The Vanquished (19 page)

“They will be here within two hours, I think.”

“Good. Thank you, Luis.”

Luis grinned and stepped off the porch, and led his horse out into the square. His spurs dragged the dust. He pulled up a bucket of water at the well and gave his horse a drink, then loosened the cinch and led the horse out of the square toward his father's stable. Redondo watched him go. The party Luis had reported would no doubt be the
Norteamericano
filibusters against whom Pesquiera's dispatch rider had warned him not a week past.

He sighed; his wide chest lifted and fell. In a moment he went inside the store and around behind the counter, where he brought out a double-barreled shotgun. He inspected its loads, gave wife and daughter a bleak look, and returned to the porch. When he sat down he put the shotgun across his lap.

Time stretched at a ragged pace. Teresa came out for another drink of water, and he said to her, “I have instructions for you,
niña
. There is a crowd of gringo pirates on the road coming here. They will arrive within an hour—if you look closely you can see their dust beyond the bald mountain.”

She looked. “I see nothing,
Papa
.”

“Just the same, the pirates are there. I do not wish you to be visible to them. One does not put temptation in the devil's path. I have decided what you must do.”

“
Sí, Papa?
”

“Go down to your Aunt Lita's house by the arroyo. Stay there with her until the gringos; have left the town.”

“All right,” she said.

“Take a gift for your aunt from the store. And take food with you. The gringos may stay here for an hour or a week—I do not know. You are to avoid them at all times. Do not speak to any of them. Keep a knife with you.
Comprendes?
”

“
Sí, Papa
.”

“Go, then.”

She turned into the store. On his cane-bottom chair, Redondo touched the hot metal of the shotgun and settled back to wait. The dust haze to the northwest was advancing slowly. The thermometer read ninety-seven degrees.

CHAPTER 15

It was Sus Ainsa's feeling that matters were not as they should be. Normally he was easygoing enough, in most respects, to take adversity as it came. Today it had come in the form of a complacently delivered message uttered by the fat
alcalde
of the town, Redondo. The message had been brief and to the point. It had taken Redondo approximately a minute and a half to speak it. It was now taking the rest of the afternoon to digest it.

The column was encamped in the scanty shade of a row of mesquites that bordered the rim of a dry eroded creek, an arroyo. Crabb was seated with his back against the bole of one such tree. It was so stunted that its branches barely left his face visible. Sus squatted on the dusty ground and, with the other officers, looked worried. The sun was made of brass; its great brilliance attempted to fry them all. Sus's shirt was soaked against his back and there were drops of oil sweat on his forehead. A lean man, he did not normally perspire much. His legs felt cramped and he stood up to stretch them. He looked out across the camp at men feeding horses, men playing cards, men oiling guns, men arranging equipment, men talking in quiet little knots of conversation.

Sus thought back upon the
alcalde
, stuffed with self-importance, sitting in his cane-bottom chair on the porch and delivering his message with pompous tones. “The government of Governor Aguilar has instructed me to inform Señor H. A. Crabb and his party that the people of Mexico will tolerate no invasion. The administration of Governor Aguilar accepts no responsibility for treasonous or unlawful pacts entered into by any previous administration. The present administration refuses to honor any such pacts, and accordingly announces to all immigrants or attempted invaders that to enter upon Mexican sovereign soil is to risk property and even life. No covenants that lead to invasion will be honored. I speak with the authority of the Señor Don José de Aguilar, Governor by God's Grace of the State of Sonora.”

The
alcalde
had gestured for emphasis with the black shotgun he held securely. Then Crabb had replied to him that the party would make camp outside town while considering the announcement. Redondo had nodded and smiled and told them to take all the time they desired. Crabb had been steaming when they reached the campsite, and Captain David McDowell had threatened to return to town and wring Redondo's fat neck.

Crabb began to talk, slowly at first, then with heat. “The message is clear enough. Pesquiera, through his puppet Aguilar, has made it plain that he's going back on his word. This is what we all feared when we learned that Pesquiera had whipped Gandara. Frankly I had hopes that Pesquiera would prove to be an honorable man and would keep faith with his contracts in spite of the fact that he no longer needed the services we were supposed to supply. After all, as you gentlemen know, Pesquiera is related to my wife, and I had hoped that would count for something. It's clear now, however, that not only is Pesquiera going back on his word, he's actually denying that he ever gave his word. From the wording of the threat Redondo gave us, it's plain that Pesquiera is trying to shift the blame to Gandara. That's what he meant by saying he would not honor any pacts made by ‘previous administrations.' Of course it's hogwash, but the Mexican people will believe it. They'll believe anything Pesquiera tells them. They're fools—cattle. They don't deserve sovereignty over this country. Look at the kind of backbiting men who are their leaders. Look at Pesquiera—a man entirely without honor. Gentlemen, I believe that whatever else happens, the people of Sonora should at least be rescued from such foul dealers as Pesquiera and his followers.”

Sus found himself smiling a little. It was typical of Crabb, to get confounded in his own rhetoric so that at one moment he condemned the people as cattle, and at the next moment he vowed that they deserved to be rescued from their leaders.

“Gentlemen,” Crabb said, “my friends. We have come far. The desert lies behind us. We have experienced many a hardship. If we allow ourselves to be intimidated and driven away by this pompous threat, then what is it all to come to? Have we labored in vain? I know that some of you fought in the war against Mexico not a decade past. You know the qualities of the Mexican fighting man. Without intending offense to my fine brother-in-law here”—Sus had to smile again—“I think we must all agree that as a soldier, the Mexican makes a very poor showing for himself. Gentlemen, I believe we have come too far to be turned back now. I believe we have expended too much money, too much effort, and too much time to allow ourselves to fail in the face of an empty threat. My friends”—and here his voice rose to a fine peak of energy—“I am convinced that together we must resolve to advance!”

It was McCoun who offered objection. Colonel W. H. McCoun. Sus looked upon the man with a certain measure of cool contempt. McCoun had been a well-known leader in the state legislature for many years. He had held the respect and friendship of his constituents in the palm of his hand, until at a late date during the last elections he had switched his allegiance to Crabb and the Know-Nothings. And now McCoun gnawed the political bone that had been tossed to him—the position of second-in-command of the expedition. Sus had never liked the big, balloon-cheeked man; he liked him even less now for his hedging.

“It's a nice speech, Henry,” McCoun said. “I applaud you. You have a knack of uttering the proper words of courage. But I'm not sure that this is the time for courage or rashness. After all, our skins hang in the balance.”

Crabb said quietly, “I'm disappointed in you, old friend.”

“If you want to despise me for cowardice, go ahead,” McCoun said. “But believe me, if mine were the only life I had to consider, I'd probably be a good deal bolder. As it is, I don't find it as easy as you seem to find it. In effect you're asking eighty or ninety men to march into a situation that we know is a hostile one. Even under the best of possible circumstances, men are bound to be hurt or killed.”

“You seem to forget,” Crabb told him, “that within a week's time General Cosby will be on the Concepcion with a thousand troops. We have promised to meet him in the Altar valley. What is he to do if we don't arrive?”

“I'm forgetting nothing,” McCoun said. “Send a dispatch rider to meet Cosby farther downriver. Tell him to turn back, if there's still time for it.”

“And if there isn't? My friend, by this time Cosby has undoubtedly landed his force at Lobos Bay. If Pesquiera is looking for an armed invasion, he's already got one. You don't think we could stop him now, do you?”

“We might be able to turn Cosby back before there's more bloodshed than necessary,” McCoun insisted. “Besides, with a thousand men he can take care of himself better than we can.”

Crabb looked up toward the mile-distant adobes of Sonoyta, golden in the afternoon sun. Shadows were sharp-edged and olive in color. He was stroking his brown beard—it was, Sus knew, a sign of thoughtfulness. Presently he said, “No. I suspect that if Pesquiera is preparing defenses against us, he will by now have been advised that Cosby's army has made a landing on the western shore. It will be a good opportunity for us to move down the Concepcion and take Altar and Caborca from behind, and reinforce Cosby's column from inland. Gentlemen, the truth of the matter is that we stand in a good strategic position. I don't understand this talk of retreat. If Pesquiera has alerted his troops, so much the better—we shall catch him where he's not expecting it.”

Sus watched him with interest. This was almost a new Crabb—resolute, belligerent, offensive. He suspected that Pesquiera's brusque threat had piqued Crabb to the point of stubborn resistance and retaliation.

“I want to hear no more arguments,” Crabb said. “We will advance as planned.”

McCoun, a politician, was unwilling to take orders flatly without response. He continued his argument, but failed to sway Crabb. Sus watched it all with dry amusement and a growing concern. His own principal objective in this affair was to restore his family to its proper place in the Sonoran hierarchy. The revolution years ago had stripped the Ainsa clan of its mines and lands and driven them out of Mexico. Displaced to San Francisco, they had done well; but it was a needle pricking the family pride that their lost properties in the Arizpe district had never been restored to them. Sus had seen, in the alliance between Crabb and Pesquiera—both of them relatives—a good chance to effect such a restoration of property and position. But now he could see easily enough that if Pesquiera had turned against Crabb in spite of his promise, then he would just as quickly turn against the Ainsa family in spite of his promise to them. It seemed clear enough to Sus that if he were to turn back now, he would have exhausted himself for nothing. Crabb was right. No doubt the general was exaggerating the ineffectiveness of Mexican soldiery, but at the same time Sus was confident that with Cosby's force on the mainland, victory was a distinct possibility. For himself he was willing to take the risks; as for the other men, it was not up to him to decide for them.

The meeting broke up in the late afternoon. McCoun went away disgruntled and dissatisfied. Holliday and McDowell left together, talking together with evident concern. The other officers drifted back to their companies and in a short while, with the sun half an hour above the horizon, Sus found himself alone with Crabb. Crabb nodded to him and said, “Get out a pen and some paper, Sus. I want to dictate a letter to you. You'll translate it into Spanish.”

Sus walked across a part of the camp to get to his traveling bag. Inside he found a quill pen, a sheaf of paper, an ink jar. He took these back with him toward Crabb. On the way he heard men talking earnestly among themselves. Word was already out; talk spread fast. An aura of excitement permeated the camp. Sus squatted down and balanced the paper on his knee. He uncapped the inkwell, dipped the pen, and said, “All right.”

“Sir,” Crabb began, speaking slowly as he thought out his words. “In accordance with the colonization laws of Mexico and with several definite invitations from the most influential citizens of Sonora, I have entered the boundaries of your state with one hundred followers and in advance of many others, expecting to make happy homes among you.”

Sus wrote quickly: “
De conformidad con las leyes de la Colonizatión de México
….” When he finished he looked up.

Crabb went on:

“I have come with the intention of hurting no one, with no intrigues either public or private.”

Sus smiled but kept writing.

“Since my arrival,” Crabb said, “I have given no indication of evil designs, but on the contrary I have made peaceful overtures. It is true that I am equipped with weapons and powder, but you will know that it is not customary for Americans or any other civilized people to travel without them; furthermore we are about to travel where the Apache Indians are always committing depredations.”

Sus wrote busily, now and then chewing the quill while he chose a word. Once he said, “Wait one minute,
hermano
,” and caught up. “All right,” he said. “Go on from there.”

“But bear in mind, sir,” Crabb said, “whatever we may be forced to endure shall fall on the heads of you and your followers.”

“Let us pray,” Sus murmured while he wrote. The sun was dropping into the clouds to the west. The sky grew dim and Sus had to bend over his writing.

Crabb went on dictating: “I have come to your land because I have the right to come, as I have shown, expecting to be greeted with open arms; but now I see that I am to meet death among enemies who are destitute of decency. I protest against any hostile act toward my companions here and about to arrive. You have your own path to follow, but keep this in mind: should blood be shed, it will be on your head, and not on mine. Nonetheless you are free to proceed with your evil preparations. As for me, I shall lose no time in advancing to the place where I have intended to go for some time, and I am now only awaiting my party. I am the leader and my intention is to obey the dictates of the laws of self-preservation and nature.”