The Wild Bunch Read online

  The girl’s brows arched.

  “Como?”

  Angel was not paying attention. His eyes were on Mapache.

  Dutch said, “Seis cervezas.”

  She smiled again, flipped her hips and swayed off to fill the order.

  Pike had chosen the seat that faced the general. The scene there looked reassuring. The mariachis had clustered around, serenading the table. Mapache was the picture of contentment, laughing, drinking, shoving food into his mouth.

  Mohr ignored his food, his attention steadfast on Pike’s table. After a bit he leaned toward his aide Zamorra. Pike read his lips.

  “Do you know those Americans?”

  Zamorra’s mouth was full. He shook his head, chewed, swallowed.

  “Why are they in Agua Verde?”

  Zamorra again shook his head.

  Dissatisfied, the German leaned back in his chair, concentrated on fitting a cigarette into his holder.

  The waitress brought the beer. Tector took a long pull at his glass, wetting his dry throat.

  He asked, “Who’s buying this round?”

  Dutch said, “I’m down to about twenty in silver.”

  Pike’s eyes were hooded, surreptitiously watching Mapache. His lips twitched.

  “The general has swept this country clean. He ought to have some to spare.”

  “General hell.” Dutch snorted. “He’s a damned bandit, grabbing all he can get for himself.”

  Pike’s lips spread in a grin.

  “Like some others I could mention.”

  Dutch swelled indignantly. “No sir, he ain’t like us. We don’t hang or torture nobody. I hope the people down here rise up and kick him and the rest of the scum like him right into their graves.”

  Angel twisted his glass back and forth in his strong hands. He did not look up from it as he spoke.

  “We will. If it takes a thousand years.”

  He glanced to the side, hearing a laughing voice as two girls passed the table. Suddenly he spun in his chair, his hand snaked out and caught a girl by the wrist.

  “Teresa.”

  The girl recognized Angel. Her laughter died. Her smile froze. She tried to wrench free.

  “Let me go—you—”

  Lyle licked his lips.

  “Hey, boy, you know these cuties?”

  Angel did not hear. He had risen to his feet. He pulled the girl against him and an exchange of Spanish volleyed between them, too fast for the Americans to follow.

  Neither Dutch nor Pike needed to understand. The smell of trouble was there and this was no place for trouble. Pike barked a command.

  “Let her go.”

  Angel’s face was flushed with fury. He brought up a hand to slap the girl. Pike came half out of his chair with a sharp grunt of warning. Angel stopped his hand and very slowly opened the fingers on her wrist. She tossed her head, whirled away and marched after her friend toward the general’s table.

  Pike glanced ahead of her at the bandit. He had been afraid ever since Mapache drove in that Angel would blow his top. But everyone at the raised table was intent on an intricate rilling tune the mariachis were playing. Pike swung back, shook Angel’s shoulder, shoved him back into his chair.

  “Damn it, take it easy.”

  Angel sat frozen. He seemed unaware of Pike’s hand or words. Dutch leaned toward him.

  “Who is she?”

  Pike said in a hoarse whisper, “His sweetheart.”

  Angel’s eyes were still hot on Teresa.

  “She was my woman and she left the village.”

  Pike doubted that Teresa had been Angel’s woman but whether or not made little difference. What counted was that Angel thought she had been.

  Angel’s deep animal growl made Pike look at the girl. She had pushed through the ring of musicians, was now bending over Mapache, kissing his ear.

  Tector laughed.

  “She sure ain’t your woman no more, kid.”

  Angel kicked his chair away, lunged backward and stood up. Pike made a grab for him and missed. Angel’s gun came alive in his hand, fired.

  Teresa was swinging herself into Mapache’s lap. The bullet drove into her stomach, knocked her across the thick knee. She rolled to the dirty floor, convulsed once, sprawled unmoving.

  Mapache’s group stared down at the girl.

  Pike was on his feet. He threw a hard fist against Angel’s chin. The boy dropped as if axed.

  The Wild Bunch came up, their hands ready on their guns. But they did not draw. They were surrounded by Mexicans. Angel’s shot had killed all sound in the room except the scrape of chairs as soldiers bristled up, weapons ready.

  Mapache rose slowly as if lifted by a force other than his own. His staff followed suit. They guessed where the shot had come from. They stared at Angel.

  Dutch was swearing in a monotonous undertone. Sykes stood steady, his old eyes watchful as a circling hawk’s. The Gorches felt the pressure of threat on all sides of them. Pike’s low, harsh voice was a warning.

  “Don’t make any false moves. Here comes the general.”

  Mapache was indeed coming. Like a mad bull, pushing tables, chairs, people out of his way. The bunch eyed him and the retinue that came in his wake. The story was an old one to Pike, Dutch and Sykes. They knew that one mistake now would turn the cantina into a slaughter house.

  Not one of the three paid attention as Angel dragged himself to his knees, stayed there shaking his head, groggy, trying to clear his mind.

  Mapache reached the table, swung a heavy boot at Angel’s head. Under the powerful kick Angel collapsed. The general raised a foot, stomped him in the face.

  A soldier raised his rifle butt, ready to bash in the boy’s head. Mapache threw out a hamlike arm and pushed him away.

  Pike stood coiled, ready, holding his breath. The next few seconds would decide.

  Mapache kicked Angel again. The boy did not know it. He was out cold.

  Zamorra was behind Mapache’s shoulder.

  He asked in angry Spanish, “Why did the scum try to kill His Excellency?”

  “He didn’t.” Pike used English, not risking his Spanish. “He shot the girl on purpose.”

  Mapache frowned over the English words, turned to Zamorra. Zamorra shrugged.

  “La muchacha . . .”

  Dutch cut in quickly, “Era su novia.”

  The Mexicans’ eyes rounded. A slow, wide smile spread Mapache’s thick mouth. Zamorra grinned too.

  “His fiancée?”

  “That’s right.” Pike relaxed a fraction. “He went a little crazy when he saw her crawling into your lap.”

  Mapache tipped his head back and laughed, his vanity pleased that he had taken a woman away from another. He turned around, flung up his arms and made a speech, proclaiming his prowess to the cantina at large. The room answered with a roar of laughter.

  Pike drew in a deep breath, exchanged a long look with Dutch. It had been close. Too close for him at this time of life. He forced a grin at Mapache’s speech.

  Mohr had worked his way to Pike’s side. His English was good, though thick with a German accent.

  “Are you people in Agua Verde on business?”

  Pike kept his smile, nodding.

  “We thought we might sell a few horses here.”

  The sharp eyes bored into him and a thin smile touched the precise lips.

  “You have been associated with the American army?”

  Tector and Lyle snickered. Dutch’s face sobered. Mapache had finished his speech and he and Zamorra turned to listen to Mohr.

  Dutch said, “We ain’t part of no army.”

  Mohr’s brows lifted slightly and his eyes narrowed. His lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

  “I see. I was curious because of the equipment you are wearing.”

  Pike’s attention was caught. Mohr added: “Those pistols in your belts are restricted for use by your army’s personnel. Those revolvers cannot be purchased or even owned.”

&n
bsp; Pike guarded his words. He had not figured Mohr out but evidently Mohr saw a great deal and could reason from what he saw. He seemed to be acting like a man with an ace up his sleeve.

  “Wonder how we came by them,” Pike murmured, grinning.

  Mohr’s smile widened but did not reach beyond his lips.

  “You are surprised at my interest? Weapons are a specialty of mine.” He clicked his heels and bowed an inch. “I am Commander Frederick Mohr of the Imperial German Army. For these last six months I have been in Mexico helping to fight the revolutionary forces.”

  Angel stirred but Pike nudged him with a toe and he lay quiet. His last memory, as consciousness came back, would be of his having been stomped. He would not want the experience again.

  Mohr went on: “Unfortunately your government has chosen to aid the rabble in their so-called struggle for liberty.”

  Pike shrugged.

  “I never heard of any American troops fighting down here.”

  “They are aiding through diplomatic channels. It would be useful to us to know Americans who did not share their government’s naïve sentiments.”

  Pike’s smile was real this time. He was beginning to smell what Mohr’s ace was.

  “We share few sentiments with our government. Or any government.”

  Mapache had been out of the talk too long, unable to follow the English.

  “Que diga?”

  The German bowed and answered in Spanish, “General, I think we should ask these gentlemen to have a drink with us.”

  Pike was able to translate the slow words and he risked a wink at Dutch. Dutch nodded, also smelling a deal.

  Mapache did not argue with his foreign adviser.

  “An excellent idea.”

  The German bowed again, made a beckoning gesture.

  “If you will follow me—”

  He led them all back to the big table on the raised platform.

  The mariachi band still played. It stepped politely out of the way as two soldiers lifted Teresa’s body and carried it away from the platform and out of the room. Pike Bishop did not even glance after her. He sat down next to Mohr, sent a warning look at Tector and Lyle Gorch. Mapache waddled to the head of the table and dropped heavily into his chair.

  He waved a hand at the girls who were moving in, spat a single word, “Vamos.”

  They scattered. He folded the hands over his stomach, dropped his head and closed his eyes. Pike judged that Mapache was deliberately retiring from a conversation that would be in English. The man with whom the bunch would do business was Mohr.

  Angel rolled painfully to sit up. Guards caught him under the armpits and shoved him into a chair. Angel still would not know what was going on. He was sick, dizzy from the stomping. Pike was satisfied that Angel would try no other move for the time being.

  Pike tasted his drink, watching Mohr settle himself solidly, reach beneath the table for a roll of maps. He spread and anchored them and traced a forefinger along a railroad line.

  “Now, Mr. Bishop,” the German said, “let us talk some business. It is a simple task we need done. There will be a shipment of arms. All we ask is that you take it and move it below the border.”

  Dutch sucked his teeth and met Pike’s quick glance. The deal sounded better than Pike had hoped but he held off from committing himself. He wanted to hear the rest. His glance had told Dutch to play dumb, ask questions.

  Dutch dipped his head, asking, “Why do you need us to hit a train so close to the border? The general could take his army up there and grab it easy.”

  Mohr affected a patient air.

  “President Huerta is anxious for better relations with your government. If we used our army the United States forces could be expected to cross into Mexico after us. But if the train is waylaid by American bandits—” he shrugged elaborately—“it would not be our fault.”

  “Arms shipments are kept secret,” Pike said. “How do you know when one’s due?”

  Across from him Earnest sounded smug.

  “My dear sir, Mapache has a superb intelligence force.” He nodded deferentially toward Mohr. “Organized under the supervision of my superior officer.”

  Zamorra now declared himself in. He leaned forward.

  “We are quite well organized in all departments. And well able to pay ten thousand dollars in gold for those arms.”

  The Wild Bunch looked at each other, openly showing that they liked the sound of the offer and Zamorra, alert for their reaction, satisfied by it, added his touch.

  “Of course if you can’t handle it we will get someone else.”

  Pike said slowly, “We can handle it all right—but we’ll need some special equipment.”

  Zamorra could not hide his eagerness.

  “You will have it. Our accountant will take care of everything.”

  Mohr cut in in Spanish to Mapache. “My General, soon you will have the best army in all Mexico.”

  Mapache, raising his head, opening eyes that bulged with self-importance, hoisted his glass in a toast.

  “A le conquista.”

  Pike and his men raised their glasses. Mohr’s toast was an elegant gesture.

  “Prosit.”

  Pike drained his glass in a single swallow, privately toasting his good fortune. Mohr’s deal was better than trying to hold up an army payroll shipment. He doubted that an arms train would be as heavily guarded as one carrying money. It would sound far fetched to the army that a little band of outlaws would tackle an arms shipment because, for one thing, guns and ammunition were heavy, bulky to move.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Deke Thornton had not waited at the border. His men grumbled as he herded them back toward Harrigan’s railhead camp. They had wanted to stay on Bishop’s trail.

  Harrigan did not welcome Thornton’s return with any pleasure. The news that Pike Bishop’s gang had escaped south ate into him like worms into wood. He faced Thornton angrily across the box car he used as office.

  “You missed him. Now what do you propose to do? Sit here and suck your thumb and hope they decide to ride right up to you?”

  Thornton insulated himself against temper.

  He said in a level voice, “That’s about it.”

  Harrigan cursed him.

  “You know what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re flirting with a ticket back to Yuma.”

  “I’m doing a little more. I sent one man south to Agua Verde.”

  “One man? What in hell for?”

  “To find out if Bishop is there.”

  “Why Agua Verde? He could be in Juarez, couldn’t he?”

  Thornton said, “Look at your map. Juarez is twice as far and over twice as hard country. They didn’t get much from San Rafael and they’ll have an appetite for a good strike to take out the taste of the sour raid.”

  “Go on.”

  “They’ll head for the nearest large town. But that swarm of Mexican armies won’t have left much worthwhile by Pike’s standards. They’ll have to come back up here to find more than five centavos.”

  “Any fool could figure that out. You’re supposed to be the expert on Bishop. Tell me where. That’s the question.”

  “Not all of it. The rest is—who’s got anything valuable enough to bring them? Only two outfits—the railroad and the army. So I want your rail schedules for the next few weeks. What you’re hauling that would be worth taking.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Money for an army payroll.”

  Harrigan shook his head.

  “No payroll’s due for more than a month.”

  “What about arms? Guns? Weapons?”

  Harrigan flung out an arm as if he would sweep the idea away.

  “What would a handful of outlaws want with a shipment of arms? They had enough guns to raid San Rafael. Why would they want more?”

  “They may not. But Mapache might.”

  “And who in hell is Mapache?”

  “A killer for Huerta, ca
lls himself a general. With a shipment of American arms he’d be a big power in northern Mexico, and my guess is that Pike will make a play to get them for him.”

  “What makes you think Bishop has any connection with this Mapache?”

  “Because Mapache is in Agua Verde. There’s a Mexican riding with Pike. They wouldn’t have any trouble making contact. And Pike could wrangle a deal out of the devil.”

  Harrigan snorted in derision.

  “That train will be guarded by regular troops. He’s not crazy enough to hit the army itself.”

  “Not regulars,” contempt edged Thornton’s tone. “So there is an arms train due?”

  Harrigan nodded in spite of himself and Thornton continued.

  “And it will carry green recruits, not worth a damn. Let me ride that train and give me twenty trained men, not recruits or this gutter trash I’ve got now.”

  Harrigan drummed on his desk and finally gave in halfway.

  “I’ll put you on it but I haven’t got trained men. You were to do the job with what you had, remember?” He looked at the calendar. “And in twenty-four more days. Keep that in mind.”

  Thornton’s face was bitter as he left the box car. He wondered about the men Pike had at his back. More pressing, though, was his worry that he had guessed Pike’s next move. This would be his last chance.

  • The conference in the cantina was finished. The bargain was made. Pike felt wrung out. He stood up, smiling wryly.

  “We’ve been riding a long time. With your permission, I need a bath.”

  Beside him, Earnest sniffed.

  “With my permission you all need a bath.”

  Lyle Gorch laughed.

  “Well, I don’t need no bath. Tector and me, what we need is some of those señoritas. Zamorra boy, how about it, can you fix us up?”

  “Why not?” Zamorra was disposed to cater to this bunch until the guns were in Mapache’s hands. He motioned to an aide, yelled the order, and when the man brought up two girls he shoved them toward the Gorches. “Anna and Lucha. They’ll give you a ride you won’t forget.”

  Tector reached, delighted with what he had drawn, pulling the nearest girl off her feet.

  “Hi, sweetie. Come on, sit on old Tector’s lap, huh?”

  Pike and Dutch left them, walking without hurry to the table where Angel still sat under guard, his head in his hands. The guards moved to bar them, stopped, undecided because the Americans had been made welcome at the general’s private table. Pike did not hesitate. He motioned to Dutch and between them they lifted Angel to his rocky feet.