Hunt at The Well Of Eternity

Chapter 14

Gabriel didn’t know if the bandit camp was still in Mexico or over the border in Guatemala. Not that it mattered one bit in this wild territory. Borders meant little here, and governments were far away. The only power that mattered was the power of the man next to you holding a gun. In this case, that was Paco Escalante, and what mattered was that he hadn’t ordered his men to kill them…yet.

They’d been taken, at gunpoint, to what looked like a semipermanent camp, with crude, thatch-roofed huts instead of tents. Gabriel and Cierra were stashed in one of the huts until Escalante could decide what he wanted to do with them.

“Do you think he knows who you are?” Gabriel asked.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t seen me for many years. I’ve changed enough since then that I don’t think he recognized me. He, on the other hand, hasn’t changed at all.”

Escalante was a tall, gaunt man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a mat of silvery hair. His face was weathered and lined from years of living mostly outdoors, much as Pancho Guzman’s had been. Escalante’s men were cut from similar cloth, all of them older, still plenty tough but with an air of weariness about them, as if they had been fighting the same fight for too long.

Gabriel and Cierra had been forced to climb into the back of the pickup with the supplies and ride there while one of Escalante’s men drove and another sat with them, his gun aimed casually in their direction. They left the highway, such as it was, and followed what appeared to be little more than a goat track deep into the jungle that covered the lower slopes of the mountains. Clearly the bandit knew where he was going, because even though the goat track disappeared, he found a way through the jungle and was able to keep the pickup moving.

When they reached the camp and stopped, Escalante had the two prisoners placed in the hut, with armed guards on either side of the entrance, and they had remained there ever since. The fading light that came through cracks in the rough walls told Gabriel that the day was drawing to a close. It would be night soon.

And who knew what dangers the darkness might hold?

“Can you tell me a bit more about what happened on your parents’ plantation?” Gabriel said. “I know it’s painful for you, but it’s important.” Cierra nodded. “You said you’d seen Escalante before.”

“He worked on the plantation at one time. He and my father always got along well. Escalante was even his assistant foreman for a while. But then his wife grew ill and died, and he became very bitter. Didn’t show up for work, wouldn’t come out of his room. Eventually he just walked off. Word came back that he was living as a bandit. It was difficult for my father—he’d considered Escalante a friend. But he rebuffed every effort my father made to contact him.

“At least he left the plantation alone, though—spared it from his raids. I imagine it was because my father had always treated him fairly. But he was not the only bandit in Chiapas, and my parents decided it was too dangerous for me to stay on the plantation. They sent me away to school…and while I was gone, a group of bandits attacked. They killed my parents and burned the house and all the crops—it was done with exceptional viciousness. The police later found out it was Escalante’s gang that did it. I could never understand why.”

“Maybe to prove to his men that he wasn’t soft,” Gabriel said. “Maybe he was taking heat for leaving your father alone for so long. Or maybe he just snapped, lashed out at anything that reminded him of his wife’s death.”

“Or maybe he is simply the monster people say he is.”

“Then why did you ask those other bandits if they knew him?”

“I was desperate—it was the only idea I had,” Cierra said. “They were going to kill us. And I thought, if they’re part of his band, he might show pity on me because of what he’d done to my parents so long ago. And if they were part of someone else’s band and thought we had a connection to him, maybe they’d be afraid to hurt us…”

“Well, no one’s hurt us so far. Though I don’t know how long he plans to let us live. Or how long until allies of the other band decide to come after him for revenge. That fellow made it sound like Escalante’s not a feared man in these parts anymore.”

Before they could continue the discussion, a step sounded outside the hut and the door swung open. Escalante’s figure loomed in the doorway with the fading light behind it.

“Come out, you two,” he ordered.

Gabriel and Cierra were sitting on the ground. Gabriel got up first, unkinking muscles that had grown stiff, then took Cierra’s hand and helped her to her feet. As they stepped out, Escalante moved back, staying well out of reach with the experience-honed wariness of a feral animal. Two men with rifles flanked him. Two more moved in from either side and prodded the prisoners toward a large cleared area in the center of the huts.

The twilight had a greenish tint to it from the trees and vine-covered brush that surrounded the camp. The scene might have been beautiful in a wild, untamed way if they hadn’t been waiting to find out if they were going to live or die, Gabriel thought.

“First of all,” Escalante said as he faced them in the clearing, “who are you?”

“We had a farm, but we lost it because of the taxes,” Gabriel said. “We were going to stay with my wife’s family in Guatemala—”

Escalante stopped him with a casual wave of the hand. “Don’t waste your breath and my time, amigo. You’re an American, and this woman is no farmer’s wife, no matter how she’s dressed.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at Cierra. “In fact, there is something familiar about her—”

“Look, if you let us go, I can make it worth your while,” Gabriel cut in.

The bandit leader looked amused. “Oh, you can, can you, amigo? Just how will you do that?”

“I can raise some ransom money. Not a lot, you understand, but enough that it ought to buy our freedom. All I need to do is get in touch with the American embassy in Mexico City—”

“A man who drives a pickup so old and rusty it’s about to fall apart?” Escalante shook his head. “No, I think not. I think you’re some sort of American gangster, come down here to take advantage of my people.”

“Then why did you save us from those bandits?”

Escalante leaned over and spat in the dirt. “Because I have no use for that pig Gomez and his men. They thought they were the most feared band in these mountains, but they learned to their regret that they were wrong. You and the señorita just happened to be there, señor. We weren’t saving you…we were killing them.”

“Well, either way, we appreciate it. And if you let us go, we’ll appreciate it even more.”

Cierra said, “Gabriel, I think I should—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, knowing what she was about to reveal.

“A wise man listens to his woman, my friend,” Escalante said with a smile. “But then if you were a wise man, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?”

“Just tell me what it will take to buy our freedom.”

“Buy?” Escalante shook his head. “One cannot buy freedom.” He held up a finger. “One can only fight for it.”

“Then let me fight for it,” Gabriel said and Escalante’s eyes narrowed. “You saw us fight Gomez—I killed him, not you. If there’s a fight you need help with…”

“I need no gringo’s help,” Escalante spat. “But if you are so eager to fight, we can oblige you.” He turned and used his outstretched finger to make a crooking motion. “Tomás.”

Gabriel had a bad feeling about this. He turned and saw the group of bandits that had surrounded them parting to allow a man through into the clearing.

The newcomer was several inches shorter than Gabriel but considerably wider as well. His long arms were almost as thick as the trunks of young trees, and his shoulders strained at the olive-drab fabric of the old fatigue shirt he wore. He was mostly bald, with only a fringe of gray hair around his ears. Not a young man by any means, but still tough and dangerous, Gabriel judged. Perhaps even more dangerous than if he had been young, because he’d have the skill and guile of a veteran.

“Let’s see how you fight, gringo. You shall be our evening’s entertainment,” Escalante said. “And if you can defeat Tomás, well…we’ll talk about your freedom.”

“Talk?” Gabriel said. “I want your word. If I win, you’ll set us free.”

Escalante laughed. “Where in life do you see guarantees, amigo? The only guarantees in this world are of pain and suffering, and death at the end. All else is a gamble.”

Gabriel’s mouth tightened. Even as Cierra’s hand clutched at his arm, he knew he couldn’t turn down the bandit leader’s offer, no matter how tenuous it was.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll take the gamble.”

“Gabriel…” Cierra began.

“It’s okay,” he told her as he turned to her and smiled. “He doesn’t look so tough.”

“Let me—”

He shook his head before she could go on.

“You refuse to let your woman intercede for you?” Escalante said. “I would expect no less of a true man.”

Gabriel turned back to him. “What do we fight with? Pistols? Machetes? Or a good old-fashioned bare knuckles brawl?”

“None of those,” Escalante said with a shake of his head. “Bullwhips.”

Tomás grinned.

“Bullwhips?” Gabriel repeated.

All the bandits were grinning now. One of them went into a hut and brought out a couple of coiled whips of plaited leather.

“Oh, Gabriel!” Cierra threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. In his ear, she whispered, “I tried to warn you, you fool! I remember hearing about Tomás when I was a little girl. He can take out a man’s eyes with a whip! He’ll cut you to ribbons!”

Gabriel reached up to stroke her hair as she embraced him. “It’s all right,” he whispered. His mouth was dry, but not too dry for him to add, “I learned to use a bullwhip when I was a boy. An old friend of my father’s taught me.”

“A friend of…? Wasn’t your father some sort of Classics professor?”

“Trust me,” Gabriel said.

He let go of her and stepped back, then reached out to take the whip that was offered to him. His fingers closed around the long handle. It was made of wood with strips of leather wrapped around it. With a flick of his wrist he shook out the whip itself, made of more long strips, braided together. It coiled and writhed at his feet like a snake.

“Oh, ho, Tomás,” Escalante said. “It looks like our American friend has held a whip before.”

Tomás spat, and if ever such a gesture could be eloquent, this one was. His contempt was obvious. He snapped his wrist, and the whip he held leaped into the air like it was alive before jumping back with a sharp crack that sounded like a gunshot.

Gabriel could have cracked his whip, too, but he didn’t see any point in showing off. He had probably done a little too much of that already, just by not feigning awkwardness when he was handed the whip.

“If you survive this, Gabriel,” Escalante said, using the name Cierra had called him, “then you deserve to live.”

“Then this is a fight to the death?” Gabriel said.

Tomás spoke for the first time, in a voice like ten miles of gravel road. “For you it is.”

Cierra reached for Gabriel again, but Escalante took hold of her arm and pulled her back before she could get to him. The rest of the men backed off as well, giving Gabriel and Tomás plenty of room in the middle of the clearing.

Once they started swinging those bullwhips, they would need the room.

Tomás struck first, lashing out with the whip. Gabriel had seen the flare of anger in the man’s eyes and the bunching of the muscles in his shoulders, and that was all the warning he needed to leap aside. As he moved he snapped his wrist and sent his whip darting toward Tomás. The stocky bandit was incredibly fast for a man of his bulk, though. Gabriel’s first strike missed just as Tomás’s had.

Tomás drew his whip in and began to circle slowly, forcing Gabriel to circle as well. Then with a grunt he attacked again, this time going for Gabriel’s legs. Gabriel tried to dart out of the way, but the very tip of the bullwhip struck his calf and left behind a line of fiery pain when it snapped back. Gabriel glanced down and saw that the whip had sliced right through his jeans.

Tomás rushed him then, snapping the whip high over-head. If the weighted tip caught him in the eye, it would be over, Gabriel knew. He flung up his left arm, felt the vicious bite of the whip against his flesh as it cut through his sleeve.

Holding his right arm down low, he flicked his wrist and sent his whip leaping out again. It slid in underneath Tomás’s guard and cut the bandit across his belly. Tomás howled in pain and anger but didn’t pause or stop pressing his attack. Gabriel spun to one side and cracked his whip. This time it struck Tomás’s thick left thigh and drew blood.

Gabriel was vaguely aware of the other bandits yelling encouragement to Tomás. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Cierra standing beside Escalante, her face twisted with lines of fear. She was saying something, but he couldn’t take the time to make it out, because Tomás was coming at him again.

Gabriel watched the man’s arm swing back, gauged where his whip was aimed, and then swung his own to meet it, the lengths of braided leather meeting in mid air, twining around one another. Gabriel yanked fiercely, hoping to pull the handle out of Tomás’s hand, but the stocky man held tight, pulling back mightily and almost overbalancing Gabriel, who stumbled forward. He caught himself with his free hand, the fresh cut on his forearm stinging. With his other hand, he swung the whip handle in a tight circle, desperately trying to untangle his whip from Tomás’s. He saw the other man doing the same, and after a second the two whips slid apart. Each man drew his in, eyeing the other warily.

Tomás raised his arm and with a practiced flick shot the leather at him. Gabriel ducked under the slashing whip and suddenly drove forward, burying the top of his head in Tomás’s bleeding gut. He pushed with all the strength in his legs and knocked Tomás backward. The bandit lost his footing and fell, crashing down hard on his back.

Gabriel landed on top of him, planting a knee in Tomás’s belly. Tomás was red-faced and gasping from the fall. Gabriel didn’t give his opponent the chance to catch his breath. He made a loop with his whip and twisted it around Tomás’s neck, then scrambled around behind the bandit to tighten the noose, twisting with the wooden handle to turn it into a makeshift tourniquet. Grunting with the strain, Gabriel rose to his feet, lifting Tomás with him and making the whip sink deeper and deeper into the flesh of the man’s neck.

Tomás flailed with his free hand, swinging behind him, but the blows he landed didn’t reach Gabriel with enough force to do any damage. Not so the bullwhip in Tomás’s other hand, which danced and weaved around Gabriel, snapping and popping and bloodying him in half a dozen places. His thick work shirt was swiftly sliced through and his back would have been as well, had it not been for the extra padding of the regimental flag hidden beneath his shirt. But the whip cut cruelly into his sides and shoulders, landing for an instant, then moving on to strike again somewhere else. Gabriel ignored the pain and hung on, planting one knee in the other man’s back for leverage.

He had held his own in the contest so far, but he knew if he gave Tomás enough chances the man would eventually kill him.

This fight had to end here and now.

As Gabriel gritted his teeth and looked over Tomás’s shoulder, he saw several of the bandits pointing guns at him with angry expressions on their faces. They didn’t like seeing their compadre on the brink of defeat, and at the hands of a gringo, at that.

But Paco Escalante motioned for them to lower their weapons, and grudgingly, the bandits did so. After what seemed like an eternity, Tomás stopped fighting. His muscles went limp, and the bullwhip slipped from his nerveless fingers. Gabriel didn’t think the bandit was shamming. Tomás wouldn’t have let go of his bullwhip if he were still conscious. Instantly, Gabriel let off on the pressure he’d been exerting with his whip and allowed Tomás’s ungainly form to slump to the ground at his feet.

If ever the other bandits were going to shoot him, it would be now.

Escalante motioned his men back, though, and came forward, bringing Cierra with him. He gestured toward Tomás, who lay there out cold but still breathing, and said, “You did not kill him. It was supposed to be a fight to death.”

Gabriel was a little out of breath himself. “Didn’t see…any need to,” he said.

Escalante reached to the holster on his hip and drew a revolver from it. “You seek to gain favor with me by sparing one of my men when you could have killed him?” The gun rose to point at Gabriel. “You think I know mercy? That may have been the worst mistake you ever made, amigo…and the last.”

Gabriel was ready to make an exhausted desperation leap at the bandit leader, but Cierra got between them.

“Stop it!” she cried as she stood there trembling with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. “You murdering bastard! Do you want me to fight for our lives now? I’ll fight! I’ll fight anyone you say, and I promise you I won’t hold back from killing him!”

Gabriel muttered, “Oh, hell.” But then he saw a sudden flare of recognition in Escalante’s eyes. A shadow spread slowly across the bandit leader’s craggy face.

“My God,” Escalante murmured. “Cierra Almanzar.” He lowered his gun. “You know, I believe you would fight, at that.”

Gabriel heard the metallic ratcheting of guns being cocked all around them.

But then Escalante made another gesture, telling his men to hold their fire. He looked at Cierra and said, “Your father’s death, your poor mother…can you ever forgive me?”

Then he put his arms around a shocked Cierra and held her as tenderly as if she were his own daughter as tears ran down his leathery cheeks.