by Anita Mills
“I tried—I swear I tried!”
Alessandro threw up his hands. “Tried! I don’t know why I have bothered, Ramon! You are not fit to wear my shoes, do you hear that? You are not fit to have the Ybarra!”
“Papa, they will hear you,” Ramon protested weakly.
The old man lowered his voice. “She’s dead, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Half a day’s ride north of the Overland Road, Papa. I did not think anyone would find her there.”
Alessandro groaned. “Someone must find her body, or we cannot claim the ranchero. Otherwise, she must be declared dead, and that takes too much time.”
“We do what we did with Tía Isabella,” Ramon reasoned. “We send out the searchers, and when they find Maria, they will believe the Comanches killed her there.”
Sinking into his leather chair, Alessandro put his fingers together and looked up at Ramon. “And how”—he bit the words off evenly—”do you explain that she is north of the road, my son?”
“But I have thought of that, Papa. Don’t you see? The Comanches have carried her that way. And when she became a burden to them, they killed her and left her.”
His father regarded him wearily. “To my knowledge there have been no war parties in the area. At least with Isabella, the time was right. Now we must create suspicion by sending a search party north.”
“But there were Comanches there—I myself saw them.” Wanting to impress Alessandro, he blurted out, “They would have captured me, but I fought them off, Papa. You nearly lost your son, much you care for that.” When the old man’s expression did not change, he added resentfully, “Only my wits and my new rifle saved me.”
“If you had told me you ran, I might have believed you. It is not in you to stand like a man, Ramon.” Sighing, the elder Sandoval shook his head. “Why could you not have gotten my spine? Why is it that all you had of me was your looks? No, you are Ramona’s son more than mine. You deserve the name she gave you.”
“There is no need to quarrel at me, Papa. It is done.”
“You were supposed to court her—you were supposed to bring her back a bride. The other we could arrange later.”
“You did not know her.” Taking the chair opposite his father, Ramon tried to plead his case. He leaned forward, his voice earnest. “Maria Ross was not the sheltered señorita eager to fall into my arms, Papa. I did everything, I swear to you—I did everything to make her wish to marry me. She refused me—me, your son, Papa! I even thought if I kept playing the courtly gentleman, she would soften, but she did not. No, she was too good for me, yet she could expose her breasts to Señor McAlester!” he recalled indignantly.
“McAlester?” There was a pregnant pause. “Which McAlester, Ramon?”
“The Texas Ranger—she preferred that savage to me!”
But Alessandro was ahead of him. “I don’t like this. The rangers must suspect nothing. They must blame the Indians.”
“How can they suspect anything? He left the same day we did—I heard he was going to El Paso. No, it would not even surprise me if he went across into New Mexico. He has a great hatred for the Comancheros, which I have seen with my own eyes.” Noting that his father’s expression had not lightened at all, he added defensively, “Papa, I did everything to win her, but I could see my suit was hopeless.”
“Are you certain she is dead?”
Ramon nodded. “At first I just left her there, but then when I thought about how she had refused me, I got angry, and I went back and shot her. I saw her fall. And even if she did not die of the bullet, she had no water. She could not have survived even one day out there—you don’t know how hot it was, Papa. And I know I did not miss when I shot her.”
“I have but to look at the ground here to tell there has been heat,” Alessandro responded dryly. “Well, it is done,” he decided, his voice suddenly tired.
“You told me if she would not marry me, she would have to die,” Ramon reminded him.
“I know.” The old man sighed. “But it would have looked better if you had scalped her like Paulo did with Isabella. Then there was no question. Everybody believed she was taken with my poor brother.” Thinking of Gregorio, he whispered a quick prayer, then made the sign of the Cross over his breast. Recovering, he repeated himself. “You should have scalped her.”
“Me?” Horrified, his son exclaimed, “Papa, I cannot stand the sight of blood!”
“Yes, I know that also,” Alessandro said grimly. “You are like poor Ramona, may God rest her soul,” he added, looking heavenward. “Why I do not know, but it has been my lot to be surrounded by imbeciles. At least your Mother had the excuse of being female.”
“Papa—”
But Alessandro wasn’t finished. “Even Gregorio was a fool, for he did not hide the other women from Isabella. Had the Indians not gotten him first, she would surely have divorced him. Padre Luis told me that over too much tequila—did you know that? She went to him, saying Gregorio had betrayed her too many times. And when he told her it was a sin to end a marriage, she said there was no Texas law against it. And I had warned my brother—I said the Ybarra is worth sleeping with ice, with stone even.”
“Papa, I am telling you I tried.”
Alessandro favored his son with a look of utter disgust. “You are like him also—you do not know when to stay away from the wrong woman. Look at you! You have looks and grace, and yet you could not even make a grieving Maria Ross turn to you! Was it because you went at her like a rutting pig?”
“No!”
“No, do not lie to me! You have not the will of a rabbit! All you want is any place to put it, Ramon. By the time you are my age, you will be raddled with the French sickness!”
“I cannot help it if the women like me,” Ramon protested.
“Like you? It is the money they like, you fool!” Alessandro threw up his hands. “What are you to do when I am gone? Well, it cannot be thought. But I know this—if you do not stiffen your spine, you will lose the Ybarra from beneath your nose!” Catching himself, he lowered his voice. “But you cannot help it, I suppose.”
“Papa, I did what you asked! She would not have me!”
“Then you should have brought her here and let me take care of it. There could have been a riding accident—or something could have fallen on her. As it is now, what is everyone to think? First Gregorio, then Isabella, and now Maria—all taken by the Indians?” Again, he shook his head. “Now I will have to press Governor Davis to do something about them, I suppose. I will have to take myself off to Austin and appear before the legislature, demanding more protection for the rancheros. And there will be rangers everywhere, which we do not want.”
“I am sorry, Papa. I tried—truly I tried.”
“Yes, you are always sorry.” Alessandro’s expression softened, and he leaned to cup his son’s face with his hands. “But you are my son—everything I do is for you. More than anything I have dreamed of leaving the Ybarra to you.” Releasing Ramon, he heaved himself from the chair. “So now we must send out the search parties, eh? But first, I will go to the kitchen and find an onion to rub into your eyes. You, my son, will drink no more tequila—no, you will stay in your room and weep for poor Maria until we are ready to leave.”
“You did not know her,” Ramon muttered sullenly.
“It does not matter. And when we bring her back to be buried here, you will sleep alone for a decent time. Whether you want to do it or not, you will mourn Maria Ross properly. You will not dance nor show any gaiety for a twelvemonth, my son. And you will lead the search party yourself, but I intend to send Paulo also to remind you of your grief should it wane.” “Papa, it is too hot to ride—and I just got home. I am tired. The heat has made me sick.”
Alessandro gave him a withering look. “And who else is there who can help us to stumble onto poor Maria’s body, I ask you? No, my son, you will swear vengeance on the Comanches—you
will be too distraught to eat, to sleep, to think about anything but finding Maria. Do you understand me, Ramon?”
“Yes, Papa,” his son said wearily. “You are making me weep for a woman who would not have me.”
“You are inconsolable over a woman who promised to be your wife before she was so cruelly captured by the Indians. Repeat it—repeat it now for me.”
“I am weeping for Maria.” Seeing that his father still looked down his hawk nose at him, he capitulated. “All right—it has been a great sadness to me. We had come to love each other and were making plans to marry here at the Ybarra. Does that satisfy you?”
“Barely. I hope you show more emotion when you tell that to the authorities. Now, how is it that you have lived and she did not?” Alessandro persisted.
“I don’t know.”
“You must know, Ramon, you must know!”
“All I know is I lost a good sombrero.”
“Imbecile!” The old man struck him across the cheek again, cutting it with his heavy ring. “Tell me how you survived!”
“What do you want me to say?” Ramon cried. “Tell me, and I will say it!”
“You were running to make a stand behind the rocks. She slipped, and before you could stop to save her, one of the savages pulled her onto his horse. You exchanged gunfire with them, wounding one, and they retreated, taking her with them.” Alessandro’s black eyes stared into his. “At least that way none will know you for the coward you are.” When Ramon said nothing, he demanded, “Surely that isn’t too much to remember, is it?”
“No, Papa,” Ramon whispered. “No,” he managed louder. “To please you, I will do it.”
“See that you do,” was the grim reply. “Now I will get that onion. And while I am gone, you will sit here, and you will drink nothing, my son. Nothing.”
“Yes, Papa.”
But as soon as Alessandro closed the door behind him, Ramon reached for his father’s decanter. Removing the glass stopper, he took a long pull from the bottle. The old man had no right to treat him as though he were nothing, he told himself resentfully. After all, no matter what Alessandro said to him, it was Ramona Olivera de Behar, not Alessandro, who’d given him the blood of Andalusian princes. For all that the old man lorded it over everyone, he was actually almost common. And the only ones he truly fooled were the Anglos, who were too stupid to tell one Spaniard from another.
Clay entered Nahdehwah’s tipi and saw Amanda. She was sitting up, looking alert, but it was a good thing she didn’t have a mirror. Her thick auburn hair was plastered against her head, falling like string ropes over her shoulders. To compound the sight, the black grease still covered the sunburned portion of her face and neck. While he groped for something to say, she was truly relieved to see him.
She looked up, and as he stood over her, he seemed to fill the whole lodge. Acutely conscious of how dirty she was, she couldn’t meet his gaze. When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “I’m quite a sight, aren’t I?”
“How do you feel?”
“Better.” She pulled the calico dress over her knees, trying to cover her lower legs. “I thought Indians only wore buckskin,” she said.
“Not if they can get cloth from traders. They like the bright colors.”
“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you? About traders, I mean?”
“Does it make any difference?” he countered.
“Well, I’d hate to think I’m wearing a dead woman’s dress.”
“Do you want me to ask her?”
“No, of course not.”
“It’s a little bit big on you, but you look pretty good in it,” he offered.
She made a face at him. “Now that’s a lie, and I know it.”
“Well, you’d look even better if you washed your face,” he admitted. “Then every tuibitsi in camp would be bringing horses to Nahdehwah’s door.”
“I don’t think I want to ask what a two-bitsy is,” she muttered.
“You haven’t got the sound right on your tongue. A tuibitsi is a handsome man riding a fine pony.” He dropped down to sit cross-legged beside her. “Fixed up properly, with a clean face and with silver and beads in your braids, you’d be worth four or five horses, maybe more.”
“How awful.” She thought he was teasing her, but she couldn’t be certain. “Is that a good price?” she asked curiously.
“Fair to middling.” He cocked his head slightly to study her fine-boned profile. “If your family wanted more, and if your tuibitsi could afford it, he’d probably come up with whatever they asked. But,” he added, smiling now, “he’d want to know that you could butcher a buffalo, make his clothes, set up his tipi, make all his food, and carry his children on a cradle board hitched to your back. Otherwise, you’d be pretty useless to him.”
“How primitive.”
“Oh, I don’t know that it’s any more primitive than the way the Spanish go about it.”
“Well, it is.” Ill at ease, she studied the dress, pleating the cotton skirt with her fingers, then smoothing it out again. “Whoever wore this was a lot shorter and wider than I am. When I stand up, it doesn’t come to my ankles.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that—I’ve seen a whole lot more than an ankle.”
Her face flushed. “Well, I must say it isn’t very gentlemanly to mention that,” she muttered.
“What?” Then it dawned on him what she thought he meant. “Oh. Well, I wasn’t expecting you to take it personally,” he assured her. “To tell the truth, I was so busy trying to cool you down that I wasn’t paying much attention. And I kind of figured you’d rather be alive than proper then, anyway.”
“Well, I would, of course, but—”
“But you don’t want to be reminded.”
“No.”
A strained silence hung like a curtain between them. He ought to have just asked her how she felt, then left. Instead, he was sitting there, as nervous as the first time a girl had promised to slip into his tipi after dark, trying to think of something properly impersonal to say, sinking deeper into the quicksand of last night’s dream.
But he wasn’t a complete fool. No matter what the peyote vision told him, he knew she couldn’t be any part of his destiny. For one thing, she owned a big chunk of West Texas, for another, she was too damned civilized to look twice at a man like him. Yet as he clasped his arms around his knees and stared into the cold firehole, he was acutely aware of her.
“Nahdehwah says you are nearly well,” he said finally. “She says you are drinking, and you ate this morning.”
Relieved by the turn in conversation, she nodded. “Yes, but only God knows what I’ve been given, and I don’t think I want Him to tell me. I don’t even know what pulke is, only that I have drunk gallons of it.”
“They didn’t make any at the Ybarra?”
“No—or if they did, I didn’t know about it. I’m sure we never had it in the house. I don’t think Mama would have drunk anything like that.”
“It comes from the maguey, the same cactus Mexicans use for making mescal and tequila. They get everything from soap to rope to paper from it.”
“Oh.”
It was the damned dream, and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake it. Trying to find a safe ground between them, he told her, “You know, I didn’t think you were going to make it out there. I thought by this time today I’d be digging a grave.”
She clasped her arms around her knees also and leaned forward. When she spoke, her voice was distant. “There was a time … when I was alone … when the water was gone … that I was afraid,” she admitted haltingly. “But I had to keep trying to walk back … it was the only chance I had of being found. Besides, I didn’t want Ramon to get away with leaving me there. I didn’t want to die and have no one know what happened to me.”
“I’m not sure I could walk that far myself. It took a lot of guts to try it.”
“There wasn’t anything els
e I could do,” she said simply. “He left me out there.”
“Was it a quarrel?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.” But even as she said it, she recalled how Ramon had accused her of behaving improperly with McAlester. Her chin came up. “What difference does it make why he did it? He left me, and then he came back to kill me,” she said evenly. “Did I tell you that? Like a fool, I ran out when I saw him returning, and he shot at me. I fell when I heard the bullet pass, and I guess he thought he’d succeeded, because he drove off again.”
“Do you think he wanted the Ybarra?”
“He tried to make me believe he wanted me,” she responded tiredly. “But he’s not getting Ybarra-Ross. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to see him hanged.” When he said nothing, she went on with feeling, “While I have lain here in this hot tipi, I have thought of little beyond revenge, I assure you. I don’t care why he did what he did, but as soon as I get back to some sort of civilization, I’m going to demand his arrest. And then I’m going to watch him hang.”
“He probably won’t hang.” As she turned incredulous eyes to him, he nodded. “You survived.”
“What?” she choked out. “Oh, now that’s too much!” But as she stared at him, she realized he was serious. “Do you mean to tell me that if he stole Ybarra horses or Ybarra cattle, he’d be hanged, but because he only tried to kill me, he’ll just go to jail?” she demanded indignantly. “Do you call that justice?”
“No. I call it law made by ranchers.”
“Well, I want justice! I don’t want Ramon Sandoval to sit in jail for a few years, then get out! I don’t want him to breathe air!”
He didn’t blame her. He’d killed men for a whole lot less than Ramon Sandoval had done to her. But after she’d been gone for so many years, she’d be the outsider, Alessandro Sandoval the one with political influence. Even if a jury voted for hanging, he suspected Governor Davis wouldn’t let it happen. The senior Sandoval would find a way to get to him.
When he said nothing, she realized he’d spoken the truth. “Well,” she said finally, “if he cannot be hanged, then I want him to rot in some hell-pit until he dies. Or better yet, drag him out into the desert when the temperature is over one hundred degrees and let him try to walk out with no water. And I’d like to be standing, there with a gun just in case he makes it.”