Holding Their Own: The Salt War Part 2

Wishing he had more time to study and observe, Nick made his way down the bustling street, hawkers offering him everything from dry goods to homemade remedies for whatever ailed him.

It was all so interesting. Here, in rural northeastern Texas, was a textbook example of a city-state under feudal rule of law. Cartersville had a king, n.o.blemen, coin of the realm, and even a castle-keep of sorts the downtown area being walled off with roadblocks, patrols, semi-trailers, and guard towers. It was a microcosm of Europes Middle Ages, unveiled right before his eyes.

As he ambled through on his way to Shantytown and his camp, Nick studied the faces of customers and vendors alike. These citizens submitted willingly to Mr. Gospels rule, supporting the primitive form of government by their mere presence and partic.i.p.ation. They all seemed content enough, buying, selling, and browsing through the open-air bazaar.

But Nick knew there was a difference between these people and the residents of the kingdoms of old. He was surrounded by freeborn Americans, individuals who had tasted liberty, had experienced democracy. They accepted the status quo because it was a safe harbor from the anarchy and barbarianism just beyond the walls. But now, if the Alliance leaders and he were right, all of that would gradually begin to change. Now they knew something better was beyond the fortress, an existence that would, hopefully, stir memories of a better life.

General Owens and the military forces under the councils control could take down the local king in an afternoon. Irregular militia, equipped with small arms, didnt stand a chance against tanks and gunships. But the Alliance had learned a hard lesson from previous engagements the loss of life could be significant, and that wasnt what the new government was all about. Bishops recent encounter in Brighton, Texas had exposed the unintended consequences of a brash, heavily armed approach. That community was still suffering from the ma.s.s causalities, hundreds of families continuing to mourn the loss of husbands, brothers, and sons. Even under Alliance rule, life was severe there, food hard enough to put on the table, despite the presence of able-bodied men in the household. Widows and orphans stressed the resources of the entire community, their struggles significantly more difficult and painful. Resentment still lingered just under the surface of the societal faade.

Nick stopped, the smell of boiling corn drawing his attention. He retrieved a small amount of local currency out of his pocket, smirking at the image of Mr. Gospels stoic portrait residing on the poorly manufactured paper money. "How much for two ears?" he asked the middle-aged woman working the small booth.

"Arent you that stranger talking about a recovery?" she inquired, eyes squinting with pessimism.

"Yes, maam. Thats me."

"Is it true... what theyre saying? Are there really towns nearby with electricity and real jobs?"

"Yes. Its true," Nick answered, amazed at how quickly word had spread.

The vendor scanned both directions, checking to see who was within earshot. "Can I move there? Do they allow strangers to settle there?" she whispered.

"Yes, you can. We welcome newcomers. Every town has a relocation committee."

Again glancing both ways and finding the coast was clear, she pulled a significant wad of King Gospels currency from under her ap.r.o.n. "Ive got money," she declared. "People say my vegetables are the best in the Exchange. But I want to get out of here. Mr. Gospel keeps raising the taxes and taking a bigger cut. You have to be cautious what you say here... careful about who might hear. My boy got in trouble for speaking out last week, and now the deputies are watching him real, real close."

Nick nodded his understanding, a dozen questions forming in his throat. Before he could ask, two armed men came into view, one of the many patrols working the outside market. His new friends eyes dropped down to the pot, not daring to make eye contact with the pa.s.sing enforcers.

"The maize is two Gospels per ear," she said louder than necessary, no doubt for the lawmens sake. "I dont give a discount unless you buy at least four."

Nick played along, having no desire to get anyone in trouble with the authorities. "Ill take two," he responded, counting out the required bills.

The steaming corn was delivered, complete with husks still intact. Nick moved on, thinking his extra-large frame could use a little more sustenance and sick to death of the dried food in his pack.

Eyeing a table stacked with tomatoes, he sensed a presence behind him. A slight turn of his head revealed the two deputies, each a.s.suming a tactical position on either side of the display.

Nick ignored the local enforcers, checking the firmness and color of several vine-ripened examples on the table. The vendor, an older gent who had smiled warmly at his approach, backed away. That reaction was immediately followed by the sound of tap, tap, tap... one of the deputies slapping his palm with a nightstick.

"Morning, gentlemen," Nick said politely, turning to face the two men. "Can I help you?"

"Were wondering why you havent left yet," replied the older of the two. "Our understanding was your business here in Cartersville was complete."

Nick sized them up, the confrontational body language making their intent clear. Both would be considered large men by any standard, their thick shoulders and wide frames so prevalent with law enforcement types. While the ex-operators 64" barefoot height and considerable ma.s.s dwarfed either of the locals, he didnt want any trouble. Besides, they were armed he was not.

"Im heading out soon enough," he replied with a smile. "My people wont be at the gate for a bit, and I wanted to get a bite to eat and then break camp."

"Mr. Gospel thinks it would be better if you broke camp right now and ate along the road," came the reply.

A frown of concern and fear crossed the big mans face, but it was an act. Inside, he was secretly celebrating, Standowskis loosing of his dogs a sure sign the man was worried. Nick shrugged, "Fine by me, I can wait for my friends outside just as well as on the inside. Ill go pack up my gear."

The verbal deputy seemed disappointed Nick had deescalated the encounter. "Well tag along just to make sure you dont get lost."

Nick found his poncho-tent and pack undisturbed. Before breaking camp, he strolled to a neighboring bivouac and pulled out the remainder of his Gospel dollars. "Thanks for watching my stuff, Ray," he said, handing over the small wad of money.

The two enforcers idled nearby, chatting among themselves as Nick stuffed items inside his pack. "Ready," he informed the officers, swinging the ruck onto his back.

The gate was really nothing more than a barricaded street at the edge of town. Having managed the teamsters allowed Mr. Gospel access to a virtually unlimited numbers of semi-trailers, which became the breastworks and parapets of choice.

While erecting a castle wall around Cartersville provided security, it also created the same issues suffered by its European brother from long ago. Agriculture and livestock couldnt exist within the city limits, yet the people inside the protective perimeter had to eat. It was impossible for the town to completely isolate itself - thus the blockaded entrance.

When Nicks team had first been a.s.signed to approach the humble berg, a quick scouting mission had uncovered the rules and procedures for pa.s.sing through. Countryside residents were allowed access, but they had to be unarmed and possess goods for trade or sale. Anyone displaying the obvious symptoms of a contagious disease was turned away.

Handing off his weapons to Kevin and Grim, Nick had pocketted small amounts of ammunition as his barter. After spending three days checking out the local situation, hed approached the men in charge and made his pitch about the Alliance. One thing had led to another, eventually resulting in this mornings meeting with Mr. Gospel in the flesh.

In reality, Nick hadnt expected much more from the local leadership. His presentation of the Alliances goals, history, and future had to be shocking to hear for the first time. Even if Mr. Gospel and his union boys didnt relinquish their iron grip on Cartersville, eventually the people of the town would start to drift away. Freedom, commerce, security, and prosperity were powerful magnets to a distressed population.

Approaching the southern gate, Nick spotted two more deputies idling along the route. When they noticed the big man and his escorts, both enforcers stiffened, their body language indicating a higher level of alert.

Moving to block Nicks path, the older ordered the big man to stop. "I need to see inside that pack," he growled.

Having nothing to hide, Nick pulled the ruck off his shoulders and set it down on the ground. The two new lawmen began pulling his belongings out, a quiet crowd gathering to watch.

As they neared the bottom, Nick noticed one of the deputies try a slight of hand, something bright and red hidden in the mans palm. A moment later, the enforcer raised that same hand, holding a tomato high in the air for everyone to see.

"Thats not mine," Nick said calmly. "You already had that in your palm."

"Bulls.h.i.t!" barked the deputy. "You stole this from the market. We had a complaint."

"Really? Seriously? Youre going to plant a vegetable on me and then claim Im some sort of shoplifter? Thats all you got?" Nick responded, his tone making it clear he wasnt taking the charge seriously.

"So this is what your so-called Alliance is all about," boomed Mr. Gospels voice as the crowd parted to let the local leader approach the scene of the crime. "You come in here all high and mighty, telling everyone that you stand for the rule of law, democracy, and a better way of life. Now we know thats bulls.h.i.t... youve just proven youre nothing more than a petty thief."

Nick understood the man was preaching to the gathered public. Two could play at that game. "Thats rich, my friend, especially coming from a power-hungry dictator whos frightened of losing his subjects," Nick replied. "Youre trying to frame me in order to keep your people from moving to a better place."

"Arrest this criminal," Standowski ordered, unwilling to be drawn into a debate.

Nick sensed the two deputies approach him from behind, the closest throwing his arm toward the big mans neck, an attempt to grasp his throat and then pull Nick over onto his back. It was a standard law enforcement tactic and very effective against the average suspect. But Nick wasnt average.

Catching the flying arm with both hands, Nick ducked under and twisted in the same motion. Before anyone else could react, he had the deputys arm behind the mans back and was reaching for the holstered Glock on the lawmans belt.

The other rearward enforcer tried to step in and a.s.sist his comrade, and that was a mistake. Nick torqued on his prisoner, spinning the now howling deputy into his mate, knocking him to the pavement. By then, the Glock was free of its holster.

Still maintaining his grip on the first guys arm, Nick crouched low, using the enforcers body as a shield. Both of the forward deputies were pulling their weapons when Nick shot the first man in the leg; the second took a 9mm slug to his Kevlar-protected chest.

Absolute bedlam erupted through the surrounding crowd. Women were screaming, men yelling warnings and the entire populace was trying to run somewhere... anywhere to get away from the roar of gunfire.

Nick pistol whipped his shield, slamming the barrel hard into the back of the mans neck. The fourth deputy had finally managed to palm his weapon, but it was too late. Like a football punter, Nick took one big step and landed his size 14 boot squarely on the enforcers temple.

In less than five seconds, all four of Gospels henchmen were disabled. The former union boss stood speechless, fear filling his eyes, watching Nick point the captured weapon at his head.

"Im going to give you one warning, Standowski... and only one. Dont start a f.u.c.king war you cant win. This was a minor league play against a professional, and there are thousands and thousands more just like me in the Alliance. If you ever pull such bulls.h.i.t again, Ill personally kill you ... and do it slowly."

For the first time since Nick had been around Mr. Gospel, the local leader didnt have any good news to share. In fact, he was speechless.

Nick glanced once more at his attackers moaning on the ground and shook his head. "Shame you ordered these men to do your dirty work, and all because you are a coward. Hard telling how many of your people are going to die if things get really rough," he stated, and then began jogging for the nearby gate.

There were four guards at the barricade, all of them having heard gunshots just a few moments before, none of them knowing what or who was involved. Before Gospel could gather his courage or wits, Nick pa.s.sed by the armed sentries and was outside the wall.

Kevin, Grim, and Cory were scheduled to meet Nick just over a mile outside of town. With only an occasional glance over his shoulder, Nick casually strolled along the road, seemingly confident no one from Cartersville would be stupid enough to chase after him.

He had completely overestimated Mr. Gospels intelligence.

Ten minutes and half a mile later, the distinct hum of engines sounded from the receding town. Nick stopped his trek, turning to see what possible dumb a.s.s stunt his former hosts might have in mind. He didnt have to wait long for the ill-conceived plot to be exposed.

Soon the emissary could identify at least a half dozen pickups, the beds piled full of men brandishing rifles in the air. The vision p.i.s.sed Nick off.

Seconds later, he was running through the pine woods bordering the road, moving at a rapid pace while growling profanities at the ignorance that dominated Cartersville, Texas.

The tracks and manure put Bishop on the trail. A shod horse, maybe two, had pa.s.sed this way not long ago. Soon, he encountered some older tracking signs, a confusion of hoof marks trotting both directions. Somebody was using this route on a consistent basis. Cresting a small rise, he spotted the riders, the picture-perfect scene worthy of a dime store postcard.

They were 300 yards distant, the blood-red sun casting its matchless pigment on the backdrop of the Guadalupe Mountains from its vantage near the western horizon. Two hors.e.m.e.n perched on their trusty steeds, the outline of their western hats tilted low, their posture indicating they were saddle-weary from a long ride. They were headed toward Bishop.

Were it not for the time and place, Bishop would have a.s.sumed they were two ranch hands, riding fence or looking for strays. As the pair ventured closer, the silhouette of battle rifles carried across the saddle horns completely ruined the earlier, picturesque image.

The Texan traced their route, the older tracks hed been following a clear indication of their intended course. A short distance away, he identified the perfect hiding spot, a rock formation that would allow the armed men to pa.s.s directly beneath him.

After a quick, scrambling climb, he was waiting. The gentle hoof falls in the soft, sandy soil confirmed hed conjectured correctly, watching the armed men pa.s.s not more than 15 feet away.

"Evening," he said, startling both men.

The one in front started to turn, his rifle coming up. "I wouldnt," Bishop barked, his tone deep and stern. "I got the drop on ya, fair and square. I just want to talk."

The rifle returned to rest across the saddle horn, both men craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the man who was behind the voice from up in the rocks.

What they saw must have seemed odd to the cowboys. Bishop was above them, his load vest bristling with pouches and magazines, thick body armor and kit swelling the Texans outline. While the steady muzzle of the M4 rifle communicated the seriousness of their situation, it was the cold, unblinking stare of the strangers eyes that sent fear racing through the riders veins.

"Why did you ambush my wife and me?" Bishop asked. "Why did you shoot up my truck?"

"We never shot up no truck, mister. Swear it. We thought we heard some gunfire earlier today, but it wasnt us," replied the older of the two.

Something in the mans voice led Bishop to believe the words, but there wasnt any way to be sure. "Okay, say I buy that story for a minute. What brings you two fine gentlemen out this way, complete with AR15 rifles and binoculars?"

"We ride for the Salineros," replied the younger man, quickly recovering from the shock of Bishops appearance. "We work for Mr. Culpepper, and youre on Culpepper land."

"Salineros?" Bishop questioned, trying to recall his seldom used, barely pa.s.sable Spanish. "Salt men?"

Bishop observed the forearm muscles ripple across the young riders arm, his grip on his rifle tightening. "I wouldnt, son. Ive got a four-pound trigger on this blaster, and my finger is already at three and a half. Youll never make it."

The senior of the two reached across, putting downward pressure on his partners arm. "Dont," he whispered. His gaze then directed at Bishop. "Mister, Ill say it again; we never shot up no truck. The last fighting our outfit did was two days ago. Im guessing it was the Tejanos that bushwhacked you."

"The Tejanos?"

"Thats what they call themselves. Theyre mostly Mexicans from a small village right across the river. Theyve ginned up some of the outlying ranchers and farmers, got them to join their side as well. Theres been trouble in these parts for the last four months... kind of a range war, if you will."

Bishop was puzzled. What was there to fight over? The area was remote, with slight population and even less resources. Further south of here, the Rio Grande valley wasnt tillable like so much of the rivers sh.o.r.eline. Vertical canyons and sandstone rock formations were landscaping mainstays of the border area, a heaven for climbers and campers, but not of much value for agricultural pursuits. Still, why hadnt the Alliance been aware of this ongoing conflict?

"Can you explain why these Tejanos would open fire on an innocent pa.s.serby?" Bishop asked.

The two riders peered at each other, obviously vacillating about how to answer the question. "Look fellas, Im not having a good day," Bishop began. "Somebody shot up my new pickup, d.a.m.ned near killed my wife and baby son, and left us to perish out here in G.o.d knows where without water or food. Those horses youre riding look like my ticket out of this s.h.i.thole, so start talking before I decide to knock both of your a.s.ses out of those saddles and canter back home."

Sighing, the older man nodded. "Mr. Culpepper has been hiring men to sh.o.r.e up our side. The Tejanos obviously dont like that much. Could be they thought you were new employees heading to the ranch and decided to waylay ya."

"I see," Bishop responded. "And where might this hacienda be?"

Again, the two caballeros hesitated to answer, almost as if they were protecting some military secret. Bishop was growing tired of their games. "Do the Tejanos know where the Salineros spread is?"

"Look, stranger," the older cowpoke said. "Why dont we just give you and your family a ride to the ranch? You can talk to Mr. Culpepper and sort all this out. As long as youre not working for the Tejanos, theres no ill will on our part."

Bishop considered their offer, his first reaction a negative one. He had been chased by hot lead; his pickup had been turned into a hunk of bullet-peppered metal, and hed been forced to take a life. The thought of strolling into an armed camp, hostile or not, didnt sound like a winning proposition.

But, on the other hand, Terri and Hunter wouldnt last long out here in the desert. Even if his family did manage to hike out, it would be a dicey experience, riddled with agony, fear, and misery. He visualized Terri trekking out of the sandy inferno, ma.s.sive dehydration headache, blistered lips, and burned skin. I would never have s.e.x again, he rationalized.

Guilt, sp.a.w.ned by the awareness that his plan had landed his family in the middle of this mess, superceded his pessimistic outlook. "Okay, friend, we can do that. Keep riding south for another 200 yards and then cut over the ridge. Well pick up my wife and son there."

Terri was spooning small portions of what the military called mashed potatoes into Hunters eager mouth. "Here comes the airplane," she smiled, swooping the spoon through the air to keep his attention. Between bites, she scanned the ever darker desert beyond, wondering how much longer Bishop would be gone.

The single, small stone bouncing off a nearby ledge answered her question, but her relief was short-lived. Two men leading horses were approaching.

Much to Hunters surprise, the infant found himself being scooped up from his improvised high chair. Now he was the airplane. Setting her child on a makeshift bed comprised of Bishops spare shirt, Terri darted back to the entrance in a flash.

She had just centered the red dot on the lead man when Bishops profile came into view. Taking a deep breath to slow her racing heart, she lowered her weapon but still kept it handy.

"Terri," Bishop called, "Ive brought home some new friends for dinner."

"Are you going to skin and dress them before I saute them?" she asked, instantly regretting the smart-a.s.s remark.

Laughing, Bishop responded, "Very amusing. These men work for a local rancher by the name of Culpepper. Gentlemen, meet my better half, Terri."

Both men removed their hats. "Maam," the two responded in unison.

"Theyve volunteered to let Hunter and you ride one of their horses out of here. They claim the ranch isnt far away, and that wed be more comfortable there."

A thousand questions swirled around Terris brain, but she suppressed them, still embarra.s.sed over her verbal faux paus. "If you think it is safe, Hunter and I are all for it. Were already bored with the amenities at this rustic establishment."

Bishop signaled for the two cowboys to stop several feet from the entrance. "Be right back," he announced, moving past them to help Terri pack their meager belongings.

"Do you trust them?" Terri whispered as he walked by.

"Not for a second," the Texan replied, bending to refill his pack with the items Terri had scattered around the nook. "But its the lesser of two evils, I suppose."