Heart of Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  “You see now why El Rey is so highly prized?” he pointed out proudly.

  “I see now why I am to ride him,” she replied bitterly, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

  The other two men were mounted and waiting by that time, and the one with her mounted, as well, but they did not ride off. She groaned as she saw why. Her escort had finally caught up with them. Each of the bandits leveled a rifle at the approaching vaqueros.

  Samantha was enraged. “You shoot any of my men,” she warned them, “and I swear I’ll manage somehow to break this animal’s neck. You think your boss will be pleased when you return without his precious horse?”

  The bandit in the serape glared at Samantha with angry black eyes, but he turned his rifle away from the vaqueros—pointing it at her instead. The four men of her escort had just reached the bottom of the hill, and they halted in a cloud of dust when they saw her and her captor.

  The bandit leader shouted down the hill now. “The caballero has a message on him for Señor Kingsley. Deliver it!” He added, “If you follow—she dies!”

  Samantha was led down the opposite side of the hill, the leader holding her reins. The vaqueros were afraid to follow, to risk her life. She knew she was alone now, with no hope of help until the ransom message was given to her father.

  They rode south, keeping to a grueling pace. At noon they suddenly changed direction, riding west, toward the mountains. The horses were tiring by then, and they slowed a little but didn’t stop to rest, even though the midday sun was beating down mercilessly.

  Samantha knew for herself how many hidden canyons and valleys there were in the Sierra Madres, places to hide where a large group of men would never be found. She was being taken to one of those hidden places. Would she ever be found? Oh, God, she couldn’t think about what lay ahead. She had heard too many terrible things about El Carnicero.

  They stopped late that night, right out on the open plain. The men tended the horses before they broke out dried food for themselves. Diego brought Samantha some dried beef, several cold, greasy tortillas, and a flask of wine, of all things. She knew they were probably drinking tequila, and the fact that they had brought wine for her showed a measure of consideration. She was surprised and grateful.

  Her hunger was appeased quickly, and she realized how exhausted she was. She ached all over and needed sleep desperately, but she resisted it with all her will. If the bandits slept, she might be able to escape.

  There was no fire, but a half-moon lit the plains and allowed her to watch the three men as they sat talking together in soft whispers. She waited for them to settle down, praying they would leave her alone. As she waited, watching them, she fought to keep her eyes open. She waited what seemed like hours, but it was really only ten minutes or so before the three men stood up. Serape, as she had begun to think of him, went to the horses and produced a blanket. He brought it to Samantha. She held her breath as he approached, fearful.

  He set her fears to rest by saying, “Sleep while you can, señorita. We will not be here long.”

  He then lay down near her, as did the man in the poncho. But Diego did not lie down. He squatted on his haunches with his rifle across his knees and lit a cigarillo. He was only a few feet away, but he was between her and the horses. He finished the small cigar, but he still didn’t lie down, and she knew he would not. He was going to keep watch.

  She couldn’t escape. But at least they weren’t going to molest her. Realizing that, Samantha gave in to exhaustion and drifted into sleep, telling herself that tomorrow she would escape. Tomorrow, somehow.

  Chapter 17

  TOMORROW came too quickly. The moon had hardly traveled at all when she was jarred awake by a rough hand on her shoulder. During the rest of that night, they rode hard. Once the sun rose, they slowed down. That way, they wouldn’t have to stop and rest the horses every few hours. They ate while riding, traveling during even the hottest time of day.

  That night was a repeat of the previous one. Samantha was growing quite desperate. The mountains were getting closer and closer, which meant that they were getting closer to El Carnicero. She began to think about him more and more. She couldn’t stop herself. She knew that the bandit hated gringos. Would he hold her for ransom? Or was this only a kidnapping? She allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Did he mean to kill her?

  No! She couldn’t let herself think that way. But the thought wouldn’t leave her, and she admitted to real terror. She didn’t want to be handed over to the infamous Butcher. He killed women and children when it suited him. And he hated gringos most of all.

  That night, Samantha tried to run. She knew she wouldn’t succeed, but she had to try. The short man with the poncho kept watch, and she waited until Diego and Serape seemed to be sleeping. Suddenly running at him, she charged the short man, knocking him over. His rifle fell, and she dove for it, then turned to face him.

  The other two were up then, grinning at her. Serape said smoothly, “It is empty, señorita.”

  She gasped. “Empty?!”

  He shrugged. “We are in the open and can easily see anyone coming. There would be plenty of time to load the rifle if we needed to. Inigo does not like weapons. He never loads his unless he has to.” Inigo was the short man, then.

  Samantha stared at them, incredulous, then pointed the rifle at Serape’s leg, squeezing the trigger.

  Nothing. The rifle was indeed empty.

  “Coward!” she shouted at Inigo.

  “Come, señorita,” Serape said in amusement. “You waste time when you could be sleeping.”

  “Go to hell!” she yelled and threw the rifle at him.

  She ran for the horses, intending to take one of theirs, one that might not be stopped by a whistle. But she didn’t reach the horses. An arm went round her waist, and she was abruptly toted back to her blanket and dropped onto it. She jumped up instantly, swinging her fist at Serape. Her fist struck his cheek with a resounding crack, and she heard Diego’s laughter nearby.

  Serape didn’t flinch. He simply caught her hands and brought them together, then whipped the red scarf from around his neck and began tying her wrists.

  “No!” she protested, trying to pull away, but his fingers were quick, and the knot was tied.

  “It is not rope, señorita. That would cut your pretty skin,” he said softly. “You will thank me for that?”

  “I will thank you for nothing!” she spat.

  “But it is you who made this necessary,” he reminded her.

  “Do you plan to tie my feet, too, coward?” she hissed, thoroughly enraged.

  “Now that you mention it…” He grinned. “That is a very good idea. We have little enough time left to sleep. I would not like to be awakened again to find you attacking poor Inigo.”

  Samantha glared at his back murderously as he left to get a rope. He returned, and, after her futile efforts at kicking at him to keep him away, he caught her feet and wrapped the rope around her boots.

  “Damn you!” she cried in frustration. “Tell me your name so I can curse you properly!”

  He sat back on his haunches beside her, a bemused look on his face. “Why do you wish to curse me, señorita? I only follow orders. I am paid to do a job. I do it. Save your curses for El Carnicero.”

  At the mention of the dreaded name, she lost some of her anger. He saw this and smiled knowingly.

  “You do not wish to meet him?”

  “No,” Samantha replied. When he stood up, she pleaded. “Wait. Tell me what is going to happen to me when we get where we’re going.”

  “You will be el jefe’s guest for a time.”

  “His prisoner! Can’t you give me some idea what to expect?”

  “You will not be harmed, if that is what worries you,” he said kindly.

  But Samantha mistook his tone for condescension. “How would you feel if I had kidnapped you? You’d damn well be asking questions, too!”

  He laughed. “I do not think I would mind being kidnappe
d by you, little one,” he said softly.

  Samantha blushed. “Can you at least tell me what was in the message you left for my father?”

  “That I do not know.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He frowned. “And you are a bother, señorita. Go to sleep.”

  He moved away. He had told her nothing, and she couldn’t believe his assurance that she wouldn’t be harmed. But he was most congenial, this bandido. He had tied her up, but she grudgingly admitted that she had brought that on herself. He was friendly, and he looked at her with admiration. Perhaps she could make use of that, somehow. It wouldn’t hurt to be less hostile toward him now.

  Chapter 18

  THEY reached the foothills of the Sierras late that next day, having stopped to rest in the early afternoon. Apparently they no longer worried about pursuit but were just eager to return to their camp. They rode hard after their rest, traveling until they left the flat lands.

  Late that night, camping by a mountain stream near a small plateau, Samantha looked longingly at the water, wanting desperately to wash off all the grime that had accumulated on her. Her hair was the only thing not matted with dirt, for she had kept it pinned tightly under her hat, but it was still sticky. She knew she looked a mess. But she wouldn’t attempt a bath. She didn’t trust the men, not even Serape. She settled for washing her face and hands in the cool mountain water.

  There were trees here, and it was a little colder. They hadn’t been heading up into the mountains after all, but were just skirting the lower edges and, surprisingly, riding north. Samantha didn’t question the new direction. She was just glad to be heading back toward her home, whatever the reason. But the bandits had only been looking for a particular trail, she soon discovered, and they found it the next day. The sun had yet to rise when they found the path and turned southwest, making a gradual yet steady upward climb.

  Samantha had a new worry. Why didn’t the men try to hide the trail from her? Didn’t they care if she knew where their camp was? Either they had no permanent camp…or it didn’t matter because she would not be leaving it. Ever.

  The air grew colder that evening as they continued to move the horses along, up a narrow path on the side of a steep canyon. She grew nervous glancing down the side of the cliff. They were close enough to the edge that she could see the long drop below.

  Once it was full night, Diego, in the lead, held a torch high. Even so, it was dark, and the path was treacherous. El Rey was exhausted, but still he held up better than the other mounts. It was cruel to treat the animals that way. Three and a half days of constant hard riding! She supposed the other horses were from her father’s herd and considered expendable.

  Soon the path widened considerably, and Samantha sighed with relief. But then they took a sharp turn around the side of the canyon wall, and what lay ahead turned her blood cold.

  It was another canyon, wide enough to be a valley, which stretched into the center of the mountain. To the right on the flat, barren land between the cliffs was a small village, a half dozen old houses spread around the ruins of a church. Was this their destination?

  Lights shone in several of the houses, but the place was quiet. Not a soul stirred—until Diego, ahead of them, began shouting and whooping, calling out that they had returned. Soon lights brightened more windows. Doors opened. She tensed, fearful.

  She didn’t want to face the Butcher, but the unknown was terrifying, as well.

  She nudged El Rey, forcing him up alongside Serape. “Is this it, then, señor?”

  “Sí.”

  “Will—will he be here?” she asked hesitantly.

  He glanced at her, raising the brim of his hat so he could see her better in the faint moonlight. “If you mean el jefe, I cannot think why he would not be here.”

  “Is there any reason why I have to meet him? I mean, if I’m to be held for ransom, then I don’t really—”

  “He will want to talk to you, to learn certain things,” Serape replied.

  “What things?”

  He shrugged. “He will want your opinion on whether your father will agree to his demands.”

  “My father will agree to anything to get me back,” Samantha assured him.

  “El Carnicero will be glad to hear that. But you do not know what was in the message. You cannot know for sure if your father will agree, not until you hear the demands yourself.”

  “Someone else could tell me about it,” she said brightly, but he cut her off. “Why do you still have fear?” he asked. “I hear fear in your voice. I have told you that you will not be harmed here. He has sworn this to me.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Sí, I believe him,” he answered without hesitation. “If I did not, I would never have brought you here. Do you understand me, señorita? I do not hurt women.”

  Samantha let the declaration sink in. Then she spoke up. “You must not have ridden with this bunch very long.” She was remembering Manuel’s story of the massacre of women and children.

  “No, I have not,” he replied honestly, thereby dashing her hopes all over again.

  “Lorenzo!” called someone from inside the camp. “We are waiting. Bring in the prize!”

  Samantha stiffened. The man was speaking Spanish. They wouldn’t know that she understood Spanish, and she decided not to let them know. It might be useful to her if they talked freely in front of her.

  “Was that man calling to you?” she asked innocently.

  “Sí. They wait for us.”

  “Your name is Lorenzo? I liked Serape better.” At his bewildered look, she added, “Never mind. I’ll explain another time. But tell me, what do you call your boss besides el jefe?”

  “Rufino.”

  “Is that his real name?”

  “Not likely. Not many who choose this life use their true names. But it is the only name I know him by.”

  “And your real name?”

  “Is not Lorenzo,” he acknowledged.

  “Lorenzo!” The call was impatient this time, making Samantha wince.

  “Come, Señorita Kingsley.” Lorenzo started up their horses, heading toward one of the houses. Many men were gathered in front of the house, and torches had been placed on the narrow porch. “There will be hot food and a comfortable bed for you. And it will be better to meet Rufino now. You will see for yourself that you need not fear him.”

  Lorenzo dismounted as he reached the porch steps, and Samantha did the same reluctantly and nervously. Inigo led their horses away. The other men all gathered around her and stared openly.

  A few men were sitting on the steps, and there were at least ten in the yard. Samantha felt surrounded, suffocated, and terrified. They were too close, and she was weaponless. She was not used to feeling so helpless.

  Someone reached out and touched the embroidery on her vest, and Samantha swung around to slap away the offending hand. She stood, her back to the house, cringing from their leering, grinning expressions, hoping her fear didn’t show.

  “La gringa es muy bella!” she heard. “Magnífica,” said another, and there were whispers that made her more and more uncomfortable. And then they were talking about her outfit, how mannish it was, about the empty gunbelt on her hips. They threw rapid questions at Lorenzo while she stood there in their midst, not knowing what to do, waiting. Waiting for what? Was El Carnicero there? she wondered. Which of these dark, rough-looking men was the cold-blooded killer she so dreaded facing?

  She grew more and more frightened, standing there under inspection. She was about to turn away when a deep voice boomed above all the other voices, coming from behind her.

  “Are you sure you have brought his daughter. Lorenzo, and not his son?”

  Samantha turned to face the speaker, as the question brought a chorus of laughter from the men. As she swung around, she expected to see El Carnicero, a short, barrel-chested man. But the owner of the mocking voice was tall, his lean figure silhouetted in the doorway of the house. He was
entirely in shadows because the torches lit only the yard, and only a little of it.

  Samantha was grateful that the brim of her large hat hid her face. At least no one could see the fear in her eyes. But she found the fear giving way to temper. She was exhausted. She was hungry. She hadn’t had a real meal in days. She was being kept out here in the cold, suffering humiliating examination by a bunch of ragtag bandits. And now one of the bandits was mocking her, as well.

  Samantha dismissed the man on the porch and turned to Lorenzo. “You promised me food and a bed,” she reminded him. “Must I stand out here until every man in your camp has had a look at me? Where is your leader? I wish to get this over with.”

  “So you have lost your fear, eh?” He grinned.

  Samantha bristled. “There are limits to what I will stand for, señor. I am reaching—”

  “Oh, shit!” The curse exploded from the porch. Everyone else went silent.

  Samantha was jolted by the vehemence of the voice and turned slowly back to the porch. But the tall man was gone, probably back into the house. She stared at the empty doorway, her eyes widening as memories echoed. The voice…no! It couldn’t be.

  There were curses and shouting from inside the house, and Lorenzo shook his head. “Por Dios! What has caused this temper?”

  But Samantha didn’t hear him. She was listening to the voice raging inside the house. That voice, first mocking, then angry…But it couldn’t be!

  She started up the porch steps, drawn like a magnet, but Lorenzo caught her arm. “No, señorita. Something is wrong. I do not understand it. Come, I will take you to another house.”

  But Samantha shook his hand away without even looking at him and moved to the doorway. She went no farther than that. She didn’t have to. The room was brightly lit, and she could see everything clearly. The man was stalking back and forth like a caged angry beast.

  “Señorita, por favor,” Lorenzo whispered urgently at her ear. “Come away quickly. For some reason, the sight of you has angered him.”