A Lady Bought with Rifles

by Jeanne Williams

  The air was still and golden hot. A red manzanita twig seemed to bleed before my eyes. “What answer can I make?” I swallowed, willing my voice steady. “Of course I won’t let Trace die. I’ll be your mistress—and for all I care, you can take me now!” The words broke.

  I stared into those golden eyes, might as well have searched for a soul in the eyes of a hawk. He straightened my clothes, bent his head, taking my mouth, opening it with his delving tongue. Holding me with one arm, he let his other hand find my breasts, my inner thighs. I was tense, not only because of his invasion but from fear of what he would do when he learned Trace had taken me. I held myself stiff, unyielding.

  With an impatient sound, he opened my bodice, cupped my breasts, nipped them with soft little titillating bites, then plunged his head and sucked till it seemed he must be drawing out my very life.

  His fingers pushed away my garments. When I tried to draw back, he held me, watching my face as he teased and played where only Trace had touched. Court didn’t try to penetrate the moist pulsing hidden mouth his hand caressed, but I knew with frantic shame that he was aware of the building hunger in my loins, the pulsing beneath his skilled fingers.

  “See, Miranda?” he said huskily. “You’ll like it. You’re ready for me now. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Court—”

  “I won’t take you here.” Straightening my clothes, he drew me to my feet. “I’ll have you in bed, with ease and comfort after Dr. Trent marries us. You’re my lady, not a wench I found in the brush.”

  He bent to roll up the serape. I waited near the horses, aroused senses throbbing. No doubt at all that I’d respond to him, that he could own my body, do what he wished with it till I came to want whatever he did.

  His rifle, as always, was in the scabbard. Stealthily, I moved toward it. His back was still turned. I grasped the rifle, sliding it free while holding the scabbard. Grasping the bolt, I pumped a cartridge in place as he heard and whirled.

  When he saw the rifle, he laughed. “Put it down, love. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I’ll hurt you if you come closer.”

  He scratched his bleached hair, still grinning. “You’ve got the rifle, Miranda. Now what can you do with it? You know and I know you won’t kill me if I stay put. But the second you try to ride away, I’ll be on you. And you can’t hold that gun forever. You’ll get tired. You’re tired already. Look how your hand’s shaking.” His tone was hypnotic, coaxing. “Drop it, Miranda. Drop it and we’ll go home.”

  If there were some way to tie him up—I tried to imagine pulling the trigger, knew that I couldn’t unless he rushed me. Damn him, all he had to do was wait! I hadn’t gained a thing. Then I remembered the length of rawhide he’d used to tie up the serape.

  “Take that rope and knot it around your ankles,” I commanded.

  He gave a long slow whistle. “And then what?” he asked, shaking his head as if grieved at my stupidity. “I can’t tie my hands even if I wanted to and if you try—”

  I didn’t have that solved yet myself, but if his feet were secured, it would hamper him.

  “Do it,” I said.

  With the air of a man humoring a maniac, he untied the rawhide and sat down, obligingly looped the cord around and about his ankles, making what seemed to be genuine knots. He looked up, laughing.

  “All right, love. My hands?”

  If I tried to stun him, there’d be a second he could lunge for me. I had to shoot him, hope my aim was good. I didn’t want to kill him. But the right shoulder …

  I sighted and fired. Eyes widening as he realized my intent, he flung himself forward, but the bullet was faster, took him in the upper right arm. The impact swung him around, carried him backward. The shot had gone right through his shoulder. There was a lot of blood on his white shirt. He seemed unconscious, though his eyes were partly open. His breathing was heavy, guttural.

  I didn’t want him to stop me, nor did I wish to leave him to bleed to death. Taking off my petticoat, I plugged both sides of the wound with flounces and wound the rest of the cloth around his shoulder.

  “Court? Court!”

  He didn’t answer. His lips were pallid. “I’ll leave your horse down the trail,” I said, in case he could hear, understand. “And I’ll send someone back.”

  But before you can do anything, I hope to be far, far away, with Trace warned.

  I whirled my horse and rode, urging the gray along. The only plan I had was to ask one of the men to show me the way Trace would be coming and get there, with Sewa, before Court could catch us.

  An hour and a half later, I tethered the gray to a mesquite and urged the mare on. How much time was I buying? Two hours? Five or six?

  A shabby youngster was running” up the trail. I didn’t recognize Domingo till he raised his arms and cried, “Lady! Lady! Can you help us?”

  Hanging on behind me, Domingo told his story as we rode down the winding trail to the village. The night before, Cruz had crawled into the basin, gasped a warning through bleeding lips. Federal troops were on their way, hundreds of them, assembled after pressure from Reina, who was determined to have Lío’s head. Reina had been with soldiers who came to Cruz’s hut and tortured him, trying to make him reveal the location of the band. He hadn’t told, but through his control of bodily functions, he had made them believe him dead or near it, so they had left him in disgust. Reina had promised a thousand gold pesos to the man who brought her proof of Lío’s death, and she rode with the troops.

  Lío, Tula, and the fighting men had headed north, hoping to meet Trace and have the guns and ammunition that would give them some chance against the soldiers, but the women and children were hiding in the hills above Mina Rara, along with Cruz, who was in serious condition.

  “Some have relatives who work at the mine,” said Domingo. “They would take us in. But you should know, my lady, in case the soldiers come—”

  The soldiers and Reina?

  My head whirled with it all. Cruz injured, perhaps dying; Trace intercepted by Lío; hundreds of soldiers prowling the area; Court lying in his blood several miles up the trail …

  “Of course your people can come,” I said, “but they’d better wait till dark so only their relatives and friends will know. We can bring Cruz down now, though, take him to Señor Sanders’ house. Señor Sanders is wounded. I’ll have the doctor and some men fetch him while we go for Cruz.”

  Court would probably be in no shape to send assassins after Trace now, and even if he did, they’d have no chance against Lío’s men. I wouldn’t even attempt to guess the future, what would happen as Court recovered strength. With Sierra Yaquis hiding in the village and soldiers on the hunt, nothing was sure but trouble.

  “Hold on!” I admonished Domingo, and urged my mare into a run as we reached more level ground.

  I sent Domingo to tell Sewa what was happening while I rousted Dr. Trent out of his easy chair and told him Court was on top of the mountain, bleeding from a bullet wound.

  “An accident,” I said, though stuporous with brandy as he was Dr. Trent seemed to accept the incident without much curiosity. “Better take a few men to carry him down.”

  I collected Domingo, gave Sewa a quick hug, and told Raquel to look after Señor Sanders, who would be home presently. “A friend of mine has been hurt,” I explained. “I’m going to bring him back, so have a bed ready.”

  We got another horse for Domingo and Sewa insisted on coming, astride Pretty Hooves. “Domingo can ride back with me,” she pointed out.

  Two hours’ brisk ride from the mine we found the women and children huddling under the washed-out side of a granite cliff. Cruz lay in the shade, twitching in fevered sleep. Blood matted his hair, his face was bruised, and when he raised his arms, I groaned and went sick.

  His fingers had been cut off, some by a joint, some by two, some at the base. His healing, wise hands. Oh, damn those men! Damn Reina to hell, the cold bitch, to do such a thing!

  Kne
eling, wrenched with sobs, I held him in my arms, tried to lift him. Domingo and old Camilda helped. We got Cruz on my horse.

  “We take Cruz now,” I said in halting Yaqui. “The rest of you come tonight. Those who have no friends or relations at the mine must come to the big house of Señor Sanders and I will find you a place.”

  “What if soldiers come to the mine?” called one woman with a baby at her breast and a toddler at her skirts.

  “We will have a lookout. If troops come, perhaps there’ll be time to hide in the mountains. But let’s pray that Trace Winslade and his guns reach Lío and the men in time to drive the soldiers away.”

  I got up behind Cruz, supporting him as best I could. Domingo, mounted, led my horse by the reins, while Sewa brought up the rear. We went back much slower than we’d come. It was almost sunset when we descended into the valley.

  Domingo helped me get Cruz down the hall to the room Raquel had prepared. She came out of Court’s chamber as we passed, gave me an accusing stare.

  “How could you do it, señorita? He loved you! How could you?”

  “Bring the doctor,” I said curtly. “And can you make some strong broth? I will look in on the señor later. For now I must see to my friend.”

  Raquel flung away, weeping for the man who treated her as he might a pet. I had to admire her loyalty and believe she loved Court for himself, not just his presents.

  As soon as we got Cruz in bed, I sent Domingo off with Sewa to the kitchen, for I was sure he was famished. Dr. Trent came puffing in while I was washing Cruz.

  “You shot this poor man, too?” he demanded, rubbing his mottled face. Then he saw the mutilated hands, gagged, and went to work.

  If he wasn’t quite sober when he started, he was when he finished. “This man’s been kicked and beaten till it’s a wonder he’s alive,” the doctor said. “May have some broken ribs and internal injuries. But he’s tough. May do. I’ll leave these morphine tablets in case he wakes up enough to feel what’s happened. I’ll look in on him when I check on Mr. Sanders.”

  I thanked Trent After he was gone, I got a little water down Cruz’s throat, and when Raquel sent broth by Domingo and Sewa, we got him to swallow a few spoonsful.

  “A little at a time,” I said at last. “Sewa, will you stay with him while Domingo and I watch for the women and children who have no place to stay?”

  Five women and seven children came to Court’s house, cautiously materializing out of the night. There was no way to conceal their presence from Raquel, since they would have to eat, so I enlisted her help in finding mats and blankets to bed them down in the storerooms connecting the main house and kitchen.

  “Camilda and her daughter can cook for the group,” I told Raquel. “Please be patient and helpful. If you are, you shall have the prettiest dress in Hermosillo and the longest earrings we can find.”

  “I do not care about that. Only that the señor shall be well and strong again.”

  It was not the time to tell her that he would have been in perfect health had he not threatened me with virtual rape and the death of the man I loved. “He’ll be as good as new in a few weeks,” I said. “Now let’s see about a big pot of stew and some milk for the children.”

  A cousin of one of the refugees stood watch all night on the trail above the valley and was relieved at dawn by another Yaqui miner. To glance around the dwellings, no one would guess the population had increased by a third during the night. To strangers viewing Mina Rara, there was nothing suspicious. The children living in Court’s storerooms were playing in the inner yard and no more than two women ventured out at once.

  Still, in spite of outward calm, there was tension, suspense, the agony of waiting.…

  I sat up all night with Cruz, dozing a bit now and then; giving him water when he seemed to rouse. While Dr. Trent was with him that morning, I looked in on Court, who was cradled against Raquel as she held a cup of coffee for him to sip.

  His eyes kindled as he saw me. He pushed the cup away. “So you’ve hid Yaquis about the village,” he said in a fatalistic tone. “And the fighting men are no doubt meeting Trace, so it’s too late for me to send after him. I hope you know, Miranda, that you’re jeopardizing not only your life and all you own, but everyone who works at Mina Rara. If soldiers find outlaw Yaquis here, the rest will be killed or deported, too. I’m surprised you can take it on your conscience.”

  “I don’t see what else I could do. Anyway, if the men get the weapons Trace hoped to find, they could make things difficult for many times their number of soldiers.”

  “So now you’re egging on rebels. How can you forget they were ready to kill you?”

  “They only want their land, in peace.”

  “They’ll never get it.” Court’s mouth hardened and I noticed, with shock, how haggard he was. “Even if they get away this time, they’ll have to hide out in the sierra till they’re killed or caught.”

  “There may be a revolution. You’ve said it yourself. That could get their land back or at least stop the deportations and extermination. No one has a guaranteed future.” I paused and stared at him. “That includes you, Court. I want your promise not to betray the Yaquis.”

  “Or?” His yellow eyes smoldered and a faint smile twitched the edges of his mouth.

  “If I have to shoot you again, I won’t stop at a shoulder.”

  He laughed outright. “God damn you, sweetheart, I can’t stand any more of your marksmanship!”

  Raquel shielded him. “Hurt him more, señorita, and I cut your throat!” she hissed. He patted her arm.

  “Don’t be upset, chiquita,” he said lazily. “Miss Miranda is a woman of principle and I have no intention of provoking her into further proof of it. Run along now, I want a few words alone with her.”

  Casting a warning glance at me, Raquel went out. Court watched me with one sun-bleached eyebrow raised. I felt an urge to run, though he was in no shape to be a menace.

  “So you shot me, Miranda,” he said conversationally. “How did it feel?”

  “You’ve shot men.”

  “Yes, but I’m not you. Come, my dear, gratify my curiosity. How did you feel when I went over backward?”

  “Awful.”

  He nodded. “That ought to tell you something about yourself, Miranda, that and the fact that you can’t hold a grudge against those bandits who wanted to kill you a month ago. You don’t belong in this country. When I’m well, I’ll take you to the United States.”

  Astounded, I had to swallow a few times before I could speak. “You—you’ll take me to the States? Court, you have to be out of your mind!”

  “No, love. People will think you’re out of yours. Crazed, you’ll be, from what you’ve been through, and everyone will think me a devoted husband to care so tenderly for a demented wife who may at times insist she was abducted.”

  Somehow I managed to laugh. “You’re demented, Court, to say what you hope to do. I suppose you’d bribe that poor old derelict, Dr. Trent, to marry us. And saying I was mad would explain anything, wouldn’t it? But you’re forgetting you’re in no condition to make me do anything, and by the time you are—”

  “You hope to be far away with Winslade?” Court asked silkily. “Well, querida, we all have plans. Let’s see whose come true.”

  I advanced on him. “Court, you swore not to tell about the Yaquis.”

  “Neither shall I. But wherever Trace takes you, I’ll find you. That’s a promise, too, Miranda.”

  Cold foreboding gripped me. I had just thought ahead to getting to Trace’s friends, being free of both Court and Reina. I had supposed Trace would be where he’d come to see me often. But if he were committed to stoking the fires of revolution, or if Court were really determined to hunt me down …

  It came to me that while Court Sanders lived, I’d never be free of him. Yet I couldn’t kill him while he was helpless. I stumbled toward the door.

  “Thank you, Miranda,” mocked Court, “for looking in on me.”


  12

  The soldiers came at noon. I was spooning broth into Cruz, who was conscious now, while Sewa played the flute. Domingo came running in, bare feet spanking the tiles.

  “Federales!” he panted. “The lookout just came in. He says they’ll be here in an hour, at least two hundred.”

  My heart stopped, then tripped over and began to pound. To think the troops might come was one thing—to confront them was another. Would Court keep his word? Would Raquel stay silent? Had any of the Mexican miners noticed their neighbors’ guests?

  If only there were a hiding place, a safe secure spot big enough to hold the fifty-odd women and children …

  And then it came. The mine shaft, the long tunnel eating through the mountain. The refugees could hide there. Putting the broth in Sewa’s hands, I told her to feed Cruz, said I’d be back in a while, and hurried with Domingo to the storerooms.

  There I told the women my plan and asked them to go swiftly to the house where their friends were and gather them at the new mine as soon as possible along with any bedding and food they could get.

  The shifts wouldn’t change till three and most of the Mexican workers were below now. With luck, the gathering of women and children wouldn’t be observed by anyone likely to betray them, but I had a last-ditch strategy in case the soldiers did search the mine shaft.

  I stopped in Court’s office and put all the loose money in a small bag that I gave Domingo in case things went wrong. Then he and I loaded Cascos Lindos with water and food and urged her to the mine, where some Yaquis were already congregated in the supply room. Distributing candles, I led them down the ladders, left Domingo to instruct the others as they came, and ran back to the house as the first soldiers appeared on the trail.

  As I glanced up, my blood turned to ice. I stood paralyzed for a moment. That was no soldier on the black horse at the head of the troops. That proud figure, red hair …

  Reina!

  It didn’t seem likely that soldiers, without definite evidence, would search the house of a gringo mine superintendent, but I got Sewa and Raquel to help me move Cruz into my room, instructed Sewa to bolt the door, and went to sit with Court.