by Jane Toombs
He ached to possess her but at the same time he feared he'd hurt her. "I want you very much," he whispered hoarsely. "I wish--" He stopped. He couldn't tell her that he wished he knew who he was, couldn't say he was a man without a past.
"What do you wish?" she murmured.
He answered with another question. "What do you think I'm wishing?"
She didn't reply directly. "I don't care if you aren't wealthy," she assured him. "It doesn't matter that you're not a don. Not to me."
"It would to your papa," he said, nuzzling her throat. "Then you do mean to ask for my hand! Oh, Ulysses!"
She kissed him fervently, clinging to him, almost making him forget his surprise at her words. The feel of her softness against him played havoc with his good intentions.
He forced himself to stop while he still could, lifting her arms from around his neck and holding her away from him. "You'd better go in. We don't want Tia Dolores to wake and come looking for you."
"Saints, no!" She bit her lip. "I can't be sure
when we'll be able to meet again."
He slipped the tube of paper into her hand. "Send Gayo with this when you can get away." He started to lift her down from the tree but she stopped him.
"You do wish to marry me?" Her voice was uncertain, plaintive.
"With all my heart." Whether that was the absolute truth or not, Ulysses wasn't sure. He did know there wasn't a chance in hell of the don agreeing. Still, he wanted to reassure her. "The time's not right for me to ask your father. We must wait until I've proven myself to him."
And just how did he mean to accomplish that? Ulysses wondered.
Esperanza didn't ask him. Accepting his words, she allowed him to ease her down to the ground, blew him a kiss and hurried toward the casa.
Ulysses sat on the branch a long time after she'd disappeared. Though he couldn't ask for a more beautiful bride, the mention of marriage had shaken him and the more he considered the problems, the more impossible a marriage between him and Esperanza seemed. He was not only a nobody, he had no past. He didn't even know how old he was.
Was he eighteen? That was surely too young to have left a wife behind somewhere, wasn't it? Though it was possible the someone he'd shared the night sky with at another time and in another land had been a wife. He had no way to be certain.
He eyed the waning moon through the oak branches and sighed. Damn, but he wanted Esperanza, wanted her at any and all costs.
On Wednesday of the following week, the don rode out with his vaqueros on his carved leather saddle ornamented with silver. When they split off to go their separate ways, Don Alfonso joined Don Rafael. On Thursday, he rode with Juan. On Friday, Don Alfonso's black stallion trotted alongside Palo as he and Ulysses checked cattle together. "Every week we're missing two or three head," the don said. "I suspected Americanos of stealing them until I saw the beast's work. Now I'm not sure. But it must stop or soon I'll have no cattle left."
"We haven't seen any more animal tracks like those by the kill," Ulysses pointed out.
"And those tracks led only to the creek." The don shrugged. "Like a sly fox, he waded in the stream to throw off pursuit--he's a smart one. But I'm still not convinced all my losses are the work of an animal, no matter how clever and fierce. The Americanos are much more subtle and dangerous than any beast, no es verdad?"
Ulysses nodded. From what he'd seen of them, he agreed Americanos were certainly dangerous.
They tallied cattle all day. When they rode back to
the hacienda as the sun disappeared behind the low hills to the west, the don's count showed four head were missing.
"In my father's time," he said, "we possessed so many cattle they swarmed over the hills. It took fifteen vaqueros to round up the calves for branding in the spring and, in the summer and fall, the steers for slaughter. With more cattle than we could count, who cared if a hungry traveler--or a grizzly--occasionally killed a steer? Those were the true golden days, my young friend. Before the Americanos." Ulysses didn't have to ask how many cattle grazed on don Alfonso's land now. Just under two hundred--he'd helped tally them.
"Never did my father ride among the cattle, as I sometimes must," Don Alfonso continued. "Gentlemen had no need to work. And, ah, the fandangos and the meriendas-- dancing and food and drink and sport. The Californios came from miles around to celebrate with us. Now when do we gather together, those of us who are left? For a wedding, perhaps. Or worse--for a funeral."
The don shook his head and fell silent.
Ulysses wondered what Don Alfonso would do if he asked for Esperanza's hand here and now. Kill him? Probably not. Ordering him off the property, never to return was nearer the truth.
The hacienda was in sight before the don spoke again. "We will set up a night watch, the four of us taking turns. The man on sentry duty will bring one of the dogs with him. Don Rafael has volunteered for the first night, you will take the second, then Juan and last myself."
"Yes, sir."
"Next week the moon will be full again--Tia Dolores tells me this is when the beast is likely to appear. We must be on the alert."
A chill ran along Ulysses' spine at the don's words. He might have set aside the bruja's threat to him but he'd by no means forgotten it. If only he had some idea what she'd meant.
"You look as though you've swallowed vinegar," the don observed. "After your narrow escape, I can't blame you if you're afraid of that beast."
"It's not fear of the beast," Ulysses protested, stung. "I merely wondered how the bru--that is, Senora Dolores-- could foretell an animal's movements."
"She has strange talents. I'm inclined to believe her." "I volunteer to take the night of the full moon," Ulysses said, still smarting at the don's assumption he feared the beast.
"If the full moon arrives on your turn, certainly you shall." The don's tone brooked no argument.
By Ulysses' reckoning, Don Alfonso himself would be standing guard that night. He brooded about it for a week, finding no way to convince the don to change with him. If he followed the don, intent on protecting him, Juan was sure to know and to tell. Californios were touchy--the don would be furious, believing it a slur on his manhood that Ulysses should think he needed protection. He might well order Ulysses to leave the rancho.
Two days before what he'd come to think of as The Beast's, fog settled over the rancho, a damp gray blanket between earth and sky, a shroud that refused to lift. Ulysses' restlessness kept him from sleeping well, even after his all-night sentry duty. On the morning of The Beast's Day, he was already awake when Juan came in from his turn at sentry duty.
"Looks like rain," Juan said, yawning. "Fortune favors me--I'll sleep, you'll get wet. You can bet I didn't ride far last night in that fog. No man in his right mind would be out in it. Nor beast, either. Not even a devil-beast." Ulysses had thought much the same the previous night.
No doubt the don had decided they must take their regular sentry turns in case the fog lifted, as it sometimes did, shortly after midnight.
The rain held off until noon, then a thin drizzle began. By the time Ulysses rode home in the late afternoon, it was more mist than rain. Before he ate, he opened the window, ignoring Juan's grumbling. Esperanza's possible summons was more important than a bit of dampness.
He and Juan were digging into refried beans and enchiladas when Gayo flapped through the window and came to perch on his shoulder. As he fed the parrot, he surreptitiously felt along the tailfeathers as he did every time Gayo visited. He'd been disappointed until now. This evening his fingers found the tube of paper with Encina printed on it.
Excitement gripped him and he fought his impulse to leap up and shout. Where would he find the patience to pass the hours until they could meet?
What patience he mustered was worn as thin as the sole on a beggar's boot when Juan, refreshed by a day's rest, lifted down his old guitar and sang plaintive ballads slightly off-key for what seemed an eternity. He dared not leave until Juan slept.
> Esperanza was already waiting by the oak when Ulysses finally scaled the wall. Eager to hold her, he dropped to the ground inside the courtyard, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
"Ah," she sighed after a long, satisfying moment, "how I wish you would kiss me forever."
"I'm willing." He started to prove it but she pulled back, covering his lips with her fingers.
"I asked you to meet me because Tia Dolores says the beast will appear tonight," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm afraid for papa, afraid he'll be killed. Please, you must save him."
It was too late to stop Don Alfonso--he'd ridden off more than an hour ago. But go after him he would. He'd wanted to all along. Now he had the excuse. Esperanza's plea would go far to soften the don's wrath if he discovered Ulysses was on his trail,
"I'll do my best," Ulysses promised and kissed her once more, quickly, before pulling himself up and over the wall. As he coaxed Palo from the corral, he told himself it was easy to say he'd go after her father but how was he to find the don on a night when the mist hid the moon? He couldn't sense the Don's presence at any great distance and the rancho sprawled over more than a hundred acres. How was he to know which direction Don Alfonso and his dog had chosen?
His dog. Ulysses smiled. Retrieving a battered old hat the don kept hanging from a corral post and the curry brush the don used on his stallion, he saddled Palo and led him to where the dogs were tied. As he'd expected, the don had taken his favorite, Chico, with him.
Ulysses untied the rangy brown and white bitch he favored--Grulla, they called her because of her long crane's neck. After she followed him away from the others, he thrust the hat under her nose, coaxing her to sniff it, then offered the horse brush.
"Find Don Alfonso and his horse, Grulla," he ordered. Her wagging tail thumped against him. None of the dogs had been trained to follow scents but he'd spotted her as the brightest and hoped she might get the idea. Shoving the old hat and the brush into a saddle bag, he mounted Palo and rode away, Grulla running beside the horse.
When they were well away from the hacienda, he reined in, dismounted, and, when the dog came up to him, let her smell the hat and brush again. "Go find the don," he said and waited.
Grulla didn't budge from his side. He shoved the hat under her nose again and finally Grulla bounded away. He swung himself hurriedly onto Palo and, using his sense of the dog's presence because he quickly lost sight of her in the misty night, he set the horse to following Grulla, hoping she was on the stallion's trail and not tracking a rabbit.
After a time, even though it was too dark to be certain, he had an uneasy feeling she was heading for the stream where the beast had slaughtered the steer and the horse. And the man. If the don had reasoned as Ulysses would, he'd believe the beast would appear in or near the same place. The odds were Grulla was on the don's trail. He touched the stock of the dead man's pistol. A Colt revolving pistol, Don Alfonso had called it when he gave the gun to Ulysses on the first night of his assigned sentry duty.
He liked the heft of the gun, it fit into his hand as though made for him alone and he greatly appreciated its ability to shoot six bullets before reloading. Yet the Godawful sight of the gun's dead owner shot into his mind every time he touched it.
Somewhere ahead in the darkness a dog barked furiously. Not Grulla, she was closer. Chico? Ulysses caught the faint sense of more than one man. Two? Three? He tensed, urging Palo into a lope. He couldn't feel the presence of any animal except Palo and Grulla but animals were harder to sense from a distance than humans. Small animals, even close by, were all but impossible. Except for Sombrita--the cat crackled blue like the bruja.
It stood to reason the men rode horses. What were they doing on Don Alfonso's land in the dark of night? Where was the don? At this distance, friend couldn't be distinguished from enemy. Grulla began to bark, adding her warning to Chico's.
A pistol cracked. A dog yelped and fell silent.
Another shot. Two more. Then silence. Who was shooting? Damn this darkness! Ulysses restrained his impulse to gallop directly toward the shots. Stealth, not speed, was essential. He knew the men were there but they knew nothing of him. A dog--Grulla, he thought-- continued to bark sporadically.
When he could clearly sense the men--three in all--he slowed Palo and veered slightly to the left, no longer following Grulla. A faint flicker of light beckoned him through the trees and underbrush beside the stream. A lantern? The don's? He dare not go near it to find out.
Any trespassers would be armed and, like as not, waiting in the darkness for anyone foolish enough to ride into the lantern glow.
Two of the men were close together, the other some fifteen or twenty paces away from them, none of the three near the light. At that distance the lone man would be invisible to the other two and he'd also be unable to see them. Ulysses thought there might be something amiss with the lone man for his sense of him wavered and flickered like the lantern light.
Weeks before, he'd not been able to sense the dead man, he'd had no warning of him until he saw the mauled body. Thinking about it later, he'd decided what he sensed must be a life force that fled with death. Did a wavering life force mean injury? He feared it did. Was the lone man Don Alfonso and had he been shot? Because of the flickering, Ulysses couldn't identify the man, though he was now certain neither of the other two were the don.
Since none of the three men was mounted, Ulysses slid off Palo's back and tethered him to a sapling. Despite the mist, his night vision was good enough to avoid stumbling head-on into trees and he preferred being afoot.
Grulla quieted abruptly and Ulysses noted she was beside the lone man. Certain now he must be Don Alfonso, Ulysses focused his full attention on the other two.
They were moving. Not toward the injured man but toward two horses, their movements slow and cautious. Ulysses circled again, hurrying as fast he could without crashing loudly through the bushes, to reach the horses before they did.
One of the animals snorted as he approached but he laid a hand on its neck and the horse quieted. When he was certain neither was the don's black stallion, he untied them both and led them free of the trees where he slapped one, then the other, hard on the rump. Both horses trotted away from the stream. Ulysses slipped back among the trees, intent on stalking his prey.
He blinked as the word crept into his mind. Not prey. Where had that idea come from? They were strangers, trespassers, enemies but they were not prey, they were men. Yet he couldn't quite dislodge the word, it clung persistently to his thoughts, infusing his mind with a chilling lust to kill. He fought against it, appalled.
Kill, yes, but to protect himself, to protect the don.
A man who killed for the sake of killing was no better than an animal. No, he was worse than an animal--animals killed to eat or because they feared an attacker or to protect their young or their mate. Not for the sake of killing--unless they were rogues. Outcasts.
He was no rogue.
Or was he? What did he know of his past?
Ulysses shook himself. Never mind a past he couldn't remember. He'd come to rescue the don. Gritting his teeth as though grinding unwelcome thoughts between them, he directed his full attention to the men, determined now not to kill them. No, he'd beat the hell out of them. Don Alfonso could make the final life or death decision.
He took the first one from behind, hooking his arm around the man's neck to strangle his shout. When the man almost immediately went limp in his grasp, he realized he'd exerted too much pressure. Had he killed him? He couldn't take the time to find out.
Dropping him on his face, Ulysses leaped at the other man, who cursed and grappled with him, trying to knee him, to gouge his eyes. Parrying each attempt, Ulysses slammed his fists into the man's face and midsection until he, too, slumped to the ground, unconscious. He disarmed them both. Somewhere in my past I learned how to fight, he thought absently as he hurried toward the flickering life force he believed was Don Alfonso. To his relief, he sensed hi
m more strongly than before.
When Grulla ran to meet him, whimpering in her pleasure to see him, he was all but positive he approached the Don. Still, it didn't do to take chances. He ducked behind a sycamore trunk and called softly, "It's Ulysses, Don Alfonso. I took care of the trespassers."
"Ulysses!"
Definitely the don's voice. Ulysses hurried to his side.
"Took a bullet in my thigh," the don said, obviously in pain. "Not too bad, leg's not broken. My horse is somewhere around--he'd never leave me. I should be able to ride." "I'll fetch the lantern and take a look at your leg first," Ulysses told him.
Once he had the lantern in hand, Ulysses detoured to retrieve Palo and, with rope from the saddle bag, bound the two unmoving trespassers before returning to the don. He wasn't sure whether or not he was relieved to find them both alive.
He used Don Alfonso's neck scarf to bandage the oozing hole in his left thigh, recovered the black stallion grazing downstream and hoisted the Don into the saddle. The don swayed, grunting with pain, but stayed on the horse.
"You killed those damned Americanos?" he asked.
"No. Knocked them out."
"Bring the lantern. I want to see the bastards who killed my dog and put a bullet in me."
Grulla reached the men first and stood growling, hackles raised. Ulysses grabbed the rope and turned the first man, still limp, onto his back. He'd never seen him before. The second man was awake and cursed when Ulysses flipped him over. Blackbeard!
"This one I saw on your land a month ago," he told the don.
"Dirty greasers," Blackbeard snarled. "You killed Pete."
"He's not dead," Ulysses said, ignoring the insult. "Hell he isn't. I been looking for his grave. Found
it tonight."
Then Ulysses understood who he meant. It had been Shorty the beast mauled.
"Kill them both," the don said through his teeth.
"Now."
Ulysses thought of protesting, knew it would be useless. Wondering if he could possibly shoot a helpless man in cold blood, he reluctantly drew the Colt.