Deadfall (25 page)

“Will ya take a look at that,” said Feather.

Sergeant Stone went on.

“Both the Borchardt C93 and the M1895 Colt-Browning machine gun use smokeless powder,” said the sergeant. “It's non-corrosive. There's no chance of fouling any of the delicate machinery that make these types of weapons work.”

“Who will get to use the new pistols?” asked Rod.

“Charley—”

“No,” said Charley. “I'll just stick to my Walker Colt, if you don't mind. I'm also kinda used to all that black powder smoke my Walker spits out . . . it's worked as a good cover for me at times.”

The sergeant continued.

“The semiautomatic pistols will go to Fuerte, Rod, and myself.”

“I'm happy ta keep my Walker like Charley's doin',” said Roscoe.

“Me too,” said Feather.

“I'm so used to my Booger and Ben,” said Holliday. He was spinning his matching set of nickel-plated Colt .45s. “I reckon I'll keep 'em at my side instead of one of them new-fangled contraptions.”

“I'm very pleased to have been chosen to take one of the semi-autos,” said Rod. “My single-action Colt artillery model was good, but it can't fire as fast as the Borchardt C93. Besides, the bandits have it. It was never returned to me.”

“I'd like one of the automatic pistols, too,” echoed Kelly.

“Sorry, Miss Kelly,” said Sergeant Stone, “but I don't have any more available.”

“Hey, Roca,” said Charley, “what time does that party start tonight?”

“We might want to get there early,” said Fuerte.

“But not too early,” said Charley. “They know what we look like, you know. There should be a sizable crowd there before we arrive so we can blend in.”

“If that's the case,” said Fuerte, “I can ride back to the village right now and ask them if we can borrow some of their clothing. We can wear it tonight to disguise ourselves.”

“You do that, Roca,” said Charley. “And be very careful not to be seen.”

Henry Ellis was washing up at the basin in his room when there was a knock on the door. He found a towel and dried himself before he went over and opened it.

Andrés was standing there, holding a young man's suit of clothes on a hanger.

“This is from Don Sebastian,” he said. “These belonged to his son. He wishes for you to wear them tonight.”

Henry Ellis took the suit from the captain, holding it out for inspection.

“Did you know him, Andrés?” he asked.

“His son? . . . Yes I did, Chico. His father loved him very much.”

“Were you there . . . when he . . . ?”

“
Sí
. . . I was there. I was not the captain of the guard back then, of course, just a friend. There were no guards at all in those days, only
vaqueros
. I was the leader of the
vaqueros
.”

“Did you see who shot Don Sebastian's son?” asked Henry Ellis.

Andrés nodded.

“
Sí
. . . I saw the man who shot Chico, the son of Don Sebastian.”

“Was it my grandfather?” Henry Ellis wanted to know. “Was it Charley Sunday?”

Andrés hesitated. He lowered his eyes to avoid looking at the boy. The question had made him nervous.

“Did you see my grandfather kill Don Sebastian's son?” said Henry Ellis. “Did you?”

Andrés raised his head. Then he looked the boy directly in the eyes.

“If Don Sebastian says it was your grandfather who killed his son . . . then it was your grandfather who shot the boy.”

“Do you even know what my grampa looked like all those years ago?” said Henry Ellis. “Were you really there at all?”

“Put on the suit, Chico. Make an old man happy.”

“That's what you're doing, isn't it, Andrés? Making an old man happy . . . by not telling the truth?”

“Please, Chico,” said Andrés. “Do not accuse me of being a liar.”

“All I want is the truth. Did you see my grandfather kill Don Sebastian's son or not?”

Andrés took a step back into the hallway.

“I am sorry, Chico. I cannot answer any more of your questions.”

He turned, locking the door behind him.

 

 

Since noon, the inhabitants of the workers' village—just down the road from Don Sebastian's
hacienda
—had been decorating the area in front of their church with flowers, hanging lamps, hand-painted candleholders, and different colored ribbons. The women had also prepared all kinds of food and desserts, plus a special table had been set up to serve as a bar, not only for the liquor and
cerveza
the working men desired, but also for the tea and other simple drinks enjoyed by the women and children, as well.

A small string quartet played beside the villagers' own homegrown brass band, with both musical groups positioned opposite one another on a large platform that had been set up in the center of the plaza, serving as a stage. This would allow the attendees access to stimulating music for their native dances.

Good times and laughter were being had by all when the carriage containing Don Sebastian and Henry Ellis pulled out of the
hacienda
's open front gates, following a group of guards on horseback.

The carriage continued to roll down the slight incline toward the village with the guards leading the way. The music grew louder as they neared the central plaza.

They eventually came to a stop less than a few yards from the center of the festive gathering.

“Remember, Chico,” said Don Sebastian, “this
fiesta
is for you, and you alone. These people will treat you like royalty . . . and it is expected that you act as a sovereign toward them in return.”

“I will do as you say, Don Sebastian,” said the boy. “If you see that I am acting in any way you find displeasing, please tell me at once.”

“I will do that, Chico,” said the Don. “Now let us go. We do not want to keep our hosts waiting.”

With a hand on the boy's shoulder to guide him, Don Sebastian helped the boy out of the carriage, then he set out on the short walk to the crowded area in front of the church with his “son,” Henry Ellis Pritchard, at his side.

 

 

Charley Sunday stood with his friend, Roca Fuerte, just inside the thick double doors of the plaza church. They were both dressed in
vaquero
clothing. Charley was watching his grandson on the other side of the square. He wasn't surprised to see that Henry Ellis was playing his part very well. The boy was being introduced to several of the town's elders, and instead of shaking their hands or bowing his head, he waited, like a true aristocrat, until they bowed down to him first before acknowledging their presence.

“You see, Roca,” said Charley, “my grandson knows how to behave like a person of wealth and breeding.”

Sitting under a lattice porch frame, topped with interwoven palm fronds, and attached to one of the many adobe houses that made up the village, Rod and Kelly, dressed as a Mexican farmer and his wife, made a toast to one another as the local band began to play some Mexican fandango dance music.

Castanets in the hands of a beautiful woman began their thrilling rattle. Within moments, they were joined by several guitars being strummed with a vengeance.

Husbands and wives, plus several other couples, took one another into their arms and began dancing. Trumpets and violins mingled together in a moving tribute to the villagers' heritage. A few more couples moved out into the open area to participate in the dance. Music was at the center of the celebration.

Dancers twirled by Sergeant Stone, who was dressed as a farmer. He sat on a hand-carved stool at a table in an outdoor
cantina
, sipping tequila, while at the same time, counting Don Sebastian's guards. By then, every member of the outfit knew the guards were actually soldiers in the private army of Don Sebastian. When he was less than halfway through with his count, Sergeant Stone knew for sure that they were outnumbered by more men than they had ever figured on before.

He kept on counting as more and more guards swarmed through the
hacienda
gates, as if someone had told them Charley Sunday and the Texas Outfit had come to town.

Charley and Roca Fuerte had moved and were now sitting at one of the many outdoor tables surrounding the plaza, hiding behind their
vaquero
facades.

Rodolfo, the head of the estate's
vaqueros
, sat with them. He was watching to be sure his men, plus the other
vaqueros
, and the farmers, were spread out around the plaza so the presence of the outfit wouldn't appear suspicious to the guards.

“I am very happy this
fiesta
idea came from the Don himself,” said Charley.

“It was suggested only this morning,” said Rodolfo. “I am glad you had the time to get your men ready.”

“Not all of them,” said Charley. “We're still waiting for a couple of our friends to get back with word on whether the Black-Seminoles will give us their support.”

“The Seminoles will not be of any help, Señor Charley,” said Fuerte. “They do not get involved with anyone here in Mexico. We will have to send someone to the Black-Seminole camp to find Elisabeth and Pennell and let them know the battle is going to be fought tonight.”

“Can't do that,” said Charley. “We can't afford to be without any more members of the outfit than we already are.”

“Maybe one of the
vaqueros
could ride to the Seminole-Negro camp with a message for Elisabeth and Pennell,” said Fuerte.

“That would be the same as if one of us went,” said Charley. “No . . . we need every man . . . and woman . . . we've got.”

Sergeant Stone, with his face shadowed by his enormous
sombrero
, stood silently between two buildings. He watched as the Don and Henry Ellis were escorted to the center of the platform in the middle of the plaza.

Don Sebastian and Henry Ellis were then helped up the several steps to the podium, where two matching chairs had been set up, overlooking, and facing, the crowd below.

A cheer went up from the people who were gathered around the platform as the father and “son” took their seats. After a few moments the Don held up a hand to his people.

A moment later, Henry Ellis reluctantly did the same.

As the cheering began to die down, Don Sebastian again raised his hand—only this time it was to get everyone's attention.

“My people,” he began, “I have asked that you all come here tonight so I may introduce you to my son.”

He turned to Henry Ellis, acknowledging the boy with a sweep of his hand. Then he continued.

“As you all know, many years ago, I lost my son, Chico, during a cattle drive. Through the long and lonely years since that incident occurred, I have cried many rivers of tears over Chico's death, praying every single night and day for my boy's return.

“And now,” the Don continued, “he has returned . . . my Chico . . . has returned to live with me in my
hacienda
. Starting tomorrow, my son, Chico, will begin working at your sides . . . first as a
vaquero
. . . then as a farmer. So he can get a feeling for everything that goes on here at my estate. Just as I did with the first Chico, those oh, so many years ago.”

Like before, the crowd began to applaud. Before long they were cheering. Don Sebastian stood silently beside Henry Ellis, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. They both smiled broadly.

All the while, more guards kept spilling out of the
hacienda
gates, heading for the village of the people, down below.

Charley and Fuerte had been listening while the Don spoke, while at the same time they watched as the size of Don Sebastian's small army of guards grew in size. Not only was the entire village surrounded at that point, the guards in the plaza now numbered at least three to one over the villagers in some places.

“The odds,” said Fuerte, “are not on our side, Señor Charley. I suggest that we call off our mission at once.”

Charley agreed. He made a prearranged signal with his left hand, which was seen by Roscoe and Feather. In turn, they relayed the same message to the rest of the outfit.

Finally, the carriage carrying the Don and Henry Ellis left the village, transporting its occupants back up the road and through the
hacienda
gates. After they had gone, most of the guard followed them up the hill, either on foot or horseback, back through the gates and into the confines of the
hacienda
walls.