And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 8 – The Devil Gives Chase

They were almost back to camp when Bret heard a moan that he recognized. He pulled the horses up and whistled at Beau, who came riding back. "Tie your horse and take the reins, would ya? I think he's wakin' up."

Bret climbed into the back and sat next to Carmenita. He leaned over Bart and waited for an indication his brother was conscious. He soon got it, in the form of another low moan followed by a murmured question – "What happened?"

"Bart, can you hear me?" A long, quiet break.

Then, another muffled question. "Bret?"

"Yeah, Bart, it's me. Don't say anything, we've got company."

Bret looked at Carmenita and she responded. "Señor Bart?"

His eyes slowly opened and he whispered, "Carmenita?"

"Si, Señor. ¿Como se siente?"

"Awful." His eyes closed again, but he asked "Where are we?"

Bret answered him this time. "Almost back in camp. What hurts?"

The reply was murmured very quietly. "Everything."

"What's the worst? Anything broke?"

"Don't . . . . . think so. I fell?"

"Yeah," Bret told him. "There was an earthquake."

Bart's chuckle turned into a moan. "An earthquake?"

"Yeah. Then you fell." Bret couldn't help but smile, it sounded bizarre to him, too.

"And Carmenita?"

"Beau rode to Santa Pietro to buy a wagon. Our little barmaid saw him and insisted on coming back to take care of you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, that was my question, too. But that's what she said."

"Wait – a wagon?"

"What were we supposed to do – throw you over your horse?"

"You sure you didn't?"

"I'm sure." The wagon stopped moving as Beau pulled into camp. "Can you sit up?"

"Don't know. A little help?"

Bret grabbed Bart's hands and helped pull him into a sitting position. Bart groaned and reached for his ribs; he hurt everywhere, but his ribs felt like he'd been kicked again.

"Hurts?"

"Yeah, it hurts. Don't know if I can stand."

Doc rode up alongside the wagon. "Done sleeping?"

"For now," Bart answered.

"Nice little secret you boys kept," Doc said, indicating Carmenita.

Bart just smiled. With all the cuts, scratches and bruises on his face, even that hurt.

Beau tied the horses to the rope line and got down from the seat of the wagon. "Need some help here?" he asked Bart.

"Think so."

Bret moved back in front of his brother. "C'mon. Grab my hands. I'll get you up." He reached down and helped pull Bart to his feet; as he did so, Beau moved to the back of the wagon and opened it up. Bret stayed in front of his brother, just in case, and it was a good thing he did. Bart might have been on his feet, but he was unsteady and sore from head to foot. He tried to take a step and faltered, as he attempted another his knees buckled and he plunged forward. Bret had anticipated just that and caught him before he could fall. "Steady there, son," Bret told him, and between him, Beau and Carmenita they got him shakily down on the ground.

Bart grabbed Bret's arms and held on. "I gotta . . . . Bret, the world's spinnin'. Gotta lie down." With Bret on one side and Beau on the other, they walked him cautiously to the makeshift bed Carmenita had hastily assembled and helped him down. Once prone he closed his eyes and Carmenita started asking him questions in Spanish. She sat with Bart and took the canteen of water that Beau provided, wetting the handkerchief he gave her and laying it across Bart's forehead. "Gracias, Carmenita," he murmured, and the men left Bart temporarily in her hands. Beau started a new fire and Bret made a pot of coffee, while Doc leaned against a boulder and took a drink from his flask.

"We haven't talked about. . . . . . Bart's find," Doc started. "That may be all we can recover, the way the well collapsed."

"Unless we want to spend another week digging," Beau added.

"With only two of us able to dig now?" Bret asked. "More like another month digging."

"Do we need to go back? Do you have any idea what those things are worth?" This came from Doc.

"Remember – one of them belongs to Rafael." Bret was determined to abide by the promise he'd made.

Doc shot Bret a look. "You would be an honorable s.o.b., wouldn't you?"

"After a fashion, Doc. But you already knew that."

A grunt from the gunslinger. "I must be delusional. I keep hoping I'll run across a Maverick with some common sense."

Beau finally spoke up. "We should go back just to see if we can get to anything else."

"Agreed. Doc?"

"Why not? Sure won't hurt any plans I've got."

"Tonight."

XXXXXXXX

"Carmenita, permítanme que les lleve a su casa. Estoy bien." Bart wasn't very convincing, telling Carmenita while lying down with his eyes closed. Every time he tried to sit up the world went sideways; best to just lay there with eyes shut for the time being.

Carmenita's answer was succinct. "No." She could tell he wasn't fine. He was pale and sweaty, and his breathing was erratic, at best. Twice she'd gotten too close to his chest and when she brushed up against him he winced; whatever 'accident' had reduced him to this condition was far from minor. "Descansar y dormer, Señor Bart. No estoy dejando."

He sighed and it hurt. He remembered the rumble that started in the earth below him, then being flung like a rag doll across the well, dropping from near the top to the bottom, then – nothing. During his descent he'd been bounced off the hard-packed dirt walls again and again, until practically every inch of his body was bruised and battered, worked over as only Mother Nature posing as a thug could manage.

He was grateful for the ministrations of the lovely barmaid, but the last thing this group needed was one more person that knew about the treasure they'd finally unearthed. There were already too many – 'Bret, Beau, Doc, me, and the devil makes five,' he thought. He had no doubt that the devil was indeed part of the group.

The next time he was awake was late afternoon. Every part of his body that hadn't hurt when he fell asleep hurt now. He opened his eyes cautiously and was pleased to find that the world no longer slid sideways. Carmenita wasn't sitting next to him and he didn't hear her voice; maybe someone had taken her back to Santa Pietro. When he finally tried to sit up it was painful but not unsettling, and he soon located the barmaid sitting next to the fire talking quietly to Doc, of all people. Bart cleared his throat and both of them turned towards the sound; as soon as Carmenita saw him she jumped to her feet and hurried over. Doc tipped his hat, smiled and went back to his flask.

"Señor Bart, ¿se siente mejor?"

"Si, Carmenita. Where are Bret and Beau?"

She shrugged. Maybe they hadn't told her. He looked back to the fire. "Doc? Where'd the boys go?"

Doc answered lazily "Hunting."

That still left a question in Bart's mind. Food or Banditos? Or maybe something else? It would be twilight before long, if they were going back to the well tonight, they'd have to return to camp soon. Carmenita reached out a hand to feel Bart's forehead; this time his temperature seemed entirely reasonable. He flinched when she touched him; even his forehead was sore.

The sound of approaching riders made Bart turn just in time to see Bret and Beau coming over the ridge, riding like the hounds of hell were after them. Three Banditos had given chase and were using the Mavericks as target practice. Both were running for their lives, without having time to draw their own weapons and return fire. Bart struggled to his feet and forced himself to run for his horse and rifle. Doc was already up and taking aim at the first rider in the pursuit group. He fired and missed while Bart aimed and shot, taking down the second of the three outlaws. Doc shot again and the first man fell. The third, seeing his two compatriots down, slowed his mount and headed back in the direction he'd come from.

The Mavericks rode into camp, and even from that distance Bart could see the bloodstain on Beau's sleeve. He replaced the rifle in its scabbard on the saddle and sagged back against his horse, grabbing for his ribs and feeling grateful to the horse for supporting his weight. Carmenita ran to Beau as he climbed down from his mount and began examining the gunshot wound. Bret tipped his hat to Doc, who went right back to drinking.

"You hit?" Bart asked his older brother.

"Nope," came the answer. "Thanks for the save." Then he saw the look on his brother's face and hurried over to help Bart remain upright as the horse shifted its weight and caused him to lose his balance.

"What was that all about?" Bart questioned as he tried to regain his equilibrium. He was no longer dizzy, but his body was so badly beaten up from the drop down the well that he was having trouble standing. Bret helped him over to the fire, near Doc, as he explained.

"We were headed out to the well when they came outta nowhere, riding like their life depended on it. When they got close enough, they started shootin'. Don't know why. We turned tail and ran. They caught Beau in the arm and just missed me. If you hadn't been here . . . . . . "

"Sorry," Doc said. "Shoulda hit the guy the first time. I had a long talk with my Colt about missing the shot."

Beau, with a freshly bandaged arm courtesy of Carmenita, joined the group. "I think we better get Carmenita back to Santa Pietro and get out of here. They must know we found something and they want to know what it is."

"I agree with Beau," Doc added. "They were after you for a reason. Most likely they found . . . . . where we were."

"I want to take one more look," Bart interrupted.

"It's too dangerous now. Beau's right, we need to get out of here."

"Then I'll go alone."

Bret sighed. When was the last time someone had called Bart stubborn and he'd laughed at them? They had no idea. "Alright, but we break camp first. Doc and Beau can take Carmenita back to Santa Pietro, we can meet them there. Then back to Nuevo Laredo and across the border. Agreed?"

Three heads nodded. Bret breathed a sigh of relief.

¿Como se siente? – How do you feel?

Permítanme que les lleve a su casa. Estoy bien. – Let them take you home. I'm fine.

Descansar y dormer – Rest and sleep

No estoy dejando – I am not leaving

¿Se siente mejor? – Do you feel better?