10
Slocum caught a young man by the sleeve. “Take a fast horse. Ride to the mine. Get another fresh horse there and ride like the wind to Sierra Vista to Don Carlos’s casa. You know where he lives?”
“Sí, señor.”
“There is a woman there named Donna. Tell her to get a doctor and meet us on the road coming to town from Oro Canyon, and that we are bringing her Don Carlos, who has been wounded.”
“Tell her to bring me some good whiskey too,” Don Carlos said and closed his eyes.
Slocum gave the boy a slight shove to hurry him on his way. “Be quick about it.”
The racket of someone dragging poles sounded good to Slocum as the mine foreman further interrogated the outlaws seated on the ground. The man in charge of the pack train recovery reported to them that he had recovered all but three mules.
“That is good news,” Slocum said to Ralph, who was to be in charge. Then he went to check on the conveyances that were to take the three worst injured, including Don Carlos, to medical attention. In the first light, he could see many of the men had lesser wounds and were busy working on many projects. But he couldn’t miss the pride on their faces.
“We don’t have enough mules,” a man said when he joined those making the ambulances.
“Go tell the men to unload some of the ore and use those mules. Lives are more important than gold.”
“Sí, señor.”
Slocum found his own horse tied with a few others. He led him back to the central command.
“They are unloading some mules,” Ralph said when he joined him.
“Good. Don Carlos, you all right?”
The solemn man nodded from the pallet. He cleared his throat, “I am fine.”
“Liar,” Slocum said with a grin. He turned back to Ralph. “Are the mules coming for the ambulance?”
“Sí, señor, and I will need a few men to ride with that train,” Ralph said.
“Will you need me?” Slocum asked.
“No. We can handle it. I have sent for food and help from the mine.”
“Do you think we have all the gang? How has the interrogation gone?” Slocum asked.
“We know a man named Tonto Silva got away. He was one of the leaders of the gang and the most hated one for what he did to many of our women during the time they held the mine to get the ore.”
“We’ll find him,” Slocum said. “Who else?”
“There was a madman called the Bad One that we cannot find. He strangled everyone with his huge hands, anyone who objected to their actions.”
“Have we learned anything about La Cucaracha?”
“No one knows him by his face,” Ralph said. He called to his man, and the gray-haired interrogator came over. “Slocum asks about La Cucaracha.”
The man nodded. “These men are peons. We have none of the leaders. They escaped.”
Slocum nodded that he understood. This was the case in many such incidents. The real bad ones sneaked away.
“Señor, they are ready to go with the wounded,” a young man shouted.
After giving Ralph a firm handshake, Slocum told the man to keep up the good work. They carefully loaded his friend Don Carlos in the conveyance, and Slocum mounted his horse, thanking all who could hear him. A cheer went up and he waved, riding beside Don Carlos, who was in a swing between two mules.
Before they reached the mine, several carritos loaded with food and more help for the others stopped, and a woman handed Slocum two tortilla-wrapped burritos. A man gave him a bottle of red wine.
“Gracias. The rest of the men need this too,” he said.
“Should we use one of these wagons to haul the wounded?” a man on horseback asked him.
“No,” Slocum said. “This is easier on them than a carrito.”
Don Carlos was eating when Slocum rejoined him.
“Food for a king,” his amigo said.
“I thought I’d never eat again,” Slocum said and laughed, grateful for every bite.
Several woman and children were standing beside the road that led to the mine. They had rosary beads in their hands and many were on their knees, praying for Don Carlos and blessing him.
Don Carlos managed to sit up and nod at them in passing. The sad thing was that one of the wounded men had died on the trip back. They were down to two ambulances carrying wounded men. Slocum, concerned about his friend’s weakening condition, made them continue on. Time slipped away, and he grew more anxious about Don Carlos’s wound going untreated and the complications that might result.
A bit before noon, they met the conveyance bringing the doctor and Donna, who came from the surrey with her dress hem held high as she raced to where Slocum dismounted to stand beside his friend.
“How is he?” she asked, out of breath and still a few feet away from seeing Don Carlos.
“Looking for the whiskey he asked for.”
“Aw, hell with his whiskey. How is he?”
Don Carlos opened his eyes and smiled for her. “I’m—fine.”
“You don’t look fine to me,” she snapped, and everyone laughed. Then she stepped aside for the doctor and shook her head. “He’s as loco as usual.”
Donna motioned for Slocum to come over and spoke under her breath. “You should know. Nada left the casa last night and was not back when we left.”
“You know where she went?”
Donna shook her head.
“When I am certain Don Carlos is under the best care, I’ll go see if I can find her.”
She agreed. “What is his wound?”
“I think his shoulder, but I have no idea about the damage. He was shot very early on and has scoffed at it.”
“I know him well. We can transport him and the other man in the surrey back to the hospital or the casa, whatever Dr. Carmichael wants.”
“He is in good hands then. I will ride into town and look for Nada.”
“Check at the house first. She may have returned.”
“Is this Friday?”
She nodded.
Good. The horse auction was still a day away, and he needed to reach his pistoleros, who were waiting for him in St. Francis, as well.
“You look tired,” Donna said.
He nodded that he heard her. “I will go on since you are here to look after Don Carlos.”
She clapped his arm. “Gracias for all you have done for him.”
Slocum acknowledged her words, mounted his horse and loped off for Sierra Vista. What in the hell had Nada gotten herself into? At Don Carlos’s house, he found that Nada was still absent, and the women in the kitchen fed him. He told them what he knew about their boss man’s wound. Gravefaced, they politely left him to eat his food.
After his meal Slocum headed for the square, and when he hitched his horse at a rack, Obregón walked over, shaking his head. “We heard you were up here and came to find you rather than wait in St. Francis. We still know very little about this one, the Cockroach. He hides well.”
Grateful to see his pistolero, Slocum agreed. “I have been up north at a mine robbery. A woman who was helping me here has vanished. Her name is Nada.”
“What does she look like?” Obregón grinned at him.
“A short Mexican woman—” Slocum gave up and went to shake hands with the other two men, who had just arrived.
“The Apache don’t know of this man Cockroach,” Cherrycow said with a grim set to his mouth.
“I think he is a ghost,” Slocum said.
Jesús frowned at him. “I don’t want to mess with him then.”
“Let’s go inside and have a cerveza.” Slocum waved them inside the cantina, and they found a table in the back.
A young barmaid came by and sat on Obregón’s lap. “What will you hombres have?”
“Four beers.”
“Nothing else?” she asked.
“What do you have to eat that is not rotten?”
“All our food is fresh.” She acted insulted.
“Bring us some frijoles and tortillas for my amigos.”
She looked at Slocum and then nodded.
“Wait,” Slocum said. “There was a girl named Nada who may have come to the square last night. She never came home.”
“Was she this short?” Then she tucked the tray under her arm and showed off a set of tits over twice her size with her hands.
“Yeah. Where is she?”
She looked around, then leaned her elbows on the table. “I think she is fucking Mendez.” With a shrug of her thin shoulders, she rose up, hugging the tray. “But who knows, huh?”
Slocum nodded and understood what she meant.
Obregón looked after her. “What did she mean by that?”
“She’s with this Mendez. A man she met night before last here at the fandango.”
“Will you go look for him?”
“After you all eat your frijoles and drink your beer.”
The three grinned in approval and raised their mugs to salute him.
“What do you really think about this Cockroach that no one knows?” Jesús asked.
“It may be two or three men hiding behind that name. Then they send out their men to do some crime. No one knows who it is, but I think there is more than one main leader responsible for these raids.”
Obregón shook his head. “At the hacienda, we heard he was a big, sword-waving generalissimo. But he never came with those raiders to the McCarty Hacienda. All that night I thought, where is this bastard?”
“I wondered too. Where is he hiding? I just came from a raid on one of my amigo’s mines. The peons who were the bandits said it was the Cockroach’s raid, but they didn’t know him either.”
“So who is La Cucaracha?” Jesús asked. The pistolero looked at him very seriously between spoonfuls of the hot beans.
“I think it is a committee that makes the plans for these raids.”
The three nodded between feeding their faces and swigging down their second beers. Slocum felt his three men were worth an army. Somehow he needed to find an answer to the source of these bastards, these bandits. And they might even now be sitting only a hundred feet from those leaders. But the very next problem for him was to find Nada. Was it a coincidence that she was still gone, or had she learned too much somewhere? The second possibility concerned him.
Mendez Salazar—Slocum would need to talk to him.
Sashaying over to Slocum, the bar girl leaned on his shoulder, pressing her small breasts into his arm, knowing he was the one paying for their meal. “Were the beans good?”
“They said so.” He lowered his voice. “Where can I find Mendez?”
“Oh, he has an apartment down on Agave Street.”
“You been there?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sí. He thinks he is a great lover.”
Slocum nodded. “Where exactly is it at?”
“Above the saddle shop.”
“Does it have a back entrance?”
“Some stairs. The one time I went to his place, he sent me down them so some big, important visitor wouldn’t know I had been there. They are painted green. They are the only stairs that are green.”
“What does that back doorway open into?”
“A hallway.”
“What else should I do to get in there?”
“I guess go knock on the door.”
“Will he answer it?”
“I guess so.”
“What else can you tell me?”
She cupped her hand over his ear. “I think he has problems.”
Slocum frowned.
“His dick won’t get hard. You know what that means? He blames the woman who is with him for that. When I learned that, I knew I was lucky that he put me out that day before he tried me and I sure never went back. Such a man blames you and he might kill you. Huh?”
“I see. What is your name?” Slocum asked.
“Sudsy.”
“Why that?”
She laughed and blushed. “I used to wash the dishes back there.” She gave a head toss toward the back room. “They said I was too skinny to be a barmaid.”
“Nice to know you, Sudsy.” He put the money for the meals and beer and on the table and gave her a silver peso.
“Gracias.” Then she gathered up the mugs and dishes. When he stood up, she bumped him on purpose with her hip. Everyone laughed as they went outside.
“Where do we go next?” Obregón asked.
“To see if Nada is in Mendez Salazar’s apartment.”
Obregón looked around the square when they were outside. “What if she is not there?”
“The search continues.” Slocum told Obregón and Jesús to wait in the alley and watch the green stairs for anyone coming down them.
“Cherrycow and I will knock on the front door.”
The two pistoleros nodded and walked away like their business was over.
“You like to live in this place?” Cherrycow asked, looking around with distaste written on his dark face.
“Nice place to visit,” Slocum said.
“Maybe—but so many live here. Hard to find a place to piss.”
Slocum laughed and told him to go between the buildings. He watched the man who had lived in two worlds go find a place to empty his bladder—what a problem. No private place to piss. He looked down the street and saw the saddle hanging on the sign. In a few minutes he’d know if Nada was up there.