by Jeanne Rose
But neither tears nor sorrow would bring him back. Deciding he'd want her to go to the sale anyway, the only possibility for excitement in the near future, Louisa entered the back door of the house and smiled at Elena as she walked through the kitchen.
"I'm going out for a ride."
"When will you be back?" asked Elena, glancing up from the task of making tortillas.
A small, sharp-eyed woman with several children of her own, she was kind to Louisa but careful that the girl obeyed the rules set down by Belle.
Thank goodness, horseback rides had always been allowed. "I'll only be gone a couple of hours."
"Where are you going?"
Louisa waved casually. "Oh, that way." Though she wasn't about to mention her exact destination.
And before the housekeeper could ask more questions, she sped down the hallway and vaulted up the narrow staircase leading to the attic. The entire second story area was her domain. She'd placed her bed beneath a window so she could stare out at the surrounding mountains and straight up at the sky. And she piled clothing, saddles, books and other personal items wherever and whenever she wanted to, thus driving Elena and her mother to distraction.
Searching for her best boots now, Louisa threw aside a Navajo saddle blanket and looked behind the trunk she'd brought from Boston. The boots weren't there but she noticed the silver-clasped leather purse lying in the open trunk. In the confusion over the shooting and the funeral, she realized, her mother had forgotten to collect the refunded tuition money Louisa had carried all the way home.
Louisa opened the purse now and counted the money. How much would one of those blooded horses cost? Though she knew she ought to return the full amount to Belle, she was tempted to borrow a little. After all, she had no intention of going to another expensive girl's school but she could certainly use a spirited horse. She'd be willing to work for the loan – she could replaster and whitewash the house's interior walls, if nothing else.
Reassuring herself that she was not a thief, Louisa stuck the purse beneath her jacket, found the good boots and was out of the house in mere minutes. Avoiding Elena entirely, she ran out to the pasture and saddled Mancha.
They took the quickest route across town, then headed up the hill to the fort. The roads were busy, as were the grounds inside the great barricade. Men and horses milled about there, the crowd full of blue uniforms. For a moment, when a grizzled trooper stared hard at her as she tied Mancha to a hitching post outside the fort's gates, Louisa felt uncomfortable. But she forgot about being one of the few females present as she strolled about and concentrated on her purpose, finding a spirited horse.
Unfortunately, that goal seemed more and more unlikely as Louisa inspected the animals being sold, a mixture of aging beasts and big shaggy mounts that seemed to be at least half plough-horse. None of the horses struck her fancy until she had circled the grounds and headed back for the gates.
Then she saw him, a beautiful bay gelding with a fine head, great dark eyes and long, long legs. Unfortunately, the horse was also being inspected by a young caballero, no doubt the spoiled son of some Hidalgo family. Such wealthy young men always demanded good horseflesh beneath them.
The caballero, dressed in the traditional short jacket and tight leather pants trimmed with silver buttons, tried to open the gelding's mouth. The horse tossed his head and made as if to rear.
"Hey, watch out there!" The red-headed trooper holding him yanked on the rope fastened to the gelding's halter. "You don't have to check his teeth. He's got papers that say he's six years old."
"Still, I would like to see that for myself," said the caballero. "If he is so young, why do you sell him?"
"I ain't sure, this being Lieutenant Strong's animal." The trooper scratched his jaw. "But I believe it's 'cause he's a bit high-strung for cavalry work. This hoss threw Strong a coupla times."
The caballero waved the leaded end of the whip he was carrying in the gelding's face. Now the horse did rear as the soldier yanked and cursed.
"Too high-strung for soldiers, yes," said the young man with a laugh. The gelding continued to prance around. "But a fine horse for racing, for gallo."
Louisa tightened her jaw. Though she admired many qualities about Spanish men – their pride, passion and courage – she disliked the streak of cruelty that seemed to run through the more arrogant of them. Gallo was a sport in which a rooster was buried up to his neck in sand, then pulled out dead or alive by men racing by on horseback. The huge roweled spurs this rico wore with his high heeled boots didn't bode well for the bay. She'd hate to see them cut into the gelding's rippling coat. She simply had to put in her own bid.
"I'm interested in this horse, too," she told the trooper. "How much is he?"
The caballero turned, surprised. His glance raked over Louisa, taking in her split riding skirt and boots. "And what is this? A cowgirl?"
She raised her chin. "I want this horse."
"You are very determined," said the young man with a flash of white teeth.
His smile made him even better looking but Louisa wasn't distracted. She could flirt quite well when she wanted, but she knew too much about the ways of men with women to take it very seriously.
"Shall we roll some dice to see who gets to buy this horse?" she asked, knowing ricos loved to gamble. And the dice she was carrying, a treasure from Uncle Nate, always came up four. "Pick a number from one to twelve. Whoever's closest gets first dibs."
"Eight," said the young man.
"Five." Smiling, already tasting victory, she took the dice out of her pocket and started to shake them.
"What's going on here?"
Drat, it was a young officer! Golden blonde hair curled from beneath his dark hat and his fair skin glowed with a light tan.
The red-headed trooper saluted. "Lieutenant Strong."
Strong cleared his throat and saluted back, obviously trying to look stern and gruff. Which wasn't easy, considering he wasn't that much older than the caballero, twenty-one or two at the most. "We're selling stock here, not running a gambling parlor." He gazed from Louisa to her competitor. "Is she with you?"
Louisa felt insulted. As if she needed someone to hold her hand.
But the young Spaniard laughed and smiled flirtatiously at her. "She is not with me, at least not yet." He took off his sombrero and bowed slightly from the waist. "Eusebio Velarde y Pino, Senorita."
At least he was being polite. "Nice meeting you, Senor Velarde. Louisa Janks."
"So it's Louisa, is it?" Strong said. "And where might your parents be, young lady?"
"My parents have nothing to do with this. I'm the one interested in your spirited horse." She added, "I heard he threw you a couple of times."
That remark made both Velarde and the red-headed trooper laugh as Strong turned ruddy. Tall and slim, his posture very erect, the Lieutenant wore a clean, crisp-looking blue uniform with fancy gold epaulets and spotless tan gauntlet gloves. He obviously hadn't been on the dusty frontier for long. Furthermore, with his shiny boots, handsome square jaw and aquiline nose, Louisa thought he looked like a pretty tin soldier she'd once seen in a Boston toy store.
"The horse's behavior is not the most important issue here now." Strong tightened his nicely shaped mouth. "You are, young lady. If you are alone, you are asking for trouble. The fort is full of rough men."
What a priss! Louisa hated being lectured! "Thanks for the warning, but I don't need your protection. I can take care of myself."
"I believe she might be stronger than she looks, Senor Lieutenant," teased Velarde. "And I am sure she has a gun."
Strong ignored Velarde. "I shall be most happy to escort you through the gates, Louisa."
Now she was really getting upset! "You can't kick me out of here! I haven't done anything wrong." She glanced at the gelding. "And I want to buy this horse."
Strong didn't look impressed. "As you say, he's very spirited. Not the sort of mount for a young girl."
Louisa immediately
challenged, "I bet I can ride him better than you! And I won't even need a saddle and bridle."
"Come, let her try, Senor Lieutenant," put in Velarde. "If she can ride, the horse is hers. I was interested in the animal myself but I will gladly step aside."
Louisa could see that Strong wasn't happy but he was wavering. She added one last boast, "He won't throw me."
"Shall we place a wager on that, Senor Lieutenant?" asked Velarde.
"I told you this isn't a gambling parlor," Strong growled. But he took the rope from the trooper and offered to give Louisa a leg up. "All right, you've got your chance. But if you break your pretty neck, it won't be my fault."
She took a handful of black mane and mounted. Usually, she let a strange animal get used to her smell and her presence before she tried to control him. And she was perched so high! Glancing up at the sky, she wondered if there really was a Comanche horse spirit – if so, she hoped it was on her side.
Then she ordered Strong, "Make a loop with the rope and slide it around his lower jaw."
"You said you would ride him without a bridle."
"That's not a bridle."
He did as she asked and led the gelding outside the gates to an open piece of ground, a place where she wouldn't trample anybody. "His name is Defiant."
Defiant. A good name for a graceful, headstrong beast. The gelding took off at a fast canter when Strong let go of his halter, Louisa barely managing to guide him in a wide circle with the loop of rope. Luckily, the method taught her by an Indian friend was sufficient for that, if not strong enough to stop the horse when he was most rambunctious. Louisa clung to the animal, allowing herself to feel his rhythm through her legs, to become one with him. The wind flew by and she whispered soothing words. The horse listened, his ears pricking back. Then he slowed some, having a kinder nature than his name implied. Or perhaps he just liked her. Louisa smiled, knowing the gelding would probably be willing to stop when she pulled on the rope. Meantime, she waved to Velarde and Strong, who were standing at the gate watching. The Lieutenant looked annoyed. Good!
For she had won. The horse wasn't going to toss her off.
She didn't care what price the Lieutenant would ask. As far as she was concerned, Defiant was hers.
"A DEAD BODY!" screeched Minna Tucker once again as several men inspected the horrible remains her son had found near the old irrigation ditch right behind her house. "This is the work of the devil!"
"I'd say it was devilish all right," said a bearded man, holding back a branch of the juniper bush under which the body lay. "Seems to be murder."
"Murder! And near my home!" Minna couldn't help feeling as outraged as she was horrified. She pressed a handkerchief to her nose and leaned against Billie, thankful the eighteen-year old had been home to support his lonely, widowed mother.
The odor and flies had attracted Billie Tucker in the first place. He'd come running in to tell his ma immediately.
The bearded man clucked. "Somebody went and messed up this fellow's throat real bad."
Minna felt sick but she had to get a better look. Try as she might, though, all she could see were leather encased legs, discolored flesh and the remains of something blue, perhaps a shirt. Dried blood and black hair stuck to the fabric. A printed scarf lay on the sandy clay nearby.
"Is that a savage?" she asked suddenly.
"Believe it is an Injun, Ma'am," said the bearded man.
"An Indian?" Who'd managed to get himself killed near her house? "The filthy heathen!"
Behind them, more and more people were gathering from all parts of the neighborhood. Several women gave little cries. A man who said he was a doctor forced his way through. But it was far too late for doctors now.
Nevertheless, he knelt by the body. "Hmm, been dead for at least a week," he said finally, looking up at the bearded man. "You're saying this was murder? Not unless someone set a dog on this man. Only an animal could tear out a throat like that."
The crowd murmured and Minna stepped forward when she feared they were going to shut out her view. That's when she saw the hand print on the chest of the corpse. "What in God's heaven is that?"
The doctor was puzzled, too. "Seems to be a burn."
"A hand print burned into the flesh?" said a Mexican man with wide eyes. "Dios, a bruja!"
A witch! Even Minna knew the Spanish word. She took a shuddering breath. "Lord, protect us from Satan!"
The doctor stood up and faced the crowd. "Look, don't get yourselves all riled up. There's got to be a logical explanation. As I said, someone obviously set a dog on this Indian."
"Then why are there no paw prints?" asked the bearded man.
"After a week?" said the doctor.
The Mexican man pointed. "There's a print, a human one! I tell you it is a bruja! They can take the shape of an animal! They can even fly on the wind!"
"That's enough of that!" the doctor interrupted. He told the bearded man, "Somebody get the marshal. I'll help him make out a report."
"A witch!" muttered Minna, who believed in evil far more than she did doctor's opinions. She was truly afraid. "A servant of Satan!"
"Now, Ma." Billie patted her, trying to calm her down. The boy was a Godsend. "They'll take the body away and then you won't have to worry about it."
Walking back toward the house, they passed a blowsy, plump neighbor Minna particularly disliked.
"A witch?" repeated the woman, staring directly at Minna. "More likely this is the work of an insane, drunken woman who hates Indians. Don't deny you were three sheets to the wind more than one night last week, Minna Tucker. Why, I looked out my door and saw you raving in the street in your nightgown!"
"Liar! Sinner!" Minna screeched.
"Ma!" Billie led Minna forward whether she liked it or not. "Don't listen to them!" He pulled her toward the house. "That patent medicine makes you a little strange sometimes, that's all."
"You're a God-fearing, righteous boy, Billie."
She would never believe the horrible people who claimed her son smoked and drank and chased loose women.
Just as she would never admit how often she'd awakened mornings with the hem of her nightgown soiled and no memory of the night before.
CHAPTER SIX
DON ARMANDO DE ARGUELLO owned a spread that was something to see. Riding one of the northern roads down out of the mountains, Chaco took in the sprawling, traditional adobe house that lay in a narrow valley between rugged peaks. Cattle and sheep grazed in the meadow off to the west. Expansive adobe walls connected the house itself to stables, barns and numerous other outbuildings. The man was definitely rich.
So what did de Arguello want with a bastard son? Chaco wondered. Having received yet another hand-delivered letter at the hotel in Santa Fe, he'd decided to act on his promise to tell the old man off.
Several servants came running as he rode up. Carrying a rifle, one man asked him to identify himself, then accompanied him to the door. He wasn't packing a gun today, except for the one he'd placed in his saddlebags, but he supposed the rifleman had been told to be careful.
The house had thick aged walls and only a few high, narrow windows on the outside. About to knock, Chaco stared at the heavy wooden door instead, suddenly bothered by a strange and unpleasant feeling. It wasn't so much that he feared something bad was going to happen. He simply didn't like the atmosphere.
He pushed the feeling aside when a servant girl opened the door a crack, obviously having heard the approach of a visitor. "Si, Senor?"
"I'm here to see Don de Arguello." He showed her the last letter the man had sent with its distinctive signature. "He told me to come. I'm Chaco Jones."
She motioned him inside. "Please wait in the sala, Senor."
He glanced around the main hall that served as a reception room as she scurried away. De Arguello or his wife must have a taste for eastern goods, as several imported red velvet chairs sat among the traditional couches covered with Navajo blankets. And a long expensive mirror hung on on
e wall, reflecting the great fireplace across from it. Native-weave black and white checked rugs lay on the floor.
The girl returned, followed by an attractive woman whose narrowed gaze never left his face. "I am Dona Ynez, Don Armando's wife."
"I'm here to see your husband."
"And why is that?"
Her smile was cool and he sensed a hardness in her, unusual in a Spanish woman.
"Don Armando sent for me." Again, he showed the letter. "I came up from Santa Fe."
Dona Ynez's long fingers toyed with the fringe of the fancy black shawl she wore over her equally costly-looking silk dress. "I will tell my husband you wish to speak to him, but he is not well."
"Tell him. He'll see me."
He wasn't certain whether she was aware of his true identity. Perhaps she did know and didn't like it. Nevertheless, she left the room.
Good thing, for he wasn't leaving without having a few words with the old man. He'd been too angry after having receiving a second letter. De Arguello displayed the usual Hidalgo arrogance, thinking Chaco would drop everything and run to answer his call. He probably expected his bastard to sit up and beg for a few crumbs. Chaco had no intention of doing so. And he still hated the man for what he'd done to his mother.
Finally Ynez returned. "He will talk to you," she said curtly. "Come with me."
He followed as she swept out into the corridor which led past other rooms. Like most old adobe houses that belonged to the wealthy, this one cradled a central placita and was laid out every which way with connecting corridors and steps and doors that joined older sections with new additions.
He stared at Ynez's ramrod straight back. Don de Arguello had obviously married a second time, since she was much younger than the wife his mother had mentioned. He thought she might be around thirty-five, his own age. Ynez was of the same Hidalgo stock as her husband, though, and her proud bearing showed that more clearly than her rich clothing.
Upon turning a corner, climbing two steps and passing an open door that led out into the placita, Ynez halted and motioned to a set of double doors up ahead. "Don Armando awaits you there."
