He nodded. "Not at first, when we set out from here. But yes, we must assume they have scouts out the closer we get to them. We will need the darkness then. It is the only way. There are many more of them, and… they will be seasoned killers. Your party, Aronson. It is…" He trailed off.
Aronson conceded the point with a lift of his shoulders. "No, you're right; we are not like them. There's no point pretending otherwise."
"We will need to take them by surprise," Miguel said. "It will be difficult and unpleasant. Very unpleasant. I have been thinking about how we might do it and have written down a few ideas and a list of supplies we will need."
He reached into his jacket pocket to fetch an old folded envelope on which he had sketched out his plan, such as it was. Instead, he accidentally brought out the photograph he had taken from the homestead just before they left. Seeing his wife smiling and surrounded by their children, he felt as though he had been struck a blow just below the heart.
"Excuse me," he said quietly as he returned the photograph carefully to his pocket. The day was heating up outside, turning into one of the warmer days Miguel could remember in quite some time. It had been a hard winter in East Texas, but the air in the diner grew thick and close as morning closed in on noon. The Mormon women, with the help of Sofia and the two boys, Adam and Orin, were progressing well with the job of restocking the group's supplies. He was glad that Sofia had work to distract her. It was undoubtedly better that she not spend today in the saddle dwelling on what had happened back at the homestead. Helping these people would help her; he was sure of it. Unfortunately, there could be no doubt that helping the Mormons would also serve to put his daughter in the way of grave harm, because that was where Miguel himself was heading.
"It will be a difficult business scouting this town," he said as they surveyed the map of Crockett. "Although if I was driving a herd of stolen cattle and looking for an easy time of it, I would probably graze them here on the southeastern edge of the city. Near this school or college." He pointed at a cluster of buildings and playing fields on the map.
"Well, none of us are real cattlemen, Miguel," said Aronson. "We're willing to take your counsel on that. So then, do you think that's the direction we should approach from?"
"Not directly," he said. "And we do not even know they are there in town, let alone camped in this particular field. If they are, it would be best if we came in through cover. You cannot tell from this map, but we must hope there is forest or brushland along any line of approach we might take. But unless there is someone among you who knows this town well, we shall just have to be careful and scout it out properly."
The screen door behind him creaked open, admitting to the diner a giant by the name of Ben Randall. He carried sledgehammers and clothing wrapped in a giant bundle.
"Got what you wanted," he said to Miguel.
"Good. Just put them over there on the table next to the women."
Randall unburdened himself of the load, which landed on the table with a dull crash. He was one of the biggest men Miguel had ever seen, some sort of engineer in his former life who'd been working on an oil rig somewhere off Indonesia when the Wave struck. He had grown up on a farm, however, and of all the Mormons, except Peter Atchison, their senior horse wrangler, he seemed the most comfortable in the wild. Joining them at the map, he wiped a thin film of sweat from his brow as he appeared to take in all the squiggles and lines converging on the town.
"Guess we'd better pray for some cover."
"Pray if you must, Mister Randall," Miguel said. "But I believe the good Lord will look after those who are best prepared and who have investigated their enemies."
Aronson looked troubled, and it was not long before he spoke up. "On that matter, Miguel. How are we to approach this? I am not comfortable splitting up our group. We would have to leave one or two men behind with the women, including Sofia, and even that is no guarantee of their safety. And what happens if our scouts do find these agents in Crockett? They will then have to backtrack for the other men if we are to have enough guns to have any chance of pulling this off."
Randall and D'Age looked to the cowboy for an answer. That was only natural. Unlike Miguel, they had no experience of leading men in a situation like this and, until they were attacked by the road agents, probably had precious little experience of fighting them, either. Miguel had been bossing vaqueros for twenty years, during which time he had regularly had to enforce his will with boot and fist. And of course he had had his fill of deadly violence escaping from Mexico with his family on Miss Julia's boat. His brow creased, and he grunted as he pushed away the memory of the massacre yet again. It flashed before his eyes many times every day, distressing him greatly. Until Sofia was safe, surrounded by the armies of Presidente Kipper, he could not indulge in the weakness of memory and regrets. First came her safety, then came vengeance, and only then, if he still lived, would there be time for mourning.
He chewed his lower lip as he thought over the difficulty Aronson had raised. A couple of errant whiskers got caught between his teeth.
"You are right," he said. "I must admit I have been worrying about this very matter all morning. The bandit gangs are pushing much deeper into the Federal Mandate than they have before. And there seem to be more of them. I do not think it would be wise to split up into smaller groups that could be easily picked off. Altogether we have, what, six men, two boys, your two women, and Sofia. If they can all pull a trigger to protect themselves and if we are careful, that is enough to give the agents pause. A smaller group, however, they will simply overrun, especially if they know there are women to be had."
Aronson nodded, seemingly satisfied with that line of reasoning. "So we all travel together."
"Yes," said Miguel. "But if we are successful in tracking them, only the men will fight. There will be work for the women tending the animals and, when we are done and if we are lucky, looking after the wounded. This fight will be no place for them."
The chatter of voices from the other side of the diner had gone quiet while Miguel spoke. He turned around to find Sofia and the two Mormon women looking at him. He thought that his daughter might say something in protest. He recognized the flame of indignation in her eyes, but before Sofia could speak, Maive Aronson leaned across a bag full of beans and squeezed her arm.
"Do you think you could go find Mr. Atchison for me? I have need of inquiring with him about how much we can load in these saddlebags. I believe he is tending to the horses. Here, Adam can help you go find him."
The youngest of the Mormon men, a pink-faced boy of maybe sixteen or seventeen, pulled up short as he tried to wrestle a big cardboard box into the room. His companion-Orin was his name if Miguel recalled correctly-bumped into him from behind, almost knocking him over. It was enough to break the tension. Sofia did give her father a cool glare as she left the diner, but Miguel was man enough not to be troubled by the poor opinion of a teenage girl. He even smiled slightly as she swept out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster, pulling Adam along in her wake. His grin lingered for a moment when he saw that the other boy, Orin, was genuinely put out not to have been chosen for escort duties. And then the black fog of sorrow descended upon him again.
"We should travel fast and light," he said, almost sighing. "Perhaps we should leave everything here that we will not need in the fight. Your herd can be secured here."
Cooper Aronson looked as if he was about to say something, but Miguel cut him off. "There will be a fight, Mister Aronson."
The Mormon leader nodded reluctantly.