Rebel Camp – Arrival

☼

The conversation was sparse before finding the grave. Afterwards, it was non-existent. Each man struggled to process the horror of the discovery.

      Miguel’s head was spinning. He desperately tried to recall the last time he encountered individual friends, now wondering if their absence was self-imposed or whether they, too, were laying in the shallow grave back there or somewhere similar. The smell of the grave permeated his brain; it would stay with him forever.

      The sun’s heat was overpowering when the riders took shelter under the shadow of a rock ledge. The going was much slower in the lower reaches of the mountain range. The animals moved carefully over the loose, uneven surface. “We should be there soon.” It was more of a statement than any attempt at conversation. Emilio had maintained his sullen silence throughout the whole trip. “You go on ahead, and I will join you soon. I will ensure we leave no signs of our presence behind.” With that, he turned his horse around and was gone.

      Under other circumstances, Miguel would have enjoyed spending time in this valley. The colours were spectacular, from every shade of burnt sienna to flashes of gold. Tiny flecks of iron pyrite, fools-gold, glistened everywhere. Looking along the jagged wall of the rock face, a person could trace the earth’s history through the many layers laid down over aeons.     

      As they climbed the final ridge two hours later, the men realised Emilios’ ‘soon’ had been a somewhat hasty assumption. There was no sign of him returning as yet. Miguel looked out over the countryside in every direction; the scenery was almost identical. It would be nearly impossible to find a specific location if unfamiliar with the area, and easy to get lost. Somehow, Miguel found that comforting, confident their whereabouts would be hard to track. The tension slowly eased from his body for the first time in weeks.

      Miguel was light-headed; he desperately needed to rest; he hoped it wouldn’t be much further. Several men appeared as if from nowhere, pointing their rifles menacingly at the three riders. Miguel and his companions raised their arms in surrender. Speaking for the trio, he recounted their acquaintance with Vincente and the others in La Cumbrecita and why they were there. Emilio’s voice broke the silence,

      “This gringo and the other two dogs are with me.” There was some delight in his words. The shouting and laughter amongst the riders was bawdy. They lowered their rifles, warmly greeting Emilio. It was apparent he was held in high esteem. The rebel group indicated Miguel and his companions should ride in front of the group.

      Beyond the ridge, another world existed. A plateau lush with grass stretched before Miguel’s disbelieving eyes. Toward the far perimeter, a large encampment nestled along the tree line. They would learn later of the permanent water supply nearby, fed by a mountain spring, a handy quirk of nature.

      What surprised Miguel was the number of men he could see, perhaps as many as fifty or sixty. Unexpectedly there were also women. The horsemen slowly trotted to the centre of the camp, attracting everyone’s attention. The rebels came together in small groups, eyeing the strangers suspiciously, full of curiosity. Miguel heard someone say ‘gringo’. The derogatory name always made him cringe. He never thought of himself as anything other than a native of Argentina. He understood his fair hair bleached further by the sun, and his blue eyes set him apart. He would have to prove himself. Now was not the time to take offence.

      As they approached the far side of the large encampment, a middle-aged man with white hair raised himself from where he was sitting, standing erect as they dismounted from their horses. At the front of the trio, Emilio introduced Miguel, Jamie and Mateo, recounting how Vincente believed they could assist the rebels in their cause, sending him to guide them to the camp. Emilio then introduced Pedro, the apparent leader of the base; only he had the authority to approve their joining the rebel group.

      Miguel studied the man before him, surprised to see he could be no more than forty-five. His lean brown body spoke of many things. Lithe and fit, his eyes flicked over Miguel, summing him up instantly. Extending his hand, Miguel felt strong fingers clasp his. When he spoke, his voice was firm; those around stood to attention as Pedro welcomed Miguel and the others.

      “I am sorry your entry here was under difficult circumstances, Senor, but we do not have a choice; the camp’s security is paramount. I hope you understand. We welcome anyone sympathetic to our cause.”

​