Cuba libre by Elmore Leonard

Author:Elmore Leonard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Adventure stories, Historical, Cuba, Americans - Cuba, Fiction, Literary, Illegal arms transfers, 1895-1898, Americans, Historical fiction, Men's Adventure, Thrillers, Suspense, 1898, General, Spanish-American War, Cuba - History - Revolution
ISBN: 9780060084042
Publisher: New York : Delacorte Press, 1998.
Published: 2002-07-10T23:00:00+00:00

What was it the old bandit wanted that Tavalera also wanted?

This morning Osma had waited for Tavalera to leave his sister’s house. As soon as he was gone, Osma went in again and asked his sister what this was about. What was on the train? She said she didn’t know. He hit her in the stomach with his fist, but she still didn’t know.

Tavalera had said follow the railroad tracks to look for this ambush. The easy part. When he came to the cannon firing on the Guanabana blockhouse, Osma couldn’t see a good reason for it, so he believed it was only to draw the Spanish if they were near. He asked himself, Where would you stop a train around here? At a bridge, of course, the one near Benavides. Islero with his dynamite would think of that. Blow it up. Unless he was paid by the railroad not to destroy its bridges. If that was the case he would think of a good place not far from the bridge. Right here, where Osma had been waiting. And the ones out there—they must be Islero’s men, his macheteros.

He had to think now of what else Tavalera had said.

Look for an American, a cowboy?

That’s what he said, a cowboy. And perhaps a woman . . .

But now horses were coming out of the stock car, six of them, with saddles but no riders: horses jumping out of the train, smart ones, uh, not wanting to be shot. Now a rider, already mounted, came out of the car. A woman. And now another horse. And another one with a rider who could be a cowboy. That was what he looked

ELMORE LEONARD

like. Osma had seen pictures of American cowboys. Now he listened to Tavalera’s words again in his mind. Look for a cowboy, an American, and perhaps a woman and there she was, a blue scarf covering her hair. They were on this side of the train and he could see them clearly through the binoculars, trailing a horse as they rode past the coaches, the cowboy so close to the train he could touch it; stopping now. What was he doing? Receiving something through the window, a bundle?

Look for something, Tavalera said, in a hammock, and that could be a hammock, white canvas rolled up. It was, it was a hammock tied up with rope, the cowboy carrying it across his pommel. Now a figure in white appeared, coming out the door of the coach, hurrying to mount the horse the woman held for him.

And Osma remembered Tavalera saying, “And perhaps Victor Fuentes,” Tavalera knowing more than he realized. If this one was Fuentes.

The three were coming away from the train now in this direction, giving Osma the opportunity to see their faces and the one in the white suit, yes, was Victor Fuentes, the old patriot. Tavalera must have remembered from some other time that Osma knew him and would recognize him if he was here. Years ago between wars

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