The Wild Bunch Page 10

  Mapache was suddenly aware of what they meant to do. He came to his feet with a roar, pulled his gun.

  Pike had expected an argument. He was ready. He held Angel erect, waited until Mapache reached him.

  He said, “A favor, General—we need him. We’re short men as it is.”

  Mapache was waving his gun.

  “I’ll give you someone else. Someone much better—”

  He cooled down visibly as Pike stood his ground. It was a showdown, a test of wills that Pike knew he had to win if he wanted to remain leader of his bunch. He widened his smile.

  “I appreciate your offer but your job needs a man who’s used to me. And I need a crew that knows how to work together.”

  Not for years had Mapache been crossed so directly. He was surprised. Pike followed up his advantage.

  “It’s below your dignity, General, to get into an uproar over a whore. There are plenty of those. Every girl in Mexico is panting to spread herself for Mapache. It’s not fitting to a man like you to make one of them so important.”

  Mapache wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at Pike. At last the general’s thick lips quirked.

  “You’re right, take the dog—he is worthless to me here. Take him—and use him up.” He laughed. “Remember I said—use him up. Finish him.”

  “Gracias.”

  Pike gripped Angel’s elbow and with Dutch on the other side threaded his way through the crowded room and out to the street.

  In the biting sunlight Dutch blinked and blew out his breath.

  “I thought our number was up sure. It’s a wonder the bastard didn’t order out the firing squad.”

  Pike said, “Shut up and keep walking. Let’s go get that bath.”

  They found the steam hut, an adobe hive some twenty-five feet across. An ancient woman squatted beside the door. Pike gave her a silver coin and she opened the door, going in ahead of them.

  Wooden benches ran around the interior. A small oven in the center was mounded over with rocks. The place was hot and filled with smoke. Buckets of water sat in a row under the benches.

  They lowered Angel to a bench as Sykes followed them in, his arms full of tequila bottles. He lined them up on the bench and helped Dutch support Angel while Pike stripped him, dipped the bloody shirt into a bucket, wiped at the bruised, swollen face. Angel screamed at the touch but Pike kept at it, smeared the worst of the filth away.

  The stone mound hissed and a cloud of steam rolled up as the woman threw another bucket of water over it. She gathered up Angel’s clothes and plucked at the others’ shirts.

  She bobbed her head, saying in bad English, “Give. I clean. I dry.”

  “Okay, madre, you got a deal.”

  Pike patted the stooped shoulder, braced Angel against the wall and peeled down to his hide in a race with Dutch and Sykes while she watched impersonally. She left with the clothes.

  It was hard to breathe in the heat and steam. The only ventilation in the hut was a small hole in the ceiling, but the penetrating cloud felt good.

  Pike’s knotted muscles loosened. He had not known how tight they were. The pain of the old leg wound eased. They sat on the benches, feeling the sweat burst out, cleansing themselves as they had not been able to for months.

  Pike sighed.

  “Some day I’m going to build one of these things and live in it.”

  Dutch said, “I don’t see how you stand it. I feel like a lobster.”

  Pike laughed. Then he had a glimpse of Angel through the rising steam and the laugh died.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t let the general gut you. You sure asked for it.”

  Angel rolled his head against the wall.

  “I’m not sorry. You should have left me time to shoot him too.”

  “And get all of us killed? Fine. Besides, with him dead we wouldn’t be getting ten thousand dollars for taking those guns off the army.”

  Angel lurched forward, caught himself by the edge of the bench. His voice was savage.

  “I’m not going to steal any guns for that devil.”

  Sykes said from the far side, “I didn’t see any tears running down your face when we rode out of San Rafael.”

  Angrily Angel swung to him. “Those were not my people. Nor yours, old man. Can’t you understand the difference? I care about my people, my village—Mexico.”

  Pike wanted it stopped. He chose an effective way. He reached under the bench for a water bucket, dousing all three men in turn. The water hit Angel in the face. He gagged, strangled. Pike reached for another bucket, sloshed half of it over the stones and slowly poured a stream over his own head.

  The growing quarrel was broken.

  Dutch chuckled again, took up one of Sykes’ bottles, pulled on it deeply and passed it around. Sykes took it to Angel.

  “Boy, you’d better understand. When you ride the trail with us your village and your women don’t count. If they do—you just don’t go along.”

  “Then I don’t go along.”

  Dutch took the bottle from him.

  “One load of guns won’t change things. Mapache’ll go right on raiding whether he gets them or not. Quit moping over your village and think about all the money you’re going to get.”

  Pike put in, “You can take your people a large bag of gold.”

  The heat and liquor were making them all drunk. Dutch wagged his head solemnly.

  “A small bag.”

  Pike threw his arms wide, arguing, “You can move them . . . take them a thousand miles away and buy them a ranch . . . two . . . three ranches.”

  “A small ranch,” Dutch insisted. “One very small ranch.”

  Angel’s voice was stubborn.

  “They would never leave. They’re on their own land. Nobody can drive them from it.”

  Sykes upended the bottle over his open mouth, turning his head to catch the spilling liquor, then righting it, holding it high.

  “I’ll drink to that sentiment. And to love.” He sang a phrase: “But when all is said and done—I’ll drink first off to gold.”

  Dutch snagged the bottle from the old man’s hand and waved it.

  “Salud.”

  Angel worried Pike. The Mexican might prove to be no good to the bunch—might even become a danger. Still, he hated to write Angel off. He might have to, though. Angel was still being contentious, walking with a lion crouch around the hut, appealing to each of them.

  “Would you give a gun to somebody to go kill your mother? Your brother? Your whole family?”

  Dutch waved the bottle near Pike and he grabbed it, caught Angel’s slippery arm and shoved the neck into the hand.

  “Forget it. Ten thousand dollars cuts a lot of family ties.”

  “Not so, Mr. Bishop. You gringos are no different from me. I’ve watched how Lyle takes care of his brother.” He emptied the bottle and shattered it against the rocks. “My people don’t have guns to keep Mapache off their backs. With guns they could fight back. If I could take guns to my village I would go with you. But for just gold—no.”

  They fell silent. Sykes hauled another bucket from under the bench, splashed most of it over himself, drank a little, made a face, clowning it, then dumped two bottles of tequila into what little water remained, sloshed it around, drank again and offered it to Angel.

  Dutch was picking at his navel, muttering in a dire tone, “All we’d need would be for Mapache to find out we’d armed one of them villages—”

  Sykes suddenly cackled, “Let the bastard find out. Pike, you know as well as I do there ain’t no way of collecting from Mapache except off a lot of dead bodies. Mostly ours. That’s the way he thinks.”

  Pike pondered this with owlish gravity, nodding sagely, but Angel did not mean to be put aside.

  He insisted to the group at large, “I would take guns—and if Mapache found out you could say I stole them from you.”

  Dutch was the first to waver.

  “How many cases did Zamorra say wer
e in that shipment?”

  “Sixteen,” said Sykes.

  Dutch waved a profligate hand and shouted, “So give him one—” and reached for the bucket.

  Pike reasoned it through point by point and finally decided.

  “All right. You can have one case of rifles, one of ammo. But you got to give up your share in the gold.”

  Dutch added: “You’ll also have to show up with us when we make delivery.”

  “I will.”

  Angel nodded vigorously.

  Pike told him softly, “I know you will, boy. I know you will.”

  The opening of the door set the steam moving in a sluggish mass. Tector and Lyle shoved two girls in ahead of them. The four were drunker than the naked bathers. Pike glared at them sourly.

  “Where have you been?”

  Lyle leaned for support on the bare brown shoulder of the girl before him, leering happily.

  “You wouldn’t believe where we been, ol’ partner.”

  “I’d believe almost anything about you,” Pike said.

  “We been in a bodega, that’s what.”

  Sykes wrinkled his brow, arching one eyebrow sardonically and Lyle took a stumbling step toward him.

  “A wine cellar, yes sir.” He swayed back, orating pompously, proud of his discovery and his skin full of wine. “Built by the Spanish dons three whole hundred years ago, and some of them casks have been there ever since.”

  Dutch looked him over with glum envy, sniffing, “I bet they ain’t there now.”

  Lyle, trying to focus his eyes and keep his teetering balance, said thickly, “You know something? You just might be right. And them casks are sure well made. I tried to beat one in with a maddox and it just bounced off.”

  Tector was shaking with laughter, pointing at his brother in vast admiration.

  “So he pulled his gun and shot two holes in the damn barrel. Man, we took a bath in that stuff.”

  “You look it.”

  Lyle was not offended. His mind veered to another subject. He drew himself up with dignity, smirking down at the girl who held him now, her arm around his waist.

  “Partners, lookee here. I want you to meet my fiancée.”

  “Your what?” Pike asked.

  Tector was grinning, tears flooding his eyes, purring over the pair.

  “They just got engaged. Ain’t she beautiful?”

  The lady blushed and lowered the gaze that had been roving brightly over the steaming figures around the hut. A moment passed. The solemnity of the occasion was presently digested. Everyone stood up and gravely made her a slightly unsteady bow.

  Pike came forward and took her hand. He bowed again over it.

  “Pleasure, ma’am.”

  Angel looked on her with the eyes of a people who approve of love wherever it is found and saluted her with a kiss blown from his fingertips.

  “Tanto gusto, señorita.”

  Dutch, much amused, added to Angel’s wish with: “Mucho gusto. Mucho.”

  Sykes shook his head in quiet wonder.

  “Son of a bitch.” He said it so low that it was not overheard, then raised his voice in a high caw. “Trot them on in, boys. I’m hell on packing mules but I’m a delight with a pretty girl.”

  Dutch and Pike caught each other’s eyes and suddenly exploded, laughing so hard they nearly fell down, and just before the Gorches could take offense Pike lifted the tequila bucket in both hands, toasting the lovers.

  “To your health. May it last a long time.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Wild Bunch celebrated for three days. They also repaired gear and outfitted. Then they rode north. They rode slowly, paced to accommodate a large wagon loaded with empty barrels. Sykes, on the high seat, drove the team that pulled it.

  They took the long route around the mountains. The trail wound through rough foothills and a deep arroyo, whose high walls trapped the desert heat, bounced it from side to side and up from the soft sand bottom.

  Dutch and Pike led the caravan, riding ahead of the wagon. The others walked their horses behind it, eating dust. Twenty miles out, his pores streaming as profusely as they had in the steam hut, Pike pulled out of the track.

  “I’ve got to stop for a few minutes, Dutch. This leg is giving me hell today.”

  Dutch looked at him searchingly, noted the pallor under the deep tan, got down beside him and wordlessly helped him out of the saddle, eased him to the ground in the shade of the rock wall.

  “Go on,” he called to Sykes. “We’ll catch up.” He sat down at Pike’s side, hiding his concern, saying with musing curiosity, “You never did tell me how you got that bullet in your leg.”

  The silence ran for a while. Pike lay on his back, his head on a rock.

  Finally he said, “Get me a drink.”

  “On the wagon. Back in a minute.”

  Dutch mounted again, rode up the trail and got a bottle from Sykes. When he returned he thought Pike had dropped off to sleep and came on quietly. But Pike stuck out an arm without opening his eyes and Dutch put the bottle into the hand.

  Pike took a long pull, gave Dutch the bottle and wiped his mouth, his lips easing up at the corners.

  “You know, Dutch, a man has to make a fool of himself once.” He inched himself up, raised his knees and rested his arms on them, his hands knotting between them. His voice suddenly carried a sound of wonder. “I met a woman I wanted to marry.”

  Dutch took the bottle away from his mouth as if it were hot. He had never thought of Pike as the marrying type.

  “Who was she?”

  “Name was Aurora. She lived in Juarez. Good-looking girl. The best.” His smile widened, stretched by memory. “Used to go see her every time I got to town. Had a temper too. Raised hell if I was late.”

  Dutch sampled the bottle, surreptitiously he thought, but Pike’s hand reached out again. Pike drank, snugged the bottle into a nest of sand and lay back. He folded his hands behind his neck and talked on.

  “I came in this night, see—I was feeling good. I’d gotten a snootful at the bar and bought a lot of groceries. She was waiting in the kitchen. She looked beautiful—and mad.” He grunted a short laugh. “I stopped just inside the door, made her a nice little bow like a gentleman should. I took off my hat and told her, Buenas noches, mi amor.”

  Pike slid his eyes sidelong to Dutch. His cheek quirked. “She didn’t say a word. She just swung and swatted me across the face. Wham. Brother, I can still feel it. The groceries scattered all over the floor. She knocked me back against the wall. If I hadn’t been drunk she would have killed me. She had a swing like the kick of a mule. Well . . . I just leaned where I was, staring at her, and says, What’s the matter, your husband due back? She says, No, never . . . you’re late . . . two days late . . .”

  Dutch was enjoying the scene.

  “Were you?”

  “Maybe. Hell, who knows what I’d promised her? I tried to apologize but she wasn’t having any—just stalked out on me. I should have gone after her but I was hungry. She wasn’t there to cook so I tried it, picked up the groceries and built a fire in the stove. I never heard her come back in the room. I wasn’t much of a cook then and I burned my hand on a hot pan and swore. I heard a giggle. She was sitting at the table watching me and she wasn’t mad any more. How can you figure a woman?” He did not wait for Dutch to answer. “She sits there and smiles at me and says I need help. But I was too proud. I said no and picked up another pan and damn, that was hotter than the first one, burned hell out of my fingers and I let go fast. It was full of hot soup and it landed on my foot.” He made a painful grimace and wriggled his buttocks deeper into the sand. “She jumped up and kissed me and got me a drink and got me a meal. And afterward—”

  Pike’s voice trailed off dreamily.

  “Well? Afterward?”

  Pike’s lips moved with a sensual softness, reliving the night.

  “We went in the bedroom. I watched while she took off her clothes and, believe me, I ne
ver saw another woman like her. She was beautiful all over. I picked her up in my arms and put her on the bed and we began to make love.

  “And then, just at the pitch, the door smashed open and there was this big Texan with a double-barreled shotgun. Aurora screamed and I tried to roll out of bed and reach my gun that was hanging in my belt on the back of a chair. This guy—his name was Luke—let go one barrel and killed my woman. I can still hear her screaming in my dreams. I kept going for my gun and he fired the other barrel, got me in the leg. Some of the pellets are still in there. I sprawled out on the floor, about bleeding to death and the bastard sat down on the bed and watched me.”

  “You were careless,” Dutch offered.

  “Sure I was careless. I knew she was married and I should have had the sense to kill him before. But he hadn’t been around for months. You shouldn’t ever get careless when you’re making love.” Pike rubbed at his leg, the smile gone from his lips and eyes. “He just sat on the edge of that bed and watched me crawl. I’ve never forgotten him. He should have reloaded and killed me then.”

  Dutch took another drink.

  “How’d you kill him?”

  “Didn’t. I was in no shape to kill anybody. I dragged myself away like a dog. The only way I lived to get out of that room was begging. Did you ever beg, Dutch?”

  Dutch could think of no way to answer. Pike glared at the ground. His voice came from a tight throat as he talked on.

  “It took me five years to find his brother. He didn’t want to talk, tried to fight. But finally he told me where Luke had run to. Luke was gone when I got there. There hasn’t been a day or an hour when I haven’t thought about finding Luke. He didn’t want that woman—he was just wanting to kill somebody. Well, he killed her, not me. And some day I’ll see him dead for it.”

  They sat silent a little longer. At last Pike jackknifed to his feet. He slapped the sand from his rump with his hat.