Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) (26 page)

“You have already drawn attention to us by bringing our horses.” Roman spurred his mount to the front of Juan Padilla’s band, where Lopez and Garcia raced his palominos. If one of these men attempted to shoot his horse, Roman would use his rope. Dragging a man a mile or so behind a horse usually took the devil right out of him.

In Sonoma, the Bears had swiftly formed the Republic of California, flying their homemade flag with its pig-like grizzly over Sonoma square. Joshua Tyler found the whole thing wearisome but necessary. Sweating in their greasy buckskin hunting shirts under the warm June sun, the Bears gathered to discuss how to defend themselves against the Californios now that they’d declared war on the Mexican province. Unlike Joshua, who had come by ship years earlier and assimilated by patiently adopting the Catholic religion and Californio ways, many of these settlers and adventurers had made the long trek overland across the rugged mountains and unforgiving deserts and weren’t about to let Castro tell them what to do in California.

Especially not with Captain John Fremont with his impressive troops of mountain men and Delaware Indian bodyguards representing the United States of America, now camped in the north end of the Sacramento Valley, giving advice and egging the Bears on in their rebellion against Mexican authorities. Captain Fremont and his troops had just finished punishing the Maidu Indians along the Sacramento River, going from one village to the next, slaughtering men, women, and children as a precautionary warning that any Indians helping General Castro and the Californios resist the Americans would be dealt with in the same brutal manner.

Though emboldened by Captain Fremont’s war with the California Indians, their hero, Fremont, had not shown up in Sonoma as of yet to help the Bears, and the rebels were running short on ammunition and arms. Joshua warned the leaders they did not have enough men to defend themselves in a full-scale attack by Castro, but nobody wanted to hear about Castro’s forces running Fremont off Gavilan Peak. And after overtaking Vallejo’s garrison, the Bears quickly discovered Mexico had not sent arms to the Californios. The meager supply of ammunition in Sonoma consisted of nothing more than a nine brass cannon, two hundred muskets, and a hundred pounds of gunpowder. To Joshua’s quiet satisfaction, this dismayed the Bears. Certainly, the Sonoma stash wasn’t enough powder to hold off an attack from General Castro’s troops. He’d already told them that.

During the Bears’ meeting that warm June day, Lieutenant Henry Ford decided William Todd, the Bears’ young flag maker, would be sent to Bodega in search of gunpower. Two other Bears, Thomas Cowie and George Fowler, were sent toward the Russian River to contact Kit Carson’s half-brother Moses,
majordomo
of Henry Fitch’s rancho. Kit Carson was Fremont’s right-hand man. The Bears knew Moses Carson could help them.

Roman saw the two Yankees on the road ahead and felt relief and dread tangle inside him. Lopez and Garcia would not shoot Rancho de los Robles’s palominos now that they’d found more agreeable victims on which to vent their wrath. The band surrounded the two just outside of Santa Rosa
,
taking them prisoner there on the road. Padilla announced they would camp for the night in a nearby glen. The prisoners, Thomas Cowie and George Fowler, were tied to trees while the band settled into the camp.

Roman held on to his riata as Lopez and Garcia swung off the sweat-soaked palominos. The stallions had held up well under the hard riding. Roman breathed a sigh of relief when both men left the palominos without a backward glace, heading straight for the Americanos tied to the trees.

Gathering the palominos, Roman went about the camp collecting Rancho de los Robles horses. Some of the men silently watched him, but nobody confronted him as he rounded up his herd.

He came upon Tio Pedro lying on the ground, soaked in sweat like the horses.

“Tio, are you all right?”

Tio Pedro only grunted.

“After I feed the horses, I will return.” Roman was still too angry with his uncle to feel much sympathy for him. Tio deserved all the pain he got for making this decision to join with the
bandidos
.

Roman led the horses out into the fields to graze. He would not water the animals until they cooled off. All but one of the palominos were too tired to graze.

In the distance, Roman watched the band make camp as Lopez and Garcia tormented the prisoners. He turned away when Lopez kicked one of the prisoners in the belly as the Americano stood helplessly tied to the tree. The young blond-haired Yankee yelped in pain upon receiving the vicious kick.

Why did that boy have to be blond like Rachel?

A dozen Californios soon gathered around the trees where the Americanos were tied. The Californios began to throw stones at the prisoners. The tormentors laughed as the bloodied
Yanquios
begged for mercy.

Roman gathered the palominos and led them to the creek. The horses drank thirstily, as did Roman. He ignored the screams of the prisoners as best he could, washing his face in the cool water, trying to ignore the torture in the trees. Padilla’s band was probably seeking information about the Osos, torturing the prisoners to get it.

Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out the small golden rosary he’d carried all these years. He’d believed his mother’s rosary would keep him safe. And it had. Many times, he should have died, but he had not. He stared at the crucifix on the bottom of the string of beads. Jesus hanging on the cross. The sight grieved him.

One of the horses stopped drinking and looked at him. “The Americanos are the bears,” Roman said to the horse. “They kill, steal, and destroy like the grizzlies. The Americanos deserve what they are getting.”

But the torture of the prisoners weighed heavy on his mind. Especially the blond boy with hair like Rachel’s.

When they had their fill of water, Roman led the horses out of the creek and over to an open meadow. After picketing the palominos there, he returned to Tio Pedro. His uncle was lying on the ground where he’d left him.

Tio Pedro drank brandy from a
bota
he’d stashed in his pantaloons.

“I cannot move,” he told Roman. “Never have I traveled so far so fast. What is wrong with these men? Mexican soldiers do not ride this way. Killing their horses as they go. These men have gone mad.”

“You said they were Castro’s soldiers,” Roman reminded him.

In response, Tio Pedro drank more brandy.

Campfires now burned amid the trees. The men roasted and ate beef taken from a nearby rancho. The Americanos tied to the trees were still being tortured by Garcia and Lopez and others in the band. The rest of the Californios stood around the campfires with their leaders, Padilla and Carrillo.

Roman realized the Americanos would probably be killed because the leaders did not seem to care about them.

A sharp pang of remorse hit him when he realized those two men being tortured in the moonlight could, in a twist of fate, be Steven and Dominic. And that blond boy could be Rachel’s brother, had she a brother.

The Californios bragged at the campfires about how Garcia and Lopez no longer used stones to abuse the Yankees. Their methods had improved in brutality. Padilla’s men now sharpened their knives by the fire for the game of slicing without killing that they would play next with their Americano prisoners.

Roman did not attempt to eat the roasted beef he was offered by Padilla. With a sickness in his stomach that somehow reached all the way to his soul, he waved off the Californio leader’s attempt at friendship and returned to Tio Pedro, still lying in the grass where he’d dismounted when they first arrived at camp.

Tio Pedro’s serape was pulled over his head, the empty skin of brandy tossed aside near where he slept.

Roman longed to kick his uncle awake so Tio could see for himself the terrible things being done to the Americanos. Instead, he rounded up the palominos and saddled two of the strongest looking animals. He then went to Padilla and told the lieutenant his uncle was in no condition to continue with this quest to free General Vallejo. Roman reassured Padilla that after returning his uncle to Rancho de los Robles
,
he would ride in search of General Castro to inform him of the capture of the two Americanos.

Padilla said the prisoners were Osos. The two had confessed to taking part in the Sonoma siege. One of the prisoners had even helped make that audacious bear flag. Roman knew they’d be dead by morning.

Returning to where Tio Pedro slept, Roman shook his uncle awake. “Mount up. We are leaving.”

Tio Pedro protested, his words slurred from the brandy, but Roman informed him Padilla expected the two of them to find General Castro and tell the general Americano rebels had been captured near Santa Rosa and to relay the information taken from these prisoners.

Stumbling to his feet, Tio Pedro struggled into his serape. “How far must we ride to reach General Castro?”

“Not far.” Roman held the palomino so Tio Pedro could mount the horse. The lie came easy. Roman would say anything to get his uncle on the back of that horse so they could get away from these evil men.

“
Viva
California!” Tio Pedro shouted upon sinking into the saddle, causing the horse to shy sideways.

Pedro pitched out of the saddle, hitting the ground with a terrible thud. The horse would have bolted away had Roman not restrained it with the lead rope.

“
Viva
California!” Shouts came from the campfires.

Swearing in Spanish, Roman said, “Get up, Tio, before they see you on the ground.”

Tio Pedro stumbled to his feet, untangling himself from his serape. “
Viva
California,” he repeated, this time in an absolute daze.

Roman grabbed Tio Pedro’s elbow and propelled his uncle toward the stirrup. “Mount like a man,” he commanded. “Padilla and Carrillo are on their way over to speak to us.”

With Roman’s help, Tio Pedro managed to get back on the horse.

Roman then mounted his own horse while still holding Tio Pedro’s horse’s rope. He also held another rope with the other palominos tied pack train-fashion for travel.

Padilla and his lieutenant, Ramon Carrillo, walked faster to reach them as they departed.

“What are you doing with those horses?” Padilla demanded.

“Taking them to General Castro,” Roman answered.

Carrillo and Padilla looked at each other. Both men had their hands on pistols tucked into their pantaloons.

“I heard your men talking about Lieutenants Francisco Arce and Jose Maria Alviso bringing horses to General Castro from General Vallejo. The men said buckskin-clad Americanos took the horses from Arce and Alviso before the Osos overtook Sonoma. Vallejo’s horses never reached Castro,” Roman explained.

“This is true,” Padilla agreed.

Unwilling to conceal his anger now over the horses destroyed on the ride, Roman continued, “Your men shoot good horses after riding them into the ground. Castro is in need of horses. Your men obviously are not.”

Tio Pedro hastily joined in. “If you want the horses . . . they are . . . yours,” he slurred drunkenly.

“I told you, my uncle is ill. He has suffered some kind of head injury. You can see he is sick.” Roman motioned for them to look at Tio Pedro, a sad sight in the saddle.

“Tell the general we have gotten all the information we need from the prisoners. They are dead, and we have moved on to Sonoma,” Padilla said.

“The prisoners are dead?” Remorse swept over Roman.

“Not yet. But soon they will be. We will rest in camp another day or so, killing these Osos slowly.”

Roman nodded stiffly to Padilla and then spurred his horse forward, leading Tio Pedro and the rest of the palominos to the road, where they turned for home.

At Rancho de los Robles, Sarita paced her room, chanting in a fierce, unintelligible language for Tohic to avenge her. Roman had rejected her even after she’d told him she carried his child. He seemed blind to her now; all he did was watch the skinny gringa with hungry eyes.

How could Roman lust for that pale slip of a girl? Sarita saw no beauty in her stepdaughter. Her hate for Rachel intensified as each day passed. Tohic was doing nothing to help. Sarita danced her heart out, and Roman hardly noticed. She undressed for him, and he picked her up and carried her from his room, dumping her in the hall like a sack of grain. Then he locked her out of his bedchamber.

What was the matter with him? He was so different these days. Where was all that passion and rage she used to see in him? The violence that delighted her? The lust she’d used to control him?

Tohic was doing nothing to make Roman return to her
.
The sacrifice of the newborn lamb must not have pleased him.

This battle for Roman was bigger than Sarita ever imagined. She knew she was losing him as surely as the sun rose in the east. She realized another sacrifice must be presented to Tohic. Something special that would please him enough that he would unleash all his power on her behalf so that she would gain Roman back.

She began to search for blood. Blood that was special. Greatly loved blood, for this is what she wanted Tohic to give her. Roman’s love in return for this sacrifice.

That night, she searched the barns and the servants’ quarters for a sacrifice worthy of this love. She even considered snatching an Indian baby to burn in the fire under the sacred oaks, but she could find no infants amongst the Rancho de los Robles servants. A small boy of about two years old captured her eye, but after watching him with his mother for a while, she felt the boy wasn’t valued enough to merit Tohic’s favor.

In the stables, she hoped to find a treasured pet, a dog favored by one of the vaqueros or a young goat or lamb a shepherd showered with affection, but she saw no man attached to an animal.

Discouraged, she returned to the hacienda to gather the charms and idols she always carried with her. She had to worship Tohic, perhaps cutting herself to release her own blood for him if no other sacrificial blood could be found.