by Anne Mather
‘I know what a mercenary is,’ exclaimed Alexandra shortly. ‘I didn’t know that. When was this?’
‘Oh, some years ago, I think.’
‘Before he met my father?’
‘Excuse me, I do not know of your father,’ said Manuel doubtfully. ‘But this was some—fifteen years ago, I think.’
‘But he must only have been twenty or twenty-one at that time!’ she protested.
‘So? A man is a man. Whether he is twenty-one or fifty-one, he can still fight.’
Alexandra urged the chestnut ahead, digesting this without enjoyment. Her father had had no love of mercenaries, seeing them as heartless fortune-hunters, merciless killers, without even the saving grace of patriotism to excuse their bloodlust. Of course, her father had been an idealist, and any kind of violence was anathema to him. But nevertheless she felt there was some truth in what he said.
‘So…’ Manuel came alongside her again. ‘Does that relieve your mind?’
‘Not really.’ Alexandra moved her shoulders doubtfully, but not wanting to discuss her feelings with him, she changed the subject. ‘Tell me, when will you decide whether or not you’re going to take that job in Brazil?’
They rode every day that week, sometimes with Miss Holland, sometimes not, and Alexandra began to look forward to their outings. Manuel was a much more entertaining companion than his father had been, but perhaps that was because he was younger—and he flattered her. She knew he did, and while she accepted that his compliments were outrageous, it was good to feel that at least he found her attractive. Her relationship with Jason remained as ambiguous as ever. Because of his apparent indifference to her association with Manuel, he never referred to it, and those infrequent occasions when weakness made her try to heal the gulf between them brought a curt response. Yet, in spite of his attitude towards her, and the distasteful knowledge that he had made the money to buy San Gabriel out of other men’s suffering, she was still as infatuated with him as ever. It was useless trying to pretend otherwise. Manuel was only a stopgap, someone to divert her thoughts from the blacker moods that came to claim her, but she had no desire for him to make love to her. They were good friends, and she was grateful for his friendship, but only Jason could ‘set her aflame’, a phrase she no longer had any difficulty in understanding. She dreaded Estelita’s reappearance with all the agony jealousy could evoke, but so far there had been no word as to when she would return.
The mountain lion was still eluding capture, which curtailed the scope of their expeditions, and in spite of what Manuel had told her, Alexandra still fretted about Jason’s safety. A diet of fictional adventures had alerted her to the dangers of an unexpected encounter, and she was always relieved when she heard him come home in the evening.
One morning, Manuel didn’t arrive at his usual time. Alexandra, hot from helping Miss Holland clear out the salon, had been down to the river to dip her hands in the cooling water, and Chan’s appearance on her return warned her that something was wrong.
‘Manuel will not be coming today, señorita,’ he told her apologetically. ‘His father—he has need of him. They are fencing the western boundary, and he asks that you will excuse him.’
Alexandra let her shoulders sag. ‘I see.’
‘I am sorry, señorita.’ And he obviously was, his olive-skinned face mirroring his regret. ‘But you understand, his work must come first.’
‘Of course.’ Alexandra tried not to let the cook see how disappointed she really was. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow.’
At this, Chan looked discomfited, however. ‘Maybe not,’ he volunteered awkwardly. ‘The patron—he said it might take—several days.’
‘The patron did?’ Alexandra’s lips tightened. She might have known Jason had had some hand in this. What was wrong? Did he think she and Manuel were getting too close? Did he think it was time to call a halt to their relationship? Was he afraid she might corrupt one of his innocent gauchos?
She was so hurt and angry, she had to turn her face away from Chan so that he should not see the tears of frustration in her eyes. Fencing the western boundary! she thought bitterly. As if he hadn’t enough men to handle that sort of work!
Watching Chan hurrying back to the bunkhouse, Alexandra felt a surge of indignation. So her outings were over for the time being, were they? When would they be started again? she wondered. When Jason considered that a suitable time had elapsed? Or when they killed the mountain lion and Ricardo could be recruited again?
It was so unfair, she thought moodily, scuffing her toe against a pebble. She and Manuel hadn’t done anything wrong. They hadn’t ridden into the mountains, or behaved irresponsibly. At least, Manuel hadn’t, she conceded, remembering that first occasion when she had tumbled off the horse’s back. Still, even Miss Holland had been favourably impressed by Manuel’s politeness, and his courtesy to her as the older woman, and there was no reason why Jason should have taken it into his head to spoil their friendship.
Glancing back towards the house, Alexandra felt unsettled and restless. The idea of spending the morning sunning herself on the verandah had no appeal, and she looked longingly towards the stables. Jave had already saddled the mare in readiness for her departure, and now she would have to go and tell him she was not riding after all. Or would she?
Pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she pulled a mutinous face. Why should she miss the outing just because Manuel wasn’t here to accompany her? She knew the trails they followed as well as he did, and so long as she didn’t stray off the beaten track…
She took a couple of steps towards the house to tell Miss Holland she was leaving, and then hesitated. She guessed without a shadow of a doubt, that the older woman would forbid her to go out alone, and unless she disobeyed her, all ideas of independence would be shattered. And why should she tell her, after all? She was behaving like the child she was constantly accused of being. Miss Holland didn’t expect her back until eleven. There was no reason why she should even discover that Manuel had not gone with her.
Only Jave put up some opposition to her intention of riding off alone. ‘A donde va usted?’ he exclaimed anxiously, looking round for the young man who usually accompanied her. ‘Donde está Manuel?’
‘It’s all right, Jave,’ exclaimed Alexandra, speaking in his language with careful precision. ‘I—er—I’m meeting him by the river.’
‘Qué?’ Jave was not entirely convinced, but when he let go of the bridle, Alexandra didn’t wait to enter into any argument. With a wave of her hand she cantered out of the yard, leaving the old man to stare after her with evident misgivings.
The river had subsided considerably from the flood there had been after the storm. Now it was possible to cross at a shallower point Manuel had shown her, her feet splashing in the cool water as the mare waded almost shoulder-deep. On the far bank, there were clumps of poppies and dog daisies, and some of the sweet-smelling verbena that Miss Holland put to good use in the house. The grass was deeper here, and the few cattle that grazed nearby paid little attention to her. Urging the chestnut up the gentle incline towards the few stunted bushes that bordered the trail worn by generations of hooves, Alexandra decided she quite liked the feeling that being alone gave her. She even permitted a few strains of a favourite tune to pass her lips, and a gurgle of excitement welled up inside her.
The trail wound between outcrops of granite and the skeletal ribs of trees that struggled to survive in the rocky subsoil. Far away to her right, the ridges of the higher plateau beckoned, but she had more sense than to give in to any adventurous impulses. The last thing she wanted was for Jason to discover what she had been doing. It would give her such a feeling of superiority, knowing she had outwitted him at last.
Then her shoulders sagged. That wasn’t strictly true. She didn’t really want to outwit him at all. Yet she knew she was not likely to claim his attention any other way. Only by defeating him at his own game was she likely to sustain any feeling of self-respect.
Determinedly, she turned her thoughts to less disruptive matters. The previous evening Jason and Ricardo had been talking about the yearly round-up of the mares and their foals, and she had listened intently, wishing she might join them on the trail. But there would be no question of that, she knew. Jason would never trust her—or himself, she conceded dourly, realising that the intimacies of such a trip were such as he would want to avoid at all costs.
Depressed, she turned her head, and as she did so, she caught her breath. Standing on the track behind her, not ten yards away, was the black stallion. Her absorption in her thoughts had been such that she had not heard the drumming of his hooves, but now he had halted, nervously alert, aware of an intruder in his domain.
‘Oh, you beauty!’ breathed Alexandra huskily, rising slowly to her feet, and as she did so, the horse shifted sideways, its ears flattening against its head. ‘Steady!’ she whispered, half to herself as her fingers left the supporting warmth of the rock. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
The chestnut had lifted her head, and the stallion snorted, an arrogant sound, that echoed around the rocky slopes. Alexandra guessed it was the mare’s scent he had followed, and she smiled as she considered what his thoughts must be at that moment. The mare made a protesting sound then, but as if sensing that here was one conquest he was not about to make, he turned, and with a whinny of annoyance, disappeared as abruptly as on those other occasions when she had seen him.
Hardly aware that she had been holding her breath, Alexandra allowed it to escape in a disappointed sigh. Just for a moment he had seemed to be responding to her tentative overtures, but then, with characteristic capriciousness, he had shown her exactly what he thought of her puny efforts.
Flopping back on to her rock, she plucked irritably at a blade of grass, catching it between her teeth, and chewing hard. Ricardo had said the horse was proud, and he was right. What were his exact words? As proud as Lucifer! She grimaced. Who could say for certain that Lucifer was proud? There wasn’t much pride in being thrown out of heaven, was there? A fallen angel! She half smiled, as her irritation dispersed. That was what she would call him: Fallen Angel. It was a title that fitted someone else she could mention…
The clatter of the mare’s hooves on the stony track broke into her reverie. Jumping up in dismay, she saw that somehow the animal had broken loose from the bushes, and was presently making off along the track that the stallion had taken.
‘Hey! You!’ she yelled angrily, but the mare was far too intent on following the stallion’s scent to pay any serious attention to her. ‘Come back!’ she commanded, but there was a futility to the words she uttered, and all of a sudden the idea of being alone had lost its charm.
It was miles back to the hacienda, and the thought of walking all that way filled her with alarm. Her shoes were strong and serviceable, but they were not boots, and Manuel had warned her often enough of the snakes that could still be found in the valley. Besides, the idea of crossing the river and getting soaked to the skin did not appeal to her, particularly as she could imagine Miss Holland’s reactions if she came back dripping with water.
Even so, the idea of going after the mare was also a doubtful one. She had not forgotten the reason why Jason had forbidden them to ride into the canyons, and she would be courting disaster if she went on foot.
The sun, which until a few minutes ago had been deliciously warm on her shoulders, was suddenly uncomfortably hot, and not quite sure what she ought to do, she walked tentatively up to the point where she had seen the stallion. The clouds of dust still hanging in the air indicated clearly which way the mare had gone, and with a feeling of apprehension, Alexandra started after her. There was always the possibility that she might be waiting just around the bend in the trail, and remembering the lushness of some of the gullies, Alexandra quickened her step.
There was a grassy canyon, just beyond the ridge, and Alexandra thought she would never cease to marvel at the wonders of nature. Within this wall of rock and sandy topsoil was a green oasis, where a tumbling waterfall pointed the way to a sun-dappled pool. A pool…
Alexandra’s tongue appeared momentarily to moisten her upper lip. How she longed to dip her face into its dark depths, and relieve the dryness of her throat with its pristine coolness. In her delight at finding the pool, she almost forgot her anxiety over losing the mare, but even though she looked all round there was no sign of her.
Time ceased to be of importance. She was going to be late anyway, so why worry over the few extra minutes it would take to scramble down the side of the ravine? If the mare was thwarted in her search for a mate, she might come back, and besides she was so thirsty…
The sides of the ravine were steeper than she had thought, and without the mare’s sure-footed steps to guide her she slipped and slid most of the way on the seat of her pants. But at last she was standing beside the pool, stretching her hands into the falls, and it was only as she saw the scarlet stains colouring the water that she realised her palms were torn and bleeding. Pulling them back, she stared at them in dismay. They were a mass of cuts and abrasions, and they stung unbearably when the numbing influence of the water was withdrawn.
Turning her head, she gazed up the slope that she had just descended. With the first real twinges of panic, she wondered however she was going to climb back again. The sight of her hands had knocked her sick, and to imagine groping and grasping for holds on that scratchy face would be a daunting prospect at any time.
Ordering herself to remain calm, she made a careful survey of her position. She was standing just below the head of the ravine, where the pool formed a natural basin to catch the falls. Beyond, the waters spilled into a pebbly gully and ran away down the ravine, no doubt reaching the river in due course. The river…
Her heart quickened its beat. Of course, that was the answer. Sooner or later, the stream must reach the river, and water did not flow uphill. The distances involved no longer mattered. Just so long as she didn’t have to use her hands to save herself.
If only she had brought some food with her, she thought unhappily. A bar of chocolate, or some fruit. Anything to ease the nauseous emptiness inside her, which was made more acute by her anxiety over the amount of blood she was losing. One of the cuts was quite deep, and although she bound it with her handkerchief, it still persisted in seeping through.
It was a little after noon when she reached the end of the ravine. The sun shimmering overhead had made mirages of the solid wall of rock that confronted her, and the pass she had expected to find was merely a dark chasm into which the bubbling waters of the stream disappeared.
She stared aghast at that narrow cleft, slippery with moss and overhung with creepers, realising that even if she could squeeze herself inside, she would be blind to the dangers within. She had no way of knowing what passage the stream would take through the rock. No surety of being able to make her way back again should the cleft become too narrow for her. This was a box canyon, a perfect spot for an ambush, and exactly the kind of place Jason had warned them to avoid.
She was tempted then to sit down and weep. It had taken over an hour to get this far and now to find it had all been wasted effort was almost too much. She looked down at her hands. They were trembling, but that was hardly surprising considering her whole body was quivering with exhaustion. Her handkerchief was soaked with blood, and on impulse she bent down and rinsed it in the sparkling wat
er, wincing as she squeezed it out. At least, the cut looked clean, she thought ruefully, realising the amount of blood she had lost had disinfected the flesh, but it was still oozing, and she wished she had something dry to wind around it.
Hunched beside the stream, she felt the unfamiliar pangs of self-pity engulfing her. What if she couldn’t make it back to the trail? she fretted. How would anyone know where to look for her? She scarcely noticed her acceptance of the fact that someone would have to come looking for her, and even the thought that it might be Jason no longer had any fears for her. But this area was honeycombed with canyons, Ricardo had told her that, and if they couldn’t find the mountain lion, why should they have any more success with her?
A cold chill descended on her at this realisation. For the past hour or so, she had been so intent on discovering the way out of the ravine, she had almost forgotten why Jason had forbidden them to ride in the mountains. Now she glanced round apprehensively, half afraid she had inadvertently found the jaguar’s lair.
But she was alone. Behind her the slopes of the ravine mocked the descent she had just made, its rugged contours shifting and shimmering in the noonday heat. She couldn’t even see the waterfall from here, and her legs ached at the prospect of the walk ahead of her. It was no use delaying any longer, she realised. She was getting weaker all the time she was without food and although her hands had stopped bleeding, somehow she had to get out of this canyon before the sun set.
Stumbling and sometimes falling, she began the gentle ascent to the head of the ravine, stopping every now and then to rinse her handkerchief in the stream. She made slow progress, and all that kept her going was the knowledge that Miss Holland would be desperately worried about her. Jason might not yet know of her disappearance, and she guessed Miss Holland might mount a search party without telling him. She had not betrayed her before when she fell from her horse, and she knew as well as anyone that Alexandra would want to avoid his censure. She made a silent promise that if she came out of this alive, she would never disobey Miss Holland again.
