Intervention by Margaret P.
(With thanks to my beta, Terri Derr)
Chapter Thirteen (Words: 3, 076)
After saying adios to Manuel and the rest of his troop Johnny felt a little lost, but Felicita lived up to her name, and when his time was up he headed for a taberna that Estrada had recommended. He found the sergeant and Manuel waiting for him.
"Capitán Flores gave me two passes." Manuel grinned. "He said no man should celebrate his birthday alone."
"Why didn't you tell us, amigo?"
Johnny shrugged and accepted the beer Estrada pushed towards him. His friend paid for his drinks with reales collected from the whole squad and presented him with what was left at the end of the evening before returning to camp.
Estrada even persuaded the tabernero to let Johnny sleep in the attic in exchange for working in the kitchen until the holidays were over. It meant Johnny had enough money to visit the lovely Felicita again on Navidad. He was her last customer for the night, and she allowed him to fall asleep in her bed.
"Wake up, Johnny. You must leave now or the señora will make you pay extra." Felicita's long black hair tickled his hand as he opened his eyes to the sight of her breasts hanging loose beneath a silk robe.
"You like it?" She hugged the robe to her and did a twirl. "It was a gift— from an officer. He will be a great man one day, and I will be his lady."
Johnny wondered if the officer was Tomás, but surely Felicita would have said; she must know who paid for his first visit. No, it wasn't likely; he couldn't see Tomás making a promise he would never keep.
Johnny made a grab for the girl—she couldn't be too much older than him—but she skittered away.
"It is already ten o'clock. I am going for my breakfast. Unless you can afford another hour, you must go. I will have new customers soon." She closed the door behind her.
Johnny heard bare feet on the floorboards and then the creak of timber and laughter as she descended the staircase with one of the other whores. Rolling over under the tangled sheets, he pulled his trousers towards him from a nearby chair and checked the pockets. Nope, not enough—not if he wanted money left over for the journey north. Sighing, he got up and washed in the basin by the window. The water was warm from sitting in the sun, luxury compared to the cold streams he was used to.
Borrowing Felicita's comb, he tried to tidy his hair. Best look halfway respectable for this Señor Mendoza. His clothes weren't going to impress him. Hopefully, the Rurales in El Paso del Norte hadn't given away his old things. They shouldn't have, but he wouldn't put it past them. All he had at the moment were the trousers and heavy boots that were part of his army uniform and a shirt, poncho and sombrero from the company's supply of peasant clothing.
"Sure hope Mendoza ain't expecting a snappy dresser."
A tabby cat sunning itself on the window sill blinked; then it opened its mouth and yawned. Yeah, well, that was probably about right; since Mama died, no one and nothing except him cared what he wore.
Johnny dressed and headed downstairs, tipping his hat to the señora at the bottom. "Adios and gracias." He gave her a cheeky grin and nipped out the front door before she could scold or ask for more money.
Strolling back to the taberna in the next street, he scrounged breakfast and set out to locate Señor Mendoza. The address on the now crumpled piece of paper was easy to read, but he wasn't a hundred percent sure what the rest said. The time twelve o'clock was mentioned so he figured that was when he was expected. Tomás had hired him on as a private guard to escort this big bug to El Paso del Norte, and the destination was all that really mattered. He'd find out the details soon enough.
"Excuse me, señorita. I'm looking for la calle del jardín sagrado."
The flower seller pointed towards a tower he could see over the roof tops. "That street runs off the other side of the church square."
He found the house five minutes later. Its whitewashed walls and wrought iron gate faced a beautiful public garden with a fountain and a statue of the Holy Mother at its centre. Señor Mendoza was not short an escudo or two.
Pulling the rope attached to a brass bell on the wall, Johnny waited until a well-groomed manservant came to let him in.
"I'm here to see Señor Mendoza."
The servant looked Johnny up and down. "Your name?"
"Madrid. Johnny Madrid."
"You are expected." The servant wrinkled his nose as if obliged to pick up something nasty from the gutter, but he let Johnny in and locked the gate behind him. "Follow me."
Cabrón. Johnny glared into the back of the man's head.
Crossing the paved courtyard, they entered the coolness of a spacious reception room, ceramic pots with exotic plants guarding the corners. Tapestries, mirrors and paintings covered the walls, and a huge candle-filled chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. Johnny gazed around him, stepping onto a carpet rug so plush the pile topped the soles of his boots. He sidestepped quickly off it again, nearly bumping into a marquetry table.
"Don't touch."
Johnny withdrew his hand. The rearing bronze horse beside him reminded him of a wild stallion; he could almost imagine it leaping from the table and galloping to freedom. "What does Señor Mendoza do?"
"He is a merchant. He imports fine goods from all over the world. Wait here." The servant disappeared through an archway at the other end of the room, and Johnny waited, keeping his hands in his pockets and his feet on the terracotta tiles.
"You're late." A middle-aged businessman strode through the archway, his beard and moustache trimmed and oiled. "Capitán Flores assured me you would be here before noon."
"I had trouble finding the street, señor." Johnny held his hat respectfully in front of him, trying to look apologetic. It couldn't be much after midday; the church bells had rung as he crossed the square.
"You look too young to be a pistolero. Where's your gun?"
Okay, so Tomás had told the merchant who he was. Johnny hadn't been sure. He lifted his poncho slightly so that Mendoza could see his revolver, but not the ammunition belt he wore across his chest. He had hardly any bullets left.
"Is that all?" Señor Mendoza eyed Johnny and the LeMat without enthusiasm.
"I was told you would supply a rifle and any other weapons and ammunition needed." Employers often did, but Johnny was pretty sure Tomás' note didn't mention firearms at all. "I know how to use them, señor."
"So el capitán said." Mendoza drew on the fat cigar he held between his fingers and studied his would-be hired gun.
Damn it, Johnny needed this job, but he was getting tired of being looked at like shit; he'd had enough of that with Lopez. Without even thinking, he slouched into his gunfighter pose and stared back.
Mendoza broke eye contact. "I suppose you'll have to do. Go to the stables and tell the coachman to bring the carriage around to the front entrance. I'll meet you there." The merchant hurried away, calling for his wife and issuing orders to unseen servants.
Johnny went out the way he came in. He found the stables without too much difficulty, and introduced himself to Julio, the coachman. Within ten minutes they were waiting outside as ordered, and Johnny was examining the firearms: a carbine rifle, a double-barrelled shotgun and an old Colt. He had loaded all three by the time Señor Mendoza appeared with his lacy butter-ball wife. The servants and Julio packed the luggage into the racks on the roof and at the back, tying down the canvas covers securely, and then they were off.
The coach travelled north for five days, crossing into Sonora, and then east to the city of Chihuahua. There was no real trouble. Occasionally, when they stopped, some saddle tramps would pay the carriage more attention than Johnny liked, but he'd casually show the LeMat on his belt and pretend to check the loading of the shot gun. Usually they moved on.
The Mendozas were going to visit relatives at one of the haciendas near El Paso del Norte. Señor Mendoza planned a little business while he was in the area, but from what Johnny overheard, the main reason for the visit was so that Señora Mendoza could show off her fine clothes and jewellery to her sister-in-law.
One morning as they were preparing to leave he had a quiet word with his employer. "Señor, I don't mean no disrespect, but hiding the señora's jewellery box in a carpet bag is no good if she is going to talk about it in front of folks. And maybe she shouldn't wear the good stuff while we're travelling." He checked over his shoulder. There were a couple of fellas he didn't like the look of a few doors down. "Don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention."
Señor Mendoza puffed importantly on his cigar, but he followed Johnny's gaze. "I'll see what I can do."
He went back into the hotel lobby and drew his wife aside. Ear bobs dangling and a real fancy gold and pearl locket resting amongst the lace, the señora glared through the open door. Straightening, Johnny touched his hat, and she turned abruptly away. Five minutes later she stalked past him minus the locket and boarded the carriage.
The stretch between Chihuahua and El Paso del Norte was always going to be the most dangerous leg of their journey. Johnny checked his weapons before they left the city of Chihuahua, even firing them to make absolutely sure they all worked. The state of Chihuahua was full of bandits. Mostly they stole cattle, but they would not ignore a stagecoach or private carriage if they thought there was a prize worth having.
"You'd be wise to hire extra gunmen, señor."
"Capitán Flores assured me you could handle it."
"Maybe I can, but maybe I wouldn't have to if there were more men. Just the driver and me will look like easy pickings."
But Mendoza was not willing to part with more cash. They hadn't been harassed so far, and he rejected the idea that the rest of the trip would be any different.
"Pendejo. Does he have to rub noses with danger to see it?" Johnny grouched to Julio as they headed north.
"I think Señor Mendoza sees your years and not your wisdom, amigo."
Johnny frowned. Even though Mendoza probably had no notion of him only being sixteen, the dark line Johnny was cultivating over his top lip wasn't doing its job; he still didn't look more than eighteen at most.
Mendoza's self-satisfaction and Johnny's anxiety grew as the first three days went without a hitch. Most evenings they made camp, setting up a tent for the Mendozas as there was no better accommodation on offer. Johnny and Julio slept outside by the fire, taking turns to keep guard. They saw virtually no one on the road, even though they passed through a few small settlements. For Johnny the uneventful journey was just too good to be true.
On the fourth and final day, when they hoped to reach El Paso del Norte by evening, he spotted the skeleton of a horse. Several wagon horses had died on his way south with the army, and he had an idea this was what was left of one of them. He squinted along the road into the sun.
"If I remember right, the land ahead isn't as flat as it looks. There's a drop down to a dry creek bed coming up. If I was a bandit I'd block the road where it dips down so I couldn't be seen by a coach until it was right on top of me."
"What should I do?"
"Slow the carriage when we get to that clump of cactus. I think the creek is just past it. If you see riders, go like hell."
Johnny leaned around and banged on the side of the carriage. Mendoza stuck his head out and Johnny warned him of the possible danger. "Lower the curtains just in case."
"You worry too much, Madrid." The merchant disappeared back inside, leaving the leather curtains untouched.
Perhaps he was right, but Johnny had a gut feeling and it just wouldn't go away.
The coach reached the cacti and slowed. They could now see the road slope away in front of them. Johnny held his breath.
"Ya! Ya!" Julio lashed the reins hard and whipped the horses. "Ya!" The road dropped down between sandstone. There was no way to veer off into the desert, even if the axles could stand it, and in front of them were four horsemen with rifles pointed.
Johnny and the bandits fired at the same time. Bullets slammed into the timber of the box and cab, but the carriage ploughed through the line of horses, across the trickle of a steam, and up the rise on the other side. Johnny turned as soon as they were through the blockade to shoot back at the bandits. Regaining control of their horses, they gave chase within seconds.
"Ya!" Julio urged the horses on as Johnny loosed bullets over the roof of the coach. Down but not tied at the bottom, the curtains flapped through the windows, and more lead smashed into the polished veneer.
"They're gaining. Faster!" Johnny dropped the shotgun on the seat and began emptying the rifle. The bandit closest to them jerked and toppled from his saddle. The others kept coming.
Julio whipped the horses again. "Ya!" But it was no good; the animals were tiring.
Johnny switched to the Colt and fired as a bandit passed on the right. He missed both times. Damn! Swivelling around, he used the last bullets on the men coming up behind.
The man who had passed leaned out, trying to grab the bridle of the nearest horse.
"Don't argue with them." As lead zinged, Johnny tossed the empty Colt aside and dived left. His hat tumbled away behind them, but out of sight from Julio and the bandits, he clung to the ropes tying the luggage to the rack. His boots found purchase on a decorative timber trim below, and he pulled his body hard to the side of the carriage.
"Whoa." Julio drew the horses to a halt less than a minute later. Johnny kept as still as possible. He couldn't see what was going on, but he guessed Julio had his hands in the air.
"Throw down your weapons, muchacho." The bandit leader sounded almost directly opposite Johnny on the other side of the carriage. The empty guns hit the dirt one at a time, and someone gathered them up. "Now get down." The carriage creaked as Julio jumped from the box, stumbling on his gimpy leg. "Your friend put up a good fight, but now he is lying somewhere back there in the dust. It is time to obey, si?"
Julio didn't say anything.
"Out!" A different voice gave the order as the carriage door was yanked open. Johnny risked lifting a corner of the leather curtain with his finger as the Mendozas disembarked. Left arm straining to keep in place, Johnny saw the leader on horseback and one bandit on the ground.
Señora Mendoza sobbed into her handkerchief.
"Search them," the leader snarled. "Search the carriage."
Johnny let the leather flap back against the window frame, and as soon as a man scrambled inside and started rummaging he dropped to the ground.
"Take your hands off my wife." Finally Mendoza was showing some backbone. It sounded like he got hit for his gallantry, but his protest told Johnny the third bandit had dismounted. All three were now level with the coach.
One bandit was still ransacking the interior. Johnny flexed his rope burnt hands and took the LeMat from his belt. Creeping to the rear of the carriage, he edged his way carefully around.
"Look what I found." The bandit who had been searching tossed the carpet bag onto the ground and took the fancy ebony and enamel jewellery box to his leader. Half crouching and back pressed against the rear canvas, Johnny could just see them.
"No, no, you can't have those. They're mine."
"Shut up, you stupid woman." The third bandit backhanded the señora hard, and followed up by sticking a gun barrel in Señor Mendoza's face. The señor got the message and instead of fighting, knelt down to comfort his wife. The bandit spat on them and went to inspect the contents of the miniature cabinet with the others.
Flicking up the lever on the LeMat, Johnny waited until all eyes were on the jewels and then stepped clear. He fired the lower barrel into the huddle of bandits, peppering them and the horse with grapeshot. Rolling, he came up with the lever down again to shoot from the cylinder at the only man left standing.
Julio hobbled forward, grabbed the rifle of one injured bandit and used the butt to bash his head in.
Thrown from his horse, the leader of the group was wounded. Before he could recover and shoot, Johnny put a second bullet from the LeMat's revolving cylinder into his chest.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Almost.
The bandit leader's horse stood shivering, blood running down its withers and rump. Lead shot went everywhere with smooth-bore short barrels; that was the advantage and the trouble with using the LeMat's special feature. The horse stumbled one step forward. Ignoring necklaces and rings sparkling in the dust, Johnny went to its side. He patted the gelding's neck and made small shushing noises to calm it. There was no hope. Cupping its ear with his hand, he pressed the muzzle of his gun to its head, just out of the animal's line of sight. "I am sorry, muchacho." The shot was muffled, and the horse fell to the ground.