The Good the Bad and the Ugly

“Hold on a minute, Tuco,” the hunter said dubiously. “Don’t you think we’d be smarter to wait until night fall and cross the bridge in the dark? After all, a bridge is a pretty exposed spot. Anyone on the ridge could see us and pick us off with a rifle if he had a mind to. And what about our horses?”

“Ah, Whitey, you worry too much all the time.” Tuco flung out his hand in a sweeping gesture. “Who is there to see us, eh? Look at all this great big empty country. Leave everything to me. Tuco knows what he is doing. He is getting us to that two hundred thousand gold dollars before that pig of a Sentenza can get there. Don’t forget, Whitey, he knows where the cemetery is and he has not given up hope by any means.”

“Maybe you’re right,” the hunter said.

He rose reluctantly and followed the bandit down the ridge slope to the riverbank. Tuco’s memory proved accurate—the river almost immediately began a aweeping curve eastward. Here its banks were higher, covered with lush grass and dotted with stands of timber.

“Eh, Whitey, how calm it is here. How peaceful. Maybe with my share of the two hundred thousand dollars I will settle down here where no one will ever bother me. Just Tuco and a few choice women, eh?”

Behind them a harsh voice said, “All right, you two. Turn around. Slow. Then stand where you are.”

The hunter and Tuco turned. A squad of Union cavalry troopers sat their mounts at the edge of a small woods, covering them with carbines. A sergeant gestured with his pistol.

“Drop your gunbelts and step away from them. Then keep going as you were. We’ll ride along. You can explain to the captain why you were prowling around here on foot. We’ve got your horses.”

The hunter gave his companion a look of sour disgust.

“Look at all this great big empty country,” he mimicked. “Then look at this great big empty head that’s dumb enough to go along with your stupid ideas.”

He started to walk. Tuco ambled silently beside him. The mounted troopers followed.

They emerged from a stretch of open woods and stopped short. The bridge Tuco had remembered was there—just beyond the bend—but nothing on his map had indicated that now it was guarded by Union pickets.

Above the bridge the whole slope of the ridge was criss-crossed with a network of entrenchments, fortifications and artillery emplacements. The muzzles of giant mortars loomed like tree stumps along the crest of the ridge. Troops in Union blue were everywhere.

Directly across the river an almost identical strong-hold was occupied by an army of grey-clad soldiers. From a tall flagpole floated the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy above the Lone Star flag of Texas.

“Ah,” the hunter said softly. “How calm it is here. How peaceful. I’m almost tempted to settle down here with you, Tuco, where no one will ever bother us.”

The sergeant and two of his men dismounted The hunter and Tuco were herded along a narrow stretch and to a closed shelter, its timbered roof shielded and fireproofed with earth and sod. A guard with a rifle jumped up from a bench near the door.

The sergeant holstered his pistol.

“Tell the commanding officer we found these two wandering around on foot just upriver. Their mounts were concealed nearby.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard vanished inside. He returned in a moment, a dubious expression on his face.

“Captain’s drunk again—but I guess it’s all right to go on in.”

He and the sergeant exchanged veiled glances. Tuco and the hunter were prodded into the shelter. An officer sat at a table littered with maps and official forms. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned and his dark hair was mussed. He peered drunkenly, then jerked his head.

“Clear out, sergeant. I’ll take over.” When the sergeant had gone he squinted at his visitors. “Where are you from?”

The bounty-hunter gestured.

“That would take a long time to tell.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Tuco said, “I travel with him.”

“What were you doing wondering on foot near a military installation? Spying for the R bs?”

“Oh, no, General,” Tuco said hastily. “We came to sign up as soldiers.”

He ignored his companion’s withering glare.

“So you want to be soldiers. Well, your first duty can be to learn the differences in rank. I’m a captain, not a general—Captain Clinton, in command of this oversized burial detail.” The captain pronounced each word with exaggerated care and his voice was faintly slurred. “Sit down, gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable. The only ceremonies we stand on here are funeral ceremonies. You’d better start perhaps, by making out your wills—today could be your turn.” He blinked at them owlishly. “You should go far in this man’s tinny, spies or not. You ought to make colonel at the very least.”

Tuco beamed. “You think so, Captain?”