El Lazo - The Clint Ryan Series

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  Captain Quade Sharpentier stepped out of the cantina to watch the carriage approach. “Come here. Skinner,” he called over his shoulder.

  The sun shone brightly on the square, with just enough of a sea breeze to keep from shedding jackets. A boy moved a herd of spotted goats down the road and was yelled at by a presidio guard, a soldado, who kicked at one errant goat that had the audacity to pull a few daisies from one of the planted areas surrounding the paved public area. The guard returned to his position in front of the presidio at the base of the flagpole that proud1y displayed the red, white and green, serpent-and-nopal banner of Mexico.

  The boy hurried the goats along, threading them around a carreta pulled by a single coffee-and-cream brindle-colored ox, and loaded high above the driver’s head with stiff dried cowhides–so stiff that some sat on end, becoming sideboards. The cart’s solid sycamore-slab wheels began to clatter as it reached the cobblestones that lined the road surrounding the plaza.

  The cart driver’s bean-brown face broke into a broad grin as one of the goats reared on his hind legs and, with full-curled horns, ambitiously butted the ox in the side with a thump that carried over the goats’ bleating and the clamor of sharp hooves on stone. The massive beast looked back with bovine indifference, reassuring himself that the pest was going on his way then continued to clomp ahead.

  The caleche reined up to give the boy and the carreta time to clear the way.

  The first mate hulked into the doorway, his mug still in hand. “Aye, sir?” A number of other men from the crew followed Skinner and stood squinting into the afternoon sun.

  “Am I mistaken,” the captain asked, “or is that a fine caleche coach?”

  The huge man squinted his pig eyes. “It ‘pears to me to be, sir. And, by the gods, will you look at the fancy señorita riding in her.”

  All the men stared in silence while the coach passed. Sharpentier locked eyes with Inocente Ruiz, and both men attempted to stare each other down until Ruiz had passed so far he was forced to turn or rein the horse back,

  “Now that,” Quade said, watching the caleche and the beautiful girl disappear around a bend in the road, “might be worth starting a bloody revolution over.”