Renegades (13 page)

Frank stepped forward and opened the door to his room. “Might as well get in out of the night air,” he said. “I get the feeling that you want to talk, Señorita.”

Carmen followed him inside and stood there nervously as he flicked a lucifer to life and lit the wall lamp. The yellow glow filled the room. Frank eased the door closed and turned toward her.

“What is it you want to talk about, Señorita? Your brother being kidnapped by the Black Scorpion, or the fact that you're in love with Ben Tolliver?”

“How did you know? We have been so careful!”

Frank shook his head. “Not really. I spotted Ben riding over the hill in back of the house a few evenings ago. That same night I saw you sneaking back into the hacienda after you met him. The way you were singing to yourself, I could tell you were a woman in love.”

“But how did you know it is Ben who has captured my heart?”

Frank shrugged. “That was sort of a guess. When I saw him ride over the hill, I got a look at his hat and could tell it wasn't a sombrero, but rather the kind that gringos wear. That started me thinking about who might be able to ride across the border to see you. The Rocking T is the closest ranch on the other side of the river, and Ben is Cecil Tolliver's only son. Of course, it could have been one of the Rocking T cowboys who's been courting you, but I remembered how Tolliver made some comment about Ben dropping out of sight at times. I figured that was when he came over here.”

Accusingly, Carmen said, “You told my father that you knew of Cecil Tolliver, but not that you had been to his ranch.”

“I shaded the truth a little,” Frank admitted. “I suppose when you mentioned to Ben that I was staying here, he told you I'd been to the Rocking T, too.”

“He did.”

“But you couldn't say anything to Don Felipe about it,” Frank guessed, “because that would have meant explaining where you got the information, and you sure didn't want to do that, did you?”

Carmen frowned at him but didn't say anything, and he knew his theory was correct. He hadn't told Don Felipe the complete truth ... but Carmen had even bigger secrets to hide.

“Just because I'm acquainted with the Tolliver family doesn't mean that I intend any harm to your family,” Frank went on. “But I knew of the bad blood between your father and Cecil Tolliver, even though I didn't know the cause of it, and I figured it would be better not to mention certain things.”

“Better for whom, Señor Morgan? What is your true purpose here?”

That was a good question. Frank was here partially because of his curiosity, and partially because the trouble on both sides of the border offended his sense of justice. After a moment of thought, he said, “I want to find out who's really responsible for all the problems going on now between your father and Cecil Tolliver.”

“Tolliver is a rustler—”

“He says the same thing about your father,” Frank pointed out.

Carmen's chin lifted defiantly. “Don Felipe Almanzar would
never
steal another man's cattle!”

“Well, somebody is wide-looping Tolliver's stock, and a bunch of gunmen attacked him and Ben the other day and nearly killed them.”

A solemn expression appeared on Carmen's face. “Ben told me of this. He said you saved their lives, Señor Morgan. I must thank you for that.”

“Cecil Tolliver believes those gunnies who jumped them worked for your father.”

“A lie! It is Tolliver who sends armed men down here to ambush our vaqueros.”

“Now tell me,” Frank said, “do you really believe that the father of the man you love would do a thing like that?”

“Well ...” Anger and doubt warred on Carmen's face. “I remember what Señor Tolliver was like when Ben and I were young. I thought he was a good man, and a good friend to my father. It is hard to believe that he has become so evil.... But Papa is so sure....”

“Just like he was sure something was going on between Tolliver and your mother?”

Carmen shook her head emphatically. “You must not speak of such things! I am surprised my father even told you about what happened.”

“But he did tell me,” Frank said, “and everything goes back to that, doesn't it, Carmen? Before that, the Tollivers and the Almanzars were friends. Good friends. You and Ben were young, but maybe you already felt something for each other.”

“Sí,”
she said in a half whisper. “Even as children, I think we knew how we felt about each other. I . . . I always wanted to be with him.”

“But then it all went wrong, and when the two of you finally did get together again, you had to meet on the sly, didn't you?”

Carmen clenched her hands into fists and pressed them against her mouth. “It has been so hard,” she said in what was almost a moan. “So hard ...”

“And now on top of everything else, your brother's been kidnapped by the Black Scorpion.”

“Antonio will be all right. I am sure of it.”

“How can you be so certain?” Frank asked.

“It is just ... a feeling. I know the Black Scorpion would not harm my brother.”

“Uh-huh,” Frank said, not convinced.

“It is important, though, that my father pay the ransom, just to be sure nothing happens to 'Tonio.”

“He plans to pay,” Frank told her. “In fact, I'm going to loan him the money. We're going to Nuevo Laredo in the morning to arrange it.”

Carmen's eyebrows arched in surprise. “You, Señor Morgan? I had no idea you were a rich man.”

“I don't make a lot of noise about it. I figure if a man has a good horse, a good dog, and a good gun, what else does he need?”

“A good woman, perhaps?”

“Well, maybe, at the right place and time.” Frank didn't want to go into that with Carmen, so he went on. “You know, even if your father pays the ransom, that's no guarantee the Black Scorpion will go through with his part of the deal.”

“You mean you think he might not release Antonio . . . or that he might ... might kill him?” Carmen went pale at that thought.

“I just think the smart thing to do is to be ready for any possibility,” Frank said. “If the Black Scorpion tries to double-cross us, we've got to be prepared to take Antonio away from him.”

Carmen crossed herself. “I pray that it does not come to that.”

Frank nodded and said, “You and me both, Señorita.”

 

 

Frank and Carmen reached an understanding before she slipped out of his room: He wouldn't say anything to Don Felipe about her relationship with Ben Tolliver, and she wouldn't mention that he had been a guest at the Rocking T and had become friends with the Tolliver family.

Sleep didn't come easily to Frank that night. Something was still nagging at him, but try as he might he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He tried sifting through everything that he had seen and heard since riding into the border country a week or so earlier, but that didn't yield any results. He resolved not to think about it instead, in hopes that whatever it was that was bothering him would pop into his head.

All through the long night, that didn't happen. And when he finally dozed off, it seemed as if he had barely closed his eyes when the strident ringing of a bell and the sound of men shouting jerked him out of his slumber.

He sat up sharply, swung his legs out of bed, and reached for his trousers. It took him only a moment to pull them on, stamp his feet down into his boots, and thrust his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. With the shirt still unbuttoned, he was buckling on his gun belt as he went out the door of the room.

The hour was early, with the rosy flush of dawn on the eastern horizon. Frank followed the sound of the ringing bell, fastening the buttons on his shirt as he hurried toward the front of the hacienda. When he reached the outer wall of the compound, he saw that the gate was open. Horses milled around in the open space between the hacienda and the barns. The gray uniforms of the riders tended to blur into the dawn shadows.

The Rurales had returned.

Frank strode up and saw Don Felipe Almanzar standing next to one of the horses, talking to Captain Domingo Estancia. Their words were low and angry. Estancia spotted Frank approaching and glared at him. “You are still here, Señor Morgan?”

“That's right,” Frank said. “And I reckon you're still on the trail of the Black Scorpion, Capitán.”

Don Felipe turned toward Frank. “I have told Captain Estancia that the Black Scorpion is holding my son for ransom.”

“And I have explained to Don Felipe,” Estancia said coldly, “that although his son's captivity is regrettable, it can have no effect on the way my men and I carry out our mission, which is to hunt down the
bandidos
and destroy them.”

“I suppose the trail of the Black Scorpion's gang led you back here?” Frank said.

Estancia jerked his head in a nod. “That is correct. We are closing in on them, and we expect to have them at bay within another day or two.”

Don Felipe said tightly, “If you engage them in battle, Captain, it is likely that they will kill Antonio.”

“As I said, any danger to your son is regrettable. But I
will
smash that band of lawbreakers!”

For a moment Frank thought Don Felipe was going to reach up and grab Estancia to drag him out of the saddle. If that happened, the Rurales would swarm them, and there might be another whipping carried out, this time on Don Felipe himself. The vaqueros wouldn't stand for that and would try to fight. Once again, the threat of a bloody massacre was imminent.

Frank put a hand on Don Felipe's arm, knowing that he was being bold in doing so but figuring it was worth the risk to the don's honor.

“Don Felipe, if I could talk with you for a moment ...” Frank said as he thought swiftly, trying to determine the best course of action.

Don Felipe continued to stare daggers up at Captain Estancia for a couple of seconds, but then he turned away with a muttered curse. “What is it, Señor Morgan?” At the moment, he was too angry to be informal.

Frank drew him aside, out of earshot of Estancia and the other Rurales. Speaking quietly, Frank said, “You can't stop him from going after the Black Scorpion, Don Felipe. He has too many men, and you have your vaqueros and their families to think about.”

“But Antonio—”

“I know,” Frank said. “Estancia's just going to put him in more danger by chasing the
bandidos.
What we have to do is find the Black Scorpion's gang
first
and get Antonio away from them before Estancia can hit them. Or I reckon I should say that's what
I
have to do.”

Don Felipe had started to get a hopeful expression on his face as Frank spoke, but now he said doubtfully, “You? But you are injured—”

“I'm pretty much healed up now. I can ride, and I can get to Antonio first That's what I'm counting on, anyway.”

Don Felipe shook his head dolefully “Such an attempt might stand a chance of success, but you cannot go alone. I should send some of my men with you.”

“I can move faster by myself,” Frank argued. “And if I do locate the bandit camp, one man would have a better chance of slipping in and out of there than a group.”

Don Felipe scrubbed a hand over his face as he agonized over the decision facing him. Over at the creek, the Rurales were watering their horses and filling their canteens, which was evidently the reason they had stopped at the rancho in the first place. Captain Estancia still sat his horse, his back stiff, his face set in stubbornly arrogant lines.

Finally, Don Felipe said, “I know your reputation as a fighter, Frank, but this is not your land It is unlikely you would be able to find the Black Scorpion before the Rurales do.”

Frank had thought of that, but he intended to try, anyway

“However,” Don Felipe went on, “if I sent one man with you, one man who knows this part of Mexico better than any other, that would increase the chances of success, no?”

“Well, maybe,” Frank said with a frown. “Somebody to help me find the gang, and then I could snatch Antonio away from them.”

“
Sí
, that is what I mean.” Don Felipe's excitement was growing as he realized that there might still be a way to free his son. “I have just such a man, one who can guide you, one who knows the hills and the mountains and the plains better than anyone.”

Frank nodded. “All right. Send him to me, and as soon as Estancia and his men pull out, we'll leave, too, and ride around them to get on the trail first. But while we're doing that, you go on to Nuevo Laredo as planned. I'll write out the message for you to send to my lawyers in Denver. They'll know it's from me. Go ahead and prepare the ransom just in case we need it. If we don't, there's no harm done.”

“Yes, we must be prepared. That is wise.” Don Felipe clasped Frank's hand. “Bring my son back to me, amigo.”

“If I can,” Frank promised. “You have my word on that.”

The Rurales stayed at the Almanzar rancho only a short time before riding out again. That was long enough, however, for Frank to see to it that Stormy was saddled and ready to ride. He left the Appaloosa in the barn and went back to the house to gather some provisions. The mission he had chosen for himself might take several days to accomplish.

He found that the Indian women in charge of Don Felipe's kitchen had already packed a bundle of food, including tortillas, jerky, and fruit from the Almanzar orchard. Frank took the supplies and thanked them.

As he was about to leave the hacienda and return to the barn, he heard, “Señor Morgan!” and turned to see Carmen hurrying toward him. Her hair was tousled and she had a robe wrapped around her, clear indications that she had not been out of bed for long. She came up to Frank and said, “Señor Morgan, my father has told me what you are about to do. Thank you, Señor. I know that if anyone can save my brother, it is you.”

“I'll do my best,” Frank said.

“And you and I, we will keep our secrets?”

“Of course.”

Carmen put her hands on his arms, came up on her toes, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. He hadn't taken the time to shave and he knew his beard stubble must be rough, but she didn't seem to mind.
“Vaya con Dios, Señor Morgan,”
she whispered.

Frank left her there and walked out to the barn where Stormy and Dog waited. As he approached, he saw Don Felipe standing there with a short, poncho-draped figure wearing a sombrero that seemed almost as big as he was. When the second man turned toward him, Frank was surprised to see the wizened face of old Esteban.

“Here is your guide,” Don Felipe said as he rested a hand on Esteban's bony shoulder.

Frank couldn't help but frown. “Are you sure about this, Don Felipe?”

“This rancho was given to my family by a land grant from the King of Spain more than a century ago, Señor Morgan. Esteban's father worked for my great-grandfather and my grandfather. Esteban himself worked for my grandfather and my father. He has lived with the Yaquis, and he knows every hectare in the region.”

“Can he stand up to a long hard ride?”

Esteban lifted his head, straightened his back, and answered for himself this time. “I can keep up, Señor,” he declared. “Do not concern yourself with that.”

Frank hadn't paid that much attention to the old
mozo
, and now, as he looked into Esteban's eyes, he saw that that had been a mistake. The fires of pride burned fiercely there, and something else as well: A spark that showed the soul of a warrior still resided inside the old man's body.

“All right,” Frank said. “I'm honored to have your help, Esteban.”

The
mozo
nodded, his grim features unbending.

Don Felipe snapped his fingers, and one of the vaqueros brought out the big black stallion. The horse was Don Felipe's personal mount, but he said, “Esteban, you will take El Rey.”

“
Sí
,
patrón.”
Esteban's head bobbed up and down. He took the stallion's reins from the vaquero and scrambled up into the saddle like a monkey. He looked a little like a monkey, too, Frank thought, perched there on the big horse's back. The King was a fitting name for the stallion, and somebody who didn't know better might think Esteban was the court jester.

Frank knew better, though.

He hung the bag of supplies on his saddle and then swung up onto Stormy's back. Don Felipe reached up, and Frank took his hand and shook with him, a firm grip from both men.
“Vaya
con
Dios,”
Don Felipe said, echoing what Carmen had told him a few minutes earlier.

Frank nodded and lifted a hand to the brim of his Stetson in farewell. Then he pulled the Appaloosa's head around and heeled him into a trot that carried them away from the hacienda. Esteban fell in alongside on El Rey. Neither man looked back.

 

 

Frank let Esteban take the lead and set the pace. The old-timer knew what he was doing. He had seen the way the Rurales had ridden when they left the ranch, heading northwest through the foothills that paralleled the mountain range. Esteban took an even more westerly direction, which brought them into more rugged terrain.

“We could pass them quickly if we rode east and traveled on the flat,” Esteban explained, even though Frank hadn't asked him why they were going this way. “But if we did that, we would run the risk of being seen. Once we are above them, we can pass the Rurales more easily without the risk of being observed.”

“It'll be slower this way, though, I imagine,” Frank commented.

“If our forces were of the same size, then yes, our path would be slower. But they are many and we are few. What would be a disadvantage in battle we must turn to our advantage in speed and stealth.”

That made sense to Frank. He nodded and concentrated on keeping up with the little old man on the big horse ... just the opposite of what he had been worried about when Don Felipe told him that Esteban was going with him.

The sun rose higher in the sky, but cast only feeble warmth as the morning wore on. The winds were brisk and chilly and helped to keep Frank revitalized after his night of poor sleep. The thing that had bothered him on the previous night was still elusive, but it seemed to be closer now, almost teasing him as it stood just outside the light of understanding.

Since the ground was rocky, the hooves of Stormy and El Rey raised little dust. The same could not be said of the Rurales' mounts. As Frank looked to his right, he could see the haze of dust that rose to mark the passage of the larger group. He was surprised to see how much lower the Rurales were, compared to him and Esteban. He had known that they were climbing quite a bit, but he hadn't been aware they were that much higher.

Don Felipe had been right: Esteban knew every trail. Some led through deep slashes in the sides of the mountains so that rock rose sheer for a hundred feet or more on each side of the riders, the walls so close at hand that Frank could have reached out and touched them. Other trails were little more than narrow ledges that crawled along the sides of the peaks with rock to the left and a dizzying drop to the right. In those cases, Frank let Stormy have his head and trusted the Appaloosa to find his way. Stormy was surefooted and negotiated those perilous paths with the seeming ease of the mountain goats that frolicked even higher in the great gray stone monoliths.

By midday Esteban judged that they were well ahead of Captain Estancia's troop of Rurales. “We start down now,” the old man announced. “We must find the trail of the Black Scorpion.”

“You could have tracked him down any time you wanted to, couldn't you?” Frank asked.

Esteban's narrow shoulders rose and fell eloquently.
“Quién sabe?
I had no need to until now.”

That made perfect sense, too. Frank grinned and rode on, following the old man.

As they worked their way down to a lower altitude, the air grew a bit warmer. Frank rolled each of his shirt sleeves up a couple of turns. When they made one of their infrequent stops to rest the horses and let them crop at one of the sparse clumps of hardy grass, Frank took a swig of water from his canteen, ate a tortilla, and then gnawed a bite off one of the strips of jerky. Esteban managed to chew some of the tough, dried meat, too, even though he didn't have all of his teeth. The ones he still had were strong.

“When we catch up to the gang,” Frank said, “we'll follow them until they make camp for the night Then you'll wait with the horses while I slip in and get Antonio.”

“The
bandidos
may have already reached their camp,” Esteban pointed out.

“Then we'll wait until dark anyway. I can't just waltz in there.”

“I could,” Esteban said.

Frank's forehead creased in a frown as he stared at the old man. “What do you mean?”

“I could walk into the
bandidos'
camp,” Esteban said calmly. “It is doubtful that any of them would know that I work for Don Felipe. I could pretend to be a crazed old goat herder who has lost his way. Tell me, Señor . . .” Esteban spread his hands. “Would anyone really be suspicious of an old man like me?”

Frank thought about it, and he had to admit that Esteban was probably right. There would be risks involved, though.

“What if somebody did recognize you?” he asked. “If the Black Scorpion knew that you worked for Don Felipe, he might have you shot.”

“Not if I told him that I had come to arrange for the payment of the ransom.”

The cagy old-timer had an answer for everything, Frank thought. And it was certainly true that some advance reconnaissance might come in handy.

Esteban pointed out the same thing. “If I visited the
bandido
camp, I could find out exactly where they are holding Antonio and how he is guarded. That would make your task much easier, would it not?”

Frank nodded. “Yeah, you're right. I just hate to see you taking such chances, Esteban.”

The old man smiled. Frank couldn't remember if he had seen such an expression on Esteban's face before or not.

“At my age, Señor, when I close my eyes to sleep at night I risk never waking again.”

“I reckon that's true of all of us, amigo.” Frank clasped a hand on Esteban's shoulder. “All right. That's the plan, then. When we find the Black Scorpion's camp, you'll scout it out for us first.”

With that settled, they mounted up again and rode on. Frank looked over his shoulder and saw the dust from the Rurales' horses. It was more than a mile behind them. That wasn't far enough, though. They didn't want Estancia's men coming up and ruining everything just as they were about to snatch Antonio away from the Black Scorpion.

When Frank mentioned that to Esteban, the old man nodded and pushed on at a faster pace. Stormy and El Rey still had plenty of stamina left, so they didn't mind.

By mid-afternoon, they had begun to spot the occasional telltale marks that told them a large group of riders had passed this way recently: stones chipped by horseshoes, branches bent back and sometimes broken, a welter of hoofprints here and there, piles of horse droppings. Esteban nodded in satisfaction.

“This trail was left by the Black Scorpion and his men,” he told Frank. “I am sure of it.”

“So am I,” Frank agreed. “Looks like they're only a couple of hours ahead of us, too.”

The two men increased the pace even more, trying to catch up to the
bandidos
and at the same time put more distance between them and the Rurales. The sparsely wooded foothills and the shallow valleys between them made for fairly easy riding.

It was late in the afternoon when Esteban held up a hand to call a halt. “Look there,” he said to Frank, pointing with a gnarled finger. Frank looked in the direction Esteban indicated and saw several thin columns of smoke rising into the air.

“That looks like a settlement of some kind,” Frank said.

Esteban nodded. “It is. A small farming community. I have been there before, but it has been many years. I doubt that anyone there would remember me, but we will go around the village anyway. If the people there saw us, they might try to warn the Black Scorpion.”

“Because they're afraid of him?”

Esteban snorted at that idea. “That is what that pig of a Rurale
capitán
would have you believe. In truth, from what I know, the Black Scorpion has never given the people of the village any reason to fear him.”

“I thought he raided on this side of the border just like he does on the Texas side.”

“He does, Señor, he does,” Esteban said cryptically.

Frank wanted to know what he meant by that, but questioning the old
mozo
would have to wait. Right now they had to concentrate on finding the Black Scorpion's hideout. With Esteban still leading the way, they circled to the west around the little farming village nestled in the foothills. From a distance it looked like a charming place, Frank thought, with a church and a scattering of adobe buildings around a plaza.

As Esteban pointed out in the fading light, the trail left by the Black Scorpion's gang went around the village, too. It led onto a ridge and then up a hill. They weren't yet at the top of the slope when Esteban reined in suddenly. He turned to Frank, who nodded.

“I smell it, too,” Frank said quietly. “Wood smoke, and meat roasting. Must be a good-sized campfire somewhere close by.”

“Sí
,” Esteban said. “We will leave the horses here and go on up the hill on foot.”

They dismounted and tied their reins to small pine trees. All day long, Dog had kept up without complaint, but now the big cur growled as Frank told him to stay with Stormy and El Rey.

“I know you're disappointed, Dog,” Frank said with a quick grin. “We're just scouting right now, though.”

“Some men would think you a fool for talking to a dog as if he understood your words, Señor,” Esteban commented

“Not you, though.”

Esteban gave one of his usual shrugs. “A good horse and a good dog speak the same language of the heart as a good man.”

That pretty much summed it up, Frank thought.

He and Esteban cat-footed their way to the top of the hill, using the scattered pines as cover. When they reached the crest, they crouched behind some bushes and peered out into the narrow valley on the other side of the hill. The sun was low enough so that the valley was in shadow, but enough light remained for the two men to be able to see the wide, dark mouth of the cave that opened into the slope on the far side of the valley. A fire had been built in the cave mouth, and the smoke that rose from it was broken up by the overhang above it. Men moved around, dark silhouettes against the garish glare of the leaping flames.