* * *
Yes, something is very strange here, Cha thought, hunkering low in the saddle. Vaqueros should have been pouring from the barn and kitchen, saddling and spurring their mounts to ride after the few men he used as bait. And firesticks should have been seen in every window of the hacienda.
He knew the value of the horse house. Only the best animals were kept there, the fastest and most beautiful.
Where were the vaqueros?
Muñoz ducked lower behind the carreta he knelt beside as the Indians again approached, the pounding of their horses’ hooves a threat that rattled his backbone. The heathens were painted red and black, carrying shields and lances, and, to his horror, muskets, He had never heard of Yokuts being armed with muskets before. Sweat rolled down his neck, and his tongue rasped against his teeth, dry as cornhusks. Closer—they were coming closer. Were they going to come straight at him?
He tried to swallow, but the spittle would not come. Por Dios, he wished the other vaqueros were here.
“Don’t fire,” Alfonso cautioned from his position at the far end of the barn, “unless they turn toward us.”
One of the Indians’ horses stumbled and almost lost its rider. In recovering, not more than forty yards away, he turned to face Muñoz. The boy gasped at the terrible apparition and tightened his grip on the musket. It bucked in his hands. He had fired.
The ball went high, but the shot was a signal to Alfonso, Luis, and Rafael. Almost as an echo, their muskets roared then all were reloading. One Yokuts horse stumbled and fell, a ball in his chest, and his rider rolled in the dust. But the brave came quickly to his feet and swung up behind another.
Cha reined away carefully eyeing the buildings over his shoulder as he rode to the cover of the creekbed and clattered and splashed on through. He pulled up and counted his men. No one hit. The loss of a horse was all. Still, no riders followed. He had counted not more than four or five muzzle blasts from the buildings. Could the vaqueros all be gone? Could only a few be guarding the hacienda and the barn full of the finest horses?
He rode to the far side of the creek and up a little rise. In the distance he could see his men pushing the large herd of horses out of the pasture.
“Sahma,” he called, waving the subchief over. “Tell Mulul to take the youngest of the men and drive the horses straight back to the Ton Tache. Do not wait for any of us. Bring the rest of the men, the most experienced fighters, back here.”
Sahma nodded and gave heels to his mount.
Cha sent eight of his braves to the far side of the buildings, with instructions to take up positions there then waited patiently, studying the hacienda and thinking.
Twenty
The mass complete, the parishioners hurried from the church, some to their homes lining the streets, some to preselected spots along the route, some to take up their positions in the procession.
There was a flurry of activity outside as Padre Javier returned to the rectory with his two select altar boys. For the first time, he stepped into the cope. Vanity is a mortal sin he reminded himself, but still he swelled with pride.
They returned to the altar and with great care he cradled the monstrance in his hands, leaning the transparent box, or pyx, against his chest. Gilded in gold, the frame of the box glimmered, reflecting the church’s many candles. Crystal and gold adorned the monstrance, but nothing was so important to the procession as its contents – the Blessed Sacrament representing the holy body of Christ.
Surprised by the weight of the robes and the monstrance, Padre Javier almost stumbled as he began his slow but steady walk down the aisle and out the doors of the church. Along the walkway leading to the road, hundreds of faithful stood watching, some carrying long poles topped by church banners and pennons of white, scarlet, or purple, with figures of Christ, the Virgin, saints, or sacred symbols.
He waited for the assembly of the procession to get in order.
Cha’s blood ran hot. The hacienda seemed all but abandoned. He had never been inside a grand house of the Mexicans, but he had seen enough of the horses that were kept in the Mexicans’ horse houses to know their value as the fastest and strongest. “Now I will see how the Mexican lives,” he decided, “and help myself to his horses, his finery, and his women.”
The rest of his band galloped up, and he quickly signed his plan… twenty men to each side of the buildings, then a simple charge.
The heat of battle surging through them and boiling their blood, the braves rode to their positions on each of three sides of the buildings. The first group, who had been sent on ahead, still waited on the fourth side, their mounts nervously prancing.
The hacienda was surrounded. They awaited Cha’s signal.