Heart of Thunder (16 page)

“I told you I—”

The words died in her throat as a hand slipped over her mouth from behind her. She jerked, startled. In the next second her hand went to the gun on her hip. But
another hand was pulling it out of the holster before she could touch it.

Ramón rode to the hilltop, his eyes wide. Three men were standing there, one pointing a rifle at him. He wore bandoliers across his chest, and long pistols on his hips. Another man in a poncho and a large sombrero was holding the horses, five of them including El Cid. A third man in a brightly striped serape was standing behind Samantha, holding her own weapon on her, his other hand covering her mouth.

Seeing Samantha’s wide eyes staring up at him, Ramón went a little crazy. He wasn’t sure whether it was fear or anger in those green eyes he loved so much, but he was sure she was beseeching him for help. He went for his gun, but a rifle exploded before he reached it. The blast, at close range, whipped him off his horse, and he tumbled halfway down the hill before he could stop his fall.

Samantha came out of shock and bit the hand over her mouth. She was suddenly free then, and ran down the hill screaming Ramón’s name. He was trying to sit up, but the effort was too much, and he fell back, spent. There was a big, gaping hole in his shoulder. Samantha caught her breath.

“Ah, Ramón, you were so brave! But you shouldn’t have done that. You will be all right, though.” She was talking through tears, talking just to hear the sound of her own voice, to ease the sickening turning of her stomach. “I swear you will be all right. I will take you home and tend you myself.”

“You will not take him,
señorita
.”

At that moment, Samantha realized that they were not alone. Somehow, she had forgotten her assailants. She turned and looked at the two men who had followed her down the hill. It was the first she had seen of them, and the color drained from her face.
Bandidos!
She prayed quickly that they were only after money, but she knew full well how foolish that was.

“Of course I will take him home,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “You can steal our horses, but there are other men coming right now who will help us. Here, take this!” She angrily tore off an emerald ring from her finger and threw it at the man nearest her. “That’s all I have. Now leave before my
vaqueros
get here and there is more bloodshed.”

The man who had caught the ring laughed shortly. “We saw you racing ahead of your escort,
señorita
. You have left them far behind. You made our job easy for us.”

“Your job? You mean your thievery!” she snapped, her eyes damning him.

She was not frightened. She was furious. And most of her fury was for herself, for riding into the trap. They had seen her coming and hidden behind the hill. And she had not even looked over the hill as she reached the top. And then to let him take her gun!

The man in the serape was shaking his head at her. He was a young man, with a short black beard and dark, piercing eyes almost as black as his long, shoulder-length hair. There was a thin scar across one cheek, but that took nothing away from his swarthy good looks. By comparison, the man with the rifle seemed a vicious beast, with a long, thick black mustache and a gap-toothed, ugly grin. The third man, still at the top of the hill, was almost unnoticeable, with dark brown hair and no outstanding characteristics. He seemed distant, reserved, and he did not join in the joking of the other two.

The handsome one spoke again, his voice still amused. “We do not wish to rob you,
señorita
.” And he tossed her ring back to her.

“What then?” she demanded impatiently. “Can’t you see my friend needs help? Tell me what you want and be gone.”

The two men looked at each other and laughed. The ugly one, gripping his rifle, remarked in guttural Span
ish, “She likes to give the orders, eh? She will not like taking them, I think.”

Samantha did not let on that she had understood, but her heart began a rapid beat. She dreaded to imagine what the Mexican meant. She needed to gain control of the situation, and fast.

Ramón began moaning, and she turned back to him. His eyes were closed and he seemed barely conscious. But she saw his hand moving slowly toward his gun. His gun! It was still in his holster. As quick as lightning, she went for it.

“Do not,
señorita
.”

Samantha stopped, her hand on the grip. Could she take the chance? Would they shoot her? Yes, they would. Slowly, with the greatest reluctance, she let go of the gun.

“What do you want?” she shouted in frustrated anger.

“You,
señorita
,” the man with the serape said quietly, and then he turned to his companion. “Take the foolish one’s gun, Diego, and give him the written message to deliver.” He looked at Samantha again and explained. “Our job was to find you and take you with us.”

She stared, wide-eyed, as the one who had shot Ramón took his gun and put a folded piece of paper inside his jacket. A message. Oh, God, El Carnicero left messages.

Samantha shook her head in disbelief. “Who told you to take me?”

“El jefe.”

The leader. But who
was
the leader? she asked, and the Mexican grinned. “El Carnicero. It is his wish that you be his guest for a while, Señorita Kingsley.”

Hearing him speak her name confirmed her worst fears. They knew her. El Carnicero had not left the area after all. Her father had been right. Why couldn’t she have listened to him?

“No,” she whispered.

“
Sí
,” he countered calmly.

At that, Samantha jumped to her feet and started running down the hill, frantic. The Mexican caught her easily, and they both fell, sliding several feet before they stopped.

“Damn you!” Samantha screamed, spitting dirt. “I won’t go with you!” she cried. “I refuse!”

“We waste time here,
mujer
,” he replied curtly, and jerked her to her feet.

His grip on her arm was relentless; she couldn’t pull away. He dragged her back up the hill, passing Ramón, who seemed deathly still. At the top, the third man guided her to a magnificent white stallion and told her to mount.

Samantha held back. “I’ll ride my own horse, thank you,” she said caustically.

In response, he whacked El Cid on the rump, sending him racing down the hill. “
El jefe
has sent his own horse for you, Señorita Kingsley. You will ride El Rey.”

The King. It was fitting. The stallion looked like a king. His coloring reminded her of Princesa. He would have made a fine mate for her. He was too beautiful for a butcher.

“Mount now, or I will have to put you in the saddle myself,” said the man with the serape.

Her head snapped toward him. “I don’t see why I couldn’t have ridden my own horse,” she said angrily.

“Your father will understand better when your horse returns without you,” the man replied, then grinned. “Besides, it is an honor for you to ride El Rey. El Carnicero prizes this horse. He cost a fortune. You understand,
el jefe
is being most generous in offering him for your use. He wishes you to know of this honor, so you will not be afraid.”

Samantha managed a derisive laugh. “I am not afraid.” She mounted the big horse, snatching the reins
away from the man. “Why should I be?” she added confidently. “When you give me the means to escape you?”

She reined the horse up, forcing the Mexicans back, and then dug her heels into the animal, charging down the hill. But she didn’t even reach the bottom before a shrill whistle stopped the stallion in his tracks and she nearly went flying over his neck. Then the Mexican was beside her, laughing as he took the reins and led her back to the top of the hill.

“You see now why El Rey is so highly prized?” he pointed out proudly.

“I see now why I am to ride him,” she replied bitterly, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

The other two men were mounted and waiting by that time, and the one with her mounted, as well, but they did not ride off. She groaned as she saw why. Her escort had finally caught up with them. Each of the bandits leveled a rifle at the approaching
vaqueros
.

Samantha was enraged. “You shoot any of my men,” she warned them, “and I swear I’ll manage somehow to break this animal’s neck. You think your boss will be pleased when you return without his precious horse?”

The bandit in the serape glared at Samantha with angry black eyes, but he turned his rifle away from the
vaqueros—
pointing it at her instead. The four men of her escort had just reached the bottom of the hill, and they halted in a cloud of dust when they saw her and her captor.

The bandit leader shouted down the hill now. “The
caballero
has a message on him for Señor Kingsley. Deliver it!” He added, “If you follow—she dies!”

Samantha was led down the opposite side of the hill, the leader holding her reins. The
vaqueros
were afraid to follow, to risk her life. She knew she was alone now, with no hope of help until the ransom message was given to her father.

They rode south, keeping to a grueling pace. At noon they suddenly changed direction, riding west, toward
the mountains. The horses were tiring by then, and they slowed a little but didn’t stop to rest, even though the midday sun was beating down mercilessly.

Samantha knew for herself how many hidden canyons and valleys there were in the Sierra Madres, places to hide where a large group of men would never be found. She was being taken to one of those hidden places. Would
she
ever be found? Oh, God, she couldn’t think about what lay ahead. She had heard too many terrible things about El Carnicero.

They stopped late that night, right out on the open plain. The men tended the horses before they broke out dried food for themselves. Diego brought Samantha some dried beef, several cold, greasy tortillas, and a flask of wine, of all things. She knew they were probably drinking tequila, and the fact that they had brought wine for her showed a measure of consideration. She was surprised and grateful.

Her hunger was appeased quickly, and she realized how exhausted she was. She ached all over and needed sleep desperately, but she resisted it with all her will. If the bandits slept, she might be able to escape.

There was no fire, but a half-moon lit the plains and allowed her to watch the three men as they sat talking together in soft whispers. She waited for them to settle down, praying they would leave her alone. As she waited, watching them, she fought to keep her eyes open. She waited what seemed like hours, but it was really only ten minutes or so before the three men stood up. Serape, as she had begun to think of him, went to the horses and produced a blanket. He brought it to Samantha. She held her breath as he approached, fearful.

He set her fears to rest by saying, “Sleep while you can,
señorita
. We will not be here long.”

He then lay down near her, as did the man in the poncho. But Diego did not lie down. He squatted on his haunches with his rifle across his knees and lit a
cigarillo
. He was only a few feet away, but he was be
tween her and the horses. He finished the small cigar, but he still didn’t lie down, and she knew he would not. He was going to keep watch.

She couldn’t escape. But at least they weren’t going to molest her. Realizing that, Samantha gave in to exhaustion and drifted into sleep, telling herself that tomorrow she would escape. Tomorrow, somehow.

Chapter 17

T
OMORROW came too quickly. The moon had hardly traveled at all when she was jarred awake by a rough hand on her shoulder. During the rest of that night, they rode hard. Once the sun rose, they slowed down. That way, they wouldn’t have to stop and rest the horses every few hours. They ate while riding, traveling during even the hottest time of day.

That night was a repeat of the previous one. Samantha was growing quite desperate. The mountains were getting closer and closer, which meant that they were getting closer to El Carnicero. She began to think about him more and more. She couldn’t stop herself. She knew that the bandit hated
gringos
. Would he hold her for ransom? Or
was
this only a kidnapping? She allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Did he mean to kill her?

No! She couldn’t let herself think that way. But the thought wouldn’t leave her, and she admitted to real terror. She didn’t want to be handed over to the infamous Butcher. He killed women and children when it suited him. And he hated
gringos
most of all.

That night, Samantha tried to run. She knew she wouldn’t succeed, but she had to try. The short man with the poncho kept watch, and she waited until Diego and Serape seemed to be sleeping. Suddenly running at him, she charged the short man, knocking him over. His rifle fell, and she dove for it, then turned to face him.

The other two were up then, grinning at her. Serape said smoothly, “It is empty,
señorita
.”

She gasped. “Empty?!”

He shrugged. “We are in the open and can easily see anyone coming. There would be plenty of time to load the rifle if we needed to. Inigo does not like weapons. He never loads his unless he has to.” Inigo was the short man, then.

Samantha stared at them, incredulous, then pointed the rifle at Serape’s leg, squeezing the trigger.

Nothing. The rifle was indeed empty.

“Coward!” she shouted at Inigo.

“Come,
señorita
,” Serape said in amusement. “You waste time when you could be sleeping.”

“Go to hell!” she yelled and threw the rifle at him.

She ran for the horses, intending to take one of theirs, one that might not be stopped by a whistle. But she didn’t reach the horses. An arm went round her waist, and she was abruptly toted back to her blanket and dropped onto it. She jumped up instantly, swinging her fist at Serape. Her fist struck his cheek with a resounding crack, and she heard Diego’s laughter nearby.