“Both.” Changing approach, Miguel said, “I am here both as a hacendado and the Deputy Commander of the Federal Police. One of my cousin’s horses is in your livery as we speak.
“How do you know it is his? Have you any documents proving it is his?” “Coronel, por favor. Are you a horse breeder?” “Don Miguel, I respect what you say but if you will just see what is around you, you will see my men have you completely surrounded.” The Coronel waved one arm stiffly as if manipulated by a puppeteer.
I have you completely surrounded.” The Coronel waved one arm stiffly as if manipulated by a puppeteer. Miguel glanced at the disheveled, tattered coterie of factotums arrayed around him. Three had ancient Spanish flintlocks laying across the cantle of their saddles. There were another two with flintlock pistols from distant antiquity.
. “Coronel, permiteme.” Miguel raised his arm shoulder high and gave an elegant circular gesture. Six towering red-headed men in immaculate dove gray charro uniforms with gold sergeant stripes arose while aiming into the alameda. Four of them with long barreled Winchester repeaters and the other two with Sharps-Creedmoor long distance big game rifles
. “I think we are at a standoff, mi Coronel. You and I will die first. Is a horse worth dying for?"