Chapter 27
The next morning, Will checked on his prisoner, who was still sleeping when Will arrived, his breakfast tray on the floor near the cell door.
"Had a quiet night," Sheriff Adams said. "I think it was the morphine, and he's not eating his breakfast, as you can see. We'll keep him, no problem. He'll be tried right here in Comal County, but I have to tell you, Will, sentences for kidnapping are pretty light."
"Even so, ain't much of a penalty for what he put that family through," Adams said.
"I happen to know the Minister to Mexico. He's a friend of mine from way back. His name is Philip Morgan, speaks fluent French and Spanish. A real diplomat. I could write him a letter with all the facts and see what he recommends."
"If you'd do that, Judge, I'll write a summary covering everything that's happened from the first when Del Cole was falsely charged with horse theft to give you the full picture."
"Fine, that'll help me write the letter to Morgan," Freeman said. "I think he'll know how to deal with this. He has access to President Diaz on a regular basis when the President is in Mexico City."
Back at the ranch, Will worked off and on for two days to perfect the summary, then he let Virginia read it. She approved. "I think that summarizes things pretty well. You'll include the admission from Vega that he falsified charges against Del, won't you?"
"It's a good idea, but I don't have the original. I left it with the marshals in El Paso."
"You can at least mention that you have it," Virginia said. "And another thing, make sure they know that Del's a federal officer."
Later Will showed the four-page document to Isum, who read it and said, "I think it's good, but it can't tell how much Del suffered in jail, the uncertainty, the helplessness of being falsely charged and the horrible food.
Same goes for Elena and six-year-old Carlos.
But it's a good summary for Judge Freeman. "
As a final step, he left the summary with Del and Elena overnight. They added a few details Will hadn't known about. He incorporated those and took the document down to Judge Freeman, who dictated a letter to his secretary, who prepared the letter for the judge's signature.
Three weeks later, Judge Freeman got a reply from Philip Morgan saying he would speak to President Diaz about it at their next meeting.
A month later, Freeman got another letter from Morgan saying he'd spoken to President Diaz about the problem, and Diaz had assured him that he would personally take care of the problem, and that the Texas family had no further reasons to worry now or in the future.
Morgan said he had a good relationship with President Diaz, and he was confident the President would take care of the problem.
* * * * *
Almost three weeks after Morgan spoke to President Diaz, he arrived at the Vega hacienda unannounced, something that surprised Vega.
The President had always notified Don Rodrigo before his previous visits.
He came with an escuadrón of one hundred cavalrymen, who stood by at his command as he descended from the carriage.
Don Rodrigo looked out the window and saw the President. He slipped into his best charro jacket with silver embroidery and hurried outside as Diaz stepped down from his carriage. "To what do I owe his unexpected pleasure, Mi General?"
"We'll talk about it inside once we've had some refreshments," Diaz said.
"Yes, yes, come right in, Mi General."
As he followed Diaz into the house, he said to his mayordomo, "?Refrescos, inmediatamente!"
"While the refreshments are being prepared, Mi General, could I offer you some wine? I have burgundy and bordeaux, fine French wines."
"Burgundy would be nice," Diaz said.
They drank wine and talked about Diaz's vision of turning Mexico into a country respected around the world, one on good relations with the United States, France, England and other European countries.
"You know, of course, that the United States funded the railroads we now have, and we want them to continue to do that.
We want them to invest in mines and manufacturing so that our nation can prosper.
Then without preamble, he said, "But, you know, people closest to me, people like you, Rodrigo, they cause me problems, ones I have to handle personally. "
Sitting up straight in his chair, he said, "I can't imagine what problems I've caused you, Mi General."
"I got a recent visit from the U.S. Minister to Mexico, Philip Morgan, who tells me that you sent Guerrero into Tejas to kidnap a child."
Don Rodrigo looked abashed. "I know it appears wrong, but let me explain. The woman, Elena Hidalgo, the wife of the American, her father promised her to me eighteen years ago, and I view it as a promise unfulfilled."
Diaz looked at him for several seconds over his glass of wine before saying, "Has a screw come loose in your head, Rodrigo? You've held onto this slight for eighteen years? What the hell is wrong with you?"
He took a sip of wine and said, "Mister Morgan told me the whole story of how you and Capitán Fuentes had her husband arrested on a false charge of horse theft when she came down for her father's funeral, and how his friends were forced to break him out of jail.
Then that idiot, Fuentes, tried to save face for you by sending out a nationwide alert and had my troops wasting their time looking for an innocent man under a false warrant! "
"I...I...I can only say I..."
Diaz flipped his hand at Don Rodrigo. "Let me tell you, Guerrero failed spectacularly," Diaz shouted.
"In fact, Guerrero is in jail in Tejas, and Mister Morgan, envoy extraordinary to our country, expressed his country's vehement disapproval.and asked my help fixing the problem.
He told me that if Mexico is sending assassins and kidnappers into the United States, it could severely damage relations between our countries.
He told me that if this is not resolved he's afraid the entire story may become front page news in newspapers all over the United States, and these newspapers might demand that investments in Mexico stop entirely. They might even demand war."
Diaz stood, walked to the window and said, "You have embarrassed me, Rodrigo. You have imperiled my whole economic plan for the country. That's treasonous. I could put you in jail and seize all your rancho with all its cattle and sheep. Do you understand that?"
"I'm sorry, Mi General," Don Rodrigo said. "It was a foolish misstep on my part. I tell you now that nothing like this will happen again. What can I do to make amends, Mi General?"
Diaz nodded, "Keep your promise to me that such a thing will never happen again.
Any other problems from you, and I'll bring all the powers of the government against you because I have given my word to the U.S.
Minister that nothing like this will ever happen again.
Do not make me a liar. Now...let's eat, and I'll need a further contribution of twenty thousand pesos from you. "
"Twenty thousand?" Don Rodrigo asked feebly. He could barely say the words. "I'll have to sell half my herds at distressed prices to raise that amount."
"Yes, I suppose so," Diaz said, totally unconcerned. "But get the money to me within the month," Diaz said.
"And what of Guerrero?" Don Rodrigo asked timidly.
"From what I'm hearing, they don't know his real name," Diaz said. "But he'll be convicted and sent to prison. When he gets there, I'll take care of the rest."
Don Rodrigo wanted to ask how, but he was afraid of the answer. He put it out of his mind quickly.
Diaz turned quickly and said, "And by the way, your friend Captain Fuentes, he's been relieved of command and reduced in rank to sergeant.
About two months after the kidnapping, Elena had gotten a letter from her sister, Imelda, and she'd said that Capitán Fuentes had been demoted and was now only a sergeant leading a ten-man squad of Rurales around the area of Parral and was forced to wear a uniform all the time.
She also said the rumor was that Don Rodrigo had been forced to sell thousands of cattle and sheep to support the federal government, and he was rarely seen in public.
What Imelda had written about Raul Fuentes was true.
In trying to help Don Rodrigo, he'd been shamed and disgraced.
And he held a grudge against Don Rodrigo that was like a searing ember in his chest. Vega had literally stolen his rank from him.
And now he was a sergeant, not even earning enough to maintain his household.
* * * * *
The morning sun had already baked the Chihuahuan desert into a shimmering oven by nine o'clock, but beneath the thick canopy of willows, cottonwoods and heavy brush lining the creek, the air remained deceptively cool.
Sergeant Fuentes crouched in the damp shade deep back into the brush, his knees pressed into the moist earth near the water.
In his hands, he held a Remington rolling block rifle.
It was an older weapon issued by the government, but the mechanism was rock-solid, and it fired the very common . 43 Spanish cartridge.
Fuentes wiped a bead of sweat from his eye, his gaze fixed on the dusty trail across the water.
Ten miles to the south, his squad of ten Rurales remained camped.
Before slipping away at daybreak, Fuentes had pulled aside his trusted second-in-command, Corporal Hernán Gomez.
He had clapped Gomez on the shoulder with a sly, conspiratorial grin, muttering that a man had certain needs that the dusty trail couldn't satisfy, dropping a few coins into his hand, and claiming he was riding back toward a well-known cantina and whorehouse on the outskirts of town.
Gomez had chuckled, promising to keep the men occupied with cleaning their equipment and grooming the horses until noon. The alibi was seamless. If anyone asked, the disgraced sergeant was simply drowning his humiliation in cheap mescal and cheaper company.
Instead, Fuentes was hunting the man who had stolen his gold captain's stripes.
Through the shimmering heat waves of the open desert terrain, a small cloud of dust signaled the approach of the riders.
Don Rodrigo Vega was a creature of rigid habit, conducting his morning inspections of the sprawling, arid rancho at the exact same hour every day.
Fuentes watched from deep inside the leafy branches as the riders drew within 500 varas.
The terrain was harsh and bare, a wasteland of scrub and stone, making this isolated, green creek the only viable cover for miles.
At the head of the four men rode Vega, sitting tall and arrogant astride a magnificent black stallion.
The horse's coat gleamed like polished obsidian in the harsh desert light.
Fuentes felt a familiar surge of cold, venomous anger tighten in his chest. Because of Vega's petty, vengeful obsession with that woman, Fuentes had been reduced to a scapegoat, stripped of his rank by order of President Díaz himself.
Fuentes cocked the heavy hammer of the Remington.
He rested the long barrel on a sturdy deadfall, aligning the iron sights directly with the center of Vega's silk-vested chest. He noticed there was quite a strong wind right in his face, which he didn't think would affect his bullet at all.
He took a slow breath and held it, waiting for the stallion to step into the perfect clearing at about four hundred varas.
Boom!
The thunderous roar of the .43 Spanish cartridge cracked over the desert like a bolt of lightning that echoed across the flats.
A dense, white cloud of black powder smoke erupted from the muzzle, but the wind pushed it through the thick, leafy canopy of brush and trees along the creek, and within seconds the smoke bloom had disappeared.
The heavy lead bullet slammed squarely into Vega's chest. The impact was catastrophic, lifting the hacendado completely out of his stirrups and knocking him over the back of his horse.
He hit the dusty ground like a sack of wet flour.
The magnificent black stallion reared up, whinnying and roaring in terror, its hooves flailing as Vega's men scrambled wildly for their sidearms, shouting in confusion and trying desperately to calm the stallion.
Fuentes didn't wait to watch the chaos. He smoothly lowered the block, ejected the smoking brass casing into the mud, and slipped through the dense brush back toward his hidden mount.
Within minutes, he was riding hard through the arroyos, heading back to his camp to establish his perfect alibi.
He was certain those who investigated would conclude that one of the men from Texas had done it.