In the early 1900's banditos, and mexican guerrilas pilaged and looted north Mexico and south Texas. As civil war and revolution crippled Mexican police and armed forces, carnage spilled over Texas' borders. In response to horrific news of rape and pilage, even verified stories of the murder of children in front of thier raped mother, Texas lawmakers approved the addition of hundreds of new Texas Rangers to defend Texas citizens and its borders. However rushing to secure the proper forces there were practicly no precautions taken as to who was commisioned and many vigilantes, whos families had been murdered and thier homes burned, were given a badge and licence to kill. Outlaws and various depraved individuals also sought refuge for thier debauchery behind a Ranger badge. After the Massacre of Porvenir in which outraged Rangers slaughtered dozens of men from 16-72 years of age the same Texas Legislature back pedaled, purging the rangers, ruining the good names of men who did not commit any atrocities, leaving only 60 Rangers spread among 4 companies. The Rangers reputation was still damaged, as many citizens remembered the wholesale slaughter by groups of Rangers acting as vigilantes and many suspected a conspiracy when the Rangers killed outlaw folk heroes Bonnie and Clyde. By the time of the Great Depression only 45 Rangers remianed and Texas once again became a haven for booze, drug and gun runners making Texas one of the most profitable regions for criminal activities, something many people resorted to because of the ecomonic depression. Crime paid. One man made it pay very well.
Dirt and sand. Everywhere. Standing in it was Bertrum Diggs. Bert didnt like the sand and dirt, it was bad for his guns that rested on his hips. Diggs stood in it anyway, waiting on his arrival. A thick wad of tobacco landed 6 inches from Bertrums left boot, projected from the craw of his associate Jorge. Bertrum Diggs hated tobacco juice too. Fucking disgusting habit. Good help was hard to find though as they say and Jorge was good help indeed. Like Diggs he had nothing to live for, and that made him good in a fight.
Diggs tried to focus on the task at hand, never let your gaurd down he told himself scanning the horizon waiting for the late arrival of his shipment. Guns. Lots of guns. That meant lots of money for Bertrum and Jorge. He glanced over at the chest sitting next to his horse. Once Bertrum Diggs had fought the kind of men bringing him guns for the money in the chest, Bertrum Diggs had once had something to live for too.
"They are late... I dont like it. They could have been stopped by Rangers who forced them to set up an ambush" Jorge spit another clod of chaw between his disaproval and speculation.
Diggs gave a small smile at the paranoia of his "friend" and blinked dust from his eyes "No. They werent stopped by Rangers." The confidence in Diggs voice made Jorge glance over at him quickly then back down the road, waiting for the moment to come.
Still standing in the sun and swirling dust Diggs sized up the truck coming down the gravel road. Two men in the cab. Just like always, except this wasnt like always. This was a new truck, a bigger truck. Without thinking he released the safety on his ACP .45's. He knew this sort of coterie too well. They werent smart enough to take profits to buy better and more reliable trucks. They spent all thier money on hookers and booze until it was gone and made another run. They did this until they were caught and thrown in prison to rot or got dead because they werent like Jorge and Bert. They were not professionals. However they shared one thing, they also had nothing to live for which made them dangerous also.
The truck came to a stop 15 feet from Bert and Jorge, coughing up a cloud of the hated dirt and dust. Miguel and Poquito stepped out of the truck. Miguel was a discheveled mess of sweaty mass. Bert had never seen him look pleaseant enough to present to a 5 dollar whore. Poquito though was a wiry little fellow. always wearing his american style derby hat and always with a Thompson M1928 swung behind his shoulder, a black spot on the butt where he always nervously ran his trigger finger over it, ensuring that his killing tool was accesable.
"Hola" said the fat one.
"Bueno... you are late" Jorge said, not hiding his inconvience. Poke', as Bert liked to call him, gave some excuse about waiting for thier man in the border patrol but Diggs wasnt listening. He was noticing a new nervous gesture the bandito was making. He was biting his lip and looking down, almost like he was try to look behind him, listening for something. He could smell Miguel from there, down wind from him. Tequila and cigarettes. Diggs had bought guns from the pair a dozen times, they had a good business relationship because for worthless criminals, the banditos were easy to work with: Not very sloppy and fairly puntcual, they had never failed to deliver the goods negotiated for. This time though Miguel was sloshed drunk and Poke' was paranoid. That meant one thing. They were gonna crawfish Bert and Diggs.
"I brought you lots of good guns Diggs" Poke said in his thick accent. It was more like Deegs when he said it. "You'll be very happy. Come see" Poquito had never cared much about Diggs positive emotional status before. Bert waited till he could shoot Jorge a glance, Jorge looked back at him with cold eyes. He knew too.
Jorge was a Texican. Born in Texas by parent from Mexico. They had been a wealthy family, emprasarios from Chiajuana. That all changed in the Mexican revolution though. Running from guerillas who sought to loot them of thier wealth they came to Texas. Jorge was a good 15 years younger than Diggs but he had seen enough for an entire lifetime. Diggs had seen him kill 5 men in a knife fight and sit back down at the bar, his hands bloody and still as the death they brought as he shot hot bootleg whiskey. Diggs knew he was a dangerous man, how much more dangerous, they would soon find out.
Looking at the truck he figured it would hold between 8 and a dozen men. How many were in there depended on how many men the banditos could round up and how many they wanted to split the loot with. Knowing the two of them he guessed closer to 8. It would be at least that if Poquito and Miguel had made the effort to arrange for a larger truck, if this was an ambush that would be the only reason for the truck, plenty of back up.
"Nice truck Poke'" he said to Poquito but really more for the benifit of Jorge. "I didnt think you could supply that many irons when you said it but looks like you did." Diggs had actually had no doubt the two could come up with the guns, there were a lot of guns in Mexico if there was anything.
"Si, Diggs, you will have all the guns you will need!" Miguel spouted, slurring his already bad english. Poquito gave him an irrated look. Poquito had told the drunk fuck-up to keep his mouth shut, Diggs thought to himself as he sized up the situation with every step closer to the truck, Jorge next to him waiting for his move.
Diggs looked at the back of the truck gauging how much lower the back was than the cab. Considerably lower, almost to its max. That wasnt good. That was really bad. That meant Diggs was wrong, Poke and Miggy werent as greedy as he figured them for, maybe there were more than twelve banditos crammed in the sweat box.
The adreline was flowing now, every sense was in full effect. Miguels overwhelimg human stench of bad tequila and slimey sweat juice made Berts stomach turn as the Texas gust carried it along. The wind made the canvas over the truck bed whip around the shell it was tethered to. Bertrum watched as Poquito's eyes darted nervously back and forth hoping thier amigos cover was not comprised.
Diggs had already decided on a plan, he wasnt going to give the bushwackers their chance to spring the attack. He didnt have a chance to grab the shotgun out of his saddle bag, and only had his two .45's. Jorge was packing his Browning Automatic Rifle and the custom revolver his father had owned. Bert had never seen Jorge use the old revolver but he had witness the havoc he brought with that BAR. Suddenly Poquitos Thompson was very apealing.
As they walked around the back of the truck Miguel looked at Poquito who gave a barely discernable nod.
"You will love this Diggs, I got something special for you" Poquito said pleseantly enough. Its hard to sound kind toward someone you planned to kill. Diggs gave him credit for that. it would be the last in Poquito's miserable life.
"Yeah? Because I have something for you two" Diggs replied as he moved in one smooth motion, gliding to the left and behind Poke' he pulled the bayonette from its sheath on his thigh. He needed to get close enought to get that damn machine gun from the bandito. Poke' tried to swing his Tommy Gun around but thats the problem with a machine gun; the heavy peice of machinerie's momentum was too strong keeping Poquito from getting a handle on the pistol grip, giving him a chance to defend himself before Diggs black bladed bayonette quitley slid between his vertable at the back of his neck. Diggs caught the Thompson in the second before Poquito lost control of his paralyzed legs as Bertrum pulled the knife back out of his spine dropping it and using his forearm to pull Poquito to him, gripping him tightly in a head lock.
He heard a surprised squeel from Miguel as Jorge followed his lead, not as sublte though instead choosing to swing his Browning around, putting the muzzle against Miguels ear and squeezed 3 automatic .30 caliber rounds off. Pieces of Miguels other side of his face splattered a group of cactus giving them a very foreboding look as if they had killed many men, what remained of Miguel fell on his side the blood and brains soaking the dry earth.
Jorge swiveled around right as Diggs quickly check the saftey, drawing the Thompson to his shoulder almost resting the barrel on the deadmans shoulders, the truck shook as several alarmed voices could be heard inside. He heard a clip slip into a machine gun the split second before they both opened fire almost simultaneously. The Thompson had the big 50 round clip on it, thanks Poke' , Bert thought as he unloaded on the truck holding his associate who "had something for him" against his chest as a shield. The responding gunshots came from in the truck right about the same moment as Jorge finished his first clip, ejecting it and slamming another one in then diving and rolling to the left, flanking the truck.
Bertrum fired the Thompson empty then threw it and Poke down who had been a good enough fellow to take a couple of stray bullets for Diggs. Pulling the two Colts at his sides he strafed to his right covering the other side of the truck firing a couple of shots for cover but saving ammo for the remander of the ambushers when they emerged. He heard the succsesive rounds spitting from Jorge's BAR, taking that fact as a good sign he was still alive. He reached the corner of the broke down abandoned house they rendezvoused at slipping behind it with his pistols raised pointing at the sky as he peered around the building...
He waited.
He heard some groaning from inside the truck bed but that was all. Snaking around the building back the direction of the truck, scanning both his flanks he approached the truck.
Raising his voice he yelled out, "Jorge!".
"I'm comming out!" he replied coming from the side around the front of the truck, they glanced at one another, surprised niether seemed wounded but not surprised at the same time.
"You want to check it out?" He asked Diggs still breathing calmly waiting for anything to move.
"Sure..." Bertrum moved to the back of the truck keeping his shoulders squared and both ACP's pointed at the back cover of the vehicle.
"Sing out if your alive, we kill anything that dont" The groaning had ceased now and Diggs had a suspicion that some one was waiting for a good shot at him when he opened the canvas. He nodded at Jorge who repeated the command in spanish. The only noise was a mocking bird squaking at them for disturbing him with the gunfire.
"Pull it open and I'll look inside." He whispered to Jorge. Slipping up to the end of the truck Jorge nodded twice then on the third pulled the canvas back. Bert had already closed his eyes to barely a slit to protect them from the cloud of dust, hesitating long enough to let any potential ambushers show themselves, trying to get thier shot off before he spun around the side looking in the back of the truck.
Two banditos were slumped up against the back of the bed, rifles in thier hands obivously positioned to shoot thier unknowing victims while two more were on each side, all dead. He didnt relax just yet, out of habit, but motioned for Jorge to join him. They both gazed in the truck, realizing the same thing at the same time.
The bulletts had torn apart some of the boxes the bushwackers were sitting on. The boxes were the reason for the obvious sign of weight, revealing large and dusty but obviously gold coins. Another box had bars of silver. There were about 30 large boxes in all.
"What the hell is this?" Jorge said reaching into the front box that had taken the brunt of the onslought, pulling out a gold coin.
"Spain? This is a spanish dubloon of some kind? What were these pinches doing with all this gold and silver?" Jorge couldnt keep the surprise from his voice. Diggs was already looking at something else though. A symbol he had seen before.
"This is the seal of José María Morelos, a Mexican revolutionary. He was executed by the Spanish in the early 1800's. He was one of the most succesful revolutionaries" Jorge stared back at him blankly. "Yeah, the state of Morelos is named after him." the blank look continued. "Whatever, he pilaged dozens of Mexican cities, he must of come across this loot then"
"So what are these two doing with all this and if they had struck it rich why try to back stab us for just 10 grand? This has to be hundreds of thousand dollars worth of silver and gold!" Diggs had never heard Jorge use that tone of voice. It had a hint of greed in it.
"I dont know but lets move this fuckin truck and our two friends and figure out whats next. I dont figure Miggy and Poke' would have come across these riches with a plan they devised them selves. Which means someone a lot smarter and more dangerous is waiting for this gold and our corpses. I would rather not find out."
After moving the truck and tossing the bodies inside for now, Bertrum Diggs sat crouched down amongst dirt he hated so much looking at the burnt orange sunset. He had once been an honorable man and a good lawman, a Ranger. The evil of man had destroyed everything he ever cared for. Greed and torn his country from prosperity and now he too was an outlaw. A gunslinger. A killer. And now very rich indeed. He thought, now he knew what his life was worth: a mysterious truck full of spanish gold a hundred years old.