He hoped that turned out to be the case, because sooner or later he was going to have to gather up Jess and the other women and make a break for freedom.
The five riders skirted the village and approached the Rurales compound, despite the yearning looks Valdez cast toward the buildings as he licked his lips thirstily. Torches blazed on top of the walls, casting their garish, flickering glow over the empty ground around the place. No one would be able to approach the walls or the gates without being seen by the Rurales on duty in the guard towers.
The front gates were massive affairs made of thick beams and iron straps. Breaching them would be difficult.
Kelly rode right up to them and called out in Spanish. A challenge came back to him from the parapet on the inside of the wall. When the Kid looked up, he saw torchlight reflecting on the barrels of numerous rifles that were thrust over the wall to point at the newcomers.
“Tell
“Stay where you are, Senor Kelly!” one of the men on the parapet responded.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Kelly assured him.
The Kid asked, “Are they always this on edge?”
“They’re probably nervous because the Apaches are here. Having them around is sort of like inviting a mountain lion into your parlor. You never know what’s going to happen.”
“You mean the Apaches are inside the compound ?”
Kelly shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t all waltz in there and let the Rurales close those gates behind them. That would be running too great a risk. I figure their war chief, Salvatorio, and some of his trusted lieutenants took the women in to make the trade with Guzman. But the rest of the bunch will be somewhere close by, you can count on that.”
Kelly seemed to know what he was talking about, so The Kid took him at his word. They waited, and after a few minutes, one of the guards called down, “Capitan Guzman wishes to speak with you! We will take you to him!”
The Kid heard bars and bolts being undone on the gates. With a creaking of hinges, the massive portals began to swing open. As soon as the gap between them was large enough, The Kid and the other four men rode into the compound under the watchful eyes—and the rifles—of more than a dozen guards in gray uniforms and steeple-crowned sombreros.
Once they were inside, the gates swung closed ponderously behind them. The Kid looked around. The whole compound was lit up by torchlight, and he was able to pick out the various buildings Kelly had mentioned, including the long barracks, the squat, thick-walled powder magazine that sat against a side wall, and a building that was more imposing than the others because it had a second story with a wrought-iron balcony.
Kelly saw where The Kid was looking and said quietly, “That’s the capitan’s headquarters and residence. That’s where we’ll find Guzman and likely those women you’re so worried about.”
A number of the Rurales surrounded them as they dismounted. The men didn’t seem threatening as they reached for the horses’ reins. Kelly nodded that it was all right to turn the animals over to them.
“These hombres know me,” he said to The Kid. “They know I’ve done business with Guzman before, so they won’t give us any trouble.”
Kelly strode toward the headquarters building, along with The Kid, Valdez, Chess, and Mateo. Several of the Rurales went with them, but their rifles were down and they seemed relaxed. They were escorting, but not necessarily guarding, the visitors.
The headquarters building had a low porch along the front. The Kid and the others stepped up onto it, and a door opened. A slender Rurale who wore spectacles and carried himself like a clerk ushered them in. In English, he said, “Capitan Guzman awaits you and your friends in his quarters, Senor Kelly.”
“Gracias, Luis,” Kelly replied.
They followed as the clerk led them up a curving staircase with a polished wooden banister. From what The Kid could see, the place was fancier inside than he would have expected a military headquarters to be.
Of course, the Rurales weren’t exactly military, he reminded himself. They worked for the government, but the organization was a police force ... at least in theory.
When they reached the second floor, Luis took them along a corridor with a gleaming hardwood floor. Tapestries and portraits hung on the walls. Clearly, Guzman was a man who liked to surround himself with comfort and luxury. That took a lot of money and couldn’t be done on a Rurales’ wages, not even an officer’s. The elegant surroundings were ample testimony to Guzman’s greed and corruption.
A set of carved double doors stood at the end of the hall. Luis knocked on them, and in response to a muffled voice from inside, he said, “Senor Kelly and the others are here, Capitan
The voice barked an order. Luis opened the doors and motioned for the visitors to go in.
The Kid wasn’t surprised by what he saw when he stepped inside with the others. They found themselves in a parlor with thick rugs on the floor, heavy furniture, and walls hung with more portraits, along with a number of modern rifles and crossed sabers. It was a man’s room, and the master of it stood on the other side of the room with a drink in his hand and a smile on his face.
Guzman was tall and lean, with a thick shock of salt-and-pepper hair. His pointed beard gave him a satanic look, The Kid thought. He wore an immaculate gray uniform with a crimson sash and a broad leather belt with a holstered revolver strapped to it.
The captain wasn’t alone in the room. With him stood a shorter, stocky figure in leggings, breechcloth, blousy blue shirt, and blue headband. The man’s square, dark face was set in iron-hard lines of hatred as he gazed at the newcomers.
“Senor Kelly,” Guzman said. “So good to see you and your amigos again. Tell me,
Chapter 23
Kelly returned Guzman’s smile and didn’t miss a beat as he replied, “You could do that, certainly, Capitan. But if you did, it would cost you money in the long run.”
A stream of guttural language erupted from Salvatorio. The Kid didn’t speak any Apache, but he was pretty sure what the war chief was saying wasn’t flattering.
Kelly let Salvatorio’s unleashed venom run down, then went on. “There’s no rule that says the people you do business with have to like each other, Captain. I’m perfectly willing to back off and let you finish your transaction with Salvatorio. Then you and I can come to an arrangement of our own.”
“My business with the chief is already done,” Guzman said. “He was just leaving.”
“You might want to ask him to wait around for a while,” Kelly suggested. “The proposition I have for you involves him as well.”
Interest sparked in Guzman’s eyes. The Kid read greed there as well.
“Salvatorio’s associates are downstairs eating,” Guzman said. “I’ll have him taken to join them while you and I discuss matters, Kelly.”
The conversation made it pretty obvious the war chief didn’t speak or understand any English. Guzman spoke in rapid Spanish to Salvatorio, peppering the conversation with Apache words he must have picked up from dealing with the Indians. Salvatorio didn’t look happy, but he nodded curtly and turned to leave the room.
As he passed Kelly, his hand twitched a little toward the handle of the knife tucked behind his sash. The Kid saw Kelly’s hand shift slightly, moving closer to the butt of his gun. But both men controlled the impulse to kill, and Salvatorio left the room.
When the war chief was gone, Guzman said, “Come, have a drink with me, my friends. And while I am acquainted with three of these hombres, this one is a stranger to me.” He nodded toward The Kid.
“I do not like having strangers in my home,” Guzman continued. “Introduce us, Senor Kelly.”
“This is Morgan,” Kelly said. “Some folks call him The Kid. He’s riding with us now.”
