Partida Rol por web

From across the saloon, Lucas dealt another hand of cards. He observed what was going on with cowboys and Mayer through a strategically placed mirror on the wall, and smiled. Mayer was doing well. It was not good business to upset any Bronson cowboys. The cattle baron was a powerful man.

-Good luck then, gentlemen. I've never been a country man, myself, so I know nothing 'bout cattle drives.

I smiled and walk a few steps back.

-Just let me know if there's anything you need.

Then I returned to my corner, being sure to keep an eye in the drunk boys. I just wanted to stay out of trouble, I didn't want to fuck it up talkin' too much with some kids whose father was a powerful man in town.

...At least, not if they were not causing any trouble in Lucas' bussiness.

Jason, Crowe, Alacran and Rosanna were eager to get to Sabbath sooner rather than later. But when they approached the small village, Jason considered it was better to ride directly to the Bronson ranch. Many cowboys were in the cattle drive, and both Vincent Bronson and the foreman Stenbaugh were on their way to Bannock.

So the four rode passed the town and to the Bronson hacienda.

-There was another reason for not going into town, Jason explained later. –We´ll have Choctaw and Dekker here, as hired guns. But I´ve thought of something else for Alacran. Since you´re a Mex, you could visit the farmers and find out a bit more. Nobody needs to know you work for us. Not for now at least. We´ll think of something…

Crowe went to the bunk house to greet some other cowboys, and Jason sorted some business out with Alacran and Rosanna. Alacran would contact a few farmers, to see what they were up to. Rosanna would work in town, and keep an eye on any new faces and general news and gossip. Every few weeks, Jason would meet with Alacran and also visit Rosanna. But for now, it was best that Alacran was not seen in town either, and no one was to know they worked for Bronsons, and that they knew each other.

Mayer had dealt with the cowboys, and no further problems came up that night.

As the days went by, Mayer got into the daily routine in Sabbath. The locals came to the saloon, you´d get the odd visitor. But in general, it was a nice and quiet life. Mayer run his games on his own table, and at the same time he kept on eye on what went on in the saloon.

The Bronson cowboys did not visit the town often, unless they came for supplies. And now many of them were on the cattle drive. Only a few of them actually lived in Sabbath. The younger cowboys had their bunk house at the Bronson ranch, and the veterans had established their own small ranches in the surrounding areas. Harvey Stenbaugh, the foreman and right hand of Vincent Bronson, liked his whiskey. And the women. But he was still recovering from a shooting incident with some Mexican cattle thieves.

It was a good life. Soon enough, the locals got used to Mayer. Not everyone went to Lucas´ saloon, and those who did not, frowned upon the man in charge of security there. Others were customers at night, but during the day looked the other way, especially on their way to the church with their women and children. But still, it was an easy job where Mayer got to do some gambling, learn from Lucas and drink good whiskey. And he did not have to spend many nights alone either. Jacqueline, Laila, Tina...All the girls he protected were more than happy to spend time with him if they were free.

One day, around noon, Jason Bronson, Vincent´s son, came into the empty saloon. He came to see Lucas about something and only glanced at Mayer as he passed him by. He closed the door behind him, and after about an hour he left without saying goodbye.

Later on that day, the veteran gambler came out of his office which also had a back door. He was wearing his hat and jacket, so maybe he had been out. One never could tell if Lucas was in or out. He served himself a shot of whiskey, and looked at the empty glass. –Tonight, we´ll have a new girl here, he said without raising his head. –She is somewhat special, Mayer. She will work here, entertain the crowd, dance. Whatever. But she is off limits. She is not to be touched. Make sure everyone around here treats her well, get it?

Lucas´ tone of voice did not invite to make any questions, even though it was not clear what “not to be touched” meant exactly. It was common to have saloon girls that did not go to the upstairs rooms with customers. They served drinks, danced, touched and were touched… But the “real business” was done by other girls upstairs. This way the working girls upstairs did not have to get dressed after each customer.

If this new girl was going to work downstairs only, she would be like Jacqueline or Laila, who very rarely went upstairs and if they did, it was because they wanted to.

But somehow, Mayer knew this girl was different from the others. He just knew. Suddenly, a chill went down Mayer´s spine. A hunch. A premonition… He felt something. A presence. God? Destiny?

I wanted to ask 'bout that misterious girl, but I knew Lucas damn well and I knew I'd better shut up and walk away. So that's what I did, I agreed moving my head and left Lucas' office.

Something strange was goin' on. I didn't understand who the hell could this girl be. I mean, I always protected Jackie and Laila, makin' sure none made 'em feel uncomfortable and keepin' a smooth mood on the saloon: why would this be different? Yeah, I "had fun" with them sometimes here or there, but 'cause the girl wanted to. Was Lucas talkin' 'bout that? 

The long ride from Bannock to Sabbath came to an end, and finally they reached the Wolf Pass, and territory well-known to Vernon, Sinta, Hurd and the rest of the Bronson cowboys. And the new home for Jack and Choctaw.

Hurd and Vernon said goodbye and headed to their respective farm and ranch. The rest rode to the Bronson ranch and the bunkhouse.

The hunt continued... Trinity had found a new purpose, a new target. Jack Dekker, Choctaw Lee, Jose “Alacran” Luciano and the mysterious woman who rode with them. So he had come back to southern New Mexico, all the way to the territory surrounding San Acoma.

Acoma Pueblo was a small Indian village in the western parts of New Mexico. Following the trail from Santa Cruz, it could be seen from miles away. It was in fact made up of three towns, but the most astonishing was no doubt the Old Acoma or San Acoma, also known as the Sky City. It lied on top of a 365-foot mesa towering above the landscape.

The isolation and location have sheltered the Acoma people, who have lived in the village for thousands of years, and it is sacred to most Indians. The meaning of the word “acoma” is “a place that always was”.

During the 1880s, there were several occasions of Indian uprising, mostly the famous Apache Wars in New Mexico and Arizona. All Indian tribes often went across the border to Mexico to avoid the Cavalry regiments that were sent to eliminate the renegade red skins. Some of the old pueblos further away from the forts were also a haven for outlaws and banditos of all kind, and the locals showed them hospitality. The Indians raided mostly American ranches and attacked the railroads that were being built to bring civilization to the West. So the Mexican pueblos, north and south of the border, were never in real danger.

And of the all pueblos, San Acoma was the most sacred.

That had been over three months ago. Three long months of riding from one pueblo to another and from one Cantina to another. Three months trying to find out any information from the Mexican farmers. But he had gotten nowhere.

He had kept the newspaper safe. He looked at it each night, and now it was starting to wear out. These outlaws had become an obsession for him. Choctaw, Dekker, Alacran and the Mexican woman. An illusion in the desert, just out of his grasp, fading away and coming back to hunt him… And day after day, he felt he was going around in circles.

San Acoma was a sacred town, and it was not possible to get up on the mesa without some sort of permission, which Trinity did not understand how to get. The locals treated him worse than any other gringo. He was a gringo and a black man. And he was looking for “one of theirs”. El Alacran was almost a hero to some, and a Mexican "Romeo" to others. A bandito libre. A renegade. They were not willing to talk. He could not even find out which Cantina the shoot out had happened. Maybe the journalist had made the story up. Whenever he tried to intimidate the Mexs, he had a feeling he could get himself killed. And no one would ever know…

Yet another night, Trinity was looking at the campfire with Silverado pawing the ground. The nights were cold in the desert. As he saw it, he had to make a decision. He could leave the area and try to find someone that had been in the Cantina. Like the journalist who wrote the story, or one of the cowboy friends of Ike Rogers, who was killed. But he was not sure if that could help him find the outlaws.

Another option was to try to get up on the mesa and find out more about the shooting of the previous sheriff. This could also lead to a reward for Jose Luciano.

He had heard that someone had stolen a statuette of a saint from the San Esteban Church of Acoma. Trinity thought he could try to track this thief down, and bring him to San Acoma. Maybe the locals would be more willing to talk to him also, if he helped them to recover this item.

Or he could try to improve his network of contacts by spending more money. No matter how loyal they were, maybe for the right price…

Trinity decided to find  the statuette of the saint, maybe a sacred guy could be the passaport to a sacred place.

Trinity started asking around, spending money on informants, visiting farms... There were leads, but none was definitive. He was sure the thief was still in the area, probably a young kid hiding and waiting to sell the statuette to some gringo after the dust had settled.

He did notice the locals being friendlier with him. The negro who was looking for redemption and trying to help to recover this item. But when it came right down to it, he still had not found a lead. And the days became weeks...

Nothing. Nada. Again, another dead lead. It seemed like the thief had vanished. No one was willing to help the black gringo when he approached them. He had spent some dollars here and there, trying to get something out of them to no avail.

Trinity was standing next to an adobe home he had already visited last week. It was hot and he was thirsty. He remembered a fairly attractive Mexican woman living there. She had been polite, and she had offered him water and some bread. She had smiled. But her lips had been sealed. She had looked nervous then. Maybe afraid. Trinity was about to enter, when he noticed a young boy approaching him from across the plaza.