by Penny Hayes
"Then she's gonna sleep in here. An' one word about anything Bill might let slip —"
In savage anger, Margarita slapped the table top with both palms. "All right! She sleeps in here. But so do I. So do we all. And damn it, forget about what Bill might say. Who the hell cares now, anyway?" Sam would not harm this woman. Would not!
Julia had completed her task and now stood at the bedside closing the medicine bag, not reacting to her two captors at all. When she had fastened the final strap, Sam rose and stepped to her side. He took hold of her wrist. Julia bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.
Margarita watched sharp-eyed as he picked up from the table a piece of rope. He was going to bind her hands together — again! It was obvious that he was planning to keep her tied all the time.
Margarita's very core rebelled — unexpectedly, violently — against Sam's endless sadistic actions of the past few days, his bossiness, his crudeness — what he was about to do now. Red spots appeared before her eyes. She felt dizzy and sick. She hated the man, hated his authority over her and Julia.
With a cry of outrage she grabbed a whiskey bottle and with a mighty swing smashed it against the edge of the table. Chunks and splinters of glass flew everywhere; the strong pungent odor of whiskey filled the room. Margarita clenched the jagged neck of the bottle and held it against Bill's throat, his skin dimpling beneath its pressure. Margarita shook with vehemence as she said, "Julia will not be kept tied like an animal, you bastard. And by God, we will not sleep in here — ever!"
Sam looked contemptuously at her from beneath his heavy lidded eyes. Unconcerned, he continued to wind the rope around Julia's wrists, smoke from his dangling cigarette floating lazily past his eyes.
Without mercy, Margarita pushed the bottle deep enough into Bill's neck to cut the skin. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his throat and onto the matted pillow.
Sam jumped forward. "Why you —"
She drove the bottle still deeper. Blood began to ooze more rapidly and thickly. "I'll slit his stinking throat, Sam," she warned.
Sam yanked the rope from Julia's wrists and slung it to the floor. "There, damn you!" he roared. "You'd best see she behaves."
Margarita turned to Julia. "Patch up Bill," she commanded, and cast aside the bottle neck. Without another word she stormed out of the cabin leaving Sam to clean up the mess and Julia to return on her own. If there was an outcry from Julia, Margarita would come to her aid instantly, gun drawn.
Alone in her cabin, she sat at the table and pounded her fists against the rough wood in blinding disappointment that the posse had failed to catch the men, that the guards hadn't shot all three of them dead in the bank, that she had forced Julia to come here.
"Damn it!" she uttered. A shadow fell across the threshold. She whirled, expecting Sam. "Oh, God," she sobbed when she saw Julia looking pale and shaken. "I hate you Anglos," Margarita cried loudly. "I hate all of you." She buried her face in her arms on the table, crying uncontrollably and feeling utterly defeated. What, in God's holy name, had happened to the peace she had once known in her life?
Julia walked over to Margarita and drew her to her feet. Gently, she pulled her close. "Shhh, Yellowthroat," whispered the taller woman into hair black as midnight.
The warmth of Julia's breath made Margarita's skin prickle. Feeling foolish at being held like a child, she began to pull away. Why the hell should Julia care about her? But Julia held firm, and Margarita soon yielded, wrapped warmly in Julia's arms. Julia murmured meaningless words into her ear and rubbed a strong, soothing hand up and down her back and stroked her hair and neck.
When Margarita finally managed to stop quaking, Julia released her. "Why are you so kind to me, Julia?" Margarita asked. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand.
"I don't know. I guess because you keep sticking up for me against your friend."
"But you're our prisoner — my prisoner."
"Don't think for a moment I've forgotten." Julia frowned deeply and sat on the cot. She began to pick at the woolen blanket covering the bed. "What you've done to me is stupid and cruel. I'll do what I can for Bill because no matter who I patch up, I try to give them my all. But then what? What happens to me after he recovers — or dies? Why should I allow myself to be consumed by hatred toward you? Toward them?" Julia tossed her head in the direction of the men's cabin. "It's a waste of time. I may not have a lot of time left. I'm not senseless enough to think I'm likely to get out of this."
Margarita turned to look at the pale woman seated on her cot. Julia was so different from her. Not be consumed by anger? By hatred? Had she run into someone stronger than herself?
Breaking into Margarita's thoughts, Julia asked, "Why do you stay here? You could change your life. You're not like the men."
Margarita walked to the doorway. With a sigh, she leaned against its edge. She might not be like the men but still she could not go; not with Bill hating her so. "If Bill lives he'll come looking for me. There's nowhere I could hide from him." She gazed out over the meadow with unblinking eyes. "I know he thinks I failed them all. But I checked that place a half dozen times. There was never a guard there. Only the tellers." Impatiently she wiped tears from her cheeks. "Who would ever suspect the painting was nothing but a trick? I never saw such a thing before. If I knew who was responsible, so help me God I'd shoot him dead."
She glanced at Julia, who sat rigid and white. "I'm sorry," Margarita apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Truthfully, I've never shot anyone. It's just that I feel so defeated sometimes."
Stammering, Julia replied, "It's... it's all right."
No it wasn't all right. Nothing was right. Hell, she didn't need to be reminded of her hopeless situation. She whirled on Julia in a sudden, new-felt wave of frustration. "What do you know, Anglo? Living in a fancy town. Wearing fancy dresses all the time. Look at your hands. Look at them!" Margarita walked to Julia and grabbed a hand, turning it palm upward. "Not a callous," she accused. "Not a scar. Soft as mash. Your hands are useless. You've never worked a day in your life! Don't tell me I should leave here." She added churlishly, "I have more money than you'll ever have just because I've stayed." She thrust Julia's hand from her own, a distasteful object, not to be touched.
"How dare you even say such a thing, Margarita Sanchez." Julia spoke incredulously. She pointed an accusing finger, her eyes blazing with anger. "You have everyone else's money. You have some of mine. You have none of your own."
Margarita exclaimed bitterly, "But I did have. Land, animals, a home. It was taken. All of it. In a moment — seven years of work — gone! Gone to Anglos. Jealous, greedy, stinking Anglos!"
She grabbed her hat and stalked out of the cabin. Julia had to step aside to avoid being pushed out of her path.
Margarita headed up the trail toward the pool. She would take a swim to cool off.
Damn it! She was so tired, hungry, worn down. She had never felt this way before. She knew she should rest. She couldn't even think straight anymore.
It pained her that she had yelled at Julia. But she had been unable to stop herself. The words had poured out uncontrollably. She had never even told the men as much as she had just revealed to this stranger. And she never knew she hated running with outlaws so much until she had lashed out at this innocent woman, taking out on her prisoner her inability to do something better with her own life.
Carelessly casting aside her hat she stripped to the skin, wishing she had brought along a fresh change of clothing. She should have brought Julia along, too. But the woman had sounded so damned righteous. Leaving her alone with Sam was stupid, but Margarita could think of nothing but escaping for a while. In any case, should their prisoner be in any kind of trouble, Margarita was sure Julia would scream her head off for help. And she, Margarita, could fight naked as well as clothed.
In another minute she was swimming on the bottom of the pool, gritting her teeth not against the cold water, but against
her feelings about the kind of life she had been leading.
Chapter Seven
It was dark when Margarita awoke. Completely nude, she lay face down on top of a slab of rock, her hands tucked beneath her face to protect it. The moon hung low in the sky and stars twinkled brilliantly overhead. The mountain air was cool and penetrating.
She had just stood to dress when she heard a twig snap. Quickly, she ducked out of sight behind the rock. She hadn't brought her gun. Here at the meadow, she wasn't supposed to need one. Gone completely, she realized, was all the trust, however meager it may have been, that she and the gang had once shared.
With relief she watched the big papery moon silhouette Julia from behind as the panting woman climbed the last few feet of the path without benefit of lantern light. It was a wonder she hadn't sprained an ankle.
"That's a hell of a steep climb," Julia gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I'm not used to so much physical activity. Here, I thought you'd like a towel and soap."
Shyly Margarita came out from behind the rock, grateful for what little darkness there was. "How did you know where I was?" she asked. She took the towel Julia held out to her and, loosely folding it around herself, began to scrub away the tiny stones that had embedded themselves into her chest, belly, and thighs while she had slept.
"Sam came looking for you. He told me where you'd be. He said you're to take the next watch."
"When?"
"He didn't say. In an hour, I'd guess."
"How's Bill?"
"He's talking to himself and restless, but Sam's staying right with him."
"It's amazing Sam even gives a damn."
"Bill saved his life once."
Margarita looked up in surprise. "That must have been before we rode together. How did you learn that?"
"Bill began to mumble about it. Sam filled me in; says he owes Bill one. He's drunk," Julia added.
Margarita gave a snort of disgust. "He talks a lot when he's drunk. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Julia answered tiredly, and sat on a rock to rest.
In the pale light Margarita saw the shadow of a smile cross Julia's face. She said, "Bandits live terribly and argue among themselves a lot."
"They're frightening, too," Julia admitted. "Am I going to be shot?"
"No, Julia, you're not going to be shot. But I don't know when you're going home, either."
Julia let out a long sigh. Margarita heard her whisper, "Damn."
Impulsively she asked the downcast woman, "Would you like to go for a swim? The water is wonderful." The towel hung forgotten in her hands. And gone was the overwhelming anger she had earlier felt for Julia. This wasn't just another Anglo, another greedy Americano. This was Julia — resilient Julia — who had yet to complain about her circumstances.
"I don't know how to swim," Julia answered.
"That's all right. It isn't deep on this side. You can walk right along here for ten or twelve feet." Margarita indicated the area with a sweeping arm.
"I don't know..." Julia's voice trailed off.
"Come on," Margarita encouraged. "You'll sleep better."
"In these hovels? How do you people stand it?"
"My hovel is cleaner than the men's," Margarita replied with a smile.
Forgetting her nudity, she tossed the towel onto a rock and walked over to Julia and drew her to her feet by her elbows. Soon she was carefully leading her, naked and shivering, down over small rocks and into the water.
"Brrr, it's cold," Julia remarked with a shaking voice. She wrapped her arms tightly about herself.
"You'll get used to it. The water feels warmer at night. Just hang onto the edge. You'll be all right."
"I've never done this before." Julia's teeth chattered loudly. "It's not much like a hot tub in the kitchen, is it?"
"Not at all. It's a lot more fun. More freedom." Instantly Margarita regretted her words. "Take the soap," she said quickly, placing it carefully in Julia's hand. If she dropped it, she'd have a devil of a time finding it.
Julia splashed water on herself, gasping with each scoop, then slowly, almost sensuously, she began to rub the bar up and down her long slender arms and across her chest. Her pale, soapy skin glistened in the silvery light. It was difficult for Margarita not to stare at the taller woman, at the firm breasts thrust forward, the nipples erect, the body tense with chill.
She forced her eyes away from the intriguing and lovely vision, to swim to the center of the pool. Splashing water about, she announced, "Ahhh, this is great," and slid from Julia's sight.
When she broke surface, Julia was frantically calling her name, reaching out toward the center of the pool as far as she could with one hand while clinging desperately to the edge with the other. "Oh, my God, I thought you'd drowned!" The bar of soap was gone.
"No, bobo, I do this all the time."
"You put your head all the way under the water?"
"Yes, watch." Again Margarita was out of sight. In the inky blackness of the pool, she swam to Julia and with both hands grabbed her by the waist and burst upward through the surface, only inches from her face. Julia shrieked with fear.
Margarita threw back her head and laughed uproariously, delighting in teasing her, feeling devilishly carefree. "Here, you do it," she invited.
"Do what?"
"Take a deep breath and put your head under the water."
"You're addled. I'll die."
"You won't die. I won't let you."
Beneath the moon and stars the two women studied each other. Margarita could see the debate racing through Julia's mind. Should she trust her or not?
"You are the one Americano I like, Julia," Margarita assured her, attempting to put Julia at ease. "I won't drown you. I promise."
Julia clutched Margarita's forearms. "All right, I'll try."
Holding on with a claw-like grip that bit into Margarita's arms, Julia bent over and put her face into the water. In less than two seconds she came up gasping for air.
"Didn't you take a deep breath?" Margarita asked.
"Yes, but I didn't know how long I could hold it. I'll try once more."
Well, the lady had plenty of courage. But Margarita already knew that.
This time Julia squatted down and ducked completely under the water. She stayed only long enough to become totally submerged before jumping back up, but she had succeeded. With childlike delight, she squealed, "I did it!"
They laughed loudly, Margarita allowing Julia to hold her arms in bondage until both women had ducked beneath the water's surface several times, their knees banging together, and each time Julia coming up breathless and breathing loudly and deeply through wide-opened mouth.
"There, that's all there is to it. Now, when you paddle," Margarita advised, "you'll swim. Kick your feet, too."
"Not tonight," Julia gasped. "It must be near time to see to Bill again. I wouldn't want Sam to come up here."
In an instant, the lighthearted mood they shared was gone. The unpleasantness of her situation struck Margarita with the heaviness of a stone cast into the pool's serene water.
Too soon, the women were re-dressed in their sweaty, dusty clothing. Cautiously they made their way down the rocky slope, aided only by moonlight.
Julia asked, "What will Sam do if Bill dies?"
"He'll be angry," Margarita replied. She could almost feel the tension building around Julia. "He's not like this normally. But what the hell is normal anymore?" She felt it necessary to add: "Don't worry. I'll get you safely out of here."
To Margarita's surprise, Julia wordlessly took her hand and held it the rest of the way down the trail.
Margarita didn't let go until they reached the cabin.
Nor did she want to.
Chapter Eight
Bill grew worse and worse. There were days and nights when he would scream in agony, sometimes having to be held face down by his three attendants almost brutally so that he would n
ot tear his bandages loose and rip open his wound. He raved, completely out of his mind as fever racked his body. Julia stayed with him constantly, fighting valiantly for his life, sitting long hours by his side both day and night. But in spite of her efforts, late in the afternoon eight days after he had been shot, he took a final breath, and died.
Julia looked up from the side of his cot where she had been kneeling. Sam stood beside her. "I tried, Sam. I really tried."
To Margarita it was touching the way Sam put his big hand on her shoulder. He sighed deeply and pursed his lips. "I believe you did, Julia. You're a good doctor. At first I thought you'd let him die on purpose. I didn't trust you. But, yeah, I think you did try."
Julia rose, and in gentlemanly fashion Sam offered her a stool, showing a side of himself that Margarita hadn't seen before. The three sat quietly together not speaking.
Finally Sam said, "I gotta ask, Julia. Why'd you try so hard?"
"He's a human being, Sam," she answered. "I treat all people the same, the drunks that are brought to me, the injured children, the innocent people who've gotten themselves shot." She glanced at the body of Bill, covered now with a blanket Margarita had placed over him.
Sam studied Julia for a long time before turning his eyes away. "Well, he run a good race. He was too damn crazy to live long, anyway."
"He was scum," Margarita said flatly.
"No denyin' it," Sam concurred. "All the same, I'm gonna drink to him for the time he saved my hide, and then I'm gonna bury the poor bastard. Who's gonna join me?"
Margarita nodded in reluctant confirmation, but Julia said, "I'll drink to the valiant fight he put up, but to nothing else."