Deadfall (14 page)

“No . . . I don't think so, not just yet,” said Charley. “I figure we'll let them go with the bandits, then we'll sneak them away when we have the chance. Right now they've got those two tied up tighter'n I've ever seen before. There's no way we can break them away from that gang right now without causing some kind of a ruckus.”

“Sounds like those bandits are pretty upset that I got away,” said Henry Ellis, who had only just joined the small group.

“Rod and Kelly were tied up tighter'n two calves in a forty-man roping contest, son,” said Charley. “We'll figure out a way to rescue them on the trail. Now, I need two men to replace me and Fuerte to watch that camp. You don't have to get in as close as we did; I just need you there to let us know when they start to pack it up.”

 

 

The bandit gang began preparing for their departure about an hour later. Holliday and Feather, who had volunteered to take over observation duties for Charley and Fuerte, both rushed over and mounted their horses, moving away quietly—on their way to report that the gang was about to break camp.

 

 

Charley found his grandson near a clump of bushes where he sat on a log with a forlorn look on his face. As the older man knelt down beside the boy, he could see that Henry Ellis had been crying.

The boy jumped slightly when Charley put an arm around his shoulder.

“It's all right, son,” said Charley, rubbing Henry Ellis's neck. “Everything's going to turn out all right.”

Henry Ellis looked up into his grandfather's eyes. A single tear continued to run down his cheek.

“I'm sorry that I let those bandits capture my mother and father,” said Henry Ellis. “I shouldn't have run out on 'em. I've caused you so much trouble, Grampa,” said Henry Ellis.

“You know better than I do that you had nothing to do with any of that,” said Charley. “Don't you be feeling sorry for yourself for no reason. Coming like you did, to get me, was probably the smartest thing you ever did.”

“Sorry, Grampa,” said the boy. “I know you're right.”

Charley nodded. Then he winked at the boy.

Henry Ellis went on, “It's a shame that you and Señor Fuerte weren't able to see my mother and father. Now we only have the word of one of those bandits saying that they were taken to another man's
hacienda
. Do you really think we should believe what you heard that bandit say?”

“Don't you forget that your mother is also my daughter, young man,” said Charley. “And I believe they were taken to this man's . . .
hacienda
. The same
hacienda
we will have under surveillance as soon as Armendariz leads us to it.”

Henry Ellis's eyes dropped to the ground—he was slightly embarrassed for having questioned his grandfather's integrity.

“I saw the pup,” said Charley as he tousled the boy's hair. “He was with Rod and Kelly. Did you ever find any time to train that young dog?”

“Well,” said the boy, “he comes when I call him, he rolls over, and when he needs to go, he whines so I know to take him away from the camp and out into the open.”

“I love you, Henry Ellis,” said Charley after a moment. “I hope you know that.”

“I love you, too, Grampa,” echoed the boy.

“I love the way you're growing up into a man,” Charley went on. “Not just the physical changes . . . but in other ways, too. Your attitude, for one,” said Charley. “I've also seen how you can be calm and coolheaded in situations that would have had several grown men I know stumped. And you're learning to ride well... 'bout as good as most cowboys I've known.”

There was a long pause as both man and boy did some serious pondering.

“Grampa?” said Henry Ellis, looking up.

“What is it, son?” answered Charley.

“Do you really think we'll ever find them?”

“What makes you say that? . . . Are you thinking about giving up?”

“No sir, Grampa. It was my mother and father who were abducted. A man never gives up when it's his family that's involved.”

 

 

By nightfall they had reached some higher country. Sergeant Stone and Mitch Pennell had been appointed temporary scouts for the outfit. They came riding back to inform the others that Armendariz and his men had just set up another camp for the night.

“How far away from us are they now?” Charley asked.

“No more than a mile or so farther on than their last camp,” said the sergeant.

“Then we're far enough behind them to have a very small campfire this evening. Feather,” he called out, “I'm putting you in charge of firewood again. The rest of you, give Feather a hand. And don't worry about getting your hands dirty.”

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when Charley and Fuerte decided to make a wide sweep around the Armendariz camp. They were off to check out what lay ahead.

What they found was a vast green valley with a very large adobe
hacienda
set dead center between open farmland and limitless, unfenced grazing land.

A quarter of a mile from the
hacienda
's high walls and double-gated entrance was a small village. Fuerte said this was where the
hacienda
workers lived out their lives while working for the landowner, and they had done the same for the owners who had come before him.

The
rancho
, with its surrounding acres of growing crops plus the additional acres of grassy land for cattle, when combined, looked to Charley like a single verdant basket, surrounded on all sides by purple, high-desert mountains. The grassy sections were being used to feed a grazing herd of well over a hundred thousand cattle. Charley thought it was the prettiest piece of acreage he had ever seen.

The two onetime lawmen watched from their vantage on top of a steep hill as two Mexican riders, coming from the direction of Armendariz's camp, galloped through the herd, scattering the cattle as they made their way to the
hacienda
's wooden gates.

Because it was getting quite dark by then, Charley and Fuerte turned their horses around and headed back to their own campsite, using the same roundabout way they had come.

 

 

As the two Mexican riders approached the
hacienda
's fortified walls, they were recognized by the armed guards and given permission to pass through the heavy gates.

Once inside, they were joined by four mounted guards who led the two men across the courtyard and over to the main house.

As the visitors dismounted, one of the men let his
sombrero
slide to the side of his head, revealing his face.

“Don Sebastian did not tell us it would be you, Colonel Armendariz,” said one of the mounted sentries, Andrés, who was the captain of the guard. He bowed from the saddle. “I am sure he will be delighted to see you.”

“I am dressed in the clothing of one of my men to protect my identity, in case someone saw us on our way here,” said Armendariz. “I prefer that no one knows that I am paying the Don this visit.”

“
Sí
, Señor Colonel,” said the captain of the guard as he dismounted. “If you will follow me, I will take you to Don Sebastian.”

The two men dismounted, then they followed Andrés up several stone steps, across a large sandstone patio, and on to a set of outsized copper-plated front doors, which were positioned between two stone stairways that led to a balcony above.

Andrés swung one of the heavy doors open and the new arrivals followed him.

Once they were inside, Andrés told the two men to stop, as the huge copper door of the main house—
la casa grande
—was closed behind them by one of the guards who had remained outside.

They took in the magnitude of the enormous room in front of them. Most outstanding were the identical eighteen-foot hand-carved stone fireplaces that opposed one another across the tiled floor from each side of the room. The width of the room stretched over forty feet across, from chimney to chimney, and the room's length looked to be at least seventy feet long, from entryway to the rear wall, behind the staircase.

The high ceiling had been painted similar to the Vatican's Sistine Chapel in Rome—but instead of heavenly figures lounging against soothing backgrounds, these painted replications were from hell itself, done in reds, yellows, and orange swirls, depicting Man's darker side.

The entire area was furnished with heavy dark oak, hand-carved chairs and tables scattered here and there. Great tapestries, depicting Mexico's troubled history, covered every wall from top to bottom—and celebrated jewelry and costly keepsakes were kept under glass, in polished cases, located throughout the extended space.

As the men stood staring, a voice called out, echoing through the enormous room.

“Colonel Armendariz,” said the voice, “your arrival here this early is quite unexpected.”

The colonel, and the man who was with him, searched the room with their eyes. No other person was visible.

“I am here to see Don Sebastian Ortega de la Vega,” said the colonel in return. “I have already delivered to him the Americans I was engaged to bring to him . . . and now I would like to be paid for that task.”

“In time you will get your money, Colonel Armendariz,” said the hidden voice. “I received from you both the mother and the father earlier today. But I am afraid I didn't make myself clear enough . . . I am really more interested in the boy . . . their son. Are you planning on bringing him to me any time soon?” he added.

“The boy has escaped, Don Sebastian,” said the bandit leader... “
But
,” he said quite loudly, “my men are searching for him as we speak. He cannot have gone that far.”

Armendariz could tell by the following silence that Don Sebastian was not that pleased with him at the moment.

“I told you I wanted all three delivered to me, Colonel,” the Don's voice went on. “Our agreement was for the entire family . . . and you have not delivered them to me as you guaranteed you would.”

“But, Don Sebastian,” said Armendariz, “I swear to you on my mother's grave that I will have the boy for you by tomorrow.”

“Again you make promises that you do not know you can keep,” said the voice. “Now, you and your companion get back on your horses and leave my
hacienda
. . . and do not come back until you have brought the boy with you. Only then will you be paid the price we agreed on.”

 

 

Charley Sunday and Roca Fuerte rode into the outfit's camp, dismounted, and tied off.

Henry Ellis ran up to them babbling about something.

“Slow down, son . . . slow down,” said Charley. “You'll have to talk slower if you want us to be able to understand what you're saying.”

“Sorry, Grampa,” said the boy. “All I wanted to know was if you saw my mother and father.”

The two ex-lawmen exchanged looks. They turned to the boy with expressions of complete fatigue.

“Just like before, Henry Ellis,” said Charley. “I'm sorry, but we never did see them. We do know several men from Armendariz's camp went there to visit with whoever owns that
hacienda
. We saw them ourselves, just before the sun went down.”

“Why don't you three come on over here and get yourself some supper,” said Roscoe, cutting in.

 

 

Later on in the evening, they all sat around the dwindling campfire and discussed the many ways they might use to get the captives out of the
hacienda
.

No decision had been reached by the time the boy decided to throw in his own two cents' worth.

“Why don't we break Kelly and Rod out of Armendariz's jail first . . . before we try to find my mother and father. Both Kelly and Rod are good with guns, and we just might need them if you're planning on breaking into that
hacienda
, Grampa,” said Henry Ellis. “You said the outer walls themselves were over twelve feet high.”

Charley nodded. Then he addressed the entire outfit.

“All right,” he said. “My grandson's come up with a pretty good idea. We'll go ahead and break Rod and Kelly out of Armendariz's camp before daybreak. Then we'll hit the
hacienda
at full strength.”

“May I interrupt, Señor Charley?” said Fuerte. “Not even counting the number of sentries guarding the main house, there are at least a hundred and fifty more militiamen who he must keep in those barracks we saw behind the
hacienda
. Plus there are those who work in the fields for the owner. That doesn't include the
vaqueros
who watch over the cattle. As it is now, we are very undermanned. If you plan to attack them head-on—”

“Henry Ellis is right,” said Charley, interrupting his friend Fuerte. “Our first objective will be to get Rod and Kelly out of Armendariz's camp. And we must use stealth,” he added. “We must send someone into that camp who can find Rod and Kelly. Untie them and lead them back here. Someone who looks so insignificant, no one in that camp would ever suspect he is one of us.”

 

 

Feather Martin, appearing to be dressed in Mexican clothing—he'd punched any creases from the crown of his hat and flattened the brim, then thrown an old blanket over his shoulders—strolled boldly through Armendariz's camp. He nodded to the bandits he passed, then he sat down on a rock near a gathering of men who were relaxing around a campfire.