There was a stunned silence after Reverend Faulkner finished telling his story, a silence which lasted for a minute or so. Then one of the boys said softly, ‘That’s one hell of a story, Reverend.’
Marie then said, ‘Still and all, that was better than fifteen years ago. You cannot go on feeling sorry about the business for ever. It’s not like you meant to kill those children, it was by way of being an accident.’
‘Some accident,’ said Faulkner. ‘Suppose now I put on a blindfold and then walk out into the street firing a pistol all over the place. Is the hapless person I shoot dead the victim of an “accident”? I can tell you now that that would be murder, whether I was aiming at my victim or not. That is the legal position and it is also, I am afraid, what the Lord himself would say.’ He stared moodily into space.
‘Do you not think the Lord will make allowance for the circumstances?’ asked the other young man.
‘A day has not passed since I carried out that terrible act that I do not think long and hard upon those poor children. A day? No, not even an hour has gone by without me thinking on it. As for forgiveness, let me tell you this. On the Day of Judgement, when I stand before the Lord, he will not be throwing his arm round my shoulders and saying, “Come in, Pastor Jonas, and set yourself down at my table. Sure is good to see you!” No, he will be standing there with his arms around those children I killed and he will say, “Faulkner, you son of a bitch, why did you slaughter these little ones?” ’
Faulkner’s tale had put somewhat of a dampener on the spirits of the other three people sitting round the fire and there was no more conversation. He moved off a little space and announced that he would take a nap until the sun had set. When he awoke, as the stars were coming out, Faulkner noticed at once that the woman and one of the men were not in sight. He smiled and guessed that they had crept off behind a rock for some romantic assignation, as it is sometimes called.
The other boy had also been sleeping and he woke at that point and asked, ‘Where’s my partner?’
‘You must not ask of me where he and that girl have got to. It is no affair of mine.’
Hearing voices, the two truants emerged, looking a little furtive and casting anxious glances at Faulkner. The boy said, ‘Sorry about that, Reverend, but it is what you might term human nature.’
Faulkner laughed. ‘There are worse things a man can do than lay with a woman. It is nothing to me.’
After they had all had another bite to eat, Reverend Faulkner decided to lay his hand over and show these young people how things stood. ‘I have enjoyed visiting with you young folk and you have made the journey here all the more pleasant for your company, for which I thank you. Howsoever, this is not your business. It is now my intention to go up against some of the most dangerous men you could ever fear to stumble across and I would not wish to lead you all into danger. You must make your ways either forward to the canyon or back to Santa Pueblo as the spirit takes you and I shall proceed alone on my errand.’
One of the young men coughed as though embarrassed. ‘The truth is, Preacher, we have not been precisely straight with you.’
‘You astonish me, son,’ said Faulkner dryly. ‘This is a development which I could not have foreseen.’
‘You say what?’ asked the other boy in bewilderment.
His partner laughed and said, ‘The Reverend’s joshing with you. He means that he guessed we were up to no good. Ain’t that right, Pastor?’ Faulkner nodded good-naturedly. The two men reminded him of his younger self and he was curious to know just what they were about. Something in the thieving line would be his guess. As if he had read the pastor’s mind, one of the men shook his head smilingly. ‘No, it’s not what you think, Reverend. Listen, I’ll be straight with you.’
‘This is indeed finding Saul among the prophets,’ said the minister approvingly. ‘I am listening carefully.’
The young fellow turned to his partner and said, ‘What do you say I tell it straight to Reverend Faulkner?’
His companion shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘The fact is, Pastor, me and my friend make our money out of claiming rewards.’
Faulkner looked at the young man with undisguised loathing. ‘You are bounty hunters?’
‘Hell, no! Do we look that type? No, we hunt down stolen goods and suchlike. Banks and other companies offer rewards for information leading to the recovery of various items. We find out the information, give it to those as are looking and collect the reward.’
Faulkner eyed the two young men warily. If there was one breed of man he could not abide, it was a bounty hunter. ‘I suppose next you will be explaining honestly what you are doing following me like this and teaming up on the pretext of taking care of a poor elderly gentleman?’
‘It’s no complicated matter. Some bullion was stole near here a month ago. We heard where it was taken by a bunch of Comancheros, the same as took those girls you are hunting for. From what we hear, the gold is now held up in their camp somewhere in the Palo Duro Canyon. If we can get a line on it and know when they are moving it, we can tip off the banks and they might be able to seize it back again. If so, we pick up ten per cent, which comes to a right tidy sum.’
There was something so open about the boy’s face that Faulkner was convinced. He said slowly, ‘So you figured that as I am going to try and recover something from these Comancheros and you are both also interested in something which they hold that we might join forces? Let me rightly understand you: you have done this type of thing before?’
‘Sure. Sometimes it comes off and other times not. Anybody with a heap of gold to sell has to take it to a bullion merchant, jewellers or suchlike. Then we call the law, they grab it and we pick up the reward for providing the information. Sometimes we get a reward from the law if they catch the thieves, too.’
Faulkner thought the matter over for a space and then said, ‘I will allow that there is some merit in the scheme, but I cannot be a party to it. Those Comancheros would spot two good-natured kids like you a mile off. The result of this foolishness would be the death of you and your friend and this young lady being taken and sold into slavery. I will have no part of it. There is a secondary reason why it does not accord with my plans. This enterprise of mine is like as not to be the death of me as it is. With you children tagging along, it would be a certainty. No, I will act alone.’
‘Only, you see, Reverend, that you can’t really take that line.’ The young man looked as good-humoured as ever, but also stubborn as a jackass.
‘Why may I not take this line?’ inquired Faulkner. ‘Well, you see, Marie here has rather taken to me and I to her. Since she is by way of being the only one of us who knows where those rascally Comancheros are hiding out, it strikes me that she, my partner and I will be making a set with her. If anybody’s “tagging along”, as you put it, Reverend, then I guess that’s you.’
‘What, then, do you propose? That we all work together to the same end?’
‘You got it.’
Pastor Faulkner thought the matter over. He liked the boys and Marie seemed a fairly good sort. At length he said, ‘Well I guess you have me over a barrel. Very well, let us plan together. I hope you boys are up to some lively tricks and know how to take care of yourselves. My only interest is in those children; I will not risk that mission for the sake of any of you three. You are all three, in a manner of speaking, grown-up people.’
At this moment, they heard the jingling of a harness and realized that a horse was approaching. It was too loud to be on the track into Palo Duro and so a rider had probably left the trail to come and investigate their voices and see who was holed up behind the rocks. Faulkner was up and had his pistol in his hand in a fraction of a second. The other two men were not far behind and so, when an exceedingly swarthy man riding a dappled grey hove into view round the rocks, he found himself facing three tense men with drawn guns.
‘Gentlemen, good day to you. I am your servant.’
The minister regarded the man narrowly. It was the same Spanish-looking fellow who he had stopped striking the child earlier that day. Faulkner said, ‘We have already met, Mr . . ?’
‘Alfonso Rodriquez y Trevisa y Gonsalez, at your service, sir.’ He bowed gracefully, which was no mean feat on horseback.
One of Pastor Faulkner’s companions grunted contemptuously. ‘Spanish, huh?’
‘Portuguese, my dear sir. It is an easy mistake to make, do not reproach yourself.’
‘I weren’t about to,’ muttered the young man.
‘May I descend?’
‘You go right ahead,’ said Faulkner, ‘but I should keep your hands in view at all times as you do so and try not to make any sudden moves as might be misinterpreted, if you take my meaning.’
‘I apprehend your meaning perfectly, my friend.’ The elegant-looking man dismounted and strolled towards the group, seemingly not in the slightest degree bothered about the three guns, which were still aimed at him. He bowed low to Marie and then sat down on a convenient rock. The others also sat, without holstering their pieces, but no longer actually pointing them at the man who called himself Gonsalez.
Faulkner said, ‘Suppose you tell us what you are about, sir, and then we can see how we are to proceed. Your turning up in this way could look a little suspicious to those less open and trusting than the present company. I guess you are on the track of the same bunch of Comancheros as us. What is your interest in them?’
‘Beautifully spoken,’ said Gonsalez. ‘You are right. I make no secret of the matter to you who are “on the same track”, as you say. The truth is, my sister was escorting some children from an orphans’ asylum. She was taken by the Indians and is now in the canyons, being held by some Comancheros. I hope to rescue her.’ He smiled at everybody in what was evidently meant to be an engaging fashion.
Pastor Faulkner shook his head irritably. ‘This whole affair is turning into a three-ring circus,’ he growled. ‘None of this accords with my plans, which would consist of me alone going against these men. I already have two callow youths and a saloon girl; now a tailor’s dummy has joined the party.’ He looked disapprovingly at the Portuguese man’s fancy clothes.
Gonsalez did not seem in the least bit affronted at being called a tailor’s dummy. He turned to the other men and said, ‘I am a crack shot. Between the four of us, we should have a better chance than going on one by one. What will you say?’
After a little wrangling, it was fixed that Marie would lead the four of them to the camp, which she said was eight or ten miles away. It was agreed that they would walk, leading their horses, rather than ride, so that the various clanking and chinking that usually signals the approach of a body of mounted men would not give the game away. It was at this point that Faulkner felt that if he really was to be saddled with these companions, he had better instruct them a little in the ways of the Comancheros.
‘Listen up, you men. I will have to go ahead of you all a little. The way of it is that there will be at least two sentries as you come to the base. If we just walk up on one of these men, he will start shooting, no question about it. The camp is, at the moment, more or less deserted, apart from the captives and a few men set to guard them.’
‘How in the hell do you know that, Preacher? Begging your pardon,’ said the more pleasant of the two young men.
‘I know it by the moon. The Comanche do most of their raiding by the full moon. It lacks only a day or two until then. Before they go on the warpath, they often have a big feast, lasting a few days. Then, when they have recovered a little, off they set. Have you people never heard of a “Comanche moon”? It is what they call the full moon in these parts. Any Comancheros around often join in with the party. They will leave a couple of fellows to guard their camp and after a few hours these will be relieved by another couple, the first ones being then able to join the festivities. With luck, the whole crew will be drunk as fiddlers’ bitches by now, bar the two or three on guard.’
‘You know a lot about this matter, friend,’ said the Portuguese man called Gonsalez. ‘More than most priests, I am thinking.’
Faulkner said nothing, although everybody was looking towards him and expecting some sort of reply. Eventually, he said, ‘There is another thing that you must know. The Comancheros have a kind of language, which they speak among themselves. It is Spanish and Comanche mixed in together with other things. They call it Taibo, which means “the language”. It is a bit like the Creole that you hear black men using in some places.’
‘Padre, why are you delivering this lecture?’ asked Gonsalez.
‘Because it will save your lives. If we come nigh to the sentry without indicating we are friends, the man is sure to fire on us. Before you know it you’ll have every Comanche and Kiowa in the canyons down on us like a duck on a June bug. I can stop this by greeting the sentry in Taibo and persuading him that we are friends. It’s nothing to me; you can all take your chances for all I care. My only concern is those children.’
There were a few more words of discussion and it was agreed that Faulkner should go on ahead a-ways when once they were near the Comancheros’ camp and that he should parlay with the sentry.
It was almost dark by the time all this had been settled in a satisfactory manner and they prepared to move out, taking care to muffle anything on the horses that was apt to jingle and thus betray their position in the night. Mind, with the moon that was rising, they would only be hidden from view in narrow, shadowy places. Out in the open, they would be about as visible as if it were the middle of the day.
'as drunk as fiddler's bitches':- I confess I had to look up the origin of that one, and it was interesting and so I learned something new. Thanks for that and I'm looking forward to the next instalment.