Second Lieutenant Wildon Boothe was so nervous with agitation and impatience that he could not keep still. He drummed his fingers on the rocks that hid him as he and Garrity slipped into the twelfth daylight hour of spying down into the desperados’ settlement.
During all that time they had not had one sighting of Hester. Now Wildon’s worst fears played actively through his mind. Had the callous brutes ravished and murdered her, leaving her body to mummify in the desert sun? Or was she being held in one of the crude huts down there as a plaything for numerous rough bandidos. Even as he lay there, she could be suffering humiliation and injury from their carnal desires. A hundred awful pictures swept through his mind, and each required a distinct, individual effort to fight it down.
“Sir!” Garrity whispered.
Glad to have something—anything—to occupy his mind, Wildon gratefully crawled over to the sergeant’s observation point. “Yes?”
“I’ve been studying that place we picked to sneak through,” Garrity said. “When we first get in, we should slip into the shadows of those outlying adobe buildings there, see? Then we can easily move from there to any place we want to go. If anybody spots us, they’d just figger we wandered over from some other side of the settlement.”
“Right,” Wildon said. “Good idea. Are we going to bring our horses?”
Garrity shook his head. “Not this first time. We’d just have to sneak them out again.”
Wildon was disappointed. “Then you don’t figure we’ll get her out right away, do you?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Wildon sighed and checked the sun. “At any rate, we should be able to move in another half-hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Garrity said. Suddenly he uncharacteristically reached out and laid his hand on Wildon’s shoulder. “I know this is rough on you. I’d like to say you’re doing fine, young Lieutenant. I’m proud of you.”
Wildon, genuinely pleased, smiled. “Thank you, Sergeant Garrity.” The words from an older man he respected and admired made him feel better somehow as he settled back to continue the long period of observation.
That night was cloudier than the previous one, and when the sun finally disappeared over the far rim of the Santo Domingos, Wildon and Garrity had to walk with care to avoid falling. But the conditions made it easier to slip between the boulders and step out into the shadows of the nearest buildings.
Garrity took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go.” Wildon nodded. “And let’s forget the military courtesy.”
They strolled boldly out into the light and wandered toward some thatched huts. Making a slow turn, they began a careful walk straight into the settlement’s main avenue. Nervous and ready for any overt act of violence against them, the pair of interlopers relaxed when they drew but quick, casual glances from the people of the town.
The soldiers’ eyes moved ceaselessly, taking in every detail possible. Each time they passed a building, they chanced quick looks inside to see if Hester was visible. But all they saw were rough-looking men and their women, eating and drinking in the early evening.
“I’ve noticed that ever’body here ain’t a bandit,” Garrity said. “Look there. An open-air gunsmithy is set up and there’s an old lady selling tacos.”
“What are tacos?” Wildon asked.
“Good food,” Garrity said. “C’mon, Wildon.”
“You bet, Jim,” Wildon said.
Garrity bargained with the cook and finally procured a couple of chicken tacos for ten cents American. Wildon took a bite of the chicken-stuffed fried tortilla. “Good!”
Garrity tried his. “Sure is. Them Mexicans got two good things going for them—their women and their food. If I ever marry, it’s gonna be to a mexicana.” He lowered his voice. “Anyhow we’ll look better strolling around, munching tacos. I don’t think these jaspers would figger a coupla spies would drop by for supper.”
Wildon nodded. After they turned down another street, he spotted a sign. “I don’t know Spanish, but even I can figure that’s a good place to pay a visit.” He pointed to an establishment identified as La Cantina Americana.
“Let’s have a look,” Garrity said.
Without increasing their pace, the pair of soldiers walked toward the crudely constructed saloon. It was a large adobe-walled structure with a tiled roof. The front was wide open, giving an excellent view into the interior where tables and chairs of different styles were arranged haphazardly around the place. A small bar, tended by a portly barkeep with a huge handlebar mustache, was situated along the center of the far wall.
It wasn’t difficult to tell how the place got its name. All the customers were Americans. The only Mexicans were the staff. Wildon and Garrity chose a table near the bar and sat down. A comely waitress took their order for a couple of beers. She served them, then wandered off to tend the tables.
“How you boys doin’?”
Wildon glanced over and noticed a heavy-lidded American at the next table. The lieutenant nodded. “We’re fine, thank you.”
The American raised his glass. “The more of us the better. When did you boys git in?”
“Just today,” Garrity interjected. “We’re just looking around.”
“Y’all missed a job,” the American said. “But it didn’t amount to nothin’. An army wagon train with nothin’ worth stealin’—and nothin’ worth dyin’ for.”
Wildon took a sip of his beer, deciding to lead the conversation. “Nobody got a thing, huh?”
“Nope.” Then the man laughed. “’cept the boss. He got hisself a woman.”
Garrity put his hand on Wildon’s arm as a subtle hint to back off. “Well, that prob’ly didn’t last long.”
“Well, I don’t know,” the American drawled. “He took her to that there castillo.”
“What castle?” Garrity answered.
A feminine voice behind him answered, “The big building in the centro.” She smiled when the two soldiers looked at her. “Hello. I am called Lola.”
“I’m Jim,” Garrity said. “And this is Wildon. We just got in today.”
“Pretty interesting about that woman,” Wildon said, fighting to keep control.
Lola carefully looked at him. “It is nothing new for a bandit to take a woman for his own.” She shrugged. “Most of the mujeres in this town were stolen from someplace. They can’t go back ’cause ever’body in their home village will look at them like putas—whores, you know?”
Garrity was getting worried about Wildon. He quickly downed his beer. “We’d best get along now.”
Wildon took the hint. “Yeah,” he said sullenly. They wandered out of the bar and down the street. Wildon walked silently, looking up toward the big building in the middle of the settlement. His stomach churned with the knowledge that Hester was inside someplace.
They reached an alleyway of sorts. “Down here,” Garrity said. He pulled the lieutenant into the shadows. “We’re going back now. We know what to look for tomorrow.”
They hurried behind the buildings. When they reached the Cantina Americana, there was a movement in the darkness. Then the fat bartender stepped out. But he wasn’t offering any beer: Instead he held a Remington shotgun on them. He
was quickly followed by Lola. The angry beauty of her face could be seen from the lantern light cast from the rear window.
“You are not bandidos” Lola said. “You are
here to find the gringa!”
“Just a minute, lady!” Garrity said alarmed. “You got us wrong.”
“If you lie to me, I tell Jorge to kill you,” Lola said.
Jorge the bartender exhibited a determined, silent sneer as he raised the double barrels.
Julio Montenegro’s eyes were closed as he gently wafted the “Blue Danube Waltz” from his violin. Hester, remembering it was the first song that she and Wildon danced to at Fort MacNeil, could not smother her sentimental thoughts. She fought back the tears, but they trickled from her eyes.
Hubert Mauveaux, sitting across from her at the table, sighed aloud. “Ah, ma cherie Camille! The beautiful song has touched your heart.”
Hester’s temper flared. “My name is not Camille! It is Mrs. Wildon Boothe. How many times must I tell you?”
“But" Camille,” Mauveaux said, “it would be so unromantic to say to you, ‘I adore your beauty, Mrs. Wildon Boothe.’”
“You should not speak to me that way, monsieur,” Hester insisted. “It is not proper.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Mauveaux said, smiling in a cocky manner. “Did you not fight over me with the fiery Lola?”
“She attacked me!” Hester protested.
“That is not what Senora Gonzales told me,” Mauveaux said. “She said you two were like tigritas in your feminine fury.”
“I don’t care what that old lady said,” Hester cried out. She suddenly realized her protests might be easily misinterpreted by the megalomaniac sitting at the dining table with her. She calmed down, deciding to use the Mexican woman to her personal advantage. “Lola loves you, monsieur. Call her to your side and reward her faithfulness. Marry her. For the love of God, marry her!”
“I cannot, for she does not have my heart,” Mauveaux said. He snapped his fingers as a signal to Julio.
The violinist immediately changed his tune to Tchaikovsky’s “Francesca da Rimini.”
Mauveaux reached inside his uniform and produced a small velvet box. He slid it across the table. “Open it.”
“I most certainly will not!”
He laughed. “Your teasing is so tantalizing, Camille.” He took the box and opened it himself. Inside was a gold ring with a single, large pearl mounted in it. “To seal our pact of love, ma cherie.”
A sudden idea leaped into Hester’s mind. She damned herself for not thinking of it sooner. “Wait, monsieur!” Hester jumped up and ran into the next room where the bathtub still sat. She quickly returned with the soap clutched in her hand. “Regardez!” she cried out, tossing it on the table.
“Ah,” he said with an unmistakable tone of relief in his voice. “You are going to bathe, non?”
“No! Look at that soap!”
Mauveaux, puzzled, shrugged. “A quoi ga sert-il?” he asked.
“It is Bristol soap, monsieur,” Hester said. “It is manufactured by my family.”
“Your maiden name is Bristol?” he asked.
“I, sir, am Hester Bristol Boothe of Lake Champlain, New York,” she said proudly.
“Hester!” he cried out. “Your name is Hester!”
“Oh, God!” Hester moaned.
“It is more lovely than Camille,” Mauveaux proclaimed.
“You are missing the point, sir,” Hester insisted. “My family will pay you handsomely to release me. All you have to do is have me delivered to my husband.”
“I cannot give you up for money,” Mauveaux exclaimed. “I am too much in love with you.” He got up and walked around the table.
“Stay away from me!” Hester demanded as she fled to the other side.
Julio continued to play his violin rather absent-mindedly as he watched the drama being carried out before his eyes.
Mauveaux continued the chase, forcing Hester to flee around the table several times. The Frenchman was not discouraged. “We call this la chasse, no? Very well then, my lovely Hester. I am le chasseur d’amour!”
Hester’s fury mounted. She began to find Julio’s playing irritating. Finally, the next time she scurried to the other side of the table, the angry young woman grabbed the man’s violin and spun around. When Mauveaux approached, she brought it crashing down on his head.
The Frenchman staggered back, bruised but happy. “Mon dieu!” he cried out. “I believe you would be a tigress in leather!”
“Keep the hands high!” Lola warned Wildon and Garrity. “If at anytime I don’t see them, I tell Jorge to shoot. One shot kill you both from the scattergun, hey?”
“Seguro Garrity agreed in Spanish. “Don’t let Jorge get too excited now. There’s no reason for it.”
Jorge emphasized his perfect understanding of the situation by swinging the barrels back and forth a bit. “I kill you, gringos “ he said.
“Not to worry, sir and madam,” Wildon said in a soothing voice. “I believe this can all be sorted out.”
“I know you came to look for the gringa that Movo came back with,” Lola said.
“No, senorita” Garrity said, vigorously shaking his head remembering that the girl in the farming village had identified the bandit chief as Movo. “We are—”
“Silencio!” she hissed. “Do you think I am an estupida?”
Wildon decided it was time for candor. “We can make a deal with you. If you don’t turn us in, we can make it well worth your while, madam.” Lola laughed. “You don’t understand, gringo. I want you to take her away.”
“I beg your pardon,” Wildon said, not quite believing he had heard the words.
“I don’t like that americana, see? Movo is mi hombre—my man,” Lola said. “He is wild about her. So much so that he has not even touched her.”
Wildon’s eyes opened wide in happy surprise. “Really?”
“I know it for the truth,” Lola said. “The old woman who works there has told me this.” Wildon sighed with relief. “I shall guarantee you our most enthusiastic cooperation.”
“He means we’ll do our best to get her away,” Garrity said. He pointed to Jorge. “Don’t think he could put that thing away now?”
“Sure,” Lola said. She nodded to her bartender. “Abaja la escopeta.” When he had obeyed, she turned back to the two soldiers. “I tell you the truth, I want to kill her. I want to scratch out her eyes. But to do so would only make Humberto hate me. I could not stand that. But if she goes away, he will forget and love me again.”
“You’re certainly right about that,” Wildon said enthusiastically.
“Where is she being kept?” Garrity asked.
“In the big building there in the middle,” Lola explained. “It is called El Castillo.”
“We noticed it earlier,” Wildon said. “It seems a well-guarded place. I believe it would be most difficult to break into.”
“I can get you in there,” Lola said. “But not tonight. I must make arrangements. Do you have horses?”
“Yes,” Garrity said. “But only two. We need one for the young lady.”
“I will get you one,” Lola said. “Tomorrow night you come back here with your horses. Come to my cantina and wait. When the time is right, I will take you to El Castillo. We will go inside and get the girl. Then we come out, and you get on the horses and leave.”
“After we leave with the americana, we will have to wait in our camp until daylight,” Garrity pointed out. “It will be too dangerous to go down the mountain in the dark.
“They will find you,” Lola said. “The best thing is to go straight to the front entrance and down the path. If you are bold and act like you belong here, the guards will not bother you.”
“It is risky,” Wildon protested.
Lola laughed sarcastically. “Jorge will be nearby, senores. If you fail or falter, he will kill you. I do not want you to become prisoners and betray me to my beloved Humberto.”
“Looks like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” Wildon said.
“That is absolutely correcto,” Lola replied. She waved them away. “Hasta manana en la noche— until tomorrow night.”