CHAPTER 24 “I would be breaking your neck.”
Mind racing, Bowie stared into the pistol barrel. The man holding it, whose epaulets identified him as a sergeant, was quite close, and Bowie’s knife was on the far side of the fire, a lifetime away.
The other four soldiers had lowered their lances, and now formed a rough triangle with the sergeant at the point.
Bowie performed a sweeping bow. “Welcome, Capitán,” he said in courtly Spanish, flattering the man with a promotion in rank. “You honor us with your presence.”
The sergeant eyed him owlishly. “I believe you are well aware of my rank.” The man spoke decent English, but his accent was atrocious. “I am Sergeant Enrique Rosario Bartolomé Gutierrez of the Federalist Republican Army of Mexico.”
“Such a lot of names,” Buckner said, “for suc
