Scorpion (14 page)

Ben crouched behind the adobe wall on the roof of the barn and peered at the soldiers below. Najera’s carriage had been left in front of the hacienda. Niño, Isabella’s fearless canine guardian, had crawled beneath the carriage and was carefully scrutinizing the intruders in the ranchyard. The animal’s face was a patch of darkness glimpsed from between the wheel spokes.

Raúl Salcedo, Rincón, and Angel walked their mounts over to the barn. Ben recognized the youthful gunman. Zion was standing in the doorway down below, and Ben could easily overhear the conversation that followed.

The black man was blocking Raúl’s path and did not appear ready to move. Raúl met the segundo’s belligerent stare with his own icy resolve. Clouds like puffs of war smoke drifted across the sun and left shadows on the land.

“You look tired, my friend,” Raúl said. “I think such a large rancho like Ventana is too much work for an hombre like yourself.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Zion replied. “Maybe you’d like to talk to the general and tell him to cut some of my vaqueros loose from his damn army and send them on back home.” Zion folded his burly arms across his chest.

“We might have another solution, amigo,” Mariano Rincón said. The mestizo slapped at a bothersome horsefly that kept diving toward his leathery features.

“What would that be?” said Zion.

“You could pack your bag and leave,” Raúl replied.

“I used to think one day I wanted to saddle up my old hammerhead gray and ride this world and find me somewhere to be. A place I could call my own.” The black man kicked at the dirt. “But I reckon right here will do.”

“Poor choice,
negro,
” Angel said. Brash as Raúl, he was not content to remain in the gunman’s shadow. “Mexico is our country. Your mistress is a gringo and you are a gringo’s slave. Better for you both if you ride north.”

“Any one of these fine horses I see in the corral could make the journey,” Raúl interjected as he maneuvered his mount past his associates and approached the wooden fence. His experienced eyes quickly appraised the stock. “I wonder where they came from?”

“Can’t see why it should concern you. After all, General Najera has already taken the best of the stock.” Zion’s tone was decidedly unfriendly.

“All the ranchos contributed. The general has sacrificed much to supply his troops, but all will be returned once the americanos are driven from our land.” Raúl eased back in the saddle and motioned for Angel and the mestizo to retrieve the animals. “We can always use a few more horses.”

“Now you hold it right there. These horses stay put.” Zion brushed past Raúl’s gelding and climbed up on the fence until he was on the same level as the horsemen. His hand dropped to the pistol at his waist. Angel and Rincón reined in their mounts and glanced at Raúl for instructions. The dragoons by the well were too busy gorging themselves on Elena’s tamales to notice the confrontation brewing in front of the corral.

“You have no lack of courage, amigo. But we are three and you are alone.”

“Not hardly.” Ben’s voice drifted down from above. “He isn’t any more alone than he was that time in the arroyo a couple of weeks ago.”

The three men looked up with a start, but Ben remained out of sight. Raúl searched the roof line, suddenly less confidant now that there was a man behind him, possibly armed, and with a clear shot at any man in the ranchyard.

“Who are you?” Raúl hissed. “Show yourself.”

Zion was as shocked as any of them by Ben’s behavior. The norteamericano’s words were even more puzzling until he glanced down at the scarlet-and-black-striped serape draped across Raúl’s gelding, just behind the saddle. He remembered the flash of color as the gunman had scrambled for cover. “It
was
you there in the creekbed outside Monterrey.”

Raúl ignored him and rode along the front of the adobe barn. “I have asked you a question, hombre. Who are you?”

“El ángel de muerte,”
Ben said. “The angel of your death if you try for the horses.”

“And if I summon my
soldados
…”

“You will be dead. I and my vaqueros are no strangers to powder smoke. Return to your compadres and enjoy Señora Quintero’s hospitality. But know you’ll be in our sights until you’ve left Ventana.”

“Did Najera send you to stop us? Why?” Zion asked, reaching for the reins of Salcedo’s horse.

Raúl pulled away. “You are loco, amigo. Ask any of these men, ask the general, he will tell you. I rode with him to fight the gringos.” Raúl glanced at Angel and Rincón, who were more concerned by the presence of a hidden marksman than verifying Raúl’s story. They watched the roof with apprehension and shifted nervously on horseback. Angel imagined he saw movement on the hacienda and the bunkhouse. The whole damn ranchyard was ringed by these fortresslike buildings. How many more riflemen were concealed behind their battlements? There were four horses in the corral. Another four vaqueros armed with pistols and rifled muskets could cut the horsemen in the yard to pieces.

Raúl motioned for his companions to rejoin the dragoons as they waited for Najera to end his visit. The mestizo saluted and swung his horse around. His hard, fierce eyes searched the surrounding buildings for some sign of a threat. Angel rode at his side, shoulders hunched. He imagined a dozen rifles had drawn a bead on him. Even Raúl Salcedo appeared anxious. What should have been a simple situation had grown terribly complicated. It was time to cut his losses and live to fight another day. The gunman looked down at the black hand still clutching the reins by the bridle.

“Were you after me or the widow, Salcedo?” Zion snarled.

“You misjudge me, amigo.”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” the segundo said. He realized that with the odds stacked against them, now was not the time or place to set matters aright. His voice was filled with menace. “You’re mighty loose with those ‘amigos,’ but you better know, we aren’t friends, Raúl. We never were and never will be. Now get out before I let El Alacron up there or one of his men part your hair with a bullet.”

“Bueno,”
Raúl said, and pulled free of Zion’s grasp. At last he had a name for the man who was continuously intruding in matters that were none of his concern. The gunman looked up at the roof. “Come to Saltillo again, Señor Alacron. I do not fear your sting.” The boy-faced killer touched the brim of his sombrero and joined the riders at the well. There was still some food left, but for all his bravado, Raúl Salcedo had suddenly lost his appetite.

Valentin Najera scolded himself. He had been a fool to send Raúl after the Quinteros. This was much better, seated across from his old friend’s charming widow. No matter that she was a norteamericano, her beauty transcended the bitter hostilities that divided their countries. And her availability made her all the more lovely.

“The news of Don Sebastien’s death struck deep in my soul,” he said, finishing his second glass of wine. He shooed a fly away from the honey cake on his plate. The general’s brows knitted and his features contorted with grief, then he shook his head and sighed. “Such a waste. Such a waste.” Don Sebastien had been his closest friend. Everyone in and around Saltillo knew that. The two men had struggled side by side against Comanches, Apaches, drought, flood, and bitter winters, to maintain their ranchos and secure what they had inherited from their fathers. Najera’s first act on arriving at Ventana had been to place a bouquet of desert flowers on Don Sebastien’s grave. Milking the moment for all it was worth, the general bowed his head, his shoulders shook, and he appeared to weep silently for the loss of his compadre.

“When he came to see me that night in town, and we shared a bottle of brandy at the Casa del Noche, I had this feeling.” He placed his hand over his heart. Movement in the opposite room caught his attention. “Ah, my little sister,” he exclaimed. Isabella, caught, stepped through the doorway and entered the dining room. Najera held out his arms as if to embrace the girl, but she hurried past her father’s friend and stood by Josefina’s chair at the opposite end of the table.

“My dear, my poor little one, I understand your shyness. But the hurt you feel will pass. I would be honored if you thought of me as your father now. You can always come to me with your problems.” Najera lowered his outstretched arms and took a morsel of honey cake. He cleared his throat and smiled. “You both stare at me as if I were no longer welcome in the house of Quintero. Have you forgotten Don Sebastien was like a brother to me?”

“If you are so much a friend, why did you steal our cattle?” Isabella blurted out. Josefina instantly regretted discussing anything to do with Ventana’s precarious financial situation in front of the precocious ten-year-old. A leaden silence seemed to fill the room. Najera’s gaze hardened. Josefina was perceptive enough to realize how dangerous a man her husband’s friend really was.

“Nonsense, my dear,” she said, gently chiding the child. “All the haciendados have sacrificed for the good of Mexico.”

Her words had the desired effect; her gracious acceptance soothed his anger, and the imperious smile once more radiated from his dignified countenance. “Listen to your stepmother, little one. You’ll find wisdom in her words. Our country is in peril. An army needs more than guns to fight a war. My men must eat. I am forced to find food for my soldiers wherever I can.”

“Perhaps you had best leave us, child, and wait for me in your room. Unless you’ve finished the reading I assigned you.” Josefina had never stopped tutoring the girl, despite her marriage to Don Sebastien. Isabella was at the moment working her way through
Don Quixote.
The book currently lay on an end table alongside her bed. The girl made a face to show her displeasure, then continued on out of the dining room and made her way to the rear of the hacienda.

The general chuckled and sighed. “She is her father’s daughter. Don Sebastien never held anything back. He also spoke his mind.” Najera leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He glanced toward the door to the pantry. He could hear Elena bustling around the kitchen, preparing another platter of food for his soldiers. For the moment the couple in the dining room were alone. “And as my friend was wont to do, so shall I speak my mind.” Najera rose from his chair, walked down the length of the table and took his place at the corner by Josefina. The woman willed herself to remain still, though something in his touch upon her arm made her want to recoil.

“Ventana was not meant to be run by a woman,” the general said. “Especially a woman alone. And you are alone, my dear. In these troubled times, there are many who find you suspect. They whisper ‘norteamericano’ behind your back, and will not lift a hand to help you.”

“But you are not one of these?” Josefina looked demure in the afternoon light. Her yellow hair seemed to glow with a brilliance all its own. She smelled of lilac and rosewater.

“No. Never. My dear Josefina, I have always had a special feeling for you.” Valentin Najera spoke in silken tones, his aristocratic bearing lending credence to his words. A lie would never grace the lips of such a man. “Ever since Don Sebastien brought you to Ventana. And when I had gathered the courage to speak what was in my heart, Don Sebastien had already asked you to be his wife.”

“General Najera … this is hardly the time or place. My husband has only been dead for a couple of weeks.”

“He was dead to you longer than that.”

“Sir?”

“Your husband, my good friend, confided in me about everything. We were like brothers. He told me of his inability to … perform intimately. The trouble had plagued him ever since the pain began in his back. How long? Seven months. Eight months. A long time to be without love.”

“My personal matters are none of your concern,” Josefina protested. “But I can assure you I was never without love in this house.”

“Yes. Of a spiritual kind,” Najera said, tightening his grip. “But you deserved more. Much more.”

“Really, Señor Najera, you overstep yourself.”

“Only when the treasure is worth the risk.” The general eased back in his chair. “I speak of such things so that you will understand the depth of the feelings I have kept locked away for so long.” He stood and walked behind the woman and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Please … Valentin … no,” Josefina protested. “For the sake of our friendship and the esteem you felt for my husband.”

The hands dropped away and he crossed around and sat again at the table, close at hand. The diminutive soldier smoothed his silver hair, then stroked his chin.

“As you wish, dear lady. My affection for you makes me your humble and obedient servant. I can wait. Perhaps it is too soon. In another week or two you will see things differently. I will come again. You will find I can be most persuasive.”

“And the war?”

“The war will happen whether I visit you or not,” Najera said. He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. “Don Sebastien would not wish you to pine away, señora. Or sacrifice your beauty on the altar of sorrow. Without cattle and vaqueros to work the range, you cannot last here. You need me.” He stood and bowed. “Think about it, my dear. I can do much for you. With my influence, your every wish will be satisfied. Join Ventana to what I have built, and we will have an empire that we can rule together. An empire greater than any in all of northern Mexico.”

General Valentin Najera retrieved his lancer’s helmet and brushed its scarlet plume with the palm of his hand. His polished thigh-length leather boots click-clacked across the stoneware tile floor. Josefina tried to show him to the door but the general was in a hurry and outdistanced her. Indeed, her movements were awkward, so caught off guard was she by what for all intent was the general’s proposal of marriage.

The dragoons came to attention as Najera left the house and briskly strode to his carriage. Niño crawled out from under the carriage and started toward Najera, who sent the dog packing with a well-placed kick to the rib cage. The general climbed into his carriage and drove out into the ranchyard while his men mounted up and resumed formation. Raúl rode up alongside the general and as briefly as possible explained what had happened by the barn. Najera listened intently without looking right or left to inspect the buildings surrounding them. If Señora Quintero had found men to ride for Ventana, the general wanted to know. He issued his instructions, keeping his voice low, and then with a flick of the reins led the way out through the gate. The dragoons formed a column behind the carriage and departed in a cloud of dust.