The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [170]
Buenaventura said, “Papá? I don’t mind dying!”
“Who are you calling Papá, cabrón?” shouted Juan.
“No one is dying today,” Tomás grunted as he mounted his stallion.
“I am not afraid!” Buenaventura cried.
“I am,” his father replied.
He rode among the pilgrims, saying, “Calma, calma.”
Segundo watched the far edge of the crowd. At least his eyes were still good. His men rode among the pilgrims. They talked to them as they would have talked to spooked horses or jittery cattle. Soothing them. Calming them.
“Stay cool,” Segundo said. “Don’t get excited.”
“I’m not excited,” said Buenaventura.
“Liar.”
And Tomás continued crooning to them all until the cavalry leader rode through the main gate.
“Calma, señores, por favor. Calma.”
Emilio Enríquez rode at the head of the column. His men drew their rifles from their scabbards as one and rode with their fingers on their triggers. Tomás turned his stallion sideways in their path and sat with his hand on the butt of his revolver.
“Welcome back, Captain Enríquez!” he called.
Enríquez smiled at him. “Major,” he said.
“No!”
Major Enríquez dipped his head.
“At your service, Don Tomás.”
“A promotion,” Tomás said. “In honor of this precarious duty, no doubt?”
Enríquez dipped his head again.
Tomás reached over and shook his hand.
“Muy bien!” he said.
“Word of my promotion arrived last night with the courier, Señor Ponce de León.”
“Oh?”
“He bore many documents. Some troubling. But some pleasing to me.”
“Ah!”
“Don Tomás.” The major nodded. “It is a fine morning, is it not?”
“It is!”
“Though there are seditious rumblings in the hills.”
Tomás watched the cavalry and the Rurales spread out.
“However,” the major sighed, “in spite of the rebellious spirit afoot in the land, this fine ranch is a bastion of loyalty to the president. Am I right?”
Tomás said nothing.
“Is this a social visit?” said Urrea. “Would you like to come in?”
The major removed his hat. Wiped his brow with a white handkerchief.
“If only I could, sir,” he said. “However, Señor Ponce de León has delivered to me a series of documents that link your daughter to the rebels hereabouts.”
“Rebels? Where?”
“Quite a party you have here,” said the major, gesturing at the pilgrims. “I see no one has chosen to go home.”
“I believe,” said Tomás, “they are as eager as I am to see what your disposition is today. After they see how the great army is feeling, then they will go home. I am certain.”
“A political rally, eh?” said the major.
“It is . . . religious in nature.”
“Religion,” Enríquez repeated. “Worse than politics.”
“Indeed.”
“I hear tell there’s a heresy here. Word came of that last night as well. Oh! Señor Ponce de León had quite a portfolio! Not simply revolt, you see.”
Tomás snorted. “As if the church itself isn’t so much horse manure.”
Enríquez looked away. “That’s debatable, my friend.” He gestured around him. “And these Indians? Are they here for religion, or war?”
“It’s their country,” said Tomás.
“Really?” the major replied. “I thought this was the Mexican Republic.”
“Where your horses are standing now, it is the Urrea Republic.”
“Ah! That clarifies things for me.”
The major’s horse shook its head, rattling the bit in its mouth.
“Sedition, you know, is even more dangerous than heresy.”
He turned his horse away.
“For now,” he said, “you and your daughter are under house arrest. My men will keep watch. Feel free to have your assistants do their work as usual, but all preaching stops. No contact between Miss Urrea and the . . . pilgrims.”
“Until?” Tomás asked.
“Until new orders arrive,” the major replied. He saluted. “I must oversee the hunt for the rebels,” he said. “An officer’s work is never done.”
“Good day!” Tomás shouted as he retreated, but the major never looked back.
Enríquez returned the next morning.
“Major!” Tomás cried