What were these men doing here, arguing about Andres’s wife—and “that poor Galvez girl.” Did they mean Juanita? His desperate fear and curiosity left no more room for caution. He stood up, putting his hat back on. “Jesus!” he called out.
The three men looked up, backing away slightly. Tom hurried down the hill, and Jesus called out his name. “Tom! It is Tom Sax!” Jesus smiled and reached out a hand as Tom stepped up closer to the fire.
Tom grasped the man’s hand and shook it fiercely. “What the hell are you men doing here, Jesus? What has happened!”
A terrible sadness came into Jesus’s eyes as he withdrew his hand and turned to look at the other two men. He looked back at Tom, then glanced at the hill behind him, as though wondering if he was alone. “How did you find us, Tom?”
“I just came from Sonoma, where a bunch of American volunteers have taken over the town. They’re flying some flag with a bear on it and saying the town belongs to the Americans. They took the palominos I bought for el señor Galvez and told me to leave town. What is going on?”
Jesus sighed deeply and Rico turned away. “Those men have already been to the ranch,” Andres spoke up, putting up a fist. “There were many of them, Tom, and they attacked suddenly, shooting down men, burning buildings, running off stock. They killed el señor Galvez and herded the rest of the men together, including us, and walked us to Sutter’s Fort as prisoners! Only two days ago we were released,” the man sneered. “They said we were no longer a threat! They left us with no horses or guns! We have walked this far. My wife and children are still back at that ranch. I am going to get them, and I don’t care how many of the Americans are left there!”
Tom just stared at the man in near shock. Americans on the Galvez ranch! Galvez himself killed! It was all so difficult to comprehend! He began to tremble with a mixture of rage and desolation. He turned angry eyes to Jesus. “Juanita!” he said in a desperate whisper. “What happened to Juanita!”
Jesus rubbed at his eyes and turned away. “God only knows by now, Tom. The reason they were so successful was they knew all about the place—knew the buildings, how many men there were and where they were. They had . . . inside help.”
Tom felt a black fury enveloping him. “Hidalgo!” he hissed.
Jesus nodded, looking back at him. “Sí. He helped the Americans. Once we were taken to the fort, we realized the one truly in charge—some man called Frémont—he does not understand what some of the American volunteers are doing. It is true he has declared California for America, but I do not think he is part of what these other men are doing. He—”
Tom grasped his shirt front. “When. When did it happen? Where is Juanita?”
Andres grasped one of Tom’s arms. “Take it easy, Tom. My wife is there, too. I am just as concerned. We must think clearly so we can help them.”
Tom’s eyes filled with tears as they drilled into Jesus. He let go of the man, turning away and hunching over, making an odd groaning sound. “I am sorry, Jesus.” Tom threw back his head and breathed deeply. “Tell me—all of it.”
Jesus ran a hand through his hair. “They came a few days after you left. As I said, it was a complete surprise. Men were shot down in cold blood. Some big heavyset man seemed to be in charge. I think his last name was Hughes.”
“Hughes.” Tom turned. “I met a man in Sonoma called Hughes. He’s the one who let his men take the palominos.”
“It could be the same man. We think by now most of them are gone. They took what they wanted. Many rode off with much loot that same day. Others herded the rest of us together and made us walk to Sutter’s Fort. We were held prisoner there until just two days ago when they finally let us go. We walked all the way here. We have been trying to decide what to do—how to go and get Andres’s wife.”
“And what about Juanita!” Tom hissed. “Did you see her?” He moved his eyes to Rico and Andres. “Any of you?”
Rico sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She never came out of the house, Señor Sax,” he said quietly. “I . . . I heard some screams from somewhere in the house. And I . . . I heard Hidalgo talking to that man Hughes about her . . . about . . . about letting Hughes and his men have . . . turns with her when he was done with her himself . . . for money and whiskey.”
“My God!” Tom groaned, turning away again. “I knew it! Somehow I knew it deep inside.” He hung his head. “My God, I failed her.”
Jesus frowned with concern. “It would have happened no matter if you were there or not, Tom,” he told the man. “There were so many of them. It was well planned. You should not blame yourself.”
Tom shook his head, clenching his fists. “I had such a strange feeling when I left . . . like something terrible was going to happen. But I ignored it,” he groaned. “I thought she would be so safe there. Even when I heard talk in San Francisco about Americans taking over California . . . I did not worry so much about it.” He breathed deeply. “I was going to ask her father for her hand in marriage . . . now . . . my poor Juanita! My God, what have they done to her?”
Jesus felt like crying. He looked at Rico and Andres, who both felt the same fury.
Andres stepped closer to Tom. “If you want to go and get her, señor, I will help you. My wife is there, too. I want to go and get my family. I think by now there will not be many men left there. They will move on to other places. It might be possible to take them. Perhaps if we can make it to my house, my wife will be there and she can tell us how many men are left.”
Tom’s breathing deepened as he fought to stay in control. “This is war,” he said quietly. “War. If Juanita has been abused; if she is badly hurt or dead; I am going to war against these Americans!”
He turned and looked at the three men, a wild, almost demonic fire in his dark eyes that made them all step back slightly. “My father once made war against the Crow—one man against all of them,” he growled. “He struck terror in their hearts! I will do the same to these Americans who have come here to rob and kill and rape. I was on my way to Sutter’s Fort to talk to this Frémont. But I will talk to no American now, for I no longer wish for peace! Everyone at that ranch will die, and I will do the killing!”
Rico swallowed. “I bet on you when you broke the black stallion, señor. I think you are a man who does what he sets out to do. I wish to help you, señor.”
Tom’s jaw flexed in repressed emotions. He slowly nodded, turning his eyes to Andres.
“I also want to help, Señor Sax.”
“And so do I,” Jesus spoke up. “But we have no horses—no guns.”
“There is a ranch not far from here—run by American settlers.” Tom sneered the words. “I will go there tonight and steal three horses. When we get to Galvez’s land, we will go in at night.” He pulled out a huge hunting knife from where it hung at his belt. “This will silence whatever guards they have posted, and their guns will become your guns. Then we will move in on the rest of them—take them by surprise.” He gripped the knife tightly. “And Hidalgo is mine—all mine!”
Jesus nodded. “Sí, Tom. We understand.”
Tom shoved the knife back into its sheath. “Soon it will be dark and I will get the horses. In the morning we ride until we are close to Galvez’s land, then move in after dark.” He looked from one to another. “You are all sure you want to do this? You do not have to.”
“I do,” Andres answered. “My wife and sons are there.”
Tom nodded. “A man protecting his woman is a man who can be trusted.” He looked at Rico.
“I will go,” Rico assured him again. “It is wrong what they have done, especially to the innocent young girl. They stole my horse and weapons and walked me to that fort, calling me names all the way. I will go.”
Tom looked at Jesus. “You know I will help you, Tom. You are my friend.”
Tom could not stop the tears from welling in his eyes. He reached out and Jesus took his hand again. “Gracias, amigo,” Tom told him. He turned to Rico and Andres, t
elling them the same. “I truly believe God sent me this way first so that I would be warned about what had happened and would find help. We will succeed, my friends, because God is with us.” Tom held up his fist. “Of this I have no doubts. We have His power behind us.”
Tom slowly lowered his fist, fighting an urge to break down. He could not do that now. He had to stay strong. He couldn’t let this get the better of him—not yet. There was no time for tears now. That would have to come later, after Emanuel Hidalgo was dead. And his death would be a slow one indeed.
• Chapter Eleven •
The night was still as Tom and the three men who had agreed to help him moved toward the cabin of Andres Terres under cover of darkness. Earlier in the day they had scouted the estate from the surrounding hills. There was little activity. The vast outlying grazing lands had been vacated.
They carefully moved through the empty pastures toward the house.
As the four of them moved even closer to the main house, they could see that several outbuildings had been destroyed by fire, perhaps to further discourage other Mexicans from trying to move in on the ready-made ranch and make a home there. The bunkhouses were gone, but a few cabins remained. Andres was relieved to see that one of them was his own.
They made their way closer, quietly walking the horses they had stolen the night before. The Americans who had stayed behind, and, Tom hoped, Emanuel Hidalgo himself, all seemed to be congregated in the main house. Apparently they expected no trouble. That was fine with Tom. Surprise would be their best aid.
Andres left his horse with the others and darted to his cabin door, tapping on it lightly, while the rest of them waited in the bushes. It opened slowly, and one of his young sons peeked out. Behind the boy stood Andres’s wife, holding a butcher knife defensively. Her eyes widened when she saw her husband, and she whimpered his name. The man ducked inside, and Tom and the others could hear almost hysterical weeping, combined with a torrent of sobbed Spanish words.
“She says the bastards raped her,” Jesus spoke up, the woman’s words coming to them clearly as they waited outside the cabin.
“I am glad I came along,” Rico hissed through gritted teeth. “Andres’s wife is a good woman. They had no right!”
Tom remained silent, his own rage and torment almost unbearable. If they had raped Andres’s Mexican wife, they had most certainly done the same to Juanita; and for Juanita it would be so much worse, never having known a man. He closed his eyes and hung his head at the thought of the pain and horror she must have suffered.
They waited several minutes until Andres finally opened the door and signaled for them to come inside. They tied the horses and hurried in. Andres’s wife was closing the curtains. Tom met Andres’s tear-filled eyes.
“They raped my wife,” he groaned. “I will kill every one of them!”
Tom glanced at the young woman, who remained turned away from them, busying herself with preparing some food. He could feel her unnecessary shame. He moved his dark eyes back to Andres. “Hidalgo is mine. Remember that.”
“That is fine with me,” the man growled. “It was the American men who abused her. You can have Hidalgo. I want Hughes—their big fat leader! She says he returned last night from Sonoma.”
Tom put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep a clear head, Andres. If you don’t, we might fail.”
The man breathed deeply, wiping at his eyes. “My wife is fixing us something to eat. We are all weak from so much hard riding and little food or rest. I think we should eat just a little. Come. Sit down.”
They all moved to sit around the table, removing their hats. Andres’s little boy came to sit on his father’s lap, and a baby slept in the corner of the room in a cradle. The little boy clung to his father as though terrified he would go away again.
“My little boy saw it all,” Andres said in a broken voice. “My Rosa says he has not spoken since.”
Tom rubbed at his eyes. “Does your wife know how many there are?”
Andres turned to her, rattling off questions in Spanish. She finally turned, and faint bruises were still evident on her face and arms. She hung her head as she spoke.
“They are careless now,” she told them in Spanish. “When I go out to hang wash or work in my garden, I see no one around. They have not come around me since those first two days.” She rubbed her hands against her dress nervously. “I wanted to run away . . . but I did not know where to run. I have no money. And I knew that if they let my Andres go, he would come here looking for me. So I waited.” She finally raised her eyes and looked at Tom. “Since those first two days they have all been at the big house. They drink. They laugh. They play cards. And they . . .” She looked away again. “At first I could hear her crying, screaming . . . begging. Even this far away I could hear her. Then all of it stopped. She makes no sounds anymore. Sometimes I wonder if she is dead.” She looked at Tom again, seeing the horror and devastation in his eyes. “I am sorry. I feel so sorry for la señorita Juanita. I pray for her every day. I hope she is alive and that you can help her. There are eight or ten of them over there, including Emanuel and two of Señor Galvez’s own men who helped—Ramone and Chico. Usually someone sits outside the front door to keep watch. But since the American soldiers came by ship and raised the American flag, they think everything is over, so they are not alert.”
The room seemed filled with Tom Sax’s rage. “Well, everything isn’t over, is it,” he choked out. He looked at Andres. “What are the chances of your wife’s helping us?”
The man frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a big house. We dive into one room, some in other rooms will get away. In order for our identity to never be known, they all must die! That means we have to be sure we’ve got them all in one place. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if your wife could . . . could go over there, make them think she’s going to give them a good show. They would call the others in, all gather around to watch.”
Andres shook his head. “It is too dangerous. She could get killed when the shooting starts. Besides, she has been through enough. I could not ask her to do that.”
“We just want to get the men in one room. We could give her some kind of signal before the shooting starts so she could maybe saunter to one side of the room, then duck down or run out.”
Andres kept shaking his head, and his wife, who spoke no English, asked him what Tom was saying. Andres reluctantly told her and she put a hand to her throat and turned away. The room fell silent while she stirred a pot of reheated chili. Then she turned and faced Tom.
“I will do it.”
“Rosa!” Andres looked at her in surprise, and she looked back at him sternly.
“I will not forget what they did, Andres,” she told him. “And what happened to me was even worse for la señorita Juanita because she is so young and innocent; and because they do not stop with her. For all these days she has been living in hell in that house. We must help her, and these men must die. And if you are going to go over there and help el señor Sax kill them, I want to be sure it is done in a way that is safe for my husband. And el señor Sax is right. They all must die!”
The man sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “What about the boy?”
“I will explain to him. I will tell him it is very important that he stay here and be very quiet and watch the baby. I will make him understand it is important, because we are going to get rid of those bad men.”
Andres looked at Tom. “You have the final say, Andres,” Tom told him. “She’s your wife. I won’t hold it against you if you say no. I’ll just have to think of some other way.”
The man thought for several long, quiet seconds while Jesus and Rico said nothing. “All right,” Andres finally spoke up. “I think it can work. But all of you must promise you do not fire one shot until my Rosa is out of the room. She could get caught in the cross fire.”
Tom nodded. “Agreed.” He looked up at Rosa and spoke in Spanish. “You are a very brave and honorable wom
an. I will not forget this night. If this works out, you and Andres take whatever you need from the house—money, if there is any left—food—whatever. You take it and go far from here. You should find enough money and goods to start over someplace else and make a good life for yourselves.”
A tear slipped down Rosa’s cheek. “I don’t really care about that,” she answered. “I just want those men dead. It is a terrible thing they have done—to me and my frightened son—and to the little girl in that house. I want to help however I can.”
“I am grateful, Rosa. I know God will be with you.”
She wiped at the tear. “I think tonight He will be with all of us, señor.” She sniffed and turned back to the pan of chili. “Now, all of you, take a moment to think and plan. I will give you something to eat. The night is still young. It will be easier to take those men if you give them more time to drink first. In an hour or two they will be mostly drunk, and a drunk man does not aim his gun well.”
Tom had to grin at the very wise statement, and he admired her courage. “A good point.” Tom looked at Andres and the others. “Check your guns, my friends. You have stolen them from the guards and they are not familiar to you. I want every shot to count. And remember, when we move in and start shooting, no one hesitates for one moment. None of them must be allowed to get away. And do not kill Hidalgo or Hughes. It is important they are just wounded—for the time being. It is only fitting that they both die slowly.”
His dark eyes glittered with near joy at the thought of vengeance, and they could almost see the war paint on his face, even though there was none there.
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