William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

Lance nodded. The three commenced to edge back toward the doorway. Yaquentes were all around them, but so intent were the Indians on the scene at the altar that they didn’t notice Lance and his companions gradually moving away. The distance to the outside wasn’t more than ten or twelve feet, but to Lance it seemed they’d never make it. Inch by inch they moved back. At the altar the interpreter was finding new floods of oratory for which Lance and his companions were duly thankful.

Finally, one by one, they slipped around the edge of the entranceway and instantly melted into the thick brush at the side of the road without their exit being noticed. Lanky dropped limply down onto the earth, screened by a thick shelter of mesquite brush. “Mister, I’m plumb thankful that’s over! Them damn drums were getting me down. Just about one bite on a mezcal button and I’d have sloughed off seven eighths white man. I’m glad we’re shet of that snake temple. I don’t want no more!”

Now that they were outside, breathing the clean night air, Lance and Oscar were commencing to feel the same way.

XX Revolution

They sat deep in the brush talking in hushed tones and smoking cigarettes, the glowing ends of which they kept well shielded within their cupped hands. From the temple came the steady beating of drums, but they sounded faint and far away now. The cool night wind filtered through the brush, sweeping away the cigarette smoke.

Oscar spoke, low toned. “I wonder how much longer that ceremony in there is going to last.

Lanky said scornfully, “That wa’n’t no real ceremony like I’ve heard they have. That was just the start. You know—that dance and the drums and all—that wasn’t really getting down to business. That was just the start, like a young cow hand feelin’ his oats on a Saturday night. Come Saturday he likes to go out and get liquored up and do some dancing. Human nature is pretty much the same, red or white. Them Yaquentes just use mezcal buttons instead of liquor.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on us leaving,” Lance said disappointedly, “I would have stayed. I was plumb eager to see how Fletcher would act when it was discovered I wasn’t down in that pit back of the altar.”

“Hell’s bells,” Lanky said. “He knew you’d escaped—leastwise I figure he did. I took note, none of those Yaquentes got very near the altar. There may have been a few in the know, but——”

“Just a minute.” Lance frowned. “You say Fletcher knew I’d escaped from the pit—before he got here?”

“I figure he must have,” Lanky replied. “Leastwise—why did he have that interpreter announce there wouldn’t be any human sacrifice tonight?—‘sacrifice of the bleeding heart,’ they called it. That’s what all the row was about. The Yaquentes didn’t like him breaking a promise he’d made ’em. Lance, they were all set to do a job of carving on you until Fletcher told ’em the time wasn’t right. He handed ’em a lot of superstitious bosh about waiting until the moon was ten days nearer the full. He was just stalling for time, of course——”

“Hold on a second,” Lance interrupted. “I want to get this straight. How many people knew I’d escaped from the pit? Us three, the folks at the ranch and Horatio. How did Fletcher know I’d escaped?”

“Horatio wouldn’t tell him,” Lanky said quickly. “He wouldn’t dare for fear the rest of the tribe would learn about it—and that would mean the end of Horatio.”

Oscar said, “That leaves Miss Gregory, the professor, Trunk-Strap Kelly, Tom Piper, Hub Owen, Cal Braun and Luke Homer. Take your choice, Lance, but remember, I’m betting those hands I hired are on the level.”

“I’ll swear to that part myself,” Lanky agreed.

Lance stared in silence at the darkness surrounding them. Finally he changed the subject. “Start at the beginning,” he said wearily, “and give us the whole story, Lanky. Just what was said in that temple?”

“To cut a long story short,” Lanky said, “Fletcher is working the Yaquentes up to start a revolution in Mexico and overthrow the present government. He’s getting at them on the standpoint of their religion—the ancient Aztec religion that called for worshiping a snake with feathers on and had mezcal buttons as part of their ceremonial feasts. Fletcher has been furnishing the peyotes——”

Oscar cut in, “That rattler Fletcher had was feathered.”

“I’ve been thinking about that”—Lance nodded—“and wondering where Fletcher got the nerve to handle that diamondback. Me, I wouldn’t crave to do it. But the snake acted like it was afraid of him . No wonder the Indians are impressed. Go on, Lanky.”

Lanky continued, “Like I say, Fletcher is working on their religion, telling them all Mexico must be made to return to the old beliefs. The poor ignorant suckers drink it in. The plan is to make war on the small towns first and gain supplies and converts. It’ll be a case of being converted or killed. Gradually the movement will gather strength, Fletcher claims, and eventually they’ll be strong enough to capture Chihuahua City. Once the state of Chihuahua is in their hands, Fletcher told ’em, the rest of Mexico will come easy. And the Yaquentes take it all as gospel truth, thinking he’s a sort of direct voice from Quetzalcoatl, the snake god.”

“So that’s Fletcher’s game,” Lance mused. “I’ll admit that such things have worked before.”

Lanky went on, “There was to be a big ceremony to night, until your body couldn’t be produced for sacrifice, Lance. That gummed matters up plenty. The Yaquentes didn’t like it. They thought you were still down in the pit, unconscious, and Fletcher took good care not to let them get close enough to the pit to learn you weren’t there. For a few minutes Fletcher was in a tight spot. The Yaquentes got sulky and refused to go ahead with the ceremony. Two of those Indians were right stubborn and insisted that Fletcher keep his promise regarding the sacrifice.”

“So that’s what it was, eh?” Lance said. “One of the two was Horatio. He knew damn well that Fletcher couldn’t produce me. It looks to me like he was trying to put Fletcher on the spot. I wonder why?”

“Maybe he’s losing faith in Fletcher,” Lanky suggested. “That other Indian was yelling for ammunition if he couldn’t have the human sacrifice. It seems Fletcher has been giving them guns but no cartridges to shoot. Anyway, he compromised by promising to let them have ammunition and thereby wiggled himself out of a bad spot. I bet he’ll think twice and some more on top of that before he gets ’em into the temple for another promised sacrifice.”

“Listen,” Oscar said suddenly, “the drums are stopped.”

They listened intently for a few minutes. Lanky drawled, “Prayer meetin’ must be over. They’ll be coming out right quick. We’d better douse our cigarettes and lay low.”

They put out their cigarettes and crouched low in the brush. After a few minutes several white-clad forms emerged from the temple carrying pine boxes. Lance whispered to Oscar, “There goes that ammunition and powder they had stored in that small room off the big one.”

Fletcher, still wearing his long white-feathered robe, followed closely on the boxes. They could hear him urging the men to hurry. He strode along at a stiff pace beside them.

Oscar’s lips were close to Lance’s ear: “I reckon he’s got to get ahead with that bunch and change his clothes. I’d like to learn where he keeps his horse and steal it so he’d have to return to Muletero in that outfit.”

More Yaquentes were emerging from the temple now. The torches had been put out. Once more the roadway was packjammed with white-clothed figures. There was a good deal of muttering among the Yaquentes. To Lance it sounded like grumbling. The bobbing straw sombreros flowed steadily past. Finally the pro cession commenced to thin out. A few stragglers still came on behind. Now they hurried to catch up with the rest. The long packed line streamed on along the roadway, then disappeared someplace in the vicinity of the brushy ridge at the end of the road. A few voices drifted back on the night breeze, then suddenly all was quiet again.