. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Indians were being taken south to be sold into bondage. Someone was getting rich from human suffering.

The name Jessica had been given was Kurt Brecht, and that name was quite familiar. Jessica's father had left her a black book with all he knew of the cartel's operations in it. Included was a list of officers, men responsible for the cartel's crimes. Kurt Brecht's name was near the very top of that list.

How her informant had come by that name Jessica would never know now. The informant had been found dead in an alley, both of his knees broken and a dagger stuck in his open mouth.

“We are being watched,” Ki said in a low, casual voice.

Jessica's head turned slowly toward him, showing no surprise. “Where?”

“From the bluff to our right. I saw him twice. One man.”

“An Indian?”

“I think so. It's only natural that they would have sentries out.”

Squirrel, who was a good distance off, heard them despite their low tones. “They watch for slavers,” he said.

Ki glanced at the man with some surprise. The Indian had volunteered to lead them to his people, people he said who knew the slavers and knew where they had gone but felt powerless to pursue their enemies and recapture their friends and relatives.

The slavers, they said, were Mexican
bandidos
working for a powerful man who lived in a great hacienda to the south. Squirrel had promised to find someone to show these two strangers the way.

He had also expressed doubts about Jessie and Ki's ability to do anything about the situation. “One man. One woman. What can you do against an army?”

“Just find someone who knows where the leader of the slavers lives,” Jessica Starbuck had said.

Squirrel had peered at the beautiful blond woman, at the tall man who appeared to be Chinese like Sing, the laundryman, yet did not look Chinese. His one good eye had gleamed dully and then the Indian had shrugged.

“I will show you.”

The shadows were beginning to gather in the canyon, seeping onto the river bottom to stain the land a deep red-violet. Doves began their homeward flight before a fiery sky. Frogs began to grump in the willows.

“How far?” Ki asked again.

“Soon,” Squirrel replied.

The canyon began to narrow. The floor of it started to rise toward the red bluffs where now and then a stunted cedar was visible, hanging precariously from the ancient stone, clinging grimly to life.

The trail they now followed wound through willow brush and sage. A rabbit, startled by the hooves of the oncoming horses, zigzagged away, white tail bobbing.

The bandits were around the next turn.

There were a dozen of them, all armed. As Jessie and Ki entered the small clearing, they emerged from the brush, rifles at the ready. Ki's instinct was to fight, but he could see they had no chance. They had been suckered but good.

Their leader was a vast bearded man with the smells of sweat, leather, and tobacco clinging to him. He had a huge belly, a nasty crooked smile, and black, empty eyes. He wore crossed bandoleers and two Remington revolvers.

Just now he was very pleased with himself.