A Lady Bought with Rifles

by Jeanne Williams

  One vaquero rushed to help me up while the other rode after the mare streaking through the scrub, utterly panicked by the jouncing boot. If my foot were still inside it—if I were being hauled over cactus, thorn and rock …

  I shook uncontrollably. “It is all right, señorita,” the vaquero said kindly. “Your foot—can you stand on it?”

  Gingerly, I put down enough weight to make me wince. The pain was bearable, though, and when I tried again, I began to hope it was only strained and would not be a nuisance very long.

  “Clumsy,” remarked Reina, circling to gaze down at me.

  “The saddle twisted.” For the first time I realized it might not have been an accident, and before I could debate the wisdom of voicing my suspicion, I added, “The girth had to be loose or faulty.”

  “Are you sure?” demanded Reina. Frowning at the vaquero who still supported me by the elbow, she asked if he had tightened the cinch.

  “Not I, señorita,” he said defensively. “I saw to your mount. Felipe looked after your sister’s.”

  Felipe had roped the mare, slowed her, freed the boot, and was now trotting back. “Did you tighten my sister’s cinch?” Reina asked Felipe as he dismounted and handed me my scarred and dusty boot.

  “Yes, señorita,” he said, nearly cowering. “But this mare, she puffs herself up. She must have deceived me.”

  “I don’t permit such mistakes,” blazed Reina. “The foreman will pay you what is owing. Leave the ranch tonight.”

  “But, señorita! I was born here. My father and his father …”

  “Must have tended their duties better than you or they’d have been lashed to death. You will go, Felipe. This very night.”

  “But …”

  “Enough! If you are here in the morning, I will turn you over to the rurales for the attempted murder of my sister.” She rode ahead.

  The two men looked at each other. Ramón retested the girth, helped me into my boot and on the mare. “I’m sorry,” I told Felipe. “I’ll write a letter to Mr. Sanders, asking him to give you work at the mine.”

  Felipe’s face worked. “You are very kind, señorita,” he said huskily. “But I have always been a vaquero. Of Las Coronas.”

  There was no answer to that. My intercession would only make Reina more adamant. It was not a pleasant afternoon ride. I was distressed for Felipe and my ankle throbbed while my scratched hands burned from sweat and the reins. As we neared Las Coronas, circling to the corrals, I saw a burra outlined on a slope. Reina slipped her rifle from the scabbard. Before I could guess her intent, she aimed and fired. The burra gave a near-mortal scream, jackknifed, ran a few jolting springs, and collapsed.

  I rode forward. Oh, horrid anyway! But let it not be Ratoncita.

  As I neared the still-shuddering animal, I knew it was Sewa’s pet even before I recognized the bit of red wool she’d plaited into the burra’s sparse mane. I slid down from my horse, ran to the little gray beast, whose neat hooves had furrowed the earth in her agony. She went motionless as I reached her.

  So useless, wanton! I turned to face Reina, who had followed and now watched with a faint smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

  “Why did you do it?” I blurted, unable to control my outrage, though I knew it fed some appetite of hers.

  “It made a good target. And it was mine. Every living creature on Las Coronas is mine, or subject to my will.”

  “You have no right to kill like that—for no reason at all!”

  She shrugged, expertly reining her black around. “Oh, there was a reason.”

  “What? Why on earth …”

  “To show you that I could,” she said, and spurred her horse away.

  Trembling with anger and pity, I touched the burra, slaughtered because of a conflict it could know nothing of. Animals, compared with humans, were so unmalicious that it seemed whoever or whatever had put us both on earth should look after them better. I looked up to find the two vaqueros waiting, Ramón holding my mare.

  Coming to a lightning decision, I told him to take the horse on to the stable and asked Felipe to walk with me. His dark face showed his bafflement.

  “But your ankle, señorita!”

  “It is all right,” I said, though it pained. He dismounted and started for the corrals.

  “Felipe, you are leaving tonight?”

  “What else? The rurales would shoot me, even though …” He checked himself.

  I took the plunge. “I want to leave tonight too.”

  “You, señorita?”

  “Yes. With the Yaqui child. I’ll pay you well to help us get to the railroad, and if you want to go with us to the mine, I’ll make sure you are employed.”

  “You go to Mina Rara? Señor Sanders knows?”

  “No. But the mine is my property. And I cannot stay here. My sister hates me.”

  “More than you guess,” grunted Felipe. He stared at the ground a moment, then threw back his head. “Señorita, she made me leave your cinch loose! If you had died, I wouldn’t have been ordered off Las Coronas.”

  It made me sick, though I’d half-suspected something of the sort “I didn’t want to do it, señorita,” Felipe protested miserably, his words tumbling out. “But your sister told me that otherwise she would accuse me of stealing valuables and send me to prison for life. It was wrong, I know that. And I tell you this because you should know before you trust me.”

  “Well, you have told me,” I said briskly, and wondered that I could sound matter-of-fact about the certainty that my sister had tried to have me killed.

  To fear a possibility was one thing—I’d kept hoping that it wouldn’t happen, that Reina didn’t detest me that much. Now that desperate hope was gone. She hated me, hated unto death, and I had better not give her time to arrange another accident. We had stopped by the corral. I turned to Felipe, searching his eyes.

  After what he’d admitted, did I dare put my faith in him? What else could I do? I didn’t want to involve anyone who was staying at Las Coronas and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to get mounts saddled for myself and Sewa without attracting attention. Further, I much preferred a guide to the railroad.

  “I believe that your telling me what you tried to do means you wouldn’t try it again,” I said. “I know you might get back in my sister’s good graces by telling her my plan, but I hope you know you cannot rely on her.”

  “Yes. She would probably see that I died to make sure she was never exposed,” he said. “If you believe me now, señorita, I swear by my head that I will hold your life above my own.”

  “And the child?”

  “She is yours.” He shrugged after brief hesitation. “I will protect her.”

  “Then let us go. When is the best time for you to bring mounts?”

  “About an hour after darkness. My friends will be sorry and give me what food they can.”

  “I can get food. Will we need to sleep on the way?”

  Felipe gave an expressive shrug. “Not unless we are ready to sleep permanently, my lady. We can rest, of course. The horses will travel well in the cool night—and there is another burra that children have ridden.”

  “I hate to tell Sewa about Ratoncita, but I don’t want to lie, either.”

  Felipe smiled at this foible. “No need, señorita. I will tell her that her burra is where we cannot catch her easily. God knows that is true.”

  Sticking to principle seemed less important than sparing Sewa more heartbreak. Feeling relieved about that at least, I entered the patio and crossed to my room.

  Sewa took the news that we were leaving that night with little emotion, except for cuddling Ku to her heart. “Can we take it?” she asked. The big brown eyes were hopeful, though she had stilled her face to stoically receive whatever had to be.

  “Of course we’ll take it,” I said, trying to sound gay.

  I wished that I could convince myself that this was a thrilling adventure like those I had read about in romances where, if danger t
hreatened, a strong handsome man appeared to set everything right. The trouble was that I had seen a child lose her foot, I had seen the massacred Yaquis, felt the venom of my own sister’s hate. Court Sanders was a dubious protector and Trace, who had seemed so earnest and caring, had gone off without a word. Still, I tried to act confident for Sewa as I packed our things into two canvas bags that could be tied behind our saddles.

  I left my coat and heaviest garments in the armoire, touched my books and alabaster dresser set lingeringly. It was impossible, horseback, to take even the few possessions I had and it made me sad to think I might never see them again. Later, when I was of age and Reina was over her worst temper, perhaps I could get them back. I touched the books one by one, their faded covers.

  Shakespeare, Bacon, John Donne, Dickens, Dumas, the Brontes, Balzac, and George Eliot. Father had given me Mark Twain and Longfellow, Emerson and Thoreau, Louisa May Alcott, and even Walt Whitman, of whom Miss Mattison had vigorously disapproved.

  “So many books,” murmured Sewa. “You must have all the books in the world.…”

  “No, darling.” I laughed, turning from the shelf. “There are thousands and thousands of books in our world, in many languages, some very, very old.”

  “Older than Jesucristo?”

  “Much, much older.”

  She looked at me in that grave way that revealed a struggle between her faith in me and her common sense. “We had a book in my family,” she said at last. “There were written the names, far, far back, with the society a person had been in, or their office. One of my uncles was a general and my grandfather was one of the five governors of the pueblo. The soldiers burned it.”

  I didn’t sentimentalize longer over my books, but went to the kitchen to see what I could scavenge without being noticed.

  I dined with Reina, scarcely able to look at her after her senseless killing of the little burra. “How is your ankle?” she inquired.

  “Only a bit tender.” Which was both true and lucky.

  “I should have held that careless Felipe for the rurales,” she said, studying an emerald ring that glowed no more coldly bright than her eyes. I was sickened by her duplicity till I decided she doubtless felt like punishing the vaquero because I hadn’t been dragged to death.

  Shrugging, I took a sip of wine and said, “I wish you hadn’t dismissed him. After all, he was born here.”

  “He must go.” Her tone was harsh as she ripped the flesh from a fowl bone. “He knows he’s fortunate to get away with his life. We don’t tolerate careless servants in Mexico.”

  I wondered what she would think when Sewa and I were missing next day. Of course, the tracks of three mounts would tell the story, but long before pursuit could start we should be on the train.

  I refused to consider the possibility of Court’s handing me over to Reina. Surely I could bribe or persuade him into hiding me if she came snooping about the mine, and in six months she would no longer be my guardian.

  Excusing myself after a dessert of cool melon, I left Reina brooding over her wine. Once in my room, I bolted the door and helped Sewa dress in her leather outfit before I changed into mine. Darkness settled gradually in the patio.

  In another hour …

  I fought to keep from pacing, betraying my tenseness to Sewa. “Tell me Ku’s story in Yaqui,” I suggested. “As you would to a little child who didn’t know many words.”

  “I will like that.” Sewa smoothed her pet’s feathers and trilled the flute: “I will make music, too, for the speech of the birds. This is the owl. Here is the dove. This is the woodpecker and this the quail.” She contrived a droll sound like a rusty chain rattling. “That’s paisano!” She turned solemn and began in Yaqui: “Long before the coming of the Spaniards, there was a bird, all alone. He had no feathers, no, not one—”

  The latch of my door lifted, but the bolt, of course, held. My heart turned in my throat. There came a pounding, Reina’s angry voice.

  “Why do you lock the doors in my house? What wickedness are you concealing? Open at once!”

  She would have men break the door down. Our only chance lay in pretending everything was as usual. I stowed the saddle packs under the bed and hurried to the door, realizing that both Sewa and I had on our riding clothes.

  No time to change. Mind shuffling frantically for an explanation, I opened the door. Reina swept through, checked, and her eyes glinted from me to the child and back.

  “In leather? The two of you! Where did that brat get such an outfit?”

  “There was enough leather.”

  Reina’s lips tightened. “If Emilio has so much time, I’ll see what I can do to keep him busy! Why are you dressed like this at such an hour?”

  “You must remember Sewa has lost a foot. I—I was entertaining her by showing how her outfit is like mine.”

  “Well, God knows you are fool enough to waste your time in such foolishness,” Reina snapped. “I tell you now that neither brat nor crow is going to Hermosillo with us. And I have decided not to wait on the weather. We will leave in the morning by carriage.”

  “In the morning! Why, that’s not time—”

  “If I can be ready, so can you.”

  I thought that acceding too quickly might stir her suspicions. “But I thought Mr. Sanders wanted us to visit the mine,” I protested.

  “So we will, on the way back. What a rabbit you are, Miranda! He must suit our convenience, not the other way around.”

  “You must remember that I was educated where we were taught respect and consideration for other people, even if they were employees.”

  She drew herself up, radiating scorn. “I can’t believe you’re my sister! All that pious, prim shopkeeper talk! Leave Court to me—but be ready by nine.”

  She went out, swinging the door after her so that it jarred with a crash. I went quickly to Sewa, hugged her close. “It’s all right, little flower. We’ll soon be where she can’t bother us. Go on with your story. See, Ku’s ready to sing with you!”

  Time, measured by the ornate gilt clock, seemed to crawl. Fears and awful imaginings filled my head. Supposing Reina hadn’t been fooled? Supposing she’d surprised Felipe and he wouldn’t be at the gate? Supposing she followed to the mine?

  Grimly, I pushed these fantasies aside, helped Sewa on with her boot, and fished the packs out from the bed. Sewa held Ku to her breast and steadied herself with the sotol staff Cruz had given her. Our steps, quiet as we tried to make them, seemed to resound in the patio and my heart battered against my lungs so I could scarcely breathe, but at last we reached the gate. Felipe stepped instantly from the shadows. We all knew the importance of quiet. Sewa leaned against the wall near a burra that, to me, looked exactly like Ratoncita, but the child gasped.

  “Your burra was where I could not catch her,” Felipe said softly. “This one is her sister.”

  “She is nice,” Sewa murmured in Spanish, her voice heavy with stifled tears. “But her ears are not so splendid as Ratoncita’s.”

  “No, they are not,” Felipe agreed.

  His confirmation of her burra’s superior beauty helped Sewa accept the substitute. She reached out to stroke the new beast and I went back for the other saddle pack.

  When I returned, Sewa was mounted, Ku in his leather nest at her saddle horn. Felipe finished strapping the first pack behind her saddle and tied the one I had just fetched behind mine, then gave me a hand up. In a moment we were riding.

  We circled the corrals and house at a distance, rejoining the road some distance from the gates and guard. A sickle moon pinned together the last night from the western horizon and the deep blue of the higher sky. The white dust of the road seemed almost luminescent as it cut through mesquite and cholla, the giant cardones. Heat still rose from the ground, but the breeze came cool from the western sea and I thought it wouldn’t be long before Sewa and I needed our jackets.

  Thinking of Emilio’s handiwork made me remember Reina’s displeasure at his kindness to Sewa, and
troubled me in case she thought he or Consuelo had helped us escape. A moment’s reflection persuaded me that Felipe’s disappearance and the three tracks would exonerate other Las Coronas people. Reina would doubtless question them, but their genuine puzzlement should convince her, and though I had been sorry not to tell our friends good-bye, I was glad now I hadn’t, for their sakes.

  We rode in silence except for the rubbing of leather and sound of hooves. I’d been too anxious to feel tired before, but now weariness spread through me so that I felt heavy and ponderous, as if a strong wind could tilt me out of the saddle.

  When Felipe called a halt, my descent, even with his help, was more fall than dismounting. We drank from the water bags, the water tepid and smelly, and I walked Sewa about. She said the foot boot helped her balance so she wore it while riding. Even Ku exercised in his hopping lurch and our mounts enjoyed twenty minutes of loose girths and the bits of forage Sewa and I found for them.

  “Let’s go on now,” said Felipe, beginning to tighten the girths. “At the next stop we can sleep an hour, and when we reach the railroad, we can rest till the train comes.”

  “When is it due?”

  “Due?” Felipe chuckled. “Señorita, it is supposed to reach the Switch about seven, but it could be noon.”

  “Noon?” I groaned. “My God, my sister could have men here by then if they rode fast.”

  “If they rode fast, señorita.”

  I couldn’t see his smile on the dim blur of his face, but I heard it in his voice. “You mean the vaqueros wouldn’t try to catch us?”

  “Most of the men are my comrades. Some admire la patrona for her beauty and boldness, but they say you are kind like your motherland just as your father was. When I told them what la patrona made me do, they were angry. No, señorita, they will not hurry.”

  “But my sister might ride with them.”