Maxwell Grant
Six Men of Evil
CHAPTER I
AT THE BORDER
THE torrid Mexican sun had set. The lingering rays from the distant horizon threw a faint afterglow that presaged a sweltering night. The gloom barely outlined a party of weary horsemen who were wending their slow way through patches of mesquite, heading northward.
The men were talking. Their voices were hushed as though the dimness of the arid plain held them in awe. Solitary wanderers in a deserted plain, they were temporarily traveling through a world peopled by themselves alone.
The voices faded. The horses dragged along through silence. The mounted figures were dimming in the gathering night. Then the tension broke as one of the plodders emitted a savage, growled oath.
The curse brought a coarse laugh from one of his companions. Grumbled mutterings followed from the others, with one exception. A single rider maintained his steadfast silence.
“We’ll get there before dawn,” growled the man who had cursed. “Yes — we’ll get there — and then what?”
“We’ve got our divvy,” returned one of his companions, thumping his hand upon a rough sack that lay across his horse’s back. “That’s enough, ain’t it, bo?”
“Sure,” cut in a third voice. “Every guy for himself. That’s the only way we can make a go of it.”
The dull, labored thudding of hoofs replaced the brief conversation. Then a querulous speaker cut in with a protesting opinion.
“We’re splittin’ eh?” he asked. “It’s all we can do, I reckon; but it ain’t goin’ to get us nowhere.”
“We’ve got Charley to thank for that,” added a sarcastic voice.
The words brought forth an affirmative growl from all the riders but one.
The lone man who had maintained his silence still refused to speak for himself. He was riding behind the others, now, his horse three lengths in back of them. He could hear every word that was expressed; and his companions sensed that fact.
NOW that Charley’s name had been mentioned, further sallies followed.
“He’s the brains of this outfit, Charley is,” said someone, with a laugh. “Had a way for us to make a clean-up. What have we got?”
“A few thousand apiece,” grumbled another. “That’s better than nothing.”
“Would you go through another six months for it?” came a question through the dark.
“For a few thousand?” Another laugh came with the response. “Say, bo, I wouldn’t go through a week of that misery we suffered even if we were to get the green chicquatil itself—”
“Sh-h!” A warning tone hissed beside the speaker’s ear. “Lay off that stuff! It gives me the creeps. Don’t talk about the chicquatil! Every time I shut my eyes I see that green glow! Green everywhere — green that never ends” — the man’s voice was rising to a high, nervous pitch — “green light driving me mad—”
An arm thumped through the dark and punched the speaker roughly on the back. The man’s words ended abruptly.
Subdued mumbles came from the other riders. It was evident that they, too, held a nervous dread of something that they all had witnessed. At length, one of the riders voiced the subject in an easy, reflective tone that allayed the worries of the others.
“We’re out of it,” he said. “We’ll forget it, soon. There’s nobody going to take us back to the Aztec temple. Let them keep the chicquatil there at Zeltapec. It’s theirs, and they can have it. There’s no one who could take it from them. We’ve got something out of the wreck — enough to stake us—”
“To stake us?” The question came in a high tone from the nervous man who had been silenced. “To stake us for what? We aren’t even ourselves! Do you understand me? Not even ourselves! We’re no one — no one! — and Charley’s to blame! He took us to that hell! I’d kill him if he hadn’t suffered with us!”
“Yeah, Charley got his along with the rest of us,” said another man, in philosophic tone. “He’s not feeling chipper, no more than us. Keeping mighty mum, there in back. Hasn’t had much to say since we left Zeltapec. Eh, Charley?”
The speaker glanced over his shoulder as he said the last words. He could not see the man to whom he had referred as Charley. Only the slight thud of hoofs told that there was another man riding back there in the darkness. Somehow, Charley seemed to feel himself ostracized from the companionship of these men.
“See?” questioned the one who had called back. “Charley’s got nothing to say. Afraid of us, maybe. He ought to be. He led us up into the mountains. Called himself our leader. A big shot, Charley — and now he’s afraid of us!”
The others laughed in sarcastic tones. There was malice, not mirth, in their laughter. They were unanimous in the thought that the man behind them was afraid; and their growled utterances were boding ill for the one who had once been their leader.
“Charley’s afraid of us—”
THE repeated challenge was broken by a harsh voice from the darkness. The lone rider had drawn close to the others. Now, he was thrusting his horse among them, and his silence had been broken. He was speaking in firm, even tones that commanded attention.
“I? Afraid of you?” Charley’s question came in emphatic words. “Why be fools? There are five of you, that’s all. I’ll take on ten more like you. You say I put you in wrong at Zeltapec? You lie!”
Not one of the five grumblers dared respond. Charley, coming up among them, had demonstrated his power of command. As he paused to await an answer, the only response was the swishing of the mesquite through which the plodding horses brushed.
“You made trouble for yourselves at Zeltapec,” declared the man called Charley. “I was no more to blame than any of you. We took a chance — for a big stake — and we lost. Be satisfied that you got away with your hides, and that the Aztecs let you keep the gold. That’s all.”
“I guess Charley’s right,” admitted one of the others, in a low, rueful tone. “But it’s not helping us much. It seems all right here in the dark — but wait until dawn, when we look at each other. Then it will seem as black as it did today — as it did yesterday — as it did the day before—”
“Cut it!” ordered Charley tersely. “I’ve listened to the same talk until I’m tired of it. You say I’ve been keeping quiet. That’s because I’ve been thinking. When you are ready to be quiet, I’ll have my say — and it will be something worthwhile.”
A suppressed silence was instantaneous. With a few well-spoken phrases, the former leader had regained his command. There, in the darkness, Charley’s horse took the lead, with the others clustered close beside, each man listening without an interruption.
“We’re coming close to the border, now,” stated Charley quietly. “That’s where we split — as you fellows decided. You say we’ve got to split — that if six men like us were together, we’d hit trouble just on our looks. You’re right about that. But you’re all wrong to think that this is the finish.
“We stuck together at the start, didn’t we? We thought alike; we talked alike; we acted alike — and finally — we became alike. Six of a kind is what we are. Six men — with brains” — he paused after the compliment — “and only one who knows how to use those brains!”
There was no response. The men rode on, a docile, willing group. Each seemed to lose his individuality when the leader took the fore. Now, Charley became challenging in his tone.
“What are you?” he questioned. “I’ll tell you. Five men that can fight a hundred if they follow instructions. The trouble is, you’ve weakened. You figured you could go back to the United States and pick up. You had your alibis.
“Maybe they’ve got you listed as men who scrambled across the border into Mexico — maybe they haven’t. If worst came to worst, you could say that bandits had dragged you there. But that’s all ended now, because you’re changed men — and you’re all in the same boat.