Pinfire Lady Strikes Back Read online

  As Abbie lay uncomfortably on the cold stone floor trying to ignore the constant throbbing in her lower left leg, she heard noises outside the cell. There were two voices, one a deep male and the other a high-pitched female one in reply. The door opened and a young Mexican or Indian girl entered bearing a bowl of water and some white cloth. These were placed on the floor by Abbie and her visitor went out and returned with a jug of water and an earthenware beaker, which she handed to Abbie with motions for her to drink.

  Gladly, Abbie did so, suddenly aware of the fact that she had a raging thirst. Meanwhile, the girl indicated that she wanted to examine Abbie’s wound. Hesitantly, Abbie agreed and nodded her head for the girl to proceed. This she did very gently, easing up the pant leg of the buckskins and carefully removing Abbie’s crude first aid attempt, while crooning the while in a soft liquid voice that the English girl recognized as Spanish.

  Abbie was determined to try and communicate with her little angel of mercy. ‘You are very kind. What is your name?’

  Her nurse paused in her act of gently washing the wound. She looked frightened towards the door and raised a finger to her lips, saying ‘Ssh!’ and then continuing with her ministrations.

  Abbie tried again. She pointed to herself. ‘Mío Abbie!’ She pointed to the girl, ‘You?’ she queried.

  Again the girl looked towards the door and in a barely audible voice whispered ‘Juanita.’

  Juanita! Then this girl might well be the Felipe’s sister. Abbie decided to probe a little further.

  ‘Juanita is sister of Felipe? Felipe is Abbie’s friend!’

  The girl looked at Abbie in surprise and whispered, ‘Felipe is my brother. El Caudillo he tells me Felipe is, how you say, morte, dead. El Caudillo is a very bad hombre, Señorita Abbie. Do not trust him.’

  No more was said since a loud voice spoke from outside, from its tone obviously enquiring if Juanita was going to take all day dressing the prisoner’s wound. Juanita replied with a small frightened, ‘Un momento, señor,’ and hurriedly finishing her bandaging, she gathered the bowl and other things and left the cell.

  Abbie was left alone to her own thoughts and she pondered long and hard over the question of ‘an edge’ with the limited defence weaponry available. After considering and discarding several options, she thought of the way many gamblers were said to produce almost instantaneously a small pistol from concealment in a sleeve. Could she create a similar arrangement?

  The sleeves of her buckskin shirt were quite full and, fashioning a crude holster from the discarded material with which she had originally bound her wound, Abbie tied it to her left arm and slipped the little Colt under the binding with the barrel pointing up towards her elbow. All she had to do was slip her right hand inside her left sleeve, grab the butt of the pistol and pull it forth in a sweeping arc. It was crude but was better than nothing.

  Jack Harding was fit to be tied by Abbie’s non-appearance with the liberated villagers. He questioned Felipe repeatedly about the way in which the operation was conducted and as to what had been the Mexican boy’s reaction when Abbie had not fallen back with the two remaining Utes. Felipe for his part described how, after seeing the last of the villagers to safety, he had crept forward in time to see Abbie taken captive and from her movement he believed by all the saints that she was alive.

  Dora, seeing Jack standing there in the moonlight rubbing his chin and scratching his sparse hair, approached and demanded, ‘Well, Jack Harding? You’re in command now! What are you going to do to rescue Abbie?’ She paused and would have continued in similar vein but Jack turned to her and growled.

  ‘Be quiet woman! Let a man think!’

  Dora fell silent and Jack pondered the situation while simultaneously roughing out a plan of attack. Finally, he came to a decision and called the members of the column together.

  ‘All right, listen carefully. As most of you already know Abbie was taken captive during the raid to help the villagers. So we have to go in and rescue her. This is what we’ll do.

  ‘Jeb!’ pointing to one of the men delegated to lead twenty riflemen, ‘You’ll go with your twenty and take up position east of the village but within rifle range. Cover may be sparse so pick your positions carefully. You’ll have the advantage of having the sun behind you, while the bandits will be in direct sunlight with the sun in their eyes. Get into position now but don’t open fire until you hear shooting from the north.’ Jeb nodded and, motioning to his squad, left the meeting.

  Jack turned his attention to Wilf Bateson. ‘Wilf, you move forward with Ole Betsey and the rest of your gun team together with the other men I give you until you’re in point-blank range. Aim at the old mission buildings because that is where the gang are headquartered. The rest of you people will form a skirmish line either side of the cannon and will move forward well spread out after the first three cannon shots. Is that clear?’

  There were nods and muttered sounds of agreement and the remainder of the night was spent having a hasty meal and checking that all their weaponry was loaded and ready. Some few attempted to grab a little sleep. Others engaged in small talk trying to forget what was to come; one little group had an impromptu prayer meeting and others just waited for the dawn.

  In her little cell Abbie also waited as light began to shine on the western wall opposite the small window. As the light increased she realized that she was seeing the birth of another day – a day that in all probability might be her last on earth. She felt dirty and scruffy, and after moistening her lips and rinsing out her mouth, she used the balance of the water Juanita had left in the bowl to engage in a hasty toilette, washing her face and hands and combing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to create a parody of order. Her old slouch hat had been flung into a far corner of the cell and, retrieving it, she jammed it down on her unruly curls and awaited the will of the gaolers.

  She had not long to wait. As golden sunlight flooded into the cell, there was the tramp of feet approaching and then the cell door was flung open and two heavily armed bandits entered. One burly wide-sombreroed figure beckoned Abbie. ‘Come! El Caudillo will see you now.’

  Abbie, stiff with sitting on the cold stone floor, struggled to her feet and both of the bandits stepped forward and took her under the arms to steady her as she attempted to get some movement into her stiff and wounded leg. ‘Thank you, míos caballeros!’ declared Abbie in part in gratitude for their help but also to see how they would react to such flattery. They both remained mute as they hustled her out of the cell and along what must have once been a cloister. Looking about, Abbie noted that much of the former mission lay in ruins with gaps in the perimeter defence wall. At length her escort halted before a pair of large battered doors guarded by two lounging bandits who displayed little interest in the female prisoner but concentrated more on the cigarillos that they were both smoking.

  A hearty rap on the doors and they swung open. Abbie was thrust inside and her two male companions walked her forward and then stepped back, leaving her standing alone facing a large high-backed empty chair. After the glare of the sunlit courtyard, the large room, which had probably been the refectory at the time when the buildings had served a more noble purpose, seemed in semi- darkness but in a short time she had adjusted to the subdued light coming from a series of small arched openings near to the top of the walls to both her left and her right.

  After what seemed to have been a long time but in reality was no more than ten minutes, a small arched door in the wall in front of her opened and there appeared the figure of a large man, who walked forward and seated himself silently in the chair facing her. Not a word was said as captor and captive surveyed each other.

  Abbie observed a round-faced swarthy man with thick lips, much of which were covered by an unkempt black moustache, the same colour as his greasy-looking long hair peeping out from a red bandanna. He was dressed in a none-too-clean embroidered shirt, open at the neck to show his hairy chest, a Mexican-style bolero and pants decora
ted with conchos, the latter garment being stuffed into black leather riding boots. She noticed with disdain that the fat fingers that grasped the arms of what had most likely once been a prior’s chair were bedecked with rings, once the property of ill-fated Mexican women.

  Not a word was spoken. The Mexican stared at Abbie with his reptilian eyes until she felt she was being examined as though she was some alien specimen in a laboratory. He saw standing before him a slightly built female with brown tanned features and with her short hair simply tied with a piece of rawhide. He noted the buckskin pants discoloured down the left leg where she had been wounded and her leather shirt rounded by the thrust of her small breasts. She raised her chin and looked back at him defiantly.

  ‘So!’ he declared. ‘You are the Señorita Pinfire. What do they call you? I am El Caudillo!’ He emphasised this by striking himself on the chest with his right fist.

  Abbie had long decided that she had to display a poise of being superior to this uncouth, uneducated bandit and therefore with head back she looked down her nose at her interrogator and replied. ‘You may address me as Ma’am. I do not intend to furnish you with any of my personal information.’

  El Caudillo sprang to his feet and shouted, ‘You will tell me what I want to know. I am the Chief here. I could have you stripped naked and beaten or handed over to my men. You will answer my questions. I am El Caudillo.’

  ‘No you are not El Caudillo. In actual fact you are Benito Gomez of Nogales in the province of Sonora. You were being hunted in your country by the Rurales for robbery and more especially for the brutal murder of several people, including your own wife. Now you and your gang of fellow cut-throats are being hunted on both sides of the border.’

  Gomez felt that he was losing control of the questioning of the prisoner and changed tack in an attempt to re-establish command of the situation.

  ‘I think, young woman, that you had better learn some respect very quickly. If my friend Bart Bradshaw were here he would not waste time talking politely to you, he would ...’ The remainder of his sentence was lost as Abbie went into peals of loud laughter.

  ‘Mr Bradshaw and all of his men would have to come back from the grave to be here, Señor Gomez! They are dead and buried! Every one of them!’

  Gomez sat back in his chair, his head in a whirl, Bradshaw dead? Impossible! The little gringa bitch was lying to him. Well he’d show her who was the man who gave the orders around here. Enough of this bandying of words. He decided that a glass of wine was in order, to give himself time to think and also to let the gringa stand there waiting. That would show her who is the boss.

  ‘Juanita!’ he called imperiously. ‘Bring me some wine. Now! Don’t take all day about it!’

  She responded immediately. The girl was visibly shaking with fear and in her haste to comply with the orders slopped some of the wine as she transferred some of the red liquid from a large jug into the glass held by Gomez.

  ‘You clumsy bitch, now you’ve spilt wine on my freshly polished boot!’ He stuck out his left boot. ‘Lick it off or I’ll take the whip to you again!’ Juanita obediently knelt and proceeded to clean up the spilt wine with her tongue.

  Abbie was disgusted and horrified by the way that the Mexican girl was being deliberately degraded by the monster who called himself El Caudillo. As Juanita completed her loathsome task and scurried from the room, Abbie said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘Benito Gomez! What a great man. A real caballero. Such a hero. No wonder the women are falling over each other to offer you their charms. If that is the way you act towards a young defenceless girl, how would you react if one had a gun in her hand and knew how to use it?’

  ‘Ah! I forgot. You call yourself the Señorita Pinfire and have somehow tricked people to believe that you are a pistolera, an expert with your gun. Well, let’s see how good you really are, Juanita! Bring the gun and gun-belt lying on the table. Make it fast.’

  Abbie stood there casually waiting. She had already noted one error on the part of the so-called El Caudillo. She had not called herself the Pinfire Lady. Others had given her that sobriquet, but she did not intend to correct the error. Let Gomez find out for himself!

  Juanita appeared carrying the gun-belt and holstered pistol, and at a gesture from Gomez brought it over to where Abbie was standing. As the Mexican girl handed the rig over, she silently mouthed a warning. Abbie stood holding the holster with her right hand while her left held the belt close to the ammunition pouch.

  ‘OK! Now we will pretend to have a little gunfight. You will put on your gun-belt how you want it but leave the gun in the holster. No tricks now. When we are both ready we will shoot at the jug of wine, which Juanita will have upon her head,’ he laughed. ‘She is a good girl and will do exactly as I want.’

  He gestured to the two bandits who had brought Abbie from her cell and they came forward. Taking the terrified Juanita by the arms, they placed her against the far wall of the refectory and balanced the jug of wine upon her head. They both then hurriedly stepped to one side and moved to the far corner. where they hoped they would be out of the way of stray bullets.

  Poor Juanita stood there shaking while large tears rolled down her cheeks. She raised both arms to steady the jug and was immediately ordered to lower them by Gomez with his seemingly playful comment of, ‘Now, now, Chiquita! We must not cheat! That would not be fair.’

  Turning to Abbie he queried, ‘Are you ready, Señorita Pinfire? If so Lopez,’ indicating one of her escorts, ‘will give the word and we will both shoot at the jug. You will only have one round in your pistol, so don’t get any funny ideas! We will soon see who is the fastest and the most accurate.’

  When Abbie had been handed her gun-belt, she had immediately noted from the weight that the gun did not have a full load of shells and a quick glance verified there was but one round in the cylinder, which upon cocking the pistol would be under the hammer. But was it a fired shell? If so she would be shooting an empty gun! The weight of her ammunition pouch suggested that, given the required few seconds, she could reload the empty chambers. That is if she were given those few precious seconds.

  Slowly she strapped on her gun-belt and tied the leather thong at the base of her holster around her left leg. Now, to seek ‘the edge’! There was a small table close by and Abbie, deliberately exaggerating her limp, moved to lean against the piece of dark furniture with a muttered comment that she hoped her damned leg would hold out.

  El Caudillo was getting impatient with her apparent reluctance to get on with his devilish competition. ‘Come, señorita! I haven’t got all day! Are you ready?’

  Leaning against the table, Abbie merely nodded and a moment later Lopez cried out, ‘Go!’

  Abbie had already made up her mind as to her course of action, The first thing was to save Juanita, so with a lightning-swift draw she pulled the small .30 calibre Colt pistol tied to her left arm and dropped into her familiar crouch, simultaneously swinging to aim at the Mexican, who was still in the act of raising his gun and turning to shoot at her.

  ‘Drop it, Gomez!’ she screamed, and when he failed to instantly comply she fired all four rounds at his gun arm and, dropping, pulled the table over while she feverishly loaded her pinfire pistol.

  Two of the tiny .31 calibre bullets hit Gomez in the arm, causing him to drop his pistol, and a third went high, ripping a deep furrow across his swarthy features. Screaming with rage and pain, the Mexican stood there clutching his right arm and cursing thegringa bitch who had not fallen for his trickery.

  With the table providing an inadequate shield, Abbie had just completed reloading while bullets thudded into the heavy furniture when there was a crash and a portion of the roof collapsed into the room. A second shell impacted against the thick north wall and this time the bellow of gunfire was heard together with the crackle of small arms fire, indicating to the Mexicans that the mission buildings were under attack.

  At the first pistol shots, Juanita’s knees had buckled and she
had slipped down the wall with the wine jug landing with a crash beside her. She remained there crouched with her arms covering her head as the shellfire commenced and totally ignored El Caudillo’s command to his followers to evacuate the premises. As the three Mexican bandits attempted to exit with El Caudillo in the lead, Abbie rose from behind the table and threw a couple of snap-shots after her guards, one of whom yelped as he received a bullet in the posterior.

  The door burst open and in rushed Jack Harding, together with Dora and, of all people, Felipe. All three came over to where Abbie was comforting the weeping Juanita. Felipe immediately took charge of his sister, who was totally bewildered by the pleasant change of circumstances, and meanwhile Abbie, Jack and Dora brought each other up to date.

  Jack and Dora described the plan of attack and how the operation had gone like clockwork. The startled bandits had had insufficient time to prepare an adequate defence and had been unnerved by the shells dropping upon their positions. Some had fled but the majority had thrown down their arms and, raising their hands high above their heads, they had pleaded for mercy.

  Abbie in her turn told her companions about her captivity and the recent events, resulting in the duel with El Caudillo. ‘Now if we can catch Gomez and the other fugitives we can bring this campaign to a close. Otherwise in a few months we’ll have to do the whole operation again.’

  Hardly had Abbie completed this last statement than she became aware of a strange, unpleasant sensation as the room around her started going up and down and then moving with increasing rapidity from right to left. She stood clutching the edge of the overturned table and was suddenly embarrassed by a vile sickness as she threw up the contents of her last meal, before lapsing into a state of unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She lay comatose for several days, being tenderly nursed by Dora, Juanita and several of the village women, all of whom had returned to their dwellings. Jacob Levy had the most medical knowledge in the party and he suggested that Abbie’s condition was the result of not having her bullet wound attended earlier. Under his direction, a piece of boiled cloth soaked in alcohol was passed through her bullet wound from entry to exit, ensuring that the wound was clean. Then both holes were sewn up but not completely since he stressed that the wound must be allowed to, as he put it, ‘weep’ before closing of its own accord.