The Border Empire (29 page)

“Not necessarily,” Sandlin said. “They're after the killers we want.”

“Yeah,” said Jarvis, “but suppose those killers head for town.”

“Then we're in trouble,” Sandlin said. “Let's ride.”

 

“Well,” said Renita, her eyes on Wes, “are you satisfied that I can handle a rifle?”

“You're considerably better with it than I expected,” Wes replied, “but this time we were shooting from cover. From here on, there may be no cover, and God only knows how many guns will be returning our fire. Now let's ride.”

“Sí,”
said El Lobo. “They come.”

“Let them,” Tamara said grimly. “We will kill them all.”

When it became obvious they were headed for town, Empty veered away. In all his earlier travels with Nathan, and finally with Wes, he had learned to make himself scarce when lead began to fly.

Beyond the spires of several cathedrals was the statehouse dome, and Wes headed for it, his companions following.

“In behind the building,” Wes shouted.

There was a courtyard surrounded by head-high brick walls, and they galloped their horses into it. While their pursuers were coming, riding hard, there was a more immediate danger. Zopilote, the Mexican gunfighter, appeared under the arch, in the entrance to the courtyard. With him was Kalpana, the Spaniard.

“Ah,
señors,”
Zopilote said, “we shall try your courage when you do not shoot from ambush. Kalpana, the
Indio
is yours.”

Wes and El Lobo had but a split second to respond, for even as the Mexican spoke, he and Kalpana had gone for their guns. Wes fired once, and Zopilote's shot was wide, for he had been hard hit just above the belt buckle. Kalpana's first shot went over El Lobo's head, screaming off the courtyard wall. El Lobo fired, and the Spaniard stumbled, seeming surprised at the blood welling from the hole in his chest. He collapsed near Zopilote, their bodies blocking the courtyard entrance. Only seconds had elapsed, but the pursuing outlaws had already begun their assault on the courtyard.

“Here they come!” Wes shouted.

He opened the ball by emptying two saddles, and the rest of the outlaws began piling off their horses, Winchesters in their hands. The courtyard walls provided protection, but they were a hazard as well, for a ricochet could be as deadly as a direct hit. The outlaws quickly took advantage, mounting their horses and firing over the wall. Lead screeched off the walls, slamming into the courtyard's stone floor.

“Against the walls,” Wes shouted.

It was their only defense as long as the attackers fired over the wall, pouring lead into an opposite wall. Even then, the fragmented lead came dangerously close. Only when some of the outlaws charged the courtyard entrance did the defenders fire. A dozen men died in quick succession, and the rest backed off, content to fire over the walls, seeking a ricochet.

“Back off,” Sandlin shouted. “Cease fire.”

But his commands went unheeded amid the roar of Winchesters and the shouts of the attackers. Security from within the statehouse—half a dozen Mexican soldiers—charged into the courtyard, shouting for attention. Two of them died almost immediately, and a third was hit before he reached the safety of the statehouse.

“Madre de Dios,”
Hidalgo cried from his office on the second floor, “we are ruined.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Ximinez. “I know nothing of this.”

The battle raged for an hour, and while none of the defenders had been hit, they had accomplished little. Suddenly there were shouts from the outlaws, firing ceased, and there was the sound of thundering hooves.

“They're riding away!” Tamara cried.

“I reckon they got a reason,” said Wes, “and here it comes.”

Mexican soldiers swarmed into the courtyard, armed with rifles with fixed bayonets. Having little choice, Wes and his companions raised their hands. Their Colts and Winchesters were taken and they were marched through the courtyard to the statehouse. Several soldiers led their horses away. Beneath the statehouse was a cavernlike area that served as a jail. Wes and his companions were taken down a flight of stone steps. One of the soldiers unlocked a pair of cells. Wes and El Lobo were forced into one, while Tamara and Renita were locked in the other. The soldiers had spoken not a word, and when they had closed the outer door, the cells were in darkness.

“Damn it,” Renita complained, “there's no chamber pot, and no light to find it even if there was one.”

Tamara laughed. “It is dark, and there is the floor.”

“Por Dios,”
said El Lobo, “we be dead.”

“Not immediately,” Wes said. “We accomplished what we set out to do. I just hope our confidence in the Mexican people is justified. If our scheme goes all to hell in a handbasket, we could find ourselves at the mercy of a Mexican court.”

“Sí,”
Tamara agreed, “and for revolutionaries, there is but a single sentence.”

“I'm afraid to ask what it is,” said Renita.

“You wanted to be a part of this, so you might as well know the worst,” Wes said. “In Texas they believe in rope justice, but Mexico has a tradition all its own. They prefer to back you up against a wall, facing a firing squad.”

“It's still better than a Mexican whorehouse,” said Renita defiantly.

“Sí,”
Tamara said, “and as long as I am alive, I do not give up.”

“No horse, no gun,
mucho soldados,”
said El Lobo.

“Tamara's right,” Wes said. “We don't know what they aim to charge us with, if anything. Some of the guards from the statehouse were hit, but that was the doing of the Sandlin gang.”

“Sí,”
said El Lobo, “but the Sandlin gang escape. We do not.”

“I reckon we'll know come morning,” Wes said.

 

Hidalgo and Ximinez, seeking to salvage something from the chaos following the gunfight in the courtyard, quickly went before Renaldo Gonzales, a Mexican magistrate.

“These
hombres
be killers,” Hidalgo argued. “It is they who murdered poor Pablo and the Señora, Shekeela.”

“There are witnesses to this terrible thing?” Gonzales asked.

“Sí,”
said Hidalgo.

“Por Dios,”
Gonzales said, “if there is such proof, they will die against the wall.”

Ximinez said nothing until the pair had left the office of the magistrate. “You lie,” he said to Hidalgo. “You know the old one who witnessed the killing of Pablo and Shekeela will not name these
hombres
the
soldados
capture. There is no such proof.”

“Sí,”
Hidalgo agreed, “but I do not name the witness. In Mexico, where life is cheap, what is one's word worth? I will buy a witness. More, if they are needed.”

“There is still the matter of the Senor Sandlin and his men,” said Ximinez. “Can you deny it was they who besieged the courtyard and murdered the
soldado
guards from the statehouse?
El presidente
is furious.”

“The Señor Sandlin and his men do not be in custody,” Hidalgo said. “These killers have been captured, and there are witnesses to their crimes.
Madre mia,
is that not enough to satisfy the state?”

After two days of languishing in their cells with only bread and water, the captives were removed and taken to court. Magistrate Renaldo Gonzales wasted no time.

“Your names,
señors.”

“I'm Wes Stone,” said Wes, “and this is Palo Elfego.”

“You stand accused of murdering Pablo and Shekeela Ortega,” Gonzales said. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” said Wes.

“There is a witness who disagrees,” Gonzales said. “Pasquido?”

Pasquido, not looking at the prisoners, described the murder and identified Wes and El Lobo as the killers.

“He's a damn liar,” Wes shouted. “We didn't do it.”

“I do not believe you,” said Gonzales. “At sunrise, one week from today, the two of you will be executed by firing squad.”

“Old man,” Tamara said, “you are a fool. Cord Sandlin's band of outlaws committed these murders. Do you fear them?”

“You
Mejicanos
are a bunch of cowards,” said Renita. “Why don't you send us before the firing squad as well? Or do you fear being known as a woman killer?”

“Señor
magistrate,” said one of the guards, “you did not sentence the
señoritas.
What are we to do with them?”

“An oversight,” Gonzales said angrily. “I sentence the insolent ones, for as long as they shall live, to the prison laundry.”

“Damn it,” said Wes to Renita and Tamara, “why didn't you stay out of it? If you'd gone free, you might have been able to help El Lobo and me.”

“We still will help you,” Tamara vowed. “I do not give up. Ever.”

“Nor I,” said Renita.

It was their last opportunity to talk. Wes and El Lobo were placed in one wagon, and Tamara and Renita in another. They were then taken to the prison, a forbidding structure of stone in which the enemies of Santa Anna were once left to die. There were three levels. To the lower one—a dungeon—Wes and El Lobo were taken. On the second level was the kitchen, the laundry, and a sleeping room with bunks for a dozen guards. Quarters for the female prisoners—when there were any—were on the third level, with a barred door at the head of the stone stairs. Tamara and Renita were taken there and locked in a cell.

“We're in one hell of a mess,” Renita said. “Now what do we do?”

“We find a way to escape,” said Tamara.

“These bars look awful strong,” Renita said. “If you have even a hint of a plan, I'd be interested in hearing it.”

“The guards are all men,” said Tamara. “Does that suggest anything to you?”

“Maybe,” Renita said, “but I wish there was another way, short of becoming a whore again.”

“There is no other way,” said Tamara, “for there is not enough time. Wes and Palo are to be put to death a week from today. If I must, for these few days, I will sell my body for Palo's life. Will you not do as much for Wes?”

“You know I will,” Renita said. “What can I sell that hasn't already been taken many times?”

“Well spoken,” said Tamara. “These two guards are young men. We will allow them to take us until they are no longer suspicious. Then we will kill them.”

“Kill them? How?”

From down the back of her shirt, attached to a leather thong, Tamara drew out a two-edged, wicked dagger.

“It won't be easy concealing that when you're naked,” Renita said.

“I will not remove my shirt,” said Tamara. “Few men seem interested in a whore's upper body.”

“That will take care of one of them,” Renita said, “but I have no weapon.”

“The knife kills silently,” said Tamara. “When I have freed myself, I will then free you. But you must make him mount you so that his back is exposed, and you must somehow keep his attention. If he suspects anything, or if he hears me approaching, then all is lost. We will not have another chance.”

“Never fear,” Renita said. “I'll give this one all I've got. If we can get our hands on their guns and the keys to this place, we can free Wes and Palo.”

In the gloom of the dungeon, Wes and El Lobo weren't nearly as optimistic.

“The
Mejicanos
hate the Sandlin outlaws,” said El Lobo, “and we seek to destroy the Sandlin outlaws. Why we be in
juzgado, amigo?”

Wes sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I might have miscalculated. As long as we were free, giving Sandlin's bunch hell, the
Mejicanos
were all for us. Now the dragon's still out there on the loose, and we're sentenced to death.”

“Per'ap we escape,” El Lobo said. “We give Sandlin outlaws hell again, then
Mejicanos
be with us.”

“I'm all in favor of escaping,” said Wes, “but how? We could die here like rats in a hole, except that a week from now they aim to execute us.”

“I not believe Tamara allow that to happen,” El Lobo said. “She strong.”

“So is Renita,” said Wes, “but they're locked up, too.”

“There be old Injun saying: One not be dead until one be dead,” El Lobo said.

“That old Injun was never locked in a dungeon and was likely a damn fool,” Wes replied.

“Do not speak ill of your
amigo,”
said El Lobo.

 

 

T
he day after the sentencing of Wes and El Lobo, word of the trial reached relatives and friends of Pablo and Shekeela Ortega. Juan, the actual witness to the murders, wasted no time in creating the very backlash Wes had hoped for.

“Those who kill are free to kill again,” Juan said. “This execution must not be. Let us march on the
casa
of
el presidente.
Let us demand freedom for El Diablos Pistolas.”

The old man spoke with truth and conviction, and all those who owned or were able to borrow a mule began riding to outlying villages, crying for justice, for an end to the ruthless outlaw reign. On the third day they began gathering on the outskirts of town, many of them afoot, armed only with their anger and sense of injustice.

“Madre de Dios,”
Hidalgo said. “What does this mean?”

“It means the witness you bought is about to earn his gold,” said Ximinez.