And the Devil Makes Five
Chapter 9 – Banditos, Federales, and Gold, Oh MyIt didn't take long to break camp. Doc and Beau tied their horses to the back of the wagon; Beau let Doc take the reins and he sat in the back, so Carmenita could sit up front. The strongbox with the gold chalices remained under the seat, out of sight. Before she climbed up into the seat, Carmenita stood on tiptoe and kissed the man with the dancing eyes, and he kissed her back.
"Gracias, Señorita. Ser seguro." Bart helped her up into the wagon and Doc started for Santa Pietro. Bart mounted his horse, a lot more carefully than he had when he swung up bareback and joined Bret on the last trip to the well. His body ached with every step the horse took, but he wasn't about to say anything to his brother. He kept thinking about all the things they'd encountered on this 'treasure hunt' – Federales, a lifeless town, an abandoned well, golden goblets, an unexpected earthquake, a Mexican angel-of-mercy, and three different gangs of Banditos. And something told him it wasn't over.
He rode behind his brother so Bret wouldn't see the pain on his face when he flinched. He'd always liked watching his brother ride – so tall and straight in the saddle, not the way he'd ridden when they were kids, flinging himself on and off horseback with wild abandon. Now he rode more like Bret, understanding the dynamics of sitting on a horse for long hours at a time.
Without warning Bret's mount came to a dead stop, and a glance up ahead explained why the sudden halt. A long line of Federales was riding north of them, headed towards Nuevo Laredo. Their lines were sharp and precise and looked more like Army troops than Mexican police but the uniform said 'Policía Federal.' Bart wondered what they were doing all the way out here, in the middle of the Coahuila Desert. He was sure Bret was puzzling over the same question.
His brother turned to face him, twisting in the saddle. "Wonder what they've been up to." He watched the long police line for a few moments more and then swiveled back around to Bart. "Let's see where they go." The Federales kept riding, continuing northeast, now more toward Piedras Negras. Bart brought his horse up even with Bret's and the brothers watched the march continue away from them, with both of them breathing a sigh of relief when the procession finally rode out of sight. They continued their journey side by side, Bart doing his best to ignore the aches that came from bouncing off well walls.
They were soon at the dig site, and both were surprised to discover the area apparently undisturbed. Bart dismounted and approached the decimated well cautiously, almost expecting the earth to resume its violent shaking. Bret was right behind him and grabbed his shoulder as they reached the lip of the well. "You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," came the reply. "Don't really wanna go back down there. I just keep thinkin' there was somethin' underneath the chest." He looked down into the chaos they'd spent a week digging out. "Think it's worth a look?"
Bret's gaze followed his brother's. "Maybe. If I can get down there."
"You can't go down there, I have to," Bart was adamant about that fact.
"You? You almost got killed down there." The picture of Bart lying underneath all that dirt and broken adobe flashed through Bret's mind. There was no way in hell he was going to agree to Bart making another trip to the bottom. And then his brother changed his mind with the near perfect argument.
"And what happens if you get stuck down there and need help? I can't haul you back up here by myself. But you can get me up. C'mon, you know I'm right."
Bret didn't answer, just walked back to the supplies and got another rope. Bart tied it around his waist and sat on the edge of the well in the one spot where the entire wall had crumbled into nothing. Most of the ruptures and crevices that afforded them a foothold on previous trips down were still useable; the rope merely provided an extra measure of security. Bart took his time and worked his way down the well carefully; when he reached the bottom, he was fortunate to find the shovel he'd used previously.
"Take it easy down there," Bret offered, even though it was obvious that's just what Bart was doing.
"Thanks, Pappy," the younger brother responded. He spent the first few minutes removing the crumbled dirt from the spot where he'd found the chest; then he was finally able to start digging anew. That went slower than he would have liked due to the pain a thoroughly bruised body provided. A dozen shovels full of dirt later and Bart could feel the end of the shovel strike something.
This wasn't solid, the way the chest felt, and Bart finally put the tool down and dug with his hands. Slowly he pulled out a long gold chain, with a jewel-encrusted gold crucifix attached to the end. It was dirty and caked with mud, and appeared to have been dropped into the ground; whether deliberately or accidentally was impossible to determine. He brushed off as much debris as possible and held it up in the light for Bret to see. His brother let out a long whistle and then abruptly barked, "Bart, hide it and get up here. Somebody's comin'."
In his pocket it went, and he did his best to scramble back up the wall as quickly as possible, given the pain he was in and the help he needed. He crawled out carefully and was still on the ground trying to recover his equilibrium when the shooting started. Two unexpected banditos bearing down on them from the east, firing their pistols wildly as they came. Bart scrambled to his feet and Bret sprinted with him to the ruined shack, seeking what little shelter they could find. Bullets shrieked past and embedded themselves in the crumbling adobe, but the horsemen were riding too wildly to be accurate with their weapons. One of Bart's shots hit the lead rider, and he screamed in pain and grabbed at his leg.
Another bullet from one of their pistols took down the horse of the second bandit and he rolled off into the sand as the animal fell. The first rider circled back around and picked his compadre up, the two now riding double and heading rapidly back the way they'd come. Bret straightened his hat on his head and let out a long, deep breath. "Don't know where that came from."
Bart holstered his gun. "Don't care. Let's get out of here before they come back with friends."
"Yeah, time to go," was the answer he got.
They scrambled back to their horses and mounted, abandoning the effort to unearth more buried riches. Whatever else Rafael had managed to secret deep inside the earth would have to stay there until someone else found it. The Maverick brothers had enough of being shot at for one day.
XXXXXXXX
Beau tipped his chair back and his coffee cup up as he sat in the cantina and waited for his cousin's arrival. Doc was already halfway through the bottle of whiskey he'd started on but was in a relatively good mood – for Doc Holliday. Carmenita had taken over as barmaid and made sure that Beau had fresh coffee and Doc had a clean glass.
"How long have you known Cousin Bart?" Doc wasn't the most talkative soul in the world and Beau discovered the only way to keep him engaged in conversation was to pepper him with questions.
"Four or five years," Holliday answered as Carmenita filled his glass. "Since we were both wet behind the ears."
"Poker game?"
"Yeah – in Dodge. That was the first time we played. Then a few months later in Tombstone. He drove me crazy."
"Why, Doc?" Beau couldn't imagine Bart driving anyone crazy, much less Doc Holliday. Not as long as he was playing poker. Away from the tables – Bart was stubborn, opinionated, loyal, charming, wickedly funny and drew women like flies to honey.
"He was too damn good. No matter what I did, he countered. AND didn't cheat to try and beat me. Had the best stories I'd ever heard. That whole 'Pappy' business – hysterical."
"Doc, 'Pappy' is real. Course he's Uncle Beau to me. But no matter what Cousin Bart told you 'Pappy' said or did – it's all true. Uncle Beau is quite a character. If you're ever back in Louisiana, you ought to look him up."
"Dear God – no wonder they're both such a mess! What about you? You got a 'Pappy' of your own?"
Beau laughed at that one. "My father is 'Pappy's' younger brother. Nowhere near as flamboyant as Uncle Beau. Nor as much of a scoundrel. But a gambler, just the same. It seems to be the family profession."
"How'd you end up in England?" Doc lit another cigar and took another drink.
"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and won a medal for it. Uncle Beau banished me for 'conduct unbecoming a Maverick.' Like I'd done it deliberately. I'm still the white sheep of the family."
Doc almost spit out his drink, he laughed so hard. "Well, I will say one thing. You boys sure are a colorful bunch. Just not sure what color."
Beau grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I've been trying to live that down ever since."
"Why'd you get married? Doesn't seem like a real 'Maverick' thing to me." Doc was curious what drove a man, especially one with as rich a family history of non-committal as the Mavericks, to finally marry and settle down with one woman.
"I love her," came the swift reply. "Didn't want to spend one more day without her. Simple as that." They sat together for a time, Beau drinking coffee and Doc drinking whiskey. Finally Beau spoke again. "Bart was married, you know."
Doc nodded sagely. "He told me. It was a payoff for a debt."
"Yeah, it was. But he'd have stayed if she'd lived."
"And I'd still be pulling teeth regularly if I didn't have this damn cough. We all deal with the hand we're dealt. And then we move on or die." Doc laughed, finally, a signal that the subject was about to change. "Surprised you and the brothers are so close. You don't seem much like 'em." He laughed again. "You appear to be cursed with common sense. That's what I like about Bart. He may have it, but he likes to ignore it."
"Yep, sometimes you're right. But don't be fooled by that. You'll never find anybody more loyal to his friends and family."
Doc thought about some of the escapades he and Bart had gotten into. Beau was right about Bart's loyalty; he'd proven it more than once. Before Doc could say anything more, Bart walked through the front door of the cantina, followed closely by his brother. They sat at the table and Carmenita brought two more cups and a fresh pot of coffee. Both looked worn out.
"Find anything?" Doc asked
"Yeah, a couple more bandits and a whole slew of Federales," Bret told them.
"Federales? Way out here?"
"By the uh . . . . . site. Headed for Piedras Negras. Don't know where the banditos came from." Bart caught Carmenita's eye and smiled at her. She blushed.
"What about the outlaws?" Beau asked.
"They weren't movin' real fast the last time we saw 'em." Bret explained the incident with the two banditos. "Think we better head back to Nuevo Laredo."
"Are we taking the wagon?" Beau inquired.
"Naw, I'll see if Esteban will buy it back. Maybe trade for supplies. Carmenita, is there any place we can sleep tonight?" Bret rose from the table to go next door to see Esteban.
"Si, Señor Bret. Usted puede quedarse en mi casa. Mi familia no está aquí ahora."
Bart was the one who answered her. "Gracias, Carmenita."
Bret left to see Esteban. Doc shook his head. "Bart Maverick strikes again."
"What are you talkin' about, Doc?"
Doc inclined his head towards the bar. "You and Conchita. Carmenita. Whatever."
Bart shook his head. "Nope, Doc. Nothin' goin' on there."
Doc nodded wisely. "We'll see. We'll see who sleeps where tonight."
Bart shook his head again. "You're delusional, Doc. All I want is some sleep in a real bed. By myself."
Ser seguro – Be safe
Usted puede quedarse en mi casa – You can stay at my house.
Mi familia no está aquí ahor. – My family is not here right now.