The Wild Bunch Page 15

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Pike saw Dutch ride into camp, throw himself off his horse and climb to the lookout knoll, the Gorches scrambling behind him.

  “What happened?”

  Dutch told the story quickly, swearing.

  “If Angel hadn’t shot that girl—if her mother hadn’t hunted up Mapache and talked—”

  “He did—she did,” Pike said flatly.

  Dutch slammed a fist into his hand, raging.

  “He tried to keep us out of it—told the Mexicans he stole the guns while we was asleep.”

  Lyle’s blue eyes went wide.

  “He did that? What do you know? I never thought he had guts.”

  Dutch nodded.

  “The kid played the string right out to the end.”

  Tector, staggering a little, sounded maudlin: “And he loved that girl—”

  Pike was looking back down the road.

  “Where’s Sykes?”

  “Coming along.”

  “He’s all right?”

  “Was when I left. I don’t think they’ll bother him. They’ve got the guns and he hasn’t got any of the gold. He thinks we got to do something about Angel.”

  Lyle looked startled.

  “What?”

  “Go after him.”

  “How the hell can we do that? They’ve got their army and all the guns we gave them.”

  Pike, still watching the road, spoke in a bone-dry voice.

  “No way. No way at all.”

  He grunted as Sykes came around a distant nose of hill, riding bareback on one horse, leading the other at a dragging pace, his head swiveling slowly to watch the hills.

  • The bounty hunters saw Sykes disappear behind a bend, reappear in a closer stretch of road. Jess brought his rifle to his shoulder.

  “Hell, I can get him from here. That will be one less.”

  He stumbled as Thornton shoved him, swearing.

  “And warn Pike we’re looking down his neck?”

  Jess’s bootless foot came down hard in a clump of cholla. The fiery spines bit deep. He gasped and flung up his arms. In that instant the rifle barrel caught the sun and shafted a bright spark into the arroyo. And hell broke loose.

  Thornton saw Sykes react to the flash probably without conscious thought. He let go of the lead rope and kicked the animal he rode into the brush.

  Simultaneously bullets from the rest of the Wild Bunch began to probe for the source of the flash, covering Skyes.

  Thornton cursed, shouted, “There’s the rest of them—let’s go—” and jumped for his horse, angling down the grade toward Pike’s knoll.

  But the bounty hunters did not follow him. Like baying hounds they dropped away toward where Sykes had disappeared. Their guns hammered.

  • Pike saw Sykes jerk, straighten as he was hit and drop across the withers of his horse. But he did not fall off the animal before it jumped out of sight into deep brush.

  A voice thin with distance yelled, “I got him—I got him—”

  Pike stared, hard-faced. At his elbow Dutch sounded hollow.

  “They’ll get him. He’s hit bad.”

  Then bullets were whispering around them. Dutch and the Gorches turned their fire toward the muzzle flashes.

  Dutch was still cursing.

  “Damn Thornton for a murdering bastard.”

  Pike sighted along his rifle and squeezed off a shot.

  “What would you do in his place? He gave his word.”

  “Gave his word to a railroad.”

  “It’s still his word.”

  Dutch was stubborn.

  “That ain’t what counts—it’s who you give it to.”

  Dutch had not ridden with Deke and Sykes. Pike kept silent.

  Lyle laughed.

  “Hell with them. We can stay right here and kick piss out of them. How many did you count, Pike?”

  “Five.”

  “We still got four of us. That ain’t bad odds. They won’t rush us.”

  “No water up here.”

  Lyle drew a quick breath.

  “Well—let’s make a break for it.”

  “Where to?”

  “The border?”

  Pike gave him a tired look.

  “They’d love that. We go north of the line and the army will hunt us down. We stole some guns, remember?”

  Lyle went back to shooting, but now there were no flashes to guide him, no sign of the other men.

  “So where? Like you say, we can’t stay here.”

  Pike’s lip lifted.

  “There’s always Agua Verde.”

  Lyle spat.

  “That general would just as soon kill us as break wind.”

  Pike held his fire, finding no target.

  “No. We tell him Thornton is after his guns. He’ll take care of the bounty hunters for us.”

  They were not convinced and he argued.

  “Look—he’s tickled with the guns. He’ll be celebrating all week—and he asked us to join him. We can pretend to go along until we figure out what else.”

  “And with them shooting at us—how do we get off this hill?”

  “You hear any shooting now? They’re too busy picking over Freddie at the moment to worry about us. There’s a back trail behind us.” He looked at the sun. It was still high. “We’ll slide off and be in town before they know we’re gone.”

  “What about the gold? We take that back there and Mapache’ll have it in his strong box before we can turn around.”

  “We’ll take one sack to pay our way,” Pike decided. “The rest we’ll bury up here—together.” He looked away, over the camp ground. “There—below that big rock. Lyle, you and Tector scratch out a hole to put it in. Then we’ll cover it good and throw on some brush and rocks—just in case Thornton’s scavengers come snooping around up here.”

  The hole was dug, filled, covered, and the area thoroughly policed, leaving no sign that men or horses had been there. Pike fired three spaced shots from different positions, swung into his saddle and they dropped off the hill to the back trail and rode for Agua Verde.

  • Deke Thornton, finding at least four guns firing his way, unable to see where they came from and with his bounty hunters baying up a storm after Sykes, veered off and rode to where they were quartering the brush. He found the team horse, head down in a clearing, its reins trailing and caught in a bush. Blood already caking matted its legs.

  Thornton rode to it slowly, his eyes on the hard ground. Behind him T.C. Nash sounded hungry.

  “He can’t have gotten far. I’d say he was badly hit.”

  Coffer wheeled his horse carelessly in a wide circle.

  “Plenty of blood here but no tracks. This damn hard ground—”

  He looked around, ferret-faced.

  “Keep going.” Nash pushed in and out of the heavy brush. “We’ll find him. He’s got to be around somewhere. Ten dollars says he’s dead by now.”

  Thornton’s mouth turned down scornfully.

  “If he isn’t he’s probably holding a gun on us right now.” He saw their attention jerk toward him and went on. “It’ll take the rest of the day to search this hillside and give the others time to get away. Let’s see where Pike’s got to. They haven’t fired a shot in the last ten minutes.”

  Jess did not want to abandon the search.

  “That old man’s hide is worth a lot of money. We ain’t going to just ride away and leave him here?”

  “Jess, you come back here tomorrow and watch for buzzards. They’ll show you where he is. You might even get a pair of boots.”

  “Yeah—but what if he ain’t dead?”

  “Your problem.”

  Thornton’s voice and thoughts were heavy with disgust. He put his horse around and rode back to the trail. After a long hesitation the others followed.

  • Sykes dug farther back into a dense clump of brush, lowered his rifle. His face was taut with pain. He was weak. He knew he had lost a lot of blood.

&
nbsp; He laid the gun aside and doubled up to examine his leg. He had bandaged it crudely with a strip torn from his shirt and fastened a makeshift tourniquet to stop the bleeding. He eased the tourniquet and a seventh sense made him freeze.

  Slowly, careful not to make a sound, he retrieved the rifle and waited. Someone was moving on the far side of the clearing. His old eyes, as sharp as a hawk’s, raked the site back and forth.

  A figure in white, a Mexican peon, ghosted into view. He had no gun. A machete with a wicked blade dangled from his hand. He looked toward where Thornton had gone, then came directly to Sykes.

  Sykes kept his rifle bearing on the apparition but some of the tension left his whipcord body. He recognized the peon from Angel’s village.

  He let the silent figure come within ten feet before he called softly, “That’s far enough.”

  The man stopped. He showed neither surprise nor fear, as if he had known exactly where Sykes was.

  “Don’t shoot.”

  Sykes had had no intention of shooting if he could possibly avoid it. A shot would bring Thornton’s curs howling back to dig him out.

  “Put the machete on the ground, then come here where I can look at you.”

  The peon did not hesitate. He came to stop five feet away from Sykes and stood quietly.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I watch.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Men burying gold. Your friends.”

  “Did you now? And where did they go?”

  “Toward Agua Verde, back way. They should be there by now.”

  • Pike Bishop, Dutch Engstrom, Tector and Lyle Gorch—all that were left to ride as the Wild Bunch—rode out of the hills and saw Agua Verde before them, the wall, the gate, the huddle of native huts that spread on each side of the entrance.

  They had ridden hard, watching their back trail, aware that Deke Thornton might have found their escape route and be bearing down upon them. They came out of the hills and walked their horses warily past the huts. Muted sounds of laughter, cheering and music came through the gate.

  Dutch said, “Sounds like another celebration.”

  “Always some kind of celebration down here.” Pike’s tone was short. “Let’s join in. It’s safer than sitting out in the bush with Thornton shooting at us.”

  They paused at the gate to look over the scene. Across the plaza in the courtyard of the hacienda Mapache sat surrounded by the Germans and other officers. Beyond them were pigs and goats being roasted over pit fires. The plaza was filled with celebrating soldiers.

  The bunch moved ahead slowly, keeping close to the wall, out of the crowd. Lyle spoke in a low voice.

  “Maybe at least we’ll get something to eat.”

  Pike did not hear him. His attention was on the far corner of the courtyard where two soldiers had appeared. They held Angel between them.

  Angel had been beaten. Pike could see the drying blood that matted his hair and the bruises swelling his face. His hands were tied behind him and he stumbled, the soldiers half supporting, half carrying him. They took him to the general’s table.

  “Ya listo, mi General.”

  Mapache stood up and crossed to where he could see the whole courtyard. The Germans moved up behind him. A soldier looped a long rope around Angel’s neck and fastened the free end to the pack saddle of a donkey. The second soldier, going to the animal’s head, tugged it into a run and ran beside it, pulling Angel off his feet, dragging him around the courtyard behind it.

  Mapache and the Germans watched the performance without expression, without sound.

  Pike’s group stood in a helpless fury.

  Finally the running soldier stumbled, exhausted, and stopped. The donkey stopped. The soldiers went back to partying. Angel was a dark, unmoving, crumpled shape.

  Pike’s teeth were clenched.

  “I hate to see an animal treated that way.”

  Dutch matched his tone.

  “So do I.”

  “Maybe we could buy him.”

  It fell like a bomb on them. Lyle took a deep breath.

  “Just thinking about him is asking for trouble. There’s so damn many of them.”

  Pike tipped his head.

  “We could use another gun or so.”

  He stopped talking as one of Mapache’s group spotted them and pointed. A tight moment ensued. At last Mapache waved a huge beckoning arm.

  “Ah, los bandidos gringos.”

  He did not wait but swung—pausing to sniff at a cooking pit—to return to his table. Pike motioned and, with his little train, pushed through the festive crowd, watching as Angel’s unresisting form was hauled across, dropped in front of Mapache.

  Mapache stood grinning, his eyes on Pike. He gestured for Zamorra to translate.

  “You come for your friend?”

  Pike fought to keep his voice flat.

  “I want to buy him back. We’ll pay you his share of the gold.”

  Zamorra reminded him: “We kept his share.”

  Mapache was turning, roaring with laughter, shouting to the crowd in Spanish, “Do you hear him? He wants to buy our traitor.”

  The soldiers joined the laughter as he swung back to Pike. Again Zamorra translated.

  “How much? He doesn’t look worth very much. Stand him up.”

  Angel was hauled upright and held, his head hanging forward, swinging loosely, his eyes closed.

  Mapache studied him and announced judiciously, “Maybe he won’t live too long.”

  Pike, his eyes blazing, still controlled his voice.

  “I’ll give half my share to have him back.”

  Mapache was delighted, spreading his hands, still laughing. He leaned to Zamorra and whispered something Pike could not hear.

  “You’ve had your fun with him,” Pike said. “Let him go.”

  Zamorra frowned a warning, wagging his head.

  He said in English, “The general is in a happy mood right now. Don’t push him. Here—” he took a tequila bottle from the table and tossed it to Pike—“go get drunk. There are women in the village. But don’t be foolish and make him mad.”

  Pike caught the bottle instinctively, without looking at it, his hot eyes still crawling on Mapache. He tossed the bottle once, caught it and suddenly forced his rage down, out of his eyes, out of his face, out of his voice. He even managed a bantering tone.

  “General, you want to go hunting?”

  Mapache, whose face had begun to blacken, opened his eyes wide.

  Zamorra asked, “Hunting? What you mean?”

  Pike aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the gate.

  “There’re five railroad men out there in the hills—police who want to take the guns back.”

  Mapache’s black look faded and his face spread like a sunrise.

  “Five such gringos? And they want to steal my new guns? Hey—” he flicked a finger at Herrera—“take twenty soldiers. Go—and good hunting.”

  Herrera saluted and ran, barking orders, selecting his troop, pulling men out of their celebration. A melee ensued, grew orderly. Then a column left through the gate at a smart trot.

  Watching after them Dutch whispered to the night, “Goodbye, Thornton.”

  And Zamorra was giving a quiet instruction to a soldier at his side.

  The soldier grinned, tugging at Pike’s sleeve.

  “I show you where there are beautiful girls.”

  Pike did not look at Angel again. He looked at Dutch, the Gorches. He lifted, dropped his shoulders in resignation.

  “So why not?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Deke Thornton took his bounty hunters up the road to where the Wild Bunch had camped and left them to search among the rocks.

  He himself dismounted, climbed quietly through the brush to the ridge and put his glasses back on the clearing where Sykes had vanished. After a moment he saw what he looked for, a peon in white who came into sight like a wraith, laid a machete on the ground and
went forward to talk to a bush, gesturing, smiling, nodding.

  Thornton’s smile was as wraithlike, as fleeting as the Indo. He looked back down the slope at his men. Coffer was below him, his hat shoved back, scratching his head in complete puzzlement.

  He called up to Thornton, “I don’t get it. Looks like they climbed on a cloud.”

  From his vantage point Thornton aimed an arm toward the back trail.

  “Over there. That’s the way they went.”

  T.C. Nash ran to the trail, took his bearings by the sun and called, “Looks to me like this leads straight to Agua Verde.”

  Thornton shrugged.

  “They probably went to Agua Verde.”

  “Hell, that’s the last place I’d think they’d go. They delivered the guns and they must have got paid. Why would they ride right back into the Mexicans’ hands?”

  “Maybe they figured they were safer with them than they would be with us—” Movement from the corner of his eye made him look back along the road. He slid quickly down to his horse. “Army patrol coming this way. Let’s move.”

  The bounty hunters did not argue. They were not anxious to tangle with anybody’s army. They took the back trail at a gallop and Thornton, as Pike had done before him, lingered to sweep the campsite of tracks before he went after them.

  • Herrera had no trouble following the trail of the Wild Bunch back from the wagon to the campsite. He found no American policio. He spread his men and spent two hours searching the country around. They found tracks, but they did not find the bounty hunters. Neither did they find Sykes nor his horse nor a peon.

  Herrera was growing angrier by the minute. He decided that the outlaws had sent him on a wild goose chase. He did not like to be made a fool of, especially by a bunch of ragtail gringos.

  Finally he ordered his troop back to Agua Verde. He would, he thought, not make his report to Mapache tonight. The general in his cups was unpredictable. He would be wise and wait until everybody got over the celebration.

  • Deke Thornton watched the search from a spine of rocks that was like the skeleton of a dinosaur high above the trail. He saw the Mexican force gather and pull out for Agua Verde, but did not trust the maneuver. It could be a decoy.

  He kept his bounty hunters hidden where they were, made a cold camp and spent the night.