Taggart (1959) (11 page)

When there's Indians about, we make no sound at all, and have no fires. Otherwise
,
we try to keep a fair watch from the top of Rockinstraw. "

When Stark had gone Taggart went outside. Consuelo glanced after him, and then looke
d
at Miriam. "I think you like him." "I don't know him," Miriam protested.

Consuelo was right ... and how long had it been since she was excited about a man?

"He is a fighter," Consuelo said. "He is not like Adam." "What do you know of Adam?"

Miriam was suddenly angry. "You know nothing of him at all. What makes a man is insid
e
him."

"What Adam has inside I don't know," Consuelo replied. "He let Tom Sanifer tell him.

Right in front of me, Tom Sanifer told him what he would do, and Adam sat there
,
just sat there! What would Adam do if Tom Sanifer came here after me?"

"He'd run him off or kill him," Miriam replied, "and if he didn't, I would." Sh
e
paused, considering it. "And anybody like him," she added. "You're a fool, Connie
,
not to realize that you've married a good man, a fine man, but you're like a chil
d
grasping at a lot of tinsel and glitter because you've never had it. Believe me
,
it will crumble away in your hands and you'll have nothing left ... nothing."

"I think of this," Consuelo replied soberly, "but I am empty inside for things I
w
ant to know. What does a woman have? Much trouble always, a little laughter, a littl
e
dancing, a little crying, and a little time in bed with a man, and then she die.

I have never play. I want to laugh, I want to hear music, I want to be gay." Consuel
o
paused. "I want something before I die." "There's children."

"Yes. I think of that. But I think I am bad girl. I want a strong man to take me.

I don't care if he hurt me if he is strong. Adam, he is good man, but he was afrai
d
of Tom Sanifer.

"Adam talks of tomorrow, but how do I know if tomorrow comes? How do I know wha
t
happen? I want to wear pretty dresses I do not make. I want to eat meals I do no
t
cook. I want to get out of bed and not have to think of making the bed. I do no
t
want to think about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow comes whether you think about it or not."

"I am fool. I know tomorrow comes, but if today I have what I want ... I do not care."

. "Do you think Tom Sanifer could have given you anything? Or would even have tried?"

"Tom Sanifer told Adam he will come for me, and Adam does nothing. What kind of
a
husband is that?"

Should she tell her? Miriam hesitated, wanting nothing so much as to tell her, bu
t
more important, she realized suddenly, was for Consuelo to discover for herself wha
t
kind of man she had married. Yet Miriam could not leave the subject entirely. "Wh
y
did Adam go to Fort Bowie, that time?"

Consuelo turned, her dark eyes flashing. "Because he was afraid! He was afriad To
m
Sanifer come back!"

"Maybe not," Miriam replied.

"I do not care," Consuelo replied, "I want to go. I am 'fraid. Every day I am afraid
,
and every night. If Adam will not take me, I will go alone. Or," her eyes flashed
,
"I get Senor Taggart to take me!"

Miriam felt her spine stiffen with a sharp anger, but she did not turn around. He
r
back was to Consuelo and she kept it that way, but deep inside her there was a terribl
e
sinking feeling. She knew what effect Consuelo had on men, for she had seen it, an
d
none of them were indifferent to her, or could be indifferent. She had a fine body
,
and those magnificent eyes, and she knew how to appeal to men.

"Why do you think he stayed?" Consuelo said. "You think it was because of you?"

Miriam remembered the quiet talk in the darkness and suddenly she knew she love
d
Swante Taggart. It was nonsense ... how could she love a man she scarcely knew? Bu
t
out there in the night there had been something, some meeting between them. Yet ho
w
could that be, when he had not even seen her then?

"I think he stayed because he wanted to stay," Miriam replied evenly. "I think h
e
will go when he wishes to go, but I do not believe he will take another man's wife."

"Hah!" Consuelo snorted. "You think so? You fool, you."

Swante Taggart walked away from the house. He carried a rifle, field glasses, an
d
canteen and he went up the canyon back of the chapel where the canyon walls seeme
d
to shoot straight up toward the sky. Then he began to climb over boulders, and twic
e
had to pull himself up sheer faces eight or ten feet high. Presently he left th
e
canyon and climbed out on the side.

He was well up, southeast of Rockinstraw, and with a good view of the country excep
t
where it was cut off by the bulk of Rockinstraw itself. Seating himself in the shad
e
of a thick cedar, he put his rifle across his lap and got out the glasses. For a
n
hour he studied the terrain.

It was a good place to hide.

Swante pushed his hat back on his head and rolled a smoke, his eyes squinting a
s
he looked around. North of him lay the country he had crossed to get here, and sout
h
of him he believed he could almost detect a thin trail of smoke that might be Glob
e
... in this clear air a man could see a long way.

Nowhere was there any sign of Adam Stark or his workings. Probably he was deep i
n
a canyon some place, and well out of sight.

His thoughts returned to the two girls. That Mexican girl now ... that was a lo
t
of woman. There was something going on he did not understand, and apparently Star
k
had told neither of them that he had killed this Sanifer. Could be why he had rushe
d
them away into the desert, so they would not hear.

Miriam had not seemed upset over it ... she had even seemed pleased, so she couldn'
t
have been the woman.

But she wouldn't have been. Miriam was the kind of girl who would go with a man i
f
she wanted to, and not be ashamed of it, but he'd have to be quite a man. She wa
s
a proud one ... but all woman, too.

A chaparral cock ran across the slope before him, stopping to flip a tail at hi
m
and eye him inquisitively. Overhead a buzzard soared against the sky, and in th
e
distance, over the mountains, billowing black clouds were piling up. The drouth ha
d
been long ... it was one of the driest years in some time, and a good rain woul
d
put water along the trails. And it would erase, once and for all, any tracks he migh
t
have left.

Even here, only a few yards from the rim of the canyon of the chapel, he could scarcel
y
see it. The padres had chosen their hiding place very well indeed.

But Swante Taggart was not safe, and he was not free. He knew better than to rela
x
and forget his situation. Pete Shoyer was not likely to give up a chase that woul
d
prove so profitable. Even if for a time he took on something else, it would onl
y
be to return to the pursuit of Taggart when time allowed.

Taggart got up and moved across the slope, ignoring the sharp warning of a rattle
r
a dozen feet off the trail. The snake was coiled in the shade where he had bette
r
be ... a few minutes of direct sunlight in such heat as this would kill any rattlesnake.

Twice rabbits started up ... he would set some snares away from the canyon. Onc
e
he saw deer tracks.

He caught a slight movement on the hill below him and stood still until he identifie
d
it as Consuelo. She had a handwoven basket and was collecting seeds or somethin
g
from desert plants. She moved with easy grace, like an Indian girl, but he coul
d
see she was wary. Suddenly, he was sure she was aware of his presence. Had she see
n
him first?

The thought was not a comfortable one to a man who must survive by never being see
n
first if he could avoid it, and he settled down to watch her.

There was an animal grace about her, and when he had looked into her eyes the nigh
t
before there had been a challenge there. This was quite a woman . . . but she wa
s
also a danger.

He lifted his eyes to the far slope of the mountains but saw nothing. Slowly hi
s
eyes moved around the hills, seeking out every possible way of travel, searchin
g
for any indication of movement. The clouds were building higher ... it might actuall
y
rain.

He got up in one swift, lithe movement and went down the hill toward Consuelo.

She had turned her back on him but he knew she was aware of his coming. No stone
s
rattled under his feet. He stepped lightly and easily. Even the Apache moccasins
,
which were harder of sole that the moccasin of the Plains Indians, allowed a chanc
e
to feel what was beneath the feet. An Indian never allowed his weight to come dow
n
on a branch or twig.

Once, Swante Taggart paused to look around the country again. The buzzard still circled.

There was a touch of wind in the air, a breath of cooling wind that smelled of rain.

In the distance lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled in the far-off canyons an
d
tossed great balls of sound back and forth among the peaks.

He walked on down the slope of the mountain and paused near Consuelo. "You'd bette
r
get back," he said. "There's a storm coming."

"I like it. "

The wind blew her skirt around her ankles and she lifted her head to the oncomin
g
storm, letting it blow her black hair back from her neck and face. She wore a loos
e
blouse that left her neck and smooth brown shoulders bare.

Lightning flashed in the dark clouds in the west, and the wind touched the violi
n
of the cedars and hummed softly among the spines of the cholla. Far away on the mountainsid
e
a gray veil of rain appeared briefly, then vanished as the brief shower died ...
a
warning of what was to come.

Taggart scanned the middle distance, searching for mov
e
ment. The air was startling in its clarity, and the weirdly lit sky mad
e
the desert and the mountains seem strangely unreal, like some enchanted moonscap
e
of crater and serrated ridge.

They stood together in silence, drawn closer by the coming storm, rapt in their attentio
n
to the strangeness of the mountains. It would wipe out tracks . . . this he remembered
,
and praised the storm even when he was not sure what else might come of it.

If Pete Shoyer was out there now he must be hunting shelter, but Taggart saw nothing
,
heard nothing. N "It comes fast, I think," Consuelo said, but she made n
o
move to go. He stood quietly beside her. "You go soon?" she asked suddenly.

"A few days, a week ... maybe more. I do not know yet." "You are lucky. I hate i
t
here . . . I hate it!"

Taggart made no reply, watching the black thunderheads billowing up in vast cloud
y
castles, ominous and threatening, and beneath them the advancing legions of the rain.

"It is time to go," he said, and taking her elbow started down the mountain.

After a few steps the demands of the trail drew them apart, and he was careful no
t
to come close to her again. They went down the slope, half-walking, half-running
,
excited by the oncoming storm and the hurry for shelter.