The next thing that woke Captain Gringo up was a rooster bitching about the approaching dawn. It was getting light outside and as he sat up and looked around, he saw both mother and daughter in the other beds. They had their eyes closed as he sat up to dress. Then Joselita opened her eyes, smiled roguishly, and put a shushing finger to her lips as she looked across the room at her sleeping mother. He nodded and started hauling on his boots and duds. As he stood up strapping on his gunbelt, the mother opened her eyes and said, “Are you leaving, señor?”
He said, “We have to,” and she rolled out of bed, dressed in a linen nightgown, and insisted, “Let me fix you something for to eat. Joselita, dear. You remain as you are. You look tired. Did you have a good time last night?”
Joselita said, “Yes, Mother dear. It was most enjoyable.”
Captain Gringo was afraid to look either in the eye as he followed the mother around the corner to the kitchen el. As soon as they were out of Joselita’s sight, the mother kissed him and whispered in his ear, “I will miss you, muy toro, but we must not appear informal in front of the children, eh?”
“Mum’s the word.” He grinned. She nodded and began to whip him up a breakfast of tortillas and refried beans. As she worked he went back to get the Maxim gun. Joselita sat up, exposing little naked breasts, and beckoned him closer to whisper, “We cannot say adios properly. My mother would never understand. But I shall never forget you. Now go, before she suspects!”
He nodded, knowingly, picked up the Maxim, and lugged it around to the table to have breakfast while the mother made small talk that sounded like she was a landlady saying good-bye to a roomer that smoked in bed.
He bolted down the food, offered to pay her, and was relieved when she refused. He would have told her he owed her an apology, but Joselita would have heard. Despite Zurdo’s dismay at his mother’s heartlessness, she probably knew her daughter better than the brother did. He asked about the boy and the woman shrugged and said she didn’t know where he’d spent the night. He hefted the gun again, gave her a grinning feel in the doorway, and headed for the plaza, whistling.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was as light as a dove’s belly. He put the Maxim down by the well and had a smoke before he drew his pistol and fired one round in the air. Then he finished another smoke by the time men started straggling into the plaza, most of them wearing pleased albeit hung-over expressions.
Gaston came over, muttering dark curses about people obviously raised by milkmen. Then he said “I had a most interesting pillow conversation with a fat but passionate love maker, last night. It seems she overheard some members of that other gang as they were arguing. She says she was at this well when the leader was defending himself against the charge that he had possibly forfeited their promised reward by refusing to consider a place they called Punta Purgatorio.”
Captain Gringo reached for his map as he asked, “Did she know why they skipped it, or where it was r
“Mais non. Had you not been so enthusiastic about their extinction we could have asked. But all the fat woman remembers is that they passed the place but did not search it. Oh, she said they accused their leader of being frightened by something and she says he got most angry and started threatening to kill everyone in sight. That was when she picked up her water jar and ran.”
Captain Gringo unfolded the map and studied it in the growing light. He frowned and said, “Here it is. Punta Purgatorio. It’s a point of land running out to sea, about thirty miles down the coast. If these contour lines are accurate, it’s mostly high cliffs above the surf, with a big volcanic cone covering most of the peninsula.”
Gaston asked, “Do you see any likely pirate coves?”
The tall American shook his head and said, “No. There’s one fishing village at the mouth of a valley running into the sea to the north. The south shore is straight sea cliff with the surf breaking right against the base of the sheer wall. The fishing village occupies the only place you could land on that point. I don’t see what all the fuss could have been.”
“The Germans may have made friends with the people of the village, non? It would not take many German marks to buy a bit of silence from poor fisher folk.”
“A bit of silence? Sure. But Greystoke thinks the Germans are planning at least twenty years ahead. No money could buy a generation of dedicated co-conspiracy from simple peons. Those villagers are Costa Ricans, not patriotic Germans.”
Gaston nodded and said, “Twenty years would be a long time for a whole German village to keep a secret, paid off or not. Perhaps that is why those others didn’t bother to scout Punta Purgatorio, non? Why struggle over rough lava country on the chase of the wild goose?”
Captain Gringo put the map away and said, “We’d better check it out. At least we know it’s an area that hasn’t been scouted.”
He made a quick head count and added, “Where the hell is Collins? I wanted to make a few miles before the sun got hot again.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “Fire your pistol again. He must not have heard the first shot.”
Captain Gringo drew his .38 and fired. T.B. Jones flinched and protested, “Jesus, warn a guy, will you, Cap? My head’s still full of fumes and it sounded like that thing just went off inside it!”
Captain Gringo ignored T.B. and told Gaston, “I noticed Collins has a drinker’s nose. What made you hire a guy who can’t handle his booze?”
Gaston sighed and said, “Collins is a good soldier, when he’s sober. He was once a master sergeant in your American Army.”
“Until he got cashiered for drinking on the job?”
“Merde, how was I to know you’d declare a holiday? I told you how hard it is to recruit an army in such an uninteresting country. I will go and search for Collins. After all, how far can he be, drunk or sober?”
“Stay here. I’m going to finish this smoke and then we’re moving out, with or without him. If he doesn’t show up he doesn’t show up. He’s either a worthless drunk who sleeps through gunfire, or he’s decided he’s found a home and he’s hiding with some señorita. He’s no good to us either way.”
T.B. Jones, closer than the others, had heard and asked, “Didn’t you say deserters will be punished, Cap?”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “He will be, if he fails to show up muy pronto. Last night was a lot of laughs and the villagers were grateful. In a day or so a circuit-riding priest will show up to remind them they’re Spanish Catholics and he’ll be doing a land office business with confessions. Some of the men, here, will start brooding as they sober up and a lone gringo who doesn’t work with them in the fields and reminds them of how Lolita got laid won’t seem like such a hero after all.”
T.B. grimaced and said, “Jesus, I think you’re right, Cap. I see why you’re in such a hurry to get out of here!”
They still saw no sign of Collins, but the second shot had attracted attention and a few faces appeared at windows. The boy, Zurdo, came across the plaza with a charred rifle he’d dug from the rains of the burned-out stronghold. He smiled and said, “I wish for to go with you, Captain Gringo.”
The tall American said, “You’ll never go anywhere, if you try to fire that gun. The breech will blow up in your face, now that it’s lost its temper. Do you know the way to Punta Purgatorio?”
The boy looked blank and Captain Gringo tried, “Do you know a trail that runs along the seashore to the south?”
Zurdo said, “I have never been that far from this village, señor. But I am sure I can find the way.”
Captain Gringo’s voice was firm but gentle as he shook his head and said, “You’d better stay here, Zurdo. We know you’re muy hombre but your mother and sister need you to protect them.”
The boy looked pleased and said, “You may be right, señor. But I wish there was some way I could thank you for what you did for us. I will never forget how you saved Joselita’s honor.”
Captain Gringo looked away and said, “Por nada, Zurdo. I was happy to be of service. Let’s go, guys. I want to get out of this valley before it starts to get hot.”