Read The Border Empire Online

Authors: Ralph Compton

The Border Empire (10 page)

BOOK: The Border Empire
4.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“We don't know that he's still out there,” Shatiqua said.
He turned the knob enough to release the latch and, with the toe of his boot, eased the door open just a little. Two slugs ripped into the upper half of the door, slamming it open and into the wall.
“Hell, he can't watch the front an' back door at the same time,” said Shatiqua.
He tried the same tactic with the cabin's back door and received the same response.
“Well,” Boudlin said, “now we know there's at least two
hombres
out there, and that cuts our chances—if we had any—in half.”
In the brush, Wes grinned to himself. One of them had tried the back door, and El Lobo had given them something more to think about. They faced not one man, but two. The four men within the cabin were in serious trouble, and they knew it.
Kazman spoke. “I aim to find out who he is, and why he's after us.”
“A lot of good that'll do,” said Dantzler.
“You with the long gun,” Kazman bawled. “Who are you, and why are you gunnin' for us?”
Just when it seemed there would be no response, the answer came.
“The name is Wes Stone. The Sandlin gang murdered my father in El Paso.”
“You're barkin' up the wrong tree,” Kazman shouted back. “None of us has ever been in El Paso.”
“No matter,” said Wes. “You're part of the Sandlin gang, and since I don't know the skunk-striped varmints that done the killing, I aim to gun down every last one of you, if I have to flush out every swamp and thicket in Mexico. You're all dead men.”
Chihuahua, Mexico. July 16, 1884
Turk Corbin wrote a lengthy message to Juarez, including his suspicion that the killer or killers might strike next in Namiquipa. He directed the telegram to Rance Stringfield, who had the authority to issue orders to any Sandlin outpost in Mexico. He asked for an immediate reply, waiting until it arrived. The message was brief:
Return to Namiquipa and then to Juarez.
It was unsigned. Corbin mounted and rode north.
In Namiquipa, El Lobo waited until it was almost dark before making his move toward the stable. The four outlaws watched the gate, for it faced the cabin, and an intruder going after the horses would have to pass through it.
“Damn the luck,” Boudlin growled, “there'll be a moon later tonight, but he won't be waitin' for that.”
“I saw somethin',” said Shatiqua.
Through the window, he cut loose with his Winchester, and there was an immediate response as Wes fired at the muzzle flash.
“Oh, God,” Shatiqua groaned, “I'm hit. Help me.”
“How?” said Boudlin. “He got you, shootin' at a muzzle flash? What do you reckon he'll do to the rest of us when we strike a light?”
Shatiqua said no more.
“I can at least see how hard he's hit,” Dantzler said.
Kneeling beside Shatiqua, he lit a match, shielding it with his hat. Blood soaked the front of the outlaw's shirt, and there was bloody froth on his lips.
“Well?” Kazman asked.
“He's dead,” said Dantzler.
“Lord Amighty,” Boudlin said. “He did see somebody. There goes our horses.”
“That means nobody's coverin' the back door,” said Dantzler. “Let's run for it.”
“You damn fools,” Kazman said. “Afoot you don't have a chance. They don't dare rush us, even in the dark. We ain't comin' out, you bastards,” he shouted. “Come and get us.”
Having spooked the horses, El Lobo had made his way back to Wes.
“They no run,” said El Lobo. “We go in?”
“No,” Wes said. “They're counting on that. I have another way of getting at them.”
From his shirt, he took two sticks of dynamite, bound together, capped and fused. He lit a match and touched it to the short fuse. He held it only until he was sure the fuse had caught, and then flung it in an arc. There was a blinding flash and the cabin was only a pile of rubble. There wasn't a sound.
“Madre de Dios,”
El Lobo said.
“Dinamita.”
“There's more in the pack if we need it later on,” said Wes. “Not quite as satisfying as gut-shootin' the varmints, but the results are the same. We'll wait a while and see if any of 'em crawl out of there.”
 
The next afternoon, Turk Corbin reached Namiquipa. He reined up on a ridge, looking down at the wreckage that had been the cabin. Distasteful as the task was, he was forced to investigate, for when he reached Juarez, he would be forced to account for the four men. He found Shatiqua's body first, for he had fallen near the door. There were a few red particles of paper, powder-burned.
“Dynamite,” Corbin said aloud. “Them that wasn't shot was blown to hell.”
He moved enough of the debris to account for the remaining three men, and, there being nothing more he could do, he mounted and rode north. To Juarez.
Namiquipa, Mexico. July 17, 1884
“You know for sure there's outlaw strongholds at Guaymas and Hermosillo?” Wes asked.
“Sí,”
said El Lobo, “and there be others. Where or how many, I do not know.”
“Which is closest, Guaymas or Hermosillo?”
“Hermosillo,” said El Lobo. “Per'ap two hundred miles.”
“A three-day ride,” Wes said, “and we'd better get started. It's only a matter of time until what we've done catches up to us and these other camps are armed and waiting. Then,
amigo,
we ride with prices on our heads and the danger increases many times.”
“Sí,”
said El Lobo. “You ride to avenge your father, while I ride for a country of my own.”
Knowing the odds, accepting them, they rode west.
Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. July 16, 1884
Taking time only to see that his horse was stabled and cared for, Turk Corbin hurried to an old
hacienda
occupied by the outlaws. Corbin nodded to men that he knew, but his destination was the quarters of Rance Stringfield. He pounded on the door.
“Damn it,” Stringfield bawled, “you don't have to knock it down. Come in.”
Corbin entered and Stringfield rose from the table where he had been sitting and drinking coffee. He was a head taller than Corbin, and his face was grim. Any good humor that might have existed had vanished with Corbin's arrival. He said nothing, waiting for Corbin to speak. His manner irritated Corbin, and he began with a very pointed question.
“Have you alerted the rest of the outposts to the possibility of attack?”
“Why, hell, no!” Stringfield said irritably. “You know full well our grip on Mexico City and all of Mexico depends on the Mex government believing we are invincible, that we are in control. Anybody with the brains God give a goose ought to know that anything sent by wire can be picked up by anybody with an instrument. That, damn it, includes the Mexican government. Now what did you find in Namiquipa?”
“Kazman, Dantzler, Shatiqua, and Boudlin all dead,” said Corbin. “Shatiqua had been shot. The others—along with the cabin—blown to hell with dynamite.”
The startling news sobered Stringfield, and when he spoke again, his initial anger had abated.
“Did you look for sign?”
“Yes,” said Corbin. “Boot tracks of two men. Three horses. One of them probably a packhorse. They rode out headin' west.”
“Damn,” Stringfield said. “Hermosillo?”
“It's the outpost nearest Namiquipa,” said Corbin.
“Prepare a telegram to be sent to Packer at Hermosillo,” Stringfield said. “Sign my name to it. Tell them to be ready for a surprise attack.”
“Want me to tell them there's two kill-crazy
hombres?”
“Certainly not,” Stringfield roared. “You want all of Mexico knowin' we're fighting for our lives against two men? You are telegraphing Hermosillo only because there is no other way of warning them in time.”
“What about Guaymas and Santa Rosalia? They're on the coast, south and southwest of Hermosillo. Ain't it time for that clipper from California, bringin' in them fancy ladies to them two strongholds?”
11
“Turk, you're dangerously close to overstepping your authority,” said Stringfield, “but you have some valid points. After you've wired Hermosillo, send the same message to both Guaymas and Santa Rosalia. I will contact Nogales, and it's their responsibility to warn the western outposts at Coahuila, San Felipe, and Catavina.”
“What about the rest of the outposts, and the chief in Mexico City?”
“Remember what I said about overstepping your authority,” Stringfield said. “Send the telegrams and leave the rest to me.”
When Corbin had departed, Stringfield took pen, ink, paper, and an envelope from a desk drawer. He addressed the envelope to Dolan Watts, Nogales. The message he wrote consisted of four pages. Finished, he took the sealed envelope to one of his most trusted men.
 
“Take an extra horse and ride relays,” said Stringfield. “Get this message to Dolan Watts at Nogales. Wait until he reads it, and if there's a reply, get it back to me just as soon as you can.”
At Hermosillo, Burke Packer studied the strange telegram he had just received from Juarez. Packer accepted the warning as genuine, for the absence of any details told him far more than the brief message. Each of the outlaw chieftains had been warned never to use the telegraph to transmit potentially dangerous messages that might fall into enemy hands. Packer wasted no time in assembling his dozen men.
“Until further notice,” said the outlaw chieftain, “I want two of you on watch, day and night. Splittin' it up, that's six four-hour watches. There'll be no smokin' after dark.”
“What'n hell's the idee?” one of the outlaws demanded. “They ain't nobody in two hunnert miles but Mexicans, an' we got 'em convinced we're all first cousin to el
Diablo.”
Some of his companions laughed, but it quickly dribbled away to silence, for the grim look on Burke Packer's face didn't change.
“With all of us standin' watch,” said another of the outlaws, ”we ain't gonna be sendin' our quota of horses to Nogales.”
“No matter,” Packer said. “I don't know what the danger is, but it's real enough for Juarez to send me a warning telegram. It came from Rance Stringfield, and if it's strong enough to spook him, he'll be getting word to Nogales. All I can tell you is that we're to be prepared for an attack.”
Hermosillo, Mexico. July 16, 1884
Wes and El Lobo had dismounted and were resting the horses a few miles east of the town. It was time to decide what their first move would be.
“What do you know about Hermosillo?” Wes asked.
“It is near the water, and the sailing ship come there,” said EI Lobo.
“It's near the ocean?”
“It not be the ocean,” El Lobo said. “It be a finger of water that reach far inland, to the north of Sonora.”
12
“While I was in El Paso,” said Wes, “the Sandlin gang was mostly robbing banks and stages, and rustlingcattle and horses on both sides of the border. From what I've heard, Mexico is a poor country. With no banks to rob, and with the border too far north for the rustling of cows and horses, what are these outlaws doing in towns like Hermosillo and farther south?”
“Por Dios,”
El Lobo said, “the robbing of banks and the rustling are as honest work when one knows of the evil these sons of el
Diablo
have visited on the villages of Mexico and its people. When there is no money, horses, or cows to steal, these Sandlin
bandidos
steal the young
señoritas
and sell them into a life of slavery, as
putas.”
“With water to the east and west, that's where the sailing ships come in,” said Wes. “You're telling me that the Sandlin gang's involved in the selling of women into slavery to become prostitutes. I can take it from there. They're stealing Mexican
señoritas
and taking them far from their homes, and stealing white
señoritas
—probably from the United States—and selling them in Mexico.”
“Sí,”
El Lobo said. “That, and per'ap worse.”
“It can't get much worse,” said Wes. “What else?”
“The
Diablo medicina,”
El Lobo said. “It is like the peyote of the Indios, and it is used by the
medicos,
but it steals the mind. It comes from a flower and is smuggled out of Mexico.”
“Opium,” said Wes. “It's used in laudanum, and I brought two bottles of that with me. But you're right. Pure opium is dangerous, and before it eventually kills, it can and does steal the mind. I've heard that men and women sold into slavery were first forced to use opium until they couldn't escape from it. Do you know if men are sold as slaves?”
“Sí,”
El Lobo said, “but not so much as the
señoritas.
Somewhere in Mexico there is a silver mine. Those
hombres
who dig are
Americano
and
Mejicano.”
“Do you know who controls this mine? Is it the outlaws or the Mexican government?”
“I do not know,” said El Lobo.
“We'll add that to the list of things we're unsure of,” Wes said. “Before we ride into Hermosillo, we'd better find us a place to secure our supplies and the packhorse.”
“Sí,”
El Lobo agreed. “A place we can stand off many hombres with guns who wish to kill us.”
“That, too,” said Wes. “We'll be reachin' a point—if we haven't already—where they will be expectin' us, and we'll be ridin' for our lives. Before leavin' our supplies behind, I reckon we'd better fill our saddlebags with as much ammunition and food as we can. When we're pursued, we might be a while workin' our way back to our supplies, or we may not be able to return to them at all.”
BOOK: The Border Empire
4.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Suspicion At Sea by Nichols, Amie
Jimmy by Malmborg, William
The Deadheart Shelters by Forrest Armstrong
How to Be Alone by Jonathan Franzen