The Warlords Page 20

  Ken Braxton, the town marshal, led them on an inspection of the wreckage. The engineer and the fireman had been killed when the locomotive exploded and brought down the north end of the bridge. The coaches were reduced to smoldering rubble, the remains of the passengers charred beyond recognition. The bodies of the soldiers and the Mexican lay where they had fallen.

  “Helluva night’s work,” Ransom said, his features mottled with rage. “I count twenty-two dead, including the soldiers. Don’t look like they put up much of a fight.”

  “Hard to say, Cap’n,” Maddox observed, eyeing the wreckage. “Way that train come off the tracks, they probably didn’t have much fight left. Must’ve banged ’em up pretty good.”

  “Yeah, but you’d think they would’ve got one rebel, anyways. Appears to me they surrendered muy damn pronto.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Gordon interrupted. “I want to talk with the survivors. Maybe there’s something to be learned.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Ransom said, nodding to Ken Braxton. “The marshal tells me a bunch of Tejanos live not too far off. Think I’ll see if they had a hand in this business.”

  “I’ll stick with Frank,” Maddox said. “Might be he’ll need somebody that speaks Mex.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Ransom rode off with ten Rangers, headed west. The first rays of sunrise tinged the horizon as Gordon and Maddox left the other Rangers to sift through the wreckage. They crossed to where the Negroes and Mexicans were standing at the side of the roadbed. Gordon nodded to the black men.

  “I know you’ve had a bad night,” he said. “But I was hoping you’d be able to fill in some details. How many raiders were there?”

  “Thirty, mebbe forty,” one of the men replied. “Things was happenin’ so fast I didn’t rightly stop to count.”

  “And how did the soldiers die? Were they executed?”

  “Yassuh, they sure nuff was. Got pulled off the train and stood up ’fore a firin’ squad. Just plain murder.”

  “Could you identify any of the raiders? Were any names mentioned?”

  “The one givin’ all the orders called hisself Vasquez. Cap’n Vasquez, and right proud of it.”

  Gordon and Maddox exchanged a glance. Maddox turned to the four Mexicans. “Habla inglés?” he asked, waiting until two of them nodded. “Who killed your compañero?”

  The men looked at the body on the ground. “El Capitán Vasquez,” one of them said. “He shot Miguel with his own hand.”

  “Did he give a reason? Why Miguel and not you?”

  “El Capitán asked if we were Tejanos. When we made no reply, he ordered Miguel forward. And then he shot him.”

  “Did Vasquez say why?”

  “Si.”

  The man went on to explain. He related how Vasquez ordered them to tell all Mexicans and Tejanos that life was forfeit unless they joined the Army of Liberation. Miguel Gomez was killed to underscore the message.

  Maddox questioned them until he had the full story. After thanking the men, he and Gordon walked back toward the bridge. Maddox shook his head.

  “Like to meet this Vasquez,” he muttered. “Give him a dose of his own medicine.”

  “Garza gets my vote,” Gordon said. “Stop him and we stop the rebellion.”

  “Frank, I’d second the motion.”

  An hour or so later Ransom rode in with a prisoner. The man was Mexican, mounted bareback on a mule, his wrists secured by manacles. The Ranger detail dismounted and tied their horses in the cottonwoods along the creek. Ransom pulled his prisoner off the mule and marched him forward, followed by Braxton. They stopped in front of Gordon and Maddox.

  “Meet Felix Santos,” Ransom said, grinning at Gordon. “You’re always wantin’ to interrogate somebody. Here’s your man.”

  Gordon looked the man over. “Who is he?”

  “Tejano sharecropper,” Ransom said. “Marshal Braxton says he’s always runnin’ off at the mouth about the Army of Liberation. Found some of their handbills in his shack.”

  “Do you think he’s one of the raiders?”

  “I’d tend to doubt it. All he’s got is that wore-out mule and a little peashooter twenty-two rifle. His woman swore he was home all night.”

  “Then why did you arrest him?”

  “ ’Cause he supports the goddamn rebels.”

  “Hoyt,” Gordon said, “see what he knows.”

  Maddox addressed the man in Spanish. Santos appeared terrified, babbling on in a shaky voice, the manacles rattling as he gestured with his hands. The interrogation went on for several minutes, and finally Maddox turned back to Gordon. He wagged his head.

  “I’d judge he’s all wind and no whistle. Sharecrops cotton and don’t have much use for gringo landowners. Says the rebels promised to distribute the land to the people. Sides with them, but it’s mostly just talk.”

  “So he hasn’t broken the law,” Gordon said. “Half of southern Texas supports the rebels, and we can’t arrest them all. Let him go.”

  “Don’t think so,” Ransom broke in. “You’re through with him, I’ll take it from here. He’s my prisoner.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m gonna give the rebels tit for tat. They’re shootin’ Tejanos to convince ’em to join up. Time we started shootin’ a few to convince ’em otherwise.”

  “You can’t shoot an innocent man.”

  “Innocent, my ass!” Ransom hooted. “Sonovabitch already admitted whose side he’s on. He’s gonna pay the price.”

  Gordon bristled. “I’m giving you a direct order, Captain. Back off or I’ll place you under arrest.”

  “Hell you will,” Ransom said coldly. “Try it and I’ll bury you. Nobody arrests me.”

  “You’re bettin’ a loser,” Maddox said in a hard voice. “Frank calls the shots here, and I’m backin’ his play. Don’t try anything dumb, Cap’n.”

  Ransom’s features went red as oxblood. He knew it was no idle threat, for Maddox was the deadliest gunman in a generation of Rangers. What angered him most was that Maddox would stand with an outsider, but there was nothing for it. His brow knotted in a scowl.

  “You’d best find yourself another job. You’re through in the Rangers.”

  “Not likely, Cap’n,” Maddox said with a sardonic smile. “I’ll thank you for the key to those manacles.”

  Felix Santos survived the day at Tandy’s Creek. He was released and rode off from the death and devastation of the train wreck on his long-eared mule. His terror of the Rangers was largely forgotten when he walked through the door of his sharecropper’s shanty.

  He told his wife the rebels were certain to take Texas.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The train wreck acted as a catalyst in the spreading rebellion. Newspapers labeled it “The Massacre at Tandy’s Creek,” decrying twenty-two dead, with four soldiers and a Tejano executed. Editorials, fiercely jingoistic in tone, called for swift and decisive retaliation.

  The following evening a mass meeting was held in Brownsville. Mayor Arthur Brown assembled more than two hundred civic and business leaders from the Rio Grande valley. After several impassioned speeches, the group drafted a petition to President Wilson demanding that U.S. troops be allowed to pursue the marauders into Mexico. The group also requested a federal declaration of martial law for the duration of the crisis. Military authorities, they insisted, should be granted supreme powers along the border.

  President Wilson responded decisively. Three days later, on August 29, he ordered the War Department to post an additional thousand troops to the lower Rio Grande. Although he refused to permit U.S. forces to cross the river, he issued a proclamation recognizing Venustiano Carranza as the de facto leader of Mexico. The reason became apparent when Secretary of State Robert Lansing, on the same day, requested that Carranza assign army units to police the Mexican side of the river. The communiqué also called for the arrest of Augustin Garza, Luis Vasquez, and Aniceto Pizana.r />
  The request for a declaration of martial law was rejected. But in a sweeping measure, President Wilson issued an edict placing local and state law enforcement agencies under military rule. The decree effectively granted General Parker authority over local police, county sheriffs’ departments, and the Texas Rangers. Among civic and business leaders, there was unanimous approval of the President’s quick response to their petition. The Texas Rangers adopted a stance of surly outrage.

  On August 31, General Parker convened a meeting at Fort Brown. Those directed to attend were Gordon and Maddox, the three Ranger captains, and Sheriff Walter Vann. Sergeant Major O’Meara ushered them into the office, where a row of chairs were arranged before the post commander’s desk. Captain Jack Fox, whose Ranger Company B was stationed in Del Rio, had not been ordered to make the trip downriver. There was a moment of uneasy silence while the men got themselves seated. Parker, who chose to stand, faced them with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” he said by way of greeting. “I asked you here to review several matters bearing on the rebellion, as well as recent incidents involving civilians. Before we begin, are there any questions regarding President Wilson’s directive about the chain of command?”

  Sheriff Vann, who felt relieved by the turn of events, slowly shook his head. The Ranger captains swapped veiled glances, and it was obvious Ransom had been appointed their spokesman. “Couple things aren’t too clear, General.” Ransom’s features were sullen, his eyes set in a squint. “What if Governor Ferguson tells us one thing and you tell us another? Whose orders do we follow?”

  “You follow mine,” Parker said firmly. “Your alternative would be to return to Austin until the situation here has resolved itself. Does that clarify the matter?”

  “What about Gordon?” Ransom said, avoiding a direct answer. “He’s been pretty free with his orders lately. Does he answer to you, now?”

  “Mr. Gordon answers directly to the President. You will continue to follow any orders he sees fit to issue.”

  “How about Maddox?”

  “Sergeant Maddox is assigned to Mr. Gordon. He does not fall under your command, Captain.”

  “Well, shit,” Ransom said in a disgruntled voice. “Looks to me like we got too many chiefs and not enough braves.”

  Parker stared at him. “I understand you attempted to kill a Tejano at the site of the train wreck. Is that correct?”

  “Somebody’s got to show these pepper-guts we mean business. Otherwise they’re gonna join the rebels in droves.”

  “I’m told you also threatened to shoot Mr. Gordon when he intervened. Is that true?”

  Ransom gave Gordon a venomous look. “Some people get too big for their britches. He threatened to arrest me.”

  “I’ll do worse,” Parker said levelly. “If you kill another Mexican or Tejano—without justification—I will have you shot. Do I make myself clear, Captain?”

  A profound stillness settled over the room. Ransom flushed, his features reddening to the hairline, and ground his teeth in silent fury. At length, he got control of his temper and lowered his chin in a barely perceptible nod. “I reckon we’re straight.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You and your Rangers have set a bad example for ordinary people. Summary execution of Mexicans will no longer be tolerated. Not by you, not by anyone.”

  The situation had become desperate. In the week since the train wreck, groups of vigilantes, sometimes abetted by Rangers, had killed over a hundred Mexicans and Tejanos. Some were murdered purely for revenge, as payback for the Anglos killed at the Tandy’s Creek massacre. Others were summarily executed simply because they were suspected of supporting the Army of Liberation. The color of a man’s skin made him suspect.

  The bloodletting had caused a mass migration. Mexicans and Tejanos fled in terror for their lives, crossing the Rio Grande to escape the random violence of vigilante mobs. By some estimates, more than two thousand families took refuge in Mexico, moving household goods and livestock in their flight to safety. Large parts of the countryside, particularly in Hidalgo and Cameron counties, assumed a ghostly, vacant look. The border had become a place of pervasive fear, and sudden death.

  “You need to understand something,” Parker said, his gaze fixed on the Ranger captains. “Every Mexican you kill out-of-hand becomes a recruiting poster for the Army of Liberation. You drive people to join the rebels.”

  “We could be facing a mass uprising,” Gordon added. “There are thousands of Tejanos waiting for Garza and the rebels to invade. If it happens, it’s not a matter of lending their support. They will fight.”

  “Greasers blow a lot of hot air,” Ransom said. “What makes you so sure they’ll invade? You know something we don’t?”

  The invasion planned for early September, and the buildup of armed forces in Monterrey, was a closely guarded secret. Gordon and General Parker, along with their respective superiors, believed that any mention of the Germans and organized military units would cause wholesale panic on the Rio Grande. Gordon trusted Maddox, but Bob Ransom was another matter entirely. The Rangers would be told only what they needed to know.

  “We have nothing solid to go on,” Gordon said now. “But Garza’s propaganda threatens an invasion, and we have to be prepared for the worst. Whether or not the threat’s real is anyone’s guess.”

  “Tell you my guess,” Ransom said derisively. “Garza and his bunch haven’t got the stomach for it. These raids are all the action we’re gonna see.”

  “Speaking of Garza,” Parker interjected. “I’ve been advised we’ll receive no assistance from the Mexican government. They have refused to arrest Garza.”

  Early that morning, he explained, a communiqué had arrived from the War Department. Mexican diplomats in Washington had informed the State Department that Venustiano Carranza had no choice but to refuse President Wilson’s request. The army of Mexico was engaged in fighting a civil war, and lacked the resources to patrol the Rio Grande. Nor was the Mexican military equipped to effect the arrest of bandits raiding into Texas.

  “That’s ripe,” Ransom snorted. “Garza paid ’em off to turn a blind eye. All them damn greasers are crooked.”

  “Whatever the case,” Parker said, “the end result will be to intensify the raids. The rebels have been granted sanctuary of sorts by the Mexican government.”

  When the meeting ended, Parker asked Gordon and Maddox to stay behind. He waited until the door closed, then sat down heavily in his chair. His manner seemed somehow less commanding than a moment ago. His features were gaunt.

  “I couldn’t speak freely, but I thought the two of you should know. I have been ordered to prepare for war.”

  “Ransom was halfway right,” Gordon said. “Garza bought sanctuary, but with German money. He’s got a free hand on the other side of the river.”

  “So it appears,” Parker commented. “What of your agents in Matamoras, Mr. Gordon? Have they uncovered anything further about an invasion date?”

  “Not a thing, General. Martinez tried, but Vasquez ran him out of their headquarters. We’re at a dead end.”

  “Then there’s nothing for it.”

  “Beg pardon, General?”

  “I believe we are at a state of war, Mr. Gordon. Or at least, we will be shortly.”

  In the silence that followed, the three men were lost in their own thoughts. Yet, as though of one mind, they were all thinking the same thing. A rank admission as bitter as bile.

  The Germans had won.

  The landscape was desolate. In any direction the eye wandered, the terrain was bleak and hostile, filled with sand, rattlesnakes, and thorny cactus. A molten sun stood lodged in a sky barren of clouds.

  Gordon sat staring out the window of a passenger coach. During the night, the train had stopped twice to take on water, and he was now some twenty miles east of El Paso. The wire from Forrest Holbrook, chief of the Bureau of Investigation, had arrived yesterday morning, shortly
after the meeting at Fort Brown. Gordon had caught the noon train.

  Holbrook’s message was short, and cryptic in nature. He ordered Gordon to report with all dispatch to General Harold Woodruff at Fort Bliss, just outside El Paso. General Woodruff, the wire noted in terse language, would brief Gordon on the nature of the assignment. Gordon could only assume that it had something to do with the Army of Liberation. The significance of El Paso, which was over eight hundred miles upriver, remained a mystery.

  The arid countryside whipped past in a blur. Gordon’s mind was elsewhere, and he gave little attention to the desert wastes. Last night, though he still had mixed emotions, he’d planned to ask Guadalupe to marry him. He was certain of his own feelings, and he loved the boy, Antonio, almost as much as he loved her. He was confident of her love as well, for she wasn’t one to hide her emotions. But he was nonetheless troubled by something that went beyond love and lovers. He wasn’t at all sure she would marry a gringo.

  On the long journey westward, his thoughts had alternated between Guadalupe and Holbrook’s cryptic telegram. But now, as the train slowed to a halt before the depot, he was forced to set aside personal matters. El Paso was dusty and hot, a hodgepodge of buildings scattered like old dice along the banks of the Rio Grande. He had wired ahead and General Woodruff’s aide was waiting for him with a Ford Model-T staff car. Fort Bliss was five miles or so north of town, and the aide tactfully deflected his questions along the way. He walked into the General’s office not long after nine o’clock.

  Woodruff was a tall, austere man with brushy eyebrows and short-cropped hair. “Special Agent Gordon,” he said, rising from behind his desk. “Welcome to Fort Bliss.”

  “Thank you, General.” Gordon accepted a handshake. “I was ordered to report to you by Director Holbrook. Any idea of why I’m here?”

  “Have a chair.” Woodruff waited until he was seated. “Sometime ago, Director Holbrook, through the War Department, asked that we keep an eye on Pascual Orozco. Are you familiar with the name?”

  “No, sir, I’m not.”