Catlow (1963) (13 page)

The shutters of the leather shop came down and business, such as it was, resumed. From where he sat Ben could see part of the shop's interior, but nobody else came or left whom he recognized.

He started to fold his newspaper, preparatory to leaving, when someone paused near him. He saw the polished boots, the obviously tailored uniform trousers, and looked up into the face of General Juan Bautista Armijo.

"She is lovely," the General commented, "is she not?"

For a moment Ben Cowan did not realize what he meant, and then he saw the girl.

She was standing, poised and assured, on the street corner near the leather shop. Where she had come from he did not know, but he could see that she was, indeed, very striking-looking.

"I expect the General has seen her closer than this; but yes, I think she is pretty." Cowan got up, and Armijo turned to smile at him.

"You are still with us, senor. We are honored. Have you located your man?"

"No, not yet."

"You still believe he is here?"

"Perhaps not here, but certainly not far away."

Armijo dropped a cigarette into the dust and rubbed it out. "There will be a ball at my regimental headquarters this evening. I have asked the Captain to bring you, senor."

When he was gone, Ben Cowan looked thoughtfully after him. Had his sudden appearance here been an accident? Or was the General having him watched? Did General Armijo, perhaps, know of what was going on at the leather shop?

There was room enough in that stable for a dozen horses to be hidden.

The girl on the corner had turned suddenly and was coming toward him.

Chapter
Fourteen.

In the shadowed coolness of the living quarters behind the leather shop, Bijah Catlow made his final plans. The door that led to the cellar where he and his men waited opened from behind the curtain of bridles, as Ben Cowan had half suspected.

There was a hallway of stone ... the remainder of the house was of adobe, and of later construction. A stone stairway went down into the vast, ancient cellar. Here there were no windows, for the ceiling of the cellar was six feet below ground level, and as a matter of fact, its existence was unknown to the people of Hermosillo.

The builder of the adobe, itself one of the earliest buildings in the town, had utilized what remained of the ruin on this site. It was only after the house was built, when making excavations for repairs, that he had found the vast underground room. Being a wise man, and a discreet one, he had mentioned the find to no one, and he and his sons had finished the work by themselves.

The origin of the ruin was a mystery. This might have been the site of some planned mission, where construction had ceased because of Apache attacks ... records of many such had vanished from the country with the Jesuits. Or it might have been still older ... perhaps an Indian ruin reaching back in time even before the Aztecs.

The owner of the leather shop had himself been a bandit, as his father had been before him, and from time to time, through revolution and change, they had found use for the ancient cellar.

There was an exit, a secret way that opened into the stables ... this had been built by the present owner's grandfather on the principle that not even a rat trusts himself to one hole only. In the planning of the present robbery, Pesquiera, the owner of the leather shop, had shared his secret with Bijah Catlow. But now they were of two minds. Pesquiera wanted the gold brought into his cellar and held there until the chase had died down. Bijah Catlow wanted it spirited out of the country quickly. As a matter of fact, Bijah did not entirely trust his Mexican partner nor his nephew, the deserter who had come to him in Tucson.

Pesquiera had known of the treasure for years, but had known only approximately where it was hidden; and Lerdo was shrewd enough to see that living nearby to guard it were loyal members of a family distantly related to his own. There had been no chance until now, when the treasure would be moved, to lay hands upon it.

Bijah had an idea that, once that treasure was hidden in the secret cellar, some accident would happen to destroy his men and himself, or a trap would be laid for them. He preferred to trust himself to the open desert and the risks of flight, no matter how great they might be.

He sat alone now at a table, and stared at the glass of beer before him, but he was not thinking of the beer. He was thinking of what lay before him.

In a corner, some thirty feet away, several of the men played at cards. In a nearby room, others were asleep. He had been careful to allow none of them to be seen around town, and the men he had on watch at a particular point changed watches only during the time of siesta.

Two things disturbed him. One of these was what he had learned of the character of General Armijo. He was no lackadaisical office-holder, but a competent and experienced soldier and a man of the desert. He had behind him twenty years of war in the field. He had fought in revolutions in his own country, against the French, and against the Apaches. Armijo had only recently been transferred to Sonora, but he knew the country. Bijah Catlow had not reckoned on Armijo.

The other factor that worried him was the whereabouts of Ben Cowan. Bijah had neither seen nor heard of him since that night in Tucson, but he was all the more worried because of that.

He rubbed the stubble on his broad jaw and swore softly. The other men were restless, and he did not blame them, sitting for days in a dark cellar, unable to show their faces on the street of a town known for its beautiful women. And when they did emerge it would only be to make a quick strike and escape.

For a moment he stared gloomily about the room. Catlow was nothing if not a perceptive man, and it came to him suddenly that he had taken a direction that might keep him among such associates, and in such surroundings for the remainder of his years. He might spend his life hiding in abandoned ranch houses, cheap hotel rooms, on the dodge, never sure from one minute to the next when the law might come up to him. He glanced at the table across the room ... there was only one man in the lot whom he really liked--Old Man Merridew.

He gulped a swallow of beer and thought again of the two millions ... with his share of that, a man could live anywhere, do just about anything.

Yet the gloomy thoughts remained with him, brought on in part by the surroundings, the dark and ancient cellar, the foul air, and by the boredom of waiting.

Because he did not trust Pesquiera, he had stalled on making a decision as to where the treasure would be taken. The risks of trying to get it into the cellar were great ... if the pack train was seen in the street, that would be an end to it. The plan now called for a midnight strike, for they had learned when the treasure was to reach the town, but Catlow had worked out an alternative plan of which he had said nothing to anyone.

The close confinement was having its effect upon him, too. Even less than the others was he fitted to put up with the restricted quarters, for Bijah Catlow was a man who liked people. He liked gaiety and friendliness, he liked bright lights and music, cheerful talk, and the casual argument and rawhiding that went with any cattle drive or round-up. Yet he must wait in hiding now. He settled down to considering his plans, but his mind kept drifting off at a tangent.

Christina had promised to buy a box of cigars for him, and she should be coming back soon. He got up and wandered over to the poker game, watched gloomily for a few minutes, and then went to the steps.

Bill Joiner looked after him and spoke irritably. "We don't get a chance to move one step out of here, but he goes whenever he's of a mind to."

Rio Bray, too, had been staring after Catlow, but he merely shrugged. "Somebody has to keep in touch, and this is his strike. He laid it out, he brought us in."

Joiner was a border outlaw; some said he had been a scalp hunter. He was a tall, thin man with a mean expression that never left his eyes, even when he smiled, which was rarely enough. Jealousy was a major part of his make-up--that, and distrust.

Catlow had accepted him reluctantly, and he had done so because he was a dead shot with any sort of weapon, could ride all day and all night, and was a man of known courage.

Catlow went up the steps and, avoiding the narrow passage that led to the shop, opened a concealed door and emerged into the living quarters of the family.

Christina was in the kitchen, putting dishes on a tray. She was slender for a Mexican girl, as the Sonora women are apt to be, and her carriage and figure were excellent. He glanced at her with admiration, and she gave him a sidelong glance from her dark, almost almond-shaped eyes.

"You should not be here. My father does not like it."

"Then I wouldn't see you," he said, "and I'd risk trouble with your pa any time for that." He watched her as she put the large bowl of frijoles on the tray, with the tortillas and some large slabs of roast pork.

"You get my cigars?"

"Si"--she indicated the box on a side table--"I get them." She paused, then added, "I saw an Americano ... a gringo in the Plaza."

Catlow was watching the movements of her body as she worked about the room, and scarcely heard her.

"He was a stranger," she added.

"Who was?"

"The gringo. He looked at me." She glanced at Catlow to see the effect of her words.

"Be a damn' fool if he didn't. A gringo, you say? Maybe a tall man? A quiet-lookin' man? Only smiles with his eyes?"

She shrugged. "He is ver' handsome, this hombre. He wears a black suit and talks with the General Armijo. I heard the General invite him to the ball."

"Ball?"

"Oh, si! Everybody talk about it. I think everybody will be there ... all the officers, the--how you say it?--the important ones ... the reech ones."

Catlow considered. According to his information, the treasure was due to arrive in Hermosillo tomorrow. At this moment it was guarded by several hundred soldiers, and any attempt to seize it would be suicidal. He had planned his move to take place at midnight following the arrival in Hermosillo, when the guard was going off duty, eager to get to bed and letting down after the long march and the necessity for keeping watch.

They would be tired and sleepy, and thinking of anything but the treasure they had guarded. It worried him that Armijo was now in charge, for the officer scheduled to be in command had been easy-going and anything but efficient.

Suppose, however, that the treasure train arrived tonight?

He had men watching for the train, and he knew about how fast such a pack train could move; but suppose there was added reason to reach Hermosillo tonight?

He glanced at Christina and said, "Do you know the officer in charge of the train?"

"Of course. There are three."

"Old men?"

"Old? Very young! And very handsome, too, they are." She gestured toward the tray. "Do you wish to take this? I cannot."

"Sure." He picked up the tray, and then said, "You know about such things--are any of those men in love?"

She laughed. "Mexican men are always in love. When they are not in love with a particular girl they are in love with love. Why not? It is the way for a man to be."

"I won't argue with you. But one of these officers, one of them who is really excited about a girl ... Maybe she has not shown him much favor--or maybe she has, and he wants to get back to her in a hurry."

"Rafael Vargas," she said, tossing her head, "he can think of no one but Senorita Calderon ... and she--he does not know what she thinks."

Catlow grinned. "Honey," he said, "you get me a box of the finest stationery you can find! Do you hear?" He placed several silver pesos on the table. "You do that, and I'll--"

The door opened suddenly, and Pesquiera stood there, his features dark with anger.

Chapter
Fifteen.

Pesquiera's right hand gripped a pistol. "You!" he said to Bijah. "Get out of here! You are not to speak to my daughter, do you understand?"

Catlow smiled. "This is business," he said, "something only she can do. I need some writing paper, the kind a woman would buy, and there was no time to waste. She must go for it now."

Pesquiera's gun did not waver. "Why is this? What do you plan?"

"It is a change in plans if it works, and I think it will work. The robbery tonight instead of tomorrow night."

Slowly the gun lowered. "Tonight?" Pesquiera said stupidly. "But it will not arrive tonight! And there are many soldiers!"

Catlow turned to Christina. "Get that stationery, will you? Get it now!"

When she was gone, Catlow sat down. "I'm sorry you got riled," he said, "but we have to move fast." Briefly, he explained about the man he believed might be Ben Cowan, and his meeting with Armijo. "If that young captain gets this note," he said, "he will come a-running. He will want to meet her at the dance, and the dance is tonight. He'll run the legs off those mules gettin' here ... and there'll be no guard waitin' to take over."

Pesquiera's expression changed. "You are right, and I am a fool."

"Look"--Catlow leaned toward him confidentially--"not only will there be no guard, but Vargas will be hurryin' to get ready for that dance. He'll be late, anyway ... everything will be in a mess."