Deadfall (28 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Noel, causing her two older brothers to expel several disparaging remarks under their breath.

The girl slid out of her chair and ran inside the house.

“Careful what you say about your sister, boys,” said Evie. “Or I'll just have Grampa Hank stop with his storytelling right now, and you can both figure it out for yourself how it all ends.”

“Ahhh, Mom,” said Josh, raising himself up on one elbow. “Noel always has to go to the bathroom just at the wrong moment.”

Caleb agreed, nodding his head.

“He's right, you know. She can be a real spoilsport when she wants to.”

“How 'bout the rest of you?” said Hank. “Any of you need to go before I finish up this story?”

Neither boy spoke. They had nothing to say.

“Then, if you'll excuse me,” said Hank, “I'd kinda like to go, too. I've been sitting here for a long time without a break. I'll go on with the story when both me and your sister get back.”

C
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T
HIRTY

Both shells hit yards apart and exploded, sending dirt and pieces of undergrowth flying into the sky overhead.

For the briefest of moments, the cannon balls' explosions cleared away just enough brush to expose the barrel of the sergeant's Colt-Browning machine gun before Sergeant Stone began firing back at the cannons and the men standing around them on the top of the wall.

Quite a few bullets found their mark, toppling more than several guards from the fortification. Other projectiles chipped away at the adobe bricks, sending pieces ricocheting through the air, bloodying Don Sebastian's cheek and knocking Andrés off his feet for a short period.

As more shots rang out, Don Sebastian ducked down beside his captain of the guard.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Again, the cannon beside them roared.

“Just temporarily shaken,” said Andrés. “Here,” he said, standing again, “I must get you to safety,
mi jefe
. This way.”

There was more machine gun fire from the brush pile as Andrés took Don Sebastian by the arm and led him down the steps and into the courtyard. At the bottom of the steps, the two huddled against the wall.

“I am safe here, Andrés,” said Don Sebastian. “You must go back . . . I am now putting you in charge of all my troops.”

The second machine gun opened up from the other side of the left wall, sending adobe pieces flying every which way. Don Roberto and his eight men opened up with their rifles shortly after.

“They are attacking from the left side, too, Andrés,” said Don Sebastian. “You need to move more troops to cover that position.”

Once again Andrés got to his feet and started up the steps to the top of the wall.

 

 

Charley stood beside Sergeant Stone, who was stationed behind the first Colt-Browning machine gun in the front. Scattered around on either side of the two were Kelly, Roca Fuerte, Mitch Pennell, and Elisabeth—all armed with lever-action rifles and plenty of ammunition. Between blasts from the sergeant's automatic weapon, everyone would pick a target and fire their rifles sporadically, then they would find a new position for their next round. They were hoping to fool their enemies on the wall into thinking they were a much larger force.

Charley could see more guards filling the empty spaces on top of the front wall. Soon guards would spread to the left-hand wall, where Rod Lightfoot and Don Roberto, plus eight of the Don's
vaqueros
, would engage them in battle.

Moments after that, Feather, Roscoe, and Holliday, plus the other eight
vaqueros
, would open fire against the right wall of the
hacienda
, after which even more reserve guards would be needed.

 

 

Near Don Sebastian's guards' barracks buildings at the rear of the
hacienda
grounds, the reserve guard units had been notified of the frontal attack on the
hacienda
walls. Most of the men had begun to exit their barracks in full fighting gear—with rifles in hand and pistols and sabers ready at their sides—when a portion of the back wall and gate were blown away by a federal army cannon ball.

The reserve guards were caught by surprise as their officers were still leading them forward toward the front. The new commotion at the back wall and gate pulled their attention around just in time to see the federal troops charge into the open area with all weapons firing.

Reserve guards dropped like flies as the Mexican army soldiers continued their assault from the rear.

Many of the guards were caught in the middle, with their leaders goading them on toward the front of the
hacienda
grounds. Others turned to fight the advancing federal troops behind them, but they were stopped by a wall of lead before they knew what had happened.

 

 

Don Sebastian was still standing at the bottom of the steps that led to the top of the front wall, only now he was anxiously searching for Andrés, his captain of the guard, who had not come back down since the battle began. Over to his left he could see several of his guards reinforcing the double gates that were, for now, keeping the attackers from entering the
hacienda
grounds.

He could hear the repetitive sounds of the automatic weapons firing on the other sides of the front and side walls. Every so often, one of his guards would take a bullet, then tumble off the wall. Don Sebastian wondered what happened to the men if they toppled forward off the wall and into the enemy's path. Were they immediately captured, then dragged off for interrogation before being treated for their wounds? Or were they just shot and their bodies left at the bottom of the wall where they faced their injuries without treatment and would eventually die?

Don Sebastian didn't want to think of these things, but there wasn't much he could do about it while he stood, alone, at the bottom of the steps in the courtyard.

“Don Sebastian.”

He turned to see one of his commanding officers who had come up behind him in the chaos.

“Yes, Major Gonzalez,” said Don Sebastian.

“They have taken us from the rear and are already inside the walls. It is now hand-to-hand fighting back there.”

“I was just going to ask that they send more reinforcements to assist my troops up here—”

“I am afraid that is an impossibility at this time, Don Sebastian,” said the officer. “I was told to come here and ask you for reinforcements.”

“What are Armendariz and his gang doing to help us?” Don Sebastian wanted to know.

“He is getting ready to counterattack when those who have breached the rear wall advance any farther.”

“My God,” said Don Sebastian, “how many of them are there?”

“Those at the rear wall are federal troops, Don Sebastian. I am not sure of their numbers, but there are many.”

“Go back and tell my men they must hold out; it is imperative that they do.”

“Yes, Don Sebastian,” said the officer. With a quick salute, he turned and ran back toward the rear wall.

Don Sebastian reflected for a moment.
Federal troops
, he thought.
What have I done to bring the federal troops down on me?

He turned back to the steps at the side of the wall. Andrés had still not come back down. Finally, Don Sebastian started climbing again to the top.

 

 

Charley handed another ammo belt of cartridges to Sergeant Stone, who immediately reloaded the Colt-Browning machine gun.

“Hold off for a minute or two, will you, Sergeant?” said Charley. “I want to get closer and see if we're doing the damage we intended.”

Sergeant Stone nodded, stepping back from his weapon.

They were still behind the barricade of piled brush, so Charley started out toward the corner of the left wall. He kept his eyes open all the way, hoping to see something that could possibly give them more advantage.

When Charley had made it closer to the left wall, he could see a small group of
hacienda
guards reinforcing their position on top of the wall with adobe bricks, empty ammo boxes, and the bodies of their dead companions. For a brief moment, one of those guards looked up and saw Charley, who was staring at him from below. It was Andrés—Don Sebastian's captain of the guard. Andrés immediately recognized Charley and ordered the men around him to open fire on the old cowboy. When they did, Andrés turned and started toward the steps behind him.

Andrés was met by Don Sebastian at the top of the steps.

“Where have you been, Andrés?” shouted Don Sebastian over the sounds of battle.

“I have been doing my job,” replied Andrés. “But I have some interesting news for you . . . The boy's grandfather did not leave Mexico as you asked him to. He is right here . . . he is the one leading this attack on you.”

“Where, exactly, is he?” asked Don Sebastian.

“He is behind the piled brush . . . and that is also where most of the heavy automatic fire is coming from.”

“Well,” said Don Sebastian, “then don't you think it's about time we took a torch to that pile of brush?”

 

 

At the outside base of the right wall, Feather, Roscoe, Holliday, and the other eight
vaqueros
had as much as eliminated the guards sent to defend that barrier. They were moving in closer when Roscoe felt that his boots were getting wet. He looked down and realized he was standing in the middle of a small creek. For a moment, he wondered where the flow was coming from; then he saw it: the small arch at the base of the wall—that inconspicuous entrance to the
hacienda
grounds used by Henry Ellis on the first attempt to get inside the outer fortifications.

“Feather,” he called out. “Get over here.”

“What's up, Roscoe?” answered the undersized cowboy.

“Do you think you could squeeze through that little ol' hole over there,” asked Roscoe, “the one with this creek flowin' through it?”

Feather gave it a look. He shrugged.

“Ain't that the hole in the wall young Henry Ellis first used ta gain access to the
hacienda
grounds?” he said.

“Must be the same one,” said Roscoe. “There's only the one creek. Anyways,” he continued, “do you think you could squeeze yourself through that little arch?”

“I probably could . . . and I possibly couldn't,” he said. “But I won't know one way or the other until I try. Uh,” he hesitated. “What do ya want me ta do if I do get through?”

“Get yerself over to the front gates as fast as you can and open 'em up for us,” said Roscoe.

“That's all I'll have ta do?” said Feather.

“However you wanna do it, just do it,” said Roscoe. “Just don't get yourself kilt doin' it, though.”

“Charley won't get mad at me?”

“He'll probably wanna give you a medal,” said Roscoe. “Now, you just go on ahead and see if you can fit.”

Feather did fit through the space offered by the arch. He was slightly larger than Henry Ellis so he got more of himself wet than the boy did. When he was all the way through, he turned around and stuck his head back the other way, calling out to Roscoe.

“You an' the others can start headin' around to the front gates now, 'cause I'll have 'em opened up for ya in . . . ah . . . ,” he paused, “two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“Just get-a-goin',” said Roscoe, kicking some dirt toward the little cowboy. “We'll be seein' you on the inside before ya know it.”

Feather ducked, then he backed himself out of the arch, into the courtyard once again.

 

 

At the left wall, Don Roberto held up a hand to keep his men from firing as a blur of a human body came running toward the rock and cactus fortification his men had thrown together while setting up the second machine gun. The Don knew the running man was a friend, and not a foe, by the way he was dressed—in rough American western clothing with leather chaps.

As soon as the man dropped to his knees beside Don Roberto and edged up to him, the Don recognized him to be Charley Sunday.

The first thing Charley did was to throw a nod to Rod Lightfoot, who was sitting behind the smoking machine gun a few feet away.

“How's it going over here?” asked Charley.

Rod nodded, grinned. He made a tipping-the-hat motion to Charley.

Charley turned to Don Roberto. “How about you?” he asked.

“Our opposing fire has gotten lighter,” said Don Roberto, “if that is what you mean.”

“Same thing out front,” Charley told him. “I imagine that's due to the federal army troops preventing any reinforcements from getting through to the front. Have you taken any casualties?”

“One wounded,” said Don Roberto. “But he can still fight.”

He held up his left arm so Charley could see the bloodied bandage wrapped around his bicep.

“You?” said Charley.

“Me,” said Don Roberto. “But as I said before, I can still fight.” He raised his right hand, which held a smoking foreign-manufactured revolver. “I only need one hand to use this,” he said. “It is double-action.”

The Don suddenly raised his gun and fired off two shots at something behind Charley.

The ex-Ranger turned just in time to see a man with a torch lying prone on the ground, the still smoldering flames of the torch mere inches from the brush barrier at the front.

Charley smiled and patted Don Roberto on the back.

“Well,” said Charley, “I'd better be getting back to my men.”

With that, he did a quick look around, then took off at a run, staying low. Rounding the corner of the wall, he was gone as quick as he had appeared.

 

 

Once he was inside the
hacienda
walls, Feather had advanced no farther than a few feet. He hugged the adobe bricks with his body, trying to blend in as much as he could. Most of Don Sebastian's guards—at least the ones he could see—were concentrated on the front wall above him. Every so often, another guard or two would come running up to the front wall from the rear of the
hacienda
grounds and join their comrades by using the one set of steps to the right of the gates. Most of those guards looked as if they had been participating in battle for some length of time before they had been sent as a replacement at the front.

Again, machine gun fire raked the top of the wall, with some of its lead biting into a guard's leg as he got too close to the bullet pattern the automatic weapon was spraying from below.