The Battle At Three-Cross (19 page)

They sat deep in the brush talking in hushed tones and smoking cigarettes, the glowing ends of which they kept well shielded within their cupped hands. From the temple came the steady beating of drums, but they sounded faint and far away now. The cool night wind filtered through the brush, sweeping away the cigarette smoke.

Oscar spoke, low toned. “I wonder how much longer that ceremony in there is going to last.

Lanky said scornfully, “That wa'n't no real ceremony like I've heard they have. That was just the start. You know—that dance and the drums and all—that wasn't really getting down to business. That was just the start, like a young cow hand feelin' his oats on a Saturday night. Come Saturday he likes to go out and get liquored up and do some dancing. Human nature is pretty much the same, red or white. Them Yaquentes just use mezcal buttons instead of liquor.”

“If you hadn't insisted on us leaving,” Lance said disappointedly, “I would have stayed. I was plumb eager to see how Fletcher would act when it was discovered I wasn't down in that pit back of the altar.”

“Hell's bells,” Lanky said. “He knew you'd
escaped—leastwise I figure he did. I took note, none of those Yaquentes got very near the altar. There may have been a few in the know, but——”

“Just a minute.” Lance frowned. “You say Fletcher knew I'd escaped from the pit—before he got here?”

“I figure he must have,” Lanky replied. “Leastwise—why did he have that interpreter announce there wouldn't be any human sacrifice tonight?—‘sacrifice of the bleeding heart,' they called it. That's what all the row was about. The Yaquentes didn't like him breaking a promise he'd made 'em. Lance, they were all set to do a job of carving on you until Fletcher told 'em the time wasn't right. He handed 'em a lot of superstitious bosh about waiting until the moon was ten days nearer the full. He was just stalling for time, of course——”

“Hold on a second,” Lance interrupted. “I want to get this straight. How many people knew I'd escaped from the pit? Us three, the folks at the ranch and Horatio. How did Fletcher know I'd escaped?”

“Horatio wouldn't tell him,” Lanky said quickly. “He wouldn't dare for fear the rest of the tribe would learn about it—and that would mean the end of Horatio.”

Oscar said, “That leaves Miss Gregory, the professor, Trunk-Strap Kelly, Tom Piper, Hub Owen, Cal Braun and Luke Homer. Take your choice, Lance, but remember, I'm betting those hands I hired are on the level.”

“I'll swear to that part myself,” Lanky agreed.

Lance stared in silence at the darkness surrounding them. Finally he changed the subject. “Start at the beginning,” he said wearily, “and give us the whole story, Lanky. Just what was said in that temple?”

“To cut a long story short,” Lanky said, “Fletcher is working the Yaquentes up to start a revolution in Mexico and overthrow the present government. He's getting at them on the standpoint of their religion—the ancient Aztec religion that called for worshiping a snake with feathers on and had mezcal buttons as part of their ceremonial feasts. Fletcher has been furnishing the peyotes——”

Oscar cut in, “That rattler Fletcher had was feathered.”

“I've been thinking about that”—Lance nodded—“and wondering where Fletcher got the nerve to handle that diamondback. Me, I wouldn't crave to do it. But the snake acted like it was afraid of
him
. No wonder the Indians are impressed. Go on, Lanky.”

Lanky continued, “Like I say, Fletcher is working on their religion, telling them all Mexico must be made to return to the old beliefs. The poor ignorant suckers drink it in. The plan is to make war on the small towns first and gain supplies and converts. It'll be a case of being converted or killed. Gradually the movement will gather strength, Fletcher claims, and eventually they'll be strong enough to capture Chihuahua City. Once the state of Chihuahua is in their hands, Fletcher told 'em, the rest of Mexico will come easy. And the Yaquentes take it all as gospel truth, thinking he's a sort of direct voice from Quetzalcoatl, the snake god.”

“So that's Fletcher's game,” Lance mused. “I'll admit that such things have worked before.”

Lanky went on, “There was to be a big ceremony to night, until your body couldn't be produced for sacrifice, Lance. That gummed matters up plenty. The Yaquentes didn't like it. They thought you were still down in the pit, unconscious, and Fletcher took
good care not to let them get close enough to the pit to learn you weren't there. For a few minutes Fletcher was in a tight spot. The Yaquentes got sulky and refused to go ahead with the ceremony. Two of those Indians were right stubborn and insisted that Fletcher keep his promise regarding the sacrifice.”

“So that's what it was, eh?” Lance said. “One of the two was Horatio. He knew damn well that Fletcher couldn't produce me. It looks to me like he was trying to put Fletcher on the spot. I wonder why?”

“Maybe he's losing faith in Fletcher,” Lanky suggested. “That other Indian was yelling for ammunition if he couldn't have the human sacrifice. It seems Fletcher has been giving them guns but no cartridges to shoot. Anyway, he compromised by promising to let them have ammunition and thereby wiggled himself out of a bad spot. I bet he'll think twice and some more on top of that before he gets 'em into the temple for another promised sacrifice.”

“Listen,” Oscar said suddenly, “the drums are stopped.”

They listened intently for a few minutes. Lanky drawled, “Prayer meetin' must be over. They'll be coming out right quick. We'd better douse our cigarettes and lay low.”

They put out their cigarettes and crouched low in the brush. After a few minutes several white-clad forms emerged from the temple carrying pine boxes. Lance whispered to Oscar, “There goes that ammunition and powder they had stored in that small room off the big one.”

Fletcher, still wearing his long white-feathered robe, followed closely on the boxes. They could hear him urging the men to hurry. He strode along at a stiff pace beside them.

Oscar's lips were close to Lance's ear: “I reckon he's got to get ahead with that bunch and change his clothes. I'd like to learn where he keeps his horse and steal it so he'd have to return to Muletero in that outfit.”

More Yaquentes were emerging from the temple now. The torches had been put out. Once more the roadway was packjammed with white-clothed figures. There was a good deal of muttering among the Yaquentes. To Lance it sounded like grumbling. The bobbing straw sombreros flowed steadily past. Finally the pro cession commenced to thin out. A few stragglers still came on behind. Now they hurried to catch up with the rest. The long packed line streamed on along the roadway, then disappeared someplace in the vicinity of the brushy ridge at the end of the road. A few voices drifted back on the night breeze, then suddenly all was quiet again.

“Wonder if they all had horses the other side of that ridge?” Oscar said.

“Probably not,” Lanky replied. “Most of 'em came afoot, I'll bet…. Yeah, I know, it's about fifteen miles back to their camp, but I'll put my money on a Yaquente to outlast a horse any time. Those hombres are plenty tough.”

“It's a wonder to me,” Lance said, “they don't leave guards at this temple.”

“What for?” Lanky said. “They figure the Yaquentes and Fletcher are the only ones to know about it, it's so well hidden. And they know you couldn't escape from that pit——”

“They must be pretty dumb then?”

“Pretty full of mezcal buttons,” Lanky contradicted. “At the same time, you couldn't have escaped without Horatio's help, could you?”

Lance said, “I sure couldn't have.”

Oscar heaved a long sigh. There came the rattle of a paper sack, then a sucking sound. “You hombres want any nerve tonic?”

“I wouldn't mind some out of a bottle,” Lanky grunted.

The three remained motionless in the brush for some time longer to make sure, as Lance expressed it, “that none of those snake worshipers come back.” Finally he rose to his feet. “C'mon, waddies.”

“Ready to head back to the Three-Cross?” Oscar asked.

Lance nodded. “But first I want to give a look-see around that temple and learn if they've taken all the ammunition.”

They left the brush, stepped to the roadway with its double row of ancient stone slabs and entered the temple once more. There still lingered about the big chamber the odor of sweating bodies and smoking pine torches. Lance struck a match. Lanky found an extinguished torch and lighted it. The flame threw weird, uncanny shadows about the high walls. Lanky commented, “I still don't like it here.” He looked uneasy.

“I reckon I know just how you feel,” Lance said soberly.

Oscar called Lanky to hold the torch where he could see the altar better. Next they glanced down into the pit where Lance had been held prisoner. “Sufferin' hawse thieves!” Lanky exclaimed. “That hole looks like it's a hundred feet deep. You can't even see to the bottom——”

“It feels deeper than that when you're down there.” Lance smiled thinly. “Let's give a look at this other room.”

He led the way through the doorway back of the altar into the smaller chamber. Except in size it looked much like the big room they'd just left. Neither was there an altar nor pit. There weren't so many stone pillars. Lanky held the torch high. Frescoes and sculptured reliefs ran around the walls, with the plumed serpent furnishing the subject for the majority of the decorations. Lance glanced toward the spot where he had last seen the boxes of ammunition and powder stacked against the wall. The boxes were gone.

“Well,” Lance observed, “the Yaquentes will have something to shoot in their guns now anyway.”

“And I don't like that, either,” Lanky stated. “Supposin' they got right keen for a human sacrifice? The Three-Cross ain't very far from their village.”

“They left one box, anyway,” Oscar noticed, pointing across the room. The three men crossed the floor and looked down at the pine box against the wall. There were small holes bored in the cover.

“That's the box the snake was in,” Lanky said. “I wonder if——”

“I'm aiming to find out,” Lance said. He stooped and flung back the box cover. “You'd better watch yourself!”

He leaped back from the box, as did Oscar and Lanky. All three men had their hands on gun butts now. Lanky held the torch high. For a moment nothing happened within the box, then from the dark interior there came a movement—a dry, scaly rustling. An evil triangular-shaped head appeared above the edge of the box. In the light from the torch its beady eyes burned with a strange yellow light. The ovate head of the reptile moved about inquiringly, then its long scaly length flowed over the edge of the box and to the floor.

“It's that feathered snake!” Oscar yelled. He started to draw his six-shooter.

“Don't shoot!” Lance exclaimed. “I want it alive. I still don't believe in those feathers.”

The snake didn't appear to want to put up a fight. It moved rapidly across the stone floor, leaving a channeled path in the dusty surface, until it reached the far wall. Then it turned and slithered along close to the wall in the direction of the doorway, closely followed by the three men. Lance was moving along at its side, in a crouching position, examining it as closely as the movements would permit. Oscar and Lanky were more wary and stayed back farther, gazing in some awe at the feathered length.

“Bring that torch closer,” Lance said.

Lanky moved cautiously nearer with the torch. Lance put out one booted foot to impede the reptile's progress. The snake rattled viciously but seemed reluctant to coil for striking. Then in a sort of halfhearted fashion it drew itself to an S shape. Suddenly with the speed of lightning the triangular head darted forward, striking Lance's boot. Then the snake fell back and once more tried to escape.

Lance looked at his boot. There should have been a few drops of venom there or some sort of mark showing where the rattler had struck. Only there wasn't. Lance frowned, then again shoved his foot in front of the snake. The rattler came to a stop. Lance suddenly reached down, seizing the rattler just back of the head, and lifted the writhing, twisting coils from the floor. The feathers along its back seemed to vibrate with futile rage.

Oscar yelled, “Look out, Lance. Don't be a damn fool!”

“I reckon if Fletcher can do it so can I.” Lance smiled. “Look here.”

Oscar and Lanky came closer while Lance held the snake firmly in both hands. Lance went on, “Take a good look, pards. This poor ol' diamondback couldn't do any more than bump his nose against my boot.”

Lanky said suddenly, “Hell's bells! His mouth is sewed shut!”

It was true. The snake's jaws had been firmly drawn together with stout linen thread. Lance swore softly under his breath. “I'm damned if I like rattlers,” he said grimly, “but only a fiend would do a thing like this. I wonder how long since it's had water or food. Damn that Fletcher!”

“Those feathers are fake,” Oscar said suddenly.

“They're faked.” Lance nodded. “Look close and you can see. They've been sewed to a narrow strip of cloth, then glued to the rattler's back. No wonder this poor diamondback wanted to escape.”

“I reckon it's up to us to put it out of its misery,” Lanky said. “It's probably suffered plenty.”

“It won't suffer much longer,” Lance replied, “but we're going to keep it alive for a spell yet. Get that box it was in, then we'll be leaving. I've got an idea we maybe can put this snake to work for us.”

Dawn was streaking the eastern horizon by the time the three men arrived back at the Three-Cross. They dismounted, unsaddled and put their ponies into the corral. Lance said, “You fellers better grab a little shut-eye in the bunk house. That's what I intend to do, but I want to go up to the house first and see the professor. I'm still wondering how Fletcher knew I'd escaped. Lanky, look around and see if you can find a burlap sack to put that snake in. It will be easier to carry it that way than in the box.”

“You figuring to carry it someplace?” Lanky asked in surprise.

“Yeah, you and I are going to make a trip to the Yaquente village and see can we find Horatio. Somehow, someway, we've got to bust up Fletcher's game. I'll tell you about it later.”

He started toward the ranch house, leaving Lanky and Oscar standing open mouthed behind him.

As he neared the ranch house Lance saw the back door open. Katherine stood there. “Lance,” she exclaimed worriedly, “wherever have you been? You just disappeared last night—you and Oscar and Lanky. It bothered all of us.” The girl looked as though she'd spent a sleepless night. Her denim overalls
were wrinkled. A stray lock of yellow hair fell low on her forehead.

She moved away from the door as Lance stepped inside. He glanced around. They were standing alone in the kitchen. He shut the door. His right arm went around her shoulders. He took her chin in his left hand and drew her face to his. Katherine gave a long sigh. After a time her voice came to him, muffled. “Lance, you do worry a girl like the dev il. I don't know whether I'm going to love you or not.”

After a time they drew apart. Lance told her briefly what had happened. Katherine's blue eyes went wide with sudden fright. “I—I was afraid you'd done something like that. Oh, Lance, you mustn't run such chances. I mentioned that I thought you might have gone back to that temple of the snake. I wanted the men to saddle and ride after you three. But Uncle Uly stopped that. He said you were probably all right. I know he was just trying to quiet my fears. Then Trunk-Strap Kelly said as long as Oscar and Lanky were with you you were probably all right and knew what you were doing. They went to their bunks in the bunk house. I went to bed. I couldn't sleep. I fixed a room for you. You'd better turn in and get a few winks…. And to think that it's Fletcher leading those Yaquentes! Lance, he was here last night.”

They were walking toward the main room of the ranch house now. Lance's arm was about Katherine's waist. At the girl's words Lance's face went suddenly grim. “So Fletcher was here last night, was he? I wondered——”

Katherine cut in, “He said he came to learn if you had been found yet. Oh, what a liar that man turned out to be! He had some Indians with him and he
told Uncle Uly that they were going to see if they could find any track of you——”

“And Uncle Uly told him, I suppose,” Lance said coldly, “that there wasn't any need of him looking any longer.”

“Why, yes, he did,” Katherine said in some surprise. “Lance, what's the matter with you?”

“Where's Uncle Uly now?” Lance asked tersely. “I'm aiming to talk to him.”

“He's out on the front gallery. He was up before daylight. He's potting. He's been worried about that plant——”

“He's what? Potting?”

Katherine nodded. “Yes, you know, that rare cactus he named after me. Last night he found a small wooden tub and he got some earth and he's putting that cactus in it. He's as tickled as a child with a new toy. He wants that plant to have the best of care——”

Lance crossed the room in quick strides, flung open the door leading to the front gallery and stepped outside. He looked both ways along the gallery, then about two thirds of the way to the end he saw Professor Jones just in the act of lifting a small wooden tub to set on one of the deeply recessed window sills of the adobe wall. On the flagged paving of the gallery lay a trowel and the burlap wrappings Jones had removed from the plant's roots. A bucket of earth stood near by.

Deeply engrossed, a beatific smile on his lean features, the professor stepped back to admire his handiwork. He wasn't aware of Lance's approach with Katherine just behind until Lance was almost on top of him.

Then Jones looked up. His smile broadened. “Ah,
Lance! Back again, I see. Knew there was no sense—worrying about you. All right, what? Been potting my
Echinopsis gregoriana
. Handsome plant, what? Lucky to find—that tub. Deuced hard job, though—cutting holes in bottom—for proper drainage. Been at it since—before dawn. No drills here, y'understand. Practically wore out—blade of my pocketknife——”

“Uncle Uly,” Katherine broke in, “will you please explain to Lance just what you told Fletcher last night?”

“That's what I'm waiting to hear,” Lance said grimly.

“Right, quite right,” Jones said. “But first—I insist you admire—
Echinopsis gregoriana
. Did you ever see—such blue blossoms? Perfect, what? That tub, just right. Suitable place to put it—until we leave. Right amount shade and sun——”

“Blast your plant!” Lance said angrily. “I want to know what you told Fletcher. This is important, Jones.”

The professor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Upset about something, what? Deuced sorry. Hope nothing I've said—accountable.”

“What did you tell Fletcher?” Lance almost shouted. Katherine looked uneasily from Lance to her uncle and back again.

“Oh, Fletcher.” Jones nodded. “Fletcher, quite so. Simply told him you'd returned. What else to say?”

“Uncle,” Katherine put in, “take your mind off that cactus and tell Lance what happened. He's getting the wrong impression.” She turned to Lance. “It was just as I told you. Fletcher came here last night. I don't think it was more than nine o'clock. He wanted to know if you'd been found yet. I was in my room but I heard Uncle talking to him. Our men
were all down in the bunk house. Fletcher said he'd rounded up the Indians he had with him to help hunt for you. Uncle Uly told him there was no use looking farther. Uncle, tell Lance what you told Fletcher.”

Jones colored. “Awkward situation. Didn't know what to say,' pon my word. Had a feeling you might have returned to that snake temple. At the same time, you'd warned us all not to tell Fletcher about that place or how you escaped. If I had told him he might have gone there looking for you. I was in a stew. Fact! Then—sudden inspiration. Told Fletcher you had returned but that we'd found you unconscious—outside the door. Swore I didn't know where you'd been or what happened. Told him you were still unconscious—y'understand?”

Katherine said, “Fletcher insisted on seeing you. Uncle told him it was impossible and that you couldn't be disturbed—that you appeared to be in a highly dangerous condition.”

Jones smiled shyly. “Embellished my story somewhat. Told him your hands—raw and bleeding—as though you'd been climbing for hours—up steep rock precipice. Gave him impression you'd had—nasty fall, what? Damn lie—of course. Awkward as the deuce—if I have to explain to Fletcher. Sorry if I said wrong thing, Lance. Now that I consider my words—silly thing to tell Fletcher. But couldn't think—anything else—spur of the moment. Fletcher looked startled——' pon my word!”

“What?” Lance fairly yelled. “You told him that? Professor, you couldn't have said anything better. Fletcher will think I escaped from his pit by crawling up the wall. No wonder he looked startled. This is the best yet! You've got my thanks.”

Jones beamed. “Appreciate your attitude. Feared I'd upset plans or something——” He blinked suddenly. “What was that? Did you say ‘his pit'? Fletcher's pit?”

Lance was shaking with laughter. “Jeepers! This is perfect. Professor, I owe you an apology. Will you shake hands?”

“No reason not to—but don't understand. Glad no harm done. Did my best—under circumstances. But—you should have told us where you were going—last night.”

“Sometimes,” Lance said, “a man has to keep his ideas to himself. Maybe you understand how it is, Professor.”

Jones's angular features flushed embarrassedly. “Quite so, quite. Every man has his own ideas. Mine—strictly cacti. For instance, this
Echinopsis
gregoriana
—create sensation someday. I——”

Katherine said, “Sensation? Wait until you hear about Fletcher.”

“You've heard something new about Fletcher?” Jones asked, lifting his gaze from the beloved cactus. “I'll be glad—learn what it is.”

Lance related the story of the night's happenings. About the time he had finished Cal Braun stuck his face through the doorway. “Breakfast's on, folks. Better come get it before I throw it away.”

“It's this way, Lanky,” Lance was saying, “if we can find Horatio and make him see what a fake Fletcher is I figure we can bust up this game. Once he sees the snake it should convince him that Fletcher is just using the Yaquentes for some motive of his own—though I don't know just yet what it is.”

The two were loping their ponies along the trail
that led to Muletero. It wasn't more than an hour past breakfast. The sun was climbing rapidly above the rim of the eastern mountains. Brush and cholla and prickly pear flanked either side of the dimly defined roadway they were following.

Lanky nodded moodily. “I don't know just how much luck we'll have. I can take you down through that Yaquente village, but if we have any luck finding this Yaquente friend of yours I can't say. You say his name sounds like Horatio?”

“Horatio.” Lance tried to pronounce the name as nearly like he had heard it as possible.

“Oh”—Lanky's frown cleared—“you mean Huareztjio. That's quite a common name among Yaquentes. Well, we'll see what happens when he looks into this burlap sack—if we find him.” Lanky motioned toward the bulky burlap sack he carried on his saddle. From the sack came an occasional movement.

The horses pounded on. The houses of Muletero came into view. The town proved to be a typical Mexican settlement with adobe huts placed helter-skelter along either side of a dusty roadway. There were a couple of shops and a cantina. A few chickens and dirty-nosed, nearly naked children moved in the dusty roadway. In the shadows between buildings sat a number of seraped Mexicans who paid no partic u lar attention to the
Americanos
riding through their village.

The dust settled behind as the two riders moved swiftly through the town, then turned right along a descending, rock-cluttered way that led for half a mile down into a canyon running between high granite walls.

Lanky said, “There's your village. Now to see if we can locate this hombre named Huareztjio.”

Lance looked ahead and saw a string of shabby huts built along each side of the canyon. Some were of adobe and rock construction. A few had corrugated iron roofs; the skins of animals were stretched across the roof beams of other dwellings. A pair of goats was tethered before one house. There weren't many Yaquentes in sight. A few men, in their loose cotton clothing, were seen here and there. Several women, bearing firewood on their backs and wearing flopping, shapeless print dresses, scuffed through the dust in their bare feet. Their faces were brown and wrinkled; their straight black hair was gathered in an odd double knot at the backs of their heads. There were a large number of mangy-looking curs running about; these, at the sight of the riders, immediately set up a shrill yapping and barking.

“If you value your legs,” Lanky advised, “don't get down from your horse. Them dogs just love calf meat.”

The riders pulled rein at the first house before which they saw a Yaquente man sitting. The Indian glared at them but relaxed somewhat when Lanky spoke in the Yaquente tongue. After a moment of listening the Indian shook his head, rose and turned into his house.

“Nothing to be got from that hombre,” Lanky told Lance.

They walked the horses until they came to the next man. This one was sprawled in the shadow of a big adobe oven built in the form of a half-sphere. The horses stopped. The Indian eyed them listlessly from his position on the earth. Lanky spoke to him
but received no answer. Lanky said disgustedly, “C'mon, that Injun is still hopped up on peyote. You notice, Lance, all these Yaquentes is wearing guns?”

“I noticed it,” Lance said grimly.

They went on through the village, Lanky asking questions here and there while the pack of mangy curs yelped at the horses' heels. Now and then Lanky found an Indian who would talk, but even those who talked denied they knew anyone named Huareztjio. Finally they had arrived at the end of the village street with no success. “Damn pack of liars,” Lanky grumbled. “Right now your Horatio knows we're looking for him. But we can't make 'em talk. Oh yes, Horatio knows by this time. The Indians have a grapevine system that carries the news along faster than we moved. From now on it's up to Huareztjio. If he wants to see you he will. Otherwise we're out of luck.”

They turned the horses and started back, Lance feeling extremely disappointed at the failure. They were more than halfway through the village when a Yaquente emerged from the house before which the pair of goats was tethered.

“There's Horatio now,” Lance exclaimed.

“That's him, eh? And he owns goats. Must be he's a sort of chief of the tribe. All right, we'll give him a try.”

The horses were pulled up when they reached Huareztjio's dwelling. Lance smiled. “Howdy, Horatio.”

The Indian eyed him warily, no sign of recognition in his beady eyes. “What want?” he grunted. “Better go 'way—queeck!”

Lanky spoke a few words of Yaquente greeting. The Indian eyed him in stony silence. Lance and
Lanky didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Lance said, “Better give him the whole story, Lanky. Tell him we saw what happened in the temple last night. Tell him what a fake Fletcher is. Tell him Fletcher is bad clear through and that he's just using the Yaquentes for his own purposes. Then show him that feathered snake with its mouth sewed shut. That should convince Horatio if nothing else does.”