El Lazo - The Clint Ryan Series

  * * *

  In the large presidio office, Ramón argued with the alcalde. He had arrived in the pueblo during the mass and had been waiting until the man returned to the presidio so he could report the news of the Yokuts. It had taken him the better part of two hours to gain his audience with the alcalde, and he was angry. He had managed in the meantime to inform a number of the less pious vaqueros who had not attended mass, and some had already ridden for their homes. But most judged the danger to be small and the coming fiesta much more important. He had also traded mounts, taking one of the Camachos’ fresh horses in place of his winded animal.

  When he finally managed to speak to the alcalde, the procession was nearing, and he was given little attention,

  “I told you, Don Francisco,” Ramón said with restrained fury, “I saw them myself. There were over a hundred, and they were armed and painted for war. By now, they could be at any of the northern ranchos, which are all easy targets with the men away.

  “I have sent my clerk to the barracks and alerted the kitchen help. A patrol will mount as soon as they’ve completed the procession and eaten,”

  “Eaten! Madre de dios, man, there are a hundred or more Yokuts riding on the ranchos, and your men are to wait until the Corpus Christi is over, then eat?”

  The alcalde’s eyes narrowed. “You have brought the news of this trouble, Ramón Diego. Now I will handle the matter as I see fit. These men may have many hours in the saddle ahead of them. They will serve much better if they are favored in the eyes of the Lord and are fed.”

  He turned his attention back to the procession as the lead cross bearer reached the road in front of the presidio. “You would better serve,” he said, looking back over his shoulder, ”if you would continue to arouse the pueblo and alert each family as best you can.”

  Frustrated, Ramón marched from the office, mounted, and rode the two blocks to the Camacho hacienda. Inocente, who had returned directly from mass and had been among those warned by Ramón, was mounted, holding the reins to Estoban’s big palomino and awaiting his Patrón in front of the tall, vine-covered wall of the pueblo hacienda.

  “Is he ready?” Ramón shouted, jerking his horse to a sliding halt.

  “He is dressing.”

  Ramón paused and stared at the shrine so carefully constructed by Juana and Isidora. He crossed himself and closed his eyes for a second, then spun his mount. “I’m going on ahead.

  “Ride like never before, Ramón,” Inocente said. “We will be right behind you.”

  Without an answer, Ramón, who had been in the saddle for most of twenty-four hours, quirted the fresh mount he had borrowed and galloped away toward Rancho del Robles Viejos.