children behind.
He followed a narrow dirt street lined with old adobe dwellings into the plaza. A spear of welcome shade cast by the church bell tower temporarily soothed Gabriel’s squinted eyes. But moments later he was back in the sunlight, the glare doubly bright now, making him pull his hat lower over his eyes.
He rode on, skirting a pigeon-stained statue of President Porfirio Diaz, and crossed the plaza. Ever wary when among strangers, he noticed that the shops around him were open but the intense heat was preventing anyone from using them.
Neither could he see anybody working inside the office of the local Rurales , or any saddled horses tied up outside. In fact, other than a young woman nursing her baby beside a vegetable stand and two bare-footed children carrying urns full of water, the sun-scorched square was deserted.
Gabriel reined up at the livery stable and told the hostler to ‘Grain him.’ Then he pulled his Winchester from its boot and asked the sleepy youth if he’d seen a gringo woman, dressed all in black, with an old Mexican driving a wagon. ‘They would’ve ridden in some time the day before yesterday,’ he added, ‘most likely late in the afternoon.’
The hostler shook his head. He’d seen no one like that. And he would have remembered them, he said, because he’d seen them earlier in the week when they drove in from the border.
Puzzled, Gabriel asked him if he’d heard anyone talking about them. The hostler shook his head again, yawned and led the Morgan away to feed it.
Concerned for Ellen’s and Escalero’s safety, Gabriel left the stable and crossed over to El Tecolote .
Inside, the cantina was not much cooler. A small boy with enormous black eyes sat in the corner under an old stuffed owl, tugging on a string tied to a ceiling fan. Its creaking, slow-turning blades brought the smell of greasy cooking from the kitchen in back.
Gabriel leaned on the bar and waited to be served. There were several other customers, all of them Mexicans. Gabriel recognized them from previous visits and knew they meant him no harm. He asked them the same question he’d asked the hostler. They all shook their heads and went on talking.
Just then the owner, Ramon Salazar, emerged from the kitchen with plates of tortillas, eggs and refried beans. After serving them to the men, along with bowls of chili sauce, he waddled fatly up to Gabriel. Without being asked, he poured Gabriel a whiskey and asked him what he wanted to eat.
‘Same as them,’ Gabriel said, thumbing at the other customers. He then questioned Salazar about Ellen and Escalero. But the owner hadn’t seen them either, and he waddled back into the kitchen.
Gabriel gulped his drink, poured himself another and tried to reassure himself that Ellie was safe. But since this was the only direct route to the border, and an easy trail tofollow, he couldn’t convince himself that no harm had come to her.
He was halfway through his meal and still trying to decide what to do next when he heard horses reining up outside. Turning to the window, he saw it was the local Rurales – six enlisted men and an officious, mustachioed captain named Plaxido Morales. They all looked hot and weary from their long, hard ride. Their faces were sweat-caked , and their distinctive gray, silver-braided uniforms, red ties and big fancy sombreros were coated with dust.
Before Gabriel could figure out what they were up to, Captain Morales and his men burst into the cantina and aimed their rifles at him.
‘ Espere! Sostenga su fuego !’ Gabriel yelled and quickly raised his hands. ‘ Qué pasa ?’ he then asked Captain Morales. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘You are under arrest, gringo!’
‘For what?’
Lights exploded before his eyes as Captain Morales struck him in the face with his pistol. Stunned, Gabriel dropped his Winchester and collapsed to his knees. As if from a distance he heard Captain Morales ordering his men to take him to jail.
CHAPTER
He followed a narrow dirt street lined with old adobe dwellings into the plaza. A spear of welcome shade cast by the church bell tower temporarily soothed Gabriel’s squinted eyes. But moments later he was back in the sunlight, the glare doubly bright now, making him pull his hat lower over his eyes.
He rode on, skirting a pigeon-stained statue of President Porfirio Diaz, and crossed the plaza. Ever wary when among strangers, he noticed that the shops around him were open but the intense heat was preventing anyone from using them.
Neither could he see anybody working inside the office of the local Rurales , or any saddled horses tied up outside. In fact, other than a young woman nursing her baby beside a vegetable stand and two bare-footed children carrying urns full of water, the sun-scorched square was deserted.
Gabriel reined up at the livery stable and told the hostler to ‘Grain him.’ Then he pulled his Winchester from its boot and asked the sleepy youth if he’d seen a gringo woman, dressed all in black, with an old Mexican driving a wagon. ‘They would’ve ridden in some time the day before yesterday,’ he added, ‘most likely late in the afternoon.’
The hostler shook his head. He’d seen no one like that. And he would have remembered them, he said, because he’d seen them earlier in the week when they drove in from the border.
Puzzled, Gabriel asked him if he’d heard anyone talking about them. The hostler shook his head again, yawned and led the Morgan away to feed it.
Concerned for Ellen’s and Escalero’s safety, Gabriel left the stable and crossed over to El Tecolote .
Inside, the cantina was not much cooler. A small boy with enormous black eyes sat in the corner under an old stuffed owl, tugging on a string tied to a ceiling fan. Its creaking, slow-turning blades brought the smell of greasy cooking from the kitchen in back.
Gabriel leaned on the bar and waited to be served. There were several other customers, all of them Mexicans. Gabriel recognized them from previous visits and knew they meant him no harm. He asked them the same question he’d asked the hostler. They all shook their heads and went on talking.
Just then the owner, Ramon Salazar, emerged from the kitchen with plates of tortillas, eggs and refried beans. After serving them to the men, along with bowls of chili sauce, he waddled fatly up to Gabriel. Without being asked, he poured Gabriel a whiskey and asked him what he wanted to eat.
‘Same as them,’ Gabriel said, thumbing at the other customers. He then questioned Salazar about Ellen and Escalero. But the owner hadn’t seen them either, and he waddled back into the kitchen.
Gabriel gulped his drink, poured himself another and tried to reassure himself that Ellie was safe. But since this was the only direct route to the border, and an easy trail tofollow, he couldn’t convince himself that no harm had come to her.
He was halfway through his meal and still trying to decide what to do next when he heard horses reining up outside. Turning to the window, he saw it was the local Rurales – six enlisted men and an officious, mustachioed captain named Plaxido Morales. They all looked hot and weary from their long, hard ride. Their faces were sweat-caked , and their distinctive gray, silver-braided uniforms, red ties and big fancy sombreros were coated with dust.
Before Gabriel could figure out what they were up to, Captain Morales and his men burst into the cantina and aimed their rifles at him.
‘ Espere! Sostenga su fuego !’ Gabriel yelled and quickly raised his hands. ‘ Qué pasa ?’ he then asked Captain Morales. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘You are under arrest, gringo!’
‘For what?’
Lights exploded before his eyes as Captain Morales struck him in the face with his pistol. Stunned, Gabriel dropped his Winchester and collapsed to his knees. As if from a distance he heard Captain Morales ordering his men to take him to jail.
CHAPTER
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