Gringos #5: Easy Money (An Adventure Novel of the Mexican Revolution)

By JD Sandon

EASY MONEY COMES HARD—WHEN THE PRICE IS BLOOD!

Zacatecas was the stumbling block that barred Pancho Villa’s advance on Mexico City. The Federale garrison was fighting his bandit army to a standstill. But word came of howitzers stored in Tampico, and Villa called on the four men he trusted most to bring him guns—The Gringos.
What they didn’t know was that the whole deal was a trap—an elaborate plan to destroy them. And when the jaws swung shut, they were left to escape the way they knew best... by fighting clear!

THE GRINGOS... FOUR MEN WHO KNEW HOW TO KILL. AND HOW TO DIE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215602751

JD Sandon

J.D. Sandon was the pseudonym used by two authors: Angus Wells and John Harvey to write an exciting series of books set in the Mexican Revolution of the early 1900's. Both writers ave contributed to other series as well as their own.

Book preview

Foreword

SUMMER, 1914: THE Mexican Revolution is in its fourth bloody year.

General Victoriano Huerta, self-appointed President, retains a tenuous hold on the capital, but plans are laid for his escape to Vera Cruz and the sea-crossing to Europe should the rebels succeed in reaching Mexico City.

Venustiano Carranza, Governor of Coahuila Province, commands the north on the strength of the alliance formed with Pancho Villa. Tension exists between the allies as Carranza’s general, Alvaro Obregόn, leads the Army of the Northwest in a strike down the Pacific coast that will outflank the Huertistas in the capital. At the same time, Pancho Villa is moving south, his army of bandits and peones using ten captured troop trains to cut down through the center of Mexico. He has defeated the Federal garrisons at Torreon and Coahuila, but has encountered fiercer resistance at Zacatecas.

Emiliano Zapata threatens the capitol from the south, operating out of Morelos Province.

A single, concerted effort is all that is needed to overthrow Huerta’s brutal regime. But a concerted effort is the one thing the revolutionaries cannot agree.

Carranza remains, essentially, a hacendado, unsympathetic to the demands of the masses. Villa—true to his bandit nature—seeks loot and power. Obregόn, whilst more attuned to the needs of the people, mistrusts Villa and cannot support the sweeping agrarian reforms demanded by Zapata. The war devolves into a race for control of Mexico City, with each leader striving to beat his rivals to the seat of power.

The rivalry sows the bloody seeds of further conflict even as men die in the fighting throughout the long, hot summer. Zapata’s revolutionary army pushes closer to the capital as Obregόn accelerates his advance in an attempt to beat Villa to Mexico City. And the bandit general sits angry at the gates of Zacatecas ...

Author’s Note

SOME OF THE terms used here may be unfamiliar to those readers not acquainted with the parlance and politics of Mexico, circa 1914. The more common words—amigo, coronet, teniente, etc.—are pretty well self-explanatory, but a few of the military terms bear enlargement.

The Federales represented the bulk of the Government forces: a kind of military police that controlled the populace, based mainly around the larger towns.

The Rurales controlled the hinterlands; a kind of country police force.

The Colorados were elite units within the Federale system. The term comes from the red band worn about the kepi. They were to the main body of the Mexican Army what the SS was to the Wehrmacht in another war.

The term gringo stems from the marching song adopted by American mercenaries fighting with Juarez: they sang Green Grow The Rushes, Oh. The Mexicans found that hard to pronounce and shortened the first words to ... gringo.

J. D. Sandon

Chapter One

THE CELL WAS dark. Quiet, except for the scuffling of the rats on the filthy straw and the labored breathing of the man by the far wall. His breath came in short, painful gasps because his arms were dragged up above his head by the manacles that chained his wrists to the wall. They were set in such a position that he could neither sit down, nor stand fully upright. Also, his nose and several ribs were broken, rendering any movement agonizing.

He was naked to the waist, his face and torso dark with blood and bruises. His cotton pants—once white—were fouled now with vomit and blood and excrement. He squatted, trying to ease the pain in his chest, too weak to kick at the rats that occasionally nibbled at his bare ankles.

The door of the cell opened.

The man blinked at the sudden flood of light and struggled laboriously to his feet. The positioning of the manacles refused him his full height, so that he stood crouched, legs braced wide and back against the wall.

A Colorado set the lantern on the floor of the cell, the light and the movement sending the rats scuttling to their holes. Then the soldier kicked the chained man between the legs, dropping him down with his arms dragged up behind him as he groaned and coughed blood.

‘He is ready, señor.’ the Colorado spoke in English. ‘I think he will talk to you now.’

Three more men entered the cell. One was a full colonel in the Army of Mexico. He wore the gray uniform and shoulder braid of the High Command, a Sam Browne belted at waist and chest, supporting a polished holster. He pressed a scented handkerchief to his face. The second man wore a plain uniform: black, the jodhpurs fitting snug into gleaming boots; he held a cap beneath his left arm.

The third man was dressed in a well-tailored suit. White. The color contrasted with the black and white patent shoes and the small, smoke-lensed glasses perched on his narrow nose. He removed his hat and passed it to the man in the black uniform, exposing a thin crop of sandy hair. He coughed delicately and slid his spectacles from his eyes, folding them neatly before tucking them into the breast pocket of his jacket. He smiled, stretching his thin lips even narrower as pale eyes surveyed the prisoner.

The chained man struggled back to his feet.

The man in the white suit chuckled. A dry, eerie sound that seemed to echo around the cell.

‘I think he’s been listening to Zapata.’ The man brushed at a fly that had risen from the foulness of the straw. ‘What is it? It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.’

The prisoner spat blood and grunted: ‘¡Tierra y Libertad!’

The Colorado stepped forward again, but the man in the white suit said, ‘No! Don’t hurt him.’

The colonel gestured his agreement and the soldier stepped back, staring with open curiosity at the sandy-haired American.

‘My name is Bender.’ The American crouched in front of the prisoner. ‘Hiram Bender. I hold the power of life or death over you.’

‘Then kill me and have done, gringo. I’ll not tell you anything, so take me out and shoot me. Or hang me, if you prefer that.’

‘I’d prefer to let you go,’ murmured Bender. ‘You’ve been in here long enough to prove your countrymen can’t make you talk.’

‘Countrymen?’ The prisoner sneered, exposing bloody gums where teeth had been torn out. ‘They are not my countrymen. They are Huerta’s leavings. His droppings.’

Bender smiled and shrugged. ‘We all own our opinions, amigo. Some are less fortunate than others, but we all have the right to think them. Would you like some water?’

The question took the prisoner by surprise, producing a frown and a swift, anticipatory flick of tongue against swollen lips. Instinctively he nodded.

Bender motioned at the man in the black uniform, who nodded and quit the cell.

He returned with a canteen that he lifted to the man’s lips when Bender ducked his head. The Mexican drank greedily, the water spilling from his mouth so that the dried blood on his lips and cheeks got washed away.

‘Don’t take too much,’ said Bender gently. ‘It would be bad for your stomach.’

As though to confirm his words, the Mexican grunted and emptied his bowels as the water filled his belly. Bender waited until the cramps had ceased to wrack the wasted frame, then produced a handkerchief and wiped the prisoner’s mouth.

‘You see?’ he asked. ‘There is no great need for you to suffer. You can have more water. Food, when you are ready. A doctor. Even your wife.’

‘My wife?’ The prisoner’s eyes got wide. ‘You have Maria?’

Bender ignored the question. ‘We could release you. Pay you, even. As much as five thousand pesos. That should be enough for you and Maria to travel south, or to America. Start a farm.’

The Mexican stared at the American, sucking the last droplets of water from his cracked lips.

‘And in return for this?’

‘A few words, that’s all,’ said Bender. ‘Confirmation of what we know already. You wouldn’t even be betraying your friends.’

‘And if I don’t? If I refuse these words?’

Bender shrugged and pointed at the door. ‘I cannot be responsible for what happens to your wife.’

The colonel smiled and shouted an order. There, was a sudden clatter of boots on the flagstones of the corridor, accompanied by laughter. A door opened. A woman screamed. Then there was the sound of fists on flesh. Of cloth ripping. Men’s laughter again. Then the groans of a woman and the soft, sticky sounds of sex.

The prisoner closed his eyes and groaned. The sound lifted up to a scream.

‘No! Not Maria. Blessed Virgin, please! Not Maria.’

‘It’s your choice,’ said Bender. ‘I can only do so much for you.’

The moaning ceased as the Mexican nodded. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘You were with Villa?’ Bender motioned for the man in the black uniform to administer more water. ‘Up to Zacatecas?’

‘Yes.’ The prisoner gulped the water. ‘That’s where I was caught.’

‘Who was with him?’

‘Urbina. Fierro. Angeles. We all come down on the trains. As far as Zacatecas.’

‘Yes, I know that.’ Bender turned to the colonel. ‘I think our friend might talk more freely if he was released.’

The colonel frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but when he saw Bender’s eyes he nodded and waved the Colorado forward.

The manacles sprang open as the key turned. The Villista sank down for a moment, then pushed himself upright, leaning against the wall. Bender stood up to face him.

‘Were there Americans with him?’

‘A few. Mercenarios. Come down for the looting.’

‘If you want your Maria back you must answer my questions truthfully,’ Bender said. ‘We know that Villa is held at Zacatecas and we know he has his generals with him. We know, also, that American mercenaries help him. I am interested in four men. One is called Onslow. Cade Onslow. The other is a Negro called Jonas Strong.’

‘The gringos.’ The Mexican nodded. ‘The others are Yates McCloud and a youngster called Jamie Durham. He is known as the Kid, and he wears a leather patch on his face.’

‘Yes.’ Bender shaped his narrow lips into a smile. ‘Those are the ones. Are they still at Zacatecas?’

The prisoner shrugged. Then winced as the movement shifted his broken ribs. ‘They were when I got caught.’

‘A few more questions,’ said Bender, ‘and then you go free. Is Villa well-armed?’

‘When I left,’ said the prisoner, ‘our ammunition was running low. At Zacatecas, and all the other places down the line, we used a great deal of ammunition. I think that if Pancho cannot take the garrison at Zacatecas very soon he will run out of bullets.’

‘So he will send these gringos to find him more?’ asked Bender. ‘Think carefully before you answer, for only the truth will free you and Maria.’

The Villista licked his lips and rubbed his hands together. Then he scratched his hair.

‘If I tell you this, will you promise to release me and Maria? Promise to send a doctor to tend my wounds? And give me the five thousand pesos you mentioned?’

Bender nodded. ‘My word on it.’

‘Very well.’ The man shut his eyes for a moment, then began to speak again. ‘I heard Pancho telling the gringos that he would need more guns. He wanted two of the big cannons you call ... howitzers? So that he could shell Zacatecas. Those and as much ammunition as they could find across the border. It is getting harder to find such things, now that the yanquis are refusing to supply Pancho.’

‘What did Onslow and the others say?’ asked Bender.

‘They said they could find ammunition, but that these howitzers would be very difficult to get hold of.’ The Villista spread his hands wide in a gesture of ignorance. ‘I do not know much about such things, so I can only tell you what I heard.’

Bender pursed his mouth and turned to the colonel. ‘You think they can get howitzers?’

The officer shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. The American Army has some, but it would be very difficult to take them, or bring them across the border. There are still a few German ships on the coast, but ...’

‘But most of the Germans are running for home,’ finished Bender. ‘And there’s only three places they could unload that kind of cargo.’

‘Si.’ The colonel hurried to supply the answer. ‘Brownsville, Tampico or Vera Cruz.’

‘Which only leaves one,’ rasped Bender. ‘Tampico. Brownsville is across the border, and the US Army has it buttoned tight. Vera Cruz is too far south. Anyway, Huerta’s people still hold the town. But Tampico. Yeah.’ He got a thoughtful look. ‘If they off-loaded at Tampico they could use the railroad at least as far as San Luis Potosi, maybe even to Salinas. Then ship overland to Zacatecas. Yeah. They’d have to do it that way. And that’s a long way.’

The prisoner listened to the interchange with a blank face. Then he got bored and said, ‘Now I have told you what I know, señor, will you let me go?’

‘Sure.’ Bender smiled. The lantern emphasized the hollow planes of his face. ‘Sure I will.’

‘And you will give me back Maria? And my five thousand pesos? And have a doctor attend me?’

‘Sure.’ Bender reached back for his hat. Set it on his head. ‘I gave my word, didn’t I?’

The Mexican nodded.