the Lonesome Gods (1983) (49 page)

Morongo Valley. Was it ten miles? Or further? Mounting up, I turned the horse into a canyon that sloped toward the desert. I walked the horse, saving it for runs yet to come.

The shot would have been heard. On such a night, clear and cool, it would be heard far.... Two shots.

By the time I had gone a mile, the coffee had brought me alive enough to think.

They would be coming fast down the Burns Canyon Trail, and they would cut me off from Morongo. They would know about the Indians and me, as they had known about the Indians and my father.

They would cut me off, they would drive me into the desert.

Not that, not again. Please ... not that again.

Turning my horse, I sought a way over the low ridges and found it. There was open ground beyond, with some Joshua trees. I wove a way among them, ran into a clump of boulders, and had to swing wide around them. And then I heard them.

They were coming fast down the Burns Canyon Trail, and there were a lot of them, judging by the sound. I ran my horse toward the gap near Chaparrosa Spring, hoping to pass them and ride into Morongo ahead of them.

Suddenly a yell and a shot. There had been riders a
t
Chaparrosa, heading me off. There were five or six of them. I fired then, and fired again. The horse jumped sharply and faltered.

What ... ? Riding hard, I rode into the desert, and under me the horse's gait became unsteady. They had fired, my horse had been hit.

Please, I whispered, just a little further! Please! Gamely, desperately, the horse ran on. Then he tumbled and pitched forward and I left the saddle over his head but landed on my feet, running.

My rifle was gone with the fall; the saddlebags flapped over my shoulder, and the canteen. Desperately I clung to them, saw some boulders and went into them, ran down a slope and wove my way between other boulders and the Joshuas.

Pausing to listen, I heard them passing off to the south. They would ride on, find the fallen horse, and begin to search.

Only minutes ... just minutes....

They were coming.

Chapter
52

Meghan sat close to the fire, her arms around her knees. She stared into the fire and was frightened.

She had been a fool, a complete fool, and now she was trapped.

Tomas was across the fire from her, preparing food, and he was also trapped, and it was her fault. Such a kind old man! He had tried, very gently, to dissuade her. He had tried to tell her how impossible it was to find one man in all that vast world beyond the mountains. She had not believed him, and now it was too late.

By the third day she had begun to realize the impossibility of it, but her stubbornness refused to let her turn back, and she could not believe she would not find him. She must find him.

There were two other men with them, and one of them, named Iglesias, had not worked with Tomas but had volunteered to come along. From the first, he made her uncomfortable. He insisted on trying to ride beside her, and kept throwing meaningful glances at her, taunting, contemptuous glances.

Once, riding near her he had said, "He is an old man. He can do nothing for you."

On the night of the third day two other men had ridden down from the hills and joined them. They did not say anything, but they rode along. And they knew Iglesias. Obviously the meeting had been arranged. They looked boldly at her, letting their eyes go over her body and smiling at each other.

One of them had looked at her and said, "Soon."

She wanted to turn back now but was afraid that would only precipitate matters. Perhaps if she waited, something might happen.

She was desperately afraid, but she must not let them know. She also had the small pistol her father had given her, but it was hidden and they had not seen it.

There were three of them. She had never shot a man and had never believed she could; now she believed. Now she knew it would come to that.

Now she could not think of Johannes. All her wits must be upon this situation. Tomas glanced at her. He knew she understood and he knew she was ready for whatever could be done.

If anything could be done.

"Johannes should be near," she said suddenly. "He would not have come further than this."

She said it, and hoped they would believe it, even though she knew it was not true. Johannes was nowhere near.

Tomas straightened from the fire. "Of course," he said. "He should be riding in at any moment."

The other men ignored their talk. Except the boy who had worked with Tomas. He was quiet; he was frightened, too.

"You are young," one of them said suddenly, "but you can be in it, too. The old one is too old. He does not matter."

That one, the one whom they called Biscal, he looked contemptuously at Meghan. "We know where he is. He is in the desert, he is on foot, and they are following him. By now he is for the buzzards.

"He will not come." Biscal smiled. "No one will come. We are alone."

"Captain Laurel is a man," Tomas said suddenly. "He fears no one. He has much power, in Mexico as well as here."

"Bah! He is far at sea. And when he comes back? She went into the mountains, so who knows what bear killed her?"

It was said now, it was declared, it was in the open.

"You do not know my people," she said, "or the friends I have among your people. If I am harmed in any way, they will never stop until they find you and hang you." Biscal chuckled. "You are not the first, and I am not hung. Although," he added, "you are the most beautiful. Had I not promised them, I would keep you for myself." She was still frightened, but now there was something inside of her that was very still, very ready. When the moment came, she would let him get close and she would kill him first.

The boy would help her, she was sure of that, and Tomas as well, but there were three men against them. She must kill one, quickly, surely.

"She is under my protection," Tomas said quietly. "She will not be harmed."

"Don't be a fool, old man. Stay out of this and you may live. Of that I have not decided, but if you are wise ... who knows?"

Tomas knelt beside the fire. He stirred the coals under the coffee, seemed to touch the pot, and jerked his hand away, his eyes meeting hers. He was telling her something. The coffee, the hot coffee. That was a weapon, too. She remembered her father once saying that anything could be a weapon, that men had been killing each other for a million years before a gun was invented, and if one did not have a gun, there was always something.

To be alert, to watch her chances. That was the thing. Not to run, for she could not run as fast as any one of them in her heavy skirts, and running away left her vulnerable to attack.

She was thinking now. The coffee had been one thought, but there were others. There was a long stick near the fire. She took it up and poked it into the fire as if feeding the flames. There was that stick ...

"Let us eat, Tomas. Let a man's pleasures come later." Biscal turned his head and gave her a sidelong glance. "I have seen you about the town and wondered how I could get you." He jerked his head toward his silent companion. "We talked of it. And then you decided to go into the hills ... perfect! We could not have planned it better!"

Should she shoot him now? Unexpectedly? He had stated his intentions, and if she shot him without warning, when he had not moved toward her, she would take them by surprise. She might have to shoot but one.

To kill in cold blood? But to defend herself? The riding dress she wore had a slit inside the pocket to allow her to reach her pistol. That had been her father's idea, and she had scoffed, doubting she would ever need a gun.

Yet she must not put her hand in her pocket without reason or they might leap upon her and find the gun. She would, when the time came, make believe to sneeze. She would seem to reach for a handkerchief and then shoot him.

She need not even take the gun out. She could shoot through the material.

Iglesias was looking at her. "You are not afraid?" He seemed surprised and puzzled.

"Afraid? Why?" She leaned forward a little. "Have you ever seen Johannes with a gun? He is very good, you know, as his father was. Do you not remember what happened when they tried to steal his horses? There were many of them and he was alone."

"Come!" Tomas said suddenly. "It is time for eat. Bring yourselves to the fire." He indicated a stack of tortillas. "Help yourselves."

It was a cool, starlit night. The smell of the fire was good. Meghan Laurel looked to the stars, and then to the fire. In her mind she whispered: Johannes, where are you? She had been such a fool, but knowing that did not help now.

Where was he? Was it true that they were pursuing him into the desert? Even now he might be out there, suffering, dying, alone.

There was nothing she could do, nor was there anything he could do to help. What must be done, she must do. I will not wait, she told herself. I shall shoot him at once.

Before he is ready. Before he makes a move. Shoot him suddenly and the others will be frightened.

She had never killed a man, never dreamed that sh
e
might, yet her father had warned her she might someday have to defend herself when he was not near.

Suddenly one of the horses lifted his head, nostrils flaring. She seized upon the thought. "Look at him!" she exclaimed suddenly. "There is somebody out there!"

Startled, they looked. Iglesias, who had been crouching by the fire, stood up and peered into the night.

"Coyote," he said at last.

"Was it?" she asked.

Biscal looked around uneasily. He spoke low-voiced in Spanish to Iglesias, who shook his head impatiently. Biscal took another tortilla and scooped beans and meat from the pot, yet occasionally he stopped to listen, too.

She arose and went to the fire. She took her own tortilla and scooped something from the pot, and ate. "It tastes good, Tomas. You are a good cook. May I have some coffee now?"

"Of course, senorita!" He filled a cup and handed it to her. She sipped a little, then placed the cup on a rock near where she sat. She was ready now. Had they noticed that she took the cup with her left hand? She thought not, but Iglesias was looking at her, puzzled by something. The horse's head was up again, ears pricked. So were the others'. All were looking off into the night; then one turned and looked across the fire at something.

Biscal swore and stood up, peering into the dark. "Sit down," Iglesias said impatiently. "You are jumpy as a girl!"

"Something is here," Biscal muttered. "I don't like it." An old man, a boy, and a girl against three grown men, all strong men, vaqueros at least a part of the time. She must shoot one, throw hot coffee on another, if she could. She must be ready, and she must not give herself away, and when the moment came, she must move fast.

"What was that?" she asked suddenly.

Biscal looked up. "What? What did you hear?" "Something ... I don't know. There was a sound. I--" "There was nothing!" Iglesias said irritably. "Nothing at all!"

Biscal looked around uneasily. Tomas stooped over th
e
pot, then half-straightened, listening. Biscal wet his lips, watching.

The third man, who had remained still, looked from one to the other. "Estupido!" he said contemptuously. He got up. "I do not wait. I am ready."

One of the horses shied suddenly, and they all turned to look.

Meghan took the opportunity to get to her feet, cup in her left hand. She glanced at Tomas, nodding slightly. Her right hand slipped into her pocket, through the slit, grasping the small pistol.

The boy, at some signal from Tomas, was on his feet also. He was watching Iglesias, waiting.

Now they all heard it, something stirring out there. They heard a footfall, then another, then silence.

"Who is there?" Biscal challenged.

A slight breeze stirred the leaves. There was no other sound. Meghan had shifted her attention to the third man, who was not listening. He was looking at her. "Now," he said, "you come to me, little one, and if you beg a little, I may not hurt you so much!"

"Don't be a fool!" she said sharply.

Iglesias threw his coffee to the ground. "Now! Now it will be!" he said. "I, first, then ..."

Chapter
53

For a moment after the soft rap on the door, Miss Nesselrode sat very still. It was late, scarcely th
e
hour for visitors, and since the appearance of Alexis Murchison she had been careful about opening the door to anyone. Rising, she crossed the room to the door, listened for a moment, and when the rap came again, she asked, "Who is there?"

"It's me, ma'am. Kelso."

She opened the door and he stepped in quickly, removing his hat as he closed the door behind him. "Sorry to come around so late, ma'am, but I saw your light and figured you'd want to know."

"Is it about Meghan Laurel? Or Johannes?"

"No, ma'am. A long time ago you asked me to sort of look into what happened to that Spanish boy who arrived on the ship with Tia Elena."