Deadfall (15 page)

“Here,” said one of the men to another bandit, handing two bowls of beans to him. “Take these to the prisoners . . . they are probably very hungry by now.”

The man with the bowls moved away.

Within moments, the diminutive cowboy, with his oversize headgear, slithered away from the others and followed the man with the bowls of beans.

Feather stayed in the shadows and watched as the man with the bowls entered a tent that had been set up as a temporary jail cell. It was guarded on each end. The man emerged several moments later without the bowls.

That must be where they're bein' kept
, thought Feather, then he slipped around to the side of the tent and slid himself under the canvas siding.

Feather looked around. For some reason he felt cramped. He eventually realized that was because he was beneath a small, folding, camp table. He could see Rod's and Kelly's feet as they sat together on a cot across from him. He could see they were tied securely and could only assume they'd been gagged.

Carefully, he shoved his head out from under the table and made a noise with his tongue and teeth.

“Ssssst,” he said.

Rod and Kelly both looked over. They couldn't talk because they both had large pieces of cloth stuffed into their mouths to silence them, just like Feather had figured.

As soon as the little cowhand saw their wide eyes of recognition, he slid out from under the table and started untying them both—starting with the pieces of cloth that were gagging them.

Kelly was the first to have the piece of cloth removed.

“Feather,” she whispered, “how did you get here?”

Feather shushed her with a finger to his lips, then he pulled out Rod's gag. Immediately he began to work at the ropes that had been securing the two.

“You just keep quiet and I'll have you out a' here quicker'n you'll ever know,” whispered the tiny cowboy. “Hold still,” he told Kelly.

He had them both untied within minutes. They stood up and shook the kinks out.

Feather got to his feet beside them.

“Here,” he said to Rod, “this is for you.”

He handed Rod a Colt .45, single-action.

“Charley told me ta give it to ya,” he went on quietly. “He figgered you might need it.”

“You got us to this point, Feather, now how do we get out of the camp?” asked Kelly.

“Same way as I come in, I 'spect,” said the little cowpoke. “Just follow me.”

He dropped to his knees and slithered under the table. After a quick peek to make sure no one had come up on that side of the tent, he slid on under the siding. Rod and Kelly followed.

As they made their way to the edge of the camp, two of the bandit guards stepped out of the darkness.

“Identify yourselves,” shouted one of the
sombrero
-wearing men as the three Americans were nearly to the horses.

Blam! Blam! . . .
barked Rod's Colt—the two men were taken out in short order.

The trio untied and mounted three horses, then they spurred away as quick as they were able.

 

 

Within a short span of time, Rod, Kelly, and Feather had arrived back at their own camp.

Henry Ellis ran to greet them.

“Douse that fire,” Charley told Roscoe. “The rest of you, and that includes Feather, Rod, Kelly, and my grandson, take the horses behind those rocks . . . get everything out of sight. Someone besides us had to have heard those gunshots.”

Everyone did what Charley asked them to—and when the six members of the bandit gang who'd been ordered to follow the escapees rode by in a cloud of dust, Charley's insides felt much better. So did the rest of the outfit.

They waited in hiding until the six bandits came back up the trail, having realized that those they were chasing had somehow gotten away.

Charley and the others were able to hear the men talking among themselves in Spanish as the group passed by again. They were now riding slower, on their way back to the Armendariz campsite.

“What were they saying, Roca?” Charley asked Fuerte after the bandits had passed.

Roca answered, “Many things of interest to us, Señor Charley. Most of which we already know. But there was something that was said that we have no knowledge of.”

“And what might that be?” asked Charley.

“Just the name of the man we are seeking . . . the man who paid Armendariz to abduct your daughter and her husband. He is the owner of the large
hacienda
, and the vast farm and grazing lands in the green valley. He is a very wealthy rancher by the name of Don Sebastian Ortega de la Vega.”

“I don't think I recognize that name,” said Charley. “Have you heard of this Don Sebastian before?”

“
Sí
, Señor Charley, I have,” said Fuerte. “Don Sebastian Ortega de la Vega is one of the most powerful illegitimate businessmen in all of Mexico . . . though he hasn't made a public appearance in many years, and he does not socialize with any of the other wealthy families in this state. He does all his business through attorneys in Matamoros and Mexico City. And his vast cattle herd keeps growing, in spite of having no records of sales. Other than that, no one knows much about this man, except that he guards his
hacienda
as if it were a Spanish castle.”

 

 

They ate in the dark that night, sitting around what used to be the campfire, the pit now filled with charred pieces of wood. After every morsel had been wiped from his plate, Charley took out his pipe, filled the bowl, then lit the tobacco with a Blue Diamond match.

“The faster we move, the less they'll be expecting us,” he told the others.

“Do you still have a plan, Charley?” asked Kelly.

“No more of a plan than any one of you folks might have,” he answered, “but it may work.”

He turned to Sergeant Stone.

“This should be so simple we won't be needing your tools, Sergeant,” said Charley. “I suggest you bury them right here where we are, just for now, in case we're run off, or something worse. The rest of you will only be needed as backup for Henry Ellis and me.”

“That's your plan?” said Kelly. “Just you and Henry Ellis are going to climb that twelve-foot wall all by yourselves and take on that man's own personal army? I knew you were crazy, Charley Sunday, but not that crazy.”

“He is crazy, Señora Kelly,” said Fuerte, “but this time, I think, he is crazy like a fox.”

“I get it,” said Rod. “Since our little outfit is so overwhelmed by the number of men this Don Sebastian has behind him, we are safer if we use as few of us as possible to breech the
hacienda
wall.”

“And that's going to be Henry Ellis and me,” said Charley, for the second time. “The rest of you will be waiting for us when we come out with Betty—. . . with Henry Ellis's mother and father.”

“When is all this going to take place,” Pennell wanted to know.

“We'll leave here just as soon as I lay out your positions for you, then I'll tell you what to expect from the guards inside the
hacienda
's gates. First of all, I'll be needing a very long rope, and something to tie at one end that can be used as a grappling hook . . . plus my grandson.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Charley and Henry Ellis hid their horses—plus the two extra ones they had brought along with them for the boy's parents—between the tall stalks of a cornfield, which had been planted several yards away from the
hacienda
wall. They stacked brush, weeds, and cornstalks around the animals, hoping they wouldn't be seen by anyone who might happen to come near.

Both man and boy then set out through the corn rows, making their way toward the
hacienda
wall about a tenth of a mile away.

Charley carried a long, coiled rope over his shoulder; the boy carried Charley's Winchester rifle.

When they had traveled several hundred feet and could see the moon's glint off a wall guard's rifle barrel in front of them, Charley held the boy back so he could speak to him.

“This is as far as you go, Henry Ellis,” he whispered. “You stay here, and use my rifle if that guard up there sees what I'm up to and tries to take me out.”

Henry Ellis levered a shell into the rifle as quietly as he could, all the while keeping an eye on the position of the wall guard.

“All right,” said Charley, “when you see I've done my job . . . come a running. I'll toss the rope down to you and you can climb up.”

The boy nodded, and his grandfather moved forward toward the wall.

As Charley arrived at the base of the wall and was preparing to throw the rope that was attached to the makeshift grappling hook, he heard the sound of bubbling water somewhere nearby. He turned to his right and could see that some of the adobe bricks at the wall's base had never been set by the builders. Instead, a knee-high arch had been constructed in their place so a small creek could flow out of the
hacienda
grounds unheeded.

He sized up the small opening with his eyes. He smiled softly, then he recoiled the rope, turned around, and disappeared between the rows of corn.

He found his grandson where he'd left him. He told the boy about the hole in the wall that had been left open for the creek to run through.

“I want to go,” said the boy.

“Henry Ellis,” said Charley, “I don't think I want to let you do that. It's too dangerous.”

“But I can do it, Grampa, I know I can.”

“You saw the diagram of the
hacienda
Roca drew in the dirt back at our camp, didn't you?”

Henry Ellis nodded.

“There wasn't much detail,” said the boy, “but at least what I did see should give me an idea of where I am, once I get inside the walls. Now, can I go, Grampa? Please?”

“You're beginning to change my mind, son . . . besides, it is your mother and father.”

“Thanks, Grampa,” said Henry Ellis. He gave Charley a big hug, followed by a quick wink.

“It's a pretty small opening, son, but I'm sure you'll fit,” said Charley.

“This'll change your whole plan, won't it, Grampa?” said the boy. “Now I'll be the only one who sneaks into the
hacienda
and rescues my parents.”

“With you going under the wall,” said Charley, “rather than me going over, it won't give them much of a target to shoot at. Just think about that, son. You can do it.” He added, “I have faith in you. They won't even know their security has been breached.”

“Thanks, Grampa,” said the boy.

“You realize we don't know where your folks are being held,” said Charley, “so it'll be all up to you to find them on your own. Do you understand any Spanish?” he asked.

“
Un poquito
,” said the boy. “I've been studying the language since I was in the third grade.”

“Well, you might have to do a little translating in your head if you hear any of those people inside that
hacienda
talking with one another. Do you think you can handle that?”

“
Sí, mi abuelito
,” said Henry Ellis. “That means grandfather. Oh,” he said, “you don't want me to go into the
hacienda
unarmed, do you?”

“Here,” said Charley, reaching into his vest pocket. “I almost forgot.”

He handed the boy a small, over and under, two-shot, 32-caliber derringer.

“Put this in your pocket . . . and use it only if you have to,” he said. “And remember, I'll be right here if you need me. You haven't forgotten that coyote call I taught you when you were a little boy, have you?” he asked.

The boy shook his head.

“No sir, Grampa,” he answered. “I can still do it.”

“If you feel you're between a rock and a hard place, just make that coyote howl,” said Charley. “When I hear it, I'll be over that wall faster'n a cat with its whiskers on fire. I'll find you wherever you are, and I'll give you a hand. Do you understand all I've told you, Henry Ellis?”

The boy nodded.

Charley took his grandson by the shoulders and gave him a squeeze, along with a tender look.

Henry Ellis stood on his tiptoes and kissed his grandfather on the cheek.

The boy turned, and with a good pat on the butt from Charley, he started out toward the wall.

 

 

Once Henry Ellis had squeezed himself through the small arch at the base of the wall, he stood up, putting his back against the inside of the whitewashed adobe barrier, staying in the shadows cast by the moon overhead.

He hadn't been able to accomplish that small maneuver without getting some of his clothes wet. So now, as he stood there trying to figure out what his next move would be, he also felt the chill of the night, brought on by a light breeze whipping at his damp clothing.

Before his teeth had the time to start chattering, the boy made a visual inspection of every building that was standing within his view of the courtyard. Only a few of the windows were lighted. He knew there must be occupants inside.

I wonder which one of those rooms they're using to hold my parents?
he thought to himself. He decided that he'd have to look into every one of the windows, all around the main house, to determine where they were being held.

He changed the level of his observation. Now looking in either direction, he studied the position of every guard he could see between himself and the
casa grande
—he counted seven. He made a mental note of their positions before starting off toward the main building.

He used the walls, then the side of another adobe structure, to keep himself from being seen. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. Four uniformed guards had just stepped out of the building beside him. They appeared to be headed for the barracks building across the courtyard.

The boy hugged the wall and watched as the four guards entered their sleeping quarters, calling it a day.

For the first time, Henry Ellis was aware of the loud voices and singing emanating from inside the building beside him.

A quick peek through a curtained window showed the structure to be the guards' recreation room—a place for the members of Don Sebastian's militia to drink together and share their stories of previous deeds.

He realized at that moment he would eventually find himself between the
hacienda
and this guards' recreation building when he would be leading his mother and father to their freedom. There seemed to be no other way out. Plus he must also figure out another safe route to get them to the wall after they passed the guards' building, since the courtyard was very wide at that particular point.

He waited for another few moments, until he was sure no other guards would be leaving the building, then he quickly ran the few steps across an open area until he saw some more guards coming. He quickly found refuge behind some bushes alongside the
casa grande
, and he crouched down behind them.

Charley was waiting patiently between the corn rows when a strange noise made his ears perk. He reached for the Walker Colt in his boot, and as he resumed his stance he heard Rod's voice.

“Henry Ellis,” came the young Indian's whispered call a second time.

“Over here,” Charley whispered back. “And it's me, Charley.”

There was some rustling between the corn stalks, then Rod was beside him. Both of them were just as surprised as the other to find themselves where they weren't supposed to be.

“I thought Henry Ellis would be standing guard, not you, Charley,” whispered Rod, who was armed with an army-issue Colt.

“And you're supposed to be with the others waiting as backup for when we bring my daughter and her husband out of the
hacienda
,” whispered Charley in return.

“They knew we were there, Charley,” said Rod. “I don't know how they knew it, but Armendariz's men got the drop on all of us before we knew what was happening. I somehow managed to escape during all the commotion.”

“Captured?” said Charley. “They captured the whole outfit?”

“There's just you, me, and Henry Ellis left,” said the young Indian. He glanced around. “Where is Henry Ellis, anyway?” he asked.

Charley made a motion with his hand, indicating the
hacienda
wall behind them.

“He's in there,” he told Rod. “I was about to go over the wall as planned, then I saw a small hole in the adobes used as a passageway for a creek that runs through the grounds. Henry Ellis asked me to let him go. There was no way I could have fit through that hole anyway.”

“So you allowed Henry Ellis to go instead,” said Rod. “There's nothing wrong with that, Charley.”

“Well,” said Charley, “I know that boy pretty well, and believe me, I know he's up to it.”

 

 

Henry Ellis sat with his back against the
hacienda
building's wall; he was still hidden securely behind the thick bushes. The boy knew he had to leave this little hideaway soon so he could continue with the search for his parents.

Before he had the chance to move, Henry Ellis heard several men's voices speaking in Spanish. They were coming from an open window above his head.

“Armendariz has captured the band of Americans who have been following him since they left Brownsville,” said one of the voices in Spanish.

“What about the old Texas Ranger, Charles Sunday?” asked the second voice, also speaking in Spanish. “And the boy . . . have they caught the boy yet?”

“Those two are still missing,” said the first voice. “I have my men out looking for them right now.”

“Whatever it takes,” said the second voice, “you will find them, and bring them both to me.”

“As you wish, Don Sebastian. I will have them all in my custody before the sun rises tomorrow morning.”

“In the meantime”—it was Don Sebastian's voice again—“I will go and check on the two prisoners. I will be very angry if something bad should happen to them.”

 

 

Charley and Rod stood next to the outside wall, near the arched opening made for the creek—the tiny opening used by Henry Ellis earlier to gain access to the courtyard. Charley was swinging the long rope again, and when it felt right, he released the grappling hook end and the rope uncoiled as it reached the top of the wall, disappearing over the apex.

“Good,” said Rod. “Now, just pray that it has grabbed on to something.”

Charley pulled on the rope until it was taut—the improvised grappling hook had done its job perfectly.

Charley handed his end of the rope to Rod.

“Good luck,” he said.

“This time, pray for me, Charley Sunday,” said Rod. “And pray for Henry Ellis, too.”

“Of course I will,” said Charley.

Rod shinnied up the rope to the top of the wall, using his feet to brace himself. Then he took a quick look around the
hacienda
grounds, in case there were any guards present. When he was sure no one had seen him, he slid over the top of the wall and dropped the twelve feet down the other side to the ground.

Charley waited a moment or two, just in case something might have gone wrong with Rod's unconventional entrance into the
hacienda
's premises, then he turned away and began coiling the rope.

“Hold it right there, Señor Sunday,” came a heavily accented voice from behind. “And hand over your gun . . . at once!”