Deadfall (20 page)

“Hand over the gun,” the captain said to Rod. “Or drop it. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. You are all under arrest.”

An hour later, a well-guarded assemblage, which included every member of the outfit, was lingering in the
hacienda
courtyard where they had been ordered to wait.

After several moments, Andrés marched over to the Don's carriage. Don Sebastian leaned down so the man could whisper in his ear. When the captain had finished speaking, Don Sebastian sent him back to where he had come from.

“I am afraid your plans have changed slightly, Señor Sunday,” said the Don. “I have been told that your Indian comrade . . . including the boy and his parents . . . those who have been evading my guards, have been arrested. They are being brought here as we speak.”

 

 

Charley and the rest of the outfit were united with Henry Ellis, Betty Jean, Kent, and Rod, who could only try to smile as Kelly ran to him.

After consoling Henry Ellis, his daughter, and clapping her husband on the back, Charley moved to the front of the group, where he stood calmly and waited as the carriage containing Don Sebastian was brought around in front of him and stopped. Colonel Armendariz, now astride his horse, was right beside the Don's coach.

Don Sebastian stood up in the carriage. He spoke for all to hear. He was very polite.

“My American friends,” he began. “It is unfortunate that we have all had to meet under such dreadful circumstances. My initial intention was to have Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard and their son delivered to me by Colonel Armendariz. But when the colonel's men allowed the boy to get away from them, my entire plan had to be changed. And when the boy brought you, Mr. Sunday, and the rest of these interesting people into my country, for no other reason than to rescue the boy's parents, I had to change my plan once again.

“But now that I have the boy, I no longer need the parents . . . plus I no longer need the Indian . . . or you, Mr. Sunday, or the rest of your friends.

“So, now your plan is to kill us all, I reckon,” said Charley. “Is that correct?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Don Sebastian. “On the contrary. Since I have what I need, and because I'm such a fine fellow, I am still going to have my men escort the remainder of you back to the border where your weapons will be returned to you . . . again . . . if only you make to me one very large guarantee.”

“And that would be?” asked Charley.

“The promise is the same as I asked of you before . . . that you and your friends agree to stay out of my country and never cross the Río Bravo del Norte into Mexico, ever again.”

“Well, sir,” said Charley, “I don't rightly know if I could keep a promise like that.”

“You will if you ever want to see your grandson again,” said the Don.

Kelly, nearby, tugged on Charley's sleeve.

“In that case,” said Charley, without blinking an eye, “I'll make you that promise . . . and speaking for the others, I'll promise for them, too.”

The boy's parents began to protest.

“Betty Jean, Kent,” said Charley, “I'm doing the dickering with this gentleman. You two just hush for now.”

“I knew you would see it my way, Señor Sunday,” said the Don, “once you knew what the consequences could be.”

“So my daughter and her husband can go back with us?” asked Charley. “Is that true?”

“It is only the boy that I want,” said Don Sebastian. “It is only the boy I have always wanted. You may have his parents.”

“And my friend, Señor Fuerte?” said Charley.

“I have been told that Señor Fuerte killed several of Colonel Armendariz's best gunmen. You will need to ask the colonel about Roca Fuerte.”

Armendariz leaned forward in his saddle.

“I will agree to let Señor Fuerte go with the rest of them . . .
if
Señor Fuerte guarantees me that he will stay on the other side of the Río Bravo like the others.”

Charley whistled to get his friend's attention, then he motioned for Roca to join them. Fuerte pulled away from the guards that were still restraining him just as soon as Don Sebastian nodded for them to let him go. Fuerte walked back across the open area and eventually found his place beside Charley.

“Thank you, my friend,” Fuerte whispered when he was finally standing at Charley's side.

One of the guards brought Fuerte his horse, and he mounted.

“Well, sir,” Charley said to Don Sebastian, “you have my grandson . . . and I have everyone else. That ain't such a bad deal.

“Isn't it about time the colonel's men and your guards escorted us back to Texas?”

Both parents, plus several members of the outfit, threw him puzzled looks.

Charley ignored them. He threw a look to Henry Ellis, who had been standing beside the Don in the carriage. Charley winked at the boy before turning back to the Don.

“Might I have a minute with my grandson?” he asked.

“I can see no harm in that,” answered Don Sebastian.

Charley dismounted, then he moved in beside the coach. When he was facing Henry Ellis, the boy knelt down to Charley's eye level.

Henry Ellis wouldn't take his eyes off Charley. Finally the old rancher reached over and pulled the boy to him. As the two appeared to be embracing, Charley whispered into the boy's ear.

“No matter what I've told the Don,” he said softly, “we will come back for you.”

Tears began to form around the edges of Henry Ellis's eyes.

“I know you will, Grampa,” he said.

“Just have faith,” added Charley.

They pulled away from one another, with the boy giving his grandfather a slight nod.

Betty Jean, Kent, and the others looked on as Charley returned to his horse and remounted. Charley had to wipe away a tear of his own, but before anyone saw him do that, he whirled Dice around and called back to the rest of the outfit.

“C'mon,” he yelled. “Everyone mount up who isn't already . . . we're going back to Texas.”

Roscoe, behind the lines of the chuckwagon mules, watched Charley, waiting for his command for them all to move out.

The dismounted members of the outfit found their horses—along with Rod. The parents climbed aboard the chuckwagon beside Roscoe while Sergeant Stone gathered up the extra horses.

Henry Ellis called out.

“Miss Kelly, Grampa . . .”

They both turned around.

He was pointing to the saddlebags on Kelly's horse.

“Take care of my puppy . . . Take care of Buster Number Two.”

Charley and Kelly nodded. She reached into her saddlebag and removed the pup, holding it up so the boy could see it.

“Thank you, Miss Kelly . . . I mean, Mrs. Lightfoot,” said Henry Ellis.

“I'll take real good care of him for you, Henry Ellis,” said Kelly.

Feather, who was nearby, nudged his horse in next to her. He reached over to pet the puppy. He used their closeness to relay a message to Kelly.

“Henry Ellis's grandpa ain't gonna let anything happen to his grandson, believe me,” he whispered.

“I know that,” said Kelly. “Please let his mother know if you get the chance.”

Andrés raised his hand, then gave the signal for everyone to move out.

The heavy gates were opened for them, and everyone urged their horses through the wide opening.

Henry Ellis brushed the hands of Don Sebastian away from his shoulders, took a step forward, then stood silently in the carriage, watching them all depart.

Five members of the group turned their heads for a final look back at Henry Ellis—they were Charley, Betty Jean, Kent, Rod, and Kelly, who was still holding the puppy in her arms.

Henry Ellis smiled at the sight.

The gate was eventually closed behind the riders.

Don Sebastian turned to the boy.

“All right, Chico,” he said, “you are now in my safekeeping. I expect you to cooperate by doing everything I ask of you.”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “I promise. You will have no further problems with me from now on.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

By the first night, Charley and his outfit—minus Henry Ellis—were camped among several large rock formations at the bottom of the foothills where they ate more jerky, canned beans, and coffee for their evening meal.

Don Sebastian's guards, plus Colonel Armendariz and his men, were camped circling them to prevent escape. The
hacienda
guards and the colonel's men were cooking some
cabrito
they had taken from a local farmer's goatherd.

Charley's group could smell the goat meat as it cooked over the open fires, but they made do with their jerky because there wasn't one of them who would stoop to asking for a handout.

After soaking it in his bowl of beans, Charley took a bite of jerky, wiggling the piece of dried beef back and forth, hoping to break off a chunk he could chew instead of breaking a tooth. When he finally accomplished that task, Roscoe turned to him just as he took a bite.

“It ain't as easy when ya don't got yer own choppers,” he said. He attempted to chomp down on his own jerky. Nothing happened, so he dipped the dried beef into his bowl of beans as he'd seen Charley do, then tried again.

The dried meat appeared to have softened up some, so he bit into the jerky one more time and pulled even harder, until both his uppers and lowers popped free of his mouth.

Feather caught both pieces of the dental work in his hands before they hit the ground. He quickly tossed them back to Roscoe.

“Here ya go, pardner,” said Feather. “I'm afraid yer' gonna have ta soak that jerky a whole lot longer than you just did before you try to sink yer pearly whites inta it again.”

Roscoe picked up the coffeepot and poured a stream of hot coffee over his dentures—then he popped them back into his mouth. At the same time he poured more coffee into his cup. After a moment or so, he picked up the piece of jerky he had been trying to eat and put it in the cup to soak for a few more minutes.

“Now, don't any of you grab my cup by mistake thinkin' it's yours,” said Roscoe. “Or you'll be makin' one heck of a mistake.”

“Just as long as it ain't the same cup you keep yer fangs in overnight,” said Feather.

“That's an entirely different cup, you old cowpoker,” said Roscoe.

Feather moved over and shoved his chin into Roscoe's chest, looking up at him.

“Be careful of who you're callin' a cowpoker, Mr. Smarty Pants,” he said.

“Cowpoke,” said Roscoe. “I meant cowpoke.”

“Quiet down, you two,” said Charley, who was resting on his bedroll nearby. He nodded, indicating the guards and Armendariz's men. “Our guardian angels might think that you're disturbing their peace. They're apt to come over here and shut the both of you up.”

About then, Fuerte moved in alongside Charley and sat on the end of the bedroll beside him.

“Did you find out anything, Roca?”

“It was a very good idea, Señor Charley, for you to suggest that I place my bedroll over there near the other camp. I was able to gather much more information than I believed I would.”

“Well, go ahead,” said Charley, “spit it out.”

Fuerte leaned in closer to his friend.

“It is not a lie,” he said. “Their orders are to take us to the border, then give us our weapons back . . . just like Don Sebastian said they would.”

“No more changing the course in midstream?” asked Charley.

“That is correct,” answered Fuerte. “For once, it appears that the Don was telling the truth.”

 

 

The following day they were forced to travel over thirty miles in the broiling sun. During that ride, Kelly gave her hat to Betty Jean, who had been complaining about the heat even though she had been wearing a borrowed Mexican scarf to cover her head since they had left the
hacienda
.

Charley knew it would happen. After a while, Kelly became overheated. Andrés, the captain of the guard, had several of his men construct a makeshift travois stretcher for the woman to lay on while traveling. It had a shade made from twigs and a piece of cloth to keep the sun off her face. Charley hitched it to his own horse, while Rod rode alongside with his canteen and several wet neck scarves, to keep her hydrated. Elisabeth walked along beside Rod with her own canteen and a wet cloth, to keep her face moisturized.

 

 

The Mexicans shared their noon meal with the Americans, allowing Roscoe to consume pulled goat meat, soft beans, and a warm tortilla instead of the jerky he was becoming so fond of. They had stopped by a small stream where they could fill their canteens and have a drink of cold water along with the Mexican rations.

 

 

By nightfall, Kelly was beginning to come around. She was sitting up and sharing both food and drink with her friends when the sun finally dropped below the horizon.

Later on, in her bedroll beside Rod in his, Kelly dropped into a deep sleep, which, with her, always brought on vivid dreams.

In this particular reverie, Kelly found herself walking barefooted through white hot sand dunes. In her heart she knew she was seeking someone in particular within the dream. As moments passed, she dreamed she saw the silhouette of a well-dressed man with derby and cane standing in the shimmer of a mirage between two distant dunes. Something inside urged her on—plodding, trudging toward the vision of the man, yet never getting any closer. Finally she stopped. She drew in a long breath but could only watch as the man's figure waved what seemed to be a final farewell. Then he turned around and began walking away. But instead of trudging through the sometimes knee-deep sand, the man appeared to float above the dunes. After he had gone only a few yards, his outline appeared to shrivel up and he disappeared into thin air right before her eyes. She blinked.

When her eyes felt like they were opened again, she was no longer walking among the sand dunes. Instead, she was riding in a horse-drawn trolley car, moving down a big city's Main Street. She was alone in the trolley car, with only the driver in front of her. He sat in the seat behind the two sliding windows through which the lines passed, on their way to the horses' bits.

Other trolleys, carriages, gentlemen on horseback, and the occasional automobile surrounded her. They were traveling in both directions up and down the tree-lined roadway.

Suddenly, one of the carriages moved up from behind and started to pass the trolley. As she looked over, she saw the same well-dressed man again. He still wore the derby, and he held the golden-tipped cane. He was sitting in the rear seat. He looked an awful lot like Henry Ellis might look had the boy been twenty years older. He nodded to her—then he tipped his hat. He leaned forward and urged his driver to go faster. The driver snapped the lines, and the coach continued on passing the trolley.

Kelly leaned forward and insisted that her driver follow the gentleman's carriage. The trolley driver whipped at the horses, and they broke into a slow gallop.

It wasn't too long before she caught up to the man's carriage, and as she leaned forward again to tell her driver to go a little faster, the horses pulling the gentleman's coach began to gallop. Within moments, the other carriages, buses, and trolleys that girdled them also began moving more rapidly, until all of them appeared to be flying around in a whirlwind. The sounds of galloping hooves on the cobblestone street grew louder and louder; the excited screams and laughter of the people grew louder, too, until there was an explosion of some kind inside her head. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was sitting on a painted wooden horse on a golden carousel. She looked around her. The carousel was rotating in the middle of a green expanse of lawn—a parklike setting, where there were no other people visible except for the man who was operating the merry-go-round. For an instant, she thought, the carousel began to turn slower, and slower—finally so slow it felt as if she was floating.

That's when she saw the man in the derby hat again. This time he was sitting astride a bright red horse on the golden carousel, directly across from her. Curved mirrors affixed to the carousel's center pole at first obscured the man's face, then there would be his reflection for an instant, staring at her—then a mirror would block her from seeing him once again.

About the third time around, when she was expecting to see the man's face once more, the young Henry Ellis's face appeared instead. The shock of seeing the boy, instead of the man, caused her to let out a muffled shriek.

She sat up straight, only to find that she was covered in perspiration and shivering from a cold wind that had just come up in the darkness of the camp.

 

 

It took the outfit just under two days to get back to the border. When they finally reached the sandy bank of the Rio Grande, Colonel Armendariz and Don Sebastian's captain of the guard, Andrés, instructed them to dismount.

As soon as they were standing on solid ground beside their mounts, Andrés ordered one of the guards to return the Americans' weapons.

With help from two other guards, and a couple of Armendariz's men, they pulled a large blanket out of a small wagon they had brought along with them and spread it out on the ground, revealing the pistols and rifles belonging to the outfit.

“Here are your weapons, señors and señoras,” said Andrés. “
But
. . . you must not touch them until the colonel's men and my men are out of sight . . . do you understand?”

“We understand,” said Charley. “We all understand.”

“We will leave the ammunition for your weapons a quarter of a mile up the road from here,” said Andrés, “which will give us even more time in case you decide to break your promise to Don Sebastian and come after us.”

“Nothing like that will happen,” said Charley. “We all gave the Don our word.”

“Then we will take our leave,” said the captain.

He turned to his men, held up an arm, then motioned for them to move out, following him.

The colonel did the same. His men followed him as he took them up the trail, following the column of guards.

Charley and the members of the outfit stood silently by—watching after the departing guards and the Armendariz gang.

When they were finally out of sight, everyone began talking at once.

“Hold it down . . . all of you,” yelled Charley. “Just calm down, will you? . . . Just shut your mouths so I can talk.”

The talking dwindled.

“Now listen to me, every one of you,” said Charley. “This is where you're all going to have to make a decision. I need to know if you're with me or not . . . whether you want to go home right now and call this whole thing off . . . or ride back to that
hacienda
with me and get my grandson back.”

“I can't go home,” said Sergeant Stone. “My toolboxes are buried back there.”

“I can't go back,” said Pennell. “You know what ‘back' means for me, Charley.”

“I sure do . . . I put you there in the first place, didn't I?”

“I'll go with you,
mi amigo
,” said Fuerte.

“Us, too,” said Rod and Kelly.

Betty Jean and Kent agreed.

Holliday chimed in with, “You can count on me, Mr. Sunday, that's fer sure.”

Feather finally spoke up. “Thank you, Boss,” he said. “Here I was just startin' ta dream of fried chicken and mashed potatoes again, and you're sendin' me back fer more tortillas and beans. I'll be goin' back, Boss. Reckon I can wait a little longer fer that chicken an' 'taters.”

“Betty Jean,” said Charley. “I know you know how to use a gun because I taught you. What about Kent? Can he pull a trigger anything like you can?”

“If there's something you'd like me to do, Charley,” said Kent, “I do know how to use a rifle when I have to.”

“All right,” said Charley. “Go over there and get your guns . . . one at a time. Feather, ride on up the road and find the ammunition. When we've done that, we'll feed ourselves and the horses. Then we'll start heading back to that
hacienda
.”