The driver, who looked like one of the men who had lingered around the gate at the rancho, looked over his shoulder and nodded. Devon waved and rode ahead.
He took a fork to the right, a less-worn path than the road he had been on. Again he could see mountains in the distance while rises in the ground cut off objects a quarter- or half-mile away. So it was that when he looked off to the side for a moment and then brought his gaze back to the trail, he saw a rider on a brown horse ahead at the crest of a slope. The posture, the hat, and the vest were all familiar, and as Devon drew closer, he could make out the grinning effigy of a saddle horn.
He rode straight ahead on the trail, and when he came within fifty yards he saw that Alfonso was wearing a pistol and had tucked his gloves into the gunbelt. With the reins held in the crook of his left little finger, he was rolling a cigarette with tobacco grains and a cornhusk.
Devon edged off the trail and drew up about five yards away from the foreman. “Buenos días,” he said.
Alfonso returned the greeting, knocking the edges off the b and the d.
“I’m on my way to the old church. I hope there’s not a problem”
The foreman pushed his lips out and shook his head. Then he popped a match, lit his cigarette, shook out the match, and held it. “Not at all. The master just likes to know who is on his land and for what purpose.”
Devon inferred that he was to give an account of himself. “I just came from town. I passed a wagon that had twenty sacks of grain, it looked like, and I turned to come this way.”
Alfonso shrugged, as if it wouldn’t have occurred to him to ask a personal question.
“And I’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary except a dead snake.”
An eyebrow lifted. “That’s normal, too. If one knows the country, he sees a great many snakes, dead and alive.”
“I’m always careful around them.”
“That’s the best.” Alfonso dropped the dead match on the ground.
Devon touched the brim of his hat. “Very well. I’ll be on my way. Until later.”
Alfonso shifted in the saddle and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Until later.”
Left to himself at the church ruins, Devon sifted his thoughts. Public opinion seemed to have settled into a common idea, but to no real effect, and even if Don Felipe was making a good show of being nonchalant and stonewalling any suspicions, he had not brought everything under his control. There was a chink somewhere, or he wouldn’t have his foreman out spying.
Devon poked around, going from one scene in the ruins to another without finding anything to absorb his attention for more than a halfhearted sketch. Time and again he drifted to the window opening where Petra habitually appeared, but all he saw was the dry plains. Although he couldn’t define why, he felt that she was the key to the problem, and he wished he could have another chance to talk to her.
He didn’t think it would do to ride straight to the house and ask for her. When he was invited, he felt justified, but it would be too forward and ill-advised to go there on his own. He recalled Don Felipe’s warning not to seek other things, and although he interpreted it to mean romantic interest, it gave boundaries all the same. On the other hand, Doña Emilia and Petra had given him to understand that he was always welcome to drop by on a social visit, and he felt that he could take their word on that.
Devon gave another thought to Alfonso’s vigilance. The foreman seemed to be on the lookout to see who was going where, not to block the artist from going to the rancho itself. Still, if he and his horrid saddle decoration were to show up on the road as Don Felipe had done a couple of days earlier, Devon would find it discouraging.
He went back to looking at dull walls of adobe, and when the sun was straight up and cast the thinnest shadows of the day, he took out his cold tortillas with meat and ate his lunch.
When the shadows had crept out a couple of feet, he happened to be standing at the window again, looking out, when he saw a lone rider crossing the plain and heading southwest. It was Don Felipe, a black figure on a white horse, with the wide sombrero visible over a half-mile away. The horse was traveling at an easy lope, raising a small cloud of dust as it went. After a long minute it disappeared behind the corner of the building. Devon walked through the church to the other side, where he waited at a window opening. Within a few minutes the horse and rider came into view again, still angling southwest.
Now would be the time to visit, if he was willing to take the chance of crossing paths with Alfonso. Devon hemmed and hawed, tried to go back to his work, and finally packed up his pencils and pads and set off.
He found the road clear on the way to the rancho, and the gatekeeper, who was not the same man who had been driving the wagon, opened the gate for him. As Devon rode through the stone entrance, he thought the place had an empty feel to it. Maybe it was just because he knew the master had gone away. The pool sat quiet on his left, and the horses in the stalls on his right made little noise. He did not see the wagon or the sacks of grain, which did not surprise him. That little piece of work would have been absorbed into the earlier part of the day.
His horse stopped at the stone water trough, so he swung down and let it drink. Then he tied it at the hitching rail and went to knock at the portal.
The walk-through door was ajar, and he could hear raised voices from within. From the sounds of it, mother and daughter were having an argument. At first the voices were indistinct, and then he heard Petra, loud and clear.
“It’s all your fault for having married him in the first place. That, and tolerating his overbearing manner!”
Devon rapped as hard as he could with his penknife on the wood frame, two series of loud knocks.
The voices quieted. He heard footsteps, then the house door opening. Consuelo appeared in the doorway. Worry showed on her creased face, but she wiped her hands on her apron and assumed a calm demeanor.
“Yes, sir?”
“Excuse me. Pardon me for interrupting, but I was passing by and decided to stop in and say hello. Perhaps it is not a good time.”
“Just a minute. Let me see.”
Devon stood in silence with the sun warming his back and glancing off the painted lumber.
Consuelo reappeared. “Come in, please. The ladies are at home.”
Devon took off his hat and followed her into the house, where Doña Emilia came forward to meet him. She was wearing a dark gray dress, with the silver cross shining as she moved, and she had a distraught expression on her face.
“Oh, good afternoon, señor artista. It is good to see you. My daughter and I were having a few cross words, which it gives me pain for you to hear. But you know, we are just people, with our defects. Now that you are here, it will be good to have a change in subject. Come in and sit down.” She gave him her hand to touch and then led the way to the sitting area.
Petra, in a dark red dress and with her hair tied back as always, gave him her hand as well. Her face looked clouded, as if her anger had not subsided, and she gave a smile that seemed to admit as much. “Put yourself at ease,” she said. “We are just arguing like women.”
When the three of them had taken seats, Devon and Petra each on a couch and Emilia in a leather-padded chair with Consuelo behind her, the mother spoke first.
“And how goes your work today?”
“So-so, I’d say. Some days are better than others. Everything that presented itself today was slow and dull. Very little inspiration.”
“And so you came by here, to improve the day?” said Petra, with a nervous laugh.
Devon put on a gallant expression. “Yes, to add some sweetness to a day that had lost its flavor.”
“Isn’t it true?” said Emilia. “As if the atmosphere were bad.”
“Do you find it so?” added Petra. “Perhaps the atmospheric conditions are too heavy, and they weigh on the spirit.”
“Perhaps. I sense it in town as well.”
Petra glanced at her mother and then at him. “Is t
hat right? And what do you think it is owing to?”
Devon hesitated, but having taken the first step already, he pushed on. “I think it is the matter that brought the sheriff here the other day. Not a comfortable topic, perhaps.”
Emilia shook her head. “It is very sad. Ricardo’s family is full of bitterness, and not without reason.”
“So it seems,” Devon offered. “For their loss, of course, and then the sheriff seems unwilling to do anything.”
“They didn’t tell me that much.” She looked at her hands, which she held folded in her lap, and then she raised her eyes to meet his. “Tell me what they say in town.”
“Well,” he began, “as you know, the people always say many things. But it is well known, as the sheriff said the other day, that Don Felipe, with your permission, made threats to the young man Ricardo.”
“Yes, that is known.” She had a grimace on her face as if in admission of shame, but she did not saymore.
“And on the basis of that, people believe that Ricardo may have met his death here.”
“At Rancho Agua Prieta?”
Devon closed his eyes and opened them as he made a small nod. “Yes. And furthermore, your nephew Carlos, whom I have come to know, has told me more than once that Don Felipe made similar threats to him.”
Emilia’s face tensed. “This I did not know.”
“Carlos has not spoken of it in public.”
“Ah, Carlos. He does not want to offend anyone.”
“He is cautious, especially in this case.” Devon paused. “He believes Don Felipe is dangerous.”
“I don’t know how much.” Her soft brown eyes did not waver, and her face held steady.
“Nor do I,” said Devon, glancing at Petra, who was keeping silent. “But it seems as if his intimidation of young men, some of which I have seen directed towards me, arises from his jealousy.”
Doña Emilia shook her head as before. “It could be. I myself have had that thought, and now my husband has gone away.”
Devon recalled the lone rider crossing the plain, and he wondered how to connect the two parts of Emilia’s statement. “I am sorry if you have had trouble,” he said.
“Well, it cannot change my love for him, and for that my daughter still blames me.”
Petra straightened up and sat forward in her seat, and her eyes blazed. In her red dress, she seemed like a fire that had exploded. “I don’t see how you can love him! Not when I have told you, as I just have, of all the times he has come close to me and touched me and tried to convince me to be his.”
Emilia’s eyes shifted from Petra to Devon and back to Petra, and Devon felt his own eyes widen.
The fire flared again. “Because of his sick love, he has tried to keep all others away, thinking he can have me for himself. And now that he knows you know, he has gone away.” Petra held her chin up, with an expression of thorough contempt on her face.
She’s got nerve, Devon thought. She’s saying it this way to make it public.
Emilia glanced up and around, with the same haunted look that Devon had seen on an earlier visit. “How can you say these things in front of a stranger, someone from outside the family?” Then she burst into tears, covered her face with her hands, and got up. “Con permiso,” she said, then hurried from the room with Consuelo behind her.
Devon turned to let his eyes meet Petra’s.
She was solid as a rock, with a calm, combative air about her. “It is true. The master of the rancho with his dirty hands. But I don’t think it is a great surprise to you, from what you say.”
“Not really. But it is different to hear it out loud, in front of his wife.”
Petra raised her eyebrows. “She has let herself remain blind to the whole affair. It’s time someone took the bandage from her eyes.”
“It takes courage, I can say that.” He tipped her a nod of recognition. “But it gives her great pain.” He looked in the direction where Emilia had gone. “Just as it does to hear us talking about it now, even if she can’t hear the words.”
“Well, then, we can go outside. We won’t bother anyone there, and no one will bother us.” She rose from her seat and stood at attention.
Devon stood with his hat in his hand. “Go ahead.”
Chapter Twelve
Devon and Petra walked out of the portal into the bright afternoon. The sun was starting to slip in the west, hanging a little above eye level at the moment, but its rays felt strong in this area where the heat had collected all day.
“Let’s go to the trees,” she said, “for the shade.”
They crossed the hard, bare middle area of the parade ground. Devon’s hat protected him from the strength of the sun, but Petra had not brought her parasol or any other form of shade, so her white complexion and red dress were shining. In a few minutes the glare was cut by the cool shadows of the cottonwood trees.
It was the closest Devon had come to the dark pool. He noted the rocks that lined the edge, absorbed by the earth and lined with moss along the surface of the water. He could not see very far down into the pool, so he had no idea how deep it was or what lay along its bottom. From the first time he saw it he had assumed it was artesian.
“This is a nice spot,” he said.
“I don’t come here very much because of the dust and dirt. And when I was a little girl, I was always told to stay away. My mother was afraid I would fall in, and my father did not like me out here where the men were, anyway.”
Devon raised his chin and peered out to the center of the surface. “A good precaution.” Then, noting again the stones around the edge, he asked, “Does anyone use this as a source of water?”
“The rabbits come to drink,” she said, “and every once in a while, a deer. At one time, long ago, the livestock drank here, but they broke down the sides and made a big mess, and some of them fell in and drowned. That’s what my father told me. Therefore someone, in the time of his father or grandfather, lined the edge and planted these trees. Since then, the animals drink in their own places.” She waved her hand at the rest of the compound.
“The wells must not be very deep here. I have seen two hand-pumps outside here, and I suppose you have one in the kitchen.”
“The water is very accessible.”
“That would be why they put the house and corrals here to begin with. Does the rancho take its name from this pool?”
“Yes.RanchoAgua Prieta, for the dark water.My father was very proud of having good water, of course.” She began towalk, taking slow, wandering steps.
He walked beside her, watching the ground ahead. “I’m sure.” Silence hung in the air for a minute until he spoke again. “And this other one?”
“He does not like dogs or chickens or peacocks or even sheep, although they bring him money. He likes only his precious horses.”
“And so he has gone away. Just in a pout, or did he really leave?”
“I don’t know. I can’t believe he would leave that easily. If I know him, he probably went to tie up some bank accounts so he can keep his leverage.”
“Depending on how much public opinion matters to him, he may not enjoy the reception he receives.”
“Pah!” she said. “He deserves to be despised for much more than what is circulating in the current gossip, though that is plenty in itself.”
Devon kept his eyes on her as he asked his question. “Do you think he was the cause of Ricardo’s death?”
Still ambling along, she arched an eyebrow and looked sideways at him. “I know he was.”
He stopped. “You know it?”
She stopped as well, and turning, she brought her dark eyes to meet his. “I saw him.”
Just for a moment his surroundings seemed to swim and blur. Then he got command of his senses. “You saw him? On the night in question?”
“Yes.” She paused, but she did not seem reluctant to tell more. “It was Saturday. Ricardo sent word that he would come at night, around midnight. He said he would come by the
orchard, and he would whistle.”
“So you waited up, as you told the sheriff.”
“Yes. And I knew Don Felipe was still up as well. I heard himmoving around, and I smelled his cigarette smoke. I knew also that he had a horse saddled and ready. Consuelo told me, as she heard it fromMiguel.”
“And so Ricardo came?”
“As he said. At a little after midnight. I heard a long, low whistle. I went to the window and opened it. The moon was up, lighting the night.”
“Just a couple of days before the full moon.”
“It was bright, but I couldn’t see him. Then I heard Don Felipe leave the house, so I followed him. He went out through the portal, went to the stable, and brought out a white horse. He climbed on and went out the gate, slow at first.”
“Did he have someone at the gate?”
“Yes. You could see it was all planned.”
Yes. You could see it was “Did you follow him?”
“No. I went out the other way, through the orchard, listening for Ricardo. But he didn’t whistle again. Then I heard the hooves of a horse, loud and hard, as Don Felipe came around the outside.” She pointed in the direction of the horse stalls. “I went to the edge of the trees, and I saw Ricardo on his horse, maybe a hundred yards away, out on the plain. Don Felipe yelled at him to stop, called him a coward. So he waited.”
“Had he already started to leave?”
“I don’t believe so. I think he was uncertain and had withdrawn a ways, planning to come back. I don’t know for sure, of course.”
“And so Don Felipe caught up with him?”
“Oh, yes, in a great fury. He knocked him off his horse, rode circles around him, and shot him four times. Then he left him there on the ground.”
Devon raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “So much for his word and his honor. Based on what he told the sheriff, he would proudly take responsibility if he carried out his threat, but it is evident that once he did it, he didn’t want to face the consequences if he could get away with it.”
Death at Dark Water Page 15