Short version today: there’s a race on!
It was a lovely place for an ambush: plenty of cover and a stretch of ground where the path back could be turned into something impassable for horses with just a little bit of black powder. The bandits had plenty of the stuff, too. “Mexico has many mines, Bailey,” Jose had explained. “A man who escapes them will bring along what riches he can. And there is nothing more valuable than gunpowder.”
Jose and his men had known their business; the Coahuilian patrol had ridden right past the first line of hidden fighters without even slowing down. It looked like a full squad of ten, led by a sergeant. To Bailey’s educated eye, they looked like good troops kept in one place too long; they still remembered how to ride and still had all their weapons, but they clumped together too much and didn’t pay enough heed to where they were.
“Somebody has left the gate open, and the lambs have gotten out,” muttered Nacho. “Where has the shepherd gone? Is he drunk in the barn?”
“He is back in camp, senor,” replied Jose. They both spoke quietly but without whispering. “But he has a fierce temper and a whip; so when he comes, he will not be happy.”