Hell's Legionnaire (3 page)

“But how?”

“I heard the firing
about three miles away from the pass and I went over and found a lot of dead
men. Thinking they might have taken some captives, I came up to look into the
matter. They thought . . .” he grinned again, more easily. “I guess they
thought I was a whole regiment.”

“But who are you?”

“I was John Doe of the
Legion, ma'am. But if I'm caught I'll be John Doe of the
bataillon pénal
.
My
real name is Colton, ma'am. Dusty Colton. Let's get going. They left a couple
horses over there.”

She followed him
across the body-strewn compound, the hot sun beating down upon her back. He
held a barb for her and eased her up into the saddle.

A yell of rage and
exultation came from the higher reaches of the trail. Looking back, Ann saw the
swirling robes of the riders sweeping down upon them. The Berbers were some
five hundred yards away, riding hard. They had discovered the trick, and Abd el
Malek was burning with two distinct fires. He had temporarily forgotten one of
them in the suddenness of the attack, but he remembered it now.

Dusty Colton's barb
plunged down a steep slope and veered sharply into the ravine. Hard on his
heels came Ann Halliday, swinging low in her saddle, glancing back.

Spiteful puffs of dust
were geysering about them. The Berbers were shooting from their
saddles—picturesque but rarely accurate. If these men had been Arabs, thought
Ann, the story would be different. A Berber is not exactly at home in the
saddle.

Colton lashed his pony
up a steep slope. The barb struggled, dust rising about its hoofs. Ann's mount
sidestepped the boulders, and under the pressure of whip and rein, labored in
the wake of Colton.

The Berbers still on
the level, swung closer. Some of them dropped to the sand, kneeling to fire. A
leaden slug smashed the leather of Ann's
cantle
. Another twitched her djellaba.
Colton looked back through the suffocating haze and gave her a reassuring grin.

Colton's khaki blended
well with the dry tan fog. His blond hair streamed out from under his kepi.

The Berbers were
toiling up the slope behind them. The marksmen were trying their best to bring
the horses down. Ahead was a ridge, and beyond it lay temporary safety . . .
perhaps.

Ann's pony stumbled as
a rock rolled under its hoofs. She stared up at the hogback. If they didn't
reach it in another half minute, the marksmen below . . .

It
was too steep for the barbs. Colton swung down and tugged at the reins. Ann
swung out of the saddle and by utilizing all the strength in her slender body,
managed to aid the slipping horse toward the ridge top.

L
ater, a bullet slammed into rock
beside her and she dodged. She knew it was useless to dodge. You never heard
the bullet that hit you.

Colton disappeared.
His face came back in an instant over the top of the ridge. He yanked her up
and shoved the pony into the shelter of a boulder. The auto-rifle was in
Colton's hands.

“Don't look!” he
ordered.

But she couldn't help
but look. The auto-rifle started up like a triphammer. The Berber horsemen on
the slope were cornered. One after another they fell, an avalanche of dead
bodies and dust and tumbling rocks.

The marksmen at the
base screamed and sought cover. A handful of them made it.

Colton stopped firing,
looking steadily down at the havoc he had brought. “I guess,” he said, “that
that will hold them back for a little while.”

“Did . . . did you get
Abd el Malek? The leader?”

Colton snorted and
rolled himself a cigarette from black tobacco. “Don't be foolish, ma'am. That
coyote
isn't going to expose himself any more than he can help.”

She looked at his
damply clinging shirt, noting the enormous strength which it concealed. He was
handsome in profile, this Colton.

He looked at her
sideways. “We'll stay for a minute and see to it that they don't try it again.
We're not rid of them.” Once more he looked at her. “Ma'am,” he said,
hesitantly, “do you happen to have any money?” Then he laughed at his own
question. She couldn't have—not the way he had found her.

“Why money?”

His laugh was erased.
“Why, ma'am, it takes money to buy your way out of Casablanca. I know some
fellows there and it would be easy. . . . But it takes the dough, get me? The
filthy
lucre
.”

“I have some money in
the
Fez
bank.”

“Then you can forget
about it. You'll be officially dead.”

“Dead?”

“Sure. I can't turn
you over or let you run the risk of going back alone. There's a price on my
head. These Berbers want me bad enough, even though I was just a private. The
Legion wants me worse than the Berbers. The
bataillon pénal . . .
Well,
you just don't get discharged from the
bataillon pénal
.”

“Money,” she murmured,
thinking. The hood of the djellaba almost concealed her face, but where the
loose shirt parted at the throat, the beginning of . . . Colton jerked his face
away and looked over the edge of the ridge.

“Listen,” said Ann. “I
know this sounds silly and all that, but there's only one place I can think of
which would have money.”

“And where's that?”

“In . . . you'll laugh
at me. In the village of Abd el Malek!”

He did laugh.
Recklessly. His fine teeth flashed in the sun and he pushed his kepi back away
from his eyes. “
Sïdï
,
you
would make a fit mate for Hell's Legionnaire.” Instantly the grin vanished. “I
beg your pardon, ma'am. I didn't mean disrespect.”

“Hell's Legionnaire?
Why that?”

“They called me that
in the company. They couldn't understand why I never had anything to do with
women or liquor. They thought the devil was saving me for some vast purpose.”

“Why didn't you . . .
didn't you take on liquor and women?”

He stared at her and
then relaxed. “A girl in Saint Louis said she loved me once. I loved her—or
thought I did. She double-crossed me . . . It's an old story, why go on?” He
fired a burst from the gun as a warning to those below.

Turning again, he
said, “Abd el Malek's village, eh? Well, ma'am, I guess we'll just have to go
down there and get the dough. You don't buy boat tickets with air.”

He slid down to the
waiting horses and helped her mount once more. After that they rode through an
unending sea of brown mountains, hot dry dust, looming boulders.

Eyes keenly alert for
suspicious movements anywhere, he doubled their trail—confusing it. He twisted
and turned through the ravines which lay like black gashes through the
mountains. He seemed to know where he was going, thought Ann.

Darkness overtook them
beside a pool of spring water where the grass grew deep and cool. He tethered
the horses, laid the gun down over a boulder where it would command the trail,
and then pulled some squares of bitter chocolate from his shirt pocket. Passing
the biggest piece to Ann, he ate silently.

With the going of the
sun, a cold wind sprang up, incongruously chill after the 110 degrees of the
day. Ann hunched down, folding the cloak tightly about her.

Across the pool from
her, the Legionnaire stretched in the grass, pillowing his head on his pack. He
lay there so quietly that she thought he must be asleep.

It grew even colder.
The night was filled with the strange sounds of birds and the faraway calls of
mountain cats. Ann shivered and looked through the chilly darkness at Colton's
shadowy body. She thought time and again that she heard hoofs drumming up the
dark trail.

At last she could
stand it no longer. Crawling on her hands and knees she approached him. Her
fingers found his arm and stayed there. He did not move. She crept in close to
him, lying at full length. His body was warm. His face was a white blur six
inches above hers. She snuggled closer, feeling security and companionship
flood through her. She thought he still slept.

His arm moved easily
and he drew her closer to him. His face came slowly toward her own. Her heart
pounded with a sudden, great joy.

A
bruptly he jerked his
head back to the pack. His hands moved up to her shoulders and stayed there. In
the darkness she could see that his jaw was set and hard. With a small sigh,
she fell asleep, unheeding the night sounds of the Atlas.

Afternoon of the next
day found them plodding through waves of suffocating heat. The mountains were
thinning out and the air seemed to be more breathable. Grass was lusher and
water ran in roistering streams toward the sea.

Mopping his damp brow,
the Legionnaire turned to her. “We're almost there, ma'am. Abd el Malek's village
is less than ten minutes' ride.”

“But won't it be
guarded?”

“Certainly. But the
sun will be down in twenty minutes. And if Abd el Malek is away . . .”

“But if he's there
before us?”

“What the hell, ma'am.
We've got nothing to lose. That is, I haven't. Maybe you'd better stay behind
in case . . .”

“I go where you do.”

He shrugged. “If we're
caught, it won't be pleasant watching me die. They'll gouge out my eyes and cut
out my tongue. They'll lash me until I can't stand. . . . Pardon me, ma'am. I
get used to talking about these things. And if they catch you . . .”

“I'm still going,” she
said, but her face was white and strained.

They dismounted and
waited until the last shadows of the dying day stretched long across the
valley. Colton went ahead after tethering their horses behind a boulder, out of
sight.

The village came to
them with astonishing rapidity. It had been around just two bends in the trail.

A dog barked,
savagely. Lights glowed in two windows but no heads came forth to investigate
the cause of the uproar. Cooking fires sent a haze of sweet-smelling smoke
across the cleared space.

A man stood beside a
boulder, staring out across the trail and valley, rifle resting in the crook of
his arm. A cigarette burned against his dark face, giving away his position.

Colton sidled up,
shadow among shadows. His hand shot out like a pile driver. His other hand
snatched at the sentry's throat. Ann heard a choking rattle. Colton shook the
body, holding it up from the ground with one hand. When he dropped it, it sprawled
as limp as an empty sack. The cigarette still glowed on the ground.

Coming back to Ann,
Colton breathed, “That big house over there is Abd el Malek's. You stay outside
and here's the sentry's rifle. If anything happens . . .” He shrugged.

Walking straight
across the bare ground, Colton approached the large square hut with the lighted
window. A horse was tethered at the entrance. That meant but one thing. Abd el
Malek was there!

Without pausing,
Colton walked straight through the entrance, auto-rifle held out before him
like a lance.

The interior, smoky
and poorly lit, was filled with mats and stacked guns. Two women stiffened
against the far wall.

A man whirled about,
his face drawn with surprise. It was Abd el Malek!

Colton's face was a
dead mask. “One sound,” he said in Shilha, “and this sprays death.”

Abd el Malek sank back
on the mat. His eyes had a searing quality as he stared up at the Legionnaire.

Colton wanted to
laugh. It was too easy, this. One sentry and nothing else for protection. “I
heard,” said Colton, “that you had money.”

Abd el Malek started.
He involuntarily glanced toward a small cabinet at the far end of the room.

“So that's where it
is,” said Colton. “Thank you. I'm taking it in payment for the equipment and
lives of the Halliday Expedition.”

Abd el Malek chuckled.
“You think you can do this, eh, Legionnaire? You think that one man is good
enough? You have learned little with
la Légion.
”

Edging along the wall,
Colton approached the cabinet—out of place in this Berber scene. He reached
down without taking his eyes from Abd el Malek. The door swung open. Several
sacks came to view. Colton scooped them up with a single sweep of his hand and
crammed them into his
musette
bag. They were heavy and jangling, those bags.
God knew what wealth and loot they contained.

Suddenly the night was
torn apart by a man's shout. Dogs began to bark hysterically.

They had found the
sentry! Perhaps Ann!

Abd el Malek smiled.
“Torture, Legionnaire, will be your lot. And worse if you fire that auto-rifle.
We shall see to it that the woman is torn to pieces before your eyes—if the
woman is still with you.” He stood up, his gray eyes triumphant.