by Diana Palmer
Belatedly she realized that the men, probably Maderistas with their supply of rifles, were trying to escape the U.S. Army unit, which was rushing toward them, with officers in a big touring car flanked by khaki-clad men on horseback.
Mercifully Trilby’s condition protected her from the hail of gunfire and turmoil that followed the car across the border. She passed out.
When she came to, they were in Mexico. Fighting was heavy in Agua Prieta, with the Federales and the snappily uniformed Mexican government troops firing at the piecemeal army of Colonel de luz Blanco as it rode and drove through the streets on horses and in motor cars and hung from the sides of the train that had brought the first wave of rebels in from Nacozari and now sat unmoving on the tracks of Agua Prieta.
Gunfire exploded all around them. A cannon shot burst, and she saw a horrible mirage of dust and blood and, behind it, the sound of screams.
Trilby felt desperately ill. She’d been fighting the sickness since they’d led her onto the train and put her in this seat. She couldn’t sit up. She lay with her head against the worn upholstered arm, swallowing again and again to try and keep the nausea down.
“Señora, I am deeply sorry,” a tall Mexican apologized, pausing beside her worriedly. “These men who brought you here are sympathizers only, not part of my command. They took you prisoner in order to escape your government’s soldiers and bring us weapons. But it is not the mark of a man to hold a woman as a shield. I am deeply sorry for your inconvenience. Your name?”
She didn’t know if she should give it, but she was too weak to think. “Trilby Vance, Mrs. Thorn Vance. I feel unwell.” She slumped again in the seat as nausea overwhelmed her.
“¡Dios!” The white-haired officer muttered under his breath. He stared at her curiously. “Señora Vance, you are unwell?”
“I—I am with child,” she whispered, terrified.
His face changed. He swept off his hat. “¡Ay de mi!” he exclaimed. “¡Juan! ¡Aqui, pronto!”
A shorter man came running. “¿Sí, mi general?”
The officer spoke in Spanish that Trilby couldn’t follow through her nausea and fear, but there was an immediate, respectful response in the soldier.
“I have told this man that he will protect you with his very life, señora,” the general told her fervently. “Have no fear. You will not be harmed. You are safe aboard this train. You have my word.”
She lay weakly trying to focus on his face. “Thank you, señor,” she managed.
“Stay with her!”
“¡Si, mi general!”
Juan ran his hat through his hands. “Señora, can I get anything for you? Some water?”
“That would be very nice.”
It was no sooner said than done. He rushed to fetch a canteen. Trilby didn’t care how many men had drunk from it, she only cared that it was cold and wet and refreshing. She drank sparingly, all the same, afraid to upset her stomach even more. She dashed a few precious drops onto her lacy handkerchief and held it to her mouth before she handed the canteen back. Living in the desert had taught her the value of water.
“What is happening?” Trilby asked over the sharp report of gunfire as she looked out the window at the blur of beige and brown and blue fabric that was only just visible in the smoke from the guns and the dust that flew up around the automobiles and running feet.
“We are taking Agua Prieta,” the man, Juan, said proudly. “We are driving the Federales out and claiming this city as our own. Red López, a countryman who sympathizes with our cause, is himself leading the charge.”
“There are so many of the Federal troops….”
“There are many more of us, señora,” he said proudly. “At last, we are in a position to demand what should have been ours in the beginning. No longer will these pigs take our land and homes away from us and make us slaves in our own country. It is they who will run now. But we will catch them, no matter how far they run.”
She looked at the men around her with eyes that had never seen them and understood why they fought. They were farmers and herders, these people, not soldiers. But they had learned to fight because they were tired of foreigners making fortunes from their mineral and agricultural wealth and exploiting the native people to extract that wealth. They had families who were starving. They had homes unfit for animals, rented homes that did not even belong to them. Like the serfs of old England, they were owned along with the land they farmed, all to put money in the pockets of people who came from outside Mexico.
“I think that you must win this struggle,” Trilby said, watching Juan.
“As do we, señora. I am certain—”
“Trilby!”
The voice was familiar. Trilby turned her head and there was Naki, astonished to see her sitting on the train his men had captured.
“Isn’t it odd, how you keep turning up?” she asked weakly.
He knelt beside her, indistinguishable in his garb from the Mexican soldiers around her. “Are you all right? You haven’t been hurt…?”
“My goodness, no,” she said quickly, managing a smile. “Juan here has been assigned to die in my defense by a very pleasant officer. I have not been harmed. They appropriated me in Douglas as I was waiting for a train. They seem to have appropriated this one, but it isn’t moving.”
“Where is Thorn?” he asked, looking around.
Her face went stiff. “He is in Tucson,” she said. “Buying cattle.”
“Why are you here?”
“He has sent me away,” she said shortly. “I am on my way back to Louisiana to divorce him.”
“Divorce him?”
“Ah, but you cannot do that, señora,” Juan said, shaking his head. He looked at Naki. “The señora is embarazada,” he said confidentially.
“You’re what?” Naki burst out, with eyes as huge as saucers.
“Tell the entire world, why don’t you?” Trilby said, with a hard glare at Juan. She colored fiercely. “Lo siento, señora: you must not leave Señor Vance,” Juan continued, unabashed. “A man must have his son, is it not true, señor?” he asked Naki.
Naki was getting over the shock, but slowly. He studied Trilby for a long moment. “Juan is right.”
“You and Juan can both go and sit on a bullet,” she said sharply. “You have no right to interfere with me. Thorn said to go, and I’m going!”
“Why did he tell you to go— Look out!”
He pulled her down in the seat as a bullet careened through the open window and hit the opposite wall with a ping.
“This is really not the ideal place for such a discussion, you know,” Trilby protested.
“I must agree.” Naki pulled the pistol from his holster. “Juan, cuidado, sí?”
“Sí!”
“Stay down,” Naki told her. “I’ll be back when I can.”
“Who is winning?”
“Who can tell?” He grinned. “Apparently we are.”
There was another loud boom and shouting as men and munitions were redeployed. Trilby couldn’t make head or tail of what was going on outside, but she did notice that a number of Blanco’s troops were foreigners. The revolution had drawn plenty of outside help from people who sympathized with Madero and his men. Since her brief captivity began, she’d seen a German, an ex–French Foreign Legionnaire, and an ex– Texas Ranger wielding guns on behalf of the peons. The excitement was contagious, too. The fastidious Miss Lang—who would once have abhorred surroundings like these with such savage men—was actually invigorated by the heat of battle.
As she watched wounded men being brought inside the train, she suddenly recalled that poor Jorge had been hit in the exchange of gunfire in Douglas, and she agonized over his condition. She knew nothing of wounds. She could only pray for his safety and his recovery. At the moment, her own welfare and that of her child were of greatest concern to her, but she seemed safe with Juan mounting guard over her. And the train seemed bulletproof, at least partially.
The shooting was
very rapid and close now, and Trilby put a soft hand on her stomach. She was alone here, despite Juan and Naki’s presence to comfort her. Thorn was in Tucson. As the gunfire increased, she began to worry. If she were killed by some stray bullet—and, to her horror, one had already penetrated the coach and hit a soldier nearby—Thorn wouldn’t know about it for days. Then she realized that she might never see him again in this life and tears sprang to her eyes. Why hadn’t she told him to take his ultimatum and go to hell? She could be back in her kitchen making cookies for Samantha. Then she remembered: Samantha was at her parents’ house. And nobody knew where Trilby was!
CHAPTER TWENTY
BACK AT THE LANG RANCH, night came, but Trilby didn’t return, and Jack and Mary Lang were worried. So was Samantha, who kept asking where her stepmother was.
“I’ll make a telephone call,” Jack said. He phoned Los Santos first, but the foreman’s wife answered and said that she hadn’t heard from either Trilby or Thorn. He hesitated only a minute before he contacted a friend at the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas.
When he came back, he was pale. He didn’t say a word as he buckled on his gun belt and grabbed his hat.
“What is it?” Mary asked in a rush, glancing back toward the kitchen, where she’d left Samantha making biscuits.
“Two Mexican officers and Red López led a couple of a hundred insurrectos to attack the Federal garrison in Agua Prieta this afternoon,” Jack said through his teeth. “There was gunfire in Douglas and several people were wounded…and a few were killed.”
Mary’s face went white. “Jack! Trilby was going to the dry-goods store!” Mary began.
“Was she? Didn’t it strike you as rather odd that she would leave Samantha with us on a shopping trip when she planned to buy fabric for Samantha’s dresses?”
“Yes, but—”
“Jorge would know where Thorn is, but he was with Trilby. He hasn’t returned to the ranch. I phoned and was told by the foreman that Mr. Vance had gone to Tucson. It’s a big town.”
“Oh, dear,” Mary said worriedly.
“Try not to worry,” he said.
“Dad,” Teddy called, coming into the room, “isn’t Trilby back yet?”
“Not yet,” Jack said. He forced himself to smile and act normal. He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Not to worry. I’m just going into town. Trilby and Jorge might have had trouble with the automobile.”
Neither of the adults believed that, but Teddy in his innocence accepted it. He smiled and went back to the kitchen to talk to Samantha while she worked.
IT WAS WORSE than Jack had suspected. He reached Douglas to find half the town on the rooftops, looking across the border with binoculars. Soldiers were everywhere, along with reporters and ambulances and dust. Wounded people were being ferried by wagon and car to hospitals and makeshift clinics. Mexican and American women were caring for the wounded on both sides of the conflict. The fighting, Jack was told, had lasted for three hours. More fighting was expected.
“What’s going on?” he asked a bystander.
“Hell broke loose in Agua Prieta today,” the bystander replied. “Fighting’s still going on, too. They say the Maderistas are holed up across the border and they’ve overwhelmed the Federales. We’ve heard that they’re detaining some people who were on the Naco train, and there may be an American woman over there who was taken hostage by some of the local junta as they went over to help López. I say, this is exciting!”
Jack found it something less than that. “The American woman,” he said quickly, “do they know who she is?”
“Someone on the platform at the depot, I believe. Yes, a young woman. Mr. Heard said she’d just purchased a ticket to go back East.”
“Oh, my God,” Jack groaned. He leaned against the post and went looking for the army commander.
“My daughter’s being held by the rebels,” he told the first officer he could find. “You must do something!”
“We are trying to negotiate, I assure you, but there’s a break in communications and the gunfire hasn’t let up,” Jack was told by a lieutenant. “The small Federal contingent was caught by surprise. Two captains and twenty-nine of their men dynamited their way out of the garrison and rushed over the border to surrender to us. But there are several left, and we’re trying to get them over here, too. The rebels have a machine gun over there and they’re using it. It’s a hell of a mess, sir.”
Even as they spoke, a captain came up and sent the other officer after something to use as a flag of truce. He looked so single-minded that Jack didn’t even approach him for assistance. A minute later, the captain was mounted and, with a civilian at his side, rode right over the border.
“The captain has already had to fire at some civilians to keep them from joining the rebels,” the lieutenant said. “I strongly advise you to seek cover and stay out of the streets. Gunfire has rained across the border for hours now.”
“But, my daughter…” Jack said huskily.
“If she’s held by the insurrectos, you needn’t worry too much,” the man said confidentially. “These people have a great respect for women. They will not harm her. Once we get the Federales out, perhaps we can negotiate and get the hostages back.”
Jack knew the reverence of Mexican men for most women, but Trilby was an American and they had reason to dislike foreigners. Besides that, if they beat back the Federales and celebrated on mescal, there was no telling what might happen. He wasn’t convinced. He cursed himself for ever coming to Arizona in the first place and jeopardizing his daughter in this manner. What would Thorn say when he found out? And, moreover, why had Trilby come here to catch a train back East? Surely to God, it had something to do with that damnable letter of Bates’s that Thorn had told him about. He promised himself that if he got Trilby back and safe, he was going to get a ticket to Louisiana himself—for the express purpose of shooting Richard Bates!
He moved off the street, horrified at the sudden turn of events.
THORN SPENT A lonely night in Tucson drinking alone in his hotel room and blaming himself for what he’d done to Trilby. The next day, all desire to do business had left him. He sat and brooded and wondered how Trilby had received his quick note, if she’d already gone. Probably he’d find Samantha with the Langs and she’d be worried. That was all the excuse he needed to cut his trip short and go home.
No one was expecting him, so he got off the train at the small Blackwater Springs depot and hitched a ride home in a passing car. The news that he got from the man who’d given him the ride sent him straight for his car the minute he got to Los Santos. He drove hell-for-leather straight for the Lang place, where he’d told Trilby to go if there was trouble. He couldn’t let her leave with hell breaking loose in Douglas. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to stop her from leaving, he thought. If he told her the truth, there was just a slight chance that he might win her yet.
But when he arrived at the Lang ranch, he found Mary sitting on the porch with red-rimmed eyes. His heart almost stopped. He knew something had happened. Something terrible from the look of it.
He cut off the engine and leaped from his car, his hat in his lean hand as he took the steps two at a time.
“Thorn!” Mary exclaimed, rising from her chair. “Oh, Thorn, what a terrible homecoming for you!”
“Trilby,” he said quickly. “She’s gone…?”
“Jack telephoned and said he thinks she’s been taken prisoner by some rebel sympathizers and taken over the border to Agua Prieta,” Mary blurted out, watching the horror darken his eyes. “We can’t get her back, or even find out if she’s all right. Jorge was shot, and we don’t know if he’s going to live. He’s at Calumet Hospital.”
“Oh, my God,” Thorn said heavily. His heart was racing wildly. Trilby, in the hands of the rebels. God only knew what could happen to her!
“Jack’s in Douglas now, trying to get information from the army,” she said. “Thorn, wait. Samantha’s here….”
“Take care of her,
please,” he said through his teeth, without breaking stride as he walked back to his car, grim-faced. “I’ll be back when I can.”
“Certainly I’ll look after her, Thorn,” Mary said wearily. “Do be careful. And if you find out anything, anything at all…”
“I’ll be in touch.”
He drove away, his mind whirling, full of fear. He didn’t know what he was going to find in Douglas or how he was going to get Trilby back. He only knew that he must. His eyes, fastened on the horizon, were black as the fear that settled in his heart.
LISA MORRIS HAD stood on the porch to watch the rest of Captain Powell’s troops move out hurriedly toward Douglas from Fort Huachuca, the motorized column formidable as it passed the small town where she lived with Mrs. Moye. Captain Powell had stopped to speak to Lisa.
He stepped up on the porch, where Lisa stood alone in a pretty ruffled blue gingham dress, in the shadows of the wide eave.
“Must you go?” she asked involuntarily, her soft eyes worried, blushing a little as she recalled their intimacy.
“Of course,” he said, his voice gentle. “Agua Prieta is under attack and we have been ordered to Douglas as a relief column, along with some others. This could be a very dangerous situation. And war, sadly, is a physician’s milieu.”
“I am so afraid for you, Todd!”
He shifted, uneasy with her. He wanted her now to the point of madness, but they’d been circumspect even so. He looked into her eyes and had to clench his teeth for control. Soon, soon, her divorce would be final and they could be together! Meanwhile, giving way to the madness would damage her reputation.
“I’ll be careful.” He searched her small face with quiet anguish, seeing his own hunger there. He reached out a huge hand and lightly touched her cheek. “I’m a tough old bird. I won’t get myself killed now, when I have so much to live for!”
Her lower lip trembled. She’d had nightmares about losing him. Her body ached for the comfort of his, for the closeness.