The Shadow Man (26 page)

“Then the Americans have captured Santa Fe. The battle must have been very fierce. Did they kill many of our soldiers?”

Teofila stamped her small feet, her eyes flashing. “Our great Governor Armijo showed the true coward he is. Colonel Pino had our soldiers ready for battle in Apache Canyon. But even before the Americans arrived, Armijo ordered a withdrawal of all the men and told them to go home.

“Many of the angry soldiers surrounded the governor in the plaza. I could hear them shouting at him. They demanded he fight. The governor's troop of personal bodyguards could not get him free of the men. Then he opened a bag of silver and threw many coins on the ground. While our poor soldiers scrambled to grab a portion of the money, Armijo and his guards spurred their horses through them and went south toward Chihuahua.”

“Then there was no fighting.”

“Not a shot fired.”

“I am ashamed we didn't fight to stop the Americans from taking Santa Fe. Yet in a way I am glad, for that means Conrado and our vaqueros are safe. Ask Conrado to come and see me, for I want to tell him about the
banditos
attack on the rancho.”

“I have not seen Conrado.”

“But he must be here. He left the hacienda . . .” Petra paused. How many days had passed since he had ridden off toward Santa Fe?

“Tell me about the
banditos
,” Teofila said.

“I believe all the people at the rancho are dead. I could not find their bodies, but I feel the worst has happened.”

Teofila began to cry. “I never liked that place, so far away on the Rio Pecos. Either the Indians or the
banditos
are constantly causing trouble. I'm glad I always stayed in Santa Fe.” Her sobs increased. “All dead. Just you and I still alive. Oh, Petra, what shall we do?”

“Stop that crying, Aunt. Conrado is not dead. Go and find him. Ask questions of everybody.” Petra did not believe her own words. Conrado, had he been in Santa Fe, would have stayed at the family house. She felt the moistness of tears gathering. She blinked them away. It would change nothing to cry.

Teofila stifled her sobs. “Do you want anything before I leave?”

“The largest, coldest drink of water possible. And when you return, fix me some of your delicious soup.” Petra must regain her strength quickly so she could deal with the conquering Americans and somehow keep Rancho el Vado from being lost to the invaders.

* * *

Captain Spradling examined Petra Jacob's wounds. Every stitch had held. The flesh was still red and somewhat swollen, but the graft was taking. Best of all, there was no infection.

“It's been four days since I operated, and you are healing quite well,” Spradling said. He looked into the black eyes of the Mexican woman. She had flinched only once as he removed the bandages, but he knew the pain must be very great, especially from the severed nerve endings on the sensitive face.

“Do you want some laudanum for the pain?”

“I need nothing. It does not hurt that much.”

“Very well. Do you want to see your face?” asked the surgeon.

“Yes,” replied Petra. How much skill did the American doctor have? She thought it strange that he had operated merely to remove a scar. Never had she heard of such a thing.

Teofila handed Petra a mirror. The old woman smiled in a pleased, anticipatory way.

Petra lifted the mirror. For all the many past years she hadn't liked what she saw reflected back at her. With a skeptical bent to her mind she looked at the person staring at her from the looking glass.

The cheek that had been so badly scarred now had been contoured to resemble the opposite one. A portion of new skin had been inserted, to replace a damaged area. The addition was a perfect oval in outline. She believed the surgeon had deliberately shaped the new skin so that any scar that remained would not be jagged in form and thus displeasing to view. The stitches were very small, as precise and neat as a most practiced seamstress could sew.

“The light-colored skin graft from your chest will tan to the same color as your face,” said the surgeon. “I'll remove the stitches in a few days. During the next months the scars will gradually grow less noticeable.”

“You will be beautiful, Petra,” said Teofila.

I would give all my chances at beauty just to be sure Jacob was safe, thought Petra. She spoke to the surgeon. “You have done a wondrous favor for me, Dr. Spradling. I am greatly in your debt. Why would you be so kind to an enemy?”

“You are not my enemy,” Captain Spradling replied gruffly. “I have no enemies.”

“I believe what you say, and know that you are a kind man. You have made a friend in Santa Fe.”

“Friends are gold.” The surgeon backed away a few steps and looked at Petra, evaluating his handiwork. He nodded. The old woman was right. Petra Tamarron would be beautiful.

* * *

Petra wanted the day to end. When the darkness of night came, she and the band of vaqueros she had gathered would ride into Texas.

Her wounds were healing rapidly, and the bandages and the stitches had been removed by the American surgeon. The pain that remained was but the slightest of annoyances. Now she waited only for the long journey to begin.

She crossed the plaza, her boot heels thumping on the hard-baked August ground and her leather pants whispering with her stride.
Lospelados,
the town loafers, had vanished from the Santa Fe streets with the invasion of the Americans. A vaquero passed her, his expression sullen and his eyes lowered. He carried neither pistol nor knife. It was odd, and also sad, to see one of the proud riders without his pistol.

One of the primary ordinances issued by General Kearny was to prohibit the Mexican citizens from carrying weapons. That restriction was harshly enforced. Kearny's soldiers had filled the
calabozo
with offenders on the first day of occupation. Petra had moved her stiletto from her belt and hid the sharp blade inside her shirt.

American officers came and went at the general's headquarters located in the Palace of the Governors. Nearby on the drill ground, where Armijo's personal guards had so recently ridden their prancing horses, an American captain was giving orders to the lieutenant of a company of dragoons. When the captain finished speaking, the lieutenant saluted and, with a command to his troops, led them from the plaza.

The heavily armed horsemen in their blue uniforms passed Petra at a gallop, heading south to patrol and guard El Camino Real. Any Mexican expedition that marched to recapture Santa Fe would come along the El Camino Real from the large army garrison at Chihuahua. Petra did not believe a relief column would ever come.

Some six hundred yards northeast of town, the two-foot adobe-and-stone walls of a large fort were being swiftly erected by the Americans. The two-acre enclosure could hold a thousand soldiers and many cannon. The conquerors meant to stay.

The fine, lush meadows along the Santa Fe River were crowded with gringo horses and mules. The pastureland had been confiscated, and the Mexican livestock forced to move far down the river or to the wooded hills to the west.

Wagons were being repaired on the broad bench between the river and the town. Nearby, in a fenced pasture, scores of horses and mules were waiting for the blacksmith to nail on new iron shoes. It was no secret that the gringos were preparing to march on California. Already a group of vaqueros mounted on fast horses had slipped away to warn the Mexican officials at Sacramento of the imminent invasion.

Petra turned away from the town and walked toward Atalaya Mountain, climbing leisurely upward through the pine and juniper on the steep slope.

She followed the path Jacob and she had taken back in the spring. She recalled that happy day as she paced along. But the evening shadows fell before she reached the high shoulder of the mountain where they had stopped. The time to put her plan into action had arrived. She turned around to retrace her steps to the town.

Petra saw something move, a fleeting glimpse of a gray form vanishing among the pines. Had that flicker been the back of a man, or only the rump of a deer? She shivered as if someone had drawn a feather along her spine. Though her conscious mind couldn't determine if danger existed, her subconscious primal instinct knew it was there. She veered away from the point and hastened down the slope on a different route.

* * *

Unger crouched behind the bole of the bushy juniper and watched Jacob's woman hurry off the mountain. For a moment he was angry that she had spotted him, then his wide mouth opened and he chuckled silently. Now she was scared. That was good. Let her worry.

She and Jacob had made a fool of him in front of the other trappers. Jacob had bluffed him from a fight with knives. Now he would repay the man tenfold, a hundredfold, for that insult. Unger would take Jacob's woman. Nothing could hurt the gray-bearded man more than that.

* * *

In the late evening the plaza was full of off-duty American soldiers. They ambled about or leaned against the walls of the buildings and talked among themselves. To Petra they appeared quite youthful.

She was surprised at the large number of the town's young women, who, bedecked in brightly colored clothing, paraded past the soldiers. The Americans often spoke and smiled to the girls who came close. The young women would laugh back and flash their eyes at the fair-skinned men.

Petra saw a Mexican man in the doorway. He was also observing the young women flirting with the foreigners. His face was clouded with disapproval. Petra could not untangle her own mixture of emotions regarding the women's interest in the Americans. Petra had married one of them.

With a shrill, scolding cry an old woman dashed past the man in the doorway and grabbed one of the girls on the street. A leather strap rose and fell as the old woman whipped the protesting girl through the door and out of sight. Petra heard the angry voice of the man join that of the woman in berating the girl. The soldiers on the plaza were no longer smiling.

* * *

Unger crept through the darkness to the wall of the Solis hacienda. Silently, on moccasined feet, he moved to an open window and listened for noise inside. Satisfied that the house was empty, he leapt up to grab the edge of the roof. He muscled himself up and swung over the low parapet. He crawled across the dirt rooftop to a position where he could see down into the broad patio.

He had stalked the Solis home before and knew the location of the patio, enclosed with a wall higher than his head, on the west end. At the rear of the house were stables for several horses. He waited, watching the stables and listening for footsteps as the dark sky brightened and shadows formed on the lee side of objects as a round, full moon rose above the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

A growing excitement built in Unger. Soon he would take the woman. Besides having his revenge on Tamarron, there would be much pleasure in the taking.

He came instantly alert as a boot grated on sandy soil on the path leading from the street. Below him, Petra Jacob entered the patio. Unger's blood raced. Woman, I have you now!

He rose to his knees and spied on the woman as she moved to the center of the patio. She did not sit down in one of the seats but walked around restlessly and looked often at the moon and the patio entrance.

With a swift motion Unger swung down from the rooftop and sprang to block Petra's escape from the patio. He pivoted and swiftly closed on the woman. His eyes swept her body. He saw no weapons.

Petra backpedaled rapidly. Her heart thudded as if it would break every rib in her chest. She recognized the American, the man called Unger. Her hand darted for the knife within her shirt. A puny weapon, for the man would also have a knife, and he was twice her size.

“Stop! Stop!” Petra cried, and held up her left hand as if warding off the man. “What do you want?” She must slow the man, for the buttons of her shirt were stubbornly resisting her frantic attempts to undo them and get to her knife.

Unger did not reply. Words were unnecessary.

Petra bumped into the wall. The deep shadows cast by the structure fell over her. A button broke off. Her hand grasped the handle of the knife.

Hoping desperately that the man wouldn't see the weapon in the darkness, she drew it and let it hang beside her leg. She must have an opportunity for one cut with the sharp blade—a good deep cut, for one chance would be all she would have. She froze, as tense as a hummingbird watching a snake.

Unger was within three steps of the woman. She was bent silently forward and as immobile as a statue. Why didn't she scream or cry out for help? Very strange, thought Unger. But this way suited him best. He sprang at her.

Petra stabbed out with the knife. It plunged deeply into Unger's body, severing muscle, then stopping hard against bone. She twisted away abruptly, tearing free of the grasp of his clutching hands.

The blade sliced with ice-cold heat into Unger's stomach. He felt the shock and the sudden weakening of his strength. Goddamn her, she must have had the knife hidden inside her clothing. I'm hurt, you bitch, but I'll kill you.

Unger pulled his long-bladed skinning knife and lunged after Petra.

Vincente Alvarado had reached the corner of the stables when he heard Petra's frightened voice cry out in English. Though he understood none of the language, the tone of the words told him of the danger to her. Vincente rushed to the gateway to the patio.

He saw Petra and a man struggling at the far end of the enclosure. Then Petra broke free. The man, a large American, spun around to pursue her.

Vincente hurled himself across the patio, yanking his pistol as he bore down upon the man. He sprang between Petra and her assailant. With a quick swing he hammered the knife from Unger's hand. A savage blow of the iron barrel of the gun broke the American's jaw, knocking him flat on his back on the ground.

The Mexican put the sharp heel of his boot beneath Unger's chin and his neck. For a moment Vincente stared at the half-unconscious man. Then he thrust powerfully downward, twisting his heel, crushing the man's neck.