The Valiant Women

by Jeanne Williams

  She went into his arms. He gave her a lover’s kiss, sighed and turned toward the door. As he stepped inside, his face was a rigid mask darkened by shadows, but the candlelight doubled the blaze of his golden eyes.

  “So you’re here, Señor Frost, Señor Scalp Hunter.” Santiago’s voice rasped like a snake in dead leaves. “I do not have to hunt you, then.” He came forward, a Bowie in his hand. “Don Patrick, you must learn how our partner bribed officials into accepting that I was a bandit and condemning me to slave labor in the mines. Six years of it!”

  Shea stood as thunderstruck as Talitha, who had followed Santiago inside. Frost had risen. A little smile played about his lips though his revolver was hung by the door.

  “I would have died long ago, my partner,” went on Santiago, yellow eyes fixed on him, “if I hadn’t endured in order to kill you. You didn’t need to taunt me by saying you were with the scalp hunters who destroyed the ranch of the Cantús!”

  “One of those scalp hunters?” Shea choked.

  Santiago’s lips parted tightly over his teeth. “And one of those who killed Tjúni’s people! The only one who escaped her arrows and those of Doña Socorro.”

  “I heard the Yaquis in your region were rebelling,” said Frost conversationally. “I wondered if you might be among the convicts they freed. But then I was sure the overseers would have finished you years ago.”

  “The Yaquis freed and fed me till I was strong again.” Santiago shifted the knife. The light streamed off it in a point of trembling fire. “Go outside, Talitha,” he said. “You must not see this. Don Patrick, give him a knife.”

  Frost held out his hand as if to receive a weapon, but in a twinkling, there was a puff of smoke. He held a small gun that must have been up his sleeve.

  A hole appeared between Santiago’s eyes. He took a staggering leap forward, crashed to the floor. Both Shea and Frost made for the guns by the door, but Frost was closer. Grabbing his revolver, he clicked the hammer on the empty, and fired the second cartridge as Shea snatched down a rifle.

  Spun halfway around by the shot’s impact, Shea fell, bleeding from the shoulder. Talitha reached for his rifle but Frost caught her arm, wrenched her forward.

  “Listen, partner,” he told Shea. “Don’t follow me, you or your men, and I’ll leave the girl safe at some ranch. She dies if you come after us.”

  Sweat stood out on Shea’s face. “You hurt her and I’ll find you even if you’re in hell!”

  “You’ll try that anyway, won’t you, for the sake of your friend?” Frost nudged Santiago’s body with the toe of his elegant boot. “No, all I need’s a few days’ start. If you wish to track me, then, on the Devil’s Road, the best of luck to you!”

  As Belen ran in, Chuey and Rodolfo behind him, Frost held the revolver to Talitha’s ear. Under this threat, he made Chuey securely tie the other vaqueros and then marched him down to saddle horses. When this was done, Frost’s bedroll and canteens secured, Chuey was compelled to tie Talitha in the saddle. Then Frost crashed the revolver down on the vaquero’s head.

  “Let’s ride,” he said to Talitha.

  Mounting, he took Ceniza’s reins. They moved swiftly into the dark night.

  She must be dreaming. Santiago dead? Shea bleeding? The man in front of her a scalp hunter? But it was no nightmare. Rawhide bit into her wrists though Chuey had tried to tie her loosely. Tied to either stirrup, her ankles chafed.

  Shea was wounded in the shoulder, but unless it gangrened he wouldn’t die from that. Santiago’s wound looked fatal. And all these years of his slavery, everyone had believed him happily married and forgetful of his old friends. Rage at that and his cruel, sudden death warmed Talitha.

  “The dragoons will be after you,” she cried above the sound of the horses. “And we’ve a Justice to hang you here; you won’t have a chance to get away on the road to Mesilla!”

  “That red-headed Irish surgeon can look after Shea, but no one’s coming after me till they know you’re safe.”

  “So long as you’re taken, I don’t care what happens to me.”

  “Don’t you, my dear? We’ll see about that!” He laughed softly. “I’ll leave you at some ranch as I said I would, but I’ll be back for you when circumstances are less pressing.”

  “Shea will trail and kill you if the dragoons don’t.”

  “Good luck to him, if he can,” said Frost airily. “Whatever happens, before I leave you this time, I’m going to have you, Talitha.” He laughed at her involuntary sharp intake of breath. “You may decide you’d like to come with me.”

  For a moment she thought of feigning, pretending willingness till he relaxed and gave her a try at a weapon, but her horror of him was so great that she knew she couldn’t deceive him. She nerved herself to seize any glimmer of opportunity, though.

  If he got his head start into the fierce country of the Camino del Diablo, he might never be found.

  Marc Revier, unsuspecting, would give him provisions, and from Fort Yuma he could go overland to California or take a boat down the Colorado to the Gulf. Or he could go south on the Devil’s Road and lose himself in Mexico. There was every good chance that he’d get away unless she could stop him.

  How?

  Assessing matters, she decided she’d just have to act quickly if any chance came.

  Her thoughts kept going back to Shea. Thank goodness, John Irwin was good at probing and he’d do his best for Shea. But she wished she could have helped.

  And Santiago … If only he could have been back with them awhile, if the bitterness of his captivity could have been a little forgotten among his friends, if he could have known Cat and enjoyed the twins! There’d be none of that now. But at least she had kissed him.

  “The gun you used on Santiago,” she said slowly. “It’s very small.”

  “But, as you’ve seen, it kills. Mr. Henry Deringer of Philadelphia made this one. No good for distance, but effective across a card table or a bed.”

  “Do you still have your scalping knife?”

  “What a lurid mind you have! I never scalped anyone. Left it to the others.” He chuckled. “Fair money while it lasted.”

  “I hope they remember to tell Tjúni about you! If word about you gets around the Papagos, there won’t be anything left for Shea or the dragoons!”

  He said, strangely, “You hate me so much that taking you should be exquisite pleasure.”

  They rode in silence after that, past the hotel, Findlay’s ranch, Calabazas, barked at by dogs, but unchallenged. He let her drink once and relieve herself but stayed beside her.

  Going west from the river, Frost led Ceniza onward, into the mountains. Night changed to gray light, the east began to flush, fingers of dark cloud kindled and the sun hurled itself above the mountains.

  “This is far enough,” Frost said.

  He turned to her with a smile.

  XXX

  He took her, grinding her body between his and the blanket tossed on the sand of a dry wash. Talitha was glad of the pain which kept her from thinking. She fought him savagely but he only laughed, pinioned her arms more cruelly and kept himself locked inside her wildly threshing body.

  Then as something gripped him, as he swore, moaning, holding her as he drove sledgingly for his release, she knew beneath her shock and dread that there must be for him, after this, a moment of rest, a time of recovery.

  How could she use it?

  She didn’t know where the little gun was, but the revolver should have several more cartridges in it, perhaps even four. It lay on his trousers a few yards away.

  Talitha endured the hurtful thrusts, waiting. His rhythm faltered. “Fight me, damn you!” he gritted. “Fight me!”

  The brutal hardness inside her was softening. This man had not had his fulfillment—could not, she realized with bitter triumph, unless she gave him her struggles.

  She laughed softly, tauntingly, but couldn’t afford to enjoy his humiliation if she wanted to seize that moment he would be
disarmed by gratified lust.

  It wasn’t hard to battle him. She tried to bite his wrists that clamped her arms, writhed and twisted, and as she did her best to unseat him, yielding to her hatred, she restored his weapon and he pierced her with it, thrusting with mounting need till he cried out, shuddered and collapsed on her.

  His weight pinned her. He lay like one dead. She felt smothered by his breath, drenched by his slime. To give him his pleasure and then not be able to take advantage of his slackening! She could have wept.

  She searched the area she could see with her uncovered eye, but there was nothing with which to attack him. Then his exhaustion was over. He raised on an elbow to caress her body, smiling as she set her teeth and managed not to flinch from his cold deft hands.

  “You suit me well,” he said. His fingers touched her throat, gently, absentmindedly pressured. “Lucky for you to have kept virgin. Otherwise, I’d cut your throat. I claimed you for myself when you were a child. I’ll be back for you.”

  “Yes, come!” she spat at him. “Come so they can kill you!”

  He laughed and took her again. This time her battling wasn’t calculated. It was a despairing frantic attempt to be free of him. The end came quickly. Again his weight made it impossible to move with stealth.

  “I wish I could keep you with me another day but you might not be able then to get back to safety—and I want you safe, Talitha, until I come after you.”

  Hurt, battered, she opened her eyes and wished her hate could blast him dead. “I can get over this. It was something you did, not my fault. But I’ll never live with you. I’d rather die.”

  “I think I can change your mind when the time comes.” He handed her his canteen again. “Sorry I can’t feed you but I’m short on rations. Follow this wash, my dear. It’ll bring you to the Kitchen ranch and Doña Rosa will fuss and feed you while old Pete swears and gets up a crowd to chase me! Put on your clothes and start walking.”

  “You’re keeping my horse?”

  “Just long enough to trade it for food and whatever loot I can get. Don’t want you reaching Kitchen’s too fast.”

  She threw the canteen at him, ducked and reached for the gun. Her fingers almost closed on it before he kicked it away, numbing her hand where his boot grazed it. Scooping up the heavy revolver, he held it while he pulled on his trousers.

  “No more tricks, my sweet, or I’ll tie you up and you can just lie here hoping your friends find you before some bandit or Apache does!”

  There was nothing she could do but put on her clothes. A little way down the wash, she turned to look at him. “I hope you do come back,” she said. “I want to kill you!”

  “You won’t do that, love. You’d hate for Shea to join Santiago.” His soft mocking laughter echoed in her ears as she made her aching despoiled body move along the dry watercourse.

  He’s hurt me, she thought. Forced himself inside me where only the man I love should have gone. But I can wash away the blood. The pain will go. It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t cause it. It was like being struck by lightning or dropped on by a wildcat. It is a wound like any other. I won’t let it fester and turn me sick. No. What matters is that Santiago is dead. I must hurry so the men can go after Frost!

  Kilting up her skirts, she ran. When she was gasping, she walked, and when she had her breath, she ran again.

  Grain and other crops greened the rich bottom land overlooked by Kitchen’s fortified house on a hill, with a small graveyard beneath it. As Talitha approached, the watchman on the parapet shouted and in what seemed a twinkling, Indians materialized from fields and the direction of the buildings, enclosing her as Kitchen himself came out, squinting till he recognized her.

  “Miss Scott! The Apaches get you?”

  Shaking her head, she gasped out what had happened except for what Frost had done to her. Doña Rosa hurried to her, made her come inside and gave her strong coffee.

  “I’ll send a couple of my Opatas to tell Mr. O’Shea you’re safe,” said Kitchen. “But I’ll get after that scoundrel with my best trackers. He won’t have more than a six-hour start. A couple of my men know that Devil’s Road pretty well. We should take him.”

  “Shouldn’t you send to Fort Buchanan?” Talitha asked.

  “Can’t hurt though by the time they get in action, Frost will be caught or gone for good. Might as well alert our constable, too.” Kitchen eyed her keenly. “Want a drink of mescal, girl? You look all done in.”

  “If I could just rest a little … And would you have your men watch out for my horse? She’s sort of a creamy gray.”

  “Don’t you worry, you won’t have to walk home!” he assured her, giving her hand a rough pat.

  He strode off to see to the expedition. At once, a wooden tub appeared and half a dozen girls of all ages trooped to it with buckets and gourds of water, hot and cold, while others went on with their carding, sewing and spinning.

  “My nieces,” smiled Doña Rosa. “They make our home happy and help me with the work.” She sprinkled a handful of mint in the water, put out a bar of soap, and arranged a screen so Talitha could bathe in privacy. “We’ll wash your clothes,” she said, draping a clean cotton skirt and blouse over the screen. “Wear these till your things dry.”

  If she noticed there were no bleeding cuts on Talitha while there was blood on her clothing, she was too wise and kind a woman to force confidences.

  The hot herb bath took away all of Frost’s smell and much of Talitha’s soreness. Dressed in her borrowed clothes, she wasn’t hungry when she first sat down to the meal Doña Rosa urged on her, but the tantalizing smell of bacon lured her to begin and she was soon relishing it along with fried potatoes, a delicacy she’d never tasted except at Poston’s last Christmas party, since Shea flatly refused to have potatoes grown at Socorro.

  “I’ll have their taste in my mouth when I die,” he’d said when John Irwin mentioned they did well in the region. “Treacherous they are, too. I still smell them rotting in the ground while my mother starved to death.”

  There was peach conserve, crusty bread and a spicy, refreshing herb tea. When Talitha could eat no more, one of the nieces took her to a room with several beds. Talitha lay down on one and slept so quickly and so soundly that she later was sure that Doña Rosa had given her a sleeping draught.

  She didn’t wake till twilight. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, or even who she was, but her senses were reclaimed abruptly by herself when she knew Shea’s voice, recognized it before she could have given her own name.

  He shouldn’t be riding yet! Sitting up, she tensed against the bruised ache between her legs, put on her sandals and hurried through the hall to the sala.

  Shea started to rise at sight of her, but she pushed him back. Beneath his shirt, his shoulder was bandaged and his arm hung in a sling. Scanning her, he saw a clean, rested young woman and visibly relaxed.

  “I hoped Frost would leave you here, lass, but how glad I was to know you were safe!”

  “You ought to be home in bed!” she scolded. “Is your arm hurt, too?”

  “No, the sling’s just to keep it from flapping around and aggravating the shoulder. John Irwin says I’m lucky the shot missed the socket.” In spite of his grin, he was pallid. “Belen’s with me. Can’t track in the dark but we’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “Shea, Mr. Kitchen and six of his men have gone after Frost. They left about noon. If they don’t find him, you can’t! And you shouldn’t be jostling that wound!”

  “There’ll be dragoons after him, too, but that doesn’t mean he’s not my job.” Shea’s eyes smoldered with blue fire. “Frost killed my friend after making him a slave. All that might never have happened if I hadn’t thought Frost was such a fine fellow. No, Tally, I’m going after Frost. I intend to kill him.”

  No use arguing. Talitha only hoped Kitchen’s men had already caught up with Frost and that by the time Shea reached them, there’d be nothing left for him to do.

&n
bsp; An Opata had brought in Talitha’s horse. Escorted by two of Kitchen’s most trusted men, Talitha left for home next morning shortly after Shea and Belen rode west.

  Santiago was already buried, up on the hill beside Socorro. Trudging up there with Caterina and the twins, Talitha planted wild flowers on the grave and hoped that Socorro had met his spirit and taken him into that unknown world.

  Two of the four who had started Rancho del Socorro lay under its earth and Tjúni was gone to her own portion. It must make Shea feel lonely. Talitha knelt, arms encircling Cat and the boys, and seemed to feel, in the sun and gentle breeze, the feel of Socorro’s hand, the loving in her smile.

  Be with Santiago. Please be with us.

  Though no one had said so, Talitha had believed for some time that Socorro had been raped by those Areneños who killed her father. It hadn’t blighted her, though. Rising, Talitha felt comforted by her foster mother.

  I’ll do my best for your children, she promised. Just as you did for James and me. And please understand about Shea. I would never have loved him like this if you hadn’t had to go away. You were his miracle, his only one.

  John Irwin was vastly relieved to find Talitha at home when he rode over from Fort Buchanan that night. “I wanted the worst way to go with Shea or the search party,” he said, holding her hands as if afraid she’d vanish. “But I had several people who were close to dying and I couldn’t leave them.”

  He swore when he learned that Shea had gone in pursuit of Frost, then tried belatedly to hide his concern. “He’s a tough Irishman, Talitha. May take his shoulder longer to heal than if he’d been sensible, but he’ll be all right.” Still holding one of her hands, he let out a gusty breath. “When I heard that blackguard had carried you off, I thought I’d go crazy! Hope Kitchen’s already caught up with him and hung him!”

  He didn’t stay long after that, saying he had to look in on some patients but would come over a week from Sunday if he could. She had to send for him earlier, for ten days after her abduction, Marc Revier and Belen brought Shea home, delirious and fevered.