by Jack Higgins
The barrel of the rifle didn’t even flicker and Jurado’s face might have been carved from stone. I don’t know how it would have gone, but the situation was solved for us by a new arrival.
A voice called, ‘Jurado, you fool, what are you doing?’
A young woman cantered over the rise and came towards us. She was booted and spurred like a man, wore Spanish riding breeches in black leather, a white silk shirt open at the neck and a Cordoban hat tilted forward to shade the pale, oval face from the sun.
‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded and struck at the barrel of Jurado’s rifle, knocking it askew.
‘Strangers,’ he said gruffly. ‘Trespassers.’
‘Señora, allow me to introduce myself and my companion.’ Janos stood up and managed a slight bow. He had style, whatever else you could say about him. ‘My name is Paul Janos representing the Herrera Mining Company and this is Señor Emmet Keogh, a mining engineer. I am here at the express invitation of Don Angel de la Plata and yet for some obscure reason, this man chose to fire on us.’
The girl’s face was suddenly contorted with rage, her arm swept up and the leather thong at the end of her riding whip slashed across Jurado’s face.
‘Animal!’ she cried. ‘What are you trying to do?’
He got an arm up to defend himself. ‘I had my orders, señorita.’
‘Orders?’ she spat the word out as if she didn’t like the taste. ‘I give the orders here, not my brother. Now get out of my sight and take my horse with you.’
She swung to the ground and flung the reins at him in a single swift movement. For a moment, I thought he would argue and then his hand went to the brim of his sombrero and he turned and cantered away, taking her horse with him, his companions following behind.
The girl removed her hat and I realized at once that she was older than she had at first appeared. At least thirty, with a skin so pale that it was almost transluscent and great, dark eyes that seemed to contain all the tragedy in the world.
‘Chela de la Plata at your orders, señores,’ she said. ‘If you will permit me to ride with you, I will guide you to my father’s house.’
There was a whole complex of stabling and out-buildings of one sort or another, most of which looked to be in a general state of decay. The hacienda itself lay beyond them, a line of cypress trees behind it. It was built in the old colonial style in weathered brown stone, single storeyed and colonnaded at the front.
When I stopped the Mercedes at the foot of the broad flight of stone steps, the first thing I noticed were the bullet scars in the pillars and the wall beyond. There had been hard fighting here at one time, so much was evident.
We followed Chela de la Plata up the steps and entered a cool, dark entrance hall with the heads of several bulls mounted on the walls. The great oaken door she opened on the left could also boast a bullet scar or two, but the room was truly delightful. Heavy, eighteenth-century Spanish furniture in black oak, a floor of polished pine with here and there a bright splash of colour from an Indian rug and a great stone fireplace which at the moment contained no fire.
‘I will bring my father to you, señores. Please wait here,’ she said and went out.
‘They must have lived in style at one time,’ Janos said and he sank into a tapestry-covered armchair and looked about him admiringly.
I went to the great window at the far end and looked out. Beyond, there was a garden surrounded by stone walls. Once it must have been quite spectacular, but now it was greatly decayed. One of the saddest things in the world, a garden in decline.
The door clicked open and Chela entered pushing a wheelchair. The occupant was a frail, sick looking man with grey hair so long that it almost reached his shoulders. The face bore no resemblance to hers at all for it was long and rather bony with moist brown eyes that seemed to look out at the world in wonder and dismay. He had a rug around his legs and looked, not to put too fine a point on it, not long for this world.
‘My father, Don Angel de la Plata, señores.’
He extended a limp hand to Janos. ‘Señor Janos? I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive your letter. Delighted. Everything is ready for you. I have had men working at the mine for some weeks now. Some weeks. I am certain you will find things more than satisfactory.’
He rambled on in this fashion pausing barely long enough to allow Janos to introduce me and repeated himself constantly, delivering all this in a sharp, querulous old woman’s voice that didn’t sound healthy at all.
She managed to stop him long enough to make the point that a meal was about to be served in another room. I pushed the wheelchair for her and she led the way out into the hall and through to the rear of the building where a table had been set on a terrace overlooking the overgrown garden.
We were served by two Indian women with dark, sullen faces who never said a word, but appeared and disappeared as required.
There was claret in what I can only describe as quantity, tumblers of the stuff, not wine-glasses. Each time mine was empty, one of the Indian women filled it again. The food was plain and wholesome and in immense quantities. Typical back-country ranch fare. Frijoles with plenty of chile. Fried steaks that were as big as the plate and the finest goat’s cheese I have ever tasted. The old man plucked at his food and ate nothing. In fact he even managed to stop speaking, leaving the girl to carry the conversation alone.
‘You had a reasonable trip from Huila?’ she inquired.
‘Quite excellent,’ Janos told her. ‘Of course, the automobile makes a great difference. The priest was most impressed, was he not, Keogh?’
‘Priest?’ she said blankly.
‘We found him in Huila trying to arrange transport to Mojada. A Father van Horne, an American. He has been assigned to this parish, I understand. We left him at the church which was, I must say, in a remarkable state.’
‘Yes, it would be.’ She was frowning deeply. ‘Señor, I would like very much to accompany you back to Mojada to speak with this man. Do you mind?’
‘Our pleasure, señorita.’ He coughed. ‘There is, however, just one slight snag. We were told at the hotel that it would be impossible to accommodate us.’
She said calmly. ‘I will speak to Moreno, the proprietor; there will be no difficulty.’
‘And when do we get to see the mine, señorita?’ I asked.
‘I think perhaps in the morning if that would suit you. It is about three miles from here. I would think it impossible for your automobile to negotiate the track, but if you would not mind a buckboard, señor?’ she said to Janos.
He bowed slightly. ‘At your service, señorita. There is just one thing.’
‘And that is?’
He cleared his throat awkwardly, giving what I had to admit was a most excellent performance. ‘To be frank with you, señorita, I was approached by the military governor for the area in Huila, a Colonel Bonilla and advised against coming. He seemed to think my associate and I would be in danger of our lives.’
‘There is no such danger,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Colonel Bonilla is not in full possession of the facts.’
‘Señorita,’ he said patiently. ‘You must excuse me for pressing the point, but it was suggested to me that your brother, who is, I understand, unfortunately at odds with the authorities, might interfere in our business.’
‘I am in charge here, señor, in my father’s name.’ She stood up. ‘My brother holds no sway here. I will return directly and we can then leave if this is convenient to you.’
She went out and I glanced inquiringly at Janos. He shook his head slightly and proceeded to light a cigar.
The old man, who had been sitting in silence for so long, glanced up suddenly, glared malevolently at both of us and shrieked, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
We both stood up slowly and behind us, the door opened and Chela de la Plata returned. The old man started to swear monotonously and with considerable obscenity. She held the door wide for us and we walked
out.
We left her to it and went out to the Mercedes. As I handed Janos into the rear seat, he said out of the side of his mouth, a fixed smile on his face, ‘And why didn’t Bonilla mention that little item?’
Exactly what I had been thinking myself, but we were prevented from continuing the conversation by the arrival of Chela, still dressed for riding.
She got into the front passenger seat and smiled brightly. ‘When you are ready, señor.’
Just like that without even an attempt at an explanation but as I drove away it was Bonilla I was thinking about and his obviously deliberate omission of the important point that Don Angel de la Plata was as mad as a hatter. Now why was that?
8
Smoke drifted into the late afternoon air in a dense cloud as we approached the village.
‘Something seems to be burning,’ Janos said calmly. ‘I hope it isn’t the church.’
Chela de la Plata said in a low, desperate voice, ‘Hurry, señor, I implore you.’
But the church was still standing as we went over the rise and got a clear look at the village below and the smoke seemed to be coming from the other side of the bell tower.
Thirty or forty people were standing in a wide semicircle, silently watching as we drew up. There was a splintering crash from inside the church and van Horne emerged from the porch. He was stripped to the waist and carried a couple of planks on his shoulder.
‘Spring-cleaning, father?’ I called as we approached.
He grinned. ‘Something like that.’
I followed him round to the rear of the building and discovered a sizeable fire. He hurled the planks into the centre of it and turned.
‘I’ve salvaged what I could. Some of the benches are still intact. What the place will need after this is a damn good scrub and a coat of whitewash.’
‘You look as if you’re enjoying yourself.’ He ignored the remark and I added quickly, ‘I’ll give you the story on de la Plata later. We’ve got his daughter with us.’
He looked beyond my shoulder and smiled. ‘Good afternoon, señorita.’
When I turned she was standing a short distance away watching. Janos shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his walking stick. ‘Hot work, father. Allow me to introduce Señorita de la Plata. Señorita, this is Father van Horne whom we brought from Huila with us.’
Chela de la Plata came forward with a rush, ignoring us completely, directly confronting van Horne. Her face was very white now, the eyes like great dark holes. ‘You cannot stay here, father, you must not. They must surely have warned you.’
‘Of a great many things, señorita.’ He smiled gently. ‘My place is here, now, it can be no other way. You must surely realize that.’
‘They murder priests here, father,’ she cried violently. ‘They will see no reason to treat you differently and I am in this thing. I am involved without wishing to be, have no choice in the matter. And I am tired, father, tired of the burden of it.’
Van Horne responded to the undoubted agony in her voice in a quite astonishing way. He took one of her hands gently in his and smoothed the hair back from her brow with the other. His face was grave, his voice firm and kind.
‘This is not on you, child, this business. Not any of it. Do you understand me?’
She gazed up at him in wonderment and then tightened her grip on his hand so much that her knuckles whitened. She closed her eyes momentarily and a great, shuddering sigh slipped from her mouth.
When she opened her eyes again, much of the strain seemed to have left her face. ‘They will not help you, father, they have much fear.’
‘I know.’
‘Of my brother,’ she said flatly. ‘Who hates all things that live.’
He smiled and gently disengaged her hand. ‘Go with God now, señorita. I have work to do. Perhaps when things are more in order here you will come and see me again?’
She walked away back towards the car. I looked at van Horne with a frown, but he ignored me, picked up a plank and put it on the fire. By now he had completely lost me and I turned and went back to the Mercedes. Chela de la Plata ran past me, back to van Horne and I helped Janos into the rear seat of the car and put a foot on the running-board.
‘What do you think?’ I asked him.
‘A remarkable performance. I think he almost believed it himself.’
‘But what if he did, or at least, began to?’
Janos chuckled hoarsely. ‘By God, sir, that would be ironic.’
Something of an understatement, but I was unable to take it further for Chela returned at that precise moment, van Horne at her side.
‘I have asked Father van Horne to visit the hacienda tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I should like him to meet my father. Perhaps you gentlemen would be good enough to bring him with you?’
‘A pleasure to serve you, señorita,’ Janos said. ‘This must have been a pleasant little church once.’
‘Over two hundred years old,’ she said. ‘Dedicated originally to the Blessed Martin de Porres. He was always greatly reverenced in these parts. He had an Indian mother, you know.’
‘So I believe,’ I said. ‘Father van Horne was telling us about him only yesterday. In fact he has a rather interesting image of the saint in his possession.’
Van Horne was frowning, for some reason that at the time I did not fully comprehend, although I realize now that he must have seen more than coincidence in the turn events had taken. ‘This church is dedicated to St Martin de Porres?’
‘But surely you must have known that, father?’ She appeared to hesitate. ‘This image you have with you. Could I see it?’
‘But of course.’ He glanced at us, taking her by the arm. ‘If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind waiting?’
They went inside and Janos said, ‘Now what do you make of that?’
‘I know one thing,’ I told him. ‘She’s well and truly hooked.’
‘Precisely, which cannot but be to our advantage. He has a way with him, our friend.’
‘He’ll have her confessing to him next.’
He paused in the act of slicing the end off a cigar with a small silver penknife. ‘And this offends you?’
‘Shouldn’t it?’
‘He came here to play a part. You now appear to be jibing at the fact that he’s playing it so well.’
Which was fair enough and yet the strange, illogical coldness that I felt in the pit of my stomach would not go away for I had a feeling that events were already taking a completely different course from any considered by us at the beginning of things.
When they emerged into the sunlight again, van Horne looked serious and grave and Chela de la Plata very pale. He put a hand on her shoulder and blessed her, then went back inside.
‘You found the image pleasing, señorita?’ Janos inquired as we drove away.
But she didn’t answer him, had not even heard as far as I could judge, and stared straight ahead of her into space, seeing only that which was locked fast in the secret mind of her.
When we reached the hotel, she seemed to have recovered herself and went up the steps briskly, her spurs jangling. Moreno was behind the bar clearing glasses and came round to greet her rather uncertainly, drying his hands on a cloth.
‘At your orders, señorita.’
‘These gentlemen are here on my father’s business, Rafael. Two days, perhaps three. Your best rooms will be sufficient.’
There was the same look of horror on his face as when he had first seen van Horne. ‘But, señorita,’ he whispered, ‘how can I do this thing. It is not permitted.’
‘Tell me, my friend,’ she said coldly. ‘Who owns this place?’
‘Why, your father, señorita.’
‘Then your choice is simple. Either you do as I say or I will have you on the street, bag and baggage. You would like this?’
He fluttered helplessly, a fly in the web. ‘My wife, as the señorita knows, is in no condition …’
‘Exactly.’ There was a ruthless streak in
this one a mile wide. ‘My decision, not yours, Rafael. No harm will come to you.’
He collapsed completely. ‘Very well, señorita, on your head be it.’
She turned, a slight, pale smile of triumph on her face. I think that was the first time that it occurred to me that she and her brother must be alike in a great many ways.
We left our baggage for Moreno to take up to the rooms, but didn’t bother to inspect them for there was Chela de la Plata to be taken back to the hacienda.
For most of the way, she said absolutely nothing and then, with about half a mile to go, she said suddenly, ‘You may find the mine rather primitive by your standards, Señor Keogh. It is many years since it was properly worked. I trust you will make allowances.’
‘As long as there is silver there in economic quantities, señorita, that is the only important thing. Equipment is something we can always bring in.’
‘Of course.’ She leaned back in the seat and said, with an abrupt change of course, ‘Father van Horne is a remarkable man, don’t you agree?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know him well enough to make that kind of judgment. But he looks the kind of man who could survive most things.’
‘As do you, señor.’ She touched the silver amulet around my neck briefly. ‘A strange thing for a man like you to wear. May I ask where you acquired it?’
‘A gift,’ I said. ‘From a good friend.’
Her eyebrows went up, she seemed to withdraw from me if I can put it so, but in this they were all the same, pure blood or mestizo, they despised the Indian. In some way, I suppose, she looked upon me as contaminated.
‘Did I detect a sudden frost?’ Janos inquired as I took the Mercedes back along the track.
I turned, touching the amulet briefly. ‘My impression is that I’ve let the side down.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘In Texas or Arizona they would call you squaw-man and ride you out of town on a rail, one of the more civilized contributions that great nation has made to Western culture. Would you enjoy living in the Wind River country, Keogh?’
