The Devil's Payroll Page 4

  ‘That someone being you, I suppose?’

  ‘That’s right, Harrison. I had to face a court martial and was demoted before being transferred. Now I must be the oldest lieutenant in the army!’

  ‘Well, now’s your chance to get even.’

  ‘I intend to. Look, we’ll rescue your lady friend for you and give you a thousand dollars from the strongbox, but Barton’s mine, understood?’

  Harrison nodded. ‘You can try taking him prisoner if you want to. He’s brought me nothing but trouble.’

  ‘This time he won’t escape, I promise you that.’

  Harrison shivered. He had a feeling that Schmidt was a man who would administer his own justice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The battle-weary Schmidt was suddenly decisive and full of energy. ‘Johnson, you’re coming with us. I’ll tell Sergeant Collins to take command while I’m gone. Get Wilcox and Coley as well.’ The sergeant saluted smartly and was gone.

  ‘Barton said the money is buried about two days’ ride from here, on the way to the Mexican border,’ Harrison told him.

  Schmidt rubbed his hand over his jaw thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. There’s an abandoned silver mine in that area. Could that be the place?’

  Harrison shrugged. ‘It’s probably the best place to look if we can’t pick up their trail, but we need to get going in any case. They’ve had a few hours’ start.’

  Schmidt was confident. ‘We’ll leave as soon as the supplies are ready and take the best horses. If we don’t stop until after dark and rise early we’ll catch them up.’

  ‘It will probably take some time to dig up the money. It might be best to stay just out of sight and then surprise Gabriel and Barton while they’re in the act.’

  ‘Perhaps, but just remember one thing, Harrison. This is a military operation and I’m in charge. That means I’ll be giving the orders.’ The hint of menace in Schmidt’s tone made Harrison feel uneasy.

  ‘I stopped following orders a long time ago, but I’ll try not to get in your way. I am a civilian, after all.’

  Schmidt nodded reluctantly. ‘All right, just as long as you make yourself useful.’

  They were ready to leave within the hour, Schmidt taking the lead. Harrison disliked the man, an arrogant martinet who despised the men under his command, but he was impressed by the energy and drive he showed so soon after fighting a battle. As they passed the church, he saw that the flames had been put out, but the building was little more than a blackened shell.

  The wounded had been moved outside under a makeshift canopy and were being tended by the survivors. Harrison felt torn between an urge to help them and his concern for Maggie but he focused his gaze on the horizon and rode straight ahead.

  The heat and dust of the journey soon drove the images of suffering from his mind. Schmidt continued in the lead, in front while Johnson rode beside Harrison. Wilcox and Coley brought up the rear. Wilcox was short, squat and the lighter-skinned of the two, while Coley, who wore a corporal’s stripes, had a tall, elongated figure. His ebony features appeared carefully chiselled, with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, giving him a regal bearing.

  Johnson informed him of the men’s backgrounds. ‘Wilcox, back there, was born on a plantation in Louisiana. He ran away to join the army when the war broke out. Now, Coley, he’s from New Jersey, never been no slave.’ He turned his head and called back to their companions. ‘Am I right fellas?’

  Coley answered for both of them. ‘That’s right, Sergeant. Wilcox here just got sick o’ pickin’ other men’s cotton. Me, I’ll be as free as I want when I’m a general.’

  ‘What about you, Sergeant? Where are you from?’ Harrison asked.

  ‘New Orleans. My daddy was a blacksmith who saved enough to buy his own freedom. He managed to teach me the trade but I didn’t really take to it much, just wanted a life of adventure, I guess.’

  ‘Is this adventurous enough for you?’

  Johnson frowned then. ‘I hope it don’t get too adventurous, Mr Harrison. We could run into a heap o’ trouble before we even reach this mine. We may have licked them Comanches but there could still be some out here might attack us, not to mention the bandits sellin’ ’em guns and robbin’ folks.’

  ‘We’d better keep alert then.’

  At that moment Schmidt raised his hand to halt them. He turned in the saddle, then pointed ahead. ‘Do those look like fresh wagon tracks to you?’

  Harrison dismounted to examine them more closely. ‘Yes, they do. Could they be theirs? They’d move faster without the wagon, though.’

  ‘Gabriel probably thought the Comanches would keep us busy for a couple of days. Besides, you can’t move too quickly in this heat.’ Schmidt mopped his brow with a large white handkerchief before drinking some water from a canteen.

  ‘Are we to follow those tracks then, sir?’ asked Johnson.

  ‘Yes. They lead in the direction of the mine anyway.’

  They were about a mile further on when they saw a man lying spread-eagled on the ground just to the right of them. He was stripped to the waist with his hands and feet bound to stakes driven into the ground. A group of vultures approached his prone figure and he made groans and weak movements to frighten them away. He had obviously been there for a while as the vultures were no longer keeping their distance. One had perched on his knee, refusing to be dislodged and was about to sink its beak into his flesh as Harrison clapped his hands and shouted, causing the creature to fly a short distance away. Johnson had dismounted by this time and hurried over to the man, scattering the other birds. Raising his head he carefully dribbled water between his parched lips, speaking soothingly to him as he did so. The others gathered around as Johnson drew a knife to cut the captive’s bonds.

  ‘Johnson, what are you doing?’ asked Schmidt with undisguised annoyance.

  ‘The man needs help, sir.’ The sergeant’s tone was calm but puzzled. ‘He says bandits did this to him.’ ‘For God’s sake, man, can’t you see he’s almost dead?’

  ‘Almost but not quite,’ added Harrison. ‘That’s an important distinction.’

  ‘Stay out of this!’ Schmidt appeared really angry now as he too dismounted and strode up behind Johnson. ‘Look, we can’t take him with us. He’ll slow us down and probably die on the way.’

  Johnson stood up and turned to face the lieutenant. ‘I’ll put him on my horse, sir. I’ll take good care of him and.…’

  ‘Your job is to follow orders, not play nursemaid, damn you! Stand to attention when you address me!’

  Johnson stood upright, saluted smartly and then added softly, ‘We can’t just leave him here to die, sir.’

  Schmidt appeared to relax suddenly and even smiled at the sergeant. ‘You’re right, we have to relieve his suffering.’

  The lieutenant drew his officer’s sword and approached the prisoner. He raised the weapon slightly but then, instead of cutting him free, thrust it deep into his heart. The bound man writhed briefly before he stiffened and lay still. In the shocked silence that followed Schmidt turned back to his sergeant and bellowed, ‘Now get your black hide back on that horse before I use it on you!’

  Johnson showed no fear but his eyes were filled with a deep hatred as he stared back at the officer. He stood still, his fists clenched at his sides.

  ‘I gave you an order!’ shrieked Schmidt, his face crimson with rage. He moved a step closer as he brandished his bloodstained sword in front of the sergeant’s face.

  ‘That’s enough, Schmidt!’ said Harrison sharply. ‘No one gives a damn about your orders any more.’ He drew his gun and thumbed back the hammer as the officer turned towards him.

  ‘Drop it or I’ll blow your head off.’ Schmidt froze as he stared at the revolver. ‘I’m not one of your troops and if a man points a weapon at me I’ve got the right to defend myself.’ Harrison spoke quietly but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone. Schmidt knew he was not bluffing. Slowly, he lowered the sword and Harrison put his gun away.


  Wilcox and Coley dismounted to help Johnson and Harrison bury the dead man. This time Schmidt said nothing but sat waiting on his horse until they had finished. Then, wordlessly, he spurred his mount to ride on in front as an uneasy silence descended on the group.

  It grew cooler at sunset as they approached a rocky area divided by a narrow creek. The horses drank their fill and rested as the men refilled their canteens. Coley pointed to some wagon tracks just ahead of them. Dropping to his haunches he examined them closely.

  ‘It looks like we’re not far behind,’ he remarked thoughtfully.

  ‘There must be a canyon up ahead. It could be a good place to make camp if we get there by nightfall,’ said Johnson, pointing to some higher ground in the distance.

  ‘It is a canyon,’ said Schmidt as he peered through his telescope. It was the first time he had spoken since his actions earlier that day and he did not look at his companions as he did so, nor did they look at him. He snapped the instrument shut and rode on ahead. The others fell in behind. An orange globe dropped behind the peaks as they reached their destination. A cave provided shelter and Harrison took the first watch once they had finished the dried beef, beans and coffee prepared by Wilcox. Johnson relieved him a couple of hours later.

  Despite the horrors of the day, he enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep. The others were all deep in slumber as he roused himself, apart from Schmidt who was sitting up against a boulder with his shoulders wrapped by a blanket and a rifle across his knees. It seemed that he had taken the last watch of the night. Harrison noticed the pool of blood between the officer’s knees as he stepped past him.

  He put a hand on Schmidt’s shoulder and shook him gently. The dead man’s head rolled back and Harrison found himself gazing into a pair of sightless eyes. Lieutenant Schmidt’s throat had been slit from ear to ear.

  Harrison gasped as he stepped backwards, knocking the empty coffee pot over on to the tin plates. Johnson woke with a start and sat upright, asking what was wrong.

  ‘See for yourself, assuming you don’t know already,’ replied Harrison, gesturing towards the corpse.

  Johnson looked down at the body of his commanding officer and shook his head. ‘Now wait a minute, mister. I won’t pretend to be sorry but I didn’t do this, wouldn’t kill a man like that in cold blood no matter what he’d done.’

  Wilcox and Coley were both awake now. ‘I don’t suppose either of you two know anything about this?’ Harrison asked them.

  Wilcox shook his head in horrified puzzlement. Coley did not speak but was busy buckling on his gunbelt.

  ‘Corporal, you’ve been asked a question,’ Johnson reminded him.

  ‘He had it comin’, y’all know that,’ muttered Coley with a shrug of indifference.

  Johnson shook his head vigorously. ‘He sure did but that don’t make it right. You crossed a line, boy.’

  Coley nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe I did. Maybe I’ve wanted to cross that line a long time. Maybe I’m tired of all the dirt that gets kicked in my face on account of my skin, the dirt that gets kicked in all our faces.’

  Johnson nodded. ‘I’m tired of it too, man, but damn it, you should be better than this.’

  Harrison spoke next. ‘The question is, what happens now? I don’t approve of what Coley’s done but I’m not about to put a rope around his neck for it.’

  ‘I guess we’ll have to bury Schmidt out here and figure out some story to explain it before we get back,’ said Johnson reluctantly.

  Wilcox and Coley exchanged looks. ‘There’s at least a hundred thousand dollars buried some place in that old mine,’ Coley reminded the sergeant. ‘We could be over the border with it before anyone figures we’re not comin’ back.’

  ‘So we’re deserters now, are we?’ Johnson shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I’ve given fifteen years to the army, seen plenty of good men die and now you want me to just run away. Is that it?’

  ‘What have you got to show for all those years?’ Wilcox asked him. ‘You’ll be a sergeant ’til you get killed or retire. How many officers do you see who ain’t white?’

  ‘Yeah, and there’ll always be another Schmidt to push you around,’ added Coley.

  Johnson sat down on a rock as he thought. ‘Guess I can’t stop you if that’s what you figure on doin’, but it don’t seem right. I’ll have to go back.’ Coley snorted. ‘They won’t be givin’ you a medal for turnin’ up without your men, the money or your commandin’ officer.’ Johnson nodded. ‘Yeah, they’ll want someone to blame, I guess. Seems like I got no choice.’ He turned to face Harrison. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘All I want is to see my friend rescued and to collect that thousand-dollar reward for Barton’s hide. What you three men choose to do after that is up to you.’

  ‘Well, that settles it. We’d best get goin’.’ Johnson stood up decisively and they began to pack up. Wilcox clapped the sergeant on the shoulder. ‘Cheer up. Think of all them señoritas down in Mexico to spend some o’ that money on. You’ll be able to buy whatever you want.’

  ‘It sounds like paradise, my friend.’ They all turned, reaching for their weapons to see a tall, elegantly dressed figure standing in the opening of the cave.

  ‘This ain’t your business, mister, you’d best take a walk,’ said Coley menacingly.

  ‘I have two dozen men outside who say it is,’ replied the stranger. As he stepped further towards them Harrison was able to study the man more closely. The Spanish style light-grey suit and ruffled shirt suggested that he was a man of some means. A mane of silver hair crowned his leonine head above a matching, neatly trimmed beard. His dark, almost black eyes were set in smooth, olive skin. Harrison judged him to be in his early fifties but in good shape with a lithe, athletic figure.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself, gentlemen. I am Don Pedro Felipe Gonzalez-Ortega. I have, as I said, two dozen men outside who are most anxious to make your acquaintance, so if you will be kind enough to follow me.…’

  ‘What do you want, Ortega?’ asked Harrison.

  The Mexican smiled as he took a puff from the cigar he held between two of his be-ringed fingers. ‘Your conversation this morning has been most enlightening, señores. I heard every word, believe me, so what I want should be quite obvious to you.’

  ‘Forget it. Now get outta here before I blow your Spanish ass back to Mexico.’ Johnson pointed a rifle at the man’s chest. At such close range, it would be impossible for him to miss.

  ‘That would be a brave but foolhardy gesture, my friend. Do you think my men would hesitate to avenge my death? They would not and all of you would die.’ Ortega’s tone remained light, conversational and almost mocking, but there was an edge to it. Harrison sensed that he was used to being obeyed and not given to issuing idle threats. Reaching behind him, he placed a hand on the barrel of Johnson’s weapon and gently urged him to lower it.

  Ortega nodded his approval. ‘I see you are a prudent man, Señor … Harrison, is it not? We have been following and observing you all since yesterday, beginning with that unfortunate incident after you found one of my men—’

  ‘I presume you mean the poor wretch we found tied up?’

  ‘Do not pity him; an army spy.’ Ortega spat contemptuously. ‘Before the war with Texas, my family owned lands, herds of cattle and a beautiful hacienda. Afterwards, Texas was part of the union and we were left with nothing. Now I am called a bandit, thief and outlaw by the very people who stole my inheritance, and spies are sent to betray me. Come, there has been enough talking, we must go.’

  The four men looked at each other, then reluctantly followed Ortega out of the cave.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ortega was not bluffing. Outside, in the glaring sunshine, two dozen mounted bandits awaited them. Harrison and his companions were made to surrender their weapons before saddling up to follow their captors along a steep path which led higher up into the canyon. Before long they reached a network of caves above a stream which had clearly been turned into
a settlement of some sort. Once they had dismounted, Ortega gestured for Harrison to follow him as he ducked into the entrance to one of the caves. Oil lamps had been fastened to the walls, which had been whitewashed, and there were rushes on the floor. He followed the Mexican along a winding, narrow passageway until it broadened out into a much bigger central cave. This had actually been furnished with a desk, behind which was a high backed leather chair in which Ortega sat himself down. He gestured to a couple of smaller chairs in front of it and Harrison sat down too. Looking around he noticed that there were rugs on the floor, a mirror, wash-stand and even a divan bed.

  ‘It is not bad eh, señor? These are my quarters when I am not over the border in Mexico. I have a house there but soon there will be enough for a proper ranch and a grand house, just like the old days, no?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so certain of that, Ortega. The people we’re following may get to that money ahead of us.’

  ‘I think not. You see, I sent some of my men on ahead to that mine yesterday. They are well armed and superb horsemen and may give this Señor Gabriel a surprise.’

  ‘How do you know that name?’ asked Harrison in puzzlement.

  ‘I told you, señor, you have been under observation for some time. Your conversations with the sergeant were overheard, as was the mention of a mine, although until today I did not realize its true significance. I knew from the reports I had received that you were following people there and suspected that you were in pursuit of something valuable.’

  Harrison nodded. ‘Pursuit is the right word. Only one man knows exactly whereabouts in that mine the money is hidden and he’s with Gabriel.’

  Ortega sat back in his chair as he lit a fresh cigar. He offered the box to Harrison who ignored the gesture, then shrugged and opened a drawer in his desk to pull out a crumpled, bloodstained sheet of paper which he placed on top of the pile of papers between them. It was a wanted poster for Clay Barton.