Warriors of the Night (9 page)

Ben noticed Carmelita threading her way among the vendors. She carried a reed basket that already bulged with vegetables, a bolt of cloth, and a string of sausages. Ben looked for Anabel, but she was nowhere to be seen. The lieutenant told Peter to stay put and started forward to bid Carmelita good day. The buxom servant recognized Ben and for a brief moment looked alarmed at his presence.

“Señora, it is a fine day to visit the plaza. Perhaps you are not alone and the señorita is nearby?” He once again searched the faces of the people around him.

“She is not here, señor,” Carmelita said. “Señorita Obregon is with her brother, in the church.” Carmelita glanced past the soldier and saw two men coming toward her. The men were dressed as peons, but she recognized them instantly, for one was her son, Chico Raza, and the other was his friend Tomas Zavala.

Ben noted the change in the woman’s expression and turned, hoping to discover Anabel behind him. Instead he caught a glimpse of the bandits.

Chico Raza was burly and bearded, with a livid white scar across the bridge of his nose. Tomas Zavala was a smaller man, barely five and a half feet tall. His short, bowed legs and flat face betrayed his Apache bloodline. A sombrero shaded his features. Both men noticed Ben’s blue uniform and immediately turned on their heels and started back through the crowd.

Ben looked back at Carmelita. The servant was busily inspecting an array of hearth-baked breads, none of which she intended to purchase. He saw that Peter had reached the corner of the governor’s palace. Ben returned his attention to the two men, who had already made their way across the plaza. Perhaps he had imagined Carmelita’s reaction—but not the behavior of the two peons.

He started through the crowd as the two men reached the mouth of an alley on the north side of the plaza. They paused to check for any sign of pursuit and spotted Ben coming toward them. The lieutenant was impossible to miss, with his blue uniform, and the fact that he towered over the people around him, his red hair gleaming in contrast to the darker heads of the townspeople in the plaza.

Chico scratched at his scarred nose and nudged his smaller companion.

“I don’t know this man.”

“He is a
norteamericano
,” Tomas replied. He ran a hand across his mouth. “I warned you against coming into town.”

“Enough. The Rangers do not look for us in town. And I wanted to see my mother. No one cooks better, eh?”

“But you found a
norteamericano
soldier instead. Your empty belly is our misfortune.”

“You have the courage of an old woman,” Chico scoffed. “
Vamanos
.” He tugged Tomas’s shirtsleeve and the two men dashed down the alley toward the Camino Real.

Ben quickened his pace, more intrigued than ever by the men’s unusual behavior. The Choctaw blood flowing through his veins gave him a keen instinct for trouble. The voices of the merchants and shopkeepers mingled with those of the browsing townsfolk and became an indistinguishable noise that Ben no longer heeded. His attention was focused on the alley. Children scampered past unnoticed; a dog nipped and barked at his heels, then darted off after a couple of little girls eating tortillas fresh from the cook fire. An old man offered to sell Ben one of half a dozen goats, a woman wanted to show him the necklaces she had made from shells, another man tried to interest him in rattlesnake skins.

But the lieutenant never wavered, and at last reached the mouth of the alley and started down a narrow passage that was bordered on either side by the thick adobe walls of a hacienda and its courtyard and the two-story outer wall of the Ridenour House, the hotel recently acquired by a German immigrant.

The noise of the plaza faded behind him as Ben continued on toward the Camino Real. Sunlight shone on the upper floor of the hotel and hacienda but left the alley in shadow. After the commotion of the marketplace, the stillness in the alley seemed almost oppressive.

A footstep behind him! Ben whirled as his right hand dropped to a pistol grip. Toby jumped back, alarm in his eyes.

“Lordy, Mister Ben, you plumb scared the bejesus out of me,” the nine-year-old said.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked, loosing a breath. He eased the single-shot percussion pistol back in its holster.

“I seen you from across the plaza. Figured you must be lost. Ain’t nothing down this ol’ alley ’cept trash.” Toby hooked a thumb through his suspenders. “I been all over San Antone. I can help you find just about anything, and that’s a fact.” The boy’s eyes twinkled as he fished in his pocket a moment and produced a pair of
cigarillos
, the slim, hard-packed cigars favored by the vaqueros who drove cattle into San Antone and worked some of the outlying
ranchos
.

“You’re a little young for those, aren’t you?” Ben asked.

“Not if my ma don’t see me,” Toby replied with a wink. Then his attitude suddenly changed as two horsemen entered the alley from Camino Real. Two mountain-bred stallions—whipped into a mad gallop by their riders, the “peons” Ben had followed—bore down on the soldier and the boy.

“Son of a bitch!” Toby shouted. Ben heard the clatter of hooves, glanced over his shoulder, saw the pair of stallions about to trample him, and reacted on instinct. He hooked Toby in the crook of his right arm and dove for the wall of the hotel, flattening himself and the startled boy against the adobe. Chico and Tomas missed them by inches. Chico slapped down with his braided rawhide quirt and struck Ben on the back of the neck. Ben winced and raised an arm to ward off another blow, but the riders swept past in a shower of rocks and pebbles and flashing hooves. By the time Ben freed his pistol, the bandits had cut to the left and vanished past the corner of the hotel. Ben ran back toward the plaza, but the few seconds it took him to retrace his steps were all Chico and Tomas needed. Ben dashed out into the plaza, gun in hand, only to find that the horsemen had eluded him and vanished down another side street on the opposite side of the hotel, leaving only a sandy cloud of settling dust to mark their passing.

People were staring at him and the gun in his hand. The lieutenant grudgingly returned the weapon to his belt. Whoever the two men were, they certainly didn’t ride like farmers.

Toby trotted up and stood beside the tall soldier. The black youth stared with regret at the crushed remnants of the cigarillos in the palm of his hand.

“Lawd have mercy,” he said, still gasping for breath.

Ben searched the plaza and spied Carmelita as she ascended the steps to San Fernando Cathedral. She paused before the heavy oak doors and turned, hesitated as if aware she was being watched, then quickly entered.

“Yeah,” Ben replied. “Have mercy.” It appeared his stay in San Antonio was going to be anything but dull.

N
IGHT…

Miguel Ybarbo centered the rifle sights on Ben McQueen and curled his finger around the trigger. Even in the filmy moonlight, where clouds trailed across the sky like bridal veils, he could make the shot. It wasn’t all that far from the bell tower to the roof of the padre’s house below. Minutes ago Miguel had watched as Ben and Anabel climbed the outside stairway to the flat roof of the house, where they now stood together overlooking the lantern-lit plaza. On this soft spring night, guitar music filled the air with romantic ballads, and would-be suitors, rich and poor alike, came to Military Plaza. It was a custom the Anglo residents of San Antonio had adopted from their Spanish-speaking neighbors. Young women were not only allowed to visit the plaza, but under the watchful eye of mother or guardian were permitted the company of whichever man the family found acceptable. The couple might then excuse themselves and walk arm in arm around the plaza, chaperoned from afar, yet enjoying a moment of privacy.

Miguel’s finger tightened on the trigger. He trusted his marksmanship. Just a few seconds more and this gringo soldier would be out of his hair. Miguel’s jealousy ran deep. Anabel was his woman whether she knew it or not, and he did not like the game she was playing. There was something in her eyes when she talked about the lieutenant, a spark of interest Miguel intended to keep from bursting into flame.

“Put the rifle down, brother.” A voice drifted up from the trapdoor in the floor of the bell tower. Hector Ybarbo scrambled up through the doorway and gingerly maneuvered his way around the bell to stand on the narrow walkway alongside Miguel.

“Leave me,” Miguel hissed back.

“Put down the rifle,” his older brother repeated. Hector had practically raised Miguel after the death of their mother, and often addressed him like a father.

“Look at her. See how close she stands? Next she will allow him to put his hands on her.”

“The Señorita Cordero will do what needs to be done. She has a plan.” Hector tried to remain calm. The confines of the bell tower were too restrictive to risk trouble. “Come down with me. Carmelita has brought news. She learned today there is a gringo in town who has guns to sell. Colt revolvers like the Rangers carry.”

Miguel lowered the rifle. It was a .52-caliber muzzle loader, capable of blowing a fist-size hole in a man; a trusty firearm, but no match for six-shot pistols in a running battle. With such guns the Rangers, though outnumbered, had attacked the bandits and driven off Comanche war parties.

“We will find him later,” Miguel said.

“Not if you kill this gringo and alert the whole town to our presence,” Hector said, stroking his mustache as he tried to think of a way to defuse his jealous brother. “The señorita wears the ring of El Tigre. She has ordered us to find the gun merchant.”

“So she can be alone with the
norteamericano
,” Miguel bitterly retorted.

“You are a fool. Have your vengeance another day.” Hector sighed. His brother was too proud. The boneyards were full of men like Miguel who acted without thinking. Hector tried a different tactic. “I watch with you, then. Wait. Nothing will happen. The señorita talks to the gringo. Nothing more, eh? You’ll see.”

Ben wasn’t certain as to the names of everything he’d eaten for dinner. Anabel and Carmelita had set a feast suitable for royalty. The heavy oaken dinner table in the padre’s dining room had been crowded with platters of chicken roasted in pepper sauce, tortillas, beans, squash, and large green chili peppers stuffed with sausage and rice and covered with a fiery red sauce that brought tears to his eyes.

“What are you thinking now?” Anabel said, standing close to the adobe wall that bordered the roof. Ben had suggested they take the night air. She had led him from the cactus garden to this roof. “You were so quiet at dinner.” She listened to the strains of a distant guitar accompanying the solitary tenor voice of some lovesick vaquero.

“Had to let my tongue cool off before I could speak,” Ben replied good-naturedly. He moved nearer the woman. She wore a loose, frilly blouse, a purple shawl, and a wine-colored skirt. A white cactus flower tucked over her right ear made a vibrant contrast to her long black tresses.

“You did not like what we prepared?”

“Yes. Most assuredly. I have never enjoyed a meal more.” Ben found himself groping for an explanation. His mind had indeed wandered during dinner. Was he so obvious? And was she really interested? He hardly knew the young señorita, yet he felt he could confide in her. Maybe he was simply being deluded by the warm breezes, the melancholy guitar, and the shadows of the lovers passing in the night beyond the walls. “I owe you an apology, señorita.”

“I do not understand.

“My mind has been elsewhere throughout the evening. Such behavior dishonors you and your hospitality. Forgive me if I have offended you.”

Anabel paused a moment, mulling over his unusual behavior and puzzled by his reply. “I will forgive you only if you explain. Have we not become friends? We have much in common,
sí?
We fought Comanches together and we both dislike Señor Gandy.”

Ben laughed and lost himself in her dark eyes and nodded. “Yes, we do have much in common.” He watched the couples strolling through the plaza. “I was thinking of my children. One day I would like for them to see Texas.” He noticed her stiffen. “My wife left me,” he added. “It happened almost a year ago. Jesse and Daniel, my boys, are staying with my parents.”

He leaned upon the wall and looked directly into the small courtyard and the path leading to the iron gate. Lamplight flooded the walk as the front door opened and Peter left the house. He rounded the corner and climbed the steps to the roof, where he joined Ben and Anabel.

“I hope I am disturbing something,” Peter said. He hurried over to Anabel and bowed, kissing her hand. “Thank you for the wonderful meal and your charming and gracious hospitality,”

“We did not mean to sneak off…” Ben said.

“Of course you did and I don’t blame you,” Peter replied. “I had all I could take. Father is trying to recruit the padre into helping promote the cause of annexation among the Mexicans.” Peter sighed and shook his head. “He never stops being a general.”

Anabel remained impassive. “And what does my brother say to all this?”

Peter chuckled. “The padre is just about convinced. Matthew Abbot can be very persuasive.” He patted the wrinkles from his frock coat and returned his flat-crowned hat to his head. He had a leather bag draped over his shoulder. It contained sketch paper and charcoal.

“Where are you off to?” Ben asked. He could sense the tension in Peter’s voice. His friend had a talent for self-destructive excesses.

“Now, Mother McQueen, have no fear,” Peter said. “I’ll keep a clear head. After all, I have my father’s reputation to uphold.”

Ben made no attempt to hide his doubts. An hour before they had left for dinner, Ben had overheard a muted argument in the general’s room. Afterward, Peter had come storming out of his father’s quarters. Such clashes were frequently over Peter’s determination to shape his own destiny.

The general’s errant son made his farewell and then headed back toward the stairway. However, he couldn’t resist one parting salvo at Ben.

“Señorita, I must admit you’ve a prize lunkhead there. McQueen’s as stubborn as any full-blood Scot. And when it comes to women, he’s a babe in the woods. So if you want a kiss before the night is through you’ll have to claim it yourself.” Peter touched the brim of his hat, bowed, dashed down the steps, and without breaking stride trotted down the walk and darted through the iron gate, leaving Ben to smoulder and plot a variety of painful deaths for his friend.