Series: Bend

Chapter Thirty-One

Chickens were crowing and dogs were barking. Dawn was breaking. Al opened his eyes. For a moment he lay there, half asleep, listening to these common sounds. Then, somewhere back in the jungle, the chatter of monkeys brought him back to reality.

He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. Time to get up and get going. At seven everything started, and everything stopped. Daylight came at seven, and darkness came at seven. A twelve-hour day and a twelve-hour night, year round. There was no such thing as summer and winter here, only the wet season and the dry season. Now, it was the middle of the dry season, the warmest time of the year.

Al wondered what the wet or rainy season was like. If these last few days were a fair sample of the dry months, he didn’t think he would care to go through the wet ones.

They were close on the heels of the killer. They were only one day behind him, and it was not far to the Caribbean Sea. He was somewhere below, and they would find him.

The trader had given Al a better description of the killer. He was wearing a big white hat and a light blue shirt. The boat he was traveling in was not the one he had taken at Quilali. It was a small one-man boat with a flat bottom. He had probably left the stolen one at the falls where he was captured, and then picked up his own.

“This kind of boat,” Nocho had said, “is used in shallow water. From here on down, the Coco is big and wide, and there are several small rivers that empty into it. Perhaps he lives up one of those. Why else would he need a boat of this kind?”

From here on down, they would take it slow and easy, asking everyone they met. Someone would know him and know where to find him.

They would travel light. He would leave Adilia here, where she would be safe. He turned his head and looked down at the girl beside him. Her eyes were big and wide.

Her little arm stole around his neck, and her voice was low and positive. “Darling, if you have any idea of leaving me here, forget it. A woman’s place is by her man. I am going along!”

Their first argument was over before it had even begun.

They got up and dressed, then went to the trading post. Pio and Nocho were already there, drinking coffee. The trader’s wife cooked a big breakfast of tortillas, ham and eggs, with a big pot of strong black coffee, much like the stuff brewed by the Nigger Woman at Quilali.

Al paid the trader and they were ready to go. Several of the people that had attended the party were there. They would help carry the boat and their belongings down the trail.

They bid the trader and his wife good-bye, and promised to stop on their way back to Quilali.

With the help of the people that had come to see them off, they were soon at the bottom of the trail. Once more, the boat was in the water. As they pushed off, Al couldn’t help but think that they must look like a family going on a picnic.

They had told no one why they were looking for this man. No one had asked. Maybe word of the big hunt hadn’t reached down this far. The big storm had stopped the river traffic.

A lot of things could have happened. There could be another revolution going or an earthquake or a volcano blown up. But one thing was certain; that cock-eyed Judge still had Al’s money and his passport, and the sentence was still in effect.

Al swore under his breath, “Damn the Judge! What a hell of a sentence to pass on a guy.” Just because he had been a little bit negligent and left a rifle and a pair of boots unguarded only for a few minutes. Was that a great crime?

For this he had been sentenced, demanded to kill! That’s what it amounted to anyway. The killer knew he was a dead man if he came peacefully. His only chance was to fight, to kill again. He was good at that.

The sun was bearing down, and the day was clear. As usual on the river, the humidity was high. Sweat dripped from their foreheads.

Ahead of them, on a gravel bar, were a couple of men working to shovel gravel into a sluice box.

Nocho pointed at them. “They are miners, digging for gold. Should we talk to them?”

Al nodded. “Pull into the sandy bank. You go and see them. Nocho; you are a miner and speak their language. Find out what you can.”

They pulled in close, and Nocho waded ashore. For several minutes, he talked to them. Al could see them nodding their heads and pointing down the river.

Nocho came back, grinning his toothless grin. He climbed into the boat. “These men do not know him, but they have seen him many times. Only yesterday he passed by here going down the river.”

They pushed the boat away from the gravel bar. They were floating down the river once more. There was no doubt now that every minute, they were getting closer to their quarry.

Ahead of them, on the right, looked like a deep canyon. Perhaps there was a small river coming down this one. Al took a look at the map. All it showed was the Coco, winding its way toward the sea. The guy that had made this map had probably had only used his imagination. Very few people other than the natives had ever been here. This was disputed territory, and could also be called No-Man’s Land. ‘That would be a better name for it,’ Al thought.

They pulled into the mouth of the canyon. There was a big stream coming down it, but it was full of big boulders, and too shallow for any boat to navigate. The water from the stream looked cool and inviting. They pulled the boat ashore to have lunch and get some exercise.

There was a small trail going up the canyon. Nocho took one look at it, then without a word followed it into the jungle. Al and Pio started gathering firewood. A cup of coffee would taste mighty fine. Adilia started making sandwiches.

“Where did Nocho go?” Al asked.

“He took off up that trail,” said Pio. “I think he is up to something.”

The old man was gone only a few minutes. When he returned there was a big smile on his face. “I know exactly where we are. I have been here previously. It was a long time ago and I was not sure until I walked up the canyon. Come, I will show you.”

They followed him up the winding trail. It went through some thick under brush then out into an open meadow. The stream ran to one side of the meadow, close to a rocky cliff. It was to this cliff that Nocho took them.

“Look,” he pointed at the rocky face of the canyon. They probably would not have noticed if he had not drawn their attention. There, on the rocks, dark with age, were many paintings; also carvings of human faces and many animals. No doubt it was the work of some ancient tribe of Indians.

“This is why I came up here,” said Nocho. “If this were not here I would know that my memory was playing tricks on me. But now I am sure. I can tell you a lot about this country right in this area. I prospected for gold right here some fifty years ago. It has been so long ago that I had almost forgotten. Now it all comes back to me.

They left the paintings and walked back to the fire. Nocho set down on the edge of the boat. The rest of the group gathered close to listen to what he had to say.

“I wasn’t much more then a kid then. I was living in the city. Times were tough. It was hard to make a living. I had a friend that had an uncle that was a prospector. Someone told him that there was a lot of gold in this area. We came here and stayed for a year. I guess I have prospected about every stream in the country since then, so many that they all seem alike any more. But I will never forget the paintings on the rocks. We were camped right here.”

What else do you remember?” Al asked. “Do you recall anything that might be helpful?”

Nocho Nodded. “Yes and I think I know were to find your man.” He picked up a stick and drew a mark in the sand, “This is the Coco. We are right here.” He put an X on the spot. “On down the river about two hours by boat another river comes in from the north. A small flat bottom boat will navigate this one. Such a boat belongs to the man for whom you are looking.”

“That sounds reasonable, what do you suggest?”

“We will stay here tonight. In the morning we will get an early start. Then we will be fresh and alert when we get there. Do you agree with me?”

Al nodded. “I certainly do. We will need all our faculties, that’s for sure.”

“Besides,” Nocho grinned. “Where this streams joins the Coco the fishing is great. By the way, isn’t today Friday?”

Al looked at Pio. Pio’s eyes roved around in search of Adilia. Adilia suddenly went in search of some wood. Al grinned; no one here knew the day of the week. He turned to Nocho.

“It’s Friday alright. Go ahead and get a good mess of fish. We will have the sandwiches for tomorrow. By the way my friend, do you have an extra line with you?”

“Do you wish to go fishing?”

“No I have something else in mind.”

Nocho opened a leather folder. In it were numerous hooks, lines, and leaders. “Help yourself.” He said.

Al selected a spool of nylon line. “This will do just fine. You can have it back in the morning.”

Nocho took his fishing gear and headed for the river. Pio was curious. “What are you going to do with the fish line?”

“I have an idea and you can help me work it out. We are close n the heels of our man. Nocho thinks he lives somewhere up the river, which is only a couple of hours from here. Maybe this guy is getting tired of us following him. He might come up the river tonight.”

“I know what you mean. I have been thinking the same thing. One of us had better stand guard all night.”

“Better then missing sleep, lets put this line to work.”

The plan was a simple one. Al explained to Pio. “We will figure out where were going to sleep. We will string up our hammocks and fill them with dummies. We will rake up a lot of dry leaves to make a soft bed on the ground. Around all this we will stretch the line about a foot off the ground completely around us. Where the line comes together we will tie them to our pots and pans.”

“A great idea lets get busy. Where do we start?”

“There are trees, bushes, and boulders just above us. Why not there? We will get Adilia to help us.”

In about an hour’s time they were finished. The hammocks were hung in the trees. The beds were made behind some thick bushes. The nylon line was stretched completely around the perimeter about a foot above the ground. Where the lines came together was a big round rock about five feet high. They tied the ends of the lines to the water bucket, which contained several tin cups and plates. Al set it down very carefully on the sloping surface. Any small yank should bring it tumbling down to the ground.

Hi grinned, “I guess were finished. I sure can’t see why it won’t work. Maybe we should try it out? Who would like to be the one to trigger it?”

There was a big grin on Pio’s face. “Here comes Nocho with a big string of fish. Let’s just step over by the hammocks and wait for him.”

They stepped carefully over the line and walked over close to the hammocks. Nocho was approaching rapidly, and as usual, was wearing his toothless grin. He was a few feet from them when… Crash! Bang! The bucket and contents came tumbling down! Nocho dropped the fish; the pistol was in his hand. For a moment he stood there bent over in a crouch glaring at the big rock.

He reminded Al of an oil painting he had seen at the big art show in Prescott, Arizona. As he recalled, the name of the painting was, “The Gun Fighter.” There was one thing for certain; the alarm system was working perfectly.

Chapter Thirty Two

At last dawn was breaking. It had been a long night and there had been no disturbances. The water bucket was still setting on the rock, the line stretched tight. Everyone got out of bed and pulled on their shoes. Other then shoes, they had gone to bed fully clothed. They had been ready for the scar-faced killer.

At the trading post they had bought some eggs and smoke cured ham. They had ham and eggs for breakfast, and a pot of steaming black coffee.

The sun had not yet come up when they were once more floating down the river. The current was quite slow. The river was deep and wide. The men took turns at the oars to speed up their progress.

About an hour passed. Just ahead of them on the north was a big canyon. Down this flowed another river, said Nocho.

They paddled over closer to the north bank and drifted slowly down the stream. Dense growth obstructed their vision. It was impossible to see through it.

“There is a passage through there somewhere,” said Nocho. “Keep your eyes open.”

They drifted on; soon the canyon was behind them. They had missed it. They turned the boat around and started back. Going very slow and inspecting every foot of green wall. Suddenly Pio was pointing up and across the river. “Look! A boat!”

All eyes turned in that direction. Sure enough there was a big one. It was coming down the river. Pio took hold of a vine and stopped the boat. Al picked up the rifle and waited. As the boat drew nearer they could see that that it was quite a large craft, and in it were six people. It surely wasn’t the man for whom they were looking. The boat passed on by.

Once more they were looking for that opening. There seemed to be a slight current coming from under the vines. Then Nocho was pointing. “Look there it is!”

Just ahead was a small opening, just big enough for the boat to pass through. Pio and Nocho picked up the paddles and in a few seconds they were through the dense foliage. They had come out in the middle of the channel. The river was wide at this point and looked quite deep. To the right of them was a wide sandy beach. Al told them to pull over there.

He jumped out, his rifle ready. He could see no one, neither was there a boat in sight. Pio and Nocho dragged their outfit out of the water and begin looking around for wood to build a fire. Adilia started making some sandwiches.

Al was watching Nocho as he walked up the beach. Every few steps he would stop and look around and sniff the air. Suddenly he stopped and looked down at the ground. He turned around and motioned for Al to come to him.

Al moved slowly as he walked up the sandy beach, his eyes searching for anything that might move. In seconds he was standing beside Nocho who was pointing down to the sand. There were fresh prints of hobnail boots! His boots!

Once more Nocho was sniffing the air. “Smoke. I smell smoke.” Suddenly he pointed, “There.” A few more yards up the beach were several stones arranged in a small circle. Some charred wood was in the center; smoke came curling up.

“He was here only minutes ago,” said Nocho. “He has probably gone up the river.”

Here there were lots of boot tracks. Also they could see where he had drug the boat ashore and put it back in again. There was only one way the man could have gone, and that was up river.

They could see up stream for a quarter mile. He must have gone around the bend. The boat was nowhere in sight.

“He will go to the falls.” Said Nocho. “Beyond the bend in the river are falls, like the ones on the Coco, only smaller.”

“Then he must pull his boat up a trail to get above the falls?”

“Yes and quite a ways above. There are many big rocks in the river.”

“Then it would be a good place for an ambush?”

“Perfect! Many years ago we prospected this river for gold. I have been back and forth on that trail many times.”

“Which side of the river do you take the boat over the falls?”

“This side. There is also a trail going up on this side of the river.”

“How about the other side?”

Nocho shook his head. “When I was here before there was none. There would be no need for a trail on both sides.”

“Then we have a choice of going up the river in the boat or the trail on this side. Either way he will have us covered, isn’t that correct?”

Nocho nodded. “If only there was another way.”

“The guy is waiting there for sure. I would bet my last dollar on that! He left the trading post one full day ahead of us. If he were trying to escape he would be long gone, don’t you think so?”

“He has been here for a full day waiting. Why else would he be here?”

“He knows we are after him and he has picked a perfect spot to make a stand. And do you know something? I am sort of glad. One way or another it will soon be done.”

“I know what you mean man.”

“Lets go back to the boat and see if we can come up with a bright idea?”

They walked back to where they had beached the boat. Pio had a small fire going, Adilia had made some sandwiches. She walked up to Al, her eyes wide and bright. “What did you find?”

“He left here only minutes before we arrived. No doubt he heard us coming and pulled out just ahead of us. Nocho says there is a waterfall in the river beyond the bend; a perfect place for an ambush. We figure he is waiting there.”

“Oh darling! You must be very careful! Don’t be in a hurry!”

“I won’t sweetheart. But I think the time has come for me to take action. How about a cup of coffee? We are going to sit down and see if we can come up with a plan.”

They put their bedrolls on the ground and sat down.

Al closed his eyes trying to think clearly. The scar-faced killer had all the advantages. He was now in his own territory and probably knew this part of the country like the palm of his hand. He had a deadly little rifle and probably was an expert when it came to using it.

If there was only some way to get above the guy so that they could come up behind him and take him by surprise? What about getting up on the other side of the river? Was it possible to go up on that side even if there wasn’t a trail? He would get Nocho’s opinion.

“Are you sure there is no trail on the other side of the river?”

“I cannot be sure, but I would guess no. However I am sure there will be many animal trails. They wander up and down the river and come there to drink.”

“What’s the matter with walking up an animal trail?”

Nocho Smiled. “It isn’t as easy as it sounds. Animals squeeze through very narrow places. There will be low hanging vines and bushes with thorns that will tear you to pieces. Also there are many poisonous snakes and wild pigs, not to mention El Tigre.”

Al nodded, “Sounds like a winner. He probably won’t be expecting a guy from Arizona to come that way. So the sooner I get started the better. I can see no other way, can you?”

Nocho shook his head. “I guess it is the only way. I will go with you.”

AL shook his head. “Thanks pal, but this I must do by myself. But, before I leave, there are a number of questions I would like to ask you. How far above the bend in the river are the falls?”

“The bend in the river is about half way.”

“How do I know when I come to the falls?”

“Listen for the roar of the falling water.”

“What should I take besides my rifle?”

“By all means take the machete. You would never make it without it.”

“Anymore good advice?”

“Yes, take it easy. Do not fight the jungle, if you do, you will not win. Don’t forget that!”

For several minutes the two men made the final plans. Once again, Nocho proved his worth.

Al gave them final instructions. “Give me about thirty minutes start on you. Then all of you get into the boat and paddle slowly up river. Take your time. Don’t get in a hurry. When you pass the bend in the river he will be able to see you. At that distance he won’t be able to count the number of people in the boat. We want him to think we are all there. Keep going back and forth across the river, this will keep him confused I hope. And do not under any condition get within rifle range of the falls!”

Al kissed Adilia tenderly. “I will see you soon sweetheart.”

Here eyes were bright but she did not cry. “I will pray for you.” She said softly. “Do what you must do, I will wait for you.”

Nocho rowed him across the river. He jumped out of the boat, waved them goodbye, and headed for the jungle.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Getting through the outer mat of vines without a machete would have been next to impossible. Al started hacking away. In a few minutes he was through the outer wall.

The jungle was not so dense once inside. Al looked about searching for a trail. There was none, but there were many small paths that seemed to go in every direction. One of them seemed to be going parallel to the river. He got on it and started with a fast walk. Just ahead was some thick brush and bushes. It looked like there was plenty of room to get through the foliage. Al ducked his head and started making his way between the brush. One of the branches seemed to reach out and grab him by the sleeve of his shirt. He gave it a yank. Another came down and took hold of his back. He tried to push forward. This brought down more small arms covered with barbs that looked like fishhooks. The plants refused to let go.

Al swore under his breath. He took the machete and started cutting himself loose. His shirt was badly torn and his arms and back were scratched and bleeding by the time he got through this barrier.

Just ahead of him was a small open space. He had wasted valuable minutes back there; he would make up for it. He had the rifle in his left hand, the machete in his right and took off on the run.

A creeping vine caught the toe of his shoe and he went sprawling. The machete flew from his hand. He tried to break his fall and hang onto the rifle. He must protect the rifle!

He staggered forward. His legs felt tired; his back was on fire, and his throat was dry. He must have water! Suddenly he remembered the warning of Nocho. “Do not fight the jungle. If you do you will not win.”

This had been good advice but he hadn’t taken it! He had been fighting a losing battle. If he kept on this way he would never make it. He had better slow down!

There was a fallen log just ahead. He sat down, breathing hard, and looked at his watch. He had been gone a half-hour. He wondered if he had passed the bend in the river. He slowly got to his feet. “Take it easy.” He told himself. He looked around at the many small trails. There didn’t seem to be as many of them now. A lot of them had come together making one, which was larger then the rest. The large trail seemed to be going in the right direction, so he began following it.

It was getting wider, and on the trail were many animal tracks. For sure now it was an animal trail. It would take him to some definite spot. He hoped it would be the river, and water.

He was moving much slower now, but making better time. The trail suddenly took a sharp turn and went down a steep incline. He slid down it and almost went tumbling into the water.

It was a beautiful sight. He quenched his thirst and washed himself. In a few minutes he felt quite refreshed. He would rest a few moments and then be on his way.

It would help if he knew exactly where he was. He took the machete and chopped a hole through the hanging vines. One quick look told him that he had passed the bend in the river. Up ahead, about a quarter mile, was the waterfall!

He picked up the rifle and once more was on his way. This time he was determined to take his time. He had almost lost the battle back there. It would not happen again.

The animal trail continued following the contour of the river. Now he was making much better time. He passed through a big open meadow. He could no longer find the trail, but he could hear the sound of the waterfall. He had made it!

He followed the sound. It was getting louder. Now he was very close. He must get above the falls! He kept going. He came to a small trail that looked like it would take him to the river. He got on it and followed it through the bushes. Now the sound of the water was in back of him. He was above the falls.

Here the ground seemed to be solid rock. There was not much foliage. He followed the trail to the edge of the canyon and stopped. There were some bushes just ahead of him. He moved cautiously toward them and took a fast look. He could see the river below.

Their boat was not in sight. They probably had not yet reached the bend in the river. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled over close to the rim. Now he could see the falls. He was just above them and could plainly see the trail going up the other side of the river. And he could see something else! Where the trail left the river was a small flat bottom boat. It had been drug up on the bank behind some bushes, out of sight from anyone coming up the river in a boat.

Somewhere on the other side of the river was the scar-faced killer. When the boat was close enough he would open fire. Al shuddered. It was the perfect place for an ambush all right. Nocho had certainly figured everything correctly.

A fire was beginning to burn inside Al. It was his gun that the man intended to use, his gun and his ammunition. Also, the dirty rat was wearing his boots!

He was probably hiding in the rocks above. Al backed away. A little bit farther up the river might give him better view of his hiding place. He backed up away from the rim. Then crawled forward to where there was a clump of tall grass twenty feet above. He took a quick look. He could get a better view, but he needed better cover. About ten feet farther were more bushes. Al crawled on his belly until he was behind them. One of them was quite tall. He stood up behind it.

His first thoughts were of Adilia and his friends. He parted the leafy branches in front of him and looked down the river. The boat was just coming around the bend. He had told them not to come too close.

Now he could get a much better view of the rocky beach across the river. There were several big boulders that a man could easily hide behind. But he could see no one. Al tried to put himself in his place. If he were going to ambush a party, which rock would he hide behind? How about that big one in front? It would not only give good cover but also there would be nothing in the way when the fireworks started.

He took another look at the boat. At this distance it was hard to tell how many people were in it. He couldn’t determine how many and he hoped the scar-faced killer would take for granted all four of them were there. If the boat came close enough he would be able to see there were only three people. Al would sure keep a sharp lookout over his shoulder!

And another thing, if he were waiting for that boat he would certainly stand up and take a look once and a while, and make sure everything was ready for the slaughter.

The distance across the canyon was a hundred yards. The gun in his hands would be right on target at that distance. A slight breeze was blowing down the canyon. He figured the bullet could drift about two inches. If the man rose up he would be looking down the river. Al would aim at the back of the head. The bullet would strike two inches forward and he had to make sure there would be another on the way. He would never hear the shot! There would be no pain and the big hunt would be finished.

Then, suddenly, Al could see the man! He had just stood up behind the big rock and his eyes were on the boat coming up the river. He stood there with his arms folded in front of him. The big white hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the sun.

It was him all right. He was a big man and was wearing a blue shirt. But where was the gun? Probably leaning against the rock. His quarry was not yet in rifle range.

The stock of the rifle was at Al’s cheek; the safety was off. The sights were exactly where he wanted them, his finger curled around the trigger. Less than an ounce of pressure and it would be finished. He could almost hear the report of the rifle, but it did not come. Like a man on a high pole afraid to jump his finger was frozen stiff. It refused to pull the trigger!

He lowered the barrel; his hands were trembling. Good god! He couldn’t kill the man in cold blood! He was standing there without a weapon! Al cursed himself. What difference did it make whether or not the guy had a gun in his hand? He had killed before and was ready to kill again. When the boat got close enough he would open up with that semi-automatic and kill them all.

He remembered just a few days ago when Nocho had called the turkey up in the clearing. He had almost let the bird get away. Now the same thing was happening again. Only this time he was letting a killer escape! What had come over him?

Once more he raised his rifle, but he was too late. The big white hat had disappeared behind a ledge of rocks. A feeling of horror swept over Al. He had his chance and he failed. If his friends were to die now their blood would be on his hands.

For several minutes he laid there his eyes glued to the big rock wondering what to do. Probably from where the killer was lying or sitting he could keep an eye on the boat. When it was close enough he would raise up and open fire.

Al knew he must do something, and do it fast. He glanced up the river. Several hundred feet above him it was quite wide. Several big rocks were sticking up through the water, which seemed to indicate it was not very deep. If he were only across the river, he might have had a chance. He could come up from behind and get the drop on him. That seemed to be his only way.

Al threw caution to the wind and raced up the sandy beach until he was out of breath. Then, behind a big rock, he stopped for a moment.   The river was a hundred feet wide, and didn’t appear to be very deep. The water was clear and was running quite fast. It looked to Al that with a little luck he would be able to wade across. He stepped into the water and was on his way.

The water kept pushing him downstream. First it was up to his waist, then to his arms, and then to his neck. He dropped the machete and held the gun high above his head, and kept going.

Then the bottom began to slope upward. The water was at his waist, then his knees. He was almost to the bank when he stepped on a flat rock covered with moss. It was very slick. One foot shot out from under him. He tried desperately to regain his balance. He threw the rifle at the bank to save it. His hands went automatically behind him to break the fall. He hit the water with a loud splash.

He rolled over, got to his feet, and headed for the bank. He picked up the gun and examined it. It had landed in a pile of rocks. He had better make sure it was all right. He removed the clip and tried to eject the shell from the barrel. He gave the slide lever a pull. It came back part way and froze. When it hit the rocks, it had bent the working parts. The gun was worthless, at least for today.

Al sat down on a rock with the gun in his hands. He felt like his whole world had been pulled from under him. A hundred yards below, a man was waiting with a loaded automatic. What could he do with a broken gun?

He had told Nocho not to get in rifle range of the falls. They would probably stop a couple of hundred yards below them. The killer might grow restless, go down the trail, and take them by surprise.

He must do something, and do it fast. The man down there in the rocks didn’t know the gun was worthless. Maybe he could get the drop on him, run a bluff. Maybe he would surrender. This was his only hope.

He would crawl through the grass like he had done many times while duck hunting with the idea to sneak up on him! He would belt him over the head. He started crawling through the tall grass.

The ground was covered with small broken rocks, some of them razor sharp. Blood was running from his elbows and knees, but he kept going. The sun was burning his back to a blister. He kept on going. And now he was getting closer, much closer.

There was a big clump of grass just ahead. He would stop and take a quick look. To his surprise, the big rock was very close, about fifty feet to his right. Just to the left of this big one was another about half its size. They were about four feet apart. A dense growth of bushes was blocking the entrance between them.

Al was certain that there was where the man had disappeared. Between those two rocks, he would find him!

What would be his best move now? The dense growth of bushes on this side would be difficult to go through. To go around and come in from the front would be certain death!

The closest rock had a lone sloping surface on this side. It looked like he might be able to climb to the top of it. At least it would be worth a try. Once more, he was crawling in that direction.

Now he was to the rock, the only thing between him and the killer. He looked it over carefully. It was rough and had many crevices. It would be easy to climb.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and with the gun in one hand, began to climb. In less than a minute he was on top.

A few feet farther ahead and down was the scar-faced killer. What should he do now? He could drop down and start swinging the rifle like a baseball bat, but suppose the killer was to move a little? He would hear the noise and he would be ready.

Al licked his dry lips. There was only one way. Run a bluff. Try and get him to surrender. If he wouldn’t, throw the gun at him and come crashing down. With the gun in front of him, he moved forward. Just another foot, before he looked down.

The man was standing there looking down the river. He was very calmly eating a banana. The rifle was not in his hands. It was leaning against the rock, several feet back of him.

Al pointed the gun at his head and spoke. “Don’t move, or you are a dead man.”

The man froze.

“Turn your head very slowly, and look this way.”

The man did as he was told.

Al knew the fellow was looking up the center of the rifle barrel.

“Now turn half way around. Look down the river. Put your hands above your head and keep them there, or I will blow it off your shoulders!”

The man’s hands were in the air. Once again, he was facing the river below.

Al wanted the man a little farther from the rifle below. Then he would come sliding down, and get it in his hands.

“Move!” He shouted. “Or I’ll blow your brains out!”

The man took a few steps, then very slowly, he turned facing Al. There was a faint smile on his face. He spoke.

“Put the gun down Al. You are not going to kill me. Neither am I going to kill you.”

Al about fell off the rock. Not only had the guy called him by his first name, but he had also spoken in perfect English. Al shook his head as though to clear it. Was the heat getting to him? His voice sounded strange and far away. “Just who the hell are you?”

The big man did not hesitate. “My name is John Kirkland Junior. I was not waiting here to kill you, only to welcome you.”

Al could not believe his own ears. Surely this was a trick. It must be a trick! He had better keep on his toes! He slid down the rock and landed beside the gun. Quickly, he exchanged the broken one for the one leaning against the rock. A quick look told him it was loaded and ready to go.

Someone had probably told this fellow that he had been asking about John Kirkland. Somehow he had found out. Well there was one way that he, himself could settle this.

With his left hand, he drew out his pocketbook. It was wet and soggy. He pulled out the picture of John Kirkland and handed it to the man. It was wet but still clear enough.

“Who is this man?” Al demanded.

The man took one look at the picture, then handed it back.

“That,” he said, “is a picture of my father. Is this the one Mister Young gave you in Managua?”

Al was speechless. He nodded dumbly.

“Anything else you would like to know?”

“Maybe you are John Kirkland, but you are also a wanted killer. Three times you have killed, maybe more. What have you got to say about that?”

The man nodded. “Yes, I killed three men; if you could call them men. You would have done the same thing if you knew them7. Killing was too good for them.”

Al still had the gun pointed at the man’s heart.

“How did you know my name?”

The man reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a thin piece of paper about six square inches. He handed it to Al.

“This is a message I received from Young. Would you care to read it? It says you were coming to Quilali to look for my father. It came all the way by carrier pigeon. We use them a lot here.”

Al let the paper flutter to the ground. The rifle was stead in his hands. Kirkland or not, he was wanted by the law. He must take him back to Quilali.

“I have orders to bring you back for the trial. I hope you come peacefully.”

“Suppose I refuse?”

“Then I will take you, one way or the other.”

The big man nodded slowly. “My father has told me many stories about your father. You must be a lot like him. I have heard about the sentence that the judge passed on you, and I can see the position it puts you in. However, I don’t think that you would shoot your own cousin.”

Al almost dropped the rifle. “Cousin! Did you say cousin?”

“Your father and mine married sisters. That makes us cousins, doesn’t it?”

Al’s mind was in a whirl. He didn’t want to shoot anyone, least of all a blood relative. He had traveled thousands of miles so get here, hoping to find some relatives. Now that he had found one, would he kill him, even if he were a wanted killer? Hell no! However, what about the man in front of him? Was he to be trusted? Well, there was only one way to find out.

The gun with the jimmied bolt was leaning against the rock. The man didn’t know it was broken. Al picked it up by the barrel and handed it to the man in front of him. He stepped back a couple of steps and leaned the other rifle against the rock.

“No, I couldn’t shoot you…not unless you tried to kill me first. So make up your mind.”

The man stood there for a second; looking at the gun in his hands, then up at Al, who was apparently at his mercy. Slowly, he turned around and threw the gun to the rocks below.

He turned around and faced Al, who was walking toward him with a big smile on his face.

John Kirkland grinned, and hurried to meet him halfway.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The two men found themselves a rock to sit on that was somewhat shaded by the big boulder.

No longer were they enemies. They had shaken hands. They had embraced. They were blood cousins. Right or wrong, they would stick together.

Kirkland had admitted that he had killed three men. But he had also said killing was too good for them. Al had believed him. He would find out the particulars later.

A strange feeling had come over Al. Today, he had gone in search of this man either to kill or capture him; and take him back to Quilali.

Less than an hour ago, he had the rifle trained on the man’s head, and couldn’t pull the trigger. When he was crossing the river, he had slipped, and fallen, breaking the gun; making it worthless.

Adilia had said, “I will pray for you.” ‘She must have been praying mighty hard,’ Al thought. Her prayers had certainly been answered.

The big question now was: Where do we go from here?

Al broke the silence. “John, we’ve got problems. You are a wanted man, and I will be an outlaw when the judge finds out we have joined forces. That rascal has my passport and my traveler checks. We must find some way out of here.”

Kirkland took off the big white had and wiped his forehead.

Al stared in disbelief. The man’s forehead was as smooth as his own! There was no scar. He must have the wrong man!

“Do you have a twin brother?” Al’s voice was hoarse. “You are not the man I have been looking for. The guy I am supposed to bring back to Quilali had a big scar on his forehead.”

“You are probably referring to my brother. He had a big scar right here.” Kirkland traced his fore finger across his brow. “He is the black sheep of the family.’

“Where is he now?’

“Dead,” said Kirkland. “He was here just before you came. I tried to get him to give himself up to the law. He laughed at me. He dove into the water and tried to swim the river. He didn’t make it, he went over the falls.”

Al had a feeling that John Kirkland was pulling his leg. All this didn’t quite add up. Just a moment ago, this man had admitted to killing three men.

“Would you mind repeating that?” A faint smile came to Al’s face. “And this time, no B.S.”

Kirkland grinned. “I think I had you fooled for a minute. All right, how does this sound? I am the guy with the scar, but today, I am not wearing it. Does that make more sense?”

“No, but go on with your story.”

“It’s and old trick I learned from the Indians. They paint scars on their body to make it appear that they have been in many battles. I painted this one on me, just before I went after those three rats.”

“But why, John, why?”

“The answer is very simple. It was sort of a disguise. In case anyone got a good look at me, they would remember the scar. You were looking for a big man with long black hair and a scar on his face, weren’t you?”

“I sure as hell was.”

“Now, all I need is to get my hair cut short, and no one will ever take me for the scar-faced killer.”

Al nodded. “Right you are. It looks like you have a perfect alibi, cousin John. Adilia has a pair of scissors; I can cut your hair…but what about me? How the devil am I going to square myself with that cock-eyed Judge?”

John Kirkland smiled. “You have a witness that saw him go over the falls. No one could survive the crash of landing in those boulders below. By now, the body is probably well on it’s way to the sea.”

“Cousin John, you are a genius. If we could get the judge to swallow that story, we would both be home free.”

“It’s worth a try, he can’t disprove it.”

Al laughed. “Let’s get going, we’ll try out the yarn on my crew. If it works, we’ll head for the judge.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

To say that Adilia and the crew were surprised when Al and John Kirkland came walking up the trail would be an understatement. Today was truly a day of many surprises.

Before they left the rocks above the falls, they had gone over their story once more. This seemed to be the only way out for both of them, and they could see no harm in fabrication.

They had recovered the broken gun, and exchanged shoes. Al had a pair of dress oxfords in his suitcase. He would exchange the hobnail boots for them as soon at they returned to their camp.

The gun and the boots would be proof that they had caught up with the scar-faced killer. He had left them on the bank when he had attempted to swim the river, just before he had gone over the falls.

Adilia, Pio, and Nocho believed the story. The big brother looked a lot like him, but the telltale scar was not there. Lots of brothers looked alike, such as the stepbrothers of Adilia, Barto and Todo.

The big hunt was done. The only thing left was to wonder if the judge would believe the story. Tonight, they would make camp on the riverbank. In the morning, they would start the long journey up the Coco River.

Adilia doctored Al’s cuts and scratches. He put on a clean shirt and socks, and the pair of dress oxfords. He felt much better.

They gathered wood, built a small fire and put on a pot of beans. Nocho and Pio went fishing, Adilia did a washing, and Al and John gathered more wood and built a bonfire.

Several times, they went over the story they would tell the judge. It went like this:

They had followed the scar-faced killer to this river. Nocho had predicted correctly. The man would be waiting at the falls. Al had gone through the jungle and crossed the river above the falls. He had come up behind the fellow and taken him by surprise. The man had gotten careless. He was watching the boat below. He had taken off his boots and was soaking his feet in the water; the rifle was out of his reach. He had leaned it against the rock.

Al had demanded that he surrender. The man had chosen to try and escape. He dove into the river and attempted to swim across; he had gone over the falls to his certain death below.

It was at this time that John Kirkland, the killer’s brother, had come running up. He had also seen the man go over the falls.

This was Al’s story. Kirkland also had one to tell.

He and his brother lived far up the river, back in this land, which was claimed by both countries. The brother’s name was Jim; they looked quite a bit alike. Jim was two years older and had a big scar on his face.

He had heard about his brother being in trouble with the law. He had come down the river, hoping he would surrender.

He had been too late. He had arrived just in time to see him go over the falls.

They had the story well rehearsed. They hoped the Judge would believe it.

There were many questions Al wished to have answered. Number one, “Tell me about our mother’s cousin John.”

“Didn’t your father tell you?” John asked.

Al shook his head. “Father was always very secretive about his past down here. He told me many times, ‘some day I will tell you all about it,’ but that day never came. He was accidentally killed when a tree fell on him.”

John grinned. “My father told me many tales about them; I guess they lived a very adventurous life.”

“More so than us?”

“Damned if I know. I guess a little bit of it rubbed off on us. ‘Like father like son,’ so the saying goes.”

“Who was my mother John?” Al asked. “I was little more then a baby when she passed away.”

“Her maiden name was Arana. My mother and your mother were the daughters of the minister of defense. They were his only children.”

“Was it somewhere around here where they settled?”

Kirkland nodded. “When they were chasing the bandit, Sandino, around the country, they made several trips up and down the Coco. Quite by accident they discovered the secret entrance to this river. About a days travel above here is a pretty little valley. There they built a couple of houses. They cleared land and planted corn, beans, rice and many other vegetables. There was lots of gold in the creek. Every day they panned for gold. They brought in oxen to help them. They built a school house too.

Father was quite content to spend the rest of his life here. Your father wished to return to the United States. He took his share of the gold and headed north. He and your mother were in Prescott, Arizona, by the next time Father heard from him.”

Al lifted the lid on the bean pot and added some water. Evidently his father had got out of here with quite a lot of gold. That spread in Arizona had cost him plenty. He had one more question. “Do I have any more relatives down here?”

John Kirkland bowed his head, and for a moment he remained silent. Then he slowly raised his head and spoke softly. “I might just as well bring you up to date on everything. My mother passed away almost a month ago. My father and my twin sisters were murdered three weeks ago.

After mother died it was very lonesome up there. Father decided to change our name and move into the city. This was no place for two beautiful young girls like my sisters. They were sixteen on their last birthday.

We were all very excited about starting a new life in the city. We had a lot of gold buried under our house. More then one man could carry. We put it into leather bags and prepared to leave. We had an old mule that would carry the gold. He was grazing in the back pasture. I went after him. I guess I was gone about an hour. It was too late by the time I returned.” Big tears were running down his cheeks. For a minute he sat there staring into the fire, then he continued.

“Father lay there dead, cut to pieces with a machete. My sisters were gone and so was the gold. I buried my father and followed the trails of those devils. There were three of them.

On the second day I found the bodies of my sisters on a gravel bar. I buried them and followed the tracks. I lost them for a while. Then I met a fellow that had camped with three men on the trail. They had been drinking and boasted about a large amount of gold they had found.

This fellow I met knew one of the men and where he lived. He told me where I could find him. I went to his cabin. It was late at night and the man was sleeping. Part of the gold was lying on a table beside him. I killed him. I did it with my bare hands! Before he died he told me the names of the other two.”

The big man buried his head in his arms. Great sobs shook his body. A moment later he continued; “I painted that scar on my face and went after the other two. They put up a fight. I killed them and recovered the gold. I buried it in a safe place and started up the river. I was taking my boat around the falls when I was captured. I guess you know the rest of the story.”

There was one thing that still puzzled Al. Maybe John could give him an answer.

“That night at Quilali you were tied up in the back room. Someone pried the bars off the window and cut the ropes. I got all the credit for that job; but it was not me. Who was it John?”

Kirkland shook his head. “You got me there. The man had a handkerchief tied around his face and he didn’t say a word. He cut the ropes and I got out of there. By the way, thanks for the loan of the boots and the gun.”

“Don’t mention it. Oh yes, there is something else that puzzles the hell out of me. A few nights ago, above the falls on the Coco, someone had a gun in my back. A shot came out of the darkness and the man lay dead behind me. Was he a brother to the two men?”

Kirkland slowly shook his head. “Sorry Al, but it wasn’t me that time either.”

“Someone saved my life and I would like to thank that person.”

“Yeah, and I would like to thank that guy the turned me loose that night.”

“A lot of strange things have happen lately. Many unbelievable things! I hope the Judge swallows our yarn about the scar faced killer going over the falls.”

The fire was burning low. Al had picked up some wood out of the pile and tossed it on the fire. It flared up suddenly lighting up the surroundings. They had not heard him come up behind them, nor did they have the least idea how long he had been standing there. But there stood the Judge of Quilali with his arms folded.

Chapter Thirty Six

Al’s hopes died with him. How long had he been standing there? Probably long enough to hear them admit that their story was a phony. Al’s right hand stole toward his hip and then froze. He had put his gun away, hoping the killings had come to an end.

The Judge stepped a little closer into the firelight. He spoke softly. “Good evening gentlemen.”

Neither of the men answered. What was this devil up to now? The judge stepped up close to the fire. There was a tired look on his face, also a faint smile. The gold tooth gleamed in the firelight. “I come alone, and I come in peace,” he said.

The two men could hardly believe their ears.

“That was a mighty fine story you made up to fool me. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” One black eye focused on Al, the other on Kirkland. “Now if I were to take those boots and gun back to Quilali and tell that yarn, everyone would believe me. Especially the part where I ,with my own eyes, saw the scar-faced killer go to his death over the falls.”

Al thought he was dreaming. Kirkland’s mouth was hanging wide open. The Judge walked over and sat down on a log and lit a cigarette.

“Sometimes it is very hard being a Judge, much less a just Judge. Sometimes I am forced to use some peculiar methods to bring Justice. But I guess it is all in a days work.”

Al had recovered somewhat. “I agree your methods are quite unusual all right!”

Both of the Judge’s eyes were on the face of John Kirkland. “Like that night I pried the bars off the window and turned you loose.”

Kirkland gasped. “It was you that turned me loose, why?”

“In the eyes of the people you were a guilty man.” Said the judge slowly. “If the trial had been held the next morning I would have been forced to convict you. Either that or left town myself.

I have met people that bring me information. One of them told me about these three men you were accused of killing. They had gotten drunk and told how they had got all this gold. Also, I knew these men, and I knew that they were bad ones.”

The Judge paused for a moment and then looked up at Al. “And you, Mr. Mackey, if I had set you free that day you wouldn’t have lived until sundown. Someone would have shot you in the back. I was the only one that knew you were not guilty. So I had to figure out a sentence that would please the people and still keep you alive.”

“I almost killed this man today,” Al’s voice was cold. “Would that have pleased you?”

“No, and I apologize. I intended to catch up to you sooner, but that passageway was hard to find. I am really sorry.” A faint smile covered his face. “Yes, I was late, but I did get here in time to see the killer go over the falls.”

Al Mackey and John Kirkland sat there in a daze. They wondered if they were dreaming. The judge had the floor and he had more to say.

“And you Mr. Mackey, you remember the other night at the water fall and the man with a gun in your back?

Al was more bewildered then ever. “You,” he gasped!

The smile on the Judge’s face grew bigger. “Pretty fair shot for as dark as it was, don’t you think so?”

There was a great new respect in Al’s heart for this man. He had acted in many strange ways. But he was dealing with strange people and the Judge obviously understood these people.

The Judge turned to John Kirkland and stuck out his hand. “You are a free man now. As far as the public will know the killer is dead, case closed.”

He reached inside his shirt and drew out a leather folder. He opened it and drew out a brown envelope. He handed it to Al. “Here is your passport and your travelers checks Mr. Mackey. These I am returning to you. But I cannot grant you full freedom.”

For a moment Al had thought the case was closed. Now what? Surely he had been punished enough?

Pio and Nocho stepped into the firelight. They had heard a strange voice and had come on the run.

The Judge drew from his leather folder a legal looking document and handed it to Al.

The Judge was in a good voice. “It is my duty,” he shouted, “to pass sentence on you once more. Court is now in session.” He spun around and glared at Pio and Nocho. “You two,” he yelled, “get the girl, hurry, or I will find you in contempt of court!” he turned and glared at Al. “This time, Mackey the sentence is for life!”

A big grin was spreading over Al’s face. The document in his hand was a marriage license!