Chapter Fifteen

Raul collapsed under the impact of the bandit who had dived on top of him from the rocks above. His pistol clattered across the boulders and discharged harmlessly. Raul tried to roll out from under the man but was hit hard across the back of his neck with the barrel of a revolver.

Loretta screamed her frustration and anger as she leaped on the attacker. By that time Raul had staggered to his feet; but before he could react, a half dozen bandits swarmed over the natural fort and knocked him to the ground in a collective vicious assault.

Raul and the weeping Loretta were dragged down to where El Demonio was now sitting up. The bandit chief was holding his bleeding shoulder. His face displayed the hatred and furious anger he felt for Raul. “It is all over now, Mackenzie! I do not care about the agreement between me and Rancho San Andres. You are going to pay dearly for this.”

Raul, held by three of El Demonio’s men, kicked out at him. “Hijo de la chingada!” he yelled so loudly that the drunks on the other side of the mesa could hear him.

The bandit who had jumped him joined the group. “He was going to shoot the huera, jefe. He had his pistol ready to fire into the back of her head when I landed on him.”

El Demonio swung his good arm, backhanding Raul’s face. “Damn you to hell, Mackenzie! You have cost me too much. Too much!” He hit Raul again repeatedly until he tired of punching him. The bandit chief motioned to his nearby men. “Get my horse from the corral and saddle him. Then tie Mackenzie’s hands together. I am going to take him through the camp.”

It took fifteen minutes for a couple of the bandits to return with their chief’s horse. Raul was still dizzy from the punches as his hands were bound in front of him. El Demonio was helped into his saddle, and handed his lariat by one of his men. Raul was then attached to the rope before being jerked forward. He was surprised that El Demonio was riding slow enough for him to keep to his feet.

As Raul was led through the camp, people would run up and hit or kick him. Some spit and shouted insults as he was taken through an impromptu gauntlet. The jeering crowd delighted in the prisoner’s predicament. The punches to his head were hard and jarring, and Raul began to stagger under the blows.

The pummeling finally took its toll, and Raul collapsed unconscious as El Demonio continued pulling him across the mesa, now dragging his limp body.

 

Buzzing insects seemed to have taken residence inside his skull as Raul shook his head. The sound diminished slowly and he wondered if Chango could hear them. Then he remembered Chango was dead…that he and Loretta had tried to escape…that he had been pulled behind a horse…

The sun was bright as his eyes opened. There was no feeling in Raul’s hands, and he tied to clinch and unclench his numb fists to get circulation back into them. Although the effort did little good, the concentration it required brought his senses into clearer focus.

He was tied to a stake.

A careful glance around revealed he was in front of the large structure that was El Demonio’s home. Raul could hear someone approaching. He looked up as one of the bandits walked up to him.

The man slapped his face and laughed. “We never hit the staked ones any harder than that,” the bandit said. “It would be too merciful.”

Tu madre — your mother,” Raul said, uttering the insult.

La tuya — yours,” the bandit replied, still laughing. He turned and walked over to El Demonio’s door and entered.

Raul turned away to look out over the camp, and was slapped again. Not hard, but it was irritating. Another bandit stood there. Raul spit at him.

Hey!” the man yelled, jumping back. Then he laughed. “After a long while without water, you will not even be able to do that.”

A quarter of an hour later the first man left El Demonio’s quarters and delivered another slap to Raul’s face as he walked by. Then the hideous reality of the situation dawned on the captive. He was staked out at that location for one purpose. Anyone entering or leaving El Demonio’s house could slap him. It was like the notorious Chinese torture where small drops of water were dripped slowly over the victim’s head. At first it would seem easily bearable, but as time went by each drop would keep adding pressure to the whole until they would seem like the blows of a club.

Soon the visitors were passing by regularly.

Slap!

Raul growled, “Your sister sleeps with coyotes.”

Slap!

Son of a bitch!”

Slap!

The small amount of food and water he had allowed in the shack now became a blessing of sorts. Raul had begun to feel the effects of dehydration, but that also meant he had no pressing needs to urinate; and the skimpy diet meant that would keep his bowels under control.

Slap!

He could feel his face growing numb.

Slap!

Hey, valoroso, untie me and let’s see who can hit harder, eh?”

Slap!

~*~

It was cooler now in the late afternoon and Raul could no longer see out of his left eye. He could imagine what his face looked like on that side.

Slap!

He wondered about Loretta many times during the day. She was probably back in the room where he’d found her the previous night. At least he didn’t have to worry about her being tormented. Damaged goods would not be appreciated by the whoremongers in Selva Vista.

Slap!

His mind mulled over his decision to kill her. Was it really out of sympathy and love for her? Obviously she loathed the idea of returning to forced prostitution. Hadn’t she willingly obeyed him and turned away so he could shoot her in the back of the head? He grimaced as he thought of what the bullet would have done to her beautiful face upon exiting out the front of her skull.

Slap!

~*~

The sun was dropping rapidly now. The shadows were lengthened to their maximum just before dark. Dios Santo! He was thirsty. Food held no attraction, but the thought of cool fresh water was worse than anything he was enduring.

Slap!

~*~

Time meant nothing to him, and he was surprised when the sun came up behind him. His left ear was swollen and he could barely hear out of it.

Slap!

~*~

Raul was barely aware of the sun’s heat as he was shaken awake. He opened his good eye and looked into the face of Gonzales one of El Demonio’s close associates.

Hijo la! You look terrible!” Gonzales said.

Raul tried to spit, but couldn’t get up enough saliva. “What is the matter? Can you not find another tied-up man to torment?”

Gonzales laughed. “Speak with respect to your albogado, eh?”

My lawyer? What kind of stupid joke is this?” Raul asked. Then he noticed his hands were being untied.

You are going to plead in the Sala de Jefes — the Hall of Chiefs. I am representing you.”

Raul stepped away from the stake, noticing a second man guarding him. “I am not playing any games with you scum. If you are going to kill me, I will show you how to die with dignity.”

Just show some patience, Mackenzie, and I will explain the facts of the matter to you.”

Give me a drink,” Raul demanded as he noticed the canteen slung over Gonzales’ shoulder.

Sure. Take all you want, but listen. This is important to you. The Sala de Jefes is our court. You, like a lot of outsiders, do not realize that we have our own society up here that is as complicated as your own. Demonio wanted to kill you right away but we members of the Sala insisted you be given a hearing. I sponsored the motion myself.”

May I ask why?”

Sure! You killed Chango.”

I understand,” Raul said. “Then you must be the next lucky fellow who gets Chapina.”

Exactamente! I am so grateful I thought I would give you a chance for survival. No matter how slim.”

Gracias,” Raul said caustically. “I wonder how long it is going to be before you bandidos realize that Chapina is bad luck.”

Gonzales laughed loudly. “But what a way to die!” Then he quickly became more serious. “Now we must get you to the Sala and try to save your life.”

Raul had known enough not to drink too much from the canteen. In his condition, his body would have been unable to absorb much liquid, and he would have vomited it up in painful retchings of his stomach. He handed the container back after some quick, shallow swallows. “So where is this building in which I am to suffer the justice of your bandit gang?”

It is not really inside a building, Mackenzie. It is in the back of Demonio’s house. Come on. Everybody is waiting.”

Raul walked painfully slow, but neither Gonzales nor the guard made any attempts to push him along. As they went around the side of the house, Raul was able to discern a large crowd of murmuring people. When he and his escort came into view there was a sudden silence.

Raul stopped and surveyed the scene.

It appeared that a majority of the bandit band was present. They were seated on the ground as well as barrels, boxes, a few chairs and benches. One side of the square was nearly empty except for a long table. Behind this sat seven men; obviously the jefes who would hear his plea.

El Demonio was seated in front of them, his left arm in a sling. The bandit chief looked at Raul. “Pray to God and thank him for the mercy shown you by people you think are the scum of the earth.”

Raul ignored him, taking a quick look around for Loretta, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Raul figured it would be better that way.

Gonzales, his face stern, walked ahead of Raul, motioning him to follow. They stopped in front of the table. “We are here.”

A paunchy bandit stood up and signaled for quiet. “La Sala is now in session. What is the business before it and who speaks?”

El Demonio stood up so the crowd could hear his words. “I am El Demonio, Chief of La Gente de la Mesa. I demand the death of this prisoner named Raul Mackenzie-Mendoza.”

Raul was surprised as the proceedings opened. Here was evidence of a system of law among men considered criminals by normal society. And El Demonio had referred to them as La Gente de la Mesa — The People of the Mesa. It would seem that even the poor devils who had been hung head-down to die were sentenced to their horrible deaths through prosecutorial and defensive procedures.

The corpulent chairman asked, “Does anyone here object?”

I object,” Gonzales announced. “I am Enrique Gonzales a sub-chief of the Mesa People.”

The chairman sat down and pointed to El Demonio. “State your case and we shall decide.”

El Demonio indicated Raul with a wave of his good hand. “That son of a bitch killed at least three of our people He also has been trying to keep a whore away from us when we wished to sell her back to her proper owners. And this wretched mestizo caused a horse to get killed the other night. All his actions hurt us and even violated the treaty we have between ourselves and Rancho San Andres.”

Anything else?” the chairman asked.

Sure!” El Demonio said loudly. “He shot me while I was trying to talk to him. I should not have to put with that, should I?”

The crowd hollered its collective agreement until the chairman again signaled for quiet. He turned To Gonzales. “Let us hear from you now.”

Gonzales stared down at the ground thoughtfully for several moments before speaking. “Well…he is a very nice fellow.”

The crowd booed and catcalled this weak defense. Raul glared in anger at his defender, then stood up. “Can I say something?”

Go ahead,” the chairman said.

Raul waited for the crowd to quiet down. Despite his weakened condition, he forced himself to the task. “I was minding my own business making a little extra money by taking the girl back to her family. I stole her from her owners. That meant she was mine. La mia! The next thing I knew Demonio and some of his men rode up and made trouble for me. Sure I shot a couple. If they had gone away I would not have done it. Then Demonio chased us and killed my friend Angel. After that the girl was taken away and I was locked up. I only fought to get back what was mine. So, I ask you one and all, what is wrong with that?”

That was very a very good argument,” Gonzales told him.

Raul frowned at him. “It was a lot better than you did.”

I never was very good with words,” Gonzales admitted

Once again the chairman took charge of the proceedings. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

I still insist that Mackenzie is a nice fellow,” Gonzales announced.

El Demonio waved disgustedly to indicate he had nothing to add.

The chairman studied Raul carefully. “I vote we kill him.”

Me too,” said the second.

Let him go,” voted the third.

The fourth glared at Raul. “Kill him.”

Free him,” said the fifth.

Yes,” the sixth said. “Turn him loose.”

The crowd having tallied up the three-to-three vote was silent now. The seventh jefe scratched his chin thoughtfully and studied Raul through lowered eyelids. Finally he stood up smiling. He held out his hand to Raul. As Raul reached for it, the bandit drew it back. “Burn in hell, you mestizo bastard!”

The crowd screamed in delight and some even fired pistols in the air. Gonzales looked sadly at Raul. “I think they planned the vote in advance,” he said, shrugging. “A dirty trick on me too.”

Now that is a shame!” Raul sneered

It took ten minutes to restore order. The jefes had to detail several nearby men to wade into the crowd, using their fists to batter a few of the rowdiest spectators until the hearing resumed an orderly state.

Gonzales spoke once again. “So you are going to kill him, eh? I will not get angry about it because that is what the jefes want. But you must admit he was a brave man. He fought us all and he never begged for mercy nor showed weakness. He may be a mestizo but at least half of him is mexicano.”

The crowd was split in its opinion on this final plea. In their barbaric make-up there was an undeniable admiration for a man who displayed a stubborn pride in defense of his honor or life.

The chairman conferred with his fellows, then turned back to the crowd. “He will die on our gallows, hanging head-down for all to see that the vengeance of the People of the Mesa is fast and dreadful.”