A Lady Bought with Rifles (15 page)

There had been no word or news of Trace. My persistent hope that he'd had to leave unexpectedly and would send an explanation had to be forgotten. Reina began to plan our trip to Hermosillo, and though it would have been simpler for me to get away from her there, I knew she wouldn't let Sewa come along. I didn't want to leave the child for several weeks, so the answer seemed to be to get to the railroad thirty miles away. There, at the Switch, Sewa and I could take the train to Hermosillo and—

And what? The money I had wouldn't keep us long, and my hunting, employment, if indeed there was anything I could do worth money, would surely come to Reina's ears if she decided to track me down. I thought longingly of the help Trace had offered, then tightened my lips and put back my shoulders. A little thought must have convinced him that he'd better not offend Reina. I wouldn't ask him to make good his word.

No, the only possible solution I could think of was leaving the train at Mina Rara, for I knew it stopped near there, and hoping Court Sanders would shelter us till it was safe to go to Hermosillo. He could send my income there and Reina need never know what had happened.

Would he help?

I thought he might. He wasn't intimidated by my sister.

And that wild way he'd behaved that night in the courtyard? Was he truly set on having me or had his threat-promises been a passing impulse sprung by my thwarting his rape of Consuelo? Remembering her bared breasts, her terror, and his indifference to it, I thought with a wave of panic that I must be mad to even dream of seeking refuge with such a man. Even though I was his employer, isolated as the mine must be, I would be very much at his mercy, a quality I doubted he possessed.

But what was the alternative? Trace had vanished, and Reina was bound to look for me at Cruz's. I had no money to live on and must soon or late arrange with Court to receive my income from the mine.

Perhaps going to him would put him on his honor. I might be able to keep him on best behavior—and he'd said he could play the conventional courting game—by not dashing his hopes outright while I was at the mine. Sparring with such a formidable opponent frightened me, though. I suspected he'd known and enjoyed many women, most with more worldly wisdom and poise than I would ever have. But he evidently placed great store in innocence. If I could keep my nerve, my very lack of sophistication might be my best safeguard.

Besides, Court was a practical man. He valued money and power. Apart from vague hints of future favors I didn't intend to give, I could make honest promises I
would
fulfill. If he would help Sewa and me, I would gladly give him the principal interest in the mine.

With that for a reward, surely he'd befriend us!

But if he wouldn't? What if he persisted in making love to me? I shrugged that threat aside. It was the only feasible way to get money and evade Reina till I came of age. Though she had done no more overt menacing, I could never feel safe under the same roof with her, and I suspected that an unfortunate accident might leave her sole heir to Mina Rara as well as the ranch.

So Enrique or Emilio would bring the little
burra
, called Ratoncita because of her soft mouse color, leave her outside the patio, and carry Sewa out to place her in the saddle while I put Ku in his leather nest before mounting my own horse. We rode near the corrals and orchards while Sewa learned to use the reins. She used her soft voice also, talking constantly to this wonderful new friend who had, I learned, “such elegant long lovely ears.”

We were coming back from such an excursion late one afternoon when Reina strolled out of the shade by the stables. “I must apologize for letting you become so desperate for a ride that you jog along beside a
burra
and Yaqui brat,” she said. “I had thought you needed time to forget the unpleasantness we found at the mountain boundary. But if you are bold again, please join me in the morning and we'll have a more interesting excursion.”

I didn't want to arouse her enmity. I was sure she would strike in time, but docility on my part should lull her into feeling there was no hurry. I agreed to meet her after breakfast, left our mounts to Enrique, and helped Sewa hop across the patio to the shade of the big tree.

After a cooling drink, I changed her bandage and was glad to see that the stump was nearly healed. “I think you could try your boot,” I told her. “Would you like to?”

“Yes,” she said with a kind of sighing and I knew that using the boot sealed the reality of her maiming. A person may be sick, unable to walk, for many reasons, but there is only one reason to use an artificial foot. I brought out the contrivance and slipped it on, settling it gently in place, crossing and recrossing the broad rawhide straps till they reached the knee. Sewa gazed at it with an unreadable expression, finally gave it a tentative small shake.

“Look!” she cried when the boot moved. “It works!”

Scrambling off the bench, she swung herself erect, unsupported for the first time since the amputation. The boot was turned to one side and she moved her hands to maintain balance, but she
was
standing.

She threw herself into my arms and I learned that Yaquis can cry, for she did. So did I.

We moved about the patio for ten minutes or so, Sewa using my arm to steady herself. Her stump was long enough to direct and control the boot fairly well once she grew used to this new way of walking, but Emilio's device was infinitely better than a crutch. In fact, with a matching boot on the other foot and long skirts, Sewa wouldn't look crippled. She'd have to move deliberately and might need a stick on uneven ground or for steps, but this was far more than I could have dreamed the night Cruz took off the gangrened foot.

“Let's stop now,” I said. “It wouldn't be good to make your foot sore.”

Sewa let me guide her to the bench, but her eyes glistened. “I can walk!” she breathed. Leaning toward Ku, she whispered, “Oh, Ku, I can walk!” She made a sound of contrition, glanced woefully tip at me. “But Ku—cannot walk or fly! He is too little for a boot?”

“I'm afraid so. But you can carry him. Perhaps we can make a perch to fit on your shoulder. And he already has his own saddle nest.” I laughed, trying to cheer her. “Not many birds have that I bet he has the only one in all Mexico, maybe even the world.”

“The world?” Sewa wrinkled her brow, but after I'd explained the best I could, she gathered her pet to her and told him that he was a peerless fowl who would ride on her shoulder as the holy saints were borne on litters. Any common old bird had wings and legs; but how many had a leather nest swung at a saddle horn? Or someone to play the flute?

For the first time I felt really hopeful that Sewa, after all, could grow up to lead a busy, happy life. I must see that she rode and walked every day now so she would be ready soon for our attempt at freedom.

We rode far to the east next morning, along cattle trails through thick mesquite growth, through dense canebrakes along the river courses. Since this was a comparatively safe area, only two vaqueros rode with us.

Reina, as usual, had her rifle along and kept shooting at birds, rabbits, javelina, and in one case, a mule deer. “Your luck's not so good today,” I couldn't help saying when she missed the deer, for I would have hated to see the graceful creature dead.

“It
is
luck,” she retorted. “I usually kill what I aim at.” As if chagrined, she stopped her almost wild firing. I slowly began to relax and enjoy the ride. There were rare clouds today and a cooling breeze.

Glancing ahead at Reina's shining hair, I thought wistfully of how different everything could have been if she had liked me, sternly checked such useless imaginings. The sooner I was away from Las Coronas, the home to which I could not belong, and Reina, who would not be a sister, the better for us both.

We stopped for lunch under a giant ironwood gripping the eroding sides of a dry wash. The horses, enjoying their loosened girths, moved about lipping the high grass that grew along this low stretch. This was the rainy season, but so far I hadn't experienced the violent thunderstorms everyone kept predicting.

Reina called for the horses. As I was halfway up, the saddle turned, dashing me downward. My foot hung in the stirrup. The reins slipped from my, fingers. The horse, frightened, began to run. Trying to kick my foot free, I caught at a sapling and held with all my might, though my ankle felt as if it would break off. Then my foot slipped free. I snapped back against the arching tree, thoroughly scuffed and scratched, breathless from the pain of the wrenched ankle—but alive.

One vaquero rushed to help me up while the other rode after the mare streaking through the scrub, utterly panicked by the jouncing boot. If my foot were still inside it—if I were being hauled over cactus, thorn and rock …

I shook uncontrollably. “It is all right, señorita,” the vaquero said kindly. “Your foot—can you stand on it?”

Gingerly, I put down enough weight to make me wince. The pain was bearable, though, and when I tried again, I began to hope it was only strained and would not be a nuisance very long.

“Clumsy,” remarked Reina, circling to gaze down at me.

“The saddle twisted.” For the first time I realized it might not have been an accident, and before I could debate the wisdom of voicing my suspicion, I added, “The girth had to be loose or faulty.”

“Are you sure?” demanded Reina. Frowning at the vaquero who still supported me by the elbow, she asked if he had tightened the cinch.

“Not I, señorita,” he said defensively. “I saw to your mount. Felipe looked after your sister's.”

Felipe had roped the mare, slowed her, freed the boot, and was now trotting back. “Did you tighten my sister's cinch?” Reina asked Felipe as he dismounted and handed me my scarred and dusty boot.

“Yes, señorita,” he said, nearly cowering. “But this mare, she puffs herself up. She must have deceived me.”

“I don't permit such mistakes,” blazed Reina. “The foreman will pay you what is owing. Leave the ranch tonight.”

“But, señorita! I was born here. My father and his father …”

“Must have tended their duties better than you or they'd have been lashed to death. You will go, Felipe. This very night.”

“But …”

“Enough! If you are here in the morning, I will turn you over to the
rurales
for the attempted murder of my sister.” She rode ahead.

The two men looked at each other. Ramón retested the girth, helped me into my boot and on the mare. “I'm sorry,” I told Felipe. “I'll write a letter to Mr. Sanders, asking him to give you work at the mine.”

Felipe's face worked. “You are very kind, señorita,” he said huskily. “But I have always been a vaquero. Of Las Coronas.”

There was no answer to that. My intercession would only make Reina more adamant. It was not a pleasant afternoon ride. I was distressed for Felipe and my ankle throbbed while my scratched hands burned from sweat and the reins. As we neared Las Coronas, circling to the corrals, I saw a
burra
outlined on a slope. Reina slipped her rifle from the scabbard. Before I could guess her intent, she aimed and fired. The
burra
gave a near-mortal scream, jackknifed, ran a few jolting springs, and collapsed.

I rode forward. Oh, horrid anyway! But let it not be Ratoncita.

As I neared the still-shuddering animal, I knew it was Sewa's pet even before I recognized the bit of red wool she'd plaited into the
burra
's sparse mane. I slid down from my horse, ran to the little gray beast, whose neat hooves had furrowed the earth in her agony. She went motionless as I reached her.

So useless, wanton! I turned to face Reina, who had followed and now watched with a faint smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

“Why did you do it?” I blurted, unable to control my outrage, though I knew it fed some appetite of hers.

“It made a good target. And it was mine. Every living creature on Las Coronas is mine, or subject to my will.”

“You have no right to kill like that—for no reason at all!”

She shrugged, expertly reining her black around. “Oh, there was a reason.”

“What? Why on earth …”

“To show you that I could,” she said, and spurred her horse away.

Trembling with anger and pity, I touched the
burra
, slaughtered because of a conflict it could know nothing of. Animals, compared with humans, were so unmalicious that it seemed whoever or whatever had put us both on earth should look after them better. I looked up to find the two vaqueros waiting, Ramón holding my mare.

Coming to a lightning decision, I told him to take the horse on to the stable and asked Felipe to walk with me. His dark face showed his bafflement.

“But your ankle, señorita!”

“It is all right,” I said, though it pained. He dismounted and started for the corrals.

“Felipe, you are leaving tonight?”

“What else? The
rurales
would shoot me, even though …” He checked himself.

I took the plunge. “I want to leave tonight too.”

“You, señorita?”

“Yes. With the Yaqui child. I'll pay you well to help us get to the railroad, and if you want to go with us to the mine, I'll make sure you are employed.”

“You go to Mina Rara? Señor Sanders knows?”

“No. But the mine is my property. And I cannot stay here. My sister hates me.”

“More than you guess,” grunted Felipe. He stared at the ground a moment, then threw back his head. “Señorita,
she
made me leave your cinch loose! If you had died, I wouldn't have been ordered off Las Coronas.”

It made me sick, though I'd half-suspected something of the sort “I didn't want to do it, señorita,” Felipe protested miserably, his words tumbling out. “But your sister told me that otherwise she would accuse me of stealing valuables and send me to prison for life. It was wrong, I know that. And I tell you this because you should know before you trust me.”