The Wild Bunch Read online

  “If they ever got armed and led,” Pike said with his own brand of awe, “this country would go up in smoke.”

  The Indos were paying no attention to the outlaws. They were busy roping the two cases on the burro’s back. Angel made sure of the fuse, then jumped from the wagon and stood murmuring with Ignacio.

  Presently the white figures faded into the shadows as silently as they had come.

  Pike said, “Now let’s get some sleep. Sykes, you take the first guard.”

  Tector asked, “What’s the use putting out a guard when them Indos can sneak up without anybody’s hearing them?”

  Pike reminded him, “We’ve got plenty of enemies in these hills. Now I want to get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ve got to ride in and make a dicker with Mapache.”

  He spread his blanket under the wagon and wearily crawled into it.

  But sleep did not come readily. Tomorrow weighed on him. He had six men to pit against Mapache and a hell of a lot of soldiers no matter how slow witted they might be.

  He roused with first light, having barely dozed, ate unappetizing, cold tortillas, gave orders to Dutch and Lyle to take four cases of rifles and hide them along the road close to Agua Verde. Then he set out alone.

  He rode with care, his eyes searching every draw, every hill, watching for a trap Herrera might have set and knowing that Thornton was somewhere in the area. He did not believe for one minute that they had really thrown his old partner off the scent.

  He heard explosions as he neared Mapache’s headquarters.

  He pulled off the road into the brush, studying the land outside the gate, trying to locate guerrilla attackers. He could see no one. Then a skyrocket soared above the wall, burst in the air and showered down a cluster of bright colored balls.

  Pike thought that if he lived to be a thousand he would never comprehend the Mexican mind. Mapache needed arms. Mapache was threatened by Villa’s rebels. Yet he was celebrating with fireworks.

  Celebrating what?

  • The plaza was full of soldiers whooping it up over the noisy, flashing display. Mapache was the center of attention, ready to light another skyrocket when two soldiers dragged a resisting peon to him. One of the soldiers held a shotgun out toward Mapache and tried to salute with the same hand.

  The soldier said, “We caught him inside the gate with this gun. He’s from the mountain villages. We think he meant to kill you, Excellency.”

  Mapache glanced at the gun, did not trouble to look toward the captive. He shrugged.

  “So kill him.”

  He touched the light to the fuse and as the rocket swished up the soldiers threw the peon to the ground and shot him. Mapache’s eyes followed the arc of the rocket. He laughed gaily as it burst.

  He lowered his gaze to see Pike Bishop riding through the gate. He let out a yell.

  “The gringo—he comes with the guns.” He turned, beckoning to Herrera and Zamorra. “Hey—the Americans are here with our guns.”

  In a belated realization he swung back, checked that Pike was alone, with no wagon behind him. Mapache fell silent.

  Zamorra asked Mapache’s unspoken question, “The guns, señor—where are they?”

  Pike kept his face blank, stepped gingerly from saddle.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got them. They’re hidden. And they stay hidden until I get my share of the gold. Then I’ll tell you where four cases are—twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth. My men are waiting with the wagon. Unless I get back there pretty damn quick they’ll blow it up. Savvy?”

  Zamorra’s eyes slid to his chief. Mapache laughed outright. He used what was probably the extent of his English.

  “You fix it pretty damn good. You fool me.”

  Pike did not smile.

  “Business is business.

  “Señor,” Zamorra said. “Our accountant will pay you immediately. Herrera, bring out the strong box.”

  Mapache poked a finger at Pike. He spoke in Spanish. Zamorra translated.

  “When can you bring the rest?”

  “The quicker I get back to the wagon,” Pike told him, “the quicker the next load will get here.”

  This was the test. He watched, holding his breath as Herrera ran for the cantina and returned carrying a small wooden box, placed it on the ground before Mapache, opened it and counted out two small bags of gold coin. Pike let his breath out. It was a good beginning. He accepted the bags, liked the feel of their weight and dropped them into his pocket.

  He said nothing.

  Zamorra asked tightly, “Now—where are the guns?”

  Pike lifted himself to his saddle.

  “About two miles up the road. Three cases of rifles, one of ammo. Hidden in the brush just off the trail.”

  Mapache snapped his fingers and Herrera ran toward for his horse. Pike was turning his animal when Mohr stepped forward.

  “A moment. I understand you have a machine gun?”

  Pike looked down impassively.

  “Our bargain was for rifles and ammunition—for ten thousand dollars. Nothing was said about a machine gun.” He waited while Mapache’s frown turned black, his jaw thrust forward, then bowed in his saddle. “The machine gun is our gift to the general.”

  The frown vanished. A wide grin took its place. Mapache grabbed hold of Pike’s rein, shaking it. Zamorra again translated.

  “Señor Pike, join with us. You and your men are superb. Together we will conquer Mexico. I will make you rich and powerful.”

  Pike leaked a faint smile.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He saluted, kneed his horse around as Mapache stepped back out of the way.

  Zamorra was less impressed. Now he spoke for himself.

  “Wait a minute—in case we can’t find where the guns are hidden.”

  Pike glanced at Mapache.

  “You’ll find them—but only if I’m free to go.”

  Mapache declared in Spanish, “We trust him. Let him leave.”

  Pike rode deliberately through the gate, his pockets full of gold.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Wild Bunch was growing uneasy. Pike had been gone a long time.

  Tector Gorch leaned against the wagon, drinking. He held up the bottle, made certain it was empty, then threw it at a rock close to where Sykes stood guard. The glass shattered with a loud pop and showered slivers over the old man, some of them sticking in his clothes.

  Sykes, startled, jumped around, swearing.

  “You’re the damnedest fool I ever knew. Pike must have found you under a rock somewheres.”

  “You going to whip me, old man?”

  Sykes brushed at the glass.

  “Nope. But you’d better hope when this is over I don’t get riled enough to start dogging you.”

  “You’ll never get a chance to drygulch me, old man.”

  “We’ll see. It’s about time you took the watch.”

  Tector opened his mouth to refuse but Lyle shoved him.

  “Go on. Give you something to do.”

  Tector, grumbling, picked up his rifle and traded places with Sykes.

  Lyle was feeling the buildup of pressure, not liking the tensions generating between them so far down here in this unfamiliar, hostile country. He idled to where Dutch sat examining two hand grenades.

  “Sure taking Pike a long time. Don’t figure he ran out on us, do you?”

  Dutch did not look up.

  “No.”

  “What are them things?”

  “Grenades.”

  “How do they work?”

  Dutch exhibited one.

  “You pull this pin, then throw it and dive for a hole and pray it don’t hit you when it goes off. They say it sure gets the job done.”

  Lyle reached for the grenade, fingered it carelessly.

  “We could have used a few in San Rafael.”

  “Be careful,” Dutch snapped. “That ain’t a toy.”

  Lyle bristled, then heard Tector’s hail.

 
“Look alive. Somebody coming.” His tone changed to a yell. “Hey—it’s Pike.”

  The bunch gathered around him, watching the figure slowly coming in. Dutch shoved the grenades into his pockets and pushed in front of the others as Pike rode up.

  “How’d you make out? Any trouble?”

  “Just carrying all this weight.”

  Pike held up the two bags.

  Tector whooped. “He got it—he got it—look, Lyle, it worked. Hey, Pike, I want to go in next.”

  “Sure.” Pike stepped down, feeling much better than he had in a long time. “You and Lyle take in the next load and the machine gun. Then Dutch and Angel have a turn. Sykes, you follow, pick up the team for pack horses. Leave the wagon.”

  Dutch, more relieved than he cared to admit, laughed. “How’s the general?”

  Pike slapped him on the shoulder.

  “He thinks it’s Christmas. He wants us to join his army.”

  Dutch’s eyes went wide.

  “You going to?”

  “You crazy? You and Angel get those cases ready for the Gorches to take in while I tell them how to handle it.”

  Lyle picked up the machine gun, fondling it.

  “I sure hate to give up this baby.”

  “Forget it.” Pike frowned at him. “Herrera saw it yesterday. We didn’t stand a chance of keeping it. Don’t get smart and try.” He held Lyle’s eyes until he was satisfied that the man would do as he was told. “All right, get going.”

  Dutch stood with Pike as the brothers rode out, sounding uncertain.

  “You think they’ll be all right?”

  “Sure. Mapache knows we’ll blow up the rest of his precious arms if they don’t come back—and bring gold. I think we’ve got things going our way now.”

  Tector and Lyle made better time than Pike had. They were back in camp with their bags of gold within two hours. Tector was even more drunk, partly with the exuberance of success. He reared his horse, waving his hat. And fell off.

  Pike watched him bleakly.

  He said in an aside to Dutch, “You know, the sooner I’m shut of those two the better I’m going to feel.” He raised his voice. “Dutch, you and Angel and Sykes drive the wagon to the head of the arroyo. The first two ride in and get your gold. Sykes will bring the team back.”

  • Angel and Dutch, approaching Agua Verde, heard explosions in the town, but of a different kind than Pike had heard. Beyond the wall Mapache was having the time of his life. When Tector and Lyle had left he had grabbed happily for the machine gun, catching it up like a rifle.

  The German Mohr had paled a little and hurried to his leader.

  “That’s not the right way to handle it—it must be mounted on the tripod—”

  Mapache shoved him away, waving the gun in an arc, careless of where he aimed. The German jumped back.

  “Careful—watch what you’re doing. That thing’s dangerous.”

  Mapache did not care. He yelled for Zamorra. Obediently the aide shoved home the bolt; Mapache pulled the trigger. The gun jumped into life and the two men holding it were bounced around by the wild recoil. Mapache’s startled finger locked on the trigger.

  The barrel of the gun jerked in a crazy pattern, spewing bullets around the plaza. The Germans led the general dive for cover. Mapache, yelling like an Indian, fought the gun, finally got the muzzle pointed down but could not release the trigger. Bullets poured into the baked mud of the plaza until the belt was empty.

  The firing had stopped by the time Dutch and Angel came through the gate, watchful and wary. Mohr and Earnest were with Mapache. They talked the gun away from him, loosening his frozen fingers.

  “You see, General, the gun is not held in the hands. The recoil is too great even for a powerful man like you. It must be fastened down like this—”

  Angel and Dutch watched while the machine gun was properly attached to its tripod while Mapache looked on in dazed delight. It was Zamorra who discovered the newcomers. His face loosened into a relieved smile.

  “You have brought the rest of the shipment?”

  Dutch nodded.

  “Soon as we’re paid I’ll tell you where they are.”

  Mapache barely looked around. He was much more interested in the machine gun than in gold at the moment. Zamorra dug into the wooden cask and handed two sacks up to Dutch.

  This was the final installment. Dutch took the precaution of opening the sacks, counting the contents.

  “Seems all right. The wagon’s at the head of the arroyo. The guns and ammo are in it. Help yourselves.”

  Zamorra wore a sleepy look as he reached for Dutch’s rein.

  He called to Herrera, “Take a dozen men. Ride out and bring in the wagon.”

  Dutch laughed.

  “You’re welcome to the wagon but we want the team.”

  “You can have them.” Zamorra waved a generous hand. “You will not mind waiting until we see if the guns are there? We have trusted you. We have kept our promise. Now we will see—”

  Dutch saw the reasonableness of this.

  He said, “Sure. You’ll find them where I said.”

  Dutch and Angel walked their horses into the shade of a tree to wait. Zamorra stayed with them but Mapache kept playing with the machine gun. Angel was fidgety. Dutch sat placidly. Finally Herrera rode alone through the gate and directly to Zamorra.

  “Well, we’ll be going along,” Dutch said and began to turn his horse toward the gate.

  At his side Angel stiffened, said in a tight voice,

  “Dutch, look out. They’re closing in.”

  Dutch threw a glance around. Soldiers were at the heavy iron gate, beginning to swing it shut. Dutch swung back to Zamorra, who was whispering with Herrera.

  “Hey, what’s the idea?”

  Zamorra came forward slowly.

  “How many cases did you take from the train?”

  Dutch managed to look innocent.

  “Sixteen—we lost two getting them across the river.”

  Mapache had left the machine gun, was coming toward them with a wicked smile. He stabbed a finger at Angel and laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. He spoke in Spanish.

  “You lie. He stole them. For his people. Do not argue—the mother of his girl told me.” His grin spread. “I lost the girl and her mother gives me Angel.”

  Angel pivoted his horse, dug in his spurs and rushed for the gate. It was slowly closing. He almost made it, lying low along his horse, driving. A soldier on foot near the wall shook out a lariat, threw it underhand. The loop snaked under the horse’s front hoofs, yanked tight around them. Angel flew over the animal’s head. And the iron gate clanged shut.

  Angel lay, dazed, unable to move. Two soldiers picked him up, carried him to Mapache and held him upright before the general. Mapache glared at him.

  His hand streaked out, caught Angel’s shirt and shook him.

  “Look at me. Don’t lie. You took those guns.”

  “Yes.” Angel’s face was blank. “I took them while the others were asleep.”

  Mapache chuckled, diverted for the moment by the idea of the Mexican robbing his American friends. Then his thick lip curled.

  “Next time be careful who you shoot. The mother of your sweetheart was angry that you shot her—so she betrayed you. That is nice, no?”

  Dutch interrupted. There was nothing he could do here for Angel, nothing to be gained by getting himself trapped. He understood Spanish but spoke in English.

  “Well,” he said, “I’d better be riding.”

  Mapache arched an eyebrow at him.

  “You leave your friend?”

  Dutch spat.

  “Hell, you heard him—he’s a thief. You take care of him.”

  “First give us back the gold.”

  “What for?” Dutch roared. “We delivered.”

  “Two cases short. Give back one bag.”

  There were a lot of soldiers in the plaza, a lot of guns. Dutch tossed one bag to Zamorra and delibera
tely swung his horse, not looking toward Angel.

  He rode toward the gate, sweating. Then Herrera rode up beside him, lifted a hand and the soldiers swung the big gate open. Together they rode out.

  Herrera’s band was waiting at the wagon. Sykes had the team unhitched, was ready to take it back up the canyon when he heard the horses and saw Dutch and the Mexican ride up. He stopped, looking from one to the other, his face blank.

  He asked Dutch, “Everything okay?”

  “No.” Dutch looked after Herrera as the Mexican forgot him, turning his attention on his soldiers. “Come on. Easy.”

  Sykes rode one of the dray horses, walking it at Dutch’s side out of earshot.

  “Where’s Angel?”

  “They got him for stealing the guns. His girl’s mother turned him in. Some people would betray their own families for two dollars and a drink.”

  Sykes stopped his horse abruptly and stared at Dutch.

  “You left him back there? Hell, he’s one of us. We got to go get him.”

  Dutch’s face reddened, turned savage.

  He exploded, “How? You want to go, go. I’m going on—tell Pike.”

  Suddenly he spurred ahead, pounding up the road. Sykes, after a long hesitation, knowing that he was too old, that there was nothing he could do alone, tugged at the lead rope of the other team horse and followed slowly.

  • Thornton and the bounty hunters watched the road from a crest several ridges back from the arroyo. They saw Herrera’s men at the wagon, saw Dutch and Sykes confer and Dutch ride on fast.

  Deke trained the binoculars on the hurrying rider until he was out of sight. Then he studied Sykes for a long while. He had not known that Sykes was still riding with the bunch.

  “They’ve sold the guns.” He said it quietly. “We can’t get them back—too many Mexicans. But we might be able to even the score some.”

  Coffer did not have glasses.

  “Who’s that on the trail in such a hurry?”

  “Looked like Dutch Engstrom.”

  Thornton did not mention Sykes.

  Coffer searched his memory, grinning.

  “Engstrom—he’s worth a thousand dollars dead or alive.”

  “If you can take him.” Thornton sounded sour. “More likely he’ll take you.”