In one way, moving through the coastal jungles along the Gulf was easy. Except for widely scattered banana plantations the country was mostly overgrown with towering trees. So they could move by daylight without being seen by anyone more than a hundred yards away. But the lowlands were crisscrossed with swampy streams and infested with biting insects, bugs as big as mice, and every sort of reptile from bushmaster to crocodile. They had to watch their step, so they did. His highland peones were miserable in the steamy heat, and Captain Gringo could think of endless places he’d rather have been. But he’d gotten them this far without losing anyone but Pepe. If only he had some idea just where they were.
His map, now mildewed, wasn’t much help away from towns and roads. He knew they were following the coast southeast and were somewhere between Vera Cruz and Coatzacoalcos, where the trail across the Tehuantepec peninsula began. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if they ever reached it. But they couldn’t spend their lives under all these dripping trees.
Oddly, as they moved south the climate seemed to improve. The low waistline of Mexico formed a funnel for the trade winds from the northeast and cooled their sweaty clothing some. But he had some sort of fever that came and went, now. It was hard to pay attention as they struggled on. Later he’d curse himself for this, but perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. The ambush they walked into one evening had been very cunningly contrived.
Robles was walking point when he suddenly froze in place. Captain Gringo started to ask what was up. Then he, too, saw the moon-faced little men all around them, staring impassive and silent from the surrounding brush. They were wearing straw hats and cotton shirts. They held guns, pointed at him. He nodded pleasantly, nothing happened, and he asked Robles, “What are they, Indians?”
“They look like Maya. Hey, you guys. Who are you? What do you want?”
Nobody answered. Gordo came slowly up to join them and murmured, “They are behind us, too.”
Captain Gringo took out a cigar and lit it. After a while one of the Indians came over to him, took the cigar calmly from him, and pointed with his machete down the trail.
The American nodded and said, “I was just about to suggest we have a talk with your leaders.”
The Indians led them through the jungle to the more cultivated glades of a banana plantation. The bananas grew for miles, and it took them over an hour to reach a big frame mansion hidden among the trees.
A heavy-bearded man in a white suit sat in a wicker chair on the wide veranda. As the Indians led their captives up, a slender woman in a white lace dress came out to stand in the doorway, watching. The fat man said, “You people are trespassing on the land of Don Diego.”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “We didn’t trespass. We were brought here. Would you be Don Diego?”
“I would if I could be. Donna Consuela, here, is very beautiful, no? Alas, I am only his segundo. Don Diego is away on business, leaving me to guard his belongings.”
“Well, in that case we’ll just be on our way.”
“I don’t think so. Not just yet. I forgot to tell you, on this land everything is Don Diego’s. And you are on his land.”
“I see. I didn’t know slavery was legal, even in Mexico.”
“Never mind what is legal in Mexico. On this plantation we are the only law. We don’t need you to pick bananas, but we will take your guns and anything of value you may have.”
The segundo stared thoughtfully at young Lolita, standing by Robles, and added, “I will keep that pretty mestiza. The rest of you may pass on after paying tribute.”
Robles snapped, “By God! You’ll take her over my dead body!”
The fat man shrugged and said, “As you wish.” Then, as he signaled, a machete whirred and thunked into Robles’ neck, taking his head from his shoulders in a single blow!
As the boy’s head rolled in the dust Lolita screamed and threw herself down on his still twitching, headless body. Captain Gringo saw that the fat man’s greedy, gloating eyes were fixed on her for the moment, so he dove head first to the dirt and somersaulted as a steel blade whipped through the place where he’d just been standing! He rolled over and came up revolver in hand as Gordo screamed in agony behind him. The segundo blinked in surprise at the big man’s lightning movement. And then he died with the brains blown out of his head as Captain Gringo came up the steps shooting.
The woman ducked inside, slamming the door. Captain Gringo burst through it as a thrown machete thunked into the jamb beside him and a bullet ticked his hat brim. And then he was inside, chasing the woman up the stairs.
He caught her on a landing and grabbed her hair, yanking her savagely off her feet and throwing her headlong back down the stairs as the doorway filled with Indians. He bounded down the stairs, nailing one of the Indians on the way, and as the others drew back, he straddled the woman, pointed the gun down at her, and snapped, “Call your dogs off, lady! I won’t say it twice!”
The woman called out in Maya, was answered uncertainly, and repeated the order, whatever it was. Then she said in Spanish, “I have told them to go away. What happened was none of my doing, señor!”
He reached down and hauled her to her feet, tearing her lace as he dragged her to a window and peered out. Then he shook her as a terrier shakes a rat and moaned, “You bitch! You rotten fucking cunt!”
They were out there dead. All of them. The peones he’d led all this way lay bloody in the dirt like slaughtered animals. Lolita lay across her man’s body, her own head split open like a terrible hairy watermelon. Donna Consuela pleaded, “Please, you are hurting me, señor.”
“I’ll hurt you, you bloodthirsty cunt! Who do you think you are?”
“I’m trying to tell you! I’m a captive, like yourself!”
“Bullshit! Since when do captives order their killers off? You grabbed the wrong boy this time, murderess! I don’t know how you’re going to get me out of this, but you’d better think of something fast or I’ll start tossing you out there a piece at a time!”
“You don’t understand. I am half-Maya, like those others. That is why I can speak to them. They are not what you think.”
“I don’t give a shit what you are or what they are. Those people were my friends!”
“I had no control over the segundo, Moro. My … my husband put him in charge here, as my bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard, huh? Let’s see what kind of a body he was guarding.”
He grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it off, adding, “If guarding you was worth killing all those innocent people to your husband the least I can do is leave you here well fucked!”
She stood there shivering but not trying to get away or hide her nakedness as she murmured, “As you wish. It will not be a novel experience to me.”
He stared at her spectacular firm flesh for a long, hard minute, hating and desiring her at the same moment, for she was as beautiful as some goddess carved of old, treasured ivory. Then he grimaced and said, “Hell with it. I’m not up to this now-my-proud-Spanish-beauty bullshit.”
Donna Consuela said, “Thank you,” and bent to pick up her torn dress. She wrapped it around her, not bothering to cover one turgid nipple as he glanced out the window again, saw nothing but the fly-covered bodies and the wall of banana trees beyond, and asked, “What was that shit about being raped? Who’s supposed to have raped you, the wicked overseer I just took care of?”
“Moro? He wouldn’t have dared. Don Diego is a very dangerous man and he will be back by nightfall.”
“But he’s your husband.”
“I know. The priest was afraid of him, too. Don Diego is what you might call a throwback to another age. He claims El Cid as an ancestor and seems to think he is a baron. I am, as I said, a Maya of good family and some Spanish blood. To Don Diego I am property, like his bananas and the peones who attacked you.”
“I think you’re full of shit. Even in Mexico they have some laws about killing people you don’t even know.”
“As I keep saying, and as you just saw, Don Diego is a law unto himself. Those poor peasants who attacked you are not evil. They are as much in the power of Don Diego as you and I.”
“Speak for yourself, lady. I’ve got a gun. Will he be riding in alone?”
“Of course not. He travels with an armed escort. Men like Moro. Everyone a hired killer.”
“Swell. What do you think those Indians are going to do when I march you out of here at gunpoint?”
“I don’t know. They are used to taking orders. Don Diego has taught them not to think for themselves. Will you really take me with you?”
“Chiquita, you move five feet away from me and I’ll blow your head off! Do you have horses?”
“Naturally. There is a stable out back.”
“Good. Let’s move it on out!”
“May I get dressed first? I can’t ride out half naked like this.”
“Lady, you’re lucky to be breathing! Move your ass!”
He frog-marched her through the house and out the back door. A young stableboy ducked around a corner, running, as they appeared. Captain Gringo took Consuela across the yard and made her stand against the wall as he saddled two horses. Then he turned the other three mounts loose with a pistol shot to run them into the trees. He took a handful of straw from the manger and after boosting her up, mounted beside her inside the stable. Then he thumbed a match and lit the straw in his free hand. He threw the lit match in the manger, setting it aflame. Then he led her quickly across the yard, tossed the burning straw into a curtained window, and said, “That should keep ’em busy for a while. Let’s go.”
As the house and stable began to burn behind them, they trotted off through the bananas. If any Indians were watching, they weren’t trying to stop them. Beside him, the girl pleaded, “I am not used to riding astride in this man’s saddle. I am about to have my period.’
“So bleed and be damned. It’s not my saddle. There’s a blanket roll behind you. I’ll cut it into a poncho for you once we’re clear. Right now we haven’t time to worry about appearances!”
It took them half an hour to reach the edge of the plantation. That didn’t mean they were anywhere important. They were following a trail of some sort through the jungle. Consuela said her husband would be arriving via another route. That didn’t mean anything, either. He just didn’t have time to screw around with horses in unmarked scrub and vine tangles and he was too angry to much care if he rode into the bastard or not.
They rode on, the girl sobbing with fear, discomfort, or both. They came to a stream and forded it. A few miles farther on they came to the shell of an abandoned sugar mill. It was surrounded by knee-high saw grass and had stone walls. The girl explained it had once belonged to a family who’d displeased Don Diego before her time.
He led her over to the walls and said, “We’re not going to find a better place to make a stand before nightfall. The walls are thick. The cleared land offers a field of fire.”
He rode them through the gaping doorway and reined in. Then he dismounted and helped her down. He looked around, saw the interior was simply grassy mounds, and said, “Over there in that corner. Sit down and shut up.”
As she moved to obey, he led the ponies to an iron ring mortared into the interior wall and tethered them securely. Then he went to the door, tucked the gun under an elbow, and began to roll a smoke. The damned Indians had taken his last good cigar.
It didn’t take as long as he was prepared to wait. The plantation workers must have seen which way they’d gone. A trio of horsemen came out of the treeline, walking their mounts. The one in the middle had on a big brocaded hat and silver conchos down his riding pants. He had to be Don Diego.
He was, and playing it cool. The man in the fancy clothes reined in and sat his horse as one of the others rode over to scout the old mill. Captain Gringo had the girl and stolen horses out of easy sight from the doorway. The scout reined in and dismounted to move forward, gun in hand, for a look inside.
He got one. As the hand with the drawn pistol appeared in the doorway Captain Gringo grabbed the wrist and yanked hard. He pulled the surprised man inside and whipped him around out of sight, shoving his own weapon up a nostril to hiss, “One sound and you die! Do I have your undivided attention?”
The hired gun nodded, wide-eyed, and the American said, “Get Don Diego in here. I don’t care how. Just do it if you want to live another minute!”
The man nodded and called out, “Don Diego! I think they must have been here! I found something!”
“I like a man who thinks fast,” grinned the American. Then he swung the gun against the side of his captive’s head, knocked him down, and stomped his windpipe, killing him instantly.
Don Diego swaggered in, asking, “What is it? What have you found?”
Then he froze, staring into Captain Gringo’s wolfish grin and pointed pistol. The American said, “Get that other guy over here. Be careful how you word it.”
“Fuck you,” said Don Diego.
Captain Gringo shot him in the kneecap. Don Diego fell to the ground, screaming in agony. The American reached down, took his holstered gun, and stepped to the doorway. The last gunman was riding for the tree line, hard. Captain Gringo braced his weapon in both hands and fired, knocking him off his running mount with a severed spine.
As he stepped back inside, Don Diego was sitting up, holding his shattered knee. He’d spotted his half-naked wife in the corner and groaned, “Did this bastard touch you, my treasure?”
She didn’t answer.
Captain Gringo said, “I made her suck it, too. She’s a great lay, isn’t she?”
“You son-of-a-bitch! When the others get here I’ll have your balls fed to you one at a time.”
“Jesus. You really think you’re something, don’t you?”
“Go ahead and kill me. I’ll still die a better man. I am Diego Lupo y Marin y Cortez and a true caballero of the old race. I do not plead with my inferiors.”
“Really crazy. You should have been a short colonel in the Quartermaster Corps. You want to talk about our safe conduct out of here or do we get some more shit about El Cid?”
“You will never get away. You have burned my house. You have raped my woman. But you will not, you cannot dishonor me. I will do nothing to help you get away. You can kill me, but you will not get away. I, Don Diego, take an oath on this!”
Captain Gringo muttered, “Oh shit,” and fired again. The slug went through both hands clasped around the injured knee, and didn’t do a thing for the already shattered kneecap, either.
Don Diego groaned through gritted teeth, but he was still showing off. He hissed, “It hurts. So what? A man facing death fears no further pain.”
“Now, who said anything about killing you? I don’t owe you any favors.”
He saw the puzzled frown in the wounded man’s eyes and added, “You think you’re some sort of little tin god. I’m going to let you live to reconsider, Don Diego. You’re tough as hell. I’ll give you that. You used to be rich and good at killing people. But I just burned you out and blew both your hands to shit. How do you feel about being a cripple with no gun hands, caballero?”
He saw the dawning horror in the other’s eyes and nodded, saying, “Yeah. You’ve bullied everyone within a day’s ride for years and no doubt some of them owe you for past favors. Lots of luck, robber baron. You’ll need some. It’ll be months before you can even pick your own bananas.”
“You can’t do this to me,” he protested.
The girl got to her feet, an odd smile on her face as she walked over, opening her torn dress. She spit on the wounded man and asked Captain Gringo, sweetly, “Would you please take me again, my toro? I want this animal to watch!”
It was tempting, but there wasn’t time. He settled for putting an arm around her waist and saying, “Later, in the jungle, querida. Let’s leave him here to play with himself until the Indians find him, helpless.”
As he untied the horses Don Diego pleaded, “Leave me my gun, at least.”
Captain Gringo helped the girl up, giving her a playful pat as he did so. Then he mounted beside her and said, “As you said before, ‘fuck you’.”
They were both laughing as they rode off together. Then, as the trees closed in around them again she said, “I only said those terrible things for revenge. I hope you don’t take me for a bad woman.”
“We’ll worry about it later,” he suggested, adding, “if we don’t put some distance between here and there before the sun goes down we might not get to find out.”
“But you said he was powerless now.”
“It might take him a day or two to find that out. I figure his hired guns will have to think about it a bit before they turn on him.”
“Ah, but in the end, do you think they will?”
“I wouldn’t have left him alive if I didn’t know it. He doesn’t strike me as a very nice guy. Sooner or later they’re going to wonder why they have to take orders from a man with a nasty mouth, no brains, and no way to fight back.”
“Brrr. I almost feel sorry for him now.”
“Don’t. He had more coming, but it was all I could think up on such short notice.”