Going ashore through customs was anti-climactic after all the worry. It was Gaston’s theory that the touring theatrical company took a lot of pressure off them as the harassed-looking Colombian customs officials went through their many cases of props and scenery. The fifty-peso note wrapped around the cigar he offered the man at their counter might have speeded things up, too.
They got to the railroad depot in plenty of time and booked a compartment on the English-style coach. But then they had to wait, and wait, until everyone else who’d come ashore from the same steamer had made it to the train.
As the little wood-burner tooted and dinged its way out of Buenaventura, the compartment door opened the Divine Rowena swept in with her two huge dogs. She said, “I wanted a private compartment, but you people can stay here, since we’re all white, and obviously going the same way.”
Gaston slid over in his seat as Liza stared amazed at the flamboyant blond and Captain Gringo eyed the dogs thoughtfully. They seemed willing to rough it on the floor, but they took up a hell of a lot of room. He glanced at Gaston with a raised eyebrow. The Frenchman said, “The more the merrier. Or perhaps the more diverting, hein?” and the American decided not to throw her out after all. Who was going to look twice at journalists when there was a hat like that one to stare at?
The countryside away from the seaport was flat and seemed devoted to growing sugarcane where it wasn’t rice paddy or coconut trees. The locomotive was having a hard time pulling them along level ground and he knew they’d be going even slower as soon as they crossed the coastal plains to the foothills.
The conductor came in to punch their tickets. He looked sadly down at the dogs and said, “I am sorry, señora, but livestock is not allowed in first class.”
The Divine Rowena said, “They’re not livestock, they’re my friends, and if you call this first class, I’d hate to see second. I’m not used to traveling with strangers. I prefer more room. Would you be good enough to arrange a private compartment for me, once we’re under way?”
The conductor looked pained. “No, señora. I am sorry, but the train is crowded, as I told you before. And the regulations are most clear as to animals in the first-class coaches. I shall have to ask you to let me put your dogs up front in the baggage cars.”
“You can ask all you like, my good man. However, if you molest my pets I’ll have you arrested. I happen to be very important, anywhere, and I am in your country as a guest of Senator Vargas.”
“Well, as long as none of the other passengers object ...”
The Divine Rowena glared about her as if the very idea that anyone might object to having a wolfhound on his or her feet was beyond comprehension. Gaston winked at the conductor and said, “It’s all right. If the train breaks down, we may want to ride.”
The conductor shrugged and left. The Divine Rowena sniffed and said, “Peones are such a bore.”
Captain Gringo took out a smoke and started to light it. The blond said, “I don’t allow smoking in my compartment, sir.”
He said, “Tough. Call a peon.” Then he struck a light and leaned back to enjoy his smoke more than he’d really expected to. The Divine Rowena turned to Gaston and asked, “Are you going to stand for that, sir?”
Gaston said, “Oui, he’s bigger than me.” He didn’t look at his friends. He knew they’d be smart enough to see that the blond hadn’t connected them. It could be another advantage, if anyone was expecting a threesome. They were pretty sure they’d covered their tracks so far, but in a game of life and death, any chips fate placed on the table for you were worth betting on.
One of the dogs raised its head, sniffed, and placed its muzzle in Liza’s lap. She patted it and said, “Hello, old chap. What’s your name?”
The Divine Rowena said, “Horsa is not allowed to associate with strangers, miss.”
Liza smiled sweetly and replied, “Tell the mutt to take his nose away from my lap then. I take it the other one must be Hengist?”
“Of course. I didn’t realize you were English.”
“I am. What are you?”
“What am I?” gasped the Divine Rowena. “Why, I am English too, of course. Don’t tell me you have never heard of me and my Shakespearean Company, the Divine Rowena and Company?”
Liza laughed in her face and said, “That’s divine, all right. Your County Clare accent comes through even when you’re speaking Spanish. We used to vacation at my uncle’s Irish estate and I was quite friendly, as a child, with the servants. But well say no more about it, if you’ll drop your jumped-up act and make this cur behave. He’s slobbering on my skirt.”
The Divine Rowena kicked Horsa’s rump savagely and the hound lowered its muzzle to the floor with a whimper. Captain Gringo caught the knowing look from Gaston and had to glance away. Liza turned to him and said sweetly, “I think I’d like a smoke, too, dear.”
As he gave her one, the Divine Rowena gasped, “Are you being impertinent, my girl?”
“Oh, I hope so. But if you call me your girl again, you ridiculous country wench, I’ll snatch your blond hair out by its black roots!”
Captain Gringo said, “That’s enough, ladies. I think we all understand each other now, and it’s a long trip to Bogotá. Let’s all simmer down and enjoy the scenery. Why is that dog growling at me, ma’am?”
The Divine Rowena sniffed and said, “He senses that I’m upset. He can be quite savage with people who upset me.”
“Yeah? Well I can be quite savage, too. So keep them under control or all three of you may wind up walking.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a friend of Senator Vargas, sir!”
“That’s your problem. I never heard of him.” The dog called Hengist bared its teeth at the tone of his voice and Captain Gringo said, “I’m not impressed with this friend of yours, either. So what’s it going to be?”
The Divine Rowena leaned forward to pat her dog, soothing, “Down, boy. Mommy Wommy only wants to be fwends with these Peepy Weepy.”
Liza took a drag on her own cheroot and said, “I fink I’m going to fwow up!”
But nobody wanted to press it further, and as the train tunneled under some jungle growth and picked up speed, they all settled back.
After a time, the fat man they’d seen with her aboard the steamer stuck his head in to ask if the Divine Rowena was comfortable. She sniffed and started to make a crack, but apparently reconsidered and merely shrugged.
The manager said, “I wish you’d ride back with the rest of us, madam. There were soldiers in our car and the brakeman was just saying something about bandits up the line.”
The Divine Rowena said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Our booking agent assured us things were very peaceful in Colombia and Senator Vargas would have warned us if there was trouble brewing.”
The manager looked at Captain Gringo as if for confirmation. The tall American smiled up at him and said, “Don’t look at me. We just got here. We’re Canadian newspapermen, on our way up to cover the new constitutional assembly.”
Gaston nodded and said, “We heard nothing about a revolution, m’sieu.”
The manager replied, “Oh, the soldiers aren’t expecting to tangle with rebels. The peones are supposed to be happy under the conservatives.”
“Really? Then why do they need soldiers on the train? One would expect policemen to deal with ordinary bandits, hein?”
The fat man shrugged and said, “I don’t know any more about it than you folks. Bandits or rebels, I just want to see that madam is safe. Uh, are you folks armed?”
Captain Gringo hesitated, but Gaston patted his jacket and said, “Oui, we have traveled in Latin America before. How about yourself, m’sieu?”
The manager took a single action Colt .44 out from under his linen coattails and said, “Been carrying this since Laredo. Knock wood, I haven’t had to use it, yet.”
The Divine Rowena curled her painted lips and said, “Fortunately for all concerned, Jason. I’ve told you not to wave that silly thing around. Everybody knows you don’t know how to use it.”
As the fat man sheepishly put the big gun away, she added for all to hear, “You know what they say about men with big guns. Jason has been trying to impress us with his machine-made virility for some time, now.”
She shot Captain Gringo an arch look and added, “You’ll have to show me your gun sometime.”
He knew she was doing it to bitch Liza. He met her lewd eyes with a knowing smile of his own and said, “It’s only medium-sized, ma’am. But it does the job.”
Liza snuggled closer and said, “I’ll say it does. And he’s being modest. He’s got one of the biggest guns I’ve ever seen.”
The speculation in the blowsy blond’s eyes was making him uncomfortable, so he nodded at Gaston and gave a chip away by saying, “My friend, here, has a magnificent gun. May I introduce M’sieu Pierre Lebel, of the Ottawa Observer?”
The Divine Rowena turned to look at Gaston thoughtfully as she trilled, “Oh! You’re both newspapermen? I’ve always found it useful to be in good with people who publish. Tell me, m’sieu, does your paper have a theatrical section?”
Gaston grinned and replied, “If they don’t, I shall demand they start one. I have yet to regard Madam’s performance, but I am looking forward to it. I am trés willing to get in good with you, too!”
Liza choked, perhaps on her cheroot, but the laughter in her eyes was lost on the blond. The Divine Rowena took herself very seriously indeed.
The manager of her troupe got tired of standing, and since nobody offered him a seat he went away. Captain Gringo unfolded a tabloid he’d bought in Buenaventura and tried to catch up on the latest developments in Colombia. As he read, one part of his mind was dimly aware that having established their pecking order, the two women were making up with small talk, the way two schoolboys do after an even steven fistfight neither wants to go through again.
Liza’s unpredictable temper had him a little worried. She seemed to spend most of her time as an almost too-sweet proper Victorian lady. But her occasional flare-ups were lulus. Listening to her now, one would never believe that a few short minutes ago she’d called the Divine Rowena a wench. The Divine Rowena would doubtless be jolted to learn her new semi-chum had killed at least two people – in less than a fortnight, too!
He thought about that and decided it didn’t count as ungovernable temper. Both jewel thieves had been asking for trouble and if Liza had acted with blinding speed and considerable skill, it only meant Gaston was probably correct in assuming the girl had been well trained by the Brits.
But a well-trained secret agent didn’t fly off the handle at petty annoyances like a tiresome traveling companion. Liza’s sexual habits were unpredictable, too. That morning on the steamer he’d tried for a morning resumption of their orgy in the dark and she’d jumped like a frightened virgin when he tried to steal a feel. They’d had plenty of time before the boat docked, in his opinion, but she’d insisted that once she started dressing she never stopped. She’d actually started to cry when he tried a little gentle wrestling and if he hadn’t explored her very thoroughly the night before, he’d have started wondering again if she was a sissy boy in women’s dress. She’d been frigid and shy until they joined Gaston at the breakfast table. But then she’d warmed up to him in public, and now was acting like a rather possessive spouse. He decided her unstable emotions might be caused by her chronic condition. Consumptives were living under a slow death sentence and a lot of them acted weird. Who was that crazy gun fighter he’d met when he first went west after graduation – Doc Holliday? Yeah, that had been the guy’s name. A charmer one minute and a killer the next. The poor old guy had acted like he was trying to get himself killed, but, ironically, he’d last been heard of checking into a Denver TB sanitarium and was probably dead by now.
Captain Gringo shot a sideways glance at his brunette companion. Liza was flushed and animated as she chatted with Gaston and the blond across the compartment. That morning she’d been pale and drawn, as if the lovemaking the night before had taken a lot out of her. He wondered if she’d be hot or cold when they got someplace he could find out. He wondered if he should take it easy in any case. The capital city of Bogotá lay at over eight thousand feet and ... What in the hell was wrong with Greystoke?
Even allowing that Liza may have been a good secret agent in the past, couldn’t her superiors see she was starting to fray at the ends? He still didn’t know what they’d sent her to do, but anything took a cool head and – at high altitude – a healthy pair of lungs. If Liza fell apart, it would not only endanger Greystoke’s plans, whatever they were. It could mess up the mission he and Gaston were on, and that was already too untidy for comfort.
The Americans in Limón had only given them an outline on what they wanted done about the nationalized American mine. They’d said he’d be filled in once he got to Bogotá.
They’d told him the guy in charge of Colombian counter-espionage was a short colonel called Maldonado. The name rang a bell. Hadn’t they matched wits with Maldonado that time in Panama? Fortunately, he and the short colonel had never met face-to-face as they swapped long distance shots. So, hopefully, he’d have the slight advantage of knowing who the opposition was before Maldonado knew where he and Gaston were. On the other hand, there was little two adventurers could do to a short colonel surrounded by an army, while if Maldonado spotted anything at all suspicious about two supposed Canadian journalists, lots of luck!
Maybe he could ditch Liza? It made sense, even if it seemed a little dirty. Neither she nor her British employers had leveled with him, even yet, and an unstable female could slow a man down even when he wasn’t on the dodge. On the other hand, if he did anything to screw her mission up, Greystoke would owe him nothing but a hard time, and there was a British consulate in Bogotá, wired to the outside world with Mr. Bell’s world-shrinking invention. He turned the page as he decided to go along with her game, whatever it was, for now.
He started reading the financial column, not very interesting in a country where the government grabbed everything good. He saw they’d taken over a Swedish phosphate plant and that Sweden was mad as hell. But Stockholm was a long way off, so all the Swedes could do about it was to call Colombia a Communist dictatorship.
It was funny how both ends of the political spectrum seemed to meet on the far side of the block. The autocratic clique running things down here was so far to the right of the late Karl Marx that they’d bumped into some of his ideas from the opposite direction. The leftists wanted to take over private property because their pobrecitos didn’t own it. The rightists took over private property because their ricos wanted it all. The results were the same. Only the speeches were different.
He started to skim over an editorial about imperialistic exploitation, since both sides borrowed one another’s sophisms. But a line caught his eye and he frowned thoughtfully. He couldn’t talk openly to Gaston in front of one British spy and a daffy dame who could be anything. He took out a pencil stub and underlined “Consolidated Chromium Corporation,” before he handed the paper across to Gaston without comment.
The little Frenchman read for a moment, then handed it back with a raised eyebrow and a slight nod. Captain Gringo knew he’d gotten it, too. They’d been told the mine they were to sabotage was the CCC, outside of Bogotá. There could be two CCC mines. One was bad enough!
But they’d told him in Limón that the nationalized American holdings was an emerald mine. The article in the local paper said it was a chromium vein. Apparently they weren’t too happy with the Colombian manager they’d sent in to replace the Americans and according to the paper, they’d just fired him for poor production.
Production of chromium? He half-closed his eyes as he thought about the mining book he’d been reading on the ship. He’d left it behind for obvious reasons, but he remembered now that emeralds got their green color from chromic oxide. The chemistry was tricky. Chromic oxide colored rubies red, too. It depended on what you mixed the stuff with deep in a long-dead volcano. Okay, emeralds were an aluminium beryllium silicate cooked with a dash of chromic oxide. The Northern Andes were infested with extruded silicates and you’d obviously find chromic oxide in a chromium lode. So it figured. The big American-owned trust had dug for chrome to make their stainless steel and when they’d lucked into emeralds the locals had gotten greedy and had second thoughts about dirty gringo exploitation. They’d probably fired their new manager because he wasn’t driving the workers hard enough. Any semi-skilled peon could load chromite ore. Sifting it for gemstones took more time as well as skill. Profits weren’t as high as they’d expected. Things were looking up.
If the locals working the mine were being driven harder by the new owners than the original American developers had driven them, they might well feel used and abused. Gaston was a professional starter of revolutions and he was a professional fighter of the same. They might not have to wreck the mine the hard way, all by themselves. They might have help. He knew the former owners didn’t have any specific ideas on putting the mine out of business. They simply wanted to show the local government and, more important, other governments, that it wasn’t such a hot idea to nationalize American outfits after all.
They hadn’t given him and Gaston a map. He knew where it was and that he was expected to wing it when he got there. They’d offered him credentials and a cover story, period. He’d be contacted in Bogotá or he wouldn’t. He’d gotten the distinct impression that he and Gaston were expendable. He’d learned to live with that. People hired soldiers of fortune only to avoid risking more important necks.
He was about to turn the page again when Gaston snapped, “Down!” and Captain Gringo dove for the floor without waiting to be told why. He landed atop Hengist, who tried to bite his elbow off as he went for his gun. The linen jacket kept the mutt from drawing blood and when Gaston piled on top of them both the dog moaned and let go. So Captain Gringo drew his gun as a bullet shattered the window above them and showered them with broken glass!
He glanced sideways to see how the girls were doing. Liza was on top of Horsa at the feet of the Divine Rowena. But the big blond was still seated bolt upright, screaming like a banshee as another bullet shot past.
Captain Gringo raised his gun muzzle as well as his head above the lower edge of the shattered center window, almost having his hair parted by another bullet. But he saw who was shooting at them, so he shot back. His first round missed the straw-hatted figure galloping beside the train on a surprisingly fast mule. His second shot took the pistolero through both lungs and blew him off the far side of his mount.
Gaston slid back up into his seat, shoved the screaming blond on top of the crowd on the floor, and smashed out the glass on his side with his own gun barrel as he asked, “What’s up, Dick?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d tell me. Watch it, here come a couple more!”
Both soldiers of fortune held their fire as a pair of mounted gunmen in peon dress slowly gained on the chuffing locomotive, peppering the coaches as they rode, apparently on general principles. Gaston said, “The one to our right is mine.” Captain Gringo nodded and they both fired together. They had the range now, and both riders cartwheeled off in unison to lie writhing in the trackside dust as the train sped on. Gaston said. “I thought there were supposed to be soldados aboard this train.”
“I heard that, too. Maybe they just don’t want to get involved. Watch it. We’re coming to some trackside cover.”
Both men fired into the tangle of gumbo limbo and sea grape growing near the track as they passed by, then ducked without comment as a hail of bullets whipcracked over them, splintering the woodwork and taking out the last of the glass. As the shots faded away, Captain Gringo rose again and potted another rider who’d broken cover and was closing in to grab and hoist himself from his saddle to the rolling stock. He looked sort of surprised as Captain Gringo potted him just over the heart and slid backwards off his galloping horse. There was a moment’s respite and Gaston asked, “Do you think that’s it, mon vieux?”
“Should be. They’ve already shown more determination than sense.”
“I agree. Bandits are seldom so heroic. They must be guerrillas, but the paper says the country is at peace under its benevolent despotism, hein?”
Captain Gringo shot a warning glance at the blond on the floor between them and growled, “Watch it.” There was no way to point out she’d said she was buddy-buddy with a local politico, since the dame was bilingual, but Gaston nodded and moved closer to the window. He leaned his head out and Captain Gringo said, “Careful. That’s a good way to draw fire.”
“I know. I am more concerned with what’s ahead of us. These boys don’t know how it is done. One does not chase the train making le boom boom unless one is an amateur. Anyone who’s had his first lesson from an old hand knows one should block the rail first, non?”
“That’s the way Jesse used to do it. See any logs across the tracks up forward?”
“Mais non, we are in the clear and moving too fast for anyone to catch us on a horse, now. Perhaps they were hired by the railroad to encourage the engineer to make better time? I am sure they are sitting on the safety valve up front. We are coming to open farmland again, too. I would say it was over. Those guerrillas obviously need a few lessons, hein?”
Again the tall American pointed at the big blond’s ripe rump with a warning glance. Gaston merely shrugged. He obviously took the Divine Rowena for a mental lightweight, but chatting about trade secrets just wasn’t smart in any league.
Captain Gringo said, “Show’s over, ladies and doggies. You can get up now, if you don’t mind ventilation. Watch where you put your derrières. There’s a mess of glass to be cleaned up.”
Liza again moved faster than the heavier Divine Rowena and Captain Gringo noticed she had her gun out as she slid back up on the seat. The Divine Rowena needed a little help from Gaston. Partly because she was still shaken and partly because Hengist was trying to mount her. Gaston hauled her out from under the panting wolfhound as she slapped its muzzle and said, “Behave yourself, damn it!” .
Everyone politely looked away as the big dog lay on its side with one leg raised and began to lick its bright red erection. The Divine Rowena’s face was almost as red as she kicked the mutt surreptitiously and batted her eyelashes at Gaston, saying, “Heavens, I think you just saved my life! I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to repay you!”
Gaston smiled gallantly and replied, “We’ll work that out later.”
Captain Gringo put his reloaded gun away and stood up, saying, “I’m going to have a look back in the other coaches. Somebody might have been hurt and the conductor doesn’t seem to be coming to fill us in.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Liza.
He started to shake his head. Then he decided it was a good chance to give Gaston a shot at his chosen quarry and, what the hell, he’d watch the luggage even if the Divine Rowena said yes.
He waited until Liza put her gun back in her purse and then he helped her up and led her back along the swaying corridor. None of the people they passed in the other first-class compartments had been hit, but most had been scared silly and it was sort of noisy.
They crossed to the next car back. The Divine Rowena’s manager, Jason, was waving his horse pistol about for no reason Captain Gringo could see. Apparently the other people around him were the troupe of touring players. They were reliving the attack in English and most of them had Northern European features. Unlike their flamboyant star, they were wearing sensible travel dusters over their clothing. A couple of the women wore hat veils. One of them didn’t look bad. But he hadn’t come back to meet any more actresses. He asked Jason if anyone in the group had been hit. The manager said, “No, thank God. I emptied my gun into the rascals and I’m sure I hit some. I saw them fall off their horses.”
“I noticed. Why don’t you reload that piece and put it away for now? Didn’t you tell us there was an armed military detail aboard?”
Jason pointed aft and said, “Next car. I didn’t hear any of them shooting back at the bandits. But, of course, I was shooting myself and my ears are still ringing.”
Captain Gringo nodded and led Liza on. When they found themselves alone on the platform between cars, the English girl asked, “Did you notice that none of them inquired about the Divine?”
He smiled crookedly and said, “Fair is fair. She didn’t seem to be worried about them.”
“There’s something funny about that woman, Dick.”
“I noticed that, too. I’ll bet when she puts on Romeo and Juliet she opts for a happy ending. But, what the hell, I doubt that Henry Irving and Ellen Terry play South America often.”
Liza laughed and said, “I’m surprised you know so much about legitimate theater, Dick. When did you ever get the chance to see Ellen Terry on the stage?”
“I used to live in the real world. I wasn’t always a bum.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, dear.”
“Skip it. Let’s see why our soldados are so shy.”
He slid the door to the second-class coach open, and took the lead. The coach they found themselves in had bench seats, but it was too crowded for everyone to have one. The peones were yelling back and forth above the sound of the railroad wheels and the cackle of chickens and geese. Near the center of the car, the crowd had made a circle around a woman spread out on the floor. The window above her had been shot out. So had one of the peon woman’s lungs. She lay in a nasty mess of blood and broken glass. Nobody seemed to be doing anything about it. Captain Gringo knelt to feel the wounded woman’s pulse. She wasn’t young and she’d never been pretty, but when she smiled up at him shyly, he smiled back and asked, “How do you feel, muchachita?”
“Very frightened, señor. Am I going for to die?” “Of course not. There’ll be a doctor in the next town, if there isn’t one aboard this train.”
He looked up hopefully at the others standing around. Most seemed sympathetic, but helpless. A sad-eyed fat woman crossed herself over and over, silently crying. A man with Indian features squatted down and reached in his dirty shirt as he said, “I have some coca, señor. Coca is very good for pain, but she says she does not feel any pain.”
Captain Gringo glanced at the dried leaves in his fist and said, “You are very kind, señor but we need bandages.”
Liza knelt, raised her skirt, and as some of the peon women gasped in awe, she began to tear a strip from the hem of her petticoat. He knew it was clean, but she did have TB and this was a lung wound they were talking about. As if she’d read his mind, Liza hunkered down beside him and said in English, “Let me do it, Dick. It won’t save her, but we have to do something.”
He nodded and held the wounded peon woman’s head and shoulders in his lap as Liza opened the front of her blouse. The woman murmured, “Oh, I must not expose myself, señora!”
Liza looked up and said firmly, “All of you men turn around and look the other way.” She’d forgotten she “didn’t speak Spanish.”
All but Captain Gringo did so, sheepishly. He apparently didn’t count, since he was a foreigner as well as the only male first aid available. In truth, there wasn’t a hell of a lot to get excited about when Liza had the woman exposed from the waist up. Her brown breasts were wrinkled and half empty. The bullet had entered just over the left one and her chest was a mess. Liza started chatting with the woman as she gently packed linen into the gaping wound. The woman said, “Forgive me if I seem disrespectful, señora. I am having trouble following you.” Then her head rolled limply and Captain Gringo murmured, “Is she unconscious?”
“Dead,” Liza said in a bleak voice, as she buttoned the woman’s blouse over the bandaged wound. He grimaced and said, “I feel better about the ones I shot back there, now. I don’t like to take sides before I know who’s fighting whom, but I don’t care who they were, now.”
Liza wiped her hands on the remaining scrap of improvised bandage and said, “I know. There ought to be a way to leave innocent bystanders out of these affairs, but nobody ever seems to manage.”
He lowered the dead woman’s head gently to the blood flecked-flooring and got to his feet, helping Liza to hers. As they stared together down at the pathetic figure at their feet, a burly man in a sergeant’s uniform blustered through the crowd and demanded, “What is going on up here? Where is the conductor?”
Captain Gringo said, “Nobody’s seen the conductor since we were shot up. I understand you have some other soldados aboard, Sergeant?”
“Si, one car behind. But what is it to you, señor? Hey, you are not from this country, eh?”
The tall American took out his passport. “We’re Canadian. My wife and I are bound for the capital to cover the debates for our newspaper.”
The sergeant shrugged and said, “That is none of my concern. We are only here in the lowland for to keep the peace.”
“That sounds reasonable. How come none of you boys fired when those whatevers attacked the train just now?”
“Are you trying to get smart with me, gringo?”
“No, just trying to be informed. I think I mentioned I work for a newspaper, and that I’m here with the permission of your government, didn’t I?”
“Hey, don’t get touchy, amigo. I don’t want no trouble. I got trouble enough already. You wish for to know why my men did not shoot? I will tell you for why my men did not shoot. It is all the fault of the crazy guns they just issued us. What was wrong with the old guns we had, eh? Madre de Dios, nobody needs a gun he does not know how for to shoot!”
“Really? What kind of guns do you have?”
Liza nudged him as the sergeant said, “Bah, first they give us these bolt action German things for rifles. Now we have a sort of Gatling gun, but it is not a Gatling gun. It has no hand crank for to turn.”
“You mean a machine gun? What kind is it, a Maxim or a Spandau?”
Liza took his arm and said firmly, “We have to get back to the others before they become worried, dear,” and he nodded as the sergeant shrugged.
“Si, I think someone said the piece of junk was a Belgian Maxim. Do you know about such weapons, señor?”
“Uh … I know what they are, of course. I’ve never fired one.”
“Ah! I was afraid of that. When those banditos attacked we cursed and swore, but the foolish machine gun refused for to shoot. Now we look most foolish, too, eh?”
Captain Gringo smiled at him and said, “Oh, I’d hardly say you and your men looked foolish, Sergeant. After all, some of the outlaws were hit, too, weren’t they?”
The sergeant looked surprised, but said, “Si, I counted four or five going down as we tried to clear our jammed machine gun. God knows who got them, but it was very nice shooting.”
Captain Gringo said, “I told you I was a reporter. I’m going to say one passenger and six bandits were killed in a running gunfight when I send my story on the wire. Some of the others on the train may have accounted for one or two, but it stands to reason that you trained soldiers must have nailed most of them, doesn’t it?”
The sergeant’s jaw dropped as he asked, “Hey, you intend to report it that way? For why, señor?”
“Why not? We’re all friends who just went through fire together, aren’t we?”
The burly man clapped him on the back and said, “¡Es verdad! We are comrades in arms and nobody can call you a gringo but me!”
He laughed and added, “As a matter of fact I don’t want for to call you gringo, either. How are you called, señor from Canada?”
“Uh, I’m Ian MacUlrich and this is my wife, Liza.”
“Bueno, I’m Sergeant Jose Vallejo and I am your amigo. Do you wish for to come back and meet the other boys? We got some aguardiente. We got some cerveza, too.”
Liza was tugging urgently at Captain Gringo’s arm. He didn’t really need her to tell him of the dangers involved in drinking beer and brandy with a band of celebrating soldiers.
He smiled wistfully and told the sergeant, “Maybe another time. We really have to get back to our friends up forward. How far up the line are you and your men going, Sergeant?”
Vallejo said, “To the foothills and beyond, to the next rail connection. We shall see that you, these others, and the mail, is safely on its way under the protection of the next division.” He looked uncomfortable and added, “This is the first time they have ever attacked a rolling train. Usually, one expects them to attack on the trail, when everyone is moving slowly. You first-class passengers, of course, will ride. But the mule trains move no faster than the second and third class can walk.”
Captain Gringo glanced around and couldn’t help saying, “If this is the second class, I’d hate to ride third.”
Vallejo shrugged and said, “You don’t have to. All North Americans are rich. These people have seats for to sit on and windows for to look out of. Perhaps that woman at our feet would have done better to ride third class, no? Nobody got hit, back in the boxcars. The banditos have it in for the upper and middle classes. They always shoot for first and second class.”
“I thought you said this was the first time they’ve smoked up a moving train, Sergeant?”
“I did. When we stop at the end of this line, you and your friends will spend the night in the best part of the tourist posada. We and the second class will shelter for the night under shed roofs inside the walls. Everyone else will sleep on the ground outside. The banditos never shoot at the probrecitos camped outside. They always try for to kill those who have the funds to travel in style.”
Captain Gringo glanced down at his “wife.” Liza was paler than usual, which made it pale indeed. He said, “Well, we’ll see you later this evening, then, Sergeant. It’s been nice talking to you. May we assume somebody is going to do something about this dead woman?”
Vallejo shrugged. “It is not my duty. Perhaps the conductor will leave her at the next station. Perhaps they will carry her to the end of the line. Who knows?”
Captain Gringo nodded and left them to sort it out as he led Liza back toward their own car. As soon as they were alone, she asked, “Have you gone mad, Dick? That soldier will remember us if we ever meet him again!”
He said, “Sure, that’s why I took the time to bullshit with him. You have to understand that we’re bound to attract attention down here, Liza, if only for looking well-fed, if not for our shoes. Trust me, I’ve been at this a while. Everyone comments on a strange Anglo. It helps if you have a local who shrugs it off and says he knows you, see?”
“I hope you’re right. I thought I’d faint when I thought you were going to show him how to shoot his machine gun.”
He laughed and said, “Hey, I’m cool, not stupid. I know my rep. Anyone expecting me will expect to meet me in the vicinity of a machine gun. I think I’d better start thinking of a better way.”
“Is there a better way for you, Dick?”
“Not really. I’m generally hired to do something noisy and there’s nothing much noisier than a Maxim or a Spandau, unless it’s dynamite. I don’t know which they’ll issue me when I make contact up the line. Meanwhile, I’m staying very quiet.”
“I thought that was why you credited those useless soldiers with the job you did on those rebels or bandits.”
“Nobody is useless, Liza. Bread on the water and all that crap. I’m pretty sure those gunmen were rebels, by the way. Vallejo’s story sounds like guys with political motivation.”
“I agree, but you certainly never hesitated when it came to shooting them.”
“Look, they were shooting at us. I don’t know which rebel band you Brits are backing but Gaston figures there has to be at least four or five rebel factions in all of these countries. I didn’t like that last bunch much.”
“But what if they turn out to be the ones the .American State Department wants you to work with, Dick?”
He shrugged and said, “I guess I’ll have to work with them. They could use some lessons in basic tactics, whoever they are, and you just saw me shift the blame for the ones we had to nail to more deserving shoulders.”
They came to the last private stretch of corridor before their own compartment. He stopped her and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away and asked, “Have you lost your mind?”
He laughed and said, “No. Just trying to change the subject to my favorite topic. Why don’t we duck into the ladies’ room, lock the door, and try for some vertical sordidness?”
She grimaced and said, “Sordid is right! I’ll bet you would do it standing up in all your clothes, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, all men are beasts. But how do you know you wouldn’t like it?”
“I have no intention of finding out. Let’s go back to our seats and see how Gaston and the dogs are making out.”
He laughed and said, “You say I have a dirty mind? Old Gaston accused the poor frump of bestiality, too. What made you suspicious?”
“Dogs that introduce themselves by sniffing at a lady’s crotch are rather obvious, don’t you think? We had a girl like her at school, back home. She and her sheep dog were inseparable, until the head mistress caught them in flagrante delicto and expelled them both.” She laughed as she added, “Some of us thought the poor dog might have been given another chance.”
It was his turn to wrinkle his nose. He said, “You’re starting to convince me. Gaston’s pretty good, but he’s never faced rivals like that for a lady’s favors.”
“I’m betting on Hengist. Did you notice the size of that big mutt’s tool?”
“Yeah, and he’s got a longer tongue than Gaston, too.”