Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror

by Jeanne Rose

  "Wanta cup of kick-mule coffee before you start?" Chaco asked, seemingly aware of Sam's own fatigue.

  "Not a bad idea."

  He'd been up most of the night himself trying to find a good tracker. He'd settled for a Jicarilla Apache who worked for the Army. Major Anderson had recommended the man and had offered other soldiers. Sam had said he'd do better without a bunch of uniforms scaring off people who might otherwise held them. He didn't admit his personal interest.

  Chaco led him into the kitchen of the adobe ranch house and poured them both mugs of steaming liquid from the coffeepot. "Could even fill up a canteen for you to take along if you want."

  "Sounds good. When it's empty, we can use the canteen for water." In dry desert country, one could never have too many. "I hope the tracker will be able to locate springs when we need them." When they were too far from a town or a ranch's wells.

  "That map I gave you will help."

  A crude chart on which Chaco had marked water holes he remembered from the past. As a gunfighter, he'd worked for clients as far south as Texas and northern Mexico.

  Sam observed the other man closely. Though he was trying to keep his face emotionless, Chaco's tight mouth and sad eyes revealed his worry for Louisa.

  "You have to take care of your little girl," Sam told him. "And your wife. I understand. Louisa will understand, too."

  Chaco stared down into his mug. "I know what life can hold for a breed. She's been like a younger sister to me. If Amelia gets better in a few days, if Adolpho is available, we could set out after you."

  "Do as you think best. In a few days, I plan to have found them."

  And have gotten Louisa back safe and sound if he had to die for her. Which would be ironic, since after so many years, Louisa Janks was the reason he finally wanted to live.

  The Sierra Madre, Mexico

  "THE GODS WILL LIVE!" shouted Beaufort Montgomery to his crowd of followers. "They will make their full presence known in the world again! Tonight we shall feast to that!"

  A cheer went up in the steep-sided barranca, a canyon where they'd found the hidden pyramid just as Beaufort had predicted. Surrounded by the isolation of dry, rugged mountains, most of the structure had been buried, appearing as a huge mound covered with soil, rocks and scrubby desert plants. It had taken more than thirty of his fifty-some disciples to unearth an upper tier of the stone building.

  But unearth it they had and if there had been any doubters before, there were none now. He blessed the day so long ago when he'd purchased the ancient Aztec codex, then found the medallion and deciphered its inscription. He'd known he'd been touched by divine intelligence then – and divine presence had begun to possess him, to help him shed his attachment to his former base human life by showing him the true glory of death and pain. At least the Civil War's horrific battles had served some purpose.

  His followers scurried about, building fires, carrying water from spring-fed wells near the pyramid, choosing a steer from the herd they'd brought across the desert plateau between the east and west ranges of the Sierra Madre. Of course, the animal would be killed in the correct sacrificial manner before they roasted its flesh.

  But first the ground needed to be consecrated with human blood...

  Realizing that the peasants were not aware that they needed further personal commitment, Beaufort climbed to the top of the pyramid and shouted for attention. A hush fell over the assemblage.

  "Respect for the gods! Fall to your knees!" And as they did so, he went on, "Those of you who have knives, prick your skin, let the blood fall onto the earth. Then pass the knives on to the next person!"

  Some looked frightened.

  To reassure them, he took out the long, sharp needle he'd been carrying in the folds of his robe. Holding it aloft, he muttered a blessing in Nahuatl and plunged it upward through the bottom of his tongue. An ah-h-h came from the audience as he brought the needle completely through, along with the cord with which it was threaded. When he had finished, he held the needle aloft again. Blood spattered his robe but he'd hardly felt any pain.

  "Blood for Quetzalcoatl! He is willing to shed his for you! Give your blood to him!"

  Already his disciples were following suit, pricking their arms or hands, sometimes their faces. Like him, the truly devout would find that their wounds healed quickly. As for those with less faith, they would take their chances with infection. Beaufort/Quetzalcoatl wasn't concerned – if such people died so ignobly, they simply weren't brave enough to live.

  West Texas

  LOUISA QUESTIONED HER OWN bravery when the Mexicans holding her hostage emerged from a dry river bed and surprised several cowboys working with some cattle. She wasn't sure who shot first but her mouth was dry with fear as Tezco dragged her off Defiant and shoved her back down the river bank.

  She crawled up again to peek through the tall, weedy grasses just in time to see one cowboy riding off hell bent for leather and a second shot right out of his saddle. Horses milled and bullets continued to fly from the guns of the Mexicans and two cowboys who'd been left behind on foot. A yelp sent a chill through her. Someone had been shot. Vastly outnumbered, the last man raised his hands and surrendered his gun.

  Louisa climbed on up the bank as the band swarmed around their newest captive. They tied his hands and lifted the other cowboy to his feet. The man had been shot in the shoulder. One of the Mexicans had been wounded as well, had taken a bullet in the thigh. But Tezco, the band's leader, seemed more unhappy over the stranger who'd fallen from his saddle.

  After squatting to examine the body, the handsome Mexican shouted, "He is dead!" His face flushed with anger. "We are thieves, not murderers!"

  One of his men shrugged. "They shot first."

  "There was no choice in the matter, brother." Voice cold, Xosi approached Tezco. "And better them than us."

  Louisa had learned that Xosi was female and Tezco's sister on the very first night they'd ridden away from El Tigre's corral. The striking-looking woman was temperamental and obviously disliked her. Every evening before the band retired, Xosi sat near the camp fire, smoking one cigarillo after another and glaring daggers at Louisa. Once she had even expressed outright hatred when Tezco wasn't looking. Louisa tried to stay out of her way.

  Which wasn't easy, considering they were all traveling and camping together. Sometimes Louisa day-dreamed about hanging Xosi and Tezco to tall trees...after she'd first strung up Sam Strong, of course.

  At least the gun battle had made Louisa forget about her angry, obsessive musings. Real death lay on the plains. Glancing back at the fallen cowboy as they rode away, she swallowed the big lump in her throat.

  They rode onward at a fast pace, despite carrying the wounded and driving a steer. Tezco spurred his own mount, leading Defiant and grumbling about the Texas Rangers he feared would now be on their trail.

  Louisa only wished the Texas Rangers would find them. From the beginning, she'd hoped someone would come after her. That Sam would remedy the situation he had created. But after days of travel, she hadn't sighted a soul. Today, in West Texas, a figure on horseback would be easy to spot. The neverending, dry brown prairie rolled to the horizon beneath a sky that seemed even huger than New Mexico's.

  Louisa spent most of her waking hours fighting fatigue and discomfort as the sun blazed down on them. And they rarely stopped to rest, choosing to chew on jerky and stale tortillas instead of taking noonday meals. To keep her mind off heat and sore muscles, she played mental games, visualizing every sort of escape. When she had run out of ideas, she conjured schemes of revenge, with torturing Sam Strong her favorite. Such anger stopped her from recalling any lovemaking, any tender moments they'd shared.

  For she didn't want to feel sorrow, which would weaken her. She wanted cold fury and keen craftiness as her saddle-mates.

  But today, Louisa nearly drifted off in the hot afternoon sun. Only some lusty shouts from the bandits awakened her in time to keep her from falling off her mount. Dislodged
hat hanging from her neck by its string, she gaped at the mountain range rising straight ahead, the gray-brown peaks like iron fists punching up through the prairie into the sky.

  Tezco turned in his saddle. "We will be camping early tonight, near a spring. There will be fresh water and grass for the horses."

  Good. Poor Defiant. Though he had been traveling pretty well, thanks to the good care she'd always given him, the aging gelding had lost weight. She prayed against his growing sick or unsound – if the bandits forced her to abandon him in some desert, she knew she'd fall into a mad rage, what Mexicans called "having the coraje," and would fight her captors tooth and nail until they had to kill her.

  The weary party made their way up a faint trail leading into the foothills. Reaching the higher elevation, they zigzagged through piles of rocks, skirted the edge of a sheer drop, and entered a long, stony passageway that finally opened into a narrow canyon. There the vegetation grew thick and green, in contrast with the sparse pickings they'd passed so far.

  As the band halted, Louisa heard a sweet musical sound – water rippling – and saw a thin spray trickling down a tiered wall of rock perhaps three hundred feet high. At the bottom was a dark pool about a hundred feet in diameter, draining into a creek that flowed for only a few dozen yards before it was swallowed up by the thirsty soil. Spring-fed, the place was an oasis that would keep some plants green all year round.

  Again there were whoops from the bandits, who slid off their horses to fill their sombreros with water. Tezco dismounted and helped Louisa down so Defiant could join the other horses for a long drink. Then the animals began munching the long grass that sprouted everywhere, even between rocks.

  Louisa held out her hands for Tezco to undo the leather cords binding her wrists, a luxury granted for a few hours once the band stopped for the night.

  "You may wander freely this evening," he told her. "You cannot escape. This canyon has only two entrances and I am posting a guard at each. Tomorrow we shall make our way along a mountain trail leading down to the Rio Grande."

  The Rio Grande. Once they entered the wilds of Mexico, Louisa would have an even more difficult time getting away. She refused to let her hopes sink, though, refused to believe she was doomed to be a bandit's plaything.

  Distressed, she walked away, indicating she had personal needs to take care of. Tezco let her go, as usual treating her with more deference than she'd expected. He hadn't tried to rape her, at least not yet. Thinking on that, she put a few yards between herself and the camping area, gazing closely at her surroundings. Sumac bushes and masses of cockleburs grew among grasses and low-growing oaks. Some of the plants poked their heads out of deep crevices. Perhaps there would be smaller canyon offshoots along tomorrow's trail. If she were lucky and could find a hiding place, she might be able to disappear.

  At the moment, though, hunger would soon beckon her back to camp. Having butchered the steer and started a fire, the bandits were roasting beef for the evening meal. Meanwhile, a man was tending to the wounded, including the cowboy they'd captured. Now they had four male captives. Louisa had long ago noticed the two Pueblos being held by the band – the missing men Magdalena had spoken of. She could understand Tezco carrying off a woman but why would bandits want captives?

  Puzzling on that, she cringed when one of the wounded men screamed. No wonder. She knew the bullets were being dug out with a heated knife. Cauterization might help the wounds to heal but certain herbs would be better. Glancing back at the cockleburs, Louisa remembered Magdalena showing her how the plant's prickly pods could be opened, the seeds within crushed as a treatment for abrasions and wounds.

  Well, much as she thought she'd like to hang a few people, she hated letting anyone suffer terrible pain. When Tezco approached, no doubt to see what she was up to, she asked, "Do you have a pair of gloves I can borrow?"

  He raised his brows. "Gloves?"

  "I want to pick some cockleburs – the seeds inside can be used to treat the men's wounds."

  "Are you a bruja?"

  Would it frighten him to think she was? She hoped so. "I know something about medicinal plants."

  To her disappointment, he didn't seem concerned. "Wait here." He returned to the campfire area and came back with a piece of soft leather and a small wooden bowl. "I will help you with these plants."

  "I don't need any help."

  But he shadowed her anyway, following her even further from the camp, standing far too close and watching as she pulled several barbed, sticky burrs off their dried stalks to deposit them in the bowl.

  "Is it the captured vaquero you wish to treat or my man?"

  Removing one burr from its two foot stalk, she noticed a stand of smelly neighboring plants known as jimson or locoweed. Her pulse picked up. "I intend to treat both."

  Tezco laughed softly. "You are so kind? So selfless?"

  "Not everyone is a kidnapper and a thief."

  Though she wondered if she should try her luck as a poisoner. If she managed to pluck some prickly fruit from the jimsonweed, then somehow mix a little of its juice into the spicy beans they ate every day, the bandits could get very sick.

  "Not every thief is evil," Tezco told her.

  "Oh, sure, I bet you're a regular Mexican Robin Hood."

  "Who is this Robin Hood?" Tezco came up behind her, plucking the bowl from her fingers and tossing it to one side. Then he pressed her against him. "If you are kind to some man, querida, I want him to be me."

  Surprised and uncomfortable, she pushed against his chest and gazed longingly at the jimsonweed. "Let go."

  "Must I anchor your arms against your sides?" he asked, struggling with her and looking annoyed as he did so.

  His muscles were like bands of steel. Louisa caught her breath as he angled his head to kiss her. She tried to turn her face away. "Leave me alone!" As angry as she was with Sam, he was the only man she would ever kiss willingly.

  "Querida, lovely one," Tezco said reprovingly. "Do not fight me so. You will like it."

  His lips covered hers with practiced mastery. One strong hand holding her wrists, he slid the other up and down her spine so that her back curved and her breasts flattened against his chest. Murmuring endearments, he rocked his hips so that she'd feel the hard proof of his desire.

  Now he was going to rape her, Louisa thought with despair. Desperate, barely thinking, she panicked, poked a leg between his and shoved her knee hard into his groin.

  Tezco grunted and bent over double.

  Giving her a chance to run.

  Her heart pounded as she flew along. She hadn't the slightest idea of where she was going, except that it was away from Tezco and the camp. Burrs tore at her trousers. A weed-shrouded rock tripped her. She went down hard.

  As she struggled to her feet again, her path was blocked.

  Eyes narrowed, a glittering knife in her hand, Xosi sneered. "At last, I shall carve you up like a chicken. You will not be pretty anymore when I finish with you, puta...whore! You should have been grateful that my brother deigned to look at you!"

  When she lunged, Louisa feinted, knowing the jealous woman truly intended to kill her. She dropped into a defensive crouch, watching Xosi's knife hand, knowing she had to be quick enough to grab the other woman's wrist.

  If she failed...

  Louisa's biggest regret was that she would never see Sam Strong again, much less get even with him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "I WILL MAKE YOU PAY for the problems you have caused!" Xosi shouted and launched herself at Louisa.

  Eyes on the knife, Louisa caught hold of the other woman's wrist as they hit the ground together. Xosi screamed with rage and rolled, taking Louisa with her, fighting to free her knife hand. The Mexican woman was strong but Louisa somehow managed to hold on.

  And a crowd of bandits gathered, whistling and shouting encouragement.

  One man even laughed as he called out, "Scratch and bite, gatas! Ai-ee!"

  Not amused, Louisa kicked at Xosi
, finally knocking the woman away from her. The knife flew out of the Mexican's hand. Louisa jumped for the weapon, but Xosi was quicker. Rolling to her feet, Tezco's sister once again attacked, the vicious blade aimed at Louisa's middle. Louisa feinted, whipped around and slammed Xosi in the back with closed fist. Screeching, Xosi stumbled and nearly fell.

  Louisa went for a rock, only to have Xosi charge, knocking her to the ground a second time. Forced to concentrate once again on avoiding the knife blade, Louisa held onto the woman's wrist and gritted her teeth as Xosi tried to bite, kick and pull hair. Blind with rage, she shoved Xosi backward and punched her in the face.

  Blood streamed from the Mexican woman's nose as she scrambled to her feet. Before Louisa could rise as well, Xosi threw a handful of sandy dirt in her face. Temporarily blinded, Louisa desperately tried to clear her eyes...only to see the knife plunging down toward her...

  "Stop! Now!"

  The knife hovered in midair, inches from its target, then withdrew as a recovered Tezco pulled the kicking, swearing Xosi away. Holding his sister firmly around the middle, he tore the knife from her grasp and let her screech to high heaven.

  Then he yelled at the gathered bandits, "Go back to the campfire! This is not a spectacle for your amusement!"

  Grumbling, the men moved away and Xosi finally settled down. But as her brother released her, she glared at Louisa. "How can you protect this...this puta!"

  "She is not your worry," Tezco said firmly.

  "But she should be yours. There will be hell to pay because of her. She is nothing but trouble!"

  Tezco remained silent and Xosi stomped away.

  Louisa struggled to her feet and dusted some of the grime off her clothing, keeping her gaze lowered. From the frying pan into the fire. Who knew what the man would do to punish her for hurting him?

  No matter that she'd only been trying to protect herself.

  But he now acted as if nothing had happened and suggested they walk back to the camp. Passing the spot where he'd tossed the wooden bowl, he stooped to gather up the scattered burrs.