2Nepomuceno’s two half-brothers (Doña Estefanía’s stepsons), who don’t come either. Despite deep involvement in planning this day, they stay behind to look out for Doña Estefanía (there’ll always be bigmouths who claim they’re cowards, but that’s just cheap talk).
They take over Mrs. Big’s Hotel and tie her up, just in case. They lock up her employees, but not all of them, depending on whether or not the Eagles and Nepomuceno’s men know them. They abduct La Plange.
Nepomuceno orders him to take photos and gives him helpers to carry his camera and lamps — Snotty can’t carry all the equipment by himself.
They head toward the center of Bruneville in silence.
The Brunevillians go first, a smiling army of unarmed volunteers, happy to help. They’re followed by the Lady Colonels on horseback: Pepementia, La Desconocida (in the Mexican saddle Don Jacinto made specially for her), and Sandy. The religious brigade goes by foot — El Iluminado and Padre Vera — as well as the brains behind the operation, Jones and Óscar — guarded by the “savages.” (That’s what Jones calls the “criminals who tarnish our movement.” “When a gunfight erupts, who’s going to shoot?” “We don’t want a gunfight.” “Yeah, I know we don’t want one, but I guarantee that neither my lasso nor yours will be enough to defend us against the Rangers and the U.S. troops.”) Then come the Mascogos and the other Indians.
They split up into three groups to get to the Market Square. All that matters to Nepomuceno is that the delinquents aren’t left alone. “Tonight everyone behaves as if we’re going to communion at 7:00 AM Mass for the baptism of a child.”
When folks return from their fandangos in Matasánchez, they’re usually lively: laughing, chatting, even shouting, doors opening and closing. But not this time. Everyone moves silently, forging ahead, even folks who don’t understand what’s going on (a number of the Brunevillians aren’t privy to the plot, they’re just following the crowd, their people). Silence. A few steps from the square, next to Peter Hat’s store, Nepomuceno knocks on the door of Werbenski’s house — not his pawnshop. Three loud knocks. Four. Five. He keeps pounding without pause, each stronger than the last. All the men and women who form Nepomuceno’s army are gathering in the square. They’re confused by what Nepomuceno’s doing, they don’t understand.
Lupis opens up, Werbenski’s wife, that sweet Mexican woman, looking incredibly frightened. Her husband is right behind her, half asleep, awakening with each step. When the door creaks open he says, “No, Lupis! What on earth are you doing? Let me open it …”
They find a dozen of Nepomuceno’s men standing at the door, hats covering their faces, their guns holstered, wearing their good boots and their fancy shirts and jackets.
Lupis is so frightened she begins to cry.
“There’ll be no Mexican tears tonight,” Nepomuceno says loud enough so everyone can hear.
But he speaks gently, as if he’s singing to her.
There are others who tell it differently: one guy knocks on Werbenski’s door, then another and another, until a bunch of them are banging on it incessantly.
Señora Lupis jumps out of bed. She covers her nightclothes with the large shawl her mother brought her from San Luis Potosí, the one she keeps at the foot of her bed. The white shawl barely covers her. It’s very pretty, made of silk.
Where Lupis goes, Werbenski, who adores her, follows.
“Where are you going?” he asks, half asleep.
“Someone’s at the door.”
“Don’t answer, Lupis.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
What kind of emergency could it be? Werbenski’s not a doctor! But they’re hardly awake, just reacting to events. Werbenski follows Lupis to the door. “No Lupis, let me open it!” But she doesn’t listen, she unbars it and turns the deadbolt.
Some twenty men stand facing the house, most of them armed to the teeth (not figuratively, but literally), and they barge into the patio brusquely, as if they’ve been running and can’t slow down. Among them, Bruno (the ever-present Pizca at his side) and his men, as well as the youngest of the Robins, notorious outlaws in Matasánchez. (That really takes the cake! The youngest Robin has joined up with what he’d normally call “a bunch of goddamn greasers” because he’s convinced there’s big profit in their game.)
Lupis begins to cry at the sight of so many bad guys in her face, and because she’s been separated from her faithful Werbenski, whom they’ve shoved back to the other side of the patio.
Nepomuceno goes up to Lupis; loudly he says, first in English — so her husband will understand — and then in Spanish, just for her, “There’ll be no Mexican tears tonight, dry your face, Lupita, it’s not becoming for such a lovely woman to ruin her good looks. God made good-looking women to be happy, not for crying.”
He orders them to bring Werbenski to him. He explains what kinds of firearms he needs, what kind of ammunition, he asks how much it’ll be, and pays “Adam” (he’s the only one, Lupis included, who calls Werbenski by his first name) right down to the last penny — Werbenski gave him a good deal.
There’s a new wind blowing in from the sea, and it’s stronger than usual. It’s cold and unruly; those who recognize it think, El Norte is coming. Powerful winds, rain, and high seas. Is it a tropical storm?
The U.S. troops’ few lamps that remain lit blow out. Most of them have been out for hours and they haven’t fired a single shot; they make no response at all to the howls of the Yampariks that still ring out from time to time; they wait beside the Lieders’ house while their commanders, led by General Cumin, remain inside the house until the light of day, when they’ll be able to mount an attack, or at least respond to the attack they’re certain is imminent.
In the darkness, Corporal Ruby (that’s his nickname, he’s a redhead) is telling a story about the Apaches, how they pillaged his town, taking the women and killing every last man, and scalping them to boot. Fear blows in on the wind and gives them all goosebumps.
Perhaps because the wind has stopped and their hair’s standing on end the mosquitoes suddenly intensify their attacks, as though a whole cloud of them has just descended, engulfing the U.S. troops.
Carrying their weapons, Nepomuceno’s men take over the Town Hall — there’s no one there to defend it — and take up positions outside the jailhouse — which they completely surround since there are armed men inside — and they take over the churches, the pharmacy, and the streets. They haven’t fired a single shot and they’ve already captured Bruneville.
Their guns help to persuade folks. Because around here folks don’t just roll over, it’s not the Valley of Mexico, where they’ve put up with aggressive foreigners and abusive conquerors for centuries. Here, where everyone is a recent arrival, no one is docile like that.
But folks such as Peter Hat need no persuading — they’re so frightened they could piss themselves.
They’ve taken some residents from their homes, to use them as hostages, but not the Mexicans, they wouldn’t be of any use in that regard. Half-asleep, they stumble out of doors wrapped in shawls or quilts, covering their nightclothes as best they can to protect themselves from the night chill.
At the door of the Town Hall, in front of a makeshift squadron, they have placed Minister Fear’s wife, Eleonor, who’s accompanied by a man no one recognizes. The squadron is made up of Connecticut and a few scruffy Mexicans, light-skinned ones, all unarmed.
Óscar the baker’s job is to make sure all the alarm bells are ringing — at the church, the Town Hall, and the one the judge had installed in the center of the Market Square, after the fire at Jeremiah Galvan’s store.