When the Owl Cries Part 49

As Gabriel mounted the veranda steps, a shot rang out; he felt something gnaw his leg and put out his arms to break his fall, wondering why the dog had bitten him. Sprawled on the steps, he yanked up his robe and examined his leg--a bullet, right above the ankle ...

what a shame!

Servants helped him into the house where he asked for Manuel or Raul.

Then, gathering his wits, he told the servants about Miguel Calvo, and his head wound.

"... it may be serious. Get Dr. Velasco."

He gripped his leg, where the pain dug sharply, widening.

"Get somebody to find that sharpshooter," he said.

He sat on a sofa and began to dress his own wound, Chavela whimpering over a bowl of water, soap and rag. On the mantel, the Swiss clock chimed and he glanced at it, feeling hungry.

"Don't be a ninny, Chavela. And get me some tortillas."

"I will, Padre, I will," said Chavela, glad to escape to the kitchen.

"Bring some beans, too," said Gabriel, sighing. His gla.s.ses had become smudged and he wiped the old lenses on his robe, blew on them, wiped them again.

The pain became excruciating as he waited and he rocked from side to side. He had not felt such pain since his barranca mule had crashed on the rocks with him and broken his ankle not long after he had come to Mexico.

"Where did they shoot you?" asked Raul hurrying in.

It took several seconds for Father Gabriel to answer.

"My leg ... nothing."

"Let me see."

"No. I bandaged it."

"Is Velasco coming?" Raul asked. He saw tears of pain behind Gabriel's gla.s.ses.

"He has gone to Miguel."

"Who?"

"Miguel Calvo."

"Where's Miguel?"

"In the chapel."

"Hurt?"

"Hit in the head."

Chavela set down tortillas, beans and a gla.s.s of milk.

"Oh ... I can eat now," said Gabriel.

Gun shots cracked.

"Someone shot me as I crossed the court and shot Calvo in front of the chapel.... I sent someone to find that fellow." Storni's words ran together.

Raul, armed with a .38, stepped to the front windows. They won't get any more of us, Raul thought. I've got more men on the walls. Someone sneaked in, over the wall. He won't last long.

Shoulder against wall, Raul watched: he moved the length of the room, stationed himself near the front door, then slipped outside and hid behind the arches. He began to work his way the length of the veranda.

Sure, they wanted corn of their own, beef of their own, pulque, eggs, whisky, land--they wanted what any man deserved. They could have part of Petaca, but not all. Salvador rushed up the veranda steps toward Raul, his rifle on its sling. He waved, thumped himself on the chest and roared: "I got him. He's dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Ignacio Raza. The fellow on the wall, the one who did the shooting."

"How did he get inside?" asked Raul, going toward Salvador, clicking the safety.

"I don't know," said Salvador.

They went into the living room to be with Gabriel.

Manuel had come in and was bending over him.

"How are you feeling, Father?" he asked. "Velasco's in the chapel, taking care of Calvo. He'll be here soon."

"Show me where you got hit," said Salvador, clattering his spurs and squatting in front of Gabriel.

"I'd rather wait for Velasco," said Gabriel, perspiration on his gla.s.ses.

"Sure," said Salvador, agreeably.

"So you killed that man.... Another man has gone.... That's not the way it should be.... We aren't thinking wisely."

Salvador was amused, and said: "I know.... It's easy to kill a man....

But he shouldn't have come over the wall."

It was not till late that night that Miguel and Gabriel were settled comfortably. The old sheepherder had not been seriously injured.

Faint from loss of blood, he had asked to be left in the chapel till next day. They set up a cot for Gabriel in the dining room, close to the kitchen in case he needed someone. Raul sat down to read to him.

They had agreed on _Don Quixote_. He found the place where he had left off weeks ago and his eyes slid over familiar paragraphs. Had Cervantes written _Don Quixote_ in prison? Then he should at least be able to read aloud under stress ... smoke curled from his pipe ...

Gabriel slept.... A night bird called repet.i.tive notes.

In a day or two, soldiers might improve local conditions. He must get Angelina to Guadalajara somehow ... tomorrow ... next day. She had grown violently hysterical when she learned that Gabriel and Calvo had been shot.

He dimmed the light and laid his book on the buffet and saw his old pipe, a favorite. Manuel had given it to him when Caterina was a baby.

Manuel had carved P/C on the bowl, Petaca's cattle brand. He had been clever at carving, but he didn't do any handcraft any more.... His face had lost its smile.... So many, many things had vanished, or changed. Raul paused in the living room by his desk where his revolver gleamed.

In the bedroom, his father coughed his dry cough.