Even if they tied her down she wouldn’t take her own medicine, that Atacadizo syrup she makes, half of Matasánchez takes it, but not her.
Doña Estefanía can’t get to sleep. Her youngest son, her favorite, an outlaw! Her ranch raided by reyeros!
She can’t think straight. Her son surrounded by an army, her people have described this all to her and it makes her feel awful. None of this should be happening: the gringos’ designs on her property (even the wild Indians hadn’t been able to take an inch from her), their not looking her straight in the eye, their claiming she was no longer in Mexico, even the papers they sent her stating that she was now “American”—which is to say, gringa — and worst of all her Benjamin, her favorite, mixed up in this.
Nepomuceno’s men need horses and arms, but they don’t want to buy them at market because they don’t want anyone to know that they need them or that they’ve gotten their hands on them.
So they cross the Bravo, but not all of them, just some of the vaqueros. A little later they find some cattle that have strayed from the herd, but that’s not what they’re looking for — they need mustangs. It will take time to tame them, but they don’t have bad habits — they haven’t been exposed to the angry violence of the gringos, who train horses by beating them.
In the Bruneville market, Sharp claims, “It made no difference to Nepomuceno whether they called him Mexican or American, he signed documents both ways, depending on which benefited him more. I saw it with my own eyes. Don’t come tell me now that he’s the defender of Mexicans; and this crap about ‘La Raza’ is even worse.”
Luis wanders nearby, looking for someone whose shopping he can carry, but he finds no one. He’s not catching flies or getting lost in his own world. At home they’re desperate for money. But there isn’t any to be had.
Something has happened on the river. Úrsulo arrives with a report:
“Nepomuceno, something has happened to the river, it’s impossible to cross the rapids, the vaqueros who are crossing to get horses have gotten trapped.”
“Then let them stay on the islet.”
“They can’t, what if the tide rises?”
“If it rises, let the fools drown.”
Nepomuceno doesn’t even glance at him. Úrsulo mumbles to himself, “I’m telling you it’s the river, Nepomuceno; it’s no one else’s doing.”
Úrsulo sleeps less each day, he’s like the gears in a clock, he never stops. He hears Nepomuceno’s words and keeps them in his memory. He leaves in the Inspector to deliver the news to the old port.
Right before his eyes the river settles down, but he still delivers the message. Nepomuceno’s men all learn to fear their leader. You have to be sharp.
Juan Prensa, the printer, works tirelessly. The circus canceled its engagement — they were coming from north of the river, and now the gringos are afraid of the “wild south”—(leaving him with the type set and the samples printed, although none of them were great quality, truth be told); there are no weddings coming up, nor fancy baptisms or funerals (of late it seems only the poor are being born and dying); he doesn’t have a single job, not even a small one, like a banquet with the traditional poems written for the occasion — he usually edits them and folks are grateful to him for it, they think it’s part of his job.
But Robert, who’s his buddy, has given him work for Nepomuceno. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but he doesn’t understand this job. He prints—“lickety-split”—flyers with the following words:
IT IS MY DUTY AS THE HIGHEST OFFICER OF THIS REPUBLIC to inform you, in plain language and with utmost sincerity, that the Cherokees will never have permission to remain here permanently, not even in the autonomous jurisdiction of the area governed by their peoples: their simple political claims, which they have attempted to validate in the territory they occupy, can never be validated, and that if for the time being they are permitted to remain where they are, it is only because the Government is waiting for the opportune moment to resolve this situation by expelling them peacefully. Whether this is achieved by friendly negotiations or by violence depends entirely upon the Cherokees themselves.
May 26, 1839,
Mirabeau Lamar
Robert arrives to collect the ream of printed pages — Prensa has trimmed them so they can easily be passed from hand to hand, as requested, “There will be as many of these in Texas as playing cards.”
“Here you go.”
“How much is it?”
The question is just a formality. They both know the answer before it’s asked.
“No one charges Nepomuceno. But I’d like something in exchange, if you don’t mind. It’s just curiosity but I’d like to know … what are these leaflets I printed for?
“Nepomuceno has a plan.”
“So I imagine. What is it?”
“Here’s what Nepomuceno wants: to have at least one representative from each of the five tribal nations on his side: a Cherokee, a Chickasaw, a Choctaw, a Creek (or Muscogee or Muskoke), and a Seminole. And better yet if he can get a Caddo — a wild one — plus one of the Hasinais that used to live scattered across eastern Texas, a Kadohadacho (the ones from Oklahoma and Arkansas), or a Nacogdoche from Louisiana. But he’s only counting on the first five I mentioned because the Chickasaw severed relations with the Caddos, and the Hasinais are scattered to the four winds, sold off as slaves. That’s why.”
“Yeah? I still don’t get it.”
“It’s for the Cherokees.”
“It won’t be easy, they’re staunch supporters of the gringos.”
“Yes and no. That’s what the leaflets are for. We’re gonna give them to Pérez, the Indian trader, today. He’s heading there tomorrow at dawn. If we circulate them throughout Indian Territory we’ll convert the Cherokees into our allies, that’s what Nepomuceno thinks.”
“What business do you have with the Indian trader. He’s not good people.”
“This is the time for making alliances, Prensa. Not for looking for problems.”
El Iluminado arrives in Laguna del Diablo with the Talking Cross, surrounded by his court of believers: church ladies, delinquents, hangers-on, and opportunists, some of whom believe they’re there to wage religious war against the Protestants and savages. It’s been so long since he heard about Shears’ insult that he no longer remembers it — he believes the Virgin herself compelled him to follow Nepomuceno; yet despite the fact he no longer remembers, his determination to join Nepomuceno remains intact (although he’s become wrapped up in his “own” cause: the Talking Cross, the Virgin, the Archangels, and even a little devil all give him advice and instructions).
A bunch of foreigners have been arriving at Laguna del Diablo too, some Europeans and a half dozen Cuban rebels (trying to win support for the independence of their country, or fleeing from political persecution on the island). The news really has spread like wildfire.
Mr. Blast, the freebooter, arrives in Laguna del Diablo with Dan Print, the very young journalist.
Dan Print expected anything but this: colorful tents held up by freshly hewn poles, sotol, women, prayers, people of all stripes, and the food, plentiful enough for everyone, with the best meat he’s tasted in his life.
In the region of the great Valley, from the banks of the Nueces River to the mountains in the north and the deserts to the south, there are still a few folks who haven’t heard about the hurricane unleashed by Nepomuceno: the Aunts, on their ranch.
They all go about their business, except two of them who are going against the grain.
One of these is the eldest of them all, wizened and wrinkled as a raisin — no one recalls when she first arrived because she arrived before the rest of them; she’s not a true Aunt, she thinks differently from the others; that is, if she thinks. She mostly ponders one memory: