Authors: Jack Higgins
They were making last-minute plans to leave Hermosa. Nachita was to be on the lead horse, Villa, who also knew the territory, immediately behind him. Then Rivera and Rojas, Fallon and Chavasse, all of them armed. Rose offered Dillinger one of her horses, a gentle mare, for the ride into the desert.
'I don't care how gentle the goddam horse is,' Dillinger said, 'I can't ride.'
Rose said, 'I can't believe there is something you can't do, Johnny.'
'I never said I was perfect. How about joining me for the ride in the Chevvy.'
For Rose, who had learned to ride when she was very young, sitting a horse was second nature. 'I don't know,' she said.
'The car smells better than a horse,' he said.
'Not to me. I hate the smell of gasoline.'
'Don't you drive?'
'No,' she said.
'You've never driven?' he repeated unbelievingly.
'Never.'
'Then we're even. Come on, I promise not to try to talk you into the back seat, so help me, Hannah.' He held up his right hand as if taking an oath.
Up ahead, she could see that the others were getting restless.
'All right,' she said, tying up her horse and sliding into the passenger side. 'I don't know how far you will get with this up the mountain.'
'Far enough.' He'd checked everything that was checkable on the car to make sure it was in as good running condition as it could be. He'd cleaned the air filter. He'd vented the gas cans in the trunk so there'd be less danger of an explosion. He'd put in a jerrycan of spare water, remembering when he hadn't had any. Though he loved to ride with the top down, he prudently raised it because of the heat and because they might be observed from above and he didn't want Ortiz to know how many people were in the automobile.
'Let them get a head start,' Dillinger said. 'We'll catch up easily.'
'Are you afraid?' Rose asked.
'Afraid of what?'
'I guess that answers my question.'
'Sure, I'm afraid of getting bullet holes in this beauty. I haven't seen a body shop since arriving in Mexico.'
'Shouldn't you be more concerned about a bullet in one of those cans you're carrying back there?'
'A bullet hits one of those, and you and I don't have to worry one bit. Would you rather take your horse?'
'I'll stay where I am.'
'Even in this dangerous, gas-carrying heap?'
Rose laughed. 'You have such an expression on your face. What are you thinking? What are you wishing?'
'I wish we were setting out to rob a bank,' he said.
The night sky was clear, and the moon bathed the desert in a hard white light, making it easy for Nachita to follow the tracks Ortiz's band had made in the dust and sand of the valley floor.
They pressed on without a halt, pushing their mounts hard. Just after midnight the trail turned into the foothills of the mountains. Nachita halted them for a rest and Dillinger got out of the Chevrolet and walked across to a slight rise.
The view was spectacular. The desert stretched to the horizon, and its hollows and canyons were dark and forbidding, thrown into relief by the white moonlight which picked out the higher stretches of ground.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Rose sat on a boulder beside him, taking off her hat and shaking loose a switch of long hair.
'It is now.'
She smiled momentarily and then gazed out over the desert. 'In a way, I feel that you came because of me. Juanita, my uncle, Ortiz, what do any of them mean to you?'
'Ever since Fallon showed me the picture postcard, I've headed here like I was pulled by a magnet. Your worries are my worries, Rose.'
She turned, her face grave. 'You could still turn back.'
He smiled slowly. 'I never go back to anything. An old superstition.'
'You'll go back to the States, won't you?'
'That's different. That's home.'
'Why are they looking for your car? It sounds like they really don't want you at home.'
'Oh, I'm wanted all right,' Dillinger said, laughing. 'By my friends and by my enemies.'
He put a cigarette in his mouth and Chavasse called out softly, 'No lights. That's one thing we can't afford.'
Dillinger put the cigarettes back in his pocket. 'I wonder just how close we are? We must have come better than twenty miles.'
'Nachita thinks they may have sent scouts down to the foothills,' she said. 'From now on progress will be slower. An hour, perhaps two? Who knows?'
Above them, stars swam in the hot night, and he was aware of the heat like a living thing crowding in. He wiped sweat from his forehead. 'It's too damned hot.'
Fallon moved across to join them and stood looking to the far mountains. In the distance the stars were already being snuffed out as clouds moved across the sky.
'I think we're in for a storm.'
'In these mountains?' Dillinger said in surprise.
Fallon nodded. 'The heat builds up the pressure during the day. It has to give some time.'
'What's the going likely to be from here on in?' Dillinger asked. 'Will the Chevrolet take it?'
'Wagon trains did in the old days,' Fallon told him. 'Mines all over these mountains then, even a ranch or two. Desert again on the other side.'
Dillinger moved back to the Chevrolet and got behind the wheel. 'They'd sure as hell like to know about you at the factory,' he said softly, switched on the motor and took up his position at the rear of the small group.
They ascended into a country of broken hills and narrow twisting waterways long since dry. The slopes on either side of the trail were covered with mesquite and greasewood and, as they climbed higher, a few scattered pines, rooted in the scant soil, thrust their pointed heads into the night.
On one occasion, Dillinger and Rose had to stop and call to the others for assistance to roll a boulder out of the way so that the car could pass. Later, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky over the peaks on the far side of the valley was momentarily illuminated by sheet lightning. The air seemed charged with electricity, vibrant and humming with a restless force that threatened to burst loose at any moment like water running over a dam.
For a while Nachita had been on foot, moving slowly, sometimes even feeling for the trail while Chavasse led his pony. By now the sky was overcast and the moon clouded over. As a precaution, Dillinger drove without lights.
'I think a horse would be safer,' Rose said.
They came over a ridge through the pines and found themselves on a small plateau surrounded by heavy brush. The old man turned and held up a hand.
'We stay here till morning. No fires, no lights. We are very close.'
They dismounted and Dillinger pulled the Chevrolet under some pines. Rivera was impatient. 'Why can't we move in now and take them by surprise?'
Nachita shook his head. 'They would smell our horses on the night air even before they heard them and we are lower down the mountain. A bad position from which to attack. There would be no surprise. In the dark they would hunt you one by one through the brush.'
'I thought Indians didn't like fighting at night?' Dillinger remarked.
'Someone must have forgotten to tell the Apaches,' Chavasse said grimly, and turned to Rivera. 'There are seventeen of them up there. Long odds for a dark night on a mountainside with a storm brewing. Nachita knows what he is doing. What he says goes as far as I am concerned.'
'And that stands for the rest of us,' Fallon put in.
Rivera turned and faced them. 'So it would seem I am not in command here?'
'You never were,' Dillinger said softly.
For a long moment there was silence as thunder rumbled overhead, the sound of it rolling heavily across the mountains. Rivera abruptly started to unsaddle his horse.
They tethered the horses at the edge of the small plateau. Chavasse and Villa beat among the bushes for snakes. Rose moved to the rear seat of the Chevrolet so she could stretch out. The others grouped around her, chatting, except for Rivera, who sat in lonely isolation on the far side of the clearing, and Rojas, who seemed to prefer the company of the horses.
They talked quietly, their voices a low murmur on the night, occasionally choking back laughter as Chavasse bantered gaily with Fallon. Rose knew that they were deliberately trying to relieve the tension, to make her feel more secure, and she was filled with a sudden rush of tenderness for all of them. And then a match flared in the night in the direction of the horses. Rojas had lit a cigarette.
Chavasse stifled a cry of dismay and rose to his feet, but Dillinger was already halfway across the clearing. He swung back-handed, knocking the cigarette from the Mexican's mouth, sending him off balance into the brush. As Rojas started to get up, Villa pushed him back down and held a knife under his nose.
'One more thing as stupid as that, amigo, and I shall cut your throat.'
He stood up and Rojas got to his feet, glaring at them, a sullen, dangerous animal about to explode. Rivera saw what was happening and took three quick paces forward and struck Rojas heavily across the face. 'Idiot! It is not just us you endanger. You risk the life of the child.'
Rojas turned without a word and stumbled into the brush.
'He will do as he is told from now on, I will see to that,' Rivera said, and returned to his place. At least he could be in command of Rojas, if of no one else.
Nachita moved to the edge of the clearing and stood listening, head turned slightly to one side.
'Any harm done?' Chavasse asked.
Nachita shook his head. 'We are well hidden here. We must post a guard, though.'
Chavasse volunteered to take the first watch. Rose curled up in the rear seat of the Chevrolet. Dillinger made himself as comfortable as he could in the front, and the others bedded down in the brush around the car. It still hadn't rained and as Dillinger closed his eyes, a great rush of tiredness swept over him and he slept.
He was awakened by Fallon shortly after 3 a.m. 'Your turn, friend. Better take your poncho. I think we might get rain soon.'
Dillinger checked to see if Rose was OK in the back seat. She looked like a little girl, asleep with her hands under her cheek. He then went to sit on a boulder beside the horses, his rolled-up poncho under him, the Thompson across his knees. There was a dull ache just behind his right eye. He could have used some more sleep.
No more than ten feet away, Rojas sat glaring at him through the darkness. He was no coward and yet he had seen what Ortiz was capable of. He was not here for sentiment, but because the
patron
had ordered him to come, and now, for the second time, he had been publicly humiliated.
His last shred of loyalty to Rivera had vanished with that smack across the face. An hour earlier he had made his decision. To hell with them. He would ride out, taking the other horse with him. If the others had only the stupid convertible for transportation, they couldn't all fit in. Some would have to go on foot. If the Apaches caught them, his revenge would be complete.
Rojas had waited only for the American to take his turn on guard duty. He got to his feet, pulled out his knife and moved forward quietly.
In the darkness on the other side of the clearing Nachita had been watching him, and now he called out urgently, 'Jordan, watch out!'
Rojas flung himself forward and Dillinger turned, bringing the barrel of the machine gun down across the Mexican's wrist so that he dropped the knife. They came together breast to breast, Rojas exerting all his considerable strength in an effort to wrench the Thompson from Dillinger's grasp. Dillinger hooked a foot behind the Mexican's ankle and they fell together, rolling between the horses into the brush.
Suddenly Rojas released his hold and drew his revolver. As Dillinger pushed him away, the Mexican fired, the bullet ricocheting from the stony ground into the night. As the rest of the party rushed forward in alarm, Rojas ran headlong into the brush.
As Dillinger scrambled to his feet, the others crowded around. 'What happened?' Fallon demanded.
'If it hadn't been for Nachita, Rojas would have put his knife in me.' Dillinger turned to the Indian. 'Does the gunshot mean trouble?'
Nachita nodded. 'They know where we are. We must be ready for them.'
At that moment, a great zigzag of light struck the rocks, followed moments later by the crash of thunder. The deluge of rain came with a sudden great rush, filling the night with freshness.
Rojas kept running in a blind panic, expecting at any moment to hear shots behind him in the brush. It was impossible to see his hand in front of him. He moved forward, half-crouching, holding his left arm high to protect his face from flailing branches.
Suddenly he tripped over something, lost his balance, went over the edge of a small gully, the revolver flying from his hand into the darkness. He would never find it now. He could feel the apron of shale sliding beneath his weight and clawed desperately for a secure hold. As his hand fastened on a tree root and he pulled himself to safety, it started to rain.