CHAPTER 37
(Eight days ago...)
Padre Garcia was at a loss. He had met Maria over 12 years ago when he was working at the mission and the orphanage in Altar. She had certainly been a sinner and bad example for the other young women she had befriended, but he had never been disposed to throw the first stone. He was aware of the hard life she'd led, judging from what she had divulged to him.
When Maria had told him about the father of her startlingly blue-eyed son, he had been appalled at the rancher's behavior to her, how he had despoiled her and brought shame to her family. True, the gringo had ended up doing the right thing by marrying her, but only after being threatened by Maria's father. Then, he had taken her to his grand estancia in the San Joaquin Valley, north of the border, well away from her family and her friends. Two years after she had given birth to their son, the rancher had realized the boy still looked more Mexican than American – and always would – despite his blue eyes. He had thrown his wife out, along with her "mistake", as Maria had said he called their son. He even had the nerve to tell her never to return. It was no wonder that the young woman had turned bad, unable to return to her family without shaming them further and with her mixed-blood child, she had no means of support other than turning to sin.
So, when the Señora Santiago spoke of Maria's son, he knew who she was talking about. But what he failed to understand was what she meant when she said "Nothing... and everything."
He sat at the table, sipping his tepid lemonade, waiting for Magdalena to explain. When nothing further came, he realized he'd have to push her a bit.
"Magdalena, what do your brother, Johnny Madrid, and Maria's boy have in common?"
"Lots of things. When Maria was around sixteen years old, she met my brother. They fell madly in love, but her family didn't want to hear anything about her seeing a low-born man who would never be wealthy or hold any position of influence in his life. Jose Eduardo wouldn't take "no" for an answer and neither did Maria. This prohibition on seeing each other had only made them more intent on being together. So, they planned to meet each other in Matamoros, far away from her family's influence. Things didn't work out as they had expected and Maria ended up leaving with that rich gringo rancher she had met."
Padre Garcia shook his head. It seems Maria had lied to him about some things, particularly about the threats that she had claimed her father had made to the gringo. It made him wonder about what else she might have lied about. He was prevented from pondering this question as Magdalena continued her tale.
"We heard nothing more of her until the day she appeared in Altar and she and I became very good friends. She had the most adorable little boy with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, but he was a hindrance for her more than anything else. She loved him, of course, but his presence kept her from finding a rich man who could take care of her. Who would have wanted another man's son... and a mestizo at that?
"By then, Jose Eduardo had joined the rurales forces and was earning promotion after promotion... and at the same time, he was getting more ruthless and cold-hearted. He was no longer the loving and caring brother I had known all my life. Although married, he resumed his affair with Maria, despite her "bastardo", as he called Juanito. It was on and off because Maria never stayed long in any place. Altar was, however, THE place where she always returned. And the last time she did, well... you know what happened."
"Yes. I remember that tragedy. I was the one who buried Maria and Carlos – the man who killed her – and took care of the little boy after the Hernandez' found him in the desert and took him to the orphanage."
He remembered, too, that Juanito had never really been accepted by the other children, the good sisters – and sad to say – even most of the brothers. All had mistreated the little blue-eyed child, calling him a demon-child, all but him. Eventually, Juanito had fled in the night, never to be seen again. In fact, Padre Garcia had presumed the boy was dead... until now, when he suddenly realized what Magdalena meant.
"Juanito is... Johnny Madrid, the pistolero?" he asked, hesitantly.
"Yes. He ended up turning to the gun to survive."
"How long have you known this, Magdalena?"
"Only since yesterday. Like many others, I had always assumed Juanito had died after he had left Altar, but I was wrong. From what I was able to understand, it seems my brother has always known that Juanito and Johnny Madrid were the same person. I remember one instance when he told me he'd had problems with a certain Johnny Madrid, pistolero on the rise, and meant to find him and make sure he wouldn't interfere in his affairs anymore.
"At the time, I thought he meant the rurales' affairs. He did, after all, capture Madrid and put an end to the revolution. But he told me that Madrid was freed at the last minute and disappeared. As punishment, my brother was demoted to the post of simple lieutenant and, since then, all the promotions he could have had have been denied to him.
"Then, not long ago, Madrid was captured again by Jose Eduardo's men. He is being held in a dark cell in the basement of my brother's office, waiting for his execution. And that day is coming fast. You remember that when my husband's broken body was found at the foot of a precipice, it was rumored that it was the infamous pistolero who had killed him."
"I remember. Your brother publicly vowed to get the killer and had named Johnny Madrid as the culprit."
"Well, two days ago, my brother took me down to the cells to let me see Pedro's murderer."
"What happened?"
Magdalena looked at the man who was accused of killing her husband years ago. A man she hated fiercely, a man she had killed countless times with her bare hands in her wildest dreams of vengeance. What she saw was a man who smelled quite bad, was unshaven and had long, dirty dark hair falling in his face – a man who didn't look dangerous at all. Something was familiar about him, though, but she couldn't figure out what it was, until she saw his eyes... those same startling blue eyes she had last seen years ago, when the man in front of her had been but a cute little boy.
"Lena?" he had said, his voice raspy. "Is that you, Lena?"
To say she had been shocked was an understatement. She had almost fainted and had to grab the bars of the cell for fear of falling to the ground. Apart from her husband and Maria, only Juanito had ever called her "Lena".
"Juanito? You... you are Johnny Madrid? Pedro's murderer!" she had managed to utter, shocked.
"No, I didn't murder him. It was an accident. You've got to believe me, Lena. I would never have killed him, no matter what. You know that. You know how much Pedro – Santiago – meant to me."
And she had indeed remembered how Juanito had worshipped Pedro Santiago, the man who had briefly been his stepfather, before Maria had a change of heart and left him. Shortly after that, she herself had fallen in love with Santiago – as he was more often called – and the two had married.
She had always known about her brother's other activities, knew he was corrupt – else, how could he have accumulated as much money as he had with only his regular pay as a rurales officer? She knew, too, that Santiago worked occasionally for Jose Eduardo. But, following their marriage, her husband had become her brother's right arm. She recalled the day when Santiago had returned home with the news.
"We fought, Lena, we fought hard, recklessly even", Johnny said, interrupting the flow of her thoughts. "I butted him in the stomach but we were too close to the ravine. He lost his footing and fell backward. I tried... I tried to grab his hand, Lena, I tried... but I was too late. So, yes, it is my fault he died but I never intended to kill him. Dios, I would even have given my life for him."
And Magdalena had believed him, without a doubt. All of a sudden, the hatred that had kept her going on with her life all those years left... and in its place, a deep feeling of disgust toward her own brother surfaced. She had always feared his illegal activities would lead her husband to an early grave. And it had proven true. The real person who was to blame for Santiago's premature death was her very own brother, Jose Eduardo Lopez. Still shocked, she had left the cell in tears, and had gone back upstairs, followed closely by her brother.
"And why are you telling me all of this now?"
"Because something needs to be done, Padre. We can't let my brother kill Juanito. We can't. Santiago wouldn't have wanted that. He loved the boy. If Juanito hadn't disappeared after Maria's death, we would even have adopted him, mixed-blood or not. We both loved him... and his mother. We would never have left him to fend for himself alone."
"But, there's nothing I can do. I'm only a poor padre in a small mission and I have no power to stop your brother."
"But, you know people who can help, who are powerful enough."
Padre Garcia shook his head again. What Magdalena was asking was near to impossible. Although what she was saying was true, it was also true that the vice-governor, his own brother, would be hard to reach. Time was against them as his brother was in Arizpe, and he failed to see how he could send a message there quickly enough to save Madrid. Besides, he had no idea how his brother would react to his request.
Like so many others, Padre Garcia had heard that the young pistolero had been executed by the rurales, under the command of Jose Eduardo Lopez. The people had mourned Madrid for many had considered him a hero. Then it was rumored that Madrid had been saved by an angel at the very last minute and had disappeared for a while. When he finally reappeared, the word was that the young man had turned bad. It was a known fact that he didn't hesitate to commit cold-blooded murder, killing innocent people, exercising violence against women and children.
But, Padre Garcia had always doubted that someone who had put his life on the line during the revolution, knowing that it had little chance of success and could end in his death, could suddenly turn his back on the very same people he'd helped in the past. And, although he wasn't fond of people who lived by the gun and generally put them all in the same basket, he couldn't see Madrid siding with bandidos and ruthless bullies. It didn't sound right... neither to him nor to the majority of the people who still revered the young man in private.
The peons weren't stupid and knew perfectly well nothing good would come of it if they openly defied Lopez, his men, or the powerful hacendados who were still ruling the country. So, whenever Lopez said 'Madrid did this' or 'Madrid did that', everyone acquiesced – him included – and nobody dared contradict the former captain. They had learned their lesson well and, so far, since Madrid's failed attempt to free them, those foolish enough to try rebelling had either been executed, murdered, or sent to the mines with no hope of being let free anytime soon.
"I'll try," he heard himself say. "I'll try, but I can't promise it will work."
"That's all I can ask of you, Padre, to try. Thank you."
(Nine days ago...)
Lopez was gritting his teeth. His dear sister, Magdalena, had flatly refused to have anything to do with his plans for executing Madrid and the part he wanted her to play.
How could he have failed to notice, years ago, how close she and Maria had grown? Of course, he'd always been aware that his former lover and Santiago had had an affair. It had bothered him at first, but Santiago had been a free man at the time. If he had already been engaged to his sister, he would have been a dead man. Nobody played his sister for a fool. Besides, Lopez had known that in short time Maria would tire of him. His Maria wasn't the type of woman to content herself with a man like Santiago. A man who, like himself years ago, neither held a high position nor had the wealth to satisfy her lust for beautiful things and the high life. It was well-known, at least in Álamos, their hometown, that her father intended to send her to Spain and marry her off to an aristocrat. The fortune he had made from his silver mines would buy for his daughter a Spanish title.
He cursed aloud and slapped his hand on his desk, sending a stack of paper onto the floor. It would have been different if Fate hadn't separated him from Maria, and if he had been able to meet her in Matamoros. He had been so disappointed when he had finally gotten there months later and found out, through one of Maria's friends, that she had had an affair with a gringo and had left with him, after she had gotten herself with child. Lopez had even managed to find out the name of the man... a certain Murdoch Lancer, a rich rancher from California.
Later on, he had met an aunt of Maria near their hometown, and had learned the gringo rancher had married Maria and that she had given him a son. That had been even harder to take. Particularly as his wife had only been able to produce girls or stillborn sons. All his life, he had envied the gringo who had stolen the heart of his beloved Maria. And then, when Maria had returned, his envy had turned into a fierce hatred for the man who had hurt the woman he had never stopped loving. He turned his hatred against the little blue-eyed boy, whose only "crime" was being the rancher's son. A boy who, on top of everything, bore such a resemblance to his beloved Maria that just looking at him hurt. Mierda! The boy could have been his, but he wasn't, and he reminded him too much of Maria's betrayal!
And now, Magdalena's refusal to play a part in his vengeance against the damned mestizo – the man who had ruthlessly murdered her husband – was too much. He realized he'd have to keep an eye on his sister. It might be suspicious on his part, but he wouldn't put it past her to try to help the accursed mestizo. Particularly after the way she had looked at him earlier, and how she had slapped his face before she had hurried outside, slamming the door of his office and leaving him alone with his fury. She was lucky she was his sister and that he loved her. Anyone else who'd dared do what she had would have been executed.
(Now...)
Johnny didn't have long to wait. Less than an hour after the guards and the servant left him alone in his cell, the door opened again. This time, he barely glanced at the two guards who came in.
"Move to the back, Mestizo," the first one ordered.
He wasn't inclined to obey but knew it would only lead to a beating should he argue. So, he got up and went to the far end of the cell.
The second guard approached and pushed him roughly against the wall while the first one grabbed his arms and pulled them above his head. It was only then that Johnny remembered the manacles and the chains fixed to the wall. He tried to disengage himself but too late, his wrists were now secured above his head and his ankles were restrained as well. He snickered. So much for obeying! He closed his eyes and waited, mentally preparing himself for the punches he was sure would come his way.
(Eight days ago...)
Again, Jeremy had only slept a few hours and had hit the road before dawn. A couple of hours after sunup, he wasn't sure whether or not he was heading in the right direction. He had the distinct feeling he had somehow taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way.
He continued on the same road for a little while, until he met a group of peasants, coming from the village he spotted in the distance. Their wagon was filled with vegetables and they were probably heading over to the market, in Sasabe – which meant that he was definitely on the wrong road.
"Hola," he said, approaching them. "Am I heading in the right direction for Sasabe?" he asked, indicating their village.
"No, Señor," the youngest of the party said. "You need to backtrack to where the main road splits and take the left path."
"Gracias. Can I trouble you some more?"
"Si, Señor. What can we do for you?"
"Have you seen a young man riding a dark horse and heading east recently?"
"Si, Señor. A young man on a dark horse stopped to help me repair the wheel of my wagon, yesterday, at the split. He then took the left road, the one you need to take to go to Sasabe."
"Muchas gracias," Jeremy said, as he turned his horse and headed back the way he came.
Once on the right road, he made it to Sasabe shortly before noon. By then, his stomach growled so fiercely that he stopped in one of the cantinas. As he stepped inside and ordered, he wondered if Johnny would have done the same, but somehow doubted it. His friend had, most probably, just ridden through without stopping, particularly if the town was as busy as it seemed to be today. There was an unusual amount of rurales and what he figured to be mercenaries hanging around and all looked as if they were waiting for something... or someone. The bad feeling in his gut returned abruptly.
Jeremy would have liked to have asked a few people about a lone horseman. It was one thing to ask peasants encountered on the road, but right here, it was rather risky. He decided to leave immediately once he finished eating. No sense bringing undue attention to himself.
He had no choice but to pass right in front of some of the mercenaries, though. He tried to be unobtrusive but knew they had noticed him. How could they not? It wasn't often that gringos traveled south of the border. He just hoped they wouldn't come after him – a confrontation was the last thing he needed.
He was well away from Sasabe when he saw a few men harassing an old peasant and a young woman. By the time he got near them, two of them were holding the old man and the rest were making bets about who would get the girl first. He cursed aloud. He knew he couldn't afford to get involved, but it was against his nature to let them have their way with the poor girl.
(Eight days ago...)
Val was pleased. They had covered a lot of ground without meeting any trouble. The more he hung out with Scott, the more he understood Johnny's love and esteem for the young man.
When Val had first met Scott, he hadn't been overly impressed. For him, the young Bostonian was only another Easterner who wanted to play at being a cowboy and would soon tire of the game and return home, back East. But as the weeks, the months and the years went by, he acquired a lot of respect for the man. Now he was glad Scott was with him for this rescue mission they had undertaken.
In a few more miles, they'd reach Sasabe and would be able to stop for a good meal before continuing over to Sonoyta. Val was anticipating meeting Lucinda. It should be interesting to see her reaction to Johnny's gringo brother. And, they needed to reunite with Jeremy fast because the more time they took to find Johnny, the less they'd have a chance to find him alive.
(Nine days ago...)
Murdoch stepped down from the stage with a grunt. His back would no doubt make him regret this trip but he needed to be closer to the action. He stretched his long legs and then arched his back to work the knots free. The pain he felt almost made him double over. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath and only then did he retrieve his saddlebags.
On his way to the hotel, he stopped to telegraph Cipriano and Teresa, to let them know he had arrived safely and would wait in Tucson, should they need to reach him.
He finally got to the small hotel that served as their "base of operation", as his older son would say. The thought made him smile but, soon, worries about his youngest resurfaced and the smile vanished.
Once in his room, Murdoch couldn't help feeling disappointed. He had hoped against all reason that Jeremy, Scott and Val would still be there. It was foolish because if that was the case, it could mean that Johnny was lost to them or that they'd have even less time to find him. Murdoch was sure that trouble – BIG trouble – had somehow found his son and that he was in dire need of being rescued. He shuddered. What if he was again a prisoner of the rurales? Could they still want to execute him for the part he'd played in the revolution?
Damn! He should have taken greater measures to avoid that risk. He should have written to some of his Mexican friends, asking them to intervene on his behalf with the governor and ask an official pardon for his son. Or better yet, he should have gone himself to Mexico, as soon as he had learned about his son's part in the revolution. He should have... but now, it might be too late.
TBC