Don Sebastian was so ashamed that he could have wept tears of pure rage.
He had handed over half his land to that man Draper because Draper had threatened his life and he knew that Draper would not hesitate to take it. That was being a realist. He had handed over the poor country to the south and east. There was nothing there for man or beast. Or so the don had thought. He must have been wrong or a man like Draper would not have wanted it. So Don Sebastian had sold for a pittance and kept some of his pride, for nobody knew for how small a sum he had sold out.
Then had come the events of last night …
First his nephew, José, had asked him to join against the Ring and he had refused, for it would have been madness to fight so powerful an organisation. Then that same nephew had brought him the daughter of the murdered marshal for protection. Then had come George McMasters, and in José’s name McMasters had left the girl Charity Clayton in his care.
Easier said than done.
Last night the men had come riding out of the night. There must have been a dozen or more, their faces hidden by their bandannas, rifles and revolvers in their hands. They had thundered in like lords of the whole world. One of the younger vaqueros had been foolish enough to draw a gun. He had been knocked down and dragged to his death on the end of a rope. Don Sebastian shuddered now as he remembered it. A terrible way to die. But then any way to die was terrible.
The more he thought about last night, the greater was his shame.
The riders had taken the two girls with them, thrown them across horses and ridden away with them into the night. And with them had gone all of the old man’s pride. This was a final defeat, to have two fine young women taken from his care without him selling his life for them.
When Don Sebastian came to his decision, he did it so suddenly that he might have been young again. He was sitting in the cool of his patio sipping Californian wine. Some vaquero sat in the far corner of the patio playing a sad Sonoran air on the guitar. He stopped playing when the old man leapt to his feet and shouted ‘Por Dios, I shall do it.’
‘Do what, patrón?’ the astonished man asked.
The old man turned and glared at him balefully.
‘Do what, you fool?’ he cried. ‘I shall get the two young gringos back, that’s what. Luis, Luis – where is that idiot Donoso who boastfully claims to be my caporal?’
Somebody in the house heard the demand and the cry for Luis Donoso went up. Soon every man, woman and child on Espada was yelling for the don’s foreman. Presently, the unfortunate Luis came running.
‘What is it, Don Sebastian?’ he asked.
‘Are you deaf or lazy, hombre?’ the don demanded of him. ‘What is the matter? Don’t you like working for the Espadas? Do you wish us to part company, you offspring of a third class Tucson thief?’
The foreman smiled. It was good to see the patrón in form again.
‘Weeping mother of God,’ exclaimed Espada, ‘why do you grin? Are you happy that the house of Espada is dragged in the dust?’
‘I await your command, señor? Donoso said calmly.
Don Sebastian sobered a little – ‘Here is my command, then.’ His manner changed. Suddenly he was all gentleness. He put his arm around his caporal’s shoulder. ‘Tell me, my dear Luis, have I not heard you claim that you are the best tracker in Arizona? Did I not hear you even claim, when in drink, that you were the best tracker west of the Missouri?’
Luis nodded – ‘It is possible, señor. For I would be a liar to claim otherwise.’
‘Here, then, is your chance to prove yourself. You will saddle a good horse and you will ride as you have never ridden before and you will discover where those bandits have taken the two young American ladies. Is that understood?’
Luis asked: ‘It is your intention to rescue them?’
‘In the first place. So you will return to me rapidly so that I may attack at the soonest possible time. It does not sit well with me that such beautiful young ladies should be in the hands of such ruffians.’
Luis cocked one eyebrow – ‘And in the second place, señor?’
‘I have not advanced so far as that,’ said the old man. T am toying with the idea of cleaning this land of the scum that is spreading all over its fair face.’
That was said very solemnly and Luis was moved to say: ‘This is the patrón we have all respected.’
The old man said: ‘Fire the cannon, Luis, so that all our people may know they are needed.’
Luis laughed with excitement and cried: ‘Instantly, señor.’ He raised his voice to the man in the tower. From there a sentry could see clear down the valley. There had been a man up there night and day ever since the new rash of Apache raids had begun. ‘Fire the cannon, Manuel.’
‘Why, Luis?’
‘Because you are commanded to, you dolt.’
Then Luis was in front of the house, yelling hoarsely for a mount. He wanted to know if the men were deaf or just plain idle. Por Dios, did there have to be an earthquake to get some action around this place? Once mounted on a fine claybank horse, he rode into the patio and bawled out to his patrón: ‘Do not waste time, señor. I shall leave a plain trail for you. Follow me speedily in the name of God.’
Don Sebastian looked as if he would bellow with rage at such impertinence, but he thought better of it and merely said: ‘Go ahead, my friend, we shall follow immediately.’
Luis whirled his horse on the spot and hit it with the gads. It went out of the patio through the archway at a flat run. As Luis raised the dust into the south-east, the old brass cannon boomed out its summons to the riders of Espada.
They brought the old man his fine blood-bay stallion and he took his place at the head of the nine riders like a general taking command of his army. He left orders that any other rider that came in response to the cannon shot should be sent after him. He smiled to himself as he rode. His little force was truly representative of the south-west, a polyglot mixture of Anglos, Mexicans and one man of mixed Navaho blood. There was not a man there who thought that the don’s quarrel was none of their business. They ate his food and took his money for pay, therefore it was right and proper that they ride behind him with guns in their hands. Beside this, they knew why they were riding. In a country so short on women, women were valuable commodities. It was up to every man to protect them.
They had travelled no more than an hour at an easy trot, to save the horses for harder work later, when a cowboy riding in the van called out that there was a rider coming. They halted and watched his dust. As he came nearer, they recognized the horse. This was Luis Donoso reporting back. He pulled his horse up in a cloud, calling out ‘I have no need to ride further, patr6n. They are going to the old mines. There is nowhere else they could go.’
‘Good,’ said the don. ‘That is country we all know well. Better than those strangers will. Pepe—’ He named the youngest member of the corrida – ‘ride back to the house and leave word that all the men who come in should ride for the old mines.’
The boy whirled his horse and rode away into the northwest.
‘So,’ said Don Sebastian, ‘let us go on and finish this business.’
They all lifted their lines and rode.