Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [31]
“Phineas, you could do your country, and me, a great service.”
Banning smiled, nodded. “At your service, Captain.”
“Spread the word. There’s cavalry coming, several squadrons, no, a regiment. Captain Hancock is . . . outraged . . . that local citizens would defy the military authority, by the . . . the . . . disgraceful lack of respect paid to me and my wife, the threats against my home. How’s that?”
Banning laughed. “I must say, Captain, I have never seen such fury from a military man. It could be . . . my God, the army could be coming here to . . . oh, my Lord, it could be a massacre!”
Hancock felt the rush of energy, but did not laugh with Banning. It had to work, a show of bravado, throw uncertainty into a growing mob. It would slow them down, at least until he could send to Tejon for real troops to back up his rumors.
Hancock stood, made a slight bow. “You are a friend, Mr. Banning. Thank you for your time.”
Banning sat back in his chair, and Hancock saw he was already planning how he could spread the word. He said quietly, “Hamilton,” and Hancock knew, of course, the newspaperman would jump on this story, a military invasion, full-scale occupation, martial law . . .
Hancock left Banning’s office, walked out into hot sunlight, thought, Go to the warehouse, just to be sure. He turned a corner, passed several new shops, with Spanish and English signs, then made his way out beyond the street where his house sat, where Mira waited for him. He reached the long wooden building surrounded by a short picket fence with flaking white paint, saw the sign over the wide doors, U.S. ARMY SUPPLY DEPOT. He suddenly felt naked, very weak, unarmed. He pulled keys from his coat pocket, found the one for the old brass lock, swung open the thin wooden door. Inside were stacks of goods, high piles in neat rows, cloth and canvas. This is insane, he thought. All this, enough to equip, what? A small army? At least, to supply a good-sized bit of trouble. In a far corner he saw a wooden box, large and square, and he leaned over, pulled at the wood planking. It came loose, and he put his hand inside, felt through thick straw, worked his fingers in until his hand touched hard steel. He pulled the large pistol out through the top of the box, held it up toward the open door of the warehouse, aimed at nothing, then tucked it in his belt. He reached back into the box, pulled out another, then paused, thought, Maybe one more.
The wide flat door began to move, pushed by an afternoon breeze, and he jerked to attention, startled, and grabbed at a pistol. He laughed at himself, felt his heart beating with icy quickness, and thought of Banning. Are you scared yet, Captain?
THE SPANISH “soldiers” had come again, more of them this time, another absurd parade, and there had been others with them, people on foot, following along, yelling at the house, at him as he watched from the window. He could still see the faces, the infection spreading in the crowd.
They sat together in the fading light. Mira had brought him supper, and he was finishing the last piece of bread, drinking a cup of coffee. Outside the cavernous warehouse the last bit of orange glow was fading on the flat western horizon.
“You had better leave soon. It’s already dark.”
She took the plate from his hand, set it on the ground, slid closer and leaned against him. They sat on the wooden box that held the pistols, and he wrapped his arms around her, leaned back against the side of the building.
“In a moment, there’s no hurry. Consuela stayed late today, probably has the children in bed by now. She’s been a godsend, really.”
Hancock thought of the sweet old woman Mira had found to help with the house. She knew almost no English, but he could see in her hands, her touch, an understanding. She seemed to know just how to deal with the children, what they needed. Hancock had never actually spoken with her. She would not look at him, always looked at the