Ambush at Shadow Valley (12 page)

‘‘I know,'' Hector said, resolving himself to patience as the two drew closer to the open entrance gate. ‘‘Stopping them is all that matters, storm or no storm.'' He pointed a hand upward along a distant, dark line of ridges. ‘‘Beyond those hills we will be inside Shadow Valley.''

They rode on to the vine-covered mission walls.

The Mayan woman had finished the mourning chant by the time the two rode in slowly, their eyes searching the darker shadows outside the glow of torches the women had lit around the edges of the courtyard. The women gathered near the priest and stood silently, watching the ranger and Hector bow low in their saddles to get through the entrance gate, the wounded shepherd lying limp across the ranger's lap.

‘‘I knew the law would not . . . be far behind,'' the old priest said in a strained voice. ‘‘Welcome to God's mission.'' As he spoke he gestured a nod of his head toward the two lawmen, and the Mayan woman hurried forward and reached up for the wounded shepherd as Sam stopped his stallion.

‘‘
Gracias
, Padre,'' Sam said, he and Hector touching the brims of their sombreros in unison. When the woman stepped back with the unconscious shepherd in her arms, Sam looked over at Ransdale's body, still lying in the dirt, and said quietly, ‘‘I see we don't have to ask if they've been here.''

‘‘These men are ruthless . . . bloodthirsty savages,'' the priest said brokenly. ‘‘I pray that you . . . will stop them before they hurt others. Stop them however you can. . . . Let God decide what to do with their immortal souls."

Noting the gaping bullet hole in Ransdale's eye, and the ripped and bloody trousers at his crotch, Sam said, "It looks like the big shepherd got to him first, then Soto decided to finish him off, since he was no more use to him. I expect that's what got the animal shot?" He asked as if he already knew the answer.

The priest gave a look that acknowledged the ranger's perception, and said, ‘‘I think you know much about such men as these.''

‘‘More than I care to, sometimes,'' Sam replied, swinging down from his saddle. ‘‘I'm Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack. This is Guardia Hector Sandoval, from Valle Hermoso.''

Hector stepped down from his saddle right beside him.

As their boots touched the ground, the law-men's eyes went to the Indian's body lying on a clean blanket his mate had spread on the stone tiles. The Mayan woman had gathered the pieces of his body and laid them carefully back in place, as if they might be reassembled. Beside his sliced-open trunk lay his bloody heart, a jagged bite missing from it. A few feet away the bloodstained machete still lay on the tiles.

‘‘I wish we had gotten here sooner, ma'am,'' Sam said quietly to the Mayan woman.

‘‘Hermano de Satán?''
Hector whispered, studying the dead Indian's decapitated body for a moment longer. He looked to the priest with his question.

‘‘Yes, he is one of Satan's Brothers,'' the priest confirmed.

Hector whispered,
"Que la Santa Madre nos proteja,''
in a guarded tone as he looked up in the night toward the dark, distant trails and crossed his chest.

"Sí
, may the Holy Mother protect you both,'' the priest said, closing his eyes for a second, unable to cross himself.

Hector looked at the ranger, then back at the old priest, and said in a guarded tone, ‘‘I have heard of the cult of Satan's Brothers. But I thought they had been banished from this hill country years ago.''

‘‘How does one ever banish the devil and his many demons?'' the priest said in his weak, gravelly voice. ‘‘The devil and his demons appear and disappear at their own pleasure. The world south of here is filled with Satan's Brothers. There are even those who live at the end of Shadow Valley.''

‘‘How is the German woman?'' Sam asked, taking the subject away from the devil and his family members. ‘‘Is she holding up all right?''

With a shift of his eyes the priest deferred the matter of the German woman to the novice who stood at his side. ‘‘I—I do not judge her harshly because she saved me from those men,'' the young novice said. ‘‘But I am not sure she wants to be saved herself.''

‘‘What makes you say that?'' Sam asked, wanting to know all he could find out about the German girl before catching up to Soto. He knew what being held captive could do to a person's will—what tricks it could play on the minds.

The novice raised her dark eyes and gave the ranger a look. ‘‘I asked her to run away with me, but she said no, although I could not understand what difference her staying here would have made.''

‘‘Her father said they forced her to go with them against her will,'' Sam said. ‘‘She came along peaceably to keep them from hurting him and their shepherds.''

‘‘I understand,'' the novice nodded, ‘‘but she submits herself to those men. If I had to make the decision, I would die before I would allow them to use me in such a manner.''

‘‘Lucky for you, this woman took that decision out of your hands,'' Sam said.

The priest cut in, saying, ‘‘Please excuse Cecille. She is a novice who knows nothing of these sorts of devils and the misery and hurt they bring with them.''

The novice's eyes lowered toward the ground at her feet in second thought. ‘‘Yes, it is true I know nothing. If ever I see her again I will beg her forgiveness for saying what I just said.''

‘‘I meant you no accusation, ma'am,'' Sam said. ‘‘I know there was no malice in what you said.''

‘‘Merci, gendarme,''
she said, thanking him in French. She looked at the wounded shepherd lying on a blanket on the tiles, the Mayan unwrapping, tightening and rewrapping the bandages around the animal's chest in order to keep the bleeding from starting anew. ‘‘Until I can beg her pardon, I pray you will find her and send her back here. Meanwhile I will help take care of her brave animal.''

Beside the ranger, Hector cut in, saying to the priest, ‘‘If there is nothing we can do here, I will attend the horses so we can get back on the trail before the storm.'' He gestured a hand toward a deep rumble on the dark eastern horizon.

The priest nodded stiffly. ‘‘Go. We will all be right here. This man must be stopped.''

Chapter 10

Looking back into the darkness, Soto and Clarimonde watched as a streak of lightning split the night, followed by a deep growl of rumbling thunder. ‘‘You did what you said you'd do. You've gotten us to Shadow Valley,'' Soto said. ‘‘If we're lucky we'll be up on the eastern slope before this storm hits.''

Clarimonde did not want to mention that he'd told her once they'd ridden through Shadow Valley she would be free to go. With this man, bringing up the matter could bring about her death. She'd decided it would be better to keep her mouth shut and let him be the one to mention her freedom. ‘‘The valley is full of overhangs where we can take shelter until the storm has passed,'' Clarimonde said above a strong, whirring wind.

‘‘No,'' said Soto. ‘‘If we wait out the storm down here, when it's over we'll leave prints up out of the valley.'' He sidled his horse up close to the big paint she rode. Behind him he led Ransdale's horse and the horse Ransdale had kept for a spare. ‘‘You don't want to do that, do you? Leave prints for the ranger to follow?''

‘‘I had not thought about that,'' Clarimonde said honestly. She grew frightened having him this close to her. Now that he'd reached Shadow Valley, she wondered what use she was to him. She'd seen how quickly and callously he had killed Nate Ransdale, a man he'd broken out of prison with. She had no doubt he could kill her without batting an eye.

‘‘I know you didn't,'' Soto said, ‘‘but I thought about it. If we stay ahead of the storm, maybe even ride through some of it, by morning when it's over, nobody can tell that we ever rode through here.''

‘‘Yes, I understand,'' Clarimonde said, feeling relieved that he seemed to believe her. She felt even more relieved when he reined his horse away from her and turned back to the trail leading down into the depth of the dark, narrow valley.

As Soto rode ahead of her a few feet, he said over his shoulder, ‘‘Are you ready to leave me now, go back to your father, your goats and your shepherd dogs?''

Something about the way he asked sent a new chill up her spine. She was afraid to respond. ‘‘I have only one shepherd now, remember,'' she said, keeping her voice even, trying to show no fear of him.

‘‘Oh, yes, I forgot,'' he said. ‘‘Ransdale killed one of them, didn't he?''

Clarimonde wondered if his words were a trap of some sort. He knew as well as she that Ransdale didn't kill Bess;
he did
. She rode on in silence.

After a moment, Soto drew his horse back beside her and said, ‘‘You never answered me. Are you ready to leave me now?''

Clarimonde weighed her answer carefully, then said in a quiet tone, ‘‘No, I'm not ready to leave you.''

Soto reached a hand over and stroked it down her long hair. He said in a gentle but what she thought to be an insincere voice, ‘‘But you will let me know when you're ready to leave, won't you?''

She paused, then said, ‘‘Yes.''

‘‘Good.'' Soto grinned in the darkness. Taunting her further he asked again, ‘‘But you're sure you're not ready to leave right now?''

Yes, he was toying with her, she told herself, the way a cat played with a wounded mouse. ‘‘No,'' she repeated quietly.

Soto gave a dark chuckle. ‘‘That was a wise answer,
Clarimonde,''
he said. Making it a point to let her hear him uncock his big Colt, he slipped the gun back into his holster, dropped his horse back and gave the big paint a sound slap on its rump, sending it forward at a brisk clip along the dark trail.

Moments later a hard, wind-driven rain roared in sideways across a rocky stretch of tall wild grass, broom sage and scrub oak. They continued to follow the snaking valley floor for more than an hour until the water rushing around their horses' legs became too swift and powerful and filled with bracken and downfallen branches for the animals to negotiate.

"Hold on. We're going up,'' Soto shouted against the raging storm. Knowing she hadn't heard him, he grabbed the paint horse by its bridle and pulled animal and rider along behind him, upward onto a steep, mud-slick path.

Clinging to the paint horse's wet mane, Clarimonde held on for her life as lightning struck along the hillside, casting the night a ghostly gray. In those sudden flashes she saw streams of runoff water crash against rock and spray wildly down over them. She caught glimpses of the animals struggling upward; she witnessed the spare horse lose its battle against the downpour and go toppling backward in a wild thrashing of limbs, loose rock and splashing mud.

‘‘Suelo!'' she cried out, feeling the paint start to falter and lose its balance beneath her.

‘‘I've got you!'' She heard Soto reply. From out of nowhere she felt him slip over onto the paint horse behind her and straighten the animal, leading his own mount behind him by its reins. ‘‘Lie forward!'' he shouted at her ear above the roar of the storm.

She obeyed.

His arms went around her. Like it or not he brought with him a means of command, a way of taking the will of the animal and making it his own. With their weight forward on the paint, the strong animal seemed to balance more securely against the rush of water and the slick footing and dig and climb its way to the top of the steep hill.

As the animal stepped onto level ground through a coursing short waterfall at the lands edge, Soto said in a flash of lightning, ‘‘Are there times when the devil is a welcome hand?''

Clarimonde pretended not to hear him as he slid effortlessly from behind her and back onto his own mount and gigged it forward. Once again taking the paint by its bridle, Soto pulled the animal along across a flat, rocky mesa for the following hour until the storm began to lessen around them and roar and flash along their back trail.

Ten miles farther along a higher trail above Shadow Valley, the rain began to subside. The wind lessened and grew cooler, so much so that Clarimonde shivered in her wet clothes in spite of a blanket Soto unrolled from a dry, canvas-covered bedroll and spread over her shoulders.

"Come ride against my back," Soto half offered, half demanded of her.

Obediently, she crawled from her saddle over onto Soto's horse and wrapped the blanket around them both, too cold and too exhausted to even care. Behind them the storm spent itself out along the valley floor. Clarimonde knew that the law would have a hard time picking up their trail, but she was too tired to think about it right then. As the warmth of their bodies caught up to them beneath the blanket, she laid her cheek forward against Soto's back and drifted off to sleep.

They rode on through the night. While Clarimonde slept, Soto did a peculiar thing. Instead of staying on the high trail above Shadow Valley, now that the storm had passed, he rode gradually back down onto the valley floor.

At daylight Clarimonde awakened when the horse came to a halt beneath a large rock that stood like a powerful sentinel above the narrow valley trail. ‘‘Where—where are we?'' she asked sleepily. ‘‘Is this still Shadow Valley?''

‘‘Yes,'' Soto replied, looking up at the large rock and the man standing beside it. ‘‘This is the end of Shadow Valley, a place you know nothing about. My family had mine holdings here for many years, under an agreement with the Mexican government.''