Renegades (10 page)

The rest of the night passed quietly. Frank didn't see either Carmen or Antonio before he went to his cell-like chamber and climbed into bed, leaving the bandanna tied around his tender ankle. He slept soundly.

By the next morning, when he untied the bandanna, the swelling had gone down some. Likewise, the knot on his head was smaller and less painful to the touch. Another day or two and both injuries would be almost healed, he thought. For today, though, he left his Stetson in the room and pulled on the moccasins instead of his boots.

As was his habit, he had risen early, not long after dawn, but of course the inhabitants of the rancho were already up and about, getting a fair start on a good day's work. Vaqueros rode here and there, and the ringing of hammer against anvil came from the blacksmith shop. The sound reminded Frank of his friend Reuben Craddock, the blacksmith in the little settlement of Nemo, Texas, far to the north. The burly Reuben shared Frank's love of reading, and that thought reminded Frank that he needed to find another book for his saddlebags before too much longer. Nothing passed the time like a good book.

No one challenged him as he walked into the main part of the sprawling hacienda. When he came into the dining room, he found Carmen sitting at the table, the remains of her breakfast still in front of her as she sipped on a cup of coffee. She greeted him with a smile.

“Buenos dias, Señor Morgan,”
she said. “How did you sleep?”

“Passable,” Frank said. “And you, Señorita?”

She put her coffee cup on its saucer and a delicate shudder ran through her. “Not well. I kept hearing the crack of the whip and those cries of pain, even in my dreams.”

Frank sat down and gazed solemnly across the table at her. “Do you know how that man is doing this morning?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. The Indian women cleaned his wounds and dressed them with an ointment they make from plants that grow in the hills. My father checked on him this morning and said that he will recover, but I think it will take a long time. And the poor man's spirit may never be the same again.” Carmen sighed and shook her head. “It was a dreadful thing. I could not watch it. Hearing it was bad enough.”

Frank nodded in agreement. “It's probably good that you went back inside, Señorita,” he told her. “There was nothing you could do to stop it.”

She tilted her head a little to the side as she regarded him intently. “Antonio tells me that
you
stepped in to stop it, Señor Morgan, when the sergeant tried to exceed the five lashes Captain Estancia ordered.”

“The fella must have lost count,” Frank said, as he had the night before.

Carmen shook her head. “I do not think so. Many of the Rurales are brutal men. They like to inflict pain.” She paused. “Did you notice their sombreros?”

“I suppose,” Frank said with a puzzled frown. “What about them?”

“Did you see how some of the sombreros were gray, to match the uniforms, but many of them were black?”

Frank thought back to the night before and then nodded. “I reckon you're right. What does that mean?”

“Most of the men who serve in the Rurales were recruited from prisons in Mexico City and elsewhere. They are given the choice of serving the sentences they have received for their crimes either behind bars or in the Gendarmeria Fiscal, which is the official name for the Rurales. It is said that any such prisoner who has been convicted of murder receives a black sombrero when he joins the Rurales.”

Frank felt a chill along his spine. “Then more than half of the men in that troop are murderers.”

“Sí,” Carmen said softly. “And those are the men who are supposed to bring law and order to our land.”

“What about Captain Estancia?”

“Rurale officers are first officers in the Regular Army. They are often aristocrats, not at all the same class as the cutthroats and brigands who make up the men they command.” Carmen hesitated. “But that does not mean they cannot be every bit as brutal and ruthless.”

The young woman was speaking freely, probably because she and Frank were the only ones around at the moment. He decided to take advantage of that and hoped that she would keep talking.

“Last night at dinner you seemed to be playing up to Captain Estancia,” he said bluntly “Why would you do that if you don't like him?”

“The captain wields great power in this region. Great power,” she said again. “It is best not to anger or defy him. A pleasant smile, and he rides on without seeking to humble us.” She added bitterly, “At least, not too much.”

“Did the Rurales leave this morning?”

Carmen nodded. “Yes, they are off on their . . . How do you
norteamericanos
say it? Their wild-goose chase?”

“After the Black Scorpion?”

“
Sí
.” She gave a little scornful laugh. “As if they would ever stand a chance of catching the Black Scorpion.”

“Pretty slick bandit, is he?”

“Pretty slick, yes. A bandit?” Carmen shrugged. “Who knows?”

That was intriguing, but before Frank could say anything more about it, footsteps sounded nearby, and a moment later Don Felipe Almanzar strode into the dining room. He was dressed for riding the range, much like his vaqueros.

“Ah, buenos dias, Señor Morgan,” he said. “I trust you are well this morning?”

“Not bad,” Frank said. “I hear the Rurales are gone.”

The affable expression on Almanzar's face disappeared, to be replaced by a look of anger that seemed more natural somehow on his hawklike features.

“
Sí
, Capitán Estancia and his men rode out a short time ago.”

“And you were happy to see them go?”

“As any honest man would be.”

“That's about the way I feel, too,” Frank agreed with a smile that didn't reach his cold gray eyes. “The captain seemed like a first-class son of a—” With a glance at Carmen, he stopped before he could finish the epithet.

“Indeed,” Don Felipe said. “Have you had breakfast, Señor Morgan?”

“Not yet.”

Carmen got to her feet, since she was finished with her meal. “I will tell Esteban to see to it, Papa,” she offered.

Don Felipe nodded.
“Gracias.”
He turned back to Frank as Carmen left the room. “And after you have eaten, Señor, would you feel like riding?”

“You want me to leave?” Frank asked, a little surprised.

Don Felipe looked shocked. “On the contrary. I wish to show you my rancho, if you will indulge an old man's pride.”

Don Felipe might be getting along in years, but Frank had a hard time thinking of anyone so vital as old. He smiled again, more warmly this time, and said, “I'd be pleased to see your ranch, Don Felipe.”

Almanzar took a quirt from behind his belt and flicked it against his leg. “Meet me at the main corral, then, in thirty minutes.”

“I'll be there,” Frank said with a nod.

Esteban bustled in with eggs scrambled with ham and peppers, along with the inevitable tortillas and some sweet rolls. Frank enjoyed the meal, washing it down with a couple of cups of strong coffee. When he was finished, he went back to his room and picked up his hat. Carefully, he settled the Stetson on his head and found that it didn't hurt the lump above his ear. He wasn't going riding without a hat on. He would have felt naked. He kept the moccasins on, preferring not to trade them for his boots just yet.

When he reached the corral he found Don Felipe waiting for him, as promised. Almanzar stood beside a huge black stallion, and as Frank looked from man to horse and back again, he decided that they were a good match. They had the same sort of primitive wildness about them, despite the civilized clothes on the man and the silver-studded saddle and harness on the stallion.

Stormy was hitched to the corral fence, too, already saddled and ready to ride. The Appaloosa tossed his head when he saw Frank. Dog sat nearby, his tongue lolling from his mouth and his tail swishing back and forth in the dust.

“I hope it is all right that I took the liberty of having one of my vaqueros saddle your horse,” Don Felipe said.

Frank nodded. “That's fine, as long as he didn't get a finger or two nipped off in the process. Stormy can be a mite feisty at times.”

“I think my man emerged uninjured.” Don Felipe smiled. “A Mexican can handle any horse, Señor Morgan. The talent is in our blood.”

Frank might have argued about that, and he probably could have demonstrated that he was right by offering to let Don Felipe ride Stormy and then giving the Appaloosa a single sharp-voiced command. But Frank had no desire to see his host or anybody else go flying through the air after being thrown from Stormy's back, so he didn't say anything.

Instead he untied the reins, grasped them loosely in his hands, and swung up into the saddle. Don Felipe mounted the black stallion, and the two men turned the horses away from the fence. Dog trotted along behind them.

The morning passed very pleasantly The sky was almost clear now, a deep blue with only a few puffy white clouds floating in its vastness. The snow-mantled mountains that loomed to the west seemed so close in the crystal-clear air, it was like Frank could have reached out and touched them. Frank and Don Felipe rode through high pastures, alongside cold, sparkling streams, and through stands of dark green, aromatic pine. The cattle had already been moved down to the flatland for the winter, so the hills seemed strangely deserted, as if this morning was the very morning of their existence.

The hills weren't completely empty, however. Frank saw birds flitting from branch to branch in the trees, and once he and Don Felipe startled a pair of deer drinking at a creek. Dog flushed a few long-legged jackrabbits from the brush. Don Felipe pointed out light-colored shapes moving around the lower reaches of the peaks and explained that they were mountain goats. There were wolves up there, too, he told Frank, although the two men didn't see any this morning. Once a coyote loped across a pasture a couple of hundred yards in front of them, though.

Don Felipe had brought tortillas and a small pot of beans with him in his saddlebags. At midday he and Frank stopped beside a stream and had a cold but satisfying lunch. When they were done, Don Felipe brought out a bottle of pulque. He and Frank sat on rocks and passed it back and forth, taking swigs of the fiery liquor. Almanzar filled a pipe while Frank took out the makin's and rolled a quirly. They drank and smoked in silence, content with the beauty of the day.

Eventually, though, Frank felt the urge to break that silence. He said, “You have a fine rancho here, Don Felipe. I'm honored that I was able to visit it.”

“I wish your visit had not been marred by such unpleasantness, Señor Morgan. First the attack on you, then the encounter with the mountain lion—”

“I don't mind that, because it meant I got to meet Señorita Carmen,” Frank put in with a smile.

“And then the business with Captain Estancia and the Rurales,” Don Felipe finished heavily. He took a drink of the pulque.

Frank dropped the butt of the quirly at his feet and stepped on it. The thick sole of the moccasin ground it out with no problem. He said, “From what I saw, and from what Carmen told me, folks around here don't like the Rurales.”

“Carmen should not speak of such things,” Almanzar said sharply.

“Many of the men who ride for Estancia are convicts. Murderers, judging by their black sombreros.”

Don Felipe sighed. “It is true. Most of the Rurales are worse scum than the bandits from which they are supposed to protect us. But what can we do? El Presidente has sent them up here to police the frontier.”

“I reckon all you can do is try to stay on their good side.”

Don Felipe's back stiffened. “You think I allowed Estancia to have that vaquero whipped because I was afraid?”

“You weren't afraid for yourself,” Frank said, “but you were concerned about the men who ride for you, and their families, as any good
patron
would be.”

Slowly, Don Felipe relaxed and nodded. “
Sí.
I knew that if Estancia was challenged too strongly, he would order his men to attack. My vaqueros would have fought bravely, but in the end they would have been killed. That would have left the women and children at the mercy of those . . . those dogs!” He took a deep breath. “It is the only word for them, as poor Pablo Benavides found out to his great suffering.”

“It looks like there ought to be something that could be done about this,” Frank said.

Don Felipe smiled sadly “That is your American nature, Señor Morgan. You
norteamericanos
always think that any time there is injustice or cruelty, something can be done about it. But here, south of the border, we are an older people. We know that sometimes there is nothing that can be done.”

Frank wanted to argue—as Don Felipe said, simply accepting evil went against his nature—but he knew he wouldn't convince the older man. Instead he changed the subject slightly by saying, “This Black Scorpion is a pretty notorious fella, on both sides of the border.”

“Yes, he is known far and wide as a daring bandit. But sometimes I think he is not as bad as he has been painted. Consider the one who damns him.”

Frank knew Don Felipe was talking about Captain Estancia. If Estancia wanted so strongly to capture the bandit, then maybe the Black Scorpion wasn't such a bad hombre after all. It would have made sense, and Frank might have accepted the theory, if not for the fact that the Texas Rangers wanted to catch the Black Scorpion as much as the Rurales did.