Renegades (14 page)

“Señor,” Esteban said, “I think we have found the stronghold of the Black Scorpion.”

Frank knew Esteban was right, even though he hadn't yet spotted the black-clad figure of the
bandido
chief himself. The Black Scorpion was probably farther inside the cave, and perhaps Antonio Almanzar was being held there as well.

“You still want to walk in there and see what happens?” Frank asked quietly.

Esteban nodded. “That is our best course of action. I will take a look around the camp, and then if no one recognizes me, I will slip out and come back here to tell you what I have discovered.”

For a moment, Frank considered what Esteban had just said. It still wasn't too late to overrule the old man and change the plan. But like it or not, what Esteban had proposed made the most sense. Frank took a deep breath and said, “Be careful.”

“Do not worry, Señor. I am too old to take extra chances.”

Esteban stood up and walked over the top of the hill. He started making his way down the other side. Frank watched him go, wondering how long it would be before the
bandidos
spotted him. The Black Scorpion would have sentries posted. He was too careful not to have taken that precaution.

Just as Frank expected, Esteban was less than halfway across the valley when he stopped suddenly and waited as men carrying rifles stepped out from behind some trees and covered him. Frank couldn't hear what was being said, but Esteban talked to the guards for several minutes, gesturing emphatically as he spoke. He was probably telling them that he was looking for some goats that had wandered off, as goats had a tendency to do. The
bandidos
laughed, probably finding the old man to be an amusing figure. Esteban was a mite humorous, Frank thought, with that big sombrero dwarfing him.

Finally, the guards must have told Esteban to go on up to the cave, because the old man started toward the camp and the sentries disappeared back into the trees. Frank watched as Esteban climbed to the cave.

Some of the
bandidos
met him at the top of the slope and waved their arms around as if to say that there were no missing goats there. Esteban talked to them for a moment and then walked past the fire and deeper into the cave. The shadows were thick enough so that his slight figure was soon swallowed up. Frank frowned. He didn't care for the fact that Esteban was now out of his sight. He was pretty sure, though, that the old man was looking for Antonio. Frank hoped that Antonio had his wits about him enough not to show any reaction if he saw Esteban.

The minutes dragged by. Part of Frank wanted to go down there and find out what was going on, but he knew he had to wait right where he was. He couldn't help Esteban by barging in. It was up to Esteban to pull off this masquerade.

At last, Esteban appeared again, shuffling out of the cave. He laughed with some of the
bandidos
and started down the hill. No one stopped him. His ruse had been successful, at least as far as getting in and out of the bandit camp. Whether or not he had located Antonio was a question that would have to wait for an answer.

Frank glanced over his shoulder and wondered how close the Rurales were. It was almost dark now, so he hoped that Estancia would order a halt and not push on until morning. That would give Frank a chance to rescue Antonio before the Rurales could attack the
bandidos.

By the time Esteban got back, full night had fallen, and although Frank could still see the campfire in the cave mouth, the valley between him and the camp was cloaked in darkness. He heard Esteban coming, though, and the old man called out softly, “It is only me, Señor Morgan.”

“Come ahead, Esteban,” Frank told him, and a moment later Esteban walked up to him. Frank didn't waste any time in asking, “Did you locate Antonio?”

“Sí
,
señor
. He is in the cave.”

“Is he all right?”

“He appeared unharmed.”

“Did he see you?”

“Yes, but he said nothing to give me away.”

Relief went through Frank, but it didn't last long. “Getting to him through that bunch and getting him out of there isn't going to be easy.”

Esteban gave a dry chuckle. “Easier than you think, Señor. I know something about that cave that the Black Scorpion does not. There is a back way in and out of it from the other side of the hill.”

“It's not guarded?” Frank asked sharply.

“No, because as I said, the Black Scorpion knows it not.”

Frank nodded. “All right. If you can take me to the other entrance, I'll slip in once the camp is asleep and take Antonio out of there. Did you see the Black Scorpion?”

“
Sí
, the man is there.”

“Is he guarding Antonio personally?”

“The Black Scorpion is never far away, but even he must sleep.”

“Where exactly is Antonio?”

“When you come out of the passage, he will be very close,” Esteban explained. “Turn to your left and you will see him.”

“Is he tied up?”

“No. The bandits have no fear of him escaping.”

“That confidence is going to backfire on them,” Frank said with a tight smile. “Let's go. I imagine it'll take us quite a while to work our way around behind their camp. By the time we get there, maybe most of them will be asleep.”

“I think that is likely, Señor,” Esteban said. “There will be much drinking of tequila and pulque and mescal tonight. Many worms will be eaten.”

They slipped back down the slope to where they had left the horses. Dog whined a greeting to Frank, and Stormy tossed his head. Taking the reins, Frank and Esteban led their mounts until they were well away from the camp. Only then did they ride, as Esteban led the way in a circuitous route that would eventually take them to the other side of the hill where the cave was located.

“How do you happen to know that there's a back door in that cave?” Frank asked.

“Don Felipe told you that for a time I lived with the Yaquis. They used it as a camp when they hunted in this region.”

“How'd you wind up staying with them, if you don't mind my asking?”

Esteban shrugged. “I was a young man with more
cojones
than sense, and like many such, I sought adventure. I was lucky that the Yaquis befriended me instead of simply killing me. Worse yet, they could have entertained themselves by torturing me for a long time. No people are more skilled at the art of torture than the Yaquis.”

“So I've heard. I've never run into any of them myself, though.”

“If you ever do, Señor, pray for a quick death.”

The night was dark, the moon, when it rose, only a pale sliver in the ebon sky. The thin, dry air quickly lost the warmth of the day and Frank's breath fogged a little in front of his face. The horses' breath formed plumes of steam, too. Frank took a lightweight denim jacket from his saddlebags and slipped it on. Esteban seemed unaffected by the cold, just as he didn't seem to feel heat, either. He had been too long in the world for much of it to touch him.

“You went back to work for Don Felipe eventually, though,” Frank said.

“Si.
The wild life, sooner or later it pales. The young man may eat danger for breakfast, but as he grows older he begins to hunger for something more nourishing.” Esteban chuckled again. “I have had four wives, you know.”

“Nope, I didn't know that,” Frank said.

“Si,
three of them I have buried, but the fourth yet lives. She is nineteen years of age and will soon give birth to my twelfth child. I have seven sons and four daughters. My life has nourished me, Señor Morgan. I am filled.”

Frank just grunted, not knowing what to say. He might have never seen Esteban as anything but a servant. Despite the perilous errand they were on, he was glad he had gotten the chance to know Esteban the man.

Finally, when it seemed like they had been riding for hours, Esteban reined in and said, “We will leave the horses here. The rest of the way we must go on foot.”

“I thought you were staying with the horses.”

“I must show you the entrance to the passage.”

Frank couldn't argue with that. They dismounted, and once again he ordered a disappointed Dog to stay there with Stormy and El Rey.

Within moments, Frank saw why they'd had to leave the horses behind. They came to an almost sheer wall of rock rising blackly in front of them. Esteban gestured toward it and said, “From here we climb. It is not far, though.”

Esteban went first and Frank didn't argue the matter, figuring that he could find handholds and footholds better by watching the old man. Esteban climbed with an agility belying his age. Frank followed, making sure with each move that he had a good grip before trusting his weight to it. A hard fall now could ruin everything and spell doom for Antonio Almanzar.

When Esteban was about fifty feet up the rock wall, he stopped and motioned for Frank to come up even with him. Frank could barely see the gesture in the shadows. Carefully, he finished the ascent, and when he pulled himself up beside Esteban, he saw the narrow black slash in the rock.

“There is room for only one man,” Esteban said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “And a tall man such as yourself must bend over to keep from hitting your head. The passage makes two turns, but you cannot get lost since there are no other openings between here and the cave. When you reach the other end, you must slide around a rock that blocks the passage from view and climb down a short distance, perhaps eight feet.”

“All right, I understand,” Frank said. He took off his hat and handed it to Esteban. Then he reached out to explore the opening by feel. The narrowness of the passage made a feeling of coldness go down his spine. Frank had heard of folks who couldn't stand to be in tight, enclosed places. That had never been a problem for him, but at this moment he could certainly understand the feeling. The idea of so many tons of rock and dirt pressing in so closely on both sides was enough to give any hombre the fantods, even one who wasn't normally bothered by such things.

“I'll be back with Antonio as quick as I can,” he told Esteban.

“Take great care, Señor.”

Frank clasped Esteban's shoulder for a second, then turned toward the rock wall and insinuated himself into the opening. His broad shoulders brushed lightly against both sides of the passage. He checked the height and found that he had to stoop only slightly at this point. He would have to be careful, though, not to bump his head if the ceiling dropped any more.

Awkwardly, because of the way he was bent over, Frank shuffled forward into the darkness. He kept his left hand stretched out in front of him while the right hovered near the butt of his gun. He wouldn't use the Peacemaker unless it was absolutely necessary. For one thing, in these close confines the noise of a shot would deafen him at least temporarily and might do permanent damage to his hearing. For another, such loud reports sometimes caused rockfalls and cave-ins. He didn't think that was likely here, but he didn't want to take the chance.

When he glanced over his shoulder he could see a tiny patch of light that marked the entrance to the hidden passage. It wasn't so much light, he thought, as it was darkness that wasn't quite as deep as the surrounding stygian gloom. But when he reached a bend in the passage and moved around it, even that miniscule bit of illumination was gone. Utter darkness surrounded him. It was darker than the inside of a sack full of black cats.

Frank paused for a moment and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He smelled dust and dirt and rock. His fingers touched the wall, trailed through a slick, slimy seepage. This was living stone, still growing and changing, although at such a slow pace that any major movement might take eons. The vastness of time pressed in on Frank like the rock walls.

But on a more personal level, time seemed to have little or no meaning. Frank couldn't have said how long he had been inside the hill. It seemed like mere seconds, and then with the next heartbeat it felt more like hours or even days. Frank couldn't see anything, could hear only a faint trickle of water and the whispered scuffing of his boot leather on the rocky surface of the passage. This almost total lack of sensation was something he had never experienced before. It was suffocating, and he had to force himself to keep breathing at a regular rate.

He wondered suddenly if he had been struck blind. That was crazy, he knew, but the thought passed through his brain anyway

To take his mind off the situation, he thought back over everything that had happened since he crossed the border into Mexico. It had been an eventful few days, culminating in the raid by the Black Scorpion's gang on the rancho of Don Felipe Almanzar. . . .

And just like that, he had the answer to the question that had been eluding him. He wasn't sure he was right—there were other, less likely explanations, and the answer that had burst with stunning force in his brain just raised more questions—but at least he knew now what had been plaguing him. The theory that formed in his head, though still nebulous, was an intriguing one.

And the only way to find out for sure if he was right was to keep going.

The passageway bent again, and Frank's head brushed the ceiling. He stooped lower and moved on, but now he could see his goal. A narrow slit of reddish light hovered in front of him in the blackness, looking almost like a wound. He knew the light came from the campfire in the mouth of the cave. The glare flickered and shifted, and the opening changed from a wound to an aperture into hell. Frank's lips pulled back from his teeth in a savage grin.

He reached the end of the passage and saw the large rock that jutted up in front of it, blocking direct sight into the cave. The light from the fire reflected around it. Frank slipped out, put his back against the rock, and slid around the spire. He found himself some eight feet above the floor of the cave, just as Esteban had told him he would. The wall of the cave was rough enough, though, so that Frank had no trouble finding handholds to lower himself down.