The Floating Outift 33 Read online

  Three – The Situation is Grave

  Don Ruis Villeneuva looked for a long moment at Dusty Fog after the Ysabel Kid introduced them. The tall Mexican appeared to be trying to reconcile Dusty’s appearance with his reputation. It seemed hard to believe this small, insignificant cowhand could be the man selected to go into trouble-torn Mexico and deliver President Grant’s request that General Bushrod Sheldon bring his men home. iv Dusty undertook the mission and carried it to a successful conclusion by persuading Sheldon to return north of the line and bring his veterans of the Civil War with him. This did much to weaken the fighting strength of Maximillian’s forces and helped make Mexican victory over the French possible.

  A Mexican, especially one who fought for Benito Juarez and freedom, could regard meeting Dusty Fog as a privilege and honor.

  ‘My pleasure, sir,’ Dusty replied formally to the introduction. ‘Uncle Devil is at the house right now. I’ll take you and your daughter to him. See to the coach, Lon, put the horses in the stables.’

  ‘Yo!’ replied the Kid, giving the old cavalry answer.

  Although he might be curious about what brought Villeneuva north of the line, Dusty asked no questions as he led the visitors to the house. He might be segundo of the O.D. Connected but Ole Devil was still the boss and so had first right to know Villeneuva’s business.

  They found the owner of the O.D. Connected in his gun decorated study, sitting at the table and reading a book. He placed the book down, turned his wheelchair and came towards the visitors. For a moment his frosty black eyes studied Villeneuva, recognition showed in them and a smile came to his lips.

  ‘It has taken me rather a long time to accept your kind offer made at San Antone, Diablo,’ Villeneuva said, holding out his hand. ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Sure, from the days when you commanded a company in the Fifth Rancheros. I brought you here with me after the Mexican War ended.’

  ‘I still owe you a debt of gratitude for kindness to a wounded enemy.’

  ‘The war had ended, which same meant you weren’t an enemy anymore,’ drawled Ole Devil.

  That was true enough, although at that time few people in Texas would have been willing to admit it. Feelings against Mexicans rode high and a wounded major of Rancheros stood a good chance of winding up with his neck in a noose. Ole Devil had never been a man to blindly bow to public opinion and he brought the wounded Major Villeneuva back to the Rio Hondo, nursed him to health and escorted him to San Antone, forming a respect and liking for the dignified Mexican. They parted as friends with mutual requests to visit each other’s ranch. The years between gave neither man a chance to visit until this moment.

  Yet somehow Ole Devil had the feeling this visit might carry more serious overtones than a mere courtesy call. For a friendly visit he could have expected a formal letter announcing Don Ruis’s desire to come and needing a formal reply. Also a man like Villeneuva did not bring his daughter and no maiden aunt as chaperone unless on a matter of great urgency,

  ‘What do you make of it, Dustine?’ asked Ole Devil after his guests left.

  ‘There’s something more here than a casual visit, sir,’ Dusty answered. ‘They’d been in some trouble from the look of the coach.’

  At that moment Mark arrived to tell of the trouble Villeneuva found himself in when they came to his rescue. Ole Devil and Dusty exchanged glances.

  ‘It could have been just a bandido raid,’ Mark finished, sounding as though he did not believe it.

  ‘So far north?’ replied Dusty. ‘In pappy's bailiwick?’

  Not being an intellectual, Dusty had respect for his father and admitted Hondo’s ability as a lawman without any hint of boasting. He knew few Mexican bandidos would risk coming into Rio Hondo County without a real good reason.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ drawled Mark. ‘I’ll go tend to the burying of the driver. Put him up in the bosque if I can, sir?’

  The bosque, a small wood about a mile from the ranch, served as a cemetery for such cowhands who died or were killed while working for the ranch. Ole Devil gave his agreement to the driver being buried amongst his men and told Mark to have the grave dug, then await instructions from Villeneuva.

  ‘Tell Lon to come over, Mark,’ Dusty said as his big amigo left the room.

  On his arrival the Ysabel Kid could add nothing to what Mark said, beyond the fact that one of the dead men had been a stout supporter of Marcus’s biggest rival, if Villeneuva called the play correctly and the rest rode for Marcus.

  Neither Ole Devil nor Villeneuva mentioned the subject again until after the ladies, his granddaughter, Betty, and Ramona in this case, left them alone in the dining-room. Dusty, Mark, the Kid and Waco, Ole Devil’s floating outfit, as usual dined with their boss and sat around the room waiting to hear what brought Villeneuva north. Through dinner they had discussed the cattle industry above and below the border. Dusty was called on to tell some of the story of his trip into Mexico to bring back Bushrod Sheldon. Betty Hardin and Ramona ganged up to let the Kid know how they felt about him, which kept the others amused and did not in the least worry the Kid.

  At last Betty took the hint. She and Ramona left the men to their brandy and cigars, or in the case of the Kid and Waco, hand-rolled cigarettes. No sooner had the door closed on the girls than all eyes went to Villeneuva and he knew they were waiting to hear the main reason behind his coming north.

  ‘You may be wondering why I come here unannounced,’ he said. ‘I have long wanted to visit you, Diablo, and wish that I might have come in more auspicious circumstances. However, the situation is grave below the border and unless some action be taken I fear there might once more be war between the United States and Mexico.’

  ‘Who done it this time?’ asked the Kid. ‘You-all or the Yankees?’

  Villeneuva showed no offence at the words. A smile flickered across his face as he looked at the lean, Indian dark young man. All too well he knew the Kid’s dislike for Yankees, anyone born north of the Mason-Dixie line. He also knew the Kid’s blunt way of asking whatever question need be asked, without wasting words or frills while doing it.

  ‘Neither country has made any move—yet. I had better tell you something of the affairs below the border, so as to have you better understand what is happening. First, I suppose you have heard of the lamented death of President Juarez?’

  ‘We heard,’ agreed Ole Devil.

  ‘And that Sebastian Lerdo de Tejada has been elected President in his place?’

  ‘So we heard, a close fight between him and Porfirio Diaz, but Lerdo just pulled it,’ Ole Devil answered.

  A Texas rancher, especially one with as much interest in State affairs as Ole Devil, needed to know what happened below the border. The reports of Juarez’s death and the subsequent election of a new President had been passed around Southern Texas almost as soon as it became known in Mexico.

  ‘Then understand also that Lerdo has sworn to make a concentrated effort to smash the bandits which raise havoc with so many of our western provinces. He is taking measures which do not meet with approval by some of our Army officers. Men like Pablo Marcus, bandidos who hold military rank. They do not know how Lerdo will treat them. Some, again like Marcus, have reason to fear an investigation into their actions since being given rank and power.’

  ‘How does this affect us?’ asked Ole Devil.

  ‘I wish to leave my daughter in your care until this business is over,’ replied Villeneuva. ‘I also wish for introductions to people with authority, the Governor of Texas, the head of the military authorities, to lay before them what I know in the hope that a dangerous situation may be averted. A situation which will cost many lives.’

  ‘I can arrange that easily. Better than that, I can get General Philo Handiman, head of the U.S. Secret Service down this way, given time. How much time have we in hand?’

  ‘That I do not know. Let me tell you what I do know. We Mexicans are born schemers. I have a man working in Marcus’s camp,
a man with an ear to Marcus’s plans. No doubt he has men watching me, as was proved by the attack on my coach. This is what I know of Marcus’s plan. First, Marcus intends to take full control of the whole of the Aquila country. As head of the Army he is responsible for the collection of all taxes and he has increased these threefold in the past six month. The bandidos, who have always worked as small, scattered bunches, in fear of Lerdo’s decree, have now flocked to Marcus’s standard, giving him a large army of fighting men. When Marcus feels himself to be strong enough he will march north, across the Rio Grande del Norte and attack the border villages and towns in Texas.’

  ‘Man!’ said Waco. ‘Won’t that make those Texas boys paint for war?’

  None of the others replied to the youngster’s words. Mark’s face set in cold grim lines. His father’s ranch lay on the border, down in the Texas Big Bend country and might be one which received the attack. Sure Big Rance Counter had a loyal and tough crew but they could be killed like anybody else and Mark did not want to see men die. The Kid thought of the Aquila country, the area he and his father worked more than any other in the days when they ran contraband. He had many good friends in the Aquila, men who would not lightly bow before Marcus’s will.

  Dusty thought only of war and the aftermath. Texas was just about over the effects of the War Between the States. Reconstruction had ended. Davis’s carpetbagger administration no longer ruled. Another war, one with Mexico, might see the ruin of the men who built up their lives again. He looked at Villeneuva and asked:

  ‘How can we help?’

  ‘As I told you.’

  ‘That’ll take time,’ Dusty objected. ‘Time for the Governor to make up his mind what action to take. Time for the Army to get orders from Washington. Time for General Handiman to get here and decide what moves he wants to make. If this’s handled wrong, if word leaks out, some damned hot-headed fool’ll want to paint for war and hit them afore they hit us.’ He paused and looked at his uncle. ‘You remember Custer’s crowd after the war ended, sir?’

  ‘I remember,’ grunted Ole Devil.

  Not content with the years of civil war the ‘Boy General’, Custer reduced to a mere Lieutenant-Colonel, and others of his glory-hunting kind wanted to attack Canada and Mexico to unite the entire country under the Yankee flag. With Army promotion all but stagnant in peace-time such men might raise the howl for war with its chance of glory and rise in rank.

  ‘How far’s Marcus got with his plans, sir?’ Dusty asked, turning to Villeneuva once more.

  ‘He is raising the money to buy arms, Gatling guns and repeating rifles as yet. How close he is to completion of his plans I do not know. There are several hacienderos like myself interested in the state of affairs in the Aquila country. Some have holdings in the Aquila, most, like myself, fought for Santa Anna both in the Texas War of Independence and in the war with the United States. We have no wish to see the horrors of war fall on our land once more.’

  ‘There’s only one thing about this that don’t set right,’ drawled the Ysabel Kid. ‘I knew Marcus. He was never better than a third-rate bandido. I wouldn’t give him credit for having sense enough to pack sand into a rat-hole. How comes it he’s smart enough to plan a game like this?’

  ‘He isn’t. Or that’s my opinion,’ answered Villeneuva. ‘Behind him lies the real brains. Brains wise enough to plan to stir up anti-Mexican feelings, cause the U.S. to take punitive action. They, unless my information is wrong, then mean to overthrow the Government in Mexico, having made overtures of friendship to your government, and so gain control of my country. The United States will then be given apologies, agreements, concessions to appease their anger, having helped place these men into power.’

  ‘How about this Diaz hombre?’ asked Waco. ‘He lost the election. Maybe he’s still riled about it.’

  ‘Porfirio Diaz is my friend, young man. I trust him and know he would never be a party to such treachery.’

  ‘Have you any idea who might be behind it?’ asked Dusty.

  ‘None,’ Villeneuva replied.

  Once more silence fell on the room as Tommy Okasi entered carrying a tray with cups and a large coffee pot on it. He served the men and left on silent feet. The Ysabel Kid scowled at the butt of his cigarette, tossed it into the fireplace and deftly rolled another.

  ‘This’s all happening down in the Aquila country?’ he asked.

  ‘It is.’

  A flat note crept into Villeneuva’s voice. He did not seem too happy about the question. From where he sat at the table, Dusty watched the Kid, reading the conflicting emotions playing on the innocent face although few would have seen them.

  ‘How far has he, Marcus, got in his plans?’ Dusty asked.

  ‘Not too far I imagine. The bandidos who join him are not willing to fight unless they have good weapons. All Mexico learned of what repeating rifles can do during our fight against the French. So they wait until Marcus uses his powers to gather taxes and can purchase the repeaters. The collection has already started.’

  ‘Which means that they’ll most likely still be collecting?

  Something in Dusty’s tones brought every eye to him. Ole Devil watched the small, insignificant young man who so ably ran their ranch and handled every chore on which he went. In the old days when Ole Devil commanded the Texas Light Cavalry and Dusty rode as captain commanding Troop ‘C’, that tone of voice meant another plan to further harass the Yankees had been formed in Dusty’s head.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Dustine?’

  Dusty turned his face towards Ole Devil and grinned. It had been many years, if ever, since he could last fool Ole Devil with a nonchalant pose or even speech.

  ‘Suppose four men were down there, hitting the tax gathering parties, stopping them collecting more money? The last Hartley & Graham price list I saw had Gatling guns for sale—at a thousand dollars each, cash before delivery. Wherever Marcus aims to buy his guns you can bet on one thing, it’ll be cash on the barrel head. So even four men, if they knew the Aquila, could sure slow things up.’

  Ole Devil nodded approvingly. ‘It’d buy us time, Dustine. You know that part of Mexico real good, don’t you, Loncey?’

  ‘Sure, sir, I was damned near raised down there. Which same’s why I’m a mite puzzled. Don Francisco Almonte was never the man to stand back and see folks push his peons around. And he’s got handy enough vaqueros to stop anybody who tried.’

  ‘Don Francisco has disappeared, Cabrito!’

  The soft spoken words brought the Kid around in a fast turn to face Villeneuva. Only the Kid’s face no longer looked young or innocent. Now it had the hard, slit-eyed mean look of a Comanche Dog Soldier.

  ‘You mean he’s dead?’ he asked in a deep throated Dog Soldier grunt.

  ‘That I do not know. My man was not with the party which went to Casa Almonte and he knows nothing for sure,’ Villeneuva replied. ‘I apologize for not speaking of this matter earlier, but I had my duty to do before I mentioned it. I hoped for the suggestion Captain Fog made, but I did not wish to have him think he must come to help you.’

  ‘I understand, señor,’ replied the Kid, dropping into his faultless Spanish once more and bowing to Villeneuva. ‘Tell me all you know of Don Francisco.’ He turned to the others and reverted into English. ‘Don Francisco Almonte was pappy’s best customer and a good friend. I near on lived at Casa Almonte when I was a button and the old Don taught me most all I know about handling a knife.’

  ‘I know little or nothing, Cabrito, only the little my man told me. Don Francisco was accused of treason by Marcus. In a case like that, so far from Mexico City, the head of the Army is responsible for handling the matter. So he sent his men, fifty of them, all armed with repeaters and with a cannon. They went to Casa Almonte to arrest Don Francisco and his men, possibly to give them ley fuga, shoot them as they tried to escape—’

  ‘Whether they tried or not,’ the Kid put in. ‘But what happened?’

  ‘None but the attacki
ng party know. They claim they wiped out Don Francisco and his men, every one of them, and buried them. Father Benedict, the priest from San Anibal, went to Casa Almonte and asked to see the graves so that he might sanctify them. He was refused. My man has tried, without success, to find the graves.’

  ‘Then Don Francisco could be alive?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘It is possible. He may have seen his attackers coming, or heard of them, and fled, but where to? Why do we not hear some word of him?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ the Kid growled. ‘But I sure as hell aim to find out.’

  ‘Hold hard there, Lon,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘If we go there it’s for a purpose. I’m not having you taking fool chances and getting killed. You’re the man who knows the Aquila. We’ll learn all we can about Don Francisco, but we do it my way.’

  Only rarely did Dusty speak in that tone and the Kid knew better than to argue. The Kid might thumb his nose at the law, show no respect for rank, social standing or political prominence, but when Dusty Fog or Ole Devil Hardin gave him an order he obeyed without question. He knew full well that Dusty would give him every possible aid in finding out what happened to his old friend, but Dusty also would see the Kid carried out the task for which they went into Mexico and did not take off on a blind vengeance hunt.

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.

  Villeneuva looked at each of the four young men in turn and shook his head. ‘I fail to understand why you four should risk your lives to help. I hoped you might offer, but I still do not see why you do it?’

  ‘Mark, Lon and I rode in the war. We saw enough then for us to want to avoid it happening again,’ Dusty answered.

  ‘You will be on your own down there,’ Villeneuva pointed out. ‘Marcus has the law, such as it is, on his side. If you are caught, there will be nothing your Government can do, even if they should ever hear of your fate.’

  ‘You’ll be scaring us next,’ drawled the Kid.

  ‘Remember the Alamo,’ Waco went on tactlessly.