Lone Star 03 (23 page)

“I could see that you two didn't get along well . . .”

“Be truthful, Ki. I hated my father and he hated me. All the people on the
rancho
know it. Most of them served him out of fear, or because their families have been Mendoza servants for two or three generations.”

“If that's the case, then—”

“It is,” Lita interrupted. “If my father had been a man of honor, he could have kept his solemn oath and freed you after you killed the bull. He dishonored his oath, and earned his death. What more can I say to you, Ki?”

After a moment's thought, Ki replied, “Very little, I suppose. And now that things have happened as they did, perhaps it would be best if Jessie and I left at once.”

Unexpectedly, Lita shook her head. “No, Ki. Jessie has told me that you suspect the Rancho Tres Cerros is being used by the cattle rustling gang you and she came to Mexico to find. Will you stay long enough for the two of you to ride to Tres Cerros with me, so that I can see for myself?”

“Of course, Lita. Jessie and I would have gone there with or without you, but you should go and see for yourself what the situation is.”

“I intend to. And I intend to find out what the arrangement was that Father had with Guzman. My eyes are open wider than they ever were, Ki. And as long as I am responsible for the Mendoza interests, I intend to keep them open.

Chapter 16

They saw the dust cloud long before they could make out the identity of the rider. Ki, Jessie, and Lita were riding abreast in front of the three men who were left of the dozen Lita had taken from the Rancho Mendoza to clean out any corruption they might find at the Rancho Tres Cerros. It had not been a difficult job. The
mayordomo
of the Tres Cerros and all but two of the ranch hands had disappeared. So had all the ranch's records.

Lita was at a loss to understand why until Ki had taken a ride across the property. What he found confirmed the suspicions that had brought him and Jessie to Mexico. In a canyon at the edge of the ranch, he'd discovered the Box B market herd; about half the steers' brands had been changed to “B House” by using a running iron to add a wide inverted V at the top of the box. He'd driven two of the steers, one with the original brand and the other with the altered version, back to show Lita.

“My father was more than a dishonorable man,” Lita had said bitterly. “He was dishonest as well, and I was too blind to see it. When you asked me about the parcel he sent me to get from Guzman the night we met, it did not occur to me that Guzman was sending my father his share of the
mordita
that had been collected from the people there. Now I am shamed again to find him a common thief, no better than those who stole the cattle!”

Jessie and Ki had agreed before leaving the Rancho Mendoza to avoid telling Lita of their more serious suspicion, that Don Almendaro had been an agent of the cartel, and had quite probably been acting in league with Captain Guzman and his corrupt
rurales
in other areas besides cattle theft.

“What I can't understand is how Mendoza got involved with the cartel,” Ki had said to Jessie while they were discussing what they should do.

“Owning a great deal of land doesn't make a man rich, Ki. I wonder if his
toros bravos
might not have been his downfall. He'd have made a deal with the devil to get bulls from one of the famous breeders in Spain.”

“That's a possibility,” Ki agreed. “The cartel may have offered him some kind of deal like that as bait.”

“I'm sure there's a lot more Lita will find out,” Jessie had said. “But she'll learn about it in time, and she has enough sadness to bear right now. Lita won't take the path Don Almendaro did, I'm sure. The cartel can't offer her enough to make her put a fresh stain on the family name.”

Now, within a half-dozen miles of the Rancho Mendoza, the dust cloud warned them that still more problems loomed ahead. No one rode that hard on a hot afternoon just to stir up a breeze.

Aleman spurred up from the rear to ride beside Lita.
“Es Raúl que viene. Hay apuros al rancho, no?”

Raúl pulled up beside them and touched the brim of his hat to Lita.
“Señorita!”
he gasped.
“Guzman y su rurales vienen al rancho!”

“Cómo conoces?”
Lita asked. She was as calm as though she'd just been told that it might rain soon.

“Cuándo viene Guzman?”
Lita asked, still unperturbed.

“Sale de San Pedro en la mañana,”
Raúl replied.

“Bueno,”
Lita told the man.
“Estamosde vueltan prontito y decederamos que hace.”

When Raúl had dropped back to ride with Aleman and the other men, Lita said to Ki and Jessie, “You understood, of course?”

“Yes,” Ki said. “Guzman's moved earlier than I thought he could. I really didn't expect him to show up so soon.”

“You expected him, Ki?”

Jessie joined their conversation. “Of course, Lita. That's why we hurried so to wind things up at Tres Cerros.”

“You might have told me,” Lita said reproachfully.

“You'd just have had one more thing to worry about,” Jessie replied. “And we couldn't be sure Guzman could organize an attack, considering the condition they were in.”

Ki said, “At least he's not leaving San Pedro until tomorrow morning. That'll give us time to get his reception ready.”

 

 

“We've done everything I can think of, Lita,” Ki said.

He and Lita were standing on the roof of the main house, looking along the winding road from San Pedro. Less than a half hour had passed since one of the lookouts posted to watch the road from town had galloped in to report that Guzman and his
rurales
were nearing the sentry post.

Ki had estimated that the attackers would cover the distance in about the same time the lookout had required. He and Lita had now been watching for ten or fifteen minutes, so unless his judgment was bad, the
rurales
should appear very soon. He looked again at the sun, low now on the jagged western horizon, and still there was no sign of Guzman and his
rurales.

“I still wish we had more men,” Lita said nervously. “If we just hadn't left those hands at Tres Cerros, we'd be in much better shape to stand off Guzman.”

“We'll hold our own with the men we have, Lita,” Ki assured her. “We've got the advantage, even with so few men, because we'll be in the house and the
rurales
will be exposed. This house is built just like a fort.”

“Ki's right, Lita,” Jessie said, emerging from the trapdoor that led to the attic. “As long as your men follow orders and don't expose themselves when they're shooting. Rifle and revolver bullets won't go through these stone walls.”

Before Lita could reply, they saw the dust. Ki frowned when he saw how slowly the cloud above the road was advancing. A band of riders should be moving much more swiftly. He tried to pierce the dust cloud with his eyes when through the dust he could see the first line of the
rurales,
but there had been no rain for months, and the cloud that hung over the approaching horsemen was too thick for even his sharp eyes to penetrate.

“There's something wrong,” he told Lita. “Guzman might have a trick up his sleeve that we don't know about.”

“What kind of trick, Ki?”

“I can't even guess. But I'm not impatient. We'll find out soon enough, and when we know what it is, we'll find a way to stop him from using it.”

While they were still well out of rifle range, the
rurales
halted. The day was totally windless, and the cloud of dust the attackers had raised was slow to settle. The trio on the roof grew more and more impatient as they strained to try to penetrate the settling cloud. It dissipated at last, and when Ki saw what it had hidden, his confidence almost evaporated.

From some source known only to himself, Guzman had managed to get a cannon. Ki squinted through the diminishing dust cloud at the artillery piece. It was very old, so old that it might have come out of some military museum, and very small. Its barrel was brass, mounted on a low-slung wooden undercarriage. The
rurales
had loaded the ancient fieldpiece on an open wagon to transport it to the Rancho Mendoza, and were now setting long wooden planks at the rear of the wagon bed, preparing to unload the weapon.

In spite of its antiquity and small size, the cannon was an unexpected threat, one that Ki had not counted on when making plans to defend the
hacienda.

“Guzman's given us an unpleasant surprise,” he told the women. “That cannon changes all the plans I've made.”

“Ki, it's such an old cannon, and so little!” Jessie protested. “Surely it can't make all that much difference!”

“It's not much of a cannon,” Ki agreed. “But small and old as it is, it's got more range than our rifles. If we let him get that cannon into action, he can knock down this house and all the buildings around it while his men stay out of range until it's time for them to ride in and wipe us up.”

“Surely such a small gun can't break down the stone walls of the
hacienda!”
Lita protested.

“Yes, Lita, it can,” Ki assured her.

“Then we'll have to find a way to stop him from using the cannon,” Jessie said.

Ki did not reply. His mind was busy considering alternatives while he watched the
rurales.
Guzman, limping badly, was waving his arms at his men, and though the distance was too great for his voice to carry, his mouth was working furiously as he hobbled around the spot where the wagon had stopped. The way the
rurales
were wrestling with the fieldpiece told Ki that they were completely unfamiliar with the weapon. That, Ki thought hopefully, might give him time to work out a way to forestall them before they'd done too much damage.

His eyes still fixed on the
rurales,
Ki muttered to himself, “What we need is what we don't have and can't get. Unless—”

“What did you say, Ki?” Jessie asked, turning away from watching the
rurales
trying to wheel the cannon around.

“Nothing,” he replied absently, his mind still working at top speed. “Or perhaps everything.”

“I don't understand,” Jessie frowned.

“You will,” Ki said. He turned to Lita. “Who treats the bulls when one of them gets hurt? Or when they get infested by ticks?”

Lita stared at him, bewilderment on her face. “Ki, why do you ask about sick bulls and ticks when Guzman is getting ready to fire his cannon at us?”

“I have a good reason, believe me, Lita. Who would be the one I'm looking for?”

“Why . . . Eusebio, I suppose. He's the
mayordomo,
he has charge of everything.”

“Tell him that I want to talk to him, quickly. And I need a few more things that you can help me with—a yard or two of silk cloth, and some very strong thread. Do you have them?”

“I'm sure my maid has both. Shall I ask her?”

“Don't just ask her. Tell her to get the silk and thread and several pairs of scissors together, and bring them out to the building—I don't know what you call it, but it's where I spent my first nights. And bring two or three more women with you. But before you do anything, tell Eusebio I want to see him at once.”

“I'll go along and help Lita,” Jessie volunteered.

“Lita can manage her people without you, Jessie,” Ki told her. “I need you to stay here and watch the
rurales.
Guzman may get tired of waiting for his men to get that cannon ready, and decide to attack us without it. But if it takes them as long to get ready to fire as it's taking them to get it off the wagon, maybe I can get together what I need in time to stop them.”

Jessie nodded. “I think I'm getting a very shadowy idea of what you might be planning, Ki, and I certainly hope it works.”

“So do I, Jessie,” Ki said fervently. “So do I.”

Ki hurried to the building behind the main house and waited impatiently for Eusebio to show up. He'd seen little of the
mayordomo
during the short time he'd been at the ranch; as the second in command after Don Almendaro, he spent most of his time supervising the activities of the hands.

“I need some things, Eusebio,” Ki told the tall, aging man. “You must use sulfur here. And after looking at Don Almendaro's collection of guns, I'm sure there's a keg or two of gunpowder somewhere around.”