Gone to Texas (15 page)

“I have an important mission for you,” the Major said pleasantly, as if they were two of his most trusted men. “I want to arrange a meeting with the rebel leaders at the other spring we saw, so I can try to persuade them to disband. I want you to take them a letter under a flag of truce.” He smiled. “I'm sure they know what a flag of truce is. Report to me after breakfast tomorrow.” He dismissed them, and they returned to where the troop was bivouacked. They walked in silence, both thinking hard about the Major's orders.

“I doubt he'd have chosen us unless he thinks we're likely to be killed,” Duncan said at last. “I can't see any other reason.”

“You mean unless he's certain we'll be killed,” Muñoz corrected him. “I'm going to talk to Sergeant Castillos; he's usually told, or figures out what's planned. But I can't let the Major see me talking to him.” He didn't return until after dark; Duncan had already rolled up in his blankets, but he had difficulty sleeping. He listened to owls hooting mournfully in the cottonwoods, tossing restlessly and wishing he knew what Muñoz had learned.

After breakfast next morning they reported to Franco, who smiled when he saw that each of them carried a piece of white cloth tied to a stick. Muñoz also smiled, but Duncan saw nothing amusing. A scout described the way to the rebel camp, then the Major gave Muñoz an envelope.

“Take this to the rebel Valeriano,” he said, “and bring me his reply.” He smiled again, reminding Duncan of a cat playing with a helpless mouse.

Muñoz and Duncan saddled their horses and trotted off in the direction the scout had indicated. When they were well away from the camp, Muñoz stopped his horse and sat with both hands on the pommel of his saddle.

“Let me tell you what I learned,” he said. “Of course, as you know, we're in real danger. The Major figured this one out so he's bound to win one way or the other.” Duncan sat his horse, frowning and wondering how the Major had found a way to get them killed.

“In the first place,” Muñoz continued, “if we ride into their camp in uniforms, even with these silly flags, they're almost certain to shoot us before we can say a word. If for any reason they don't, and Valeriano agrees to meet the Major at the spring, there'll be soldiers hiding nearby to shoot him down. The cavalry will be close enough to come to the Major's rescue before the rebels can get him. So he will certainly get rid of either us or Valeriano. If he's lucky, maybe both.”

Duncan wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled. “Damn,” he said, “I wasn't fixin' to die just yet. Couldn't we make it across Texas by keeping off the trails?”

"Without a pack mule and a month's supply of food, we'd starve to death if the Indians didn't save us the trouble. I have an idea that might catch the Major in his own snare, but only if we find someone who can persuade Valeriano to listen to us, someone who knows him, if possible. He's undoubtedly on friendly terms with the
rancheros
around here. If one of them will get him to hear us out, we may have a chance but it's risky. Convincing him is where the hair gets short.”

They crossed more prairie until they saw a small rancho and rode up to it. Dogs barked and a young
mestizo
woman, barefoot and wearing a loose cotton shift, came to the door of the hut holding a brown-skinned, naked infant in her arms. She gave them a black look when she saw they were soldiers.

“We need to talk to your husband,” Muñoz told her.

“He's away,” she said, not looking him in the face. “I don't know when he'll be back. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe not.”

“Are there other ranchos near here?” Duncan asked.

“Who knows?” she replied.

The two rode on. “Soldiers aren't very welcome here,” Muñoz remarked. “After what Arredondo did to these people, small wonder. But we've got to get through to one of them. It's our only hope.”

A few miles farther on they saw another rancho and a corral holding a few horses. Nearby was a hut where the
ranchero
and his family lived. Dogs barked and children squealed as they rode up to the corral, where a young
mestizo ranchero
wearing one spur was saddling a cowpony. Seeing their uniforms, he scowled, but left his cowpony standing with the reins down and walked toward them. It was clear from his expression he knew that soldiers always meant trouble. “
Senores?
” he said, waiting, with hands on hips.

Muñoz showed him the letter. “We were sent to give this to Valeriano and wait for his answer,” he said.

“Who is Valeriano?”

“I think you know. If you want to help him, hear me out,” Muñoz said. “We don't know what's in the letter, but we're sure it's a trap. I have an idea how he can spring it on the
Gachupines
.” He studied the young
ranchero's
face. “Believe me,” he continued, “we want to help the patriots, not harm them.”

The
ranchero
looked from one to the other, hesitating but no longer scowling. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don't, of course,” Muñoz replied, “but let me explain. My
amigo
here is an Americano who has no love for the royalists. The
Gachupines
kept him a prisoner for ten years.” Duncan held up his arms so the scars on his wrists were visible. The
ranchero
whistled. “The Major wants Valeriano to kill both of us,” Muñoz added. “That's why he sent us with the letter. He also wants to kill Valeriano, so in a way we're in this together. We want to tell him how to turn the tables on the
Gachupines.
Otherwise we'd be heading for the Sabine right now. We didn't come here so Valeriano can kill us just to please the Major.” He watched the
ranchero's
reaction, and saw that his words had been effective.

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

“Take us to Valeriano and get him to listen and trust us. We'll give you our guns so he can see we come as friends.” He took his carbine out of its scabbard, while Duncan did the same. They handed their guns butt-first to the
ranchero,
who accepted them with some hesitation. “Will you do it?” Muñoz asked.

He nodded and tied the two carbines to his saddle. “I believe you,” he said, “and you're lucky you found me, for I do know Valeriano. When they see me, they won't shoot you. At least not right away,” he added as an afterthought. He mounted his cowpony. “Follow me,” he said and led the way, while his wife and children watched anxiously from the doorway of their hut.

In about half an hour, they cautiously approached the rebel camp in a little valley, where many horses and mules grazed around an abandoned hut. Duncan held his breath, for at least fifty men seized their guns as the
ranchero
rode toward them, holding up his open hand. Duncan and Muñoz followed, with their flags of truce raised. Duncan felt foolish, for he was sure that holding up a handful of horse droppings would have meant as much to these men. Seeing the uniforms, the rebels scowled and fingered their guns. Gulping hard and desperately trying to keep from showing concern, Duncan glanced from one to another of the hostile faces, almost wincing at the hatred he saw in them. He wondered if it might not have been wiser to risk starving to death.

“Valeriano,” the
ranchero
called, and untied the two carbines. A slender
mestizo
who appeared to be in his thirties walked toward them, smiling when he saw the
ranchero
holding the guns.

“You bring me prisoners?” he asked, accepting the carbines.

“No,
amigo,”
the
ranchero
replied, and related what Muñoz had told him. “I trust them, and you should listen to what they have to say. I'm sure you'll be glad you did.”

Muñoz held out the letter. “It's from Major Franco,” he said. “He told us he wants to talk to you.”

Valeriano frowned, but took the letter and opened it. From the way he looked at it Duncan knew he couldn't read. “Pablo,” he called, “tell me what this says,
por favor.”
An older man in white cotton shirt and pantaloons shuffled up to him and took the letter. Squinting his eyes, he read it haltingly.

“He wants you and your lieutenants to meet him at Dulce spring tomorrow an hour after sunrise,” he said. “He will have two of his officers with him. He wants to offer you horses and money to stop fighting. His cavalry will stay in camp, so you'll be safe. To show his good faith, he will leave these two soldiers with you; if you aren't satisfied with what you see, you may kill them.” Duncan shivered when he heard that. The tricky bastard, he thought. He told us to bring him Valeriano's reply. Damn him. He thought of everything.

“If you're willing to meet him,” Pablo continued, “build a fire at the spring so he can see the smoke.”

“Well, what about it? Valeriano asked Muñoz. “Why should I talk to him, and how do I know it's not a trap?”

“It is a trap,” Muñoz replied calmly, “and that's why you should meet him.” Duncan waited, his face bathed in sweat. “He's a
Gachupin,
and he wants you to kill both of us, but he also wants to kill you,” Muñoz continued.

There was an ominous murmur among the rebels that reminded Duncan of a rattlesnake's warning—all appeared eager to oblige the Major. Duncan felt the hair rising on his arms. Valeriano held up his hand, and the murmuring ceased. Duncan exhaled.

“Let me explain how to catch him in his own trap,” Muñoz said quickly, concealing his nervousness. The young
ranchero
looked at Valeriano, nodding his head vigorously.

“Do it,” he said. The rebel leader hesitated. “I guess it won't hurt to listen to you,” he agreed. “Without your guns you're not likely to shoot any of us.” His men guffawed at that.

The
ranchero
turned his horse. “Good luck,
señores,"
he said, then rode away.

Muñoz explained that at daybreak half a dozen soldiers would conceal themselves around the spring. The Major and two officers would arrive an hour later to meet Valeriano and his lieutenants. They would talk for a few minutes, then the Major would give a signal, and the soldiers would shoot the rebel leaders. The cavalry wouldn't be in camp, but would be close enough to hear the firing and dash up to prevent Valeriano's men from taking revenge on the Major.

“So what do you suggest?” Valeriano asked.

“Build the fire so he'll know you'll meet him. Have your men there well before daybreak,” Muñoz answered. “When the soldiers arrive, seize them without firing a shot, and have some of your men hide. Then meet him. When he gives the signal, your men can shoot him. He'll think his own men killed him.”

Valeriano, thinking about the plan, almost chuckled, then his face was serious. “I don't know,” he said. “We'll have to think about it.” He ordered Muñoz and Duncan into the abandoned hut and posted guards.

“I hope they do it,” Duncan said. “I'd give anything to see the Major's face when he gives the signal.” That was such a satisfying thought he momentarily forgot the danger they were in.

The afternoon seemed longer than usual. Late in the day a silent man with an impassive face gave them dried beef and water. Without mats or blankets, they tried unsuccessfully to sleep on the dirt floor. Duncan listened to squeaking rats scurrying around the hut and shivered, hoping no snakes were after them. Long before daybreak he listened intently for sounds indicating that the rebels were leaving for Dulce Spring to lay their trap, but he heard nothing and frowned.

At the first dim light the two prisoners stiffly arose, yawning, stretching their sore muscles, and rubbing their bloodshot eyes. Peering out the door, Duncan saw that the two guards were still there, but it wasn't light enough to see the camp clearly. At sunup a man brought more dried beef and water. Although hungry, they ate mechanically and without enthusiasm, then squatted on the dirt floor and waited. An hour or more passed.

“Did you hear that?” Duncan asked.

“No. What?”

“It sounded like distant thunder, or maybe gunfire. I wonder....”

Some minutes later they heard shouts and hoofbeats, and forty or more horsemen clattered into the camp. “Our time has come,” Muñoz remarked. “They either let us go or they shoot us.” They stood nervously at the doorway, watching the men dismount. From their expressions Duncan couldn't tell if they were angry or jubilant.

Valeriano shouted, and the two guards ordered them to come out. They saw Valeriano limping toward them, and Duncan noticed a little blood on his pant leg. Oh, God, he thought, something must have gone wrong. He reluctantly followed Muñoz through the doorway, expecting to be riddled by a shower of bullets.

“Come here,” Valeriano ordered, beckoning to them. They walked up to him. Duncan felt his heart pounding.

“What happened?” Muñoz asked, pointing to Valeriano's leg.

“Oh, just a scratch,” the rebel leader replied. “One of the officers had a pistol in his pocket, and he got off a shot that nicked me before he went down. But it worked just like you said it would. The Major went down blaspheming, but you don't need to worry about him now. He's one good
Gachupin.
We left before the cavalry could get there. You can have your guns and leave.”

“We can't let the army find us,” Muñoz said. “They'll know we must have suggested this.” He looked around the camp. “You must leave here right away,” he said. “The scouts know where you are, and they'll surely come after you now. What will you do?”

“I know. We'll have to scatter immediately and return to our homes, but we were going to anyway. We thought that once we had a supply of guns, lots of men would join us. But Arredondo nearly wiped out many families, and most of those who survived want nothing more to do with the revolution.”