Trilby (11 page)

“Excuse me, Mr. Vance,” Sissy interrupted softly, her green eyes huge behind her small wire-rimmed spectacles. “But…is he Apache?” she asked, nodding toward Naki.

“Yes, he is. Don’t worry, the Apaches aren’t hostile these days, despite the horror stories they may have told you on the train coming out here,” Thorn said reassuringly. He motioned to Naki, who rode forward. The Apache looked regal somehow with his bronzed, handsome face like a death mask. But the dark eyes that glanced off Thorn’s twinkled with unholy mischief. “This is Naki.” Thorn introduced the man to the slender, blue-dressed girl from back East. “Naki, this is Miss Sissy Bates. She’s from Louisiana.”

Naki didn’t like the way those green eyes made him feel. He was properly dead inside since Conchita’s death and he wanted to remain that way. So he hammed it up
for all he was worth. He touched his hand to his breast. “Ugh!” he said, nodding shortly. “Me heap good Injun!”

Thorn raised his eyebrows, and one of the cowboys buried his face in his hand. Jack Lang himself was hard-pressed not to give the show away, having heard Naki speak perfect English, but if the Indian wanted it kept secret, that was his business.

Sissy, having taken the Apache’s magnificent performance to heart, was disappointed. She’d expected more than that from such an elegant man. She might as well live down to what was probably the usual white woman’s role. It might pique his interest, and she wanted to stick in his mind. She wanted him to remember her, although for the life of her she couldn’t say why. There was no future in getting interested in a man like that. Even if she was, suddenly and totally.

“Uh…he, Mr. Naki, doesn’t scalp people, does he?” she asked Thorn in a loud whisper. Odd, how the Indian’s eyes suddenly glittered, almost as if he were amused. Such intelligent eyes, too.

Thorn had to fight down laughter. He frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t believe he’s scalped anyone this month.” He turned and asked Naki, in Apache, if he was enjoying himself.

Naki nodded and replied in his native tongue, “Is this woman a mental patient?”

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? They must have told her about Apaches on the train.”

“Tell her I’ve got a scalp in my pocket,” Naki murmured. “I dare you.”

“Shut up,” Thorn muttered.

“What is he saying to you?” Ben asked, curious.

“He’s saying that the white woman looks strong and
has good teeth,” Thorn answered, smothering a grin. “He wants to know how many horses you want for her.”

Sissy and Ben gaped, Richard made an indignant noise, and the Langs hesitated, trying to decide how to answer the insolent affront to their guests.

“You liar,” Naki told Thorn in Apache, insulted. “I wouldn’t take that one if they offered me a hundred horses for her! She has no meat on her bones.” That wasn’t quite true, but he wasn’t admitting to his boss that he found the woman fascinating.

“You’re making them suspicious,” Thorn told him, still speaking Apache. He smiled. “Can’t you smile?”

Naki pulled his lips back from his teeth and looked straight at Sissy in the most menacing way. She cocked her head and stared at him. Oh, well, if he wanted her to pretend, she could. She put a hand to her breast and caught her breath audibly, moving almost into Ben’s lap trying to back away.

“You go now,” Thorn told Naki in English, nodding curtly.

“I could tell you where to go, all right,” came the taunting reply in Apache. He rode away without looking back.

“Isn’t he majestic?” Julie enthused. “Oh, Sissy, do stop acting so terrified. He looked quite nice.”

“Savages,” Richard said uncomfortably. “How do you bear to live near them?”

Thorn gave him a measured look. “We manage to survive all sorts of varmints out here,” he told Richard, with pure malice. “Even Eastern tenderfeet.”

Jack Lang took that for a joke and laughed. So did Richard, so thick that the insult didn’t even register.
It did to Trilby, however. She gave Thorn a glare that might have stopped a truck. He only smiled.

“We’ll be getting on,” he told Jack, swinging gracefully back into his saddle. “Nice to have met you folks.”

Thorn tipped his hat, but he didn’t take it off.

“We appreciate the escort, Thorn,” Jack Lang said warmly.

Richard leaned forward. “I say, is there any chance of making up a hunting party while we’re out here in the wilds?” he asked. “I’m something of a sportsman, old chap. I’ve been boar hunting in Africa just recently.”

“We have wild pigs here,” Jack Lang interceded. “And white-tailed deer, too. I expect Thorn wouldn’t mind taking you all out on an overnight camp, if you’re game.”

“Certainly!” Richard enthused. “I’ve packed my camp tent….”

“We have plenty of tents,” Thorn replied in a slow, level drawl. This was working very much to his advantage. “How long are you staying?”

“Quite some time, I imagine—” Trilby began angrily.

“Only a week or so, dear old thing.” Richard sighed. “Sorry, but I’ve been invited to stay with my cousin—the Duke of Lancaster—at his estate in Scotland.”

“Oh, Richard, what a snob you sound!” Julie chided. “It’s hardly gentlemanly to mention such a thing when you’re barely off the train.”

“Sorry,” he said, with a sheepish smile at her.

Trilby didn’t miss the sparkle in Julie’s eyes. Neither did Thorn.

He straightened in the saddle, tall and elegant-looking even in his working garb. The bat-wing chaps he
was wearing did nothing to disguise the hard, powerful muscles of his legs. Julie was looking at them under her lashes. Trilby noticed and felt an odd pang of irritation. “I’ll be in touch, then. Keep to the main road, Jack,” he cautioned her father. “We’ll be somewhere nearby until you get home. Sing out if you need us.”

“I’ve got the rifle here in the floorboard,” Jack said.

Thorn nodded. His own sidearm was worn on his hip and was prominently displayed in a disreputable old black holster.

“Is it really necessary to wear a pistol like that in public, Mr. Vance?” Julie asked curiously.

His lean, beautifully masculine hand touched the worn butt. He had long fingers with immaculate flat nails. “Yes, ma’am, it is,” he told her. “We’ve had a lot of trouble down here since the Mexican Revolution began. We have an army post here in Douglas, but we’re pretty far out of town. Sometimes we have to depend on ourselves.”

“You don’t mean Mexicans actually shoot at you?” Julie gasped.

Thorn cocked an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what I mean. Jack will tell you that it isn’t safe to ride around without an escort right now, or to go very far from the house unless one of the men goes with you. A few precautions won’t hurt.”

“We’ll make sure the girls stay close. Thanks, Thorn,” Jack told him.

“My pleasure.” He touched his fingers to the wide brim of his hat. Under it his dark eyes were shadowed. “Good day. Nice to have met you.”

He nodded curtly to his men, spurred his horse, and rode out in front of them down the trail that paralleled
the road. He rode as he did everything else, with grace and style. Trilby’s eyes reluctantly followed the long line of his body.

“My, can’t he ride!” Julie said enthusiastically. “He’s very handsome, this neighbor.”

“He’s a widower,” Jack told her.

“Yes, and he’s sweet on our Trilby.” Teddy chuckled.

Trilby flushed. “Be quiet, Teddy, do!” she cried.

“He looks quite rough,” Richard remarked coolly. “And those men…some of them were Mexican, and I shiver to think of those Apaches loose on the territory at night. He lives with savages, doesn’t he?”

“Yes… Well,” Jack said stiffly, feeling driven to defend Thorn, “it
was
their country first.”

“They did nothing with it to speak of,” Richard remarked haughtily. “Such a backward people! How do you bear it out here, Trilby?” he asked.

It was the first question he’d addressed specifically to her, and her face grew radiant. “It’s very different from back home,” she agreed. “I miss it terribly.”

“I don’t wonder,” Richard said.

Sissy and Ben were standing a little apart while the others talked.

“Why were you shivering?” her brother asked under his breath. “You and I both know that you’re fascinated with the noble red man.”

“That particular red man is a conundrum,” she replied quietly. “Did you see the way his eyes twinkled when Mr. Vance spoke to him? I’d bet money that it was all an act. I don’t think he’s stupid. I think he was playing.”

“Sissy, most Indians aren’t on a par with college professors,” her brother said gently.

“Most, yes. But that one…” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Ben, wasn’t he magnificent?” she asked softly. “I’ve never seen anyone like him.”

“Watch it,” he cautioned. “There are racial lines out here. Don’t start crossing them. You know how Richard is.”

“Richard can crawl under a can,” she replied. “I want to know more about Mr. Vance’s hired hand.”

“Just be careful, won’t you?”

“Did you hear what that red fellow said about Sissy?” Richard muttered suddenly. He glanced at her. “Of all the insults!”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened her pert straw hat and smiled at her brother. “He was measuring my scalp, I’m sure.”

“You spend half your life in museums looking at old photographs and paintings of Indians,” Richard muttered. “Well, I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light. Indians aren’t at all romantic, they’re unclean and ignorant and impertinent.”

“And you’re a snob,” Sissy said haughtily. “I’m an anthropology student. Other cultures interest me.”

“Really? You should talk to Thorn,” Jack Lang said seriously. “He has a friend who’s an anthropologist.”

“Does he?” Sissy enthused.

“Yes. A man named McCollum. He comes out every summer to go on digs around the local sites. Thorn knows them all.”

“I don’t believe it!” Sissy gasped. “That’s my anthropology professor! Dr. McCollum!”

Trilby laughed. “And you never said! Not in one of your letters!”

“I was saving it all up for when I visited you,” Sissy said smugly. “It’s so good to be here!”

“And so good to have you,” Trilby added. She glanced at Richard, but he was busy pointing out local color to Julie.

“Mr. Vance is quite good-looking, isn’t he?” Sissy asked Trilby.

“Better look out, Trilby, or Sissy will be stalking your local beau.” Julie laughed pleasantly, deliberately slanting a pretty glance up at Richard, who was frowning. “He’s rather a savage, isn’t he? I suppose living with Mexicans and Indians would make a man rough.”

Trilby looked—and felt—sick to her stomach. Julie was making her point very well; Richard was hers, and she wasn’t going to let Trilby near him. If Richard noticed her possessive attitude, he didn’t seem to mind it. He smiled at her indulgently.

Trilby started back toward the car without another word. She had no idea what to say, at any rate. Richard noticed her quiet withdrawal with sudden consternation. He started to say something else, but Jack Lang prevented him by hustling Ted and Mary, along with Trilby, into his car. He started off again. The noise of the engine drowned out any further conversation.

A
FEW MILES
from Los Santos, a small family of Mexican peons was entertaining one of Madero’s officers. The small thatched adobe hut was barren, except for a few chickens scratching around on its packed-dirt floor. A small fire lit the dismal interior, where the peon’s woman cooked tortillas with the meager amount of flour the Maderisto had brought them.

“Muchas gracias,”
the tall, young man murmured
when he was served the tablespoon of beans on the tortilla. He was careful not to offend these people by refusing their hospitality. They had nothing, but they were proud. To deign not to accept the offering of this precious food was to offend beyond repair.

“It is our pleasure to serve you,” the peon said earnestly. “It is for people like us that you ride against the
Federales.
”

“We will win one day, amigo,” Madero’s man said fervently. “Our cause is just. We will win back the land that was taken from our people by these filthy Spaniards. We will make these dogs pay for what they have done to Mexico.”

“Sí,”
came the fiery reply.

“Now, tell me what news there is.”

“A party of gringos has come to Blackwater Springs Ranch, it is said. Wealthy ones from the rich cities of the East.”

The officer nodded and frowned thoughtfully. “They are not like the gringo who recently visited with the
patrón
of Los Santos? A learned man with no wealth?”

“No, señor,” the peon protested vehemently. “These gringos have much money.
Mucho dinero.
My friend Juan works for Blackwater Springs Ranch. He says that he saw with his own eyes many bank notes and gold coins.”

“Now that is interesting,” the younger man said. “I will take this news back to Mexico with me. And next time,” he added, smiling as he got to his feet, “there will be more flour. Perhaps even some coffee.”

“Señor—” the woman of the house wept, kneeling to kiss his hand “—we thank you in the name of the Blessed Virgin for your kindness. In my prayers each
night I will ask the Virgin to intercede for you and keep you safe.”

“And I for all of our people,” the man said solemnly. “It is not right that we have so little when the
patróns
have so much and are ever greedy for more. And what the
Federales
have done to the villagers—
¡ay de mi!—
we will take our land back. We will feed the hungry and take back what the invaders have stolen. We will make them pay for their crimes against us, I swear it!” he said hoarsely.

He was remembering sights that made him sick, atrocities he had seen at the hands of the
Federales
who rode for Díaz’s government against the revolutionaries. The reputation of the men was terrifying to the peons. They tortured these innocents, killed women and children, all in the name of the government of Mexico. Government, he thought angrily, his compassionate eyes sweeping the pitiful interior of this hut. It was no government of the people that allowed the poor to starve and tried to take even what little they had. Something must be done. Madero was the man to do it.
“Vayan con Dios, mis amigos,”
he said, sweeping off his hat. “I will take this news you have given me to our friend Francisco Madero. Adios!”