A Horse Called El Dorado by Kevin Kiely Read Free Book Online Page B

hour of the night, and would end up on the mud siding where trees sloped outwards. ‘There is no automatic steering on this ship,’ he bellowed, meaning of course the old bus.
    The bandit pushed his gun into a side pocket and putboth hands to the wheel in between the driver’s outstretched hands. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, the driver had a pistol and he stuck it into the bandit’s neck. He took the bandit’s gun and held him hostage. It had happened so fast that everyone was amazed, including the other armed bandit who had begun his rounds, asking passengers for their valuables as if he were checking their tickets.
    ‘Eh, pig,’ the driver called to the other bandit, ‘drop your gun or I will take him out of the equation.’ The second bandit stood still, looking very foolish, not knowing what to do.
    ‘Pig, I am serious,’ the driver went on. ‘I will make bacon of him. Drop it.’
    There was a tense silence. None of the passengers moved. I watched while Mama joined her hands tightly as if she were praying. The driver asked again, and getting no reply from the armed bandit, held onto the hostage and fired one shot, putting a bullet into his leg. The man who was shot crumpled onto the floor, screaming and cursing. Blood flowed out of his wound, and Mama moved over, pushing me against the window so hard that one of my elbows began to ache.
    ‘See, pig, I tell you no lie. I want your gun or I shoot him in the other leg, then the belly and finally the head. I have his gun. Are you blind, deaf and stupid? Don’t you understand, pig?’ The driver had got very brave. His face was less pale since he had fired the shot.
    ‘Take it easy,’ shouted the bandit. ‘Come and take my gun.’
    ‘Put it on the floor,’ ordered the driver. ‘One of the men will take it. Who knows about weapons?’
    A man put his hand up and took control of the gun. The driver kicked the wounded bandit down the steps in front of the door, hitting his head hard off one of the railings as he fell. Then the driver walked along the bus and poked the other bandit in the chest with the gun, while the armed passenger, looking very calm, held the other gun with the barrel pointing at the bandit’s head.
    ‘Not such a smart piggy, are you?’ The driver teased the bandit, leading him along the aisle and pushing him down on top of his comrade.
    The next part is terrible. I do not want to remember it. I was glad at what happened to the bandits, but I can still hear their cries for mercy and their threats to get even with the driver. The passengers rushed to one side of the bus to watch as he pushed them out onto the roadside. Then the driver shot the second bandit, giving him a leg wound also. There was a lot of cheering and clapping from everyone. Someone brought the driver a water flask and someone else a slice of tortilla , or potato omelette. He started up the bus and we drove away.

Chapter 12
    We drove through Cartagena del Chiara, and onwards for half the night. Nothing else bad happened. In the town of Florencia we were let down at the bus station. Getting off, I made a gun with my hand and pointed at the driver, who grabbed my finger and grinned. Mama thanked him, as did the other passengers, but he said, ‘ De nada ,’ which means, ‘It was nothing.’ He said he was glad to be of service.
    We slept in the bus station and next morning, after washing in the public toilet cubicles, boarded a long Chevrolet bus. It was a ‘ directo ’, a big bus with a printed sign saying ‘CALI’ above the front windscreen. The first part of our journey was very steep, up into the Andes, but at least there were no bandits or guerrillas. The passengers were clean, well-dressed people. Mama and I felt like beggars among them in our tattered clothes. We sat on the long seat at the back of the bus on our own.
    After a few hours I got used to the mountain scenery, though I have to admit that the uphill driving, with all the gear changing and tight