The Wild Bunch Page 12

  Some soldiers sent futile shots toward Pike and Angel who still lingered on the gully rim. One or two forced their horses into the water, intent on going after the men on the height but McHale called them back.

  “Halt, damn it. Come back here. That’s Mexico. We can’t go over there.”

  One soldier shouted, “Hey, the Pinkertons are getting away.”

  McHale swung to look downstream. Every bounty hunter not too badly hurt was angling across, swimming with the current toward the Mexican shore.

  McHale raised his rifle, then lowered it slowly.

  “To hell with it,” he said. “We’ll get them when they come back north of the line.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thornton’s survivors made a sorry camp before sunset in the brush on the far side of the Mexican ridge.

  They were half drowned. Some had superficial wounds. All were dulled by shock. Too much had happened too fast. Some of their numbers had floated away, face down in the red eddies of the river. The badly wounded were McHale’s prisoners and no one had any urge to go after them.

  They had set a guard and built a fire, a huge blaze of crackling mesquite in a cleared space, and strung soaked boots and dripping pieces of clothing around it. T.C. Nash stomped barefoot back and forth, trying to drive circulation back into his numbed toes, drawling his main complaint.

  “Sure would like to get ahold of my fool horse. Took off as soon as he dumped me in the drink.”

  Coffer laughed with perverse amusement.

  “Some Mex kid is probably riding him home right now. You’re just lucky you didn’t drown when you went under.”

  “Hell.” Nash spat at the fire. “I can swim. My daddy taught me before I could walk.”

  Jess huddled naked close to the flames, bewilderment making his face comic.

  “I can swim too. But I just don’t see how I could have lost both my boots. Them boots was always hard to get on but that damn river just sucked them off clean as a whistle.”

  “Don’t forget that damn dynamite—it helped some.” Nash kept pumping his legs. “Enough force there to blow a man clear out from under his head. That sure was a mess—the Wild Bunch shooting at us from one side and them soldiers from the other. What was the matter with those crazy rooks? Did they think we was stealing the guns?”

  Coffer wagged his head in wonder.

  “Who knows what a soldier thinks? If they could think, they wouldn’t be down here. Anyway, what do we do now?”

  Ross said on bitter reflection, “The Wild Bunch was all set. They was there waiting for us.”

  “And they fixed us good. They got the shipment and they’ve stuck us here. We’ve got no horses to go after them and if we cross back them soldier boys will punch holes in us. How come Thornton couldn’t figure they’d grab the locomotive? He’s supposed to know Pike Bishop so well.”

  Jess interrupted with a squawk and jumped for the fire. His shirt, hanging on a pole, was smoldering. He snatched it away, flung it on the ground and danced on it.

  Nash heaved a sigh.

  “What happened to Thornton? Any of you see him?”

  Jess said, “I was right behind him when the bridge blowed. I saw him throwed in the water but I never did see him come up.”

  A longer silence ran on.

  Coffer finally offered: “Well, anyhow, he won’t have to go back to Yuma if he’s dead. I wish I had me something to eat.”

  “And drink.” Nash sounded wistful. “A man can stand a lot if he’s got a drink under his belt. We’ve got to decide to go somewhere. We can’t just sit here forever.”

  Coffer took time to throw more brush on the fire.

  He said, “You ask me—I say we oughta find some horses tomorrow and go after Bishop. He ain’t only worth money. I don’t like it that he’s made idiots of us twice now.”

  Ross snorted. “If that damn Harrigan had just let us knock them over when they first rode into San Rafael we’d have had the lot then and been done with it.”

  “Sure—and if Thornton had let us cross the line we might have caught them that same day. Now we ain’t got Harrigan and we ain’t got Thornton to stop us—and them pelts are still worth plenty of hard cash. Me, I’d like to take some of them back. If we can’t, at least we could maybe pick up something down here.”

  “I’m with that,” Nash nodded sharply. “Why do we go back at all? Why don’t we just rob every Mex we see?”

  Coffer sneered. “That all you know about this country? You step out of line down here and every Mex you see will be shooting your ass full of holes.”

  Nash grumbled, “Hell, I’m sure enough going to steal myself a horse.”

  “Steal us some grub. I’ve got the horses.”

  The voice from the shadows gathering around them spun them all toward it.

  Thornton stood at the edge of the clearing. He had waited there for minutes, listening. His men crowded forward with excited questions but he shook them off. He was tired and filled with a dull anger. He had ridden a long way to round up the panicked horses and he still felt the result of the explosion. His clothes were ripped. His face was gashed and he had twisted one knee. He limped toward the fire, towing the horses into the light on a picket line.

  Nash let out a happy yelp.

  “Hey, you got my horse.”

  Ross was looking him over as if he were an apparition.

  “I sure figured we’d never see you again. Seemed to me that dynamite must have blown you apart or them fool soldiers had shot you dead.”

  “Or that damn river had drowned you,” Jess grunted.

  “I’m hard to kill.” Thornton surrendered the lead rope to Nash and sank wearily onto a rock. He was silent for a moment. Then his anger exploded. “What in hell made you shoot at the soldiers?”

  Ross flung a hand in the direction of the river.

  “Them soldiers shot at us first. What was we to do—just stand there and play target? It’s lucky they were lousy shots. They couldn’t hit a barrel if they was inside it.”

  Thornton was not appeased.

  “I want to know who started it.”

  They were silent, sullen.

  Finally Coffer said, “Old Huey did. He fired first. I tried to stop him but the old fool wouldn’t listen.”

  Thornton knew that Coffer was lying.

  “Where is he?”

  “One of the Wild Bunch nailed him from over this side.”

  They found nothing else to say for a long while. They were still shaken but there was an easing among them now that Thornton had turned up. He was a natural leader and they sensed it. They did not like him but his presence restored a sense of cohesion to a group that had been recruited from a profession used to working independently.

  Thornton abruptly slapped his hands on his knees.

  “Well—has everybody still got his rifle?”

  That question insulted them all. These men lived by their guns. They would lose an arm before they would let go of a rifle.

  “All right. How about ammunition?”

  They checked their belts. Most of them were down to ten or twelve rounds.

  “It will have to do,” Thornton said. “But when we catch up with Pike’s bunch—make every shot count.”

  For a little bit surprise held them, then Coffer’s voice went up a note.

  “You mean we’re going after them?”

  “That’s right.” Thornton’s voice was tight. “Any objections?”

  “Hell no. But you wouldn’t let us go into Mexico before.”

  “We’re already in Mexico. And back across the line we’ve got the army waiting to jump down our necks. The only way we can square ourselves is to get those guns back. I don’t want to face a firing squad. Do you?”

  Jess’s voice whined, “I don’t mind going—but how the hell am I going to fight without boots?”

  “That’s your problem. Get your clothes on and let’s get started.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”


  They muttered but they dressed in the damp clothes, checked their rifles to be sure they were dry, sorted out their horses and swung up.

  They turned up the gully. Even in the growing dark the wagon tracks were easy to follow.

  • The wagon trundled down the rough, rutted road. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Pike and Angel had waited long on the ridge before they had ridden after the wagon but had been unable to know how many of Thornton’s men had survived. They could not be sure the soldiers had not risked crossing the line with their quarry so close ahead.

  There was heavy pressure on Pike’s back and a long, hard, tedious trip ahead to Agua Verde. And if there was no safety behind them there was little to the south. He had no illusions as to what he was up against in Mapache. He would have to look sharp and play his cards carefully to come out even with the Mexican general.

  He and Dutch rode in front, the Gorches behind them. Angel perched on the rifle cases, looking backward, watching for dust on either the road or the flanking hills. The sun had already sunk to touch the horizon.

  Five miles down the long, shelving grade Sykes whistled. Pike touched his gun, turned to see Sykes pointing at the off horse. The horse was limping badly.

  Pulling up, Pike started to lift out of the saddle, wincing at the pain that shot through his leg.

  Dutch said quickly, “Stay aboard. I’ll get it.”

  He dropped down, tossed his reins to Pike, went to the team and lifted the hoof the horse was holding off the ground. He found a sharp stone wedged into the shoe, tried to work it out with his fingers, then reached for his knife.

  The horse pranced, trying to pull the foot away. Dutch held it, swearing, following the horse in its backing and yawing, digging at the stone. When it was pried free a quarter crack was revealed in the hoof horn. Dutch let go of the leg, straightening in disgust and the horse stood on three legs.

  “Better take a look.”

  Pike swung down, examined the hoof. With a shoe bar it might hold but out here they had no way of making one.

  “Get him out of here.”

  Pike walked to the trailside and sat down, taking advantage of the halt to ease the leg that had pained him increasingly after the action at the train.

  Angel jumped down and between them he and Dutch got the horse out of the harness and slapped him away. He was of no use to them now.

  Pike was studying Lyle’s mount for a replacement. It was the huskiest of the lot. He swung an arm.

  “Get him in here, Lyle. You can ride the wagon.”

  Lyle, slack in his saddle, had found a bottle in his saddlebag, had it uptilted when Pike called. He tossed it to his brother, pushed the horse ahead and got down, stripped off his saddle and heaved it into the wagon. His walk showed that he was a little drunk. Pike said nothing while they changed the harness over, backed the animal in beside the tongue and fastened the traces to the single tree.

  But as Lyle stumbled perilously out from between the team Pike said, “You’d better dry out, boy. There’s no cause to celebrate yet.”

  Tector rode up, grinning.

  “With all those guns we’ve got, Pike?”

  “With a hell of a long way to go and a lot of people aching to take them away from us. With no gold in our pokes to pay for them.”

  Sykes called from the wagon seat, “Where are we supposed to meet Mapache?”

  “At Agua Verde. Maybe before.” Pike’s face did not relax. “But we’re not out of trouble even then and you know it. We can get our throats cut if we don’t watch every step. So let’s all take it easy and stay on guard.”

  Dutch said over his shoulder as he climbed back to his saddle, “Thornton and them railroad men—you think we’re shut of them?”

  Pike found a bleak, reluctant smile.

  “Last time we saw them they were riding four sticks of dynamite into the river.”

  Sykes spat.

  “Don’t count on them staying there. You know Deke. If he’s alive he’ll be along.”

  Pike looked at each of them separately, making a point.

  “Yeah. If he’s alive he’ll be along.”

  Tiredly he got up, walked to his horse. He had to use both hands to haul himself up.

  They all saw and for a long moment none of them moved. At another time they would have ragged him. Now Lyle took the bottle back from Tector, rode to Pike and silently offered it. Pike hesitated but he needed the drink. He took a deep one.

  Other hands reached for the bottle and the liquor passed around. The bottle ended back with Lyle. He upended it, found it empty, looked at it in disbelief and threw it away.

  “It will be a cold day in hell before I give you bastards my bottle again.”

  They laughed at him and after a moment of uncertainty he joined in and they moved out.

  The wagon creaked on through the sunset, the short afterglow, through the long night. Not until the sun came up did they stop for a quick, cold breakfast.

  Lyle started gathering brush for a fire, saying, “A man don’t feel right without some coffee.”

  Pike swore at him.

  “How far do you think your smoke would be seen? How far do you think this wind would take the smell?”

  Lyle looked sheepish, ate the cold food and meekly followed the wagon as they took up the trek again.

  The shelf took the trail down to a hard valley floor where the horses left no hoof marks. Even the wheels of the heavy wagon made no imprint.

  By noon they were halfway down its length. Here the valley made a bend around the shaggy arm on a hill that thrust out from the paralleling range. The bunch turned out of the road and climbed the rocky slope, Pike riding behind, dragging a broom of brush, sweeping out tracks.

  The hill was crowned with low growth. The far side dropped into a deep arroyo strewn with rock. At Pike’s direction Sykes drove down. They dismounted at the bottom, unhitched the team and tied the horses to the wagon. Pike and Dutch, taking a pair of army binoculars from his saddlebag, returned to the crest.

  They found a nest among the rocks that hid them from the valley but gave them a view back along the way they had come.

  Pike swore and slapped a hand over the glasses as Dutch raised them and a reflection glinted off the metal frames of the lenses. The flash could have been seen for a long way. Dutch solved the problem, fashioning two paper cones and fitting them over the metal. Then he stretched out on the ground, anchored his elbows and studied the distant trail.

  Pike lay beside him, drowsed as time ran on. Dutch’s quiet voice woke him.

  “Here they come.”

  The men were a long way off, mere black dots even through the glasses. They were not hurrying. Dutch watched them as if hypnotized.

  “Five. Just five of them. You suppose they’re all that lived?”

  “Maybe.”

  Dutch swung the glasses toward the head of the valley.

  “No sign of soldiers. Maybe they didn’t cross the river.”

  “Maybe.”

  The dots came closer, grew into horses and riders. A long while later Dutch grunted.

  “They passed the place where we turned off. Didn’t even look this way. They didn’t see anything.”

  Pike pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

  “Are they bluffing or did they really miss our turnoff?”

  “I’d say they missed it. Here, take the glasses. Is that Thornton riding in front?”

  Pike trained the binoculars on the far-off figure.

  “That’s Deke all right.”

  He kept the man in focus as he passed below them, riding on toward the bend of the valley.

  Pike was suspicious, not satisfied. Every instinct told him that Deke Thornton had not been fooled.

  He and Dutch climbed down to the arroyo again. Lyle and Tector were asleep in the shade under the wagon, Angel and Sykes in the lee of two big boulders. Pike prodded Angel awake.

  “I need some help.”

  Angel sat up, rubbing
his eyes.

  “See anything?”

  “Five of them,” Dutch answered. “I guess that’s all that’s left. I don’t figure five would try to jump us. I don’t think that kind likes bad odds.”

  “Depends on how hungry they are,” Pike warned. “Dutch, get yourself a bite to eat and then get back up top. Keep your eyes peeled for big hats. I’m going to start rigging the fireworks.”

  Dutch found cold meat and carried a hunk of it in his hand as he crawled back to the lookout nest.

  Pike was already telling Angel, “Get that case of explosives out of the wagon. It’s near the back.”

  The Mexican’s crawling over the cases woke Lyle and Tector. They rolled out.

  Lyle sounded puzzled.

  “What do you want with dynamite?”

  “Protection.” Pike’s smile was wry. “My guess is that Mapache will plan to collect the guns and not pay for them. He’ll kill us if we give him an argument. I figure it will change his mind if it looks like something could happen to this load.”

  Angel was wrestling with the heavy case, walking it to the edge of the tailgate. He eased it down to Pike and Pike eased it to the ground, pried off the top and dug in the sawdust for the yellow sticks, laying them out one at a time. Angel went back for a coil of baling wire and jumped off the wagon with it.

  “Now,” Pike told him, “bundle them up. Two sticks at a time. Put a cap between them.”

  Lyle watched Angel for a few minutes. Then he nudged his brother and together they clambered into the wagon.

  Pike continued to work with Angel at arming the dynamite bombs.

  Angel said softly, not looking up, “Tomorrow the men from my village will meet us.”

  Pike straightened angrily.

  “You told them our trail?”

  A faint smile flicked over Angel’s face.

  “No need to tell them. They know where we are.”

  “How could they know?”

  Angel put down a finished pair of sticks, spread a hand to sweep the range of hills.

  “There are many people in this country but they have learned to live without being seen. Any place where a farmer has a field, or a man has sheep in the mountains, or a boy watches a herd of goats—