Edge: Ten Grand

“I wish to know when we will reach our destination, señor,” Matador said coldly, and the men at his back nodded to indicate this had been a collective decision.  Edge moved his tongue, trying to dislodge a piece of meat trapped between two teeth. “You want to speak to my amigo,” he said, stooped to pick up a rock and tossed it towards the still sleeping form of Luis Aviles.  The missile hit without force, but the old man yelled as if from great pain and sat up with a show of injury. “Time to answer the ten thousand dollar question,” Edge said, ignoring the dangerous flash of Matador’s eyes. It was obvious the little chief had still not told his men of their objective.

“It is a manner of the Americano’s speech,” Matador said hurriedly, stepping forward to stand over Luis. “How far?”

The question was lashed out and Luis winced just as if a whip had stung him. “I said last night,” the old man answered quickly. “Not far now, El Matador.”

“Today?”

Luis shrugged, looking miserable. “Perhaps, if we ride fast.”

Matador nodded and spun on his heels to glower at his men. “We ride fast, no?”

The bandits made a token show of consulting one another, whispering among themselves. Then they all nodded but without enthusiasm.

“When we get there, you will see our ride has been worthwhile,” Matador tossed at them, but the group broke up and went across to saddle their horses without responding to their leader’s remark. The little man spat angrily and stooped low over the cowering Luis.  “Old man,” he said, cold and low. “My men are restless and tired of this journey. If we do not reach the end of it before noon, I will cut off that which makes you a man and push it down your throat so that it chokes you.”

Luis looked at Edge, found the tall American grinning at him, offering no comfort. “I think I’ll skip lunch,” he said.

Matador suddenly laughed harshly. “Hey, I think maybe I have to think of something else. Such a small thing would not fill such a big mouth.”

Still laughing, he turned and strode away towards his horse.

“Señor,” Luis said plaintively, and Edge looked at him.  “I do not think we can get there when he says.”

Edge shrugged. “Tough.”

He went to saddle his horse and Luis to find a partner so that it was not many minutes before the group was on the move again, continuing to strike south, taking advantage of the coolness of early morning to make good time.  But as the sun hauled itself higher to burn down with a merciless disregard for human and animal life, the pace slowed. Men and horses sweated freely and there was precious little shade for the group while it continued to move. Matador was again in the lead, but now Luis rode beside him and as they made slow progress through a deep arroyo Edge, immediately behind the leaders, could hear their conversation.

“How you know about this money?” the bandit chief demanded.

“I was one of them that stole it,” Luis answered and there was a note of pride in his reedy voice. Once again his dull mind had forgotten the threat that hung over his life. Now he was not only riding in a bandit group, but was alongside the leader at the head of the column, mounted behind Miguel.

“You really were a bandit?” Matador asked in a tone of disbelief.

Luis nodded. “Many years ago. We were the most feared band in all Mexico. We killed many, stole much.”

“Where this ten thousand, American come from!”

“From a stage, El Matador,” came the reply. “In Texas in the United States of America.  Our chief led us in an attack on a stage carrying the payroll from San Antonio to an army fort on the Rio Grande del Norte, El Matador.  There were soldiers guarding the stage and we lost many men.  But we killed all of them.”  The old man smacked his lips at the memory of the carnage.

“And what was left of you rode south?”

“Yes, El Matador. We rode hard and fast for the word spread about our great feat. There were many other bandits who thought they could take the money from us. And Indians, too, El Matador. The theft made us famous. We killed hundreds—thousands—as we rode south. And we lost many more, until there were just three of us left.”

“So you hid the money?”

“That is right.” His tone became secretive and Edge had to strain forward in his saddle to pick up Luis’ words.  “At night we hid it in a safe place and were to wait until the time was right. But we were betrayed.  One of us was killed when they came for us and another died in the prison in Mexico City.  Only I survived to know the hiding place.  But I was in the prison for many long years.”  He tapped a finger at the side of his head. “My mind, it suffered as well as my body from the beatings I was given. Sometimes I do not remember too good, El Matador.”

“But you remember now,” Matador said, his voice suddenly loud in its harshness.