A Lady Bought with Rifles (43 page)

Sweat and tears mingled on my face. Exertion in the heat made my lungs a furnace and my heart labored, but Court was watching and hatred drove me on.

How I hated him! To kill a man whose only fault was serving me. I should have let Ruiz kill him, but I'd been fuddled by his solicitous care of me and relief that he'd accepted Jon. How could I have let those years of enforced marriage blot out my essential knowledge of Court? A man who had exacted my obedience by threatening to betray Sewa and the Yaquis, who'd tried to buy Trace's death after the battle.

What did he intend? If it hadn't been for Jon, I could have wished in my grief and terrible frustration that Court would kill me and make an end of our tortured life together. But there was Jon. And that was what turned the pit of my stomach icily sick as we dug Caguama's grave.

Court had changed toward Jon. It wasn't temporary spite or preoccupation. No, it was as if he had never seen the child before and didn't want to look at him now.

What did it mean? What would happen? Had my determination not to be parted from my son brought on us some vengeance that would be more crushing than anything separation could have caused?

Somehow the two of us dragged Caguama to his grave. When one of the Papagos would have helped, Court stopped him with a gesture. Jon dug into his pocket and put his amulet of painted turtle bone in Caguama's relaxed brown hand. I slipped off my mother's crucifix and slipped it inside his shirt. We filled in the grave, first with our hands till the body was covered, and then I used the shovel.

“I wish we could have put him in the sea,” muttered Jon between sobs. “He could swim with the whales and seals and sing to them.”

“Maybe he'll go back,” I said. “Maybe he'll be where all the creatures come up at night to tell stories around the fire.”

We rolled down the biggest rocks we could handle, for a grave that shallow would have quickly been dug out by scavengers, but we hadn't heaped the cairn as high as I would have liked when Court tossed away his cigarette and came along the river course, followed by his party. He put me on a gelding, mounted his own. Jon rode Cascos Lindos, whose packs were shifted to another
burro
. The Papagos walked, lean silent wraiths.

“I hired them at Sonoita,” Court said. “I left a couple of men there to watch for you; they'll escort us home.” He laughed mirthlessly, answering the questions that were only now forming in my mind, though I was too spent to care much about how he'd caught us.

He had. And that was final: all too final for Caguama. “There are also men or police watching for you in Nogales, Hermosillo, Yuma, Tucson, Phoenix, and Mexico City. I hunted first in Hermosillo, of course, but when no trace was found, I began to reflect. You're not timid, Miranda, one who fears hardship. The Seri was missing. And so I thought he might lead you through his homeland toward California. It seems that in all this wilderness the single lush spot travelers would visit was the stone tanks, Tinaja de los Papagos. So, with a few hired
pistoleros
, I've ridden from Hermosillo, trading horses to keep a fresh one. We've waited at the tanks since yesterday.”

I said nothing. I'd never have dreamed a man's pride could make him take such measures to recover a woman who wished to be free of him, but plainly Court's pride was of another sort.

“Do you expect me to thank you for arranging my release?” he went on. “I would, except that I suspect you had something to do with my arrest in the first place.” Head cocked, he contemplated me mockingly. “I don't understand why you do what you do, Miranda, but I have begun to guess what it'll be. Shall I tell you how it happened?”

It took all my energy to hold my head up. I wasn't going to waste strength in amusing him. If only I could blank out his handsome, hateful face and voice, never see or hear him.…

“You hoped the amorous colonel might use his authority to stop our journey, and once you set him to thinking of his power, he began to see glowing possibilities, especially if I were dead.” The drawling voice grew even silkier. “Now, why you didn't let him remove me permanently from your life, which I'm sure you now wish you had, I won't pretend to fathom. But you got Ruiz to write an order for my release. And next morning he's found with a smashed neck and a bottle in his hand. Officially he took a tumble in the dark. But what really happened?”

When I didn't answer, Court rode closer. “My dear wife, you'll speak when spoken to or don't doubt I'll spread a blanket and take you right now. In spite of their impassive faces, I'm sure the Papago would find it entertaining.”

That reached even through my numbed indifference. I stared at him in outrage and Court gave a purring laugh. “Ah, that brought you back among us. What about it, love? Who killed Ruiz?”

“Caguama.”

Court nodded reflectively. “That's what I thought. Even though you shot me once, it's really not your style.” His yellow eyes burned over me and I felt as if the heat in them dried my blood, shriveled the depleted veins. “The heart of the matter now, my sweet: how did you get that release signed?”

“Ruiz would be no richer for your death if I didn't marry him, and I made it clear I wouldn't. I promised him money and—”

“And?”

“Some hours with me.”

Court gripped my wrist so hard that I could have screamed. The pupils of his eyes swelled till they almost covered the gold. “Did he have you?”

“No. Caguama thought he was raping me and clubbed him down.”

“If I'd known that, I wouldn't have killed your cannibal,” said Court. “Though, of course, it was not my honor he was defending.” After a few minutes he resumed briskly, “I think I see it pretty well, Miranda. Having landed me under arrest, you soothed your peculiar conscience by making sure I'd go free, and set off for California in a glow of self-righteousness. Did you really think I'd follow your advice and divorce you?”

“I offered you the mine.”

He watched me till I didn't know whether it was the shimmering heat or his eyes that made me weak and lightheaded, as if I were going to faint. “Get this through that lovely stubborn head, Miranda. You're
my
woman. You will be till one of us is dead.”

It was like a sentence to which there was no appeal.

When we camped that night, Jon stayed close to me. Court ignored him as we ate, but when the meal was finished, Court raised me from the rock where we were sitting and Jon, too, scrambled up.

“Stay here, boy,” Court said. “I want some time with your mother.” He could have been speaking to some beggar urchin.

Jon clutched my skirt. He was after all a very little boy. “Mama—”

“Don't hang to your mother like a baby,” Court's tone was cold. “The Indians won't hurt you. Get your blanket and go to sleep.”

Trying to ward off the impact of Court's strange new attitude toward Jon, I bent and kissed him. “I'll be back soon, dear. Find a nice sandy spot and curl up.”

Jon let go of me, planted his legs wide apart, and glared up at Court. “I hate you,” he challenged in his child's voice that briefly echoed the timbre of his real father's. “You killed Caguama. I wish you weren't my father.”

After an astounded moment, Court rocked back and laughed. Laughed till, scarcely breathing, I took Jon's hand. “Well, you little bastard, you have your wish.” Court's acid tone contained a certain grudging respect. “You aren't mine. A riffraff
tejano
got you on your mother before our marriage. So now that I've killed that damn Seri you preferred to me, now that you've shown how much value you placed on my treating you as my son, let's have it all straight and clear. Your mother is my wife. You're her son, but you're
nothing
to me. Learn your place and it will be comfortable. Provoke me and you'll get some lessons you badly need.”

Large-eyed, uncomprehending, Jon stared from Court to me. From his friends he knew that bastards were pitied and laughed at, their mothers disgraced. But relief mingled with the shock on his face and I feel a curious lightening, too. At last I could tell him about Trace. Court started to draw me away.

I swept Jon close and whispered, “Your father was wonderful. I'll tell you about him, but for now you must go to sleep.”

As soon as Court had taken me out of earshot, I said in a voice that shook, “How could you be that cruel?”

“Truthful.” Court shrugged. “When the boy trotted happily off with you and that cannibal, he showed his blood. After all I'd done for him, he clearly felt not a shred of allegiance. Much better, don't you think, that since he wished I weren't his sire I could say I wasn't?”

“You were brutal.”

“Cry quits, Miranda. It was brutal to find you gone along with the child I'd raised as my own.”

A horrible fear swelled in me. “Court, you can't intend to publicly repudiate him, treat him badly.”

“He's your cub and you may keep him by you in peace provided he finds a civil tongue. Of course, I don't intend to stain my own name with the facts.” His tone roughened and he spread the blanket he'd been carrying, brought me down in his arms. “What I mean to do is get you with child. That will give you someone else to think about except that bastard of your dead
pistolero
.”

His mouth found my throat, his hard hands stripped away my clothing, trembling as they found my breasts. He entered me with such sudden ferocity that I bit my lips to keep from screaming. He orgasmed in violent spasms, rested, and took me twice more, as if he couldn't be sure he truly had me, before we came back to the sleeping camp.

A week later we were at Mina Rara. Within another week, Jon's sunburn and mine had faded and our journey, the brief heady freedom, seemed a dream. Except Caguama was gone. Captain Ortega commanded the garrison instead of Ruiz. And Court and Jon managed to almost completely avoid each other.

I ached for my son. It hadn't helped him much to know about Trace, though it had given me bittersweet joy to tell Jon how strong and brave his father had been, how much we'd loved each other. Though Jon listened, this unknown, abruptly introduced dead man couldn't assuage his grief for Caguama, the way he constantly missed the friend who'd been with him all his life. Jon wouldn't talk about Court but decisively gave away his presents, including the silver-handled whip.

It was an untenable situation, but I lacked the strength to grapple with it. If Jon continued to mope about the house and avoid his playmates, perhaps Court would let me take him to Las Coronas for a while. He could play with the ranch youngsters and Lázaro and Enrique would take him riding and teach him to rope. There he was Jonathan Greenleaf's namesake and grandson; his paternity was comparatively unimportant.

So, fearing to worsen matters for Jon, I had to submit to Court, who now spent every night in my bed.

“You'll breed for me,” he panted one night when we were both exhausted. “If it doesn't happen soon, I'll take you to some doctors who can do more than say you have a tilted womb.”

Though there must have been some gossip about my flight, the facts were not known. Court had paid off his
pistoleros
some miles from Mina Rara, so no one knew, except for Jon, Court, and me, what had really happened. Dr. Trent guessed, I think, and stopped to see me every day, bringing me books and periodicals, chatting about outside affairs as if determined not to let me brood.

Revolt was simmering throughout Mexico, held in check only by the hope that Díaz could be moved to name someone to replace the detested Corral. That decision was expected late this month, in September. Madero had been released from prison on bond, but wasn't allowed to travel.

“And it seems Captain Ortega is sniffing after a promotion,” Dr. Trent said one wretchedly hot afternoon in mid-September. “He plans to go Yaqui-hunting next week.”

My heart skipped a beat. Yaqui to me would always mean Sewa. “Why?” I asked, “It's been quiet on the whole since Bule made peace.”

“If a revolution breaks, the Yaqui rebels who are still in the sierra could be a real problem to the
federales
. Of course, I think there's another reason. Miranda, Court's behind Ortega's sudden enthusiasm. Why?”

I shook my head, groping for some explanation.

“I can't think what would set him off, Doctor. Unless—Sewa, the little girl who came here with me, do you know if she's the one they now call La Grulla, the Crane?”

“There aren't many Yaqui girls with one foot,” he said dryly.

“Maybe Court thinks I'd try to join her sometime,” I guessed. “I can't think of anything else that would make him care about Yaquis. But that seems so farfetched.”

“That's as may be,” said the doctor crisply. “Ortega told me himself, when he was getting drunk with me last night, that Court has promised him a small fortune to wipe out La Grulla's band.” He reached over and closed his hand around mine. “I'm sorry to distress you, Miranda, but I know you loved Sewa and I can't see much justice in this hounding of a wronged people. I thought you might know of some way to warn them. Wasn't Sewa friends with Chepa?”

“Yes, but Chepa never heard from her after Sewa and the women and children got away.”

“Strange that she never got in touch with you.”

“I was sad about that, but what could she do with me married to Court and a detachment of soldiers at the mine?” I sighed. “She may wonder why I never tried to get messages to her, but I couldn't go myself without Court trailing and I didn't like to involve anyone else.” Shutting my eyes, I tried to think.

The Yaquis would cut down or elude a strange messenger. Dr. Trent was too old for such a trip, even if I could give precise directions, which I couldn't. I'd come that way over six years ago with my love, with Trace; he had laid me down on the trail in the mountains and given me pain, joy, and our son. But if I reached the general area, lookouts should pick me up, and I should be remembered by the Yaquis, both for hiding them in the mine and buying out the survivors in Yucatán.