Reds and Blues band together. They don’t even recall who’s what. They all feel exactly the same, they’re Texans to the bone.
And Nepomuceno? Faster than his own speeding bullet, he scoops drunken Lázaro Rueda off the ground, tosses him over his shoulder, and mounts his horse, seating Lázaro in front of him in the saddle.
From his saddle he lassos Sheriff Shears’ firearm, the Colt the mayor’s office provided — the one Shears couldn’t fire, it fell to the ground when he was clumsily trying to find the trigger — and picks it up; he pulls the horse’s reins to spur his horse forward. He shortens the lasso as he advances.
He heads for the highway. Four of his men follow.
Without pausing he holsters Shears’ Colt with his left hand, then passes the reins to his left, grabs Shears’ Colt with his right hand, fires into the air, and holsters it again.
On James Street, just before Charles, a small group of his men are chewing the fat, gathered around Doña Estefanía’s shopping: sacks of unripe oranges, onions, and garlic, tied to the back of a mule.
Ludovico — a gunman and an excellent vaquero—has stopped in this spot next to the window where the smiling face of Moonbeam, the pretty Asinai Indian, sometimes appears. She’s so pretty. If the Smiths would sell her, he’d buy her in a heartbeat. And if they won’t sell her, he might just steal her from them, or else he’s not a man. He eyes the window, searching for Moonbeam’s face.
From her bedroom balcony, hidden behind lace curtains, Caroline, the youngest Smith, spies on them, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nepomuceno, whom she’s completely infatuated with.
Ludovico is daydreaming, blinking at the window; Fulgencio and Silvestre are busting a gut laughing at him, who knows why; they don’t spot their men until they’re right in front of them. They toss the sacks of oranges across their saddles, mount their horses, and hurry after them.
In their haste, one of the sacks of oranges turns upside down. No sooner have they passed the corner of Charles and James than — wouldn’t you know it! — the fruit begins to fall out, bouncing on the cobblestones.
The pack heads toward Elizabeth Street, Nepomuceno in the lead. The mule carrying the onions and garlic follows fast on their tails out of sheer instinct — who knows where it gets the energy from — its short legs look like they’re flying.
On the outskirts of Bruneville, further inland, another small band of Nepomuceno’s men waits. When they see where the group is headed, they mount their horses and follow.
They’re creating one big cloud of dust. They take the turnoff to the dock, and as the earth becomes damper the telltale cloud of dust settles down. They arrive at the muddy riverbank.
They stop several feet from the barge, which is already loaded with livestock.
Pedro and Pablo, who help old Arnoldo on the boat and have been well-trained (both boys are barefoot; and since their combined age is sixteen their nickname is “Two Eights”), have just loaded the last of the herd onto the boat and are about to close the gate. The barge is balanced. When Nepomuceno and his men appear, the boys are just closing the gates, walking along the edge of the deck. The coal has been moved to the tugboat to keep the barge balanced, the motor is running hot, they’re about to release the moorings, two thick chains which keep the barge moored to the dock at its bow and its stern. They both have rope wrapped around their torsos, they’ll tighten it if the barge begins to list. Pedro will travel on deck with his German shepherd; Pablo will sit with old Arnoldo at the tugboat’s stern, in the cabin.
Old Arnoldo, who is deaf as a doorknob, is already at the tug’s tiller. He doesn’t like transporting livestock one bit; in addition to the whims of the river, you have to contend with the whims of the herd. He’s got the bullhorn at his feet, in case he needs it.
The livestock aren’t restless but they rock the boat and roll the tug. Pablo and Pedro work with steady hands. One mistake could make the barge lose its balance and tip them over. If the animals become agitated, it’s not enough to be on the alert. The herd is traveling unattended; the wranglers are depending on the barge’s rails and the animals’ fear of water. They wait on the opposite riverbank.
On the dock, without saying a word, Nepomuceno motions his orders. Ismael, a vaquero, leaps off his horse and jumps across the gap between the dock and the barge. All aboard!
Patronio takes the reins of Ismael’s horse.
Pablo and Pedro watch and weigh up the situation. Pablo thinks, Nepomuceno is crazy, but there’s nothing he can do against fourteen men, or thirteen, if we don’t count drunken Lázaro. Plus, who in their right mind would take on Don Nepomuceno?
Ismael opens the barge’s main gate; the herd senses this immediately; Ismael keeps them back with his riding whip, cracking it and shouting “Back!” in a stern voice.
Pablo’s dog barks at Ismael, baring his teeth. From land, Fausto throws a stone to scare him off, and the dog retreats between the legs of the cattle, who also shy away.
Patronio passes the reins of Ismael’s horse to Fausto. He pulls his horse back, causing it to whinny, and takes a running jump onto the barge — landing so softly (as if he’s polishing a gem) there’s hardly a sound; the animals shy away from the impact of his landing, rushing against the railings of the barge. After Patronio, Fausto follows immediately, shadowed by Ismael’s horse and the others.
Once aboard the barge, Ludovico, Fulgencio, Silvestre (who’s no longer laughing), Patronio, Ismael, and Fausto (all good vaqueros) attend to the Herculean task of controlling the animals. Once the cattle are subdued, they must ensure they don’t bunch together on one side of the barge, which would capsize it. Nepomuceno’s remaining horsemen board one by one.
What horses! They’re like one with their riders; full of vigor, they are momentum incarnate, and handsome devils. The same can’t be said of the cattle — focused on the unpredictable waters, who knows how they can be controlled? But they respond to the whip, shoves, and the dog nipping at their ankles (Two Eights’ dog understands who’s in charge now and joins in to help Nepomuceno’s men). In short, the herd fears the vaqueros and obeys them out of fright, not because they understand.
As soon as the herd is under control, El Güero jumps aboard, followed by their riderless, fresh horses (six in total, one horse for each rider). Then Nepomuceno, with Lázaro Rueda, who has passed out. It’s the last jump and the most graceful, a beautiful arc, the highest of all; their bodies trace a miraculous triangle through the air (the three points of the triangle are their three heads: Nepomuceno’s, Lázaro’s, and Pinta’s).
(You might ask, why did he go last? Isn’t he the one they’re protecting? But if you think about it, the answer is clear: they don’t want to take any unnecessary risks and he might have capsized the boat, plus on land there’s not a soul who could catch him.)
The mule with the sack of garlic and onions stays behind on land. She ran after the horses through the streets of Bruneville, following them like a faithful dog, but jumping such a wide gap over the water, old and heavily loaded as she is, that’s out of the question. She’s an ass but she’s not an idiot.
With the assistance of Two Eights, who understand who’s calling the shots, Ismael closes the gate he opened to let Nepomuceno and his men aboard.
The repositioning of the herd continues, the very picture of wrangling skill.