Free The Day the Rebels Came to Town by Robert Hough Page A

in a country without laws, and were pleased to join. Others were like Carlos and wanted no part in the terror spreading across the land. None of this mattered. The captain just took the men he wanted.
    At the end of each day, when the sunset turned the sky a blaze of red, they set up camp. Carlos’s job started then. Despite having ridden all day, he had to build a fire, set up his grate and stew pot, and cook dinner. Often, Carlos was so tired by the time the meal ended thathe would fall asleep on top of his bed roll. He wouldn’t even take off the clothes he’d worn all day. In less than a week, he was as bearded and dusty as the other rebels. He felt tired all the time, and his muscles ached. He smelled of horses, gun oil, and sweat. He missed his father and his little village in the hills of the South.
    Slowly, the gang made its way toward the northern states. Every day, they rode through a world of cactus, scrubby bushes, rattlesnakes, and scorpions. Vultures often flew above them, as though waiting for them to die in the broiling heat. As the land became drier, the towns grew farther and farther apart. The men became bored and their moods turned foul. Some even began to complain to the captain. They wanted to fight, they wanted women, they wanted a night in a real bed.
    Finally, the captain had no choice but to please them. “I know a town near the border,” he told them. “It’s a little out of our way, but that means no one’s beaten us there. And who knows? Could be we might find us some army types, hiding like the dogs they are. Better make sure your pistols are oiled, boys.”
    When the men heard this, they cheered.
    After half a day of hard riding, they pulled into the town of Rosita. It was much smaller than they expected. They saw only a church, some shabby buildings around a small square, and a couple of narrow dirt streets. Some of the men groaned, and others complained again to the captain.
    “Looks aren’t everything,” said the captain. “I know for a fact there’s a decent-sized tavern, just over there. And I know one other thing that I been keeping back. As a surprise, sort of.”
    “What’s that?” someone asked.
    The captain smiled. “Rosita has one of the best brothels in all of northern Mexico. It’ll open up later. Now who’s gonna join me for a beer?”
    The men cheered and followed the captain into a small building with a sign saying “Fernando” over the door. Carlos did not join them. He had to set up his stew pot and grate in the dusty town square and simmer pinto beans for that night’s meal. There was also bread to make, cactus leaves to chop, and corn to husk. At least, thought Carlos, I’ll have lots of time to cook.
    The sun was so strong that it bleached the sky, turning it the light blue of a faded cotton shirt. The adobe buildings of the town looked faded, too. The sun had taken all the colour out of their mud bricks. As Carlos worked, he kept one eye on the tavern. At first, he could not hear the men. Soon, however, the rebels were laughing, talking loudly, and calling for more liquor. Carlos started his fire and began heating a huge pot of well water. He soon started hearing battle songs, sung loudly and off-key, drifting from the tavern’s window and open door.
    As the beans cooked, Carlos was pleased to have some time to himself. He sat in the shade of the square’s low wall and decided he might enjoy a little nap. His thoughts had just started to soften and turn strange when loud noises awoke him.
    The noises came from the tavern: yelling and foul language and the crashing of chairs. Of course, Carlos guessed the problem. The captain had no doubt told the owner that he had just helped the cause by giving the rebels free drinks. Most tavern owners accepted this,knowing the risk of saying no. Some, however, did not.
    Then Carlos heard gunfire. Rebels spilled out of the tavern, so drunk they could barely stand. They were all laughing, and a moment later Carlos