The Thirty Gang - Arthur O. Friel

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While I stood and drank in the Casa del Pueblo, other men came carelessly drifting in or loitered around the doors, looking very innocent but watching and listening to what went on.

      They kept on waiting, for nothing happened. I drank with every one of the men who had talked so loudly when I was far away, and they still did nothing but talk; what is more, they were careful how they talked.

      Several times one or another of them passed behind my back, but I gave no attention to them; I knew that at that moment Tomas Funes felt good-humored toward me, and that every man in town was aware of it, and so every one of them knew that whoever stabbed me in the back would very soon be beheaded at Funes' order. Of course, if I should be killed in a fight, or by accident, that would be another matter.

      Since nobody started a fight and there seemed to be little chance of an "accident" just then, I decided to quit drinking. I had had enough, and the boasters had not even boasted in my hearing, so there was no sense in wasting more time and money there. There was a full cup of caballo blanco (white rum) on the bar before me, and after tossing it off I would leave the place. But I never drank that liquor.

      The little room was very hot, and the man at my right pushed away from the bar and went to the door. Another man stepped into his place, with his rifle swinging at his left leg. Glancing at him, I saw that he was a hard fellow, named Diego, who belonged to one of my snaky enemies, Otón Argel. And Argel himself had been standing for some time at my other side, and still stood there. So I was between Argel and his man.

      Now, this Argel was supposed to be one of Tomás Funes' pets. I say "supposed to be," because no man ever could be sure of himself with Funes. No matter how slavishly he obeyed the tyrant's whims, he might suddenly find himself out of favor and lucky if he escaped with his life; for Funes trusted nobody, and many of the men killed by his order were murdered because he suspected them of plotting against him.

      He did not even trust his own mistress—in which, perhaps, he was wise. Still, as I say, this Argel was believed to be in the good graces of Funes—though he had not succeeded in convincing his master that I ought to be executed, as he probably had tried to do.

      He had been drinking there with me for some time, but I knew he had taken no more than I. Yet now he began to act drunk. He laughed very loud, slapped the bar with his hands, and threw his shoulders about quite clumsily. And Diego, saying nothing, stood loosely at my right side, his gun-butt on the floor and his eyes on the rum before him. His left hand hung down beside his rifle.

      I was no stranger to San Fernando and its ways, and I smelt an "accident." Paying no attention to Diego, I watched the staggering Argel cornerwise and moved my right hand toward my cup of rum. At that instant Argel lurched heavily toward me.

      My hand clutched the edge of the bar and I threw myself back with all my strength. In the same second Diego's gun belched flame across my abdomen. Burning powder stung my flesh. Argel gave a hoarse, horrible sound. His thick body thumped on the floor, and he writhed on the spot where my feet had just been.

      Chapter 2

      II

       Table of Contents

      "ADIOS MIO!" yelled Diego. "The gun has exploded! Loco León is hurt!"

      He yelled it even as his master was falling; yelled it too quickly, showing that he had the words ready to shout as soon as his bullet tore through me. With the words he twitched his left hand to drop the black thread, now broken, by which he had pulled the trigger of his cocked gun when his master shoved me.

      It was not a very new trick in San Fernando, but up to now it had always worked well. An "accidental" push against a loaded rifle—an "accidental" explosion—made an "accident" that was always loudly bemoaned by the fellow with the gun, but not by the victim. A .44 slug sent upward from under the ribs blows all moans out of a man.

      But when Diego saw whom that bullet had caught, the other things he had ready to say stuck in his throat. Argel struggled over on one side before he died, and his wicked eyes glared up at Diego, who stood like a stone.

      "—— roast you forever!" gasped Argel. Then he crumpled up and was quiet. Diego, still holding his thread, lifted his face in a dazed way and stared at me.

      "A slight mistake, Diego," I said. "It is not Loco León who is hurt. But that is the fault of Argel, not yours. You had better find a patrón who is not so clumsy."

      I was angry enough to kill him—a powder burn across the belly does not improve a man's temper—but I let him live. He was only a tool, and the real assassin—Argel—had paid in full. Later I laughed long over the joke of it, but just then I was not in a merry mood.

      His hand went to his machete, but he did not draw. His rifle was on the floor, where it had dropped in the "accident," and he let it lie. I gave him a hard shove that sent him sprawling, and then started for the door. But before I reached it there was work to do.

      Erasmo Argel, brother of the dead man, let out a squall like a maddened cat and jumped for me.

      "My brother! León has killed my brother!" he screeched. His dagger was out, and he stabbed for my throat. Other men, too, snarled. I had to fight fast if I was to leave that place alive.

      I dodged the knife and shot Erasmo in the stomach. And then, with revolver in one hand and poniard in the other, I shot and stabbed my way straight out of there. I did not pick my men—I had no friends there, and I attacked everybody in my way. The watchers at the door broke and scattered to get away from me. They had nothing in particular against me, and had come only to see what might take place, and now they were well pleased with the show. So, with gun empty but knife ready, I walked away without further trouble.

      There was mad swearing back in the rum-shop, but the outsiders laughed and called after me:

      "Well fought, León! The Coronel will make you a sargento primero in the army!"

      And I heard one say:

      "Por Dios, but, this Loco León is well named! When he fights he is a mad lion in truth!"

      But, Mad Lion though I might be, I was a lone lion among a big pack of treacherous dogs, and I had no wish to stay there. Those who cheered me now might shoot me down in the next ten minutes; Funes might laugh over the end of the Argel brothers, or he might have me tied to a tree and beheaded. I decided to make a complaint to Funes himself before others could complain of me, and then to get away as quickly as possible. So, reloading as I went, I swiftly crossed the plaza to Funes' headquarters.

      It had grown dark now, and I was halted sharply at Funes' door and held there until a lantern was put to my face. The guard had been changed at sundown, and it happened to be under command of Amalio Lopez, who was by far the best man in Funes' whole force: a brave, sensible fellow, who, when Funes finally was captured and executed in 1921 by the army of Cedeño, died fighting to the last for his chief. He was the one man in the place worthy of any respect.

      "Ah, it is Loco León," he said. "You can not see the Coronel now, Loco. He orders that nobody disturb him before morning, as he entertains two women. What was the shooting over there?"

      "It was my shooting," I answered boldly. "See, my shirt is shot away by that hound of an Otón Argel. He tried the rifle accident on me. Erasmo tried stabbing me. Both are dead, and others also. Now I want to know if this was done by the order of the Coronel. If he wants my life why does he not take it in the usual way?"

      "Whenever he wants it he will take it in that way," Amalio answered grimly. "He gave the Argels no instructions. They are dead? I am glad of it. But this may be serious for you, Loco. The chief had use for them."

      "He has use for me also," I snapped back. "I pay him a larger balata tax than any other man in this Rio Negro country. What is more, it was only a little while ago that I amused him much, and that is worth more than money. And if those dogs would try killing me

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