Chapter Eleven

It was ten o’clock. Once again, Al and Pio were seated in the two chairs by the card table. The Judge was standing behind the pool table. There was a serious look on his face.

Once again, the crowd had gathered, today they were quiet. They were gathered in small groups, grinning and smirking; reminding Al of a pack of wolves. They wanted blood, his blood! The man, Reyes, was nowhere in sight. Al wondered if he was still standing in the corner.

The Judge picked up one of the cue sticks and beat on the table demanding complete silence. This time he got it. For a minute he stood there looking the crowd over then he spoke.

“Listen all of you, I am the judge here, and I am the law. It is my duty to see that justice is dealt. I will tolerate no demonstrations; anyone attempting or suggesting violence will be jailed.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Maybe some of you won’t agree with my decision, but keep this in mind; I am the Judge, not you!

He must have made his point because there wasn’t a sound. He continued, “As Mr. Mackey says there is no evidence showing any motive for him to free the prisoner. Give him some boots and arm him with a rifle.”

Al could hardly believe his ears. The guy seemed to be taking his defense.

The Judge continued, “There are no witness that saw him free the captive. Also I can find no motive. If there was a witness or a motive I would have him shot to death.” Once again he was pacing slowly back and forth, one eye on the prisoners the other on the crowd.

“However…”

‘Here it comes,’ Al thought.

“However I do find him guilty of another crime” The two men had breathed easier for a moment, now what? “The escaped man now has a pair of boots and a deadly rifle. Without these, no doubt he would have been captured again.” A murmur of approval came from the audience.

The Judge continued, “If Mr. Mackey had not been here the man would still be our prisoner. Had he not left his gun and boot unguarded, the man would not have them now. He probably did not intend for the man to have these items, but the fact remains these were his responsibility. I find him guilty of extreme negligence. There is no charge against the other man. He is free to go. Now, Mr. Mackey, step forward and I will sentence you.”

Their belongings were once again piled on the table. The Judge picked up Al’s passport. “Without this Mr. Mackey you can never get out of this country.” He picked up the book of travelers checks. “You must be quite a wealthy man. There is over five thousand dollars here.” He stopped talking and once more started pacing back and forth.

“Why didn’t he just finish the sentencing?” Al thought. The Judge sure liked to play cat and mouse games. He felt a sudden urge to get up and kick the hell out of the guy.

The judge was talking again, “In your pocket book, which I returned, are many credit cards, as well as two hundred dollars worth of Cordobas. These Mr. Mackey I am going to let you keep. I am also returning to you all your personal belongings, including your rifle and the two pistols.”

Once again he started slow pacing, it was getting on Al’s nerves. He probably intended it to do just that. Suddenly he stopped in front of Al. There was a faint smile on his face when he spoke.

“I hear you are a very good shot with a rifle Mr. Mackey.”

Al nodded.

“I also understand you like to hunt big game, such as the tiger?”

Al nodded again.

“I am glad to hear that,” said the Judge, “because you are going on a hunting expedition.”

Al’s passport and traveler’s checks were in the Judges hand. “These, Mr. Mackey, I will keep until you return. Do not try and leave this country, or you will be shot. If you did manage to escape from here you could not leave the country without you passport.” The judge picked up the rifle and handed it to the astonished Al.

“Yes, Mr. Mackey, I am sending you on a hunting expedition, one that you will never forget. It is your fault that the killer is at large so you are going after him. When you bring him back I will return to you the rest of your belongings. Then you will be a free man. Good hunting Mr. Mackey!”

Chapter Twelve

Al and Pio were having lunch at The Nigger Woman’s. Besides the pigs and chickens they were the only ones there. Not many people here could afford the luxury of dining out.

The Judge had passed sentence, and the verdict was quite popular with the people. They had come to town hoping to see blood shed. There was none, but there would be. To them this was a game, a fascinating game, a game of life and death, and they were the spectators.

The thought of killing a man made Al about half sick. The man was armed and very likely knew every trail in the jungle. He would put up a fight before he surrendered, that was for sure. Probably only one of them would survive. Maybe not even one!

Al asked the judge a lot of questions. “What is the man’s name?”

The Judge shook his head. “He would not tell me his name.”

“Does anyone know where he lives?”

“No.”

“You expect me to go out and bring in a man whose name and residence we don’t even know?”

“I will help you all I can,” said the Judge. “By any chance, do you have a map of this part of the country?”

Before leaving the city Al had bought a map. It was in the Jeep. Pio went after it. Minutes later they were bent over the map. With a sharp pencil the Judge put a small X on the paper. “Here is the town of Quilali, and this is the Rio Jaciro that runs by the town.” With the pencil he followed the river down to where it joined another, which looked much larger.

“The Jaciro empties into the Rio Coco about twenty miles east of here. Just below the town of Talpinecci. All the killings and robberies have taken place down river from this town. Men have previously gone after him and followed him. He has always escaped. All but this time; at least we had him for a while”

“Where was he captured?”

With the pencil the judge put another small X on the map; “About here,” he said. “He was coming up river in a boat, probably to kill again. Here on the Coco there is a waterfall. He had to take his boat from the water and pull it up over some high rocks to get it above the waterfall. This is where he was caught.”

“Then he must hang out somewhere below that place.”

The judge nodded’ “Maybe far below.”

At least he would be starting off in the right direction. The man’s boot tracks had been followed to the river. He had stolen a boat. There was only one way out with a boat and that was down river. Above here the current would be too swift to navigate.

Al had turned to Pio, “Are you going with me?”

Pio nodded, “Wherever you go, I will go.”

Pio was not familiar with the country below. This was his first trip to this part of Nicaragua.

“I will need another man,” Al told the Judge. “Someone that knows something about the country below, one who has a boat, and someone who is not afraid.”

The Judge nodded, “Yes. You must have a man with a boat. I believe I know man that would like to go with you. Scar-face killed one of his brothers. The Judge turned to one of his guards, “Go find Barto.”

In an hour Barto came walking up from the river. Al didn’t care much for the fellow’s looks. He was around twenty-five years of age, not very tall, about five foot six. He had a powerful looking pair of shoulders and large hairy arms. His hair was long and shaggy. He had a narrow forehead and the hairline almost reached down to his eyebrows. His dark sullen eyes looked more animal then human.

“He’s sure not much to look at,” Al said to himself.

But Barto had a boat and was willing to go. There was probably not another man in town that would make this trip with him. They agreed on a price. Al would pay him ten Cordoba’s a day.

Al bought provisions. They had loaded everything in the boat, which was about twelve feet long. It had been hewn from a mahogany log. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the best they could do.

It was noon and both Al and Pio were hungry. They had better get a good meal at The Nigger Woman’s before they left. They decided it might be a long time before they got another one.

The meal was over, and Al spoke. “Pio if you do not wish to go, say so. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you didn’t go along. After all this is none of your doing. I got myself into this mess and I should get myself out.”

Pio slowly shook his head. “Mr. Mackey, do you think I could rest for one moment? Do you think I could sleep at night wondering where you were and what you are doing? No Señor! Al I must go with you!”

Chapter Thirteen

Barto and Pio each had a paddle. The boat went skimming over the water. Had it not been for the mission he was starting, Al would have enjoyed the ride. He kept his eyes on the shore on both sides. It was a breathtaking site. The jungle vines were exceptionally dense, the trees incredibly tall. It looked like the vines climbed to the top and then took off in every direction.

There were beautiful orchids clinging to the trees and vines. Brilliant colored birds flew overhead.

“What a beautiful sight,” Al murmured. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“It is the dry season now,” said Pio. “If we came down here in June the orchids would be in full bloom. There would be much more rain and it would be much prettier.”

Al shook his head; “I don’t see how that could be.”

Several times Al had tried to strike up a conversation with Barto, but he soon gave up. The man would answer with a grunt or a growl. ‘He was more animal than human,’ thought Al.

There was a trail on either side of the river. Most of the time the heavy foliage hid the trails and any people on them. Whenever one of them came into view he could see people looking at them. Several were on horseback, riding along, watching and waiting.

“We will probably have company all the way,” he told Pio.

“Yes and those that quit following will pass the word along.”

They were making good time as it was all down stream. Along toward evening the three men came to where the Jaciro emptied into the Coco. Barto pointed up stream. There, high on the banks of the Coco, was the town of Talpinecci. Most of the town seemed to be on the opposite side. They paddled across and pulled up to the sandy beach. According to the map this was the last town of any size in the area. Al decided they had better spend the night here.

“Is there a hotel here?” He asked Barto.

The man nodded and pointed up the bank with his thumb. They jumped out of the boat and drug it high above the water line. Pio was wearing one of the pistols, Al the other. Also, Al was carrying the rifle.

They put the rest of their provisions on their backs and walked up the steep trail. Talpinecci appeared to be about the same size as Quilali, perhaps a bit smaller. There was also a road that came into this town from the south. Like Quilali, it was the end of the trail.

They noticed many ropes and vines stretched across the street as they walked looking for a hotel. Tied to the ropes were hundreds of gay colored streamers, old dresses and petticoats. Other items had been ripped to pieces yet remained there. It reminded Al of a used car lot in the States.

“I wonder what all these streamers represent,” remarked Al.

Pio shook his head, “Some sort of celebration I suppose. I will find out more.”

About half way down the main street they came to the hotel. It wasn’t much. There was a kitchen and dinning room on one side and one large bedroom on the other. Scattered about were several small cots.

A plump brown skinned woman and her two daughters operated the place. They ran the chicken and pigs out of the room and proceeded to cook the evening meal.

The trio sat down at one of the tables. Al ordered a bottle of rum and coke with ice. It had been long day. He figured a drink was in order. In a few minutes the girl returned with the order on a tray and set it down in front of Al. He poured a liberal amount of rum in each glass. He put in ice cubes and added a slice of lemon and finished filling the glass with coke. He then passed the glasses around.

Al and Pio took a swallow of the drink. Barto drained his glass in one gulp and passed it back for more. In a short time he was well on his way to getting plastered. Once more he handed his glass back to Al. “More!” he snarled, “Give me more!”

‘His black beady bloodshot eyes looked more animal-like then ever,’ thought Al. They reminded him of what he had once read. The less intelligence a person has the less alcohol it takes to get them drunk. After the first gulp Barto was well on his way to drunkenness.

Al shook his head. “I think you have had enough Barto.”

The man jumped to his feet and snarled, “Give me ten cord, you owe me ten cord!”

Al took out his billfold and handed him the money. “Take it easy Barto,” he warned, “you be sure and be ready to leave here early in the morning, and sober too!” he shouted as Barto disappeared through the doorway.

Pio was shaking his head, “He is a bad one Señor Mackey. Someone has cast an evil spirit into him.”

“He is full of spirits alright, Rum!”

Pio had been drawing something on a smooth piece of wood. “What are you doing Pio?” Al was curious.

“On moment please.” He took a few more strokes with the pencil and then set it down in front of Al.

Al was astonished. On the board was the face of the killer, scar and all! He studied if for a minute. “Pio you are really an artist. I didn’t know you could do this kind of work.”

“A person has to learn to do many things to survive in this country. Sometimes when I can find no work, I go to the bars and restaurants and try to find someone who would like their picture painted. I do pretty well if there is a celebration happening.”

“This sure as hell looks like him. You thought there is some sort of party or celebration going on here? Why don’t you take this picture and show it to a lot of people? Maybe someone will know his name and where he lives? Boy, that would be a big help.”

“That is just what I had in mind Señor Mackey!”

“I think our dinner is about ready. We will eat then you go out and see what you can do. Also find out what is going on in town, I am a bit curious. They sure did rip up a lot of petticoats to make all those streamers!”

Chapter Fourteen

Time passed slowly. Al was very thankful that Pio had come along. He was a good man. He sure couldn’t say that for the man Barto. He wondered if his father had visited here or Quilali? He wondered what his father would do if he was in his place? Probably start a revolution. Or at least try and take over the government. ‘A good place to start would be that cock-eyed judge of Quilali,’ he thought.

Pio was gone an hour. When he returned he had a strange looking character with him named Nacho. ‘You are an old man, at least eighty,’ thought Al. Pio had a big grin on his face. “This man is a miner, he lives far down the river. Only today he came to town. He told me he has seen this man many times.”

Al looked the fellow over. He was a small guy clad in a faded blue shirt and overalls. His hair was a bluish gray and hung to his shoulders. He was old all right, but his dark eyes were sparkling. He grinned a toothless grin.

Al motioned for Nacho to sit down. Al took the picture, which Pio was holding, and laid it on the table. “You have seen this man,” Al asked?

The man didn’t answer.

“Did you se him today?”

The empty bottle of rum was on the table. The old man licked his lips.

“I told him we would get him a bottle of rum,” said Pio.

Al handed him the twenty-cord note. “Okay, go get a couple of bottles of Santa Celia, and some Coke, lemon, and ice.”

Pio disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returned with the order on a tray and the correct change. He mixed three drinks, one of them extra strong and pushed it over in front of the old man.

‘The old goat had probably never seen this man,’ Al thought. All he wants is a few drinks and he doesn’t care what kind of story he must tell. However Al was grasping at straws, so he had better play along for a while. He took the map out of his pocket and spread it out on the table.

The rum did its work. Ten minutes and another glass full of powerful alcohol and the old man was ready to talk. “What is it you would like to know?” he asked.

Al pointed to the picture. “ Have you seen this man?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes today.”

He pointed his thumb, “About here beyond the bend in the river. He was going down and I was coming up.”

“Was he in a boat? Was he alone?”

The old man nodded, “Yes he was alone in a small flat bottom boat. I came so close to him I could see the big scar on his face.”

Al poured the old fellow another glass of rum. Was the man telling the truth? “Tell me all you know about this man and do not lie. If you lie to me I will track you down and cut out your heart!”

Nocho grinned his toothless grin, “I do not lie.”

Al took a twenty-cord note from his wallet and laid it beside the full bottle of rum. “These are yours if you tell me all you know about this man. Do you know his name and where he lives?”

The old man shook his head, “I do not know him personally. Several times I have seen him going up or down the river in a boat. Again, I tell you that today I came so close to him that I could see the big scar on his forehead.”

“Where do you live Nocho?”

“Far down the river, about two days in a boat, two hard days!”

“What do you do for a living?” Al asked.

“I am a miner, I mine for gold. I haven’t struck it rich yet, but someday I will.”

He went on to tell about where he was now working. He had a small cabin on the bank of the river where on the gravel bar he panned for gold. Several years ago it had been a busy place, now everyone but himself had moved away. On several occasions, while he was panning for gold, the man had passed by the man in the picture’s boat.

“Quite possibly,” Al said, “this man lives below you.”

“Maybe far below,” he shrugged his shoulders, “who knows?”

Al passed the map to Nocho. “Would you please put a small X on the spot where you live?”

The old man studied the map for a moment. From out of his pocket he produced the stub of a pencil and made a mark on the paper. “About here.” he said. Al gave him the full bottle of rum along with the money. Nocho gave them a toothless grin as he passed through the doorway.

“What do you think Pio?”

Pio shook his head, “I don’t know, but I think it best that we believe him. News travels fast up and down the river. They know we’re coming in search of this man. The man himself probably knows we are coming.”

Pio hesitated for a moment; there was a serious look on his face. “This man has seen you, he will know you, and he will know that you are coming for him. Once again he paused, “Señor if I were this man, I would not wait for you to come and catch me napping. I would follow you and I would kill you while you are sleeping!”

Al nodded, Pio was right. Who was hunting whom? Who was the hunter and who was the hunted? This fellow probably would not be as hard to find as he had thought. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he decided he better sleep lightly from now on.

Al got to his feet and began pacing up and down the room. “Damn that Judge,” he muttered! “He is putting on a show for the whole countryside to watch. Every damned native in the jungle knows the big hunt is on. This man and I are like a couple of tigers stalking each other. Then we meet, and one of us will die, maybe even both of us while these grinning natives stand by and watch!” A righteous anger was boiling up inside him.

“Pio, the Judge is the rat that got us into this. He is the one putting on the show! He has my passport and my money. What right did he have to keep them? If I do kill or capture this man, how do I know he will give them back to me? I don’t trust the dirty bastard!”

His anger was mounting, “This rat likes to put on big show: maybe he should become part of it. I think that when nightfall comes we should return up the river by trail. He will not be expecting such a move and I’ll kill the son of a so and so.”

Pio slowly shook his head, “No Señor Mackey, this we must not do.”

“Why?”

“Because today as we were coming down the river, on two occasions I got a glimpse of a boat following us. There were two men in it and I am sure one of them was the Judge of Quilali!”

Chapter Fifteen

It was beginning to get quite dark. A large crowd had gathered in front of the hotel. “Did you find out what’s going on?” Al asked.

Pio nodded, “Yes, today is a very special day for the natives in this area. Would you like me to tell you about it?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“It is an old custom they have here. I will tell you what I know about it. Here in the jungle there are many more women than men, there are several reasons for this. To begin with there are more girls born than boys. Early in life all the children get fever. Don’t ask me why, but many more boys die than girls. Also, many of the young men leave here searching for jobs. As a result there are many more women here than men. The native women love children and feel it their duty to raise a family. They do not wait until they are married. When they are old enough, they start having kids. It is no disgrace here to have children without being married. In fact, if a woman has two or three children she is much more desirable.” Pio grinned, “Once a year a day is set aside for the un-wed mothers to come to town and find them a husband.”

“And this is that day?”

Pio nodded.

“If there aren’t enough men to go around, how do they expect to find a husband?”

“They do not expect to find a husband who is not already married. They will be satisfied to become the number two or number three wife.”

‘Really a mans world,’ thought Al. “Is the party over with?” Al asked.

“No I think it is about to begin. Would you like to watch?”

“Might just as well. No fun sitting around here and we will be just as safe out there.”

Each of them was wearing a pistol. Al picked up the little rifle. This one he would keep an eye on.

“Lead the way, Pio.”

With the coming of darkness the moon had come peeking up over the jungle. It was nearly as light as day. On the high bank overlooking the Coco there were many men standing on the rim gazing across the river.

Al and Pio stepped close to the bank and stopped a few yards from the rest. “They will come across the river,” whispered Pio. For several minutes they stood there watching. Here the Coco was wide and shallow. A person could easily wade across.

“I wonder if Barto is here. Keep an eye open for him Pio. He is probably very drunk by now.”

Suddenly, across the river, they could see many tiny lights. There were many figures all clothed in white. They stepped into the water and came wading across. They were all singing. Their voices came floating across the water. As they approached the bank they could be seen more plainly. Each woman wore a white dress and her head was covered with white shawl or scarf. With one hand she held the dress high to keep it out of the water. In the other hand was a candle, which she held in front of her face. They came walking up the trail still singing.

The words were strange to Al. He whispered to Pio, “In what language are they singing?”

“It’s the native language here, Mosquito Indian,” he whispered back.

The procession moved forward and soon they were in the main street of town. All the women formed a line and once more the singing began. The little candle was held in front of their face.

The men went into action. Several of them walked over to the lineup, took a girl by the arm and walked away. More followed suit, soon there was only a few left. One of them was a slender young girl and she was quite pretty.

Suddenly Pio grabbed Al’s arm and pointed across the street. “Look Señor!”

Al had the rifle ready. However the man standing there was not the killer, it was Barto.

Al stared at him for a moment; Barto’s face gave him the shivers. There was no doubt that he was very drunk. His snarled hair was hanging down over his eyes. There was a horrible grin on his face and saliva was running off his chin. Blubbering sounds came from between his lips.

Al’s voice was low. “He is drunk Pio, the man is crazy, he is a beast!”

“Someone has cast an evil spell upon him!”

Al had read that much voodoo and witchcraft was practiced in this country. Several times earlier Pio had made remarks about evil spirits. Did he believe in this stuff? Surely a man as intelligent as Pio didn’t go for this sort of rubbish.

There were three women left. Two men stepped out and claimed two of them. There was one left, a slim young girl. Then, suddenly, from out of the shadows came Barto. He grabbed her by the arm and together they ran down the street and disappeared behind the hotel.

“Did you see that?” Whispered Al.

Pio nodded, “I wonder what he will do with the girl?”

“I guess the ceremony was a success, as the girls were all taken. Shall we go back to the hotel?” suggested Pio.

They walked back to the hotel and went inside. The entrance to the room was through the kitchen. The woman and the two girls were nowhere in sight. A kerosene lamp was burning on the table. No new bunks were made; evidently there were no more guests. The bottle of rum and some clean glasses were on the table. Al poured a couple of stiff drinks and handed one to Pio.

“I wish Barto hadn’t taken that girl. We sure can’t take her with us down river” stated Al. “Maybe he has someone here he can leave her for a while?”

“I hope so” replied Pio.

They sat down and sipped their rum. An hour ago the town was full of people. Now they were gone. There was hardly a sound. Al glanced at the big room. The two bunks that were made-up were near the back. There was a sheet and a blanket on each one.

There was only one window; which was in the front of the building. It was covered with a window screen. ‘They would be safe enough here,’ Al thought, if one of them stood guard while the other slept. It was early yet and there was a long night ahead of them. There was no hurry about going to bed.

He had a deck of cards in his bag. Al asked Pio; “Do you play cards?”

Pio shook his head no.

“I’ll get them and teach you how to play gin rummy.” Al had barely gotten to his feet, when, out of the stillness, came a horrible scream. Al felt as though the hair on the back of his neck went straight into the air. The cry was not from a human or any animal he had ever heard. It started off with a low moan. Then louder and louder, higher and higher, ending in a high shriek!

Al looked at Pio. His face was deadly pale. His lips were moving as though he were praying.

“What is it?” Al asked.

The blood-curdling scream once more filled the air. A few seconds later there was another. This one sounded like it was a woman. Pio was trembling all over his body.

Al grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. “What is it Pio? Snap out of it!”

“The death bird,” he whispered.

All shook him some more. “What do you mean the death bird?”

Pio was trying hard to get control of himself. “Has no one told you of the death bird?”

“No Pio. Tell me about it?”

“When the bird screams, someone that has heard him will die before morning!”

“Do you believe that?”

He nodded, “You shall see!”

“If we are the only ones who heard him, does that mean one of us will die?”

Pio nodded again, “If we are the only ones that heard him, yes! Do you think we are the only ones that heard him, Señor Mackey?”

“Lord no Pio, that yell would wake the dead.” Al hesitated. He had better not argue with this man. If Pio believed this nonsense, let him. Al grinned. “I hope the killer heard him, also that damn Judge. I hope it scared both of them to death.”

“It is a very powerful and wicked bird Señor Mackey.”

Al decided he would play along with the guy. “What is this bird like Pio? Did you ever see one?”

“No but I have talked to people who have. It is big and black and has huge claws and a beak of steel! I know of some people that captured one and put it in a steel cage. The cage could not hold it. With his beak the bird tore the cage apart and escaped.”

“Why didn’t they kill it?”

“No they could not do that. If they killed the bird, they would die that same night!”

Al knew that Pio was superstitious, but he didn’t know he believed this kind of rubbish. He walked over to the table. The light was growing dim; the lamp was about out of oil. There was a candle stuck to a board beside each bed. Al lit one, and then blew out the lamp.

Al decided it was bedtime. “Lets call it a day Pio.”

Pio had somewhat gained his composure, and he nodded.

“We will take turns sleeping.” Al took a coin out of his pocket. “I’ll flip you to see who takes first watch.”

Pio shook his head, “I’m not sleepy. I will take first watch.”

Al kicked off his shoes and laid down on one of the bunks. “Good night Pio, when you get sleepy wake me up, then you can get some shut eye.” It had been a long day and Al was tired. In a few minutes he was sound asleep.

It was four o’clock in the morning when Pio awakened him. He rubbed his eyes and set up on the edge of the bed. “Is everything alright Pio?”

Everything is fine and it’s almost morning.”

“You should have awakened me sooner.”

“I have been thinking,” said Pio. “There were many strangers in town last night. Many of them will be leaving at daybreak. I am worried about the boat, someone may steal it.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I shall go down to the river and lie in the boat. I will get some sleep and the boat will be safe.”

Al got up and slipped on his shoes. This sounded like a good idea. He took the rifle from Pio’s hands. The pistol he was wearing should be sufficient. “Take some blankets and try to get some sleep. I will guard myself until morning.” A moment later Pio slipped outside and faded into the darkness.

It was only a few hours until daybreak, but it seemed to Al that morning would never come. By candlelight he studied the map. The auto road ended here at Talpinecci. If he followed this road he would eventually end up in the city of Managua. What would be his chances of escaping? Probably by now most everyone knew about him and the mission he was pursuing. If he attempted to escape there would surely be a reward put on his head. He would be wanted, but wanted dead! No he would never make it. There was only one avenue of escape; find the killer, and bring him in dead or alive!

Finally, daybreak came. Al shaved using cold water. The old woman cooked beefsteak and eggs. She had also brewed a pot of strong black coffee. ‘It tasted much the same as that served by the Nigger Woman,’ he thought.

After breakfast he took his rifle and walked down to where they had left the boat. Pio’s blankets were in there, but the man was not. Al looked around. There were some big bushes above where he was standing. It wasn’t long before a man came walking out, thankfully, it was Pio.

“I am up here Señor. It was getting very hot in the boat, so I moved up here to be in the shade.”

“Have you seen Barto?”

“No he has not shown up yet. Maybe he is trying to find someone to take care of the girl.”

Several women came walking down the trail. On top of their heads were large baskets filled with clothing. They removed their dresses and hung them on the bushes, then waded into the river where some big rocks were sticking up high above the water.

The topside of the rocks was worn smooth from hundreds of years of use. They were the washboards. The women began to sing, while at the same time doing their washing. They were getting two jobs done at the same time; the washing and their morning bath. These people used primitive methods. Yet they kept their bodies clean and their clothes spotless.

The sun was bearing down; it was beginning to get hot. Al wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “If Barto doesn’t get here pretty quickly, we will go without him,” he told Pio.

“We must have a guide that knows the country below,” said Pio. “Also the boat belongs to Barto. We cannot take his boat.”

Al motioned with his hand. “Up river a bit is another boat. I wonder who the owner is?”

“I don’t know, but I think it belongs to the old man Nocho. He came up the river in a boat.”

“If Barto doesn’t show up soon, we will try and find him. Maybe he will guide us down the river.”

Suddenly, there were rapid footsteps coming down the sandy beach in their direction. Al looked up to see Barto, who was running and racing straight for the boat.

“Good Lord Pio, look at the man!” Al stared in amazement, his shirt was ripped and torn, and he was a bloody mess. His face and chest bore many deep scratches. Scratches that could have been made by only one thing, the fingernails of a woman! His hands and hairy arms were covered with blood.

“Good God,” whispered Pio. “He has killed the girl!”

Barto grabbed hold of the boat and started dragging it toward the river. Al and Pio jumped out into the open. Al leveled the rifle at Barto. “Keep your hands off the boat or I will kill you!” Al shouted.

For a second the man looked up. There was a wild look in his eyes. No doubt he was completely mad! Furiously he tugged at the boat, pulling it toward the water. Pio’s provisions were all in there. In a moment they would be gone. Al slipped the safety on the rifle and looked down the barrel. Barto’s head was in the sight, but Al couldn’t pull the trigger; he couldn’t shoot a crazy man!

Pio went into action. He made a dash at Barto, tackling him like a football player. They went tumbling down the bank landing together in the water below. For a moment Pio was on top, beating the man with his fists. Barto was strong, and he struck back knocking Pio down before falling on top of him. There was wild thrashing in the water. First one on top then the other. Al couldn’t tell one man from the other. They were fighting like tigers, first up, then down under the water. A woman screamed! Now they were both under the water, with bubbles coming up.

Al laid the gun down and headed for the river. He wouldn’t let Pio drown! He would dive into the water and get him! Suddenly a head appeared. Al backed up and reached for the rifle. If it were Barto he would kill him! Then the head turned and Al could see the man’s face. Thank God it was Pio! He waded out and took his hand helping him to the bank. Pio’s other hand had a firm grip on Barto’s hair.

Breathing heavily Pio staggered over to the rock and sat down. Barto lay on the sand spitting up water. The screaming of the woman had attracted a crowd. On the bank above were several men. Most of them were grinning. They had enjoyed watching the fight.

Barto had almost gotten the boat into the water. Al held the front end of the boat and dragged it far up the bank. Barto was sitting up and coughing. The deep scratches on his face and chest were bleeding. Al wondered what to do with him. He turned to the men on the bank.

“Someone go for the constable.” Al shouted. “This man is a killer!”

He had taken his eye off Barto for only a few seconds. Barto was slowly getting to his feet when he looked back. There were numerous rocks on the sandy beach. In each hand Barto held one, each rock was around the size of a teacup.

Al pointed the rifle at him. “Drop the rocks Barto!” The man didn’t seem to hear. His eyes were on Pio. Pio stood up; the pistol was still in the scabbard. He drew and shook the water from it.

“Drop the rocks Barto!” Al yelled.

Like a mad bull the man charged. The pistol in Pio’s hand exploded. A small hole appeared between the eyes of Barto. For a second he stood there. The mad look on his face slowly disappeared. He fell backward, rolled down the bank and into the swirling current of the river.

Chapter Sixteen

The body of Barto was fished out of the river, and a search was made for the girl. By backtracking Barto’s footprints they had found her body. She had been badly beaten before being chopped to pieces with a machete.

Al thought about the previous night, the scream of the Death Bird, followed by the screams of the woman. The latter was probably the girl. Pio had said, someone that has heard the bird scream will die before morning. He had been right. The bird was probably the cause of her death. The warped mind of Barto had made the prediction come true.

There was a double funeral and burial. Here the corpses must be buried within twenty-four hours. There were many tears shed for the young woman. This beautiful girl had come to town seeking a husband. She was young and pure and trusted the man that had chosen her. Last night should have been the happiest day of her life. Now she was dead. There wasn’t much said about Barto. The preacher prayed for his soul.

After the funeral Al and Pio went to the hotel. Al must find a guide, someone who knew the country below. Someone he could trust. He suggested to Pio that he go in search of the old man Nocho.

It was almost evening when he returned, but he had found the old man. Nocho was out of rum and almost out of money. He was glad to listen to any proposition. He had spent the previous night at Mama Morales’s house. Mama had several girls working for her. They had been very nice to him. They had also taken his money.

Al explained to Nocho that the mission they were going on was a very dangerous one. That they must bring back the scar-faced killer, dead or alive! Al also explained that the Judge was holding his money until they returned. However he could give him a small advance. Al laid a hundred Cordoba notes on the table. “This I can give you in advance,” he told Nocho. “I will give you another five hundred when we return to Quilali.”

Nocho’s hand was reaching for the money when Al grabbed the bill and returned it to his wallet. “I will give you this in the morning. We will leave at daybreak if we get everything ready.” Al thought that if he gave the old man the money now he would probably never see him again. He pulled out a ten-cord note and handed it to Nocho. “Here is enough to buy you something to eat. I will see you in the morning.”

Nocho grinned his toothless grin. “I will be here.” He got up and headed for the kitchen.

Once more it was bedtime. Pio insisted on taking the first watch. Al took off his shoes and laid them down on the little cot. It was four o’clock in the morning when Pio woke him.

“Everything alright?” Al asked.

Pio nodded. “I will go down to the boat. Again, if someone were to steal it, they would do it at daybreak. I can sleep there as well as here. See you later,” then Pio was gone.

Al slipped on his shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed. The pistol was in his hand. The minutes dragged. “Lord I am sleepy,” he muttered. “Will morning never come?”

There was a pitcher of water sitting on the floor. He poured some of it over the top of his head. Maybe that would help keep him awake. For damn sure he had better stay awake, his life probably depended on it!

But the little bed sure looked inviting. Suddenly an idea came to him. His bedroll was standing in the corner. He walked over and picked it up. Then, being very careful, he placed the bedroll and the pillow on the bed and pulled the covers up over them. He stepped back and surveyed his work. Anyone looking through the window or anyone coming through the door would surely think this was a sleeping man.

The far corner of the room was very dark. He took the blanket and pillow from the other bed and placed them in the dark corner. He laid down facing the door and window. The pistol was in his hand. He lay there waiting and watching, trying to stay awake. If the killer was going to try and kill him, let him come! Now would be a good time. He had baited the trap. He hoped the killer would come as he drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly Al was wide-awake. Something had awakened him. He laid there hardly breathing. The pistol was still in his hand. Very slowly his eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. He could see the bunk with the bedding piled under the blanket. There wasn’t a sound. There was no one else in the room. Could he have just been dreaming?

Minutes passed. Then, very slowly, the door between this room and the kitchen began to open. A faint ray of light came through the door into the room. Al cocked his pistol.

The door suddenly burst open and a dark figure came charging through headed straight for the bunk. By the dim light Al could see the right hand raised high and in it was a long knife! The knife was coming down aimed straight at the center of the bunk! Al fired; there was a loud scream. A woman’s scream, he had shot a woman! Then the dark figure made a dive at the window. Al could hear the ripping of the screen. In one mad leap the assassin had escaped.

Al felt sick inside. Had the killer hired one of the girls to stick a knife in him? Dawn was breaking fast. He walked over to the window and looked out, but he could not see anyone. On the window ledge was something dark. He touched it with his finger. It was sticky and red. It was blood!

Al felt like he was going to vomit. What kind of country was this that a man could get a woman to do his killing? He looked at the bunk. The big knife was buried to the hilt in the bedroll. He walked over and stared down at it. If he had been in that bunk, he would now be a dead man.

There was a loud series of knocks on the door. The old woman and the two girls walked into the room. One thing for sure, thought Al, it wasn’t one of them that had tried to kill him.

“We heard a shot,” said the woman. “It sounded like it came from here.”

Al pointed at the knife. “Someone tried to kill me. They would have succeeded if I had been in that bed. I suggest you call the law.”

The woman looked down at the bunk, she turned to the girls, “Go get the constable.” They took off running.

Al bit his lip, he remembered the judge. He should have cleaned up the blood and hid the knife and gotten the hell out of there. But now it was too late. He would probably end up in jail with another sentence passed on him. He should have kept his mouth shut.

The woman retreated to the kitchen. Al went to the corner of the room and picked up the blanket and pillow. He would put them back on the cot. He stood there for a moment, and then laid them back down on the floor. He decided he had better not move anything until the law looked things over. He moved over to the table and sat down in one of the chairs.

His mind drifted back to the states, to his ranch in Arizona. Probably everyone at the ranch thought he was down here having a ball. No one could possibly imagine that he could get himself into such a mess as this!

‘Like father like son,’ he thought. His father had gotten himself into trouble down here. He had even tried to take over the country, him and a guy by the name of John Kirkland. Where was this man Kirkland? He was supposed to be somewhere in this area.

He had been a wanted man. Maybe he still had a price on his head. Probably he had changed his name. A lot of things could have happened. He might even be dead by now.

He wondered about his father. There had been a price on his head also. Was this the reason why he had always refused to talk about his past life down here? Somehow his father had managed to get out and up to the states without getting caught. How had he managed that? And he had taken a wife with him! His father was quite a man. Not far below from where Al stood, the Coco River bordered Nicaragua and Honduras. Perhaps his father had gone up through the country?

If things got any worse here, Al might need to try this himself! If the law here started to give him a bad time, he would put up a fight. He would show them!

There was the sound of voices in the kitchen. The door opened and the constable walked inside. He was of middle age. He was short and fat, and still looked half asleep.

Al had tried to cooperate with the Judge. It certainly hadn’t paid off. This time, he would play the game a bit differently. This time, he would be the aggressor. He addressed the Constable.

“It’s about time you got here! Last night, someone tried to kill me. I was warned that this might happen, so I put my bedroll on the bed and covered it with the blanket.” Al pointed at the blanket and pillow in the corner of the room. “I spent the night there. Along toward morning, someone came charging through the door and stuck a knife in my bedroll, thinking it was me.” He pointed at the knife. “Take a look. I took a shot at the person, but whomever it was jumped right through the window screen and escaped.”

Now, it was broad daylight. The sun was peeking over the jungle.

The constable pulled the knife out of the bedroll. The long blade had a bone handle. Bits of it were scattered all over the bed. The bullet had struck the handle, shattering it. There was blood and also something else. The man reached down and picked up the object. He studied it for a moment, and then laid it down on the bed.

A feeling of horror swept over Al. It was the little finger of a woman!

The man followed the trail of blood to the window. For a moment, he stood there looking out, then, slowly, he came walked back.

“You only blew off her finger.” He said sadly. “It appears that she has gotten completely away.”

Al stood there, dumbfounded. The man bid him good morning and walked out the open doorway.

Chapter Seventeen

Evidently, the constable didn’t relish the idea of tracking the woman, and would be content to forget about the whole thing.

Who was this woman? Al wondered. Perhaps she was the wife of the killer, or a sister, or some other relative. It could be that she was his girlfriend. She was certainly a woman of mystery.

Al gathered up his belongings and stepped outside. In front of the hotel was a water hydrant. A pipe was sticking out of the ground. On top was a water faucet. Under the faucet was a watering trough, made of wood. Most of the town’s livestock did their drinking here, as well as the human population. Several people with buckets and gourds were lined up waiting to take their turn.

This was the only water pipe Al had seen since he had come to this part of the country. He was curious. An old fellow had just finished filling his pail, and stepped aside. Al decided to speak to him.

“From where does the water come?” asked Al.

The man set the pail on the ground and pointed to high on the side of the mountain. “From way up there, Señor. It is pure North American water.”

“What do you mean, North American water?”

The old man liked to talk. He went on to explain that many years ago, the U.S. Marines had been stationed here. They had been sent to capture the bandit, Sandino.

The water from the river had made many of them sick. They had found a spring, high on the mountain. They dug it out and poured a concrete box, sealing it off from anything that might contaminate the water. Then they piped it down the mountain to right here in front of the hotel.

“No one ever gets sick drinking this water,” the old man grinned.

Al wondered if his father and John Kirkland had been stationed here. He took the picture of Kirkland and showed it to the man.

“Do you know this man?” He asked.

The fellow stared at the picture for a moment, then handed it back. He shook his head.

“His name is John Kirkland. Do you know anyone by that name?” Again, he shook his head. He had never seen this man. Al thanked the man, gathered up his things and headed for the river.

Pio had a small fire going, and breakfast was ready. Nocho was there, grinning from ear to ear. Al took the hundred-cord note from his pocket and handed it to him. He had promised him another five hundred when they returned with the killer. He hoped he would live to pay it.

Nocho thanked him and put the bill in his faded shirt pocket.

When breakfast was done, they pushed the boat into the water and started their journey down the Rio Coco. The river was called ‘the river of no return’. ‘Well, time will tell,’ Al thought. As they drifted down the stream, he could see through some openings on the shoreline. There was always someone standing there, watching, waiting, always a pair of curious eyes, peeking through the bushes. How was he supposed to tell which one was the killer?

Pio had said news travels fast on the river; much faster than they had been traveling. The killer knew that they were coming after him, and he had the advantage. He would lay in wait for them. He had a good rifle, his rifle, and his boots.

This fellow had killed previously, and he would kill again. He must figure out some way to get the killer to come to him, like last night, only he hadn’t come. He had sent someone else. He had sent a woman! He would stop at nothing!

He must figure out some way to outwit the fellow, but how? Surely there was a way. Right now, he could be anywhere behind the screen of the jungle, but where?

Here, the river was wide and the current was slow. They kept the boat as near to the center as possible, keeping out of rifle range the best they could. However, Al didn’t feel too secure. He could hit a man on the head, from either bank! He didn’t know how good a shot the man was. He hoped a damn poor one!

Any second now, there could be the report of a rifle. Would he hear it? If he did, the killer had missed! Then it would be his turn. He had plenty of shells, he could throw a stream of lead. He began to sweat. Barto had not heard the pistol shot. He had felt no pain, he hoped the man would shoot. They would get it over with then, but the shot never came.

For hours, they drifted. The heat was stifling. The glare of the sun on the water was blinding. Al wished he had brought along a pair of sunglasses. The old man, Nocho, knew every bend in the river. He was an excellent guide.

The river was becoming very wide and deep. The current was barely moving. They took turns paddling with the oars.

Nocho explained, “We are approaching the falls. We had better make camp here tonight. The boat cannot go over the falls; it must be carried up a steep trail on the north side, then down to the river below. This is also a good place for an ambush. Your man could be waiting there. We had better be very careful.”

This would be the place that the two soldiers had captured the scar-faced man. ‘He should know that it was a perfect spot for an ambush,’ Al thought.

“Is there a trail around the south bank?” Al asked.

“No. It would be impossible to take the boat that way.”

“Then let’s pull over to the south bank and camp for the night.”

“A good idea. I know a good spot.” He pointed with his finger. “Do you see that big rock sticking up out of the water?”

Al nodded.

“Head straight for that rock. I will try and catch us some fish for dinner.”

Al took the oar and started paddling in that direction. Nocho and Pio were busy attaching some line and hooks to a couple of small bamboo poles. Evidently, Nocho had everything it took to catch fish. Before Nocho got close to the rock, the fisherman landed three big ones. Each would probably weigh two pounds. They were unlike anything Al had ever seen. The fish had huge heads and their teeth in the front reminded him of those of a house cat. Al figured they were probably members of the catfish family. They didn’t look very appetizing, but Nocho assured him that they were very good.

Beyond the rock was a little cove. They pulled the boat ashore into this cove. Nocho produced a big machete and went to work.

The jungle vines were very dense here and lay in thick mats from the waters’ edge to the treetops. Without the machete, they would not have been able to get through. Nocho kept hacking away, and soon had a big hole chopped through the outer layer. He went inside, followed by Al and Pio.

Al was amazed. He felt like he was in a different world. It was almost dark inside the jungle growth. It was like a big room. The walls and ceiling were made of vine and dense foliage. The trees were like giant pillars, holding them aloft. Never before had he seen or heard of anything like this.

Pio and Nocho dragged the boat through the opening. Nocho cleaned the fish and built a fire. In a short time, dinner was ready.

Al couldn’t remember when anything had tasted as good as those ugly fish. He sure would have something to talk about when he got home, if he got home.

For a moment, he had forgotten the scar-faced killer. He had better not let that happen again, one little slip, and he would be a dead man.

Right now, the killer was probably across the canyon and had seen them drag the boat from the river, and watched as they cut their way into the jungle. It was very likely he would come across the river tonight and try to finish the job that he had sent a woman to do earlier.

Al hoped he would. Then this could be finished! He hoped the guy did come. He would be ready for him!

Al began giving orders. Each of the men had a string hammock. They strung them up in a small grove of trees. In each of them, they piled a bunch of dry leaves, and covered the leaves with a blanket.

There would be moonlight tonight, so their trail would be easy to follow and lead the killer straight to the hammocks. But they would not be there! They would be in their blankets, watching, and ready with the guns. They would kill the killer!

He gave Nocho one of the pistols. The old man assured him that he knew how to use it. Pio had the other one. He kept the rifle for himself. They took their positions around the hammocks, and settled down to wait.

Al’s mind drifted back to the woman that had tried to kill him. There was one thing he felt for certain: if he were to meet her again, he would know her. She was branded! The little finger of her right hand was missing. If the bullet had not struck the heavy handle of the knife, Al shuddered, she would be dead, for sure!

He thought of his father who wouldn’t talk much about this country. Al thought he had begun to understand why. One thing for sure, if he ever got married and had a family, he would certainly keep his mouth shut about a lot of things that happened here. No one would believe him anyway!

The night dragged forward. Al hoped the guy would come. They would get this deed done! He would fill the killer full of holes, bullet holes!

And that cock-eyed Judge; several times today they could see a boat behind them, following them. It could have been a few natives, hoping to see the show, but Pio was sure that one of them was the Judge of Quilali. If it was the Judge, why was he on their trail? Was he coming to watch the show? This didn’t make much sense. However, not much on this trip did.

Dawn began to break. It had been a long night for everyone. They crawled out of their blankets and built a small fire. The killer had not come, and it wasn’t very likely that he would attack the three of them in broad daylight. They cooked breakfast and brewed a pot of black coffee.

When breakfast was finished, Nocho asked, “Do you intend to go down the river, Señor?”

Al shook his head. “I have given this a lot of thought. We are waiting for the killer to come here. He is probably over there in those rocks, waiting for us. Let us not become impatient. The Judge didn’t put a time limit on the party. We are still alive, and I intend to keep us that way. We will play a waiting game. Sooner or later, he will make a mistake and we will get him.”

Nocho nodded. “Maybe tonight, he will come.”

Al agreed. “Yes, maybe tonight he will come!”

Chapter Eighteen

Nocho was a man that knew how to live off the fat of the land. He took his fishing gear out of the boat and headed for the river.

Pio, likewise, took off in search of food. Al sat down on a rock. He would guard the camp.

Along toward noon, Pio returned with a bunch of bananas on his back. The looked plenty green to Al, but Pio assured him they would soon ripen. He stripped them from the stalk and wrapped them in a piece of cloth. “They must be kept in the dark,” he told Al. “In a few days, they will be very good.”

A few minutes later, Nocho returned with three more of the big fish. They had been cleaned and ready for the pan.

After dinner, Al suggested that they should try and get a little sleep. Two of them slept while the other stood guard.

When, at last, darkness came, they were well rested and ready for whatever nightfall might bring. They took up their positions as the night before, and settled down to wait.

The moon rose higher and higher, now and then peeking through the dense growth overhead.

So far, Al had gotten very little sleep. He was playing a waiting game. So was the guy across the river… if there was a guy across the river… he must assume that there was or he would probably end up a dead man! If the guy didn’t come across tonight, tomorrow he would figure out away to get him over here.

At last dawn was breaking. Another night had passed. The scar-faced killer had not come and it was time to get up. Al crawled out of his blanket. Then suddenly he heard a noise. Something or someone was coming up the trail! He grew tense; he flipped the safety on the rifle. The guy had waited till dawn to strike. Well he was ready for him. Let him come! He had never killed a man before, but this one was a killer, and he was the aggressor.

The sounds were coming closer. He’s making a hell of a lot of noise. He probably had someone coming slowly up the trail breaking twigs and making grunting sounds to distract their attention, and then he would attack from the rear! A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He didn’t know which way to turn!

Then the noise on the trail became louder, much louder! The loud snapping sounds were like dry bones being beat together in rapid succession. Like someone cracking walnuts; black walnuts! Al had never heard anything like it.

Nocho was shouting; “Get up a tree fast!”

Then Al saw them; wild hogs, dozens of them, and they were big! The bristles on the back of their neck were sticking straight up. Huge tusks protruded from both sides of their mouths. Their lower jaw was chattering and making one hell of a racket!

For a moment Al stood frozen. Then Nocho screamed; “Up a tree!”

Al came to life. There was a small tree in front of him. Would it hold his weight? He had better find out fast. They were charging straight at him. He had never considered himself an expert at climbing trees, but this time he must set a world record. The tree swayed back and forth as he made his ascent. How he managed to hang on to he rifle he will never know.

He could feel the tree shake as several of the beasts took a chunk out of the tree with their big tusks. A few more passes like that and the tree would come tumbling down!

The pigs stopped on the farthest side of the clearing getting ready to charge once more. The snapping of their tusks made Al’s blood run cold.

Two nights he had waited for a killer, here were lots of them! He could hit a rock in mid air. These wild pigs were much bigger! The automatic rifle in his hands sounded like a machine gun! The pistols of Nocho and Pio were spiting fire.

The front line of the creatures stumbled and fell. Some of them, badly wounded, were squealing like mad. Those still standing charged once more, Al’s gun was empty. He could feel the tree shake as they slashed at it with their tusks. He slipped a new clip into the magazine. Once more the pigs were ready to charge. Al didn’t wait. Once more the little rifle was belching fire and lead. They were falling like ten-pins!

Al’s left hand was gripped around the rifle barrel and it was burning his hand. He had been ready for the killer, they weren’t the killer but they would do. He jammed in another clip and sprayed them with hot lead! Many of them lay squealing, mortally wounded. This was too much for the rest of them. They charged once more, but not at him, they vanished into the jungle.

Chapter Nineteen

A short time later they were cooking breakfast. Al had bought eggs at Talpinecci this morning. They would have ham and eggs. There was certainly no shortage of ham.

Nocho and Pio had skinned one of the younger pigs. They made some choice cuts, sprinkled salt over part of it and wrapped it in grass. “It will keep for several days.” Said Nocho.

Al was feeling good this morning. Somehow the battle with the pigs had helped relieve the tension. For the last several days and nights he had been under quite a strain. Now he felt much better.

He had hoped to do some big game hunting while down here. But these wild pigs, he didn’t know such a creature existed. There were wild pigs in Arizona, but they were nothing like these monsters. Waree, Nocho called them.

Nocho was frying some thick ham steaks. He was wearing his toothless grin. “The wild pig is the most dangerous animal in the jungle,” he said. “But also the best to eat!”

There was one thing for certain. Today they must move their camp. Dead pigs were lying around everywhere and soon the bloated bodies would begin to spoil. Flies were coming by the millions. Giant buzzards circled overhead. Soon the stench would be awful.

The noise of the shooting would have carried across the river. If the scar-faced killer were over there he would have heard it, what would he think? Al tried to put himself in the killers place. If he heard a lot of shooting across the river, what would he do? He would damn sure be curious to say the least.

Maybe the killer would think we were fighting amongst ourselves? Also he might think were fighting some hostile natives. If he heard the pigs squeal he would know we were fighting for our lives. If we didn’t show ourselves he might figure the pigs had gotten us? He might come take look.

All night Al tried to figure a way to lure the man across the river. A little extra bait…maybe the shooting would do the job? He would see buzzards circling overhead. He would know something had died. Maybe he would come over to take a look. He would probably not come in the daylight. He would wait until night, and then row his boat across. Al hoped he would.

Once again tonight they would be ready for him. Al remembered what Pio had said about the tiger when he had shot the deer and hung it in the tree. “On the third night the tiger will come.” Well tonight was the third night, they would be ready.

He walked down to the bank of the river taking care not to be seen. Where would be the most likely place for the man to cross? If he were in his place where would he come ashore?

About a quarter of a mile above them was a sharp bend in the river. He could cross there without being seen from here. Tonight would be another moonlit night. If the man decided to make the crossing he would paddle up river, then paddle across. At least Al had come to that conclusion. He walked back to camp. He explained his theory to Pio and Nocho. They were in full accord.

Nocho led the way slashing at the jungle vines with his machete. Al and Pio followed dragging the boat and carrying their provisions. Their progress was slow. The day was hot and humid. Sweat ran off them in streams, but they kept going. Al couldn’t help but think how good a cold beer would taste right now.

It was late in the afternoon when they passed the bend in the river. Nocho chopped an opening through the dense foliage and they looked out. Here the river had a sandy beach. Several boulders were sticking out of the sand. They were big enough for several people to hide behind. It was a good place for an ambush if he came across at this point.

They cooked a good meal and then spread their blankets on the ground. Two of them slept while the other stood guard. The day wore on. When darkness came they were well rested. They went to the beach and took up their positions behind the big boulders. The sandy beach was about a hundred yards long. Nocho was behind a rock at the upper end, Pio was in the middle, and Al at the lower end.

Then, once more came the long wait. Many strange sounds come from the jungle. There was a lot. There was a lot more then the usual tonight. Al thought the frogs and crickets were making a lot of racket. They seemed to being tune with each other. A low flying bird swooped down and caught a fish or a frog and went sailing away screaming, daring the others to try and take it away from him.

The night wore on. The moon rose higher and higher until it was straight overhead. Then slowly it began to sink into the West. If the man were going to come, it would be soon. Perhaps he was not over there. They had only assumed that he was waiting on the trail.

The moon was about to disappear over the edge of the jungle when Al heard a faint sound, like the dipping of an oar in the water. He listened closely; there it was again!

He strained his eye; he could see it, it was a small paddleboat and it was going up stream on the opposite side of the river! Suddenly it turned into the current and was coming directly toward them! He checked the rifle… He was ready.

Then the moon went behind a cloud. No longer could he see the boat, but he could hear the dipping of the paddle. It was coming closer, much closer… Al began to sweat, suppose he wasn’t the killer, just someone going for a moonlit ride? He couldn’t open fire and find out later. He prayed for the moon to come out from behind the cloud. If only he could just get a glimpse of the person in that boat.

The noises of the paddle ceased. He heard the boat hit the sandy bank about fifty feet above him. He could hear it being dragged up on the sand. The moon was slowly coming out from behind the cloud. He could hear footsteps on the sand. Suddenly a dark figure darted past him and vanished behind a big boulder just a few feet below.

Now the moon was out from behind the cloud. Al trained the rifle on the boulder. Whoever was there was trapped. He could call for Nocho and Pio to get below and there would be no escape. But before there was any shooting he must make certain.

He spoke; “You behind the rock, come out with your hands up!”

There was no movement or sound. Al tried once more. “If you are not a wanted killer you have nothing to fear! Come out from behind the rock!” Al could hear a faint noise behind him. Probably Pio. He would send him around the back of that rock. Something hard and round was pressed into the center of his back. A strange voice whispered, “Drop the gun!”

Al froze; no doubt the cold steel in his back was the muzzle of a rifle barrel. There had been two of them! The decoy was behind the rock; the killer had a gun in his back! He had no choice; the gun fell from his hands.

“I am going to kill you,” rasped the voice behind him. I am going to break your back. Maybe you will live a few days but you will die! When I count to three I will pull the trigger! One,…

Al knew he must act fast. He must spin around and attack. He wouldn’t just stand there and be shot down!

“Two,…”

A rifle shot shattered the silence. No longer was the cold steel in his back. Al spun around to see the man sinking to the ground. The gun fell from his hands, blood was pouring from a hole in the side of his head. He was dead before he hit the sand.

From behind the rock came a dark figure making a mad dash for the boat. Al’s gun was lying there somewhere in the grass. No time to look for it now! His hunting knife was in the scabbard on his belt. He drew it and took after the running figure. He would use the knife! With every stride he was gaining. Then the figure tripped on a vine and went sprawling in the sand. The toe of Al’s shoe caught the same vine and he went tumbling down beside the other person. For a second he was stunned by the fall. Evidently so was the other party because they didn’t move. The knife had left from his hand. He crawled over to the figure; his hands would do just as well! The figure was lying on its stomach face down. Al rolled the body over and reached for the throat as he planned to strangle the life out of this one!

There was a brief struggle. Al was much stronger and he was on top, his hands reached for the throat. Suddenly he froze as there laid a beautiful girl! Here eyes were filled with terror, her lips were slightly parted and blood was running down her chin.

Al was horrified; if he hadn’t dropped the knife she would be dead by now. He staggered to his feet. There laid the beautiful girl that had come across the river at Quilali! He bet over and helped her to her feet. She was trembling with fear. There was a wild look in her eyes.

“Who are you?” Al’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t be afraid, I will not harm you.”

The girl did not answer. She put her hand to her mouth. Blood was seeping from her cut in her upper lip. Pio and Nocho came running over with their pistols drawn. They had expected to see the scar-faced killer. Here stood a beautiful frightened girl.

Pio stared at the girl for a moment and he turned to Al. “She is the one that rode the pony across the river at Quilali. What is she doing here?”

Al shook his head, “ That is what I am trying to find out.” He turned to the girl, “My name is Al Mackey. Who are you?” There was no answer.

Several minutes ago, in the moonlight, he had seen a boat go up river then come across. It looked like only one person was in it. Maybe she was in no way connected to the man that had the gun in his back, the man lying over there with a bullet hole in his head. Maybe she had been out for a moonlit boat ride and had come ashore to rest.

He had threatened her with a gun, had chased her with a big knife in his hand and about choked her to death! No wonder the girl was terrified.

She was wearing boots, slacks and gay colored cotton blouse. The back of the blouse was ripped. The buttons torn from the front, blood was dripping from her chin. Al was horrified to say the least. He jumped to conclusions! He might have killed her! Under his breath he cursed the Judge, the killer and the whole damn country!

He turned to Pio, “There is a medicine kit in my bag, go get it. This girl has been hurt!” Pio was off on the run.

Al glanced at his watch; it was six thirty. In another half hour dawn would break. In a matter of minutes the moon would disappear behind the mountain. He must apologize to this girl; beg her forgiveness. He stepped up close to her and took both her hands in his. There was a small bandage on her right hand; he examined it closely. A feeling of horror swept over him. The little finger on her right hand was missing!

Chapter Twenty

There is an old saying; it is always darkest before the dawn. This certainly held true this morning, Al thought. They had decided not to move until daylight. They had dragged the girl’s boat far up the sandy bank. The girl was put into it and the three men stood guard. The girl was well protected and she certainly could not escape. Al was determined that she was going to come up with some answers before he turned her loose.

Al’s mind was in turmoil. Who was this girl? Why did she try to kill him? On thing for sure, she was the one! He had branded her. She seemed in a state of shock. Maybe when daylight came she would snap out of it. He hoped so.

Pio had heard her talking to the innkeeper at Quilali. “She is not a native of this part of the country,” He said. “She comes from the city.”

‘She is certainly a girl of mystery,’ Al thought, also a very beautiful one. Even in a state of shock she held her head high. She certainly had poise.

Al’s mind turned to the dead man lying out there. The man had intended to kill him that was for certain. In one more second he would have pulled the trigger. Ether Nocho or Pio had saved his life, which one was it? So far neither of them had said anything about the shooting. Al wondered why.

Suddenly an alarming thought entered his head. Pio and Nocho were both carrying 22-caliber pistols. That shot came from a rifle, a big one! It had about tore the dead mans head off! Could he be mistaken? He had better find out for sure.

“Pio,” he kept his voice low. “Did you fire a shot awhile ago?” The man shook his head.

“How about you Nocho?”

“No Señor, I heard the shot. I thought it was you.”

Cold beads of sweat broke out on Al’s forehead. Someone else was out there. Someone with a big rifle and he knew how to use it! Whoever it was had saved his life. That was for sure. On the other hand, that shot could have been fired at him. They had been standing close together. It had been quite dark. Maybe the guy got them mixed up. Maybe he was a damn poor shot.

He had better get his rifle. It was out there by the dead man. He was sitting there unarmed and out there somewhere was someone with a big rifle, and he wasn’t afraid to use it!

Daylight was coming fast; Al took charge. “Loan me the pistol Nocho. My rifle is lying over there by a dead man. Someone else is out there with gun. I will give this back to you when I pick up my rifle. Bring the girl Pio and watch behind us.”

Al took the pistol and started walking toward the big boulder that he had been standing behind. The dead man was lying face down in the tall grass. Who could have shot this man? Certainly no one in this party! There was one thing for sure; the same gun could be aimed at the side of his head right now! If the man pulled the trigger he would never hear the shot. The man lying there certainly hadn’t heard the one that had about tore his head off.

Beside the body was an old twenty-two single shot rifle. Al picked it up and handed it to Nocho. The dead man wouldn’t need it again. Al’s own rifle was lying there. He picked it up and then, for a moment, stood staring at the back of the dead man. He reached down and took hold of the dead mans shirt and rolled him over. Al gasped! It wasn’t the scar-faced killer lying there. It appeared to be Barto! Killed twice in one week? The girl screamed and backed away. Pio looked like he was going to faint. He was as white as a ghost!

This man couldn’t be Barto! He was dead and buried! Al took a closer look. This man had the same features and the same low hairline. He looked very much like Barto, but there was some white hair mixed with the black. He was older, quite a bit older. Al remembered the death bird. His man Pio believed this sort of thing. Pio was very superstitious. Pio had killed Barto. No wonder Pio was scared. Al hoped the man didn’t panic.

Al walked over to him took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. “This man is not Barto,” he said softly. “He is much older, probably his brother.”

Pio looked down at the body on the ground. “He sure looks like Barto.”

Al nodded, “It sure does Pio but look at the hair. Barto’s was all black. There is a lot of white in this mans hair, look closely.”

Pio slowly nodded his head. “I see what you mean. You’re right, the man is not Barto.”

The girl was standing there staring down at the body. Al took her by the arm and led her over to the flat rock, which was around two feet high. He sat down and pulled the girl down beside him. She bent over and buried her head in her arms and cried softly.

“What is your name?” Al asked. There was no answer. “Did you know the man that was killed?” Still she did not answer. Al got to his feet. It was broad daylight now and there was no sign of anyone else being here.

Nocho had an extra machete. They took turns with them and soon dug a shallow grave, and placed the body in it. They pushed the dirt back and piled rocks on top. These rocks would keep the wild animals from digging it up. Al had a small Bible in his suitcase. He read a few verses from it, said a short prayer and the funeral was over. The girl quit crying and watched while they buried the man.

The sun was peeking over the treetops. There were no trees here on the sandy beach. They had better retreat to the shade of the jungle, Al decided. They picked up their belongings, including a hand woven carrying case that was in the girls boat.

They found a small clearing and proceeded to cook breakfast. Nocho took charge. He ordered Pio to find some dry wood and bring a pail of water for coffee. He put some thick ham steaks in a frying pan and then began making corn tortillas.

Al wondered what should be his next move. For three nights they had waited for the killer to come to them. A killer had come all right but it was the wrong one. Also there was someone else out there who was mighty handy with a gun. Who could it be?

The girl probably knew a lot of the answers. Somehow he must get her to talk. Pio had brought him the first aid kit. So far he hadn’t taken time to use it. ‘Now would be a good time,’ he thought.

The girl was sitting on a fallen tree a short distance from the fire. She was bent forward her head in her hands. Al poured warm water in the washbasin, picked up a clean towel and the first aid kit. The girls carrying case was laying on the boat. He picked it up and walked over to her.

He reached down and took her by the arm. His voice was low. “Breakfast will be ready soon, would you like to wash up a bit?” She did not answer.

Al shook her gently. “Here is some water and a towel, wouldn’t you like to freshen up a bit?”

There was still no answer.

Al was becoming quite annoyed to say the least. Soft words were getting nowhere. Hw would try another method. He shook here roughly, “Get up and wash your dirty face,” he shouted. “You look like hell!”

The girl came awake fast. She jumped to her feet; her eyes were full of fire. She grabbed the towel and got busy. In a couple of minutes her face and hands were clean. She opened the carrying case and drew out a clean blouse.

Then for the first time she spoke; “Would you mind turning your head or do you prefer to watch?” Al slowly turned around; a big grin came to his face. Now he was getting somewhere. “Tell me when you are finished,” he said.

The girl took her time; it was at least five minutes before she spoke again. Evidently she didn’t like to be told that she looked like hell. “You may turn around now,” she told him.

Al turned facing her. Once more she was the most beautiful girl in the world! The girl that had come across the river at Quilali! Not only had she washed her face and hands, but had put on a clean blouse, combed her hair and put on fresh make-up.

“Does this suit you better?” She asked.

Al nodded, “Yes much better, but there is one thing more. That cut on your lip needs attention, you might get an infection.” He looked down at her hand. “I think you could use a fresh bandage on that hand.”

Al took her by the arms and seated her gently on the fallen tree. He opened the first aid kit and went to work. The cut on her lip was only minor. The hand with the missing finger was healing but needed attention. He cleaned the wounds with alcohol and applied some sulfa powder, then put a clean bandage on the hand.

The girl seemed to have gained her composure. Al thought he would try once more. “What is your name?”

This time the girl didn’t hesitate, “Adilia,” she answered.

“What a pretty name, I have never heard it before now.”

“It was also my mothers name.”

The girl seemed willing to talk. But he had better not crowd her too much. She might clam up again. ‘Give her a little more time,’ Al thought. Then he would ask her more questions. Besides, it looked like breakfast was ready.

Pio and Nocho had turned the boat upside down. This would be the table; their bedrolls would be the chairs. Al sat down, the girl beside him. Pio handed them each a plate full of food and a cup of steaming black coffee.

As the meal progressed, Al was keeping an eye on the girl. He noticed she used the knife and fork much the same as himself. Pio and Nocho used only their fingers to eat with. So did everyone else around here. She was different all right!

No one spoke a word while they were eating. When the meal was over Al took the girl back to the fallen tree and they both sat down.

“Did you enjoy breakfast?” Al asked.

“Yes it was very good. I guess I was quite hungry.”

There were many questions he wanted to ask this girl. Where should he start? Maybe a good place would be to ask her about herself and her family.

He spoke softly, “Adilia there are a few things I must know. I would appreciate it very much if you would answer a few questions. What ever your answers are I will not harm you. To begin with my name is Al Mackey, I am from the United States.”

The girl nodded, “Yes I know.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Adilia Monory.”

“Did you know the man that we buried out there? What was his name?”

“His name was Todo. He and Barto were brothers.”

“Do you know why he was going to kill me?”

The girl nodded, “Yes he was going to kill you and your man Pio. You killed his brother Barto.”

Al wondered if the man had heard the correct story about the killing of Barto. At least he would tell the girl the truth. “Listen Adilia, Barto was a killer. The other night at Talpinecci he took a young girl as his wife. That night he killed her. He chopped her to pieces with a machete! Did his brother know that?”

The girl’s eyes were big and round. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes Adilia, I have no reason to lie. Also Barto tried to kill Pio. It was self-defense, there were many witnesses.”

The girl was silent for a moment. Slowly she nodded her head. “The story you tell is probably true, I believe you! But I am sure that is not the story that was told Todo. Some friend of Barto’s probably passed the story along. By the time it got to his brother all the truth was gone from out of it.”

“You must have known these guys quite well,” said Al. What was their last name?”

The girl bowed her head, “Yes. I knew them quite well. Their last name was Monory, they were my brothers!”