DC03 - Though Mountains Fall (8 page)

“Now I can keep up,” she said. And she did.

Once inside the gates most of them kept running, on up the hill away from the walls. Domingo stopped and pointed.

“Go up there with the others. I will stay here and do what I can to help. Go!”

Terrified, she did as her husband said and ran up the long hill to join the wedding party by the stables. When she finally looked back her heart leaped. A flood of Amish poured through the gates in wagons and hacks and buggies and on horseback—all the Amish in Paradise Valley. Something truly horrific must have descended upon them.

When the last of them were behind the walls one of the haciendado’s men closed and barred the gate. Diego Fuentes, the superintendent, stood in the back of a wagon down near the wall, handing out rifles and ammunition. Domingo’s tall figure was easy to spot in his wedding finery, already manning a parapet on the crenelated wall with a rifle at the ready.

She spotted her dat, driving up the hill in a farm wagon—the last one through the gate before it closed. Mamm sat beside him, and the rest of her family was safe in the back of the wagon—Ada, Harvey, Rachel, Barbara and Leah. Caleb turned the wagon aside near the stables and stopped less than twenty yards away from her. Standing among a crowd of locals and dressed as she was, no one in her family even noticed her.

Except Ada. Ada stared straight at Miriam with a wide
childish grin on her ample face. Ada’s grin finally caught Rachel’s attention and she too spotted Miriam.

Rachel did a double take, but then she glanced at Mamm and Dat on the bench up front. They were looking the other way, watching the walls. Rachel beckoned with her fingers.

Miriam shook her head.
I can’t face Mamm and Dat. Not now. Not
dressed like this.

Rachel took another quick peek at her parents, then jumped down from the back of the wagon and trotted over to the stable. Miriam ducked behind a wall.

Rachel rounded the wall and ran right into her. Miriam grabbed her shoulders.

“What’s happening?”

“Bandits,” Rachel said, breathless. “El Pantera attacked us, and it looks like he brought his whole army.”

Horror-stricken, Miriam half wailed, “Is everyone all right?”

“Jah. Jake was watching from the ridge and warned us in time. They chased us all the way to the village—and
shot
at us too, but no one was hit.”

Miriam’s knees almost buckled. “What will happen now?”

“I don’t know. Dat said we are safe here because there are not enough of them to storm the hacienda.” Rachel took a deep breath and added, “But they will probably go back and burn our houses and barns.”

Miriam started to answer, but her words were drowned out by a booming barrage of rifle fire, thick and close—the men on the hacienda walls.

The bandits were attacking the hacienda.

Chapter 6

W
hen the rifles roared Caleb instinctively herded his family down off the wagon and into the stables, where the smoothly stuccoed walls were plenty thick enough to stop stray bullets. Townspeople and Amish alike ran for cover, screaming, crouching as they ran. Some gathered behind the superintendent’s house and a great many ran clear up the hill to take cover behind the main mansion. Caleb and his family mingled with the panic-stricken throng pouring through the big double doors of the stables.

He rushed his brood to the other end of the long building, mother and daughters huddling together in sheer terror. The guns thundered steadily. Men were fighting and dying
right there
on the other side of the hacienda walls—an unimaginable horror.

Counting heads, Caleb suddenly missed Rachel. Scanning the crowd in the stables he saw several white kapps, but only one with flame red hair. She was at the far end, by the doors, talking to a couple of Mexican women. In the shadows of the stables it didn’t immediately dawn on him that the Mexican woman in the fancy white dress with the roses embroidered on
it was Miriam. Before he thought about it he pointed her out to Mamm—a big mistake. Mamm turned her face to the wall, fetching a handkerchief from her pocket as her shoulders began to shake, weeping.

Caleb leaned close and whispered in her ear, “She is still our daughter, Mamm. I must speak to her. You stay here with the girls.”

Mamm nodded without turning.

When Caleb walked up, the plump Mexican woman between Miriam and Rachel was complaining bitterly about her husband.

“My Paco is up on the walls with Domingo. In his
wedding clothes
! Just try to keep a Zapara out of a fight, Miriam. You’ll see. Silly old goat.”

Miriam was listening intently when Caleb walked up. It was a tense moment. He wasn’t sure whether Miriam was ignoring him or just didn’t see him. He studied her embroidered dress for a minute—the white satin shoes in her hand, the lacy mantilla veil over her undone hair.

“Miriam Bender,” he said softly.

Miriam’s mouth flew open in shock, but she collected her wits quickly. “
Me llamo
Miriam Zapara,” she said, and there was a hint of respectful sadness in her eyes. “I am Domingo’s wife. This is Maria, his aunt. She is my madrina.”

So it was done. “Are you all right?” he managed to ask.

“Sí, Dat. I am unharmed, but I am afraid for Domingo. He is on the wall with a rifle.”

Caleb gazed in the direction of the gate. “Sí, he would be. I hope he doesn’t get himself killed.”

There was a commotion by the door as a Mexican in fancy clothes stumbled into the stable clutching his shoulder. He dropped to his knees in the dirt, his face ghostly pale.

Maria wailed. “Paco!” She ran to her husband and peeled
off his jacket to reveal a shirtsleeve soaked in blood. Kyra went to her aid, kneeling beside Maria and ripping away her uncle’s shirt before they laid him down on top of his ruined jacket.

Paco smiled weakly up at his wife. “A flesh wound, Maria. The bullet passed through. I have been hurt worse shaving.”

Feigning anger, Maria’s eyes widened and she hissed at him, “Sí, you will live, but you will
still
be an old fool!” Her hands never stopped working, wiping blood, applying pressure. Kyra ripped Paco’s wedding shirt into long strips to make bandages.

Caleb went over and knelt in the dirt beside the wounded man’s head.

“I am Caleb Bender, Miriam’s father,” he said. “Perhaps you can tell me, Señor . . .”

“Zapara. But Miriam’s father may call me Paco.”

“Paco, if you are able, can you tell me what happened out there? I didn’t think the bandits would attack the hacienda.”

“They didn’t, at first.” Paco winced as Maria jerked a bandage tight. “The
bandidos
stopped short of the town when they saw all the rifles on the walls. They turned around to go back to your valley, but three wagonloads of federales came down Saltillo Road and blocked their retreat. The bandidos had no choice but to take cover in the village where they were caught between the hacienda walls and the federales, taking fire from both sides.”

As he spoke, the rifle fire from the walls grew sporadic, then stopped entirely.

“The troops have come, then,” Caleb said. “This is good.”

Paco gave him a doubtful look and half shrugged with his good shoulder. “Maybe. We will see.”

A shadow fell across them both, and when Caleb looked up, Domingo was standing in the door, rifle in hand. Miriam ran to him and opened his jacket, searching for wounds.

The echo of a pistol shot came from beyond the walls, and a few seconds later, another. Caleb watched the men on the walls. None of them seemed alarmed by the shots. They didn’t even raise their rifles.

Domingo put an arm around his bride and smiled.

“I have no wounds, Cualnezqui, but you are welcome to keep looking for one if you wish.” Then he spotted Caleb. His arm dropped away from Miriam and he suddenly became serious again.

“Your federales arrived just in time, Señor Bender. Half of the bandits fell in the streets and the rest have taken refuge in the church. The battle is all but over.”

Another solitary pistol shot echoed from the distance. “Then why are they still shooting?” Caleb asked.

Domingo shrugged. “The troops are cleaning up.”

“Cleaning up?”

“Sí. Some of the bandits were only wounded. The federales finish them.”

“No! They can’t do that!” Horrified, Caleb went to the door to see for himself. From the height of the stables he could see over the walls to the far edge of the town below. The street was full of smoke, but in the distance he could make out what he thought were a couple of men, lying prone in the hazy street. The silhouette of a soldier appeared through the smoke and dust to stand over one of the downed bandits. The man on the ground moved, raised a hand. The soldier aimed his pistol, his arm recoiled, and a second later Caleb heard the sharp report. The bandit’s hand dropped lifeless into the dust.

Caleb stormed out the door and down the hill toward the gate. The haciendado’s men parted for him as he stalked up to the gate, hoisted the bar aside and heaved open the heavy iron gate.

He could see rifles lining the rooftops and protruding from
windows, all pointed at the church. Four bandits lay scattered in the open ground between him and the church, none of them moving. Across the way he saw a clutch of federales gathered in the lee of the nearest building on the main street. One of them was peeking around the corner, watching the church.

He headed straight for the federales, striding purposefully and erect across the thirty yards of open ground. Halfway there, a shot rang out from the belfry of the church, and dirt flew up in front of him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break stride. A second shot tore open the front of his coat but didn’t touch his flesh. He kept walking, and this time a barrage of rifle fire answered from both sides, peppering the stone tower. Five yards short of his goal Caleb was tackled from behind and driven to the ground. Domingo grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly past the corner of the building, then helped him to his feet.

“You are
loco
!” Domingo said, pointing. “The men in that church came here to kill us. Did you think they would not shoot at you?”

Caleb ignored him, turning to the half-dozen soldiers who stood gaping at him in confusion. They wore brown uniforms with a thick belt on top of their shirts, and flat-top military caps. Apart from that, and the leather shoes on their feet in place of sandals, they looked nearly as ragged and desperate as the bandits.

“Who is in charge here?”

One of the federales stepped forward, bowed slightly and tipped his cap. A short hawk-faced man with a pencil-thin mustache, his dull brown tunic bore markings and medals the others didn’t have, though Caleb didn’t know what any of them meant.

“
Capitán
Soto, at your service.” The captain waved casually at the open ground Caleb had just crossed and added, “I must say I agree with your young friend. You are indeed loco, Señor . . .”

“Bender. Caleb Bender. Captain Soto, you must stop your men from shooting the wounded. It is
murder
, plain and simple. I am the one who sent for you, but I would never have done it if I knew your men were going to slaughter people like pigs. I will not tolerate—”

“Tolerate? You will not
tolerate
?” Soto took a step closer and his eyes narrowed. “You have an American accent. You are not even
Mexican
, Señor Bender. I was told the haciendado sent for us, but it does not matter. I answer to my commander, and he to his, all the way up to
el presidente
himself. We do not take orders from the haciendado, and certainly not from some gringo. My job is to kill bandits. I think you should go hide someplace and let me do my job.”

One of the soldiers peeked around the corner the whole time, keeping watch on the front of the church. Now he turned to Captain Soto and said, “Capitán, they are waving a white flag.”

Soto turned his back on Caleb, straightened his tunic and stepped out from the corner to see for himself. He looked back at Domingo and snapped his fingers.

“
You
—come here.”

Domingo and Caleb both stepped out to where they could see the church. A handkerchief fluttered in the crack of the door, and a head protruded. There was a skullcap on the back of his head.

“Who is this man?” Soto asked.

“Father Noceda,” Domingo answered. “The parish priest, and a good man. He must have been trapped in the church when the bandits took it.”

Soto cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “What do you want, priest?”

The door opened a little wider and Father Noceda stepped out, dressed in the full cassock he’d worn for the wedding.

“These men have requested sanctuary,” he shouted back, “and I must grant it to them. You must not attack this building. It is
God’s
house.”

Captain Soto shot a sarcastic glance at his clutch of officers and they broke into quiet laughter, shaking their heads.

He shouted back, “You are mistaken, priest. Things have changed. Perhaps you have not heard that we have a new presidente. His name is Plutarco Calles, and he does not cower before your God. I am afraid even
you
will not find sanctuary behind your stone walls. I am hereby decommissioning your church and appropriating the building in the name of the federal government.”