Coaxing the horse forward he recalled days past when he wished he could be anywhere but where he was. He was in the Army then--in service to his Queen and country. Due to his military expertise and leadership skills he rose quickly to the rank of Leftenant. But it was his other talents that kept him where he was. He seemed to have found his calling among the able-bodied men of British Intelligence. He was an old hand at it by the time he found himself among Wellesley's troops as they marched their way through Salamanca, Spain. It was a victory for Wellesley but a wake up call for him. That was the day Robert Helm resigned his commission.
He caught a ship bound for England and stayed there only long enough to finish his medical school training--training that had been rudely interrupted by Napoleon. Upon graduation form St. George's, Helm could find nothing to keep him in his home country. Among his casualties of war had been his intended wife--Camilla had sided with her father in a rather heated argument regarding the demise of his military career. Family relations, while always strained, became almost unbearable. While his father wanted him to set up a practice in London, Helm wanted to see the world without the responsibility of waging war against it.
He had been wandering through Mexico and then Texas for about two years now. There was always a stop to be made somewhere. With the peasants rallying together in the hopes of an Independent Mexico, there were plenty of potential patients along the roads. He respected their fight but was neutral in his actions. He treated the injured regardless of their rank--or lack thereof. It was in just such a town in Southern Texas where he currently found himself. The last decent meal and lodging he'd had had been a couple of days ago in Pan Dulce. Since then he'd made do with the bread and cheese in his rucksack and a dusty horse blanket rolled up on the ground.
So it was with great relief that he neared the outskirts of what appeared to be a small town. A few sparse buildings--one of which he hoped was a cantina--lined both sides of a glorified dirt path. A fair-sized well stood in he center of town, and a modest church steeple peeked out from a stable of some sort. As he entered the little pueblo he was struck by how few people there were. A solitary figure here and there would make himself known but quickly scramble away. To his right an ancient oak street spread its great gnarled fingers across the square. A tattered rope hung ominously from one of the branches. Helm sensed fear in this town--he'd been among dying soldiers long enough to know what it felt like.
Thankfully there was a cantina and he quickly dismounted and secured his horse out front. His black medical bag in hand he made his way through the swinging wooden doors into the dimly lit establishment. Scanning the fairly large crowd he figured this is where most of the pueblo's inhabitants spent their time. It was cool inside and the liquor was flowing. He approached the long, battered-looking bar and set his bag down.
"Bienvenides a La Rosa, senor," a man behind the bar said. He was fairly short with dark hair slightly graying at the temples. "What can I get you?"
"Bourbon, straight," Helm told him as he doffed first his hat and then the long duster he wore. Propping a lean hip on the edge of a barstool he remarked, "You've got a nice crowd in here. It looks deserted outside."
The bartender laughed as he slid Helm's drink across the counter. "The people prefer to stick together. Safety in numbers, comprende?"
"Safety from what?" he asked as he sipped his drink.
"Banditos," he replied curtly. "Several gangs roam the outskirts of town. They don't mind visiting the cantina however."
"I see," Helm responded. Then he turned his back to the bar and observed the room.
There were about ten wobbly-looking tables, all occupied by at least five men. They were either drinking or playing cards or attempting to do both at the same time, which most likely made for some interesting hands. In the far corner of the room a small band of mariachi played. The rhythm was completely off. It was as though someone forgot to wind them up and they were slowly losing energy. He finally spotted the only women in the cantina. Three serving girls wound their ways amongst the tables and the wandering hands of the patrons.
One in particular caught his eye. She was petite but very well endowed. Glossy black hair cascaded over her shoulders and when she caught him looking, there was amusement in her deep brown eyes. Her long green skirt brushed the liquor-stained floor but the white blouse she wore barely concealed her from view. Holding his gaze, she bent over a table to retrieve a couple of reales and made sure he got a good look. He acknowledged her bold presentation with a nod and a smirk and then turned back to the bartender for a refill.
"I wouldn't touch that one, gringo," the bartender warned with a grin. "Felipa belongs to Jose. You know the banditos I told you about? Jose and his gang are the worst!"
"That's wise advice my friend," Helm replied as he saluted him with his shot glass. "I'll certainly take it into consideration."
"Mind that you do," the bartender muttered as he moved off to another customer.
Helm wasn't at all surprised when he felt the light touch on his shoulder. Turning around to face her he saw that Felipa was even more beautiful close up. Large eyes in a heart-shaped face and skin the color of cocoa. Full lips pursed in a pretty pout as she said, "Hola, senor. You've made me so happy today."
"Have I?" Helm asked, eyebrows raised. "And how did I accomplish that exactly?"
She smiled and said, "By just being here. It is not every day that one so handsome and strong visits out little cantina."
She languidly ran her hand along his shoulder and down his arm. He was undeniably attracted to her. It had been many long months since he'd last had any sort of female companionship and his body wasted no time in responding to it now. The rational part of his brain reminded him off the bartender's words.
"And Jose is not handsome and strong?" he asked with a smile.
A shadow of regret crossed her face briefly before she schooled her expression into another lusty grin. "Jose is not here."
A bark of laughter escaped him. How convenient.
"And besides," she continued as she inched closer to him, the heady smell of jasmine filling his nose, "I am no longer with Jose. He is a very bad man. What do I need with him, when I could have someone like you, no?"
No. That was exactly the word he should employ right about now. But when the body's natural urges conspire against you, there is little one can do. So he called on all of his military training and somewhere deep down found the strength and the wisdom to say, "I'm flattered senorita, but I can not."
She lifted her chin, apparently unwilling to give in to defeat and suggested, "Then how about just one dance, senor? Surely nothing bad can come of that?"
While he wasn't exactly sure of that last statement he did want to dance with her. It had been a long time since he'd held a beautiful woman in his arms. Besides, he hadn't gotten to where he was now by avoiding danger. Chuckling softly he nodded his head again. He then graced her with a courtly bow as she led him to the small open area between three tables that served as a dance floor.
She wasted no time in claiming him as she wrapped her arms around around his neck and pressed her body close to his. He placed his hands on her hips, his long fingers nearly encircling her tiny waist. He no longer heard the off-key notes of the band but listened instead to the rhythm her heart beat out against his chest. When she ran a finger down his jaw he smelled whiskey. As they moved together slowly across the scuffed wooden floor he could feel the heat of her gaze and doubted that she was going to be satisfied with just a dance.
Suddenly the music stopped and one of the mariachi players yelled, "Vamanos! Jose's on his way! Rapido!"
Helm looked toward the swinging doors to find a very disturbing picture indeed. The bandito known as Jose filled the archway. He was very big and he looked very angry. Behind him trailed four other men, who appeared equally menacing. Clad in dingy trousers and vaquero hats pulled low over their eyes they didn't appear to be on a social visit. In support of his theory, the majority of the cantina's patrons were becoming acquainted with the floor beneath their tables or simply hotfooting it out the back door.
Two coal black eyes set too close together scanned the barroom and quickly found their quarry.
"Felipa!" Jose shouted.
"Jose," the senorita replied defiantly as she tightened her hold on Helm's neck.
"What do you think you are doing with this gringo?" he demanded as he stalked toward them.
Helm reached up to pry Felipa's arms from around him and smiled placatingly.
"Senor, we were only dancing," he explained, thankful Jose hadn't witnessed Felipa's earlier displays. "No harm done, amigo."
Jose sneered, "I am not your amigo! Felipa, come away from there now!"
Felipa seemed to accept her fate and quickly backed away from them. All evidence of her former bravado had withered in the presence of her lover.
Jose then backed Helm against the bar and poked a meaty finger into his chest.
"You are in trouble plenty!" he informed him. "That's my woman you were dancing with!"
"Look, senor," Helm pacified. "There's really no reason to get violent about this. It was simply one dance. Let's be gentlemen about this, shall we?"
Jose laughed showing a few missing front teeth. He called over his shoulder to his compadres, "This gringo thinks I am a gentleman!"
This brought answering snickers from the other banditos. When Jose held his hand up for silence, Helm realized he might be in a spot of trouble. He wasn't sure if he could talk his way out of this one. But he was certainly going to try.
"Senor--"
He never got to finish the statement for at that moment a huge beefy fist found purchase on his face. The force of the blow spun him around to face the bartender.
"I warned you, senor," the man taunted.
A hand on Helm's shoulder swung him around to face the bandit again. This time he saw the punch coming and was able to block it, while his other fist connected with Jose's gut. Helm rubbed a hand over his burning cheek, gauging the other's reaction. He didn't have to wait long. Jose straightened up to his full height and charged him like a bull. Jose had him bent backwards over the bar by the time Helm found the strength to push him off and send them both tumbling to the floor. He leapt agilely to his feet and held out his hands.
"This is over," he panted, "we don't really need to continued this, do we?"
In answer Jose launched himself at Helm's legs flipping him over his back and onto the floor. Helm shook his head to clear the ringing sound and got to his feet again.
"Fine," he said tersely, accepting that Jose was not going to back down. "We fight then."
His anger at such a meaningless fight lent him energy enough to sucker punch Jose first in the jaw and then in the paunch. What resulted was a rain of blows from both men that must have looked like a blur of fists to the remaining patrons. At length Jose pushed himself away from Helm and seemed to relent. Helm breathed easier until he saw the pistol gleaming in Jose's hand.
"Now you die," the bandito spat.
Although he knew it probably wasn't the wisest thing to do, Helm rushed the man in an attempt to knock the gun from his hand. Jose wasn't giving up easily though and there ensued a brief struggle before the gun suddenly went off. The sound of the shot seemed to echo all around them.
Helm's first thought was that he was a dead man. Then he realized he didn't feel any pain. Perhaps he was just in shock. At that instant he saw the glazed expression in Jose's black eyes and looked between them to see the blood stain slowly spreading across the banditos' chest. Helm was suddenly conscious of the fact that Jose was leaning against him. Since he was a big man, that wasn't the easiest task.
Amidst gasps and hushed whispers Helm lowed the man to the floor.
"Jose!" Felipa cried as she knelt down beside him. She stroked his ashen face and then turned to Helm, brown eyes blazing. "How could you do this to my Jose?"
"You've got to be kidding!" Helm said in exasperation as he automatically reached up to retrieve his medical bag from the bar.
The only response from Felipa were soft murmurs of "Mi amorcito...oh dios, mi amorcito."
Even more disconcerting to Helm was the fact that he now had four pistols aimed at his head. Jose's banditos did not look happy. In fact they seemed quite anxious to even the score.
"I'm a doctor," Helm explained opening his medical bag. He knew he couldn't help this man, but it would give him a few moments to think about how he was going to get out of there alive.
"If he dies," said a bearded man whom Helm guessed to be the second in command, "you join him."
Trying to ignore that last statement, Helm pulled out his stethoscope and put in on. Moving the chest piece to the right of Jose's breastbone, he desperately searched for what he knew wouldn't be there. Removing the instrument he shook his head. "I'm sorry."
As Felipa dissolved into broken sobs, the four remaining banditos once more trained their pistols on Helm. Hazel eyes widening he said, "You can't be serious. This was self defense plain and simple. He attacked me!"
"Save your excuses for El Diablo!" the new leader sneered. Then he motioned to his friends who grabbed Helm and dragged him from his position near Jose's corpse. "Take him outside!"
"Wait! You can't do this...this is cold blooded murder!" Helm yelled as they forcefully removed him from the cantina.
"That is something we know well," the other snorted. "Al arbol!"
The group made it's way through the square as Helm struggled to get free of the bandits' grip. Helm balked when they approached the huge tree he'd seen when he first came into town. He watched the rope swinging in the breeze and his thoughts turned toward the absurd. 'I can't believe it. I survived spying for the British Army only to be hung in some backwater town! And all because of an overactive libido!'
The leader grabbed the rope and looped it around his neck while the others held him still. This was it. He was going to die. He always thought it would happen on the battlefield. A bullet in the head from an enemy squadron. A misstep onto a grenade. His throat slit by the opposing side when they discovered his double identity. Horrible yes, but at least some semblance of dignity. Not this. Dying in the middle of nowhere because of some imagined slight.
Suddenly gunfire grazed the ground just where they were standing. Surprised, Helm cut his eyes in the direction the shot had come. Not fifteen feet away was a decorated band of soldiers proudly bearing the Spanish flag. He quickly counted eight of them including a man of almost regal bearing who sat astride a handsome stallion. Clad in crisp reds and blues, he was obviously the commander of this group.
"What sort of vigilante justice do we have here?" he asked calmly, his neatly trimmed beard and mustache giving him a quiet air of superiority.
"This man killed one of our friends," one of the bandits called out. "He must pay!"
Helm watched the military man carefully. Perhaps this newcomer could serve as a diversion. Then again, how far would he get before he was shot in the back? He took a deep breath and held his ground.
"Is that true?" he asked Helm.
"It was self defense," Helm ground out between his teeth. "Their *friend* attacked me. He would have shot me."
The commander seemed to consider this as a practiced eye scanned the ruddy faces of the men before him. Helm couldn't tell whether he was weighing the odds or just delaying the inevitable. Obviously he had more men at hand that the bandits did. Would he speak on behalf of a stranger or leave him to his fate, unjust though it might be.
"You will release him," he said, as if he'd finally made up his mind.
"You have no right to tell us what to do in our own town!" one of the bandits shouted. "We will deal with him how we like!"
Without waiting for word from their commander, the Spanish soldiers all cocked their rifles and aimed them at the group under the tree.
"This town is obviously in great need of justice," the commander explained matter-of-factly. "And not the kind of justice dealt out by bandits and thieves. As an officer and a gentleman it is my duty to put this right. Now either let him go or my men will shoot you where you stand."
For a few harrowing moments no one moved. The bandits looked to be speculating on how serious the military leader was. No doubt they were also realizing that the probability of four men defeating eight wasn't very high. Finally the leader came forward and Helm heaved a sigh of relief as the noose was roughly pulled over his head. He was then shoved to the ground as the banditos backed away, cursing under their breaths.
His bones felt like jelly as he lay in the dust. He was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to settle down--get married, have a house full of children. This wanderlust of his was going to be the death of him. Yes, definitely time to put down roots somewhere.
"Are you alright senor?"
The sound brought Helm out of his reverie and he looked to see the military officer standing a few feet away from him.
Managing to push himself off the ground he replied, "Yes, thanks to you..."
"Colonel Luis Ramirez Montoya," the man replied proffering a black gloved hand.
"Dr. Robert Helm," he returned the greeting with a grateful smile.
"Doctor?" Montoya questioned.
"Yes, I was just traveling through and I...found myself in a slight misunderstanding," Helm explained ruefully.
"Did it involve a woman?" Montoya chuckled. "I find that most misunderstandings do."
"Actually it did. I never knew how dangerous one dance with another man's woman could be," he muttered as he unconsciously rubbed his neck. "I owe you a debt of gratitude."
"Oh I'm afraid I'm going to require more than simple gratitude, doctor," Montoya informed him.
Helm looked at him strangely. What was he talking about? Might he try to press him into military service again? Well that was out of the question. He had sworn an oath to saves lives, not take them. He intended to make good on his promise.
"I myself am just traveling through," Montoya went on. "I am military commander of a pueblo in Alta California. It just so happens that I am need of a physician, and I'm guessing that you, my friend, are in need of a job. Not to mention a bath."
Relieved, Helm saw the mirth in the other man's eyes and let the intended insult slide. "Alta California is a long way from Texas, Colonel."
"Where else do you have to go? Perhaps you might even find a respectable senorita in Santa Helena. Someone who won't get you strung up," he smiled. "One year doctor. A steady job and a roof over your head. Not to mention the respect that comes with being the town doctor. If you don't find our little pueblo the paradise I think it is, you are free to go."
On the surface it sounded like an agreeable arrangement. He couldn't deny he was longing for stability a little more every day. Especially after today. By taking such a position he would have a viable income and a place to hang his hat. Not to mention, he thought wryly, the little practice his father had wanted him to have in the first place. But he was also certain that this man that stood before was not just an ordinary man. He got the impression that the Colonel usually got what he wanted. Still, it was a tempting offer. And if he didn't like it, he could always leave after his year was up. Why not?
"I accept your proposal Colonel," Helm said reaching out to shake the other's hand.
"A wise decision, I assure you," Montoya replied. "Now if you will excuse me, I have some other business to attend to. I will put all the paperwork through when I get back to Santa Elena. I'll also allow you time to wrap up any loose ends you might have. When you reach El Camino Real on the California border there will be an escort waiting for you. If I am not yet back, my very capable Captain of the Guard will make you quite comfortable until my return."
Helm nodded and said, "I'm looking forward to it Colonel."
"As am I, doctor," he assured him. "As am I."
Helm watched as Montoya mounted up and motioned his soldiers forward. As the group rode out of town, Helm exhaled deeply and slowly made his way back to the cantina. He wondered if anyone had tended to Jose's body. Hopefully Felipa wouldn't be there to scratch his eyes out in revenge. Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the pent up tension there, he absently wondered what awaited him in Santa Elena. One thing was for sure--it wouldn't be as exciting as things in this delightful little town. And right now, that sounded just fine to him.
