Face-Off at the Alamo by Roy MacGregor

Author:Roy MacGregor [MacGregor, Roy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-77049-423-7
Publisher: Tundra
Published: 2013-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

The Owls had never had such a great evening. They dined along the River Walk at Casa Rio, a restaurant right on the water’s edge at Commerce Street, not far from the Alamo. It was a spectacular setting: palm trees, multicolored umbrellas, patio tables, and even tiny lizards darting about the tree trunks and songbirds in the branches.

“Amazing!” said Sam. “I’m never going home.”

The Owls were given tables by the water so they could see the covered gondolas coming and going. There were even boats sailing by with full dinners being served on board as they made their way around the canals.

Before the Owls ordered their meals, they were given a welcome by the restaurant manager, a large man with a big mustache and a Mexican accent.

“Welcome to Casa Rio,” he told them. “Casa Rio means ‘River House’ in Spanish. This is the oldest establishment on River Walk, but long, long before this restaurant, there was a bridge here, the main bridge over the San Antonio River. This was where the Mexican soldiers gathered on the morning of March 6, 1836. It was right about where you are sitting, young man” – he nodded toward Fahd, who pointed at himself with his eyebrows turning into question marks – “that the bugle call of El Deguello was sounded. Anybody care to guess what that means, El Deguello?”

“Let’s eat?” Nish offered.

The manager looked at Nish with pity. He was not amused. “No. It means ‘Charge – with no quarter given.’ No mercy. Total destruction. It meant they were attacking the Alamo, and there would be no prisoners taken. It is the cruelest bugle call of war.”

The manager waited awhile for the reality of that to sink in. The Owls had seen where Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie and William Travis had fallen at the Alamo, but now they were seeing it from the other side, the Mexican army’s side. Young soldiers would have been standing here – some almost as young as the Owls themselves – and they must have been terrified at the thought of having to attack until every single man defending the Alamo was dead. If they were to take no prisoners, they couldn’t expect the men at the Alamo to show any mercy, either.

The manager smiled widely, his mustache bouncing, and changed the subject. “The chubby young man here,” he said, pointing out the beet-faced Nish, “wants to eat. And we want to feed you. But first let me explain our menu …”

The Owls were familiar with some of the food. You could get nachos and fajitas and burritos in Tamarack out at the Taco Bell on the highway. And all of them had eaten chili. But this was so much more complicated, all this talk about refried beans and guacamole and tortillas. Travis was losing track of all the Mexican foods they could try.

“Let me tell you about our specialty,” the manager said. “Stuffed jalapeños. Anyone here know what a jalapeño is?”

“A pepper,” Data said.

“A hot pepper,” the manager responded.

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