Brand lay for a while listening to the faint sounds that came to his ears from the surrounding darkness. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he was able to make out shapes. He was in a stone walled cell. The front wall was made from a frame of thick iron bars with a door set in the center. Beyond this lay a dimly lit passage. It appeared to be deserted, but after listening closely he heard a sound that sent a shudder through his body.
It was the unmistakable rattling and scratching sound made by rats as they scurried furtively along the passage.
Brand carried the normal human fear of rats. There was no denying the evil they carried with them. The longer he lay staring out into the passage the more certain he was that he could see them; the dark shapes sliding along the floor, gray bodies pressed tightly against the base of the wall, red eyes searching the shadows.
He began to hope he wouldn’t have to stay down here for too long. It was easy to see how a place like this could make a man lose his sanity. Brand decided there and then that if he was taken back upstairs there was no way they would get him back to this cell.
Getting shot was preferable to rotting in this hellhole.
He sat up slowly. The effort cost him minutes of pain. There was hardly a spot on his whole body that Chino hadn’t touched. Every breath drew a shaft of pain from his bruised ribs, and though he couldn’t see it he knew his face was swollen and bloody. His left eye was almost closed. Brand sat still for a while, letting the pain ease away.
Then he dragged himself across the floor, ignoring the damp and the slime that coated the cold stone slabs, and leaned his back against the cell wall.
He knew he was somewhere beneath El Casa Muerte. Deep down in the underground cells. He had difficulty remembering being brought to the place. Only fragments of the event came to him. He recalled Chino dragging him out of Huerta’s office. Then a long flight of cold stone steps. Darkness. A chill to the dank air. He remembered the drip of water from the low ceiling. The shock of it striking his raw face. The creak of the cell door, followed by the stunning impact as he had been thrown across the stone floor.
Brand did realize it was going to be a damn sight harder getting out of El Casa Muerte than it had been getting in. He might have found the kidnappers’ base but it wasn’t helping much at the moment. He still hadn’t found the girl.
Or had he?
Brand recalled the woman he’d spotted at the upstairs window. It might have been Kathy Dorsey.
He heard a faint sound. It reached him from the far corner of the cell.
Brand glanced in that direction. It was in total darkness, beyond the reach of the flame from the flickering torch in its bracket on the passage wall. Brand peered into the darkness.
Again something moved. Brand lurched unsteadily to his feet.
There was something there.
Or somebody.
“Step out where I can see you!”
He heard a surprised gasp. And then shuffling feet brought a figure out of the shadows and into the faint glow of the torchlight.
Brand saw a gaunt face staring at him. Dark ringed eyes searched his face closely. The man who stood before him wore filthy, shredded clothing that was stained with dried blood. The man’s hair was long and matted, his face covered by thick stubble. Partially healed cuts and discolored bruises marked his skin.
“You . . . are you an American?” the man asked. His voice was hoarse, dry in his throat.
“Yes.”
The man began to speak again, then paused. He eyed Brand with open hostility. Then he asked: “Why did they put you in here with me? Why not one of the other cells?”
Brand shrugged, impatient with the man’s line of questioning. “I wasn’t given any choice. What the hell difference does it make?”
“I’ve been alone since Huerta threw me down here.” The man continued to stare at Brand. “What’re you up to, mister?”
Brand ignored the question. He turned and walked across the cell.
He stood looking through the bars.
He could see nothing but the empty passage. To his right it extended away into the darkness. To the left it ended after some twenty feet in the flight of stone steps leading to the upper floor.
Turning his attention to the cell door Brand examined the lock. It was old and solid. As were the hinges. There was no chance of breaking it down.
The only way to get through the door was to unlock it.
He sensed the other man’s presence at his shoulder.
“I guess I’ve been down here too long,” the man said. “Starting to suspect everyone who comes near me.”
“How long you been here?”
“Couple of months, I reckon, maybe longer. Easy to lose track of time down here. It’s always night. The bastards won’t let me see daylight.” The man clutched at Brand’s arm. “They figure to kill me. I know that now. Should’ve realized it before. They can’t afford to let me live, with what I know. Stupid of me not to have figured it out. Not that I got anybody to blame but myself. I walked into it with my eyes wide open.”
He jerked away from Brand and gripped the bars of the cell door, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.
“I just wish I could have five minutes alone with that bitch Carla. I’d die happy if I could settle things with that cold-blooded ... “ He broke off, staring through the bars. Then he spoke again — softly — more to himself than to anyone who might be listening. “You don’t realize how damn lucky you are to be rid of her, Morgan.”
Morgan!
The name jolted Brand into awareness.
He turned, startling the other man by his sudden move. “Are you talking about Morgan Dorsey?”
“Morgan? Yeah. But . . . "Again the suspicion rose like an invisible barrier. “Who the hell are you? Why all the questions?”
“My name isn’t important. But Morgan Dorsey’s is. Look, friend, I don’t know how much time they’re allowing either of us, so we’d better make this quick. What’s Morgan Dorsey to you?”
The other sagged visibly, leaning against the bars. He raised his eyes to Brand’s face.
“Morgan Dorsey is my brother.”
Brand stared for a moment. Names suddenly began to drop into place. He’d already heard one — though it hadn’t registered then — Carla. The name of Morgan Dorsey’s supposed dead wife. And if this man was Morgan Dorsey’s brother.
“Luke Dorsey?” Brand asked. The other nodded. “So the pair of you didn’t die in that hotel fire?”
Luke Dorsey shook his head. “I wish I had now. It would have been better than ending up in this place.”
“Is Kathy here too?”
“You know about Kathy?”
“Morgan hired me to find her. To bring her home alive if possible.”
“She’s here somewhere. I haven’t seen her for a long time. All I know is they’re keeping her alive until money changes hands. Then we’re all dead.”
“So the whole thing was a setup?” Brand said, watching Luke’s reaction.
The man smiled wearily. “A setup? That’s rich. I suppose it was. But as far as I was concerned it was genuine. By the time I found out the truth it was too late. Things were out of my hands.”
“Huerta arranged the bodies found in the burned hotel?”
“Yes. Not a difficult thing for a man like Huerta to arrange. A place like this always has bodies that need disposing of.”
“You telling me you didn’t know about the fire?”
Luke’s face paled visibly and he shook his head angrily. “Damn it, no! What kind of man do you think I am? When we got to Tucson it was Carla who suggested we stop off at the hotel. She said she had friends who would help us vanish. I don’t deny I was crazy for her. All I wanted was for us to get away. So I agreed. The second night we were there Huerta showed up. It was late. Well after midnight. He had a rig waiting for us in back of the hotel. All we had were the clothes we stood up in. Our luggage was still in the room. It wasn’t until later I realized why it had been left behind.
“Huerta took us out of Arizona and over the border into Mexico. In the meantime, it appears, Chino and Saul Hussler placed the two bodies Huerta had provided in our room, doused the place with kerosene and set it alight.”
Luke paused for a moment, his face registering the bitter memories filling his troubled mind.
“Carla and I arrived here. Later I found out what had happened. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Three people died in that hotel blaze. Others were hurt. I just went wild. Carla just stood there and laughed in my face. Huerta was with her, and that was when they told me it had all been planned. Right from the moment Carla had first shown interest in me. The whole thing had been a charade. Even when Carla had made love to me. All those times she shared my bed. None of it was real. It had all been worked out so she could escape from Morgan, kidnap Kathy and make him pay to have her back. As soon as they have the money we’ll all be killed to cover their tracks.”
“Did Carla know Huerta before she married Morgan?”
“No. They met when she went to stay with some friends of Morgan here in Mexico. Big ranching family. And Ramon Huerta has known these people for many years. That was how it all started. Carla had been married to Morgan for almost a year then and she was finding the romance was gone.
"Morgan lives for his ranch. Carla likes the bright lights. Money. Attention especially from men. She wasn’t getting any of those things at the ranch. Morgan didn’t have the time or the inclination to take her where she wanted to go. Carla had also found out that even if Morgan died she wouldn’t have got her hands on his money either.
"He had it all worked out. She would have been given an allowance, along with Kathy, and the ranch would have been managed for her. That wasn’t what Carla wanted. When she met Huerta and fell for him, the pair of them worked out this scheme to get their hands on Morgan’s money.”
“And they used you to cover their tracks.” Brand had to admit the idea was neat. “You and Carla run off. Die in a fire. End of wife and brother. Morgan’s a proud man. He’d take the loss and figure justice had been served. That leaves Carla a free woman. Able to join forces with Huerta. Kidnap Kathy and run off with Morgan’s money.”
“You know what hurts most? I helped them do it. A man grown and I fell for every word she said. Like a green kid. She raised her skirts and gave me what I wanted, and I was hooked. I believed her when she said she wanted me. I figured for once in my life I’d beaten Morgan. No two ways about it, I owed everything to my brother. Never was able to make it on my own. He even created a job for me. And I hated him for it. But I didn’t have the guts to up and walk away. Until Carla started flashing those eyes at me. I knew she wasn’t happy with Morgan. I figured I could do something about it.” Luke gave a bitter chuckle. “Hell, I even loused that up as well.”
“You ain’t the first,” Brand said. “And you won’t be the last.”
He felt sympathy for the man. Luke Dorsey had paid heavily for his desire. And there was still the possibility he might have an even higher price to pay yet.
“How do they feed you?” Brand asked, his mind starting to work on ways of getting them out.
Luke looked at him blankly before understanding dawned. “No set times. I’ve gone days without food or water. They just give me enough to keep me alive in case they need me for something. What the hell, maybe I’m kidding myself. I’ve done my bit in the game. I don’t reckon they really need me at all. Wouldn’t surprise me if Carla was doing it just for the hell of it.”
Brand was becoming aware he wasn’t going to get too much help from Luke Dorsey. The man had already gone through too much. His spirit had been shattered and he had reached the decision that it didn’t matter whether he lived or died. If Brand was intent on getting out of El Casa Muerte alive he was going to have to depend on his own resources.
Luke Dorsey drifted back to his dark corner, leaving Brand standing by the cell door. He stayed there for a while.
The way it was going he might have a long wait before anyone showed up. In the event he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. All he could was bide his time and wait his chance.
Much later he heard footsteps. Brand wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
He watched the two figures approaching the cell. Chino was in the lead, carrying a wooden tray, and behind him was Saul Hussler.
“You come a long way just to end up behind bars,” Hussler said as he reached the cell. He was grinning.
“Never did learn when to quit,” Brand replied.
Chino unlocked the door and placed the tray just inside. Brand watched closely as Chino backed out and locked the door again. He had been forced to hold himself back from going for the big Mexican; he had acknowledged that this wasn’t the time. Saul Hussler would have been delighted if Brand had tried something.
“Old man Dorsey must be paying you well,” Hussler said conversationally.
Brand picked up the tray. “Enough,” he said tightly.
Hussler was still grinning. “Pity you won’t get a chance to spend it.”
“Fine,” Brand said; “I’ll leave you to go on thinking that.”
Hussler scowled angrily. “The hell with you, Brand. Only way you’ll get out of here is in a box. Hey, did I show you, I decided to take charge of your gun-rig.” He patted the belt and holster he was wearing; Brand recognized it as his own. “What the hell, you ain’t going to be needing it.”
Brand ignored him and took the tray over to where he had been sitting. He had a look at the food. There were a couple of wooden bowls holding barely warm portions of frijoles and fatty meat.
There were also a couple of battered tin mugs filled with greasy coffee and a clay jug full of water. Brand decided he’d eaten better and that included meals he’d cooked himself. But he wasn’t in a position to complain.
“Hey, big man,” Hussler called from outside the cell. “I’ll tell you something for nothin’. You got anything Huerta needs to know you’d better tell. That man has a lot riding on this deal and he ain’t about to let it slip through his fingers. He’ll slice you into little pieces if you don’t give him what he wants.”
“Hope he makes a better job than I’m making with this damn meat,” Brand answered. “What the hell did it come off, Hussler? Your ass?”
He heard Hussler’s grunt of anger.
Brand smiled. It was worth the pain it caused his battered face. He heard Hussler’s noisy retreat. Brand concentrated on his food. He pushed Luke Dorsey’s portion to him but the man ignored it.
When he’d eaten, drunk the coffee, and washed it all down with a couple of mugs of the water, Brand climbed to his feet and began to pace the cell.
He had felt himself starting to stiffen up from Chino’s beating. Some form of exercise was needed to combat the stiffness as well as the cold, damp atmosphere. Time was dragging as well. It was against Brand’s nature to be locked up. He felt shrunken, his world reduced to the confines of the cell. He was a man used to the wide land. Fresh air and solid ground under his feet. The limitless expanse of the open plain. This being penned up like a rat in a trap did not sit well with him. It mattered little what Huerta had planned for him, but Brand began to wish they would come to fetch him. At least it would get him out of the cell.
Nobody did come for him. The hours slid by and Brand saw no one. Heard nothing. He knew they hadn’t forgotten him. This could have been part of Huerta’s strategy. Leaving Brand to sit out the long, empty hours and wonder what they had in store for him.
Exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.
The starkness of his surroundings, the filth, the cold, none of it mattered in the end. Brand found himself a corner and slept. Though he didn’t know it he slept through what was left of the night and well into the morning of the following day. He was still sleeping when Chino opened the cell door and stepped inside. Ramon Huerta was just behind him while Saul Hussler, armed with a shotgun, stood in the passage outside the cell.
“A man like that,” Huerta said. “I would rather have him with me than against me. It is a pity he will have to die.”
Hussler spat on the stone floor. “Right now he ain’t looking so good to me.”
“Despite every trap you set for him, Hussler, he is still alive. He has killed the gunmen you hired, and he was still on your trail when my men captured him. The more I think about it, the clearer it seems that you have caused a number of needless setbacks which might have easily ruined my carefully prepared plans.”
“Now look!” Hussler stepped forward, his face darkening with anger.
Huerta rounded on him. “No, Hussler, you listen to me. I am paying you well for your part in this scheme. I also do not think you have performed that part too well recently. Fortunately it is almost over. When that time comes we will part company — for good. But first you have one more mission to carry out. Due to your recent performance I think I will send Chino along with you. Then we will be certain to get our hands on the money Morgan Dorsey is so generously donating.”
“You sayin’ I might up and walk off with it?”
Huerta smiled indulgently. “Did I say that? I do not recall any reason why I should think such a thing. However since you mention it I thank you.”
Hussler noticed then that Jason Brand was awake. Sitting up and taking notice. It angered him having Brand there to witness his argument and obvious defeat. Turning away Hussler left the cell area and made his way back up the steps. At the top he returned to Huerta’s office where he stood gazing out of the window, letting his anger subside, uncertain what to do next. He did begin to imagine what it might be like to have his share of the money. It would get him out of the territory. Hussler had been thinking about California. The money would give him a good start there. A better chance than he would have got by remaining on Dorsey’s payroll. It had been thoughts of getting away from his present job that had enticed him to join Huerta. He had seen from the start that the scheme had a better than average chance of working, and it was too good to pass up. Nothing like it was going to come his way ever again. Everything had been working fine until Jason Brand had come on to the scene. Without Huerta’s advice Hussler had tried to get rid of Brand back in Concho. He had already hired his guns at Huerta’s suggestion, as a form of insurance — but he hadn’t used his head when planning the attack on Brand at the hotel. The other attempts had failed too, and Hussler had panicked in Quatero. He knew now that his killing of the liveryman had been clumsy and hadn’t achieved anything useful. Realizing his error Hussler had ridden hard for Mexico, telling his story to an angry Huerta who had sent out some of his own men to pick up Brand and deliver him to Prienti alive.
Recalling the events left Hussler with the beginnings of a headache.
He dumped the shotgun in a corner and helped himself to a large glass of Huerta’s brandy. After a couple of glasses he began to feel a little better. Drink always helped him to think clearly. He wondered what they were doing to Brand down in the cell.
He didn’t dwell on it for too long.
Brand was a damn fool if he didn’t give Huerta what he wanted.
Behind him the door opened. Hussler turned, his face showing the lust that rose in him. The woman standing in the doorway chose to ignore his bold stare. She closed the door and crossed the room.
“Where is Ramon?” she asked.
Hussler grinned crookedly, spurred on by the effects of the brandy. “He’s busy with Brand. But there ain’t no reason you got to be lonely.”
Carla Dorsey gave him a scathing look. “Don’t be stupid, Saul. If Ramon ever hears you talking that way he’ll have you in a cell as well.”
Hussler drained his glass in sullen silence.
“Has Brand talked yet?”
“I left before they started to ask questions.”
It was Carla’s turn to smile. “Weak stomach, Saul?”
Hussler slammed the empty glass down on Huerta’s desk. “You know something — Morgan Dorsey is well rid of you. And for what he’s payin’ he’s gettin’ off pretty cheap.”
He saw her hand coming up, grinned, and caught her slim wrist, twisting it painfully.
“What I can’t figure is what you see in that damn Mex. What’s he got I can’t give you?”
“You’ll never understand,” Carla spat. She thrust her left knee up into his groin, the sudden move taking Hussler completely by surprise. The blow was hard enough to make him release her wrist. As he stepped back, sucking in a sharp breath Carla slapped him across the side of the face with stunning force. Hussler stumbled back against the desk. After a moment he realized blood was running from the corner of his mouth.
Carla faced him squarely, her face a taut mask, lips drawn in a thin, bloodless line. Her breasts rose and fell in agitation.
Hussler became aware of someone else in the room. He looked up and saw Huerta in the open doorway. Huerta was coatless, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Sweat glistened on his brown face and there was a smear of blood across the knuckles of his right hand.
“More problems, Saul?” he asked quietly.
Hussler didn’t trust himself to speak.
He didn’t know how close he was to losing his life. Ramon Huerta was the arbiter of life and death in Prienti Garrison.
It would only take a single word and Hussler would be dead, buried and forgotten.
“Well?” Huerta asked.
“It was nothing, Ramon,” Carla said, back in control of her emotions. “There was a slight misunderstanding. But it’s been settled. Hasn’t it, Saul?”
Hussler nodded quickly. “Yeah. Like the lady said. It’s over.”
Huerta stepped into the office, moving to one side of the open door.
“Get out,” he said, staring at Hussler.
Hussler moved to the door.
“In the morning you leave to pick up the money. I have decided to bring everything forward a few days.”
Hussler nodded and left. The door slammed behind him.
Crossing to the cabinet Huerta poured himself a drink and swallowed it in a single throw. He quickly refilled the glass.
“Why the change, Ramon?” Carla asked.
“Because I believe it will be in our best interests.”
Carla stood before him. “What has Brand said to make you change your mind?”
“Brand? He has said nothing. I have never met a man able to stand up to Chino before. I am very impressed with his courage. It will do him no good of course. In the end he will die. But I wish he would say something. Even bad news would be welcome.”
“You think something might go wrong if we wait too much longer?”
Huerta took her in his arms. “I do not intend to find out. Tomorrow Hussler will go for the money. Chino goes with him to make sure there are no more mistakes. On their return Chino can dispose of Hussler along with Brand and the others. And then we can go on our way. Agreed?”
Carla Dorsey nodded. She kissed Huerta fiercely.
“Yes, Ramon, whatever you say. Now and forever. “