by tiffy
he scoffed. ʺHell I wasnʹt paid enough on that damn caravan to buy me a decent glass of whiskey.ʺ
ʺYou were with Santiago Quinnʹs mestañeros, were you not?ʺ
Soames was sobering up fast. Hackles rose on the back of his neck as he realized just how precarious his position was. ʺI just hired onQuinn said he had him a tradinʹ license. Heʹs Spanish.ʺ Damn all greasershim and you!
Castalʹs smile did not reach his cold dark eyes as he said, ʺI would like to offer you the opportunity to earn some fine Spanish silver. Please step outside with me, and I will explain . . . in private.ʺ The drunken fool was eager to oblige.
Good. Soon he would have the crude American slavering at his bait.
The Creoleʹs prediction proved true. Soames rubbed his grimy hands together nervously as he looked up and down the deserted alley. ʺSo you want Quinn? I kinda got me a score to settle with him too.ʺ
Castal knew. He had heard about the manʹs partner, killed by the renegade along the trail. ʺQuinn was wanted for murder in New Orleans when Spain ruled there.
I wish to see justice done, but alas, Spanish law cannot touch him in New Mexicounless you can help me. I have heard rumors about his dealings with the Apacheonly rumors, of course.ʺ He had in fact spent the day dispatching all his trusted subordinates through the city in search of information about the absent Quinn. This malcontent was new to the renegadeʹs band of cutthroats and might talk more freely.
ʺI overheard some stuff on the trail about him goinʹ down the Camino Real, south.ʺ ʺAll his goods were sold here in Santa Fe by the savage who is his partner. Why would he continue down the trade route?ʺ
Soames shrugged. ʺI only heard he was headed south to meet someone outside Chihuahua City. Maybe Apaches? Look, if he knowed I was tellinʹ you, heʹd cut my throat. You could take a patrol and head after him. Lots of things can happen to a man ridinʹ along the road to Chihuahua. . . .ʺ He let his voice trail away, then added, ʺNow, what about that silver?ʺ
ʺAnd a lot of things can happen to a drunken man in a back alley of Santa Fe, too, amigo, ʺ Castal said as a thin Italian blade flashed in the darkness.
Jeffrey Soames slid to the ground with a surprised grunt. Castal kicked him over, face up, and checked to be certain the American was dead, then walked from the alley with swift, purposeful strides.
Chapter Twenty
El Camino Real, above Chihuahua City
Santiagoʹs eyes scanned the bleak horizon as his big bay plodded steadily south.
He would catch up with Joaquin in a couple of days if Strong Bowʹs reports were accurate. It would be good to see his brother again, but he was uncertain of how much he wanted to reveal about Elise. Joaquin and Orlenaʹs relationship had survived great treachery and adversity. But they loved each other. Did Elise love him?
He could still see the stricken look on her face when he had asked her to marry him. Had he been too swift to condemn her? That marriage had been an unhappy one. Perhaps she simply did not want the encumbrance of another, even less certain marriage. Or perhaps she did not want marriage with a man she believed to be a peniless renegade. ʺBetter not to dwell on it,ʺ he muttered to True Blood.
His thoughts shifted to his half‐brother. Joaquin rode as the Night Wind very rarely these days. This had been a special mission of mercy. He had raided the woolen mills at Encenillas where a whole band of Apache slaves had been forced to work under ghastly conditions. Just as the Night Wind had been, most of the slaves were children whose entire families had been slaughtered. Right now the raider was taking them to the old Franciscan, Fray Bartolomé. The priest ran a school in a hidden valley outside of Chihuahua City, where they would be cared for and educated. Hundreds of such children had been rescued from certain death over the years.
It had been nearly two years since Santiago last visited Fray Bartolomé, who had been his earliest teacher in New Spain. He was eager to see the old man again.
God and all His Saints knew he needed the peace that always seemed to surround the holy father.
Distractedly, he guided the bay past a prickly cluster of catʹs claw cactus. The desolation on this stretch of flat tableland had always amazed him, for not far ahead lay several fertile river valleys, filled with fruit trees and corn fields.
Santiago felt the vibrations before he saw the riders. A group of Spanish soldiers thundered down the trail behind him. Once he had made sure they were not Comanches or other bandidos, he felt no concern other than that his solitary reverie had been broken. But where were they going in such a hurry?
Surely they could not know where the Night Wind and his men were taking the children? Leathercoats would not ride this far to recapture a handful of mere slaves, but they would love to capture the famous raider known only as the Night Wind. A prickle of unease washed over him as they drew near. In the flat, open terrain there was nowhere to hide. When they crested the last low ridge, they had already sighted him.
Santiago reined in and watched their approach. The two men in the lead were a grizzled sergeant and his corporal, obviously seasoned presidial soldiers. He greeted them as they slowed their hard‐pressed mounts and drew up alongside him. Both men had their Brown Bess muskets in hand, although not trained on him. His glance moved from them to the lieutenant who approached now. The sun was behind his back, and his face was obscured by the brim of his flashy hat, definitely not regulation issue. There was something nigglingly familiar about the fellow, in spite of the layer of yellow dust coating what had once been an elegant uniform.
ʺI see you do not recognize me, Irishman,ʺ Raoul Castal said as he raised one hand, signaling his men to surround Quinn.
The instant he heard the mocking voice, Santiago reached for the pistols at his belt, but the sergeant had maneuvered behind him and raised his musket, jamming it into Quinnʹs back. Santiago raised his hands and looked into the dark, deadly eyes of his old foe. ʺSo, you still fear facing me man to man, Raoul.ʺ
He gestured to six soldiers who now all had weapons trained on him.
ʺDueling would only mean a swift death for you, Quinn.ʺ
ʺOr for youa chance you do not choose to take.ʺ
A nasty smile slashed Castalʹs handsome face. ʺIf I were to die, you would again go unpunished for my brotherʹs murder.ʺ
ʺIt was not murder, and I am not wanted for your trumped‐up charges in New Mexicoor even under American law in New Orleans now.ʺ
ʺA mere technicality. You are widely known to be a renegade, trading with the Apache. A serious crime in New Mexico.ʺ
ʺAnd you propose to see justice done?ʺ Even with no chance of escape, Santiago knew he must attempt to break away. He did not want to contemplate what horrors the vengeful Creole might visit on him if given the opportunity. ʺKill me and be damned, Castal,ʺ he yelled as he knocked the sergeantʹs Brown Bess up with one hand while leaning to his right on True Blood and kicking him into a headlong charge at the lieutenant.
Almost. He almost had the bastard. But a musket cracked against his skull, knocking him unconscious as his knife grazed Castalʹs gun arm, missing his throat. Then everything went black.
When Quinn awakened, he was tied on the bay, his hands bound in front of him and his legs strapped to the stirrup leathers. His head throbbed and his vision blurred as he struggled to straighten up from the slumped position. It was difficult because his hands had gone numb from the tight rope biting deeply into the flesh of his wrists.
ʺAh, I see you have rejoined us. Good. Now I can tell you what awaits you at journeyʹs end. Surely you did not think your rash attempt on my life would end with a merciful bullet in your back?ʺ
ʺAnother instant and I would have cut your throat, Castal,ʺ he said in a sandpaper voice, eyeing the oozing red bandage on the lieutenantʹs upper arm.
His tongue was swollen and his mouth as dry as the dust beneath their feet. He did not waste his breath asking for water.
Castal took a long drink from the wooden canteen on his saddle, then re
ached over and let the water trickle onto True Bloodʹs mane, just in front of Santiagoʹs face. ʺNot thirsty, eh?ʺ he asked mockingly when the renegade made no attempt to lean forward and catch the precious fluid. He laughed softly. ʹʹYou will be a great deal thirstier before we reach Santa Fe, but do not fear, I will give you enough water to keep you alive.ʺ
When Quinn would not answer, but only stared straight ahead, Castal continued his purring narration, watching for any betrayal of emotion. ʺI have special plans for you. Ever since I learned of your miraculous resurrection, I have been thinking of exactly how I wished you to die. . . . There is an old prison high on the hill to the north of the city. It was used to house Indian captives, but the last several governors have grown soft and no longer think it suitable, as your father did when he ruled here.ʺ
He smiled when he noted the faintest tightening of Quinnʹs jaw. ʺAh yes, your illustrious father was quite an inventive man. He had an iron box that he used for particularly recalcitrant prisoners . . . about the size of a coffin. If you think youʹre hot and thirsty now, renegade, wait until you spend a day with that iron cage surrounding you. I will light torches around it to aid the winter sun with its work. Your skin will shrivel and peel from your bones.ʺ
Remembering the horrors Conal had inflicted on Joaquin with that hideous sweat box, Santiago felt the churn of nausea deep in his gut. At least it is not my own father who will torture me.
But the malevolent presence of Conal Quinn hung over Santiago like a pall as they rode north, nearer and nearer the journeyʹs end. He wondered if Alencastre knew about Castalʹs actions. The governor might want him interrogated, but Alencastre would not approve of his lieutenantʹs methods. Useless. Castal would slip him into the deserted prison on the hill by dark of night and bring what was left of his prisoner to his superior when he was finished.
<><><><><><><><><><><><> Santa Fe ʺWhat by all thatʹs holy are you doing here?ʺ Samuel hugged Elise fiercely, then held her at armʹs length for the tongue‐lashing of her life. When he was ushered into this small chamber in the governorʹs palace, he had expected another interview with Alencastre or some subordinate, not to find his sister in this godforsaken place!
ʺIt is I who should be berating you! What an idiotic, stupid, dangerous thing you did. Youʹre a soldier, not a spy. Thank God you left the papers where only I would find them.ʺ
ʺYou were to give the information to Jeffersonʹs men. If I had even dreamed youʹd come yourself, I wouldʹve gone without leaving any word!ʺ
ʺThere was no time for that. I had to act at once,ʺ she answered.
ʺThere was no time for me to do anything else, either,ʺ he replied defensively.
Then he released her and combed his fingers through his hair in agitation. ʺAre you, too, under arrest? The governor is a hard man to convince.ʺ
ʺIʹm not certain. Heʹs allowed me the freedom of the city. Heʹs shrewd but fair, I think, and I believe that between us weʹll convince him of the presidentʹs sincerity. He has patrols out looking for Pike right now.ʺ
Samuel smiled ruefully. ʺHow well I know. One nearly caught us in a Pawnee camp before I could escape on my own.ʺ
ʺTell me everything you know about the expedition. Where are they now?ʺ
ʺNot so fast, my clever little sister,ʺ Samuel admonished.
ʺIʹm your elder sister,ʺ she corrected.
ʺBut still little to me,ʺ he said, pointing out the disparity between his six‐foot frame and her slender five feet, five inches. ʺLiza, I traveled that trail. Itʹs filled with savages and snakes. How on earth did you survive?ʺ
ʺThe savages were the least of my difficulties. The snakeswell, suffice it to say that if I lived through a rattlerʹs bite, Iʹm pretty hard to kill.ʺ
He paled, feeling guilt twist his gut for what he had put her through. ʺHow did you get here? Surely General Wilkinson didnʹt supply you with an escort?ʺ The latter question was as near levity as Samuel could manage at the moment.
ʺI hired a man,ʺ she said quietly. ʺA Spaniard who knows the trail well. He takes pack trains back and forth several times a year.ʺ
ʺDuring my brief time in St. Louis, the only man I had heard of fitting that description was a renegade, a half Irish cutthroat namedʺ
ʺSantiago Quinn. Yes, Samuel. And he proved a most resourceful guide.ʺ
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, noting the nervous way she would not meet his eyes. ʺLizaʺ
ʺIʹd rather not discuss Quinn.ʺ She interrupted with such finality that he sighed and threw up his hands as she commanded, ʺNow, tell me all about Lieutenant Pike. I must know everything. We are to dine with the governor this evening.ʺ
ʺPike is a worse disaster than a tornado,ʺ he replied sourly.
Her face took on a faraway look for an instant. Then it vanished. ʺI know firsthand how destructive the killer winds can be. Pray, continue.ʺ
The table was set with handsome linen and branched silver candlesticks.
Governor Alencastre had gone to some lengths to show hospitality to his captive guests. The spacious dining hall seemed to dwarf the three people as several Indian servants began to place steaming dishes heaped with spicy beef and fresh vegetables on the table.
After the wine had been poured, Alencastre raised his glass. ʺMay I propose a toast with our excellent wine, made right here in New Spain?ʺ
Elise and Samuel raised their glasses.
ʺTo a courageous sister and brother who have risked much in service to their country and the cause of peace.ʺ
ʺTo Spanish courtesy,ʺ Elise responded and they all drank.
ʺI take it you have decided our intentions are honorable then, your excellency?ʺ
Samuel inquired.
ʺHave you located Lieutenant Pike?ʺ Elise asked.
ʺNone of my patrols have found him yet. It is most peculiar, for if he had taken even a rather circuitous route, we should have located him by now. He seems to be quite lost.ʺ
Samuel made a polite snort. ʺI have never seen a worse navigator in my life. And to further complicate matters, even before I parted company with him he had made several side trips, sending his men off at great peril to their lives. He follows every small stream or mountain on the horizon. For a man who wishes to be caught, he is stupidly botching his own assignment.ʺ
ʺWe shall locate him, never fear. Although if we do not do so soon, snow will be flying in the mountains. As ill‐supplied as you say he is, I suspect it will go hard for his men.ʺ
Before Elise could ask the question hovering on the tip of her tongue, Alencastre closed off the discussion. ʺBut enough of the hapless Lieutenant Pike. I have some very good news for you. I have just received word that war between our nations will most likely be averted. Your ever‐resourceful General Wilkinson has decided to accede to his presidentʹs wishes. He has marched from Nachitoches to the Sabine and worked out an agreement with the Spanish forces there. If both sides hold their troops in check beyond the designated neutral ground, it will greatly ease tensions.ʺ
ʺNow that is news worth toasting,ʺ Samuel said with a grin, but his eyes caught Eliseʹs as all three raised their glasses in the salute. What did this mean regarding Wilkinsonʹs embroilment with the Mexican Association and the Spanish insurrectionists?
ʺYou will be most happy to learn that I am issuing you a safe passage home. As soon as an escort can be arranged, you will cut across Texas and reach New Orleans. I understand the weather there is lovely this time of year.ʺ
ʺA great deal better than it will be on the high plains,ʺ Samuel said.
ʺWe are most grateful, your excellency.ʺ Elise wanted to probe further about Alencastreʹs plans for Pike, but doubted that he would answer. Most likely the governor would imprison him. Thank God Iʹve secured Samuelʹs freedom!
Just then a knock sounded on the door, and an aide entered with a message for the governor. He scanned it and rose, making his apologies for leaving in the middle of dinner. ʺMost distressing news. Our Comanc
he allies have abducted the daughter of a very prominent Taos rancher who commands a sizable force of militia. I must leave at once to see if a full‐scale disaster can be avoided.
Lieutenant Castal will be in command while I am absent. Please do not hesitate to call on him if you require anything before I return.ʺ
Chapter Twenty‐One
ʺI donʹt like Lieutenant Castal being left in charge while Governor Alencastre is away,ʺ Elise said to Samuel. She stared out the window into the street below her room at the inn. The arrogant Creole had just ridden in from some mysterious patrol.
ʺHas he made improper overtures to you?ʺ her brother asked, instantly tensing.
She turned and smiled ruefully at him. ʺSuch a protective brother. Samuel, Iʹve been taking care of myself for years. I can easily turn any manʹs improper advances to my advantage.ʺ She chewed her lip worriedly, not certain how to explain the instincts she had developed over the years as a spy.
Something niggled at the back of her mindif only she could recall it. ʺI donʹt trust Castal. Heʹs more than a Spanish soldier on a frontier outpostin fact, his French is impeccable.ʺ
Samuel shrugged. ʺSo is Alencastreʹs. Thatʹs scarcely unusual for an educated man. Do you think Castal is involved in the filibuster with Wilkinson?ʺ
ʺItʹs not beyond the realm of possibility. The Mexican Association in New Orleans has wide‐ranging contacts all across New Spain.ʺ
ʺI think we can be certain Alencastre is honest,ʺ Samuel ventured.
ʺAll the more reason to be concerned that heʹs left us in Castalʹs care. I wish that escort for us had been arranged before the governor was summoned away. The sooner I shake the dust of New Mexico from my boots, the happier Iʹll be.ʺ
ʺLiza . . .ʺ Samuel groped for a way to ask the question that had been troubling him ever since he learned that his sister had crossed the prairie with a Spanish renegade. ʺYou said Quinn saved your life and took you to his familyʹs ranch to have his sister treat the snakebite. Now you canʹt wait to leave, even before heʹs returned to Santa Fe. Is Santiago Quinn the reason you never want to see New Mexico again?ʺ
