When he made assumptions like that, as if I would be there forever, I didn’t argue. Better to make no resistance till I had to. Meanwhile, the mine was endlessly fascinating, though Miss Mattison would have fainted away with shock at the way the cantina filled every Saturday and Sunday with Mexican women up from Guaymas to help the miners spend their very good wages, eight pesos a day, compared to an average wage of thirty-five centavos plus rations for working on a hacienda.
Miners were paid in silver brought from the bank at Guaymas every two weeks, along with the mail, on the narrow-gauge train that ran from the main railroad to the mine. If a miner’s money ran out before payday, he could get credit at the company store. Prices were high because of the difficulty of getting supplies, but I could detect no cheating. Meat wasn’t expensive, for local ranchers brought it in nearly every day. I bought, or rather charged to Court, enough red and blue cotton to make dresses for Sewa and me, and the woman who made Court’s shirts had us dressed respectably within the week, thanks to her sewing machine. Court wanted his things handmade, but I wasn’t particular.
The mine itself was the passage to Pluto’s dark, rich kingdom. A U-shaped tunnel went into the hill, with two surface entrances. At the bend of the U was a chamber, ventilated by a hole from above, with a hoist, compressor, and other equipment.
“The gold near the surface is found in this crumbly diorite rock,” explained Court. “The gold deeper down lies in veins. Would you like to see?”
I glanced at Sewa, whose eyes shone eagerly. That decided me to go down in the depths. “Can someone carry Sewa?” I asked. Court summoned one of the miners and got two candles on sharp-pointed holders about a foot long.
“I have the workers on a short shift down here,” explained Court. “There’s no outside ventilation and it doesn’t take long to get dizzy. We’re dynamiting as we go along and it takes hours for the dust and smoke to settle after each explosion.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“That’s why the men get eight pesos a day.”
“Have there been any bad accidents?”
Court gave me a surprised stare. “You bet! Someone had a cigarette too close to the dynamite last year and the explosion plastered twenty men all over the tunnel. We collected the bits in a sack and buried them all together. And then a few months ago there was an underground fire, probably started by a candle. It baked three men black. When I touched one, his skin peeled away as if it was greased.”
We were approaching a shaft. I felt sick and took several long breaths before speaking. “What happened to the men’s families?”
“Some went back to the pueblos. A few launder and cook for bachelors. Others, I reckon, earn their living on their backs.”
“I want them—and the survivors of any man killed in the mine—to be given a lump sum or pension, whichever they prefer.”
Court frowned and I braced myself for an argument, but he shrugged his wide shoulders and said smoothly, “If that’s your wish. We’ll work it out according to children, remarriage, and so on. Now take a good long breath. It’s the last you’ll get for a while.”
Candle in one hand, he descended a ladder, steadied me as I followed to a ledge where another ladder went down into deeper twilight. Court braced the ladder for the miner with Sewa. We descended in increasing blackness, what Court said was three hundred feet down, till the shaft was a tiny patch far above and our candles threw yellow dusty light into the tunnel.
My lungs labored, pleading for oxygen, but I controlled the wish to gasp. After all, men worked down here. We wouldn’t die for lack of air, though it certainly felt like it. The miner put Sewa down and I helped her follow Court. He held out his candle and it dazzled on gold.
Gold in patches, gold in thin leaves, gold twisted like sculptured wire. I’d had no idea it could come like this, in such clear, bright shining glory. Court pried a piece of corded metal loose with the edge of his candlestick, gave it to me.
“Keepsake of your first time down,” he said.
“One for Sewa?” I asked, breathing fast in spite of all my efforts.
He pried off a filamented web the length of a finger, put it in Sewa’s hand. “Let’s get up,” he said. “I’ll go first to help with the child.”
So we returned, ladder by ladder, to the comparative light and freshness of the equipment room. My head was ringing and I sat down dizzily on a box, gathering Sewa to me.
“Well,” said Court, head thrown back, hands on his hips as he filled his lungs, “queen of the golden mountain, how do you like your treasure?”
“It’s fantastic! But I hate for anyone to work down there. Isn’t there any way to ventilate?”
“Not at that depth. But the ore shoot, which averages four feet thick, is raking north. It may eventually run out on the other side of the mountain, which is, in fact, the side of a canyon on its north face. Then there’d be air on that side and perhaps some draft between it and the shaft that ventilates this room, though that’s a long way to travel.”
“Can’t you blast out to the surface?”
“Yes. But if we just barge ahead instead of following where the ore shoot goes, we may have to dynamite a whole new tunnel to get the ore and we might lose some through explosions.”
“Do it anyway, please.”
Court stared, jaw dropping.
“But the expense. After a charge goes off, I’ve told you nothing else can be done for a while. It could take a week to get through the mountain.”
“But then the men could breathe.”
“Hell, they aren’t dying.” Court shoved back his hair. “They pull a short shift down there. Double their money if you want. It’d be a lot cheaper than what you’re suggesting.”
“We’re talking air, not money. Besides, it’s my money. Isn’t it?”
Those yellow eyes smoldered. Through my mind flashed the image of a giant cat, poised motionless except for its tail switching like a pendulum.
“If that’s what you want,” he said finally.
It was strange to watch him give on matters involving his professional judgment and large sums of money, while I knew he intended to have me in his bed one way or another. But at least he was giving me respite. During it, I had better make changes that would improve life for the workers. Besides, by exercising power affecting Mina Rara, I took up my work as a human being, began to create myself as a person in the outer world.
One thing was sure. I wouldn’t, even if I got away, forget the place and leave its running up to Court or his successors while I spent the yield. In this one spot I could make a good life possible for some people, and though it was a wavering candle in a whirlwind night, some Yaquis were safe here.
Raquel had a younger sister, Chepa, who helped at the house and, as our stay lengthened, shyly made friends with Sewa. Chepa was a strong, chubby girl of thirteen, with big angelic brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. Court observed casually that in a few years she’d be a beauty. She led Sewa about on the burra and soon, by getting acquainted with Chepa’s family, relatives, friends, and ceremonial kin, Sewa knew almost everyone, Mexican and Yaqui, in the village.
The religious fiestas were not the only celebrations. There was the novena, nine days after a person’s death, rather like a wake, the cumpleaño, given on the anniversary of a person’s death, and fiestas given simply because someone had made a promise to give one if a wish were granted.
There were three shifts at the mine, and when the seven A.M. to three P.M. got off, a lot of the men gathered at Chepa’s house for cards and storytelling. Sewa brought home many stories, mostly true, some old, some recent.
There were tales of Yaqui generals, heroes, and traitors, of how the great Cajeme had a woman in each of the Eight Sacred Pueblos and stayed busy going from one to the other. Then there were reminiscences of a great earthquake when the sun shone through a mass of red clouds and everyone was afraid. Epidemics of cholera, smallpox, and yellow fever brought in by ships seemed to have rav
aged the Río Yaqui pueblos almost yearly.
There were dozens of children in the village and I thought several times of starting a school, but it wasn’t till I heard an uproar in the patio and investigated, finding that Sewa had just beaten half a dozen children at monte and that apparently she was developing a sinister genius at cards, that I was propelled into taking action.
“A schoolmarm, love?” teased Court. “Well, while we’re blasting through the mountain would be a good time to get a school built.”
“I could have classes in a ramada while it’s hot,” I suggested.
“All right,” said Court. “First a ramada, then a real building. When the men know you want it, they’ll put it up in a hurry.” He gave me a measuring, slightly rueful look. “Since the pension plan was announced and especially since the men know you’re blasting through the mountain so they can breathe, you’re in danger of sainthood. But don’t try to maneuver the men against me or ask them to help you get away. Trace Winslade’s life is in my hand, and whether I smash it or put it in a safe place depends on the answer you must give me soon.”
I looked away from him toward the glittering slope. In the long run I’d have no real choice. Perhaps my resistance whetted his desire. Could I strike a bargain with what I was bound to forfeit anyway, in a manner that would let me ride away with Trace?
“Court,” I said slowly, forming each word and shoving it through my stiffened lips. “If I sleep with you till Trace comes, would you let Sewa and me go then?”
Though he didn’t take an actual step nearer, he leaned forward, seemed to tower. A muscle throbbed in his jaw. He put his hands behind him and surveyed me in a way that sent hot blood to my face.
“An interesting proposition, Miranda. We’ll talk about it later.”
In a few days the ramada was built and I began classes. Chepa and Sewa were my only pupils for the first day, but on the second morning several of Sewa’s friends ventured in.
Dr. Trent had donated a big globe and Court had produced some slates and chalk. I taught penmanship, or rather printing, till the children tired and then told them what I knew about different countries on the globe, using as much Yaqui as I could and learning, probably, more from the youngsters than they did from me.
“So your school’s a success,” Court said one evening while we were playing chess. “Perhaps now that it’s running well you’ve had time to reconsider that fascinating offer you made me.”
Coloring hotly, I muttered, “You mean being your—”
“Yes,” he said. “Do you mean it?”
I could bear his glance only a moment. “Yes.”
“And you don’t think you should marry the man who ends your maidenhood?”
I remembered Trace with sweet despairing joy, that afternoon on the mountainside. Should I confess that to Court? My veins shrank inside me as I wondered what he would do when he learned I was no virgin, feared the vile tricks he had threatened to make me learn.
Fixing my gaze on the chessboard, I said huskily, “No matter what you do to me, I’ll never marry you, Court.”
His breath ejected in a barking laugh. “Who would expect such sentiments to come from a proper English school? What if you had a baby? Or is it in your mind to sleep quickly with Trace so you could name him the father?”
I hadn’t even thought of a baby. That shocked me so that I had no energy to resent his proposed solution. I just stared at him. He took my hands, carried them roughly to his face.
“You’re a baby yourself, Miranda. What do you know of life? Love, either? I’ll teach you but not on your terms, though I could play a game with your words. Till Trace comes back,’ you said. Well, my dear, I could see to it that Trace never came back.” As I flinched, he drew me closer. “But I won’t play tricks with you. I don’t want you for a few weeks. I want you always.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
This was more terrible, more hopeless, than anything I’d foreseen.
“You can’t,” I protested. “You might not like me at all.”
He stopped my mouth with his, searing, demanding, pleading. “Like you,” he breathed. “You little fool—I want to mold you, teach you, shape you, keep you forever. Why do you think I’ve been so patient?” Releasing me, he leaned against the wall. “If you’re still so set on Winslade that you’d sacrifice your virginity to me in order to go with him, there’s nothing to gain by letting you dream up more such foolishness.”
I was afraid of what was coming, tried to ward it off. “Court—”
“We’ll go riding early in the morning, Miranda. I want my answer then.”
He strode away, toward the cantina. I watched him with hatred. Answer! What answer could I give? I’d have to be his mistress, but I wouldn’t marry him, not if I had a dozen of his bastards. And I’d get away.
Somehow, someway, when he couldn’t hurt Trace, I’d vanish. Even if it was down the mine shaft. And that gave me an idea.
When Raquel woke me next morning with a cup of chocolate and the news that the horses were ready and it was a beautiful day for riding, I refused the chocolate and asked her to tell Court I was sick. I was, in fact. The prospect of giving him an answer had twisted my stomach into a tight mass, cramped my nerves and muscles into a tight-wound internal rack.
I was sick. And I could stay so.
Sewa came over to me, closed my hand between hers. “Is it your head? Can I rub your neck?”
Her eyes were wide and troubled. “It’s not important, little flower. I shall be all right. Why don’t you ask Raquel for breakfast and then go for a ride with Pretty Hooves and Chepa?”
“I’d rather stay with you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” came a voice from the door. “Run along, chiquita. I’ll look after the señorita.”
Sewa glanced at me. I managed a smile and touched her smooth brown cheek. “Get your breakfast. And see if you can find me some pretty rocks if you go riding.”
She dressed quickly behind the Japanese screen, gave me a hug, and went out with a backward stare at Court. “Warning me, the little devil!” he said with a chuckle.
He came to my bed, laid his hand on my forehead, took my pulse, his finger listening for the trapped rhythm of my blood. I felt exposed, as if he could sense the workings of my body no matter what I did. I kept my eyes shut, knowing he was watching me, aware of my quick shallow breathing.
If he would just believe I was sick, go away and leave me!
“No fever, love,” he said. “Your eyes are clear and your color divine. Let me see your tongue.”
I didn’t respond. He set thumb and finger in the lock of my jaws, forcing my mouth to open. “Pretty little kitten tongue,” he said. “Pink and healthy.”
With a lightning motion, he threw back the sheet. “Will you ride?” His voice was husky. He leaned so close that I felt the heat of his body. “Or shall I teach you a different gallop?”
Defeated, realizing with visceral impact that I could not evade this man, I shivered under his gaze. My thin shift might as well have not been there.
“Up!” he said. “Or I’ll take you this minute with no song and dance.”
I slid under his arm, scrambling up, snatching the clothes Raquel had laid out. “You must have breakfast,” he decreed as I moved behind the screen. “It’ll be ready on the veranda in ten minutes.”
Why did he drag out this game? Why hadn’t I defied him, let him rape me and get it over? His patience was gone. It was only a matter of hours.
Still, it’s nature to hope as long as one can, to run to the end of a closed tunnel, to fight till overwhelmed. And part of my fight was not to show how frightened I was.
Facing my mirror image, I made my hair smooth, rubbed color into my lips, and fixed my chin high, shoulders back. It helped. When I looked brave, I felt stronger. And though my heart thudded as I marched down the hall, I stepped onto the veranda as if I owned it.
As indeed I did.
> That truth helped. I poured out for Court like a hostess, knew from the swift gleam of admiration in his eyes that he would let me appear in control for a while.
For a while. Till the lion sprang.
We rode along the railroad track as it twined from the valley, reached the top of the mountain and ribboned the crest. As the sun rose higher, we entered a crumbling diadem of rock that sprawled like a fortress over one ridge. Long grass fluffed high and yellow under mesquite and ironwood. Court stopped his horse and came to lift me down, holding me off the ground a moment, enjoying his power.
But he didn’t gloat. Loosening the girths, he hobbled the horses and spread a serape for us, getting out the lunch Raquel had packed: roast beef, cheese, honey cakes, and a flask of wine. He ate with gusto, but I nibbled cheese and gazed northwest.
Trace was in that vastness. He should be done in Arizona by now, perhaps was on his way back, though he might seek out Lío before coming to Mina Rara.
Lío. Was Domingo becoming the kind of Sierra Yaqui to make his sister proud? And what was my own sister doing, my sister who had told the general to kill the Yaqui hostages when she knew it would mean my death?
“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Court. “Or perhaps they’re worth gold nuggets! But what can a man offer the queen of the golden mountain?”
“I was wondering about the people I know. About Reina—”
“She’s a witch,” Court said, taking my hand. “But she can’t hurt you now. No one can.”
“Except you?”
He shrugged, mouth curving down. “I’ll cherish you like the best and dearest part of my own body. And the pain that makes you a woman—there are ways to lessen that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No,” he said impatiently, “you’re choosing to feel martyred and abused. But that won’t last long. So how shall it be, Miranda? Shall we marry? Will you take me for your lover? Or shall I send men to wait for Trace?”
A Lady Bought with Rifles Page 18