William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

“Victim?” Oscar asked.

“There’s a human sacrifice to be staged. I was to be it. Horatio was double-crossing his own people by aiding me to escape from that pit. Boys, he was plenty scared too.”

Lanky drawled, “You’ll never realize, Lance, until you know the Yaquentes like I do, how much nerve it required for Horatio to do that. But that’s a Yaquente for you. They’re willing to die to repay a debt.”

Lance nodded. “That’s the way I figured Horatio. Like I say, it was right hard carrying on a conversation with him, but I gathered he wasn’t entirely sold on the setup. That beating Herrick started to give him that day has sort of destroyed Horatio’s faith in things maybe. What it’s about I don’t know, but there’s some white man working the Yaquentes up to do some deviltry. I don’t know what the game is but I’m betting there’s more than religious ceremonies involved——”

“You think Herrick is the white man in question?” Oscar asked grimly.

“I don’t know. I keep remembering that Kilby confessed someone was furnishing peyotes to the Yaquentes——”

“T’hell you say!” Lanky ejaculated. “That means religious ceremonies sure as hell.” In the faint starlight that fell on the gallery his face looked uneasy. “I had an idea those Yaquentes were getting mezcal buttons someplace from their looks when I went through their village today.’ Nother thing I didn’t like—they all wore six-shooters, and the guns looked new.”

Lance considered Lanky’s words. “Somebody must be furnishing ’em firearms too. It’s my understanding that the Yaquentes aren’t supposed to wear guns to any extent. The Mexican Government tries to hold ’em down——”

“You give a Yaquente a gun and keep him supplied with mezcal buttons,” Lanky said, “and he won’t give no damn about any government. Sure as hell those Injuns are getting ready to blow off steam. I don’t like it.”

“Here’s something else I haven’t told you,” Lance went on. “There’s a smaller room off that big chamber in that snake temple. I looked in there and saw some boxes. They hadn’t been opened, but I didn’t have any trouble guessing what they held—ammunition and gunpowder. There was another smaller box there with a few small holes bored in it. It might have held snakes.”

“Snakes?” Oscar asked blankly.

Lance nodded. “One thing that’s got the Yaquentes impressed as hell is the way this white man handles snakes. They don’t bite him. Furthermore, Horatio swears they’re snakes with feathers. The Yaquentes are commencing to believe sure as hell that their god, Quetzalcoatl, has come back to lead them.”

Lanky nodded. “I’ve heard of that Quetzalcoatl god and how the Yaquentes feel about snakes. They think they’re sacred. Funny thing, for all his nerve, no Yaquente likes to get near a snake—especially a rattler. Well, Lance, what you aiming to do about it?”

Lance smiled thinly. “Lanky, you know some of the Yaquente language, I understand.”

“I can make out with it,” Lanky said warily, “though I don’t claim to be expert. My great-grandmother was a full-blood Yaquente, y’know.”

“Lanky—Oscar,” Lance said. “There’s a powwow being held in that snake temple to night. I’ve got to know what it’s all about. Lanky, you know the language. Are you game to go with us? How about you, Oscar? Take a chance with me?”

Oscar nodded. Lanky rose slowly to his feet. His face was white. “I reckon you don’t know what it means if we get caught, Lance. It’s risky business. White men have snuk into Yaquente ceremonials before—but they never lived to tell what happened. Their bodies were found later—and they weren’t nice to look at.”

Lance said, “I figure we need your knowledge of Yaquente to see us through.”

“I’m with you, of course,” Lanky said courageously. “My seven eighths white blood says stay here, but the one eighth Yaquente says take a chance. But, hell, Lance, we couldn’t just walk in on their church meetin’. We’ll have to fix up like Yaquentes. And how in hell do you figure to disguise that red hair of yours? And that straw-colored mop of Oscar’s? I can get by, of course.”

“Axle grease and black powder and dirt,”—Lance smiled—“can disguise a man’s features pretty effectually.”

Lanky forced a wan smile. “Sounds like you’d had experience.”

Oscar put in, “Down in the bunk house I saw some of them baggy cotton garments like Mex peons and Yaquentes wear. And there’s some of them big straw sombreros. I reckon they were left here by the hired hands back in the days when this ranch was a going concern. It’s sure gone to hell lately. Hardly any cows left that I can see.”

“Probably the hired hands you mention,” Lance commented, “ran off the cows and bought new clothes with the proceeds. Katherine thought she had a ranch here. From all I understand it was deserted except for Malcolm Fletcher when you folks arrived last night. C’mon, let’s go get those togs in the bunk house. Then we’ll saddle up and ride. No use telling those in the house where we’re headed. We’d just waste time with explanations.”

“I’m ready when you and Oscar are,” Lanky said. “What the hell! I can’t lose more than one life and I always did have a hankerin’ to know just what my ancestors did with their religion. Let’s go. We’ll never die any younger!”

XIX War Drums

There wasn’t much moon. What there was was partially obscured by drifting clouds. It was past midnight. Only a pale light filtered down on the great stone slabs that flanked the roadway leading to the Temple of the Plumed Serpent. The doorway of the temple stood black and forbidding. In the brush along the roadway only insects of the night made the faintest sounds. The place seemed deserted.

And then from the brushy ridge north of the temple two forms in white cotton garments appeared. Three more appeared. Then another and another. More followed, all walking silently in the direction of the temple. Occasionally one would break into a high-pitched chant. Two or three more would join in the weird sounds, then the song would die away and there ’d be silence again. The road was filling rapidly with white-clothed forms now. All wore six-shooters at their waists; some carried Winchester repeaters.

More and more appeared until the whole roadway leading to the temple was filled from side to side with a vast undulating sea of straw sombreros. Now lights appeared in the temple as the first to arrive filed inside. The roadway was a packed mass of jostling Yaquentes, many of them swaying unsteadily as they progressed toward the Temple of the Plumed Serpent from which now came the muffled, steady beating of drums. The Yaquentes quickened step to crowd through the temple doorway.

From the thick brush at one side of the roadway emerged three forms clad like the Yaquentes. They mingled quickly with the moving throng without being noticed. In that faint light there was little to distinguish the three from genuine Yaquentes. One of them even took up a few notes of the high-pitched, weird chant. Indians near the singer joined in the haunted, uncanny song which suddenly died away as abruptly as it had been started. The white-clothed pro cession moved nearer the temple doorway.

Lance was wondering now as, accompanied by Lanky and Oscar, he pushed along with the Yaquentes if any sort of password would be necessary to gain entrance to the ceremonies. If so they’d have to do some fast thinking—and perhaps shooting. He felt a trifle more assured at thought of the six-shooter at his waist. He pulled the big straw sombrero lower on his face and noticed Oscar was acting likewise.

There was a momentary pause at the entrance, the crush increased, then Lance and his companions were inside the temple. The place was filling fast. Lanky took Lance’s arm and led him and Oscar to a position at one side within easy reach of the doorway. “Just in case we have to try for a quick getaway,” Lanky whispered. His voice sounded shaky.