Soft, cackling laughter erupted from within. “Hombre, you escaped that hellhole called Yuma?”
“No, I was released, but let’s talk inside. I feel like an empty whiskey bottle sitting on some target-shooter’s fence out here.”
“Sí, of course, come in, before those nosy dogs who live across the road see you, and take word to that demon who calls himself a major in Castillo’s army of thieves.”
I glanced across the road. Years back an elderly couple named Rameriz had lived there, he a potter at the factory in town that supplied bottles and jugs to the breweries, she a doting grandmother with a large garden and a reputation for fine jams and jellies. Before I could wonder any further, the door flew open and a time-honed face was thrust into the dim light spilling over the eastern rim of the horizon. It looked much as I remembered it, seamed and weathered, its sparse white hair in disarray atop a mostly bald pate. A claw-like hand motioned me inside. I ducked through the low door, and the old man reached up to clamp a papery hand atop my shoulder.
“I had thought I would never see you again, amigo,” he declared with more emotion than I had a right to expect. “Twelve years they said you were to serve, but it has not been that long, has it?” A baffled expression pinched his already narrow face as he calculated the seasons. “No, surely not twelve.”
“Only four,” I told him. “I was released to deliver a ransom.”
Ramón’s dark eyes widened. “Ah, the gringa?”
“Yes, do you know of her?”
“Everyone in Sabana knows of her. We thought the United States might send its army to free her, and there has been much debate as to whether that would be a good thing. Personally I do not want to see the norteamericanos in my country, but there are others who say it would be worth it to pry that fat thief, Chito Soto, out of our valley.”
“Is the woman safe?”
“Sí, I think so, and her children, too, although I do not know how long their safety can be assured. Already the major grows impatient, and threatens our people if the ransom is not soon paid.”
“Your people? The villagers?”
The old man nodded soberly. “At first it was the woman and her children Soto promised to harm, but lately it has been the people of Sabana, as if he blames us for the long silence from the north.”
“Señor Davenport sent a man to Tres Pinos a couple of weeks ago to negotiate a ransom. That man’s head was sent back to Tucson without its body.”
“But with an extra hole in its skull?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“This Da—Davort.” He spoke slowly, mangling the unfamiliar word with its strange, harsh accent. “He is the woman’s husband?”
“Yes. He’s waiting in the hills for me to bring her back.”
Ramón was quiet for a moment, then said, “You risk much, my friend.”
“A woman’s life is at stake, and her children’s. Would you do any less?”
He sighed heavily. “Today, I don’t know, but when I was younger.” Then he grinned, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “When I was younger, I would have gone up to that fat bandido and cut his ugly throat.”
I laughed, and I believed him, too.
“Is it safe here, and can we stay?”
He shrugged. “It is as safe here as anywhere in the Sabana Valley, and for maybe five days’ ride in any direction from it. Of course you may stay. Did you bring the ransom for the woman?”
“Part of it. Enough for one of the children.”
“A wise decision, I think. This Major Chito Soto is not a man I would trust. Not if my life depended upon it, and believe me, amigo, yours does.”
I nodded. I’d known Ramón Gutiérrez for a good many years by then, and trusted him when he said my life was at stake. But I wasn’t surprised. I’d known the odds when I’d accepted the job.
“I have a horse and two mules in your stables, and another man who I trust.”
“Your animals will be safe if your man can keep them quiet.”
“They’ve come a long way and are very tired. They won’t make any noise if they aren’t disturbed.”
“Bueno.” He moved to the table in a shuffling gait and struck a spark into a piece of black char cloth with his flint and steel. He used the char to light a piece of tinder, the tinder to light a candle sitting in a base of its own wax in the middle of the table. Pinching out the char’s spark with a thumb and forefinger, he returned the fire-making kit to a brass container and set it out of the way. “You are hungry?”
“Not if it’s jerky or hard crackers.”
Ramón smiled and went to kneel before the corner fireplace. While he fixed breakfast, I went outside to help Luis unsaddle the animals and remove the machine gun and ammunition from the pack mule.
“You trust this old man?” Luis asked as we loosened the ropes holding the machine gun in place.
“I’ve known him a long time. I trust him like a father.”
Luis studied me for a minute, then said, “My father cut my mother’s throat when he caught her with another man, then kicked me out of the house when I was fourteen.”
“I left home early, too, but it wasn’t because of my father. It was because of what he did for a living.”
“Bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
After a moment’s reflection, Luis said, “A politician?”
“A grocer.”
The slim Mexican shrugged. “That does not sound so bad.”
“He wanted me to become one, too,” I replied, and Luis shuddered.
“You made the right decision,” he assured me as we lowered the machine gun’s crate to the ground.
“Even with four years in Yuma?”
“Sí, even with four years. That kind of life might be pleasing for some, but for men like you and me, it would be even worse than Yuma.”
I didn’t argue, having come to more or less the same conclusion years earlier. We set the heavy container on the ground in a shadowy corner of the stable and stepped back.
“I think maybe we should hide it,” Luis said.
I shrugged. It seemed like a wasted effort to me, and likely only to draw attention to the crate if anyone saw it. I glanced around curiously. When I’d known Ramón before Yuma, he’d kept his goats and chickens penned up in here, but, from the look of the dung littering the dirt floor, it didn’t appear that any livestock had been in the stable for at least a year. Still, there was dried manure and old straw, and I told Luis to shovel some over the top of the crate.
“Not much,” I cautioned. “Just enough to make it look like it’s been sitting there a while. Same with the cartridge pouches. When you’re done, come on in. Ramón is fixing breakfast.”
The sky was noticeably lighter when I returned to the old Mexican’s small house. Cocks were crowing all over town, and the morning air was pleasantly cool, although I held no illusions about what the day would bring. The good waters of the Río Sabana kept the valley air moist, but it didn’t filter out the heat worth a damn. By midday the sun would be blazing down, the village all the more miserable for the humidity.
Ramón had bacon sizzling in a cast-iron spider, and a dozen eggs laid out for frying. Coffee brewed in a white enamel pot on the opposite side of the flame, its red trim chipped and nearly worn away with age, its bottom blackened beyond recovery. The old man motioned toward a trio of pewter mugs sitting on the table.
“The coffee is hot, and the meat will soon be ready.”
“Smells good,” I said, hunkering down at the old man’s side to pour myself a mug. Replacing the pot at the edge of the flames, I wandered over to a stout, hand-carved bench I remembered from my very first visit there. Studying the elderly man’s features in the light of the fire, I reflected on how much he’d changed over the years, and especially how much he’d changed since his wife’s death, a few months before my last trip to Sabana. She’d been a vibrant woman, I recalled, bringing color and vitality to the small house, making it more of a home than merely the place to eat and sleep that it had become.
“How are your daughters?” I asked after a bit, just to make conversation.
“They exist, but barely, since the bandidos came. Gracias a Dios they were born ugly, like their father. Too many young women have been taken into Soto’s stronghold to satisfy the lusts of those brutes he calls soldiers.”
“Can’t the Federales do anything?”
Ramón sadly shook his head. “There was a small garrison here when Soto arrived, but they were no match for the bandits. The local comandante negotiated a surrender, but Soto broke its terms as soon as the garrison was disarmed.” He shifted around to stare at me with brooding eyes. “Soto gave the Federales a choice. Join his forces, purportedly under the banner of General Castillo’s Army of Liberation, or face a firing squad. To be certain that the men of the garrison understood the consequences of their decision, he had the comandante and a young captain placed against the side of the garrison’s wall, then shot like rabid wolves.” He shook his head in disgust, then spat into the flame.
I stared at the hard-packed dirt floor between my boots. Jorge Archuleta had told me basically the same story in Moralos, only with a couple of lieutenants instead of a captain.
Back in those days, I still figured Porfirio Díaz had a firm hold on the country, and that it was only a matter of time before he got around to eradicating troublemakers like Chito Soto and Adolpho Castillo. But I guess there were too many smaller revolutions going on for him to get a rope around all of them, and it wouldn’t be very many more years before men like Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata finished what the smaller fry like Soto and Castillo started.
“What became of the rest of the garrison?” I asked quietly.
“As you would expect. They are all now good soldiers under the major’s command. After the garrison was disarmed, Soto ordered his soldiers to go through the village and confiscate the arms of the people. I’ll tell you, hombre, they caught us by surprise with that one. The alcalde and some of his minions went to Soto to protest. They told him we still needed our guns as protection against Indians and thieves, but Soto just laughed at them. He promised that he would provide all the protection we needed.” Ramón snorted contemptuously. “It is true that he has made good on his vow to protect us from the Yaquis and Pimas, but he has left us defenseless against his own men. (Editor’s note: Gutiérrez is probably referring to the Lower Pimas, or Pima Bajos here.)Women have been raped, and others, men and women alike, have disappeared entirely. Cattle, goats, and hogs have gone to feed the major’s growing army, while the wheat fields that once supplied the breweries have been turned over to other crops to feed Soto’s men and horses.” He chuckled ruefully. “You should have heard the major’s outrage when he learned there was no more beer for him and his men, that they would be forced to drink the mescal of the common man. They say his wailing could be heard from the horns of Diablo’s Crown.”
There was a soft rap at the door, and Luis warily poked his head inside.
“Welcome, friend of Latham, who he says I can trust,” Ramón called, pushing to his bare feet to greet the younger man. “I am Ramón Gutiérrez, former manager of the Cerveza Grande Brewery warehouse, on la Quinta.”
“The warehouse manager?” Luis gave me a look of grudging respect. “Now I know how you obtained such fine beer for the trade.” He moved across the room to shake the older man’s hand. “I am Luis Vega, of Nogales. Like our good friend, I was also a trader along the border, although without his source for beer.”
We settled in to eat, Luis and I sharing the bench, Ramón squatting Indian-fashion beside the fireplace where he could keep an eye on the coffee. There were no forks, and the spoons were all made from goat’s horn. Luis and I were hungry, and didn’t speak until we’d cleaned up all the eggs and bacon, and drained the coffee pot. Afterward, while Luis scrubbed the dishes, Ramón and I sat at the table and discussed my options.
“Soto and his men have taken over the Federale garrison,” Ramón told me. “They keep the gringa and her muchachos there, in one of the back rooms. They are sometimes allowed outside, in the yard behind the barracks, but never without at least two guards.”
“Can I get to him, talk to him?”
“Soto?” Ramón shrugged. “Perhaps. He is expecting the guns, but his men are not true soldiers. They lack discipline. It might be wiser to have someone else approach the fat bandit first.”
“You?”
“Me?” The old man chuckled, then shook his head. “No, not for all the guns in your packs, amigo. You will have to find someone else.”
“Who?”
Ramón’s brows furrowed in thought. After a couple of minutes, he said, “There is someone … maybe. You know of Poco Guille?”
I frowned, remembering a kid who used to hang out at some of the cantinas across the river in Little Sabana. He hadn’t been more than seventeen or eighteen at the time, always around, always underfoot. He’d wanted to go into the trading business with me, but I’d never taken him seriously. No one had, as I recalled.
“What was his name?” I asked. “Not Poco Guille.”
“Guillermo Calderón.”
Maybe I ought to explain here that Guillermo is the Spanish equivalent of William, and that Poco Guille translates loosely to Little Billy. Little Billy Calderón.
“Is he still around?” I asked.
“Sí, if Soto’s men haven’t shot him since yesterday afternoon, when I saw him down by the river with Juan Kaspar’s daughter. His being shot is a possibility, although I didn’t hear any gunfire from the garrison. Usually I can, if it’s an official execution. Of course, there is always the chance that Juan Kaspar shot him, for hanging around his daughter.”
“I can understand why this man Kaspar might want to shoot a brash young fool,” Luis said, “but why would Soto’s men want to shoot him?”
“Because Poco Guille is a thief, a rascal, and a rake.” Ramón smiled, the flesh around his eyes crinkling into deep barrancas. “But he is well-liked, especially by the women.”
“Is he trustworthy?”
“Like a coyote in a hen house,” Ramón assured us.
Luis was scowling fiercely by this time, looking at me. “He is not the man for us, J. T. We need someone we can trust. Our mission here is too important to risk on a scallywag.”
But I wasn’t so sure.
Watching me curiously, Ramón said, “You know Poco Guille, don’t you?”
“Some. He wanted to ride the border with me for a while. I told him no.”
Actually I’d told him to piss off, but I was hoping he wouldn’t remember that.
“If he is such a great thief, why doesn’t he ride for Chito Soto?” Luis demanded, drying his hands on a piece of coarse brown jerga.
“Because Poco Guille is not a killer, and Soto knows that,” Ramón answered solemnly. “Probably one of the Federales who joined Soto’s army warned him away from Guille, because when he tried to join Soto’s army, he was told to leave immediately or be shot. He was also ordered to leave his guns behind. Later, one of Soto’s lieutenant’s put him to work in the fields west of town, but Guille disappeared before the day was half over. He has been dodging Soto’s men ever since, but he won’t leave Sabana. It is said he hates Chito Soto, but I think he likes being a thorn in the old dog’s side.”
I was smiling by the time Ramón finished. That was Little Billy to the core, I thought, as reckless as he was independent.
“Does he still hang out around the Loro Azul cantina?” I asked.
“Sadly no. El Loro’s whores were moved into the garrison last year, and the mescal and pulque was confiscated by Soto’s men. El Loro has sat empty ever since, waiting for the day Soto’s men leave the country for good. It is also unfortunately true that Poco Guille is now a wanted man. He was seen stealing a revolver off of one of Soto’s guards late one night, the guard sleeping drunk at the front entrance to the garrison. There is no reward, but Soto was said to be very angry, and had the guard flogged. Billy is to be brought into the garrison to stand trial for his theft if captured, then he is to be shot as a traitor to the revolution.”
“But he’s still around?”
“Sí, el chamaco loco.”
Crazy kid or not, I thought he could still be our best bet for making contact with Soto. If not directly, then through a friend. Men like Poco Guille usually had friends crawling out of the woodwork. “Can you get word to him?” I asked.
Ramón nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
You might be wondering why we didn’t just ride up to the former Federale garrison and announce our presence, and I’ll admit we might have gotten away with it. But I’ll also put it to you this way. Chito Soto was like a king in that part of Sonora, and you don’t just ride up to a king and start chatting. You’ve got to go through channels. You’ve got to know who to approach, and how to approach them. And in a situation like we were facing there in Sabana, approaching the wrong man could have gotten us killed real quick, while the man or men who committed our murders confiscated the Colt-Browning machine gun for themselves and tried to work their own deal with the bandit chief. Those weren’t risks I wanted to take if I didn’t have to. Not with my life or any of the Davenports’.
I dug a single, silver eagle from the poke Davenport had given me and spun it across the table. “I need to talk to Poco Guille, the sooner the better.”
Ramón studied the coin for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. I considered him a friend, but he was also a businessman, and from the very beginning our relationship had been built on graft and the illicit exchange of goods. I wouldn’t expect him to involve himself in my problems without compensation.
“Stay here, and stay out of sight,” he instructed. “If Soto’s men find out I am hiding you, I’ll be shot.” He went to the window to study the street in front of his house. “One of you should return to the stables to watch over your stock. It is known that I no longer own a jackass, and it would be bad if a mule’s bray was heard from my stable.”
“Luis,” I said, nodding toward the door.
“Sí.” He grabbed a clay olla filled with water and hurried out the door.
“Why would your neighbors want to turn you into Soto’s men?” I asked.
“Because they are frightened. The fat dog keeps them that way with periodic executions. He claims that to betray his wishes is to betray the coming revolution, but we all know he is a liar. Still, some feel it is better to remain loyal to a liar than to risk one’s life on a bandit’s whimsy.”
“Then Luis and I should leave?”
Ramón sighed. “Sí, but not today. It is already too late to risk it today. Maybe tonight, after dark, if we are not all already dead.”
He pulled on a pair of leather sandals, an old palm-leaf sombrero, and draped a serape over his shoulders, then stepped outside without further comment. I went to the window to watch him trudge up the hill toward the plaza. Gray light and the quivering purr of nesting hens from the old Rameriz place filled the narrow street. Despite the early hour, the town seemed unusually quiet, and that, too, was Chito Soto’s doing.
For the next several hours I kept up a nervous ambulation, moving from one window to the next, one room to the other. Ramón’s house was small, a front room that took up half of the entire structure, a small bedroom consisting of a chest of drawers and a rope-strung bunk with a nearly flat cornhusk mattress, and a small storage room, its shelves once filled with the produce of a large garden and solid employment, now cluttered with dust and spider webs.
Around midday I stretched out on the old man’s bunk and closed my eyes. I kept my vest on, the semi-auto a solid weight under my left arm, and placed the Savage on the mattress at my side. I slept fitfully, and was awake when Ramón returned. He grinned at my rumpled appearance, then stepped aside to allow another man to enter. I lowered the Savage’s muzzle when I recognized Poco Guille, standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face, an old Hopkins & Allen top break revolver thrust into the waistband of his trousers.
“Buenas tardes, my friend,” Guille sang out cheerfully. His quick smile and perpetual good humor was one of the things I remembered best about Little Billy Calderón. It was also one of the reasons I’d told him to get lost that night in El Loro Azul, when he asked to join me on my next trip north of the border. Back then I didn’t believe he had the temperament to be a successful smuggler, and I wondered that day at Ramón’s if I was making a mistake.
“Hola,” I greeted in return, then glanced at the older man. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, fate smiled on my efforts.”
“Maybe it will smile on mine, as well,” Guille added. “You remember me, Señor Latham?”
“Yeah, I remember you. That’s why I asked for you.”
“Good, I am glad you have finally realized my potential. This old man says you need my help. Soon you will know how useful I can be.” Then he leaned closer to peer at my face, the marks from Tiny Evans and Felix Perez still visible. “¡Ay, chihuahua! What happened, amigo? Did you fall off el Diablo’s corona?”
I glanced at Ramón, who laughed softly. Tucking a couple of cold tamales under his shirt, the old Mexican headed for the door. “I will see if Luis is hungry, and say hello to your mules. It has been a long time since I’ve had guests in my stables, and I miss the smells of an active barn.”
He went out, pulling the door closed behind him. Motioning to the table, I told Guille to sit down. “Did Ramón tell you why I wanted to see you?”
“No. He did not even tell me it was you until we were at his door, although I warned him when we left the plaza that if he tried to double-cross me, I would blow his brains out.” He tapped the Hopkins & Allen as if to assure me he was capable of carrying out his threat. It made me remember what Ramón said of the younger man that morning.
Poco Guille is not a killer, and Soto knows that.
I was guessing that most of Sabana knew it, too, otherwise the cocky little chamaco would have been turned into Soto long before I arrived in town.
Still, it wasn’t Guille’s skills with a gun that I was seeking, and I swiftly outlined my reasons for being there, my need for the younger man’s talents. When I finished, I said: “Can I trust you, amigo?”
He laughed, white teeth flashing in the dimly lit interior of the small adobe house. “You would not have sent for me if you didn’t know you could trust me,” he replied glibly.
“All right, are you interested?”
“Maybe.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I am tired of this town, Latham. There is no future here for a man of my many abilities. I have been looking for another job for a long time. Not work.” He waved a hand as if scattering cigarette smoke. “I’ve never been fond of anything that raises a sweat on a daily basis, but I’ve never cared for stealing, either. These people are my friends and countrymen. They are like family to me, and what kind of man steals from his family? No, I have thought about this for a long time, and the kind of job I seek requires adventure, and maybe a little danger.”
I guffawed softly, which brought a scowl to the younger man’s face. “You find that funny, amigo?”
“Only because I once felt the same way. But I’m older now, and no longer have a need for danger. Maybe it’s time for me to step aside for a younger man.”
Guille’s eyes widened in eagerness. “For someone like me, perhaps?”
“Maybe, you and another man who also seeks adventure.”
“Who?” Guille asked suspiciously.
“Luis Vega. Do you know him?”
“No. He is from Sabana?”
“He’s from Nogales, but he knows the business as well as I do. I think the two of you would work well together.”
The younger man shook his head. “No, it is you, Latham, who I wish to learn this trade from.”
“It’s too late to learn it from me, amigo. When this job is finished, I’m leaving the border country.”
After a short pause, Guille exhaled loudly. “And this Luis Vega, he will stay?”
“Yes.”
“And he is even now the man in the stable, eating tamales with Ramón Gutiérrez?”
“He is. You’ll meet him later today, but first I want to hear about Chito Soto. Can you get me to him?”
“Yes, that won’t be a problem. My cousin Felipe is a corporal in Soto’s command. He can get word to the major.”
That brought an immediate sense of relief. I’d been worried that Ramón had overstated the kid’s connections that morning.
“Have your cousin tell Soto that the guns are nearby, and that I’ll be at Dos Puentes with the first one tonight at sundown. Tell him that if he wants it, he’d better be there with the woman. Emphasize that, Guille. Make sure he understands that I want the woman first, not either of the kids. Got it?”
“Sure, I’ve got it, but I doubt if Soto is going to like it.”
The fact is, I was counting on him not liking it. For whatever reason, Ed Davenport wanted his son ransomed first, but I couldn’t count on Soto giving in to the rich gringo’s demands. It just didn’t work that way. Soto would expect Davenport to order his wife’s release first, so that he could get her away from the leering, lecherous bandits who guarded her. That made perfect sense to me, and I figured it would to Chito Soto, too. Which was why he’d want to hang onto the woman until he had all the guns and ammunition. It’s also why I’d demand Abby Davenport’s release before the others, as convinced as I was the bandit chief would do the opposite of whatever Ed Davenport dictated.
“Just tell him,” I said. “Dos Puentes, tonight at sundown.”
“Sure.” Guille pushed to his feet, then hesitated as a smile rippled across his dusky cheeks. “You know something, J. T.? It’s going to feel good to make that fat buzzard swallow a little of his own crap for a change.”
I looked up warningly. “Don’t push him. We aren’t here for revenge. All we want is to get that woman and those kids out of there.”
“Sure,” Guille agreed, though lightly, and on his way to the door. “But there is no reason we can’t rub his nose in it a little, too, eh?”
“Guille!” I shouted, jumping to my feet, but he’d already darted through the door. I watched from the window as he swung astride a raw-boned gray.
“Tonight at Dos Puentes,” he promised.
“Don’t botch this, kid. That woman’s husband’ll kill you just as quick as Soto would if something goes wrong.”
“Sure,” Guille replied, tossing me a quick wave as he reined away from the house. “But don’t worry, nothing will go wrong with Poco Guille in charge.” Then, laughing, he kicked his horse into a rough canter and disappeared around the corner.
I cursed softly and stepped away from the window. Needing to get away—for some reason, Ramón’s little house was starting to remind me of my iron-strapped cell back at Yuma—I took my rifle and slipped outside, then made my way quickly to the stable.
Luis and Ramón were sitting on the machine-gun crate when I walked in, but Ramón immediately stood up and left the stable. Luis was watching me closely. I think he must have sensed my doubts about the kid.
“Do you trust him, J. T.?”
“He’ll do fine,” I replied, feigning more confidence than I really felt. Nodding toward the crate, I said, “Do you know how to shoot that thing?”
“No, I don’t even know what it looks like. Do you?”
“I know how it works in theory, but I’ve never handled one. What say we break it out and set it up? It might be a good idea if we know how it works … just in case something goes wrong tonight.”