Authors: Jennifer Wilde
“I don't think we're interested in jewelry,” he said. “Put the case back in the coach, Rico.”
“You're out of your mind! They're worth a fortune!”
“Put the case back in the coach.”
Rico stood there defiantly, clutching the case to his chest. His eyes flashed dangerously, and I knew his cheeks must be flushed bright red with anger. Black Hood didn't repeat his command again. He waited, tapping his fingers on his thighs, and suddenly the genteel manner was gone. Though he didn't speak, though he made no menacing gesture, he had become as hard as steel and chillingly lethal. Rico still hesitated, clearly contemplating rebellion. But finally, muttering a curse in Spanish, Rico slammed the case shut and hurled it into the coach. Black Hood turned to Millie.
“I want you to deliver a message,” he said.
“A message?”
“I am releasing you and the men. I want you to go to San Francisco and locate Miss Lopez' manager. I want you to tell him that she will be returned to him safe and sound as soon as he brings me twenty thousand dollars.”
“What?” she cried.
“Now hold on!” Bradford yelled.
“I'm taking Miss Lopez with me. I assure you she won't be harmed, not if my instructions are followed. Her manager is to come to this spot tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock, with the money and without the law. I'll meet him, and as soon as I have the money, she'll be returned.”
“You can't do this!” Millie exclaimed. “It'sâit's
kidnapping
! If you thinkâ”
“I think you'd better follow instructions,” he interrupted, speaking in that soft, raspy voice. “Duke must be unarmed, of course, and there must be no lawmen with him, nor any lurking behind rocks. For Miss Lopez' sake, I suggest the law know nothing about this.”
“So this is Black Hood?” Millie snapped, turning to Bradford. “You told us he robbed only the exploiters! You told us he helped poor people!”
“Yeah, this isn't your style,” Bradford said to the tall bandit. “You've never abducted a woman before.”
“I have my reasons,” the outlaw replied.
“And I know what they are!” Millie exploded. “Well, I can tell you one thing, if you're going to abduct Elena, you're going to abduct me, too! We go everywhere together.”
“Hush, Millie,” I said.
“I'm not leaving you alone with these villains, not for a minute!”
Bradford had regained his indolent, laconic manner, holding his arms in the air as though in an idle stretch. His brown eyes surveyed the ground casually, and I saw them rest on the pistol he had tossed out of the window. The gun lay about five yards away, near the foot of one of the large rocks.
“I reckon there's not much we can do,” he drawled. “This isn't going to endear you to folks though, Hood. Robbin' the money dealers is one thing. Abductin' women is another.”
“Miss Lopez won't be harmed.”
“I have your word on that?”
I sensed the outlaw's smile. The dark brown eyes were amused, as he said, “You have my word.”
Bradford nodded, apparently satisfied, and then he seemed to fly forward, lunging into space, skidding across the ground, his hand reaching for the pistol. But Black Hood's arm moved with even greater speed. He whipped his gun out and fired. There was a puff of smoke and a blazing streak of orange. Millie shrieked. Bradford fell to the ground as the pistol flew out of Bradford's fingers and clattered against the face of the rock. He looked up in amazement. His cheekbone was badly skinned, but otherwise he appeared to be unharmed. It had all happened in less than five seconds.
Black Hood kept his gun leveled on the man on the ground.
“Can't blame a man for tryin',” Bradford observed.
“I could have killed you.”
“Mighty glad you didn't, I must say.”
“Get up.”
Bradford climbed to his feet, brushing dust from his tan breeches. The tail of his worn cotton shirt had pulled loose from his waistband. He calmly tucked it back in, brushed a smudge of dirt from one of the sleeves and ran his fingers through his mop of sun-streaked hair. Millie looked at him with new appreciation. The incident had shaken her considerably, but she made a quick recovery, rushing over to examine the skinned place on his cheekbone.
“You've hurt yourself,” she said testily. “That needs to be washed and tended to. There's a canteen of water in the coach, and I've got some ointment in my carry bag.”
“Get back,” he ordered. His voice was stern.
“No one's going to do any more shooting,” she informed him. “There'll be no more foolish heroics. Come on over to the coach. I'll fetch the canteen.”
“I said get back!”
“Go on over to the coach with her,” Black Hood said. “Climb inside, both of you.” Then, pointing his gun at the driver and the guard, he said, “You two, get back up on the seat.”
The terrified driver wasted no time. He scurried over to the coach and scrambled up onto the seat as though pursued by demons, then seized the reins with trembling hands. One of the horses reared its head irritably. The guard lowered his arms and swiped at the fringe on his soiled leather jacket, completely unperturbed.
“What about our guns?” he inquired. “I've had that rifle for nigh on to twenty years.”
“Empty the rifle, Rico,” Black Hood ordered. “Empty the pistol, too, then return them to these gentlemen.”
Rico obeyed, muttering angrily to himself as he picked up the battered old rifle and emptied it of shells. He snapped it shut and thrust it into the guard's hand. The guard sauntered over to the coach and climbed up beside the driver, resting the rifle across his knees again and gazing indifferently into space. Bradford slipped his emptied pistol into its holster and continued to stand where he was. Millie stood close beside him.
“Get in the coach!” Rico snarled. “Move!”
“You're going to regret this, Hood,” Bradford said. “If you harm so much as a hair on her head, I'll personally track you down and put a bullet in your gut. That's a promise.”
He took Millie by the wrist and started toward the coach. She protested vehemently, planting her heels firmly in the dirt, trying to pull free, declaring at the top of her lungs that she wasn't about to go off and leave me. Bradford sighed and scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the coach. She kicked. She shrieked. She pounded on his chest with her fists. He didn't seem to notice. He tossed her bodily into the coach and climbed in beside her, calmly looping an arm around her throat when she attempted to jump back out.
“All
right
!” she snapped.
“You goin' to behave?”
Millie flung his arm aside and flounced angrily onto the opposite seat, tears splashing down her cheeks. She wiped them away and stared out the window at me, looking absolutely wretched. I managed to smile. I told her I'd be all right, told her not to worry.
“I can't help but worry,” she said irritably. “Anthony's so tight with a dollar he'll probably let them keep you!”
The driver clicked the reins. As the horses took off, the coach bounced vigorously, spraying loose gravel in all directions. The luggage on top shifted and slipped, but the ropes kept it from toppling off. There was a cloud of dust, and by the time it lifted the coach was disappearing around a mass of boulders in the distance. I told myself I wasn't afraid, but there was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my hands were shaking. I hid them in my skirts and tilted my chin defiantly.
“Well?” I said.
“You're very brave,” Black Hood told me.
“Not nearly as brave as my friend. Millie would have shot you herself if she could have gotten hold of a gun.”
“There was no need for anyone to shoot anyone. I could have put that bullet between your man's eyes if I'd wanted to. I admire a man with courage, and he was courageous indeed.”
“Now I suppose you're going to carry me off.”
“That's right. You'll come peacefully? I've read a great deal about the famous Lopez temper.”
“I promise not to scratch,” I said acidly.
Black Hood chuckled again, and then, taking hold of my arm, led me over to his horse, a beautiful chestnut. Rico was already mounted and was watching us with hostile black eyes. The other two men had put away their pistols and waited patiently. Neither of them had spoken a word, unlike the volatile Rico. Black Hood released my arm, placed the toe of his boot in the stirrup and swung lightly into the saddle. Leaning down, he circled my waist with his hands and swept me off the ground, settling me in front of him.
“Comfortable?” he inquired.
“Not very.”
“You're going to be less so, I fear. This is necessary.”
He whipped out a black silk scarf, folded it neatly and, before I could protest, tied it over my eyes. The blindfold immediately disoriented me. I tried to turn around but felt myself slipping. A strong, muscular arm wrapped around my waist, drawing me back against him. I grew dizzy, and the dizziness increased as the horse started to move. The arm tightened, holding me securely.
“It's a very long ride,” he murmured. “We'll stop to rest in an hour or so.”
“How considerate of you.”
“I wouldn't want you to get too tired. I plan to take very good care of you.”
I tried to relax. The world was a black void full of movement and noise and sensation. The dizziness vanished as soon as I grew accustomed to the motion. I wondered if we were heading east, or west. Perhaps it was south. Yes, we were going south. Then, the horse turned and headed in another direction. North? I sat rigidly, holding my back stiff, refusing to lean against him, but that was foolish. My spine hurt dreadfully. I forgot my pride and leaned back, resting my weight against his chest. His arm loosened, tightened again as he adjusted his hold to accommodate me.
“Better?” he inquired.
I didn't deign to reply, and Black Hood didn't press, content to maintain the silence I clearly preferred. We were riding fast now, the horse racing along on powerful legs, undeterred by its double burden. The wind tore at my hair and stung my cheeks, and my skirts flapped, billowing up over my calves. I folded my arms over his arm and leaned against his chest, almost comfortable. The joggling motion was beginning to make me drowsy. The black silk was soft against my eyelids. The man who held me so close smelled of silk and leather and sweat and skin, and I could feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his arm around my waist.
I wondered what kind of man he was; why he had resorted to a life of crime. His air of good breeding wasn't something that could be simulated. He was ruthless, too, I had sensed that, and he had been absolutely chilling when Rico attempted to defy him over the jewelry. He had returned the jewelry. Why? A fortune had been right there in his grasp. I was puzzled and, I had to admit, intrigued. The man was a fascinating enigma.
A long time passed, perhaps an hour, perhaps two, before Black Hood called out and tugged at the reins, bringing his horse to a sudden halt. I was startled by the abrupt cessation of movement. I had been drowsing off and on, spinning in darkness. He removed the blindfold. The sunlight almost blinded me at first, even though it wasn't strong. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. We had stopped in a lightly wooded area. Trees spread soft mauve-gray shadows over the pale green grass. I could hear water rushing nearby and guessed there must be a small river behind the boulders that rose on our left, a short distance beyond the trees.
Rico and the other two men had already dismounted and turned their horses loose to graze. All three still had their bandanas in place. They didn't want me to see their faces, I realized, for I might be able to identify them later on. Black Hood swung down out of the saddle and then reached up to encircle my waist, lifting me down as though I weighed nothing at all. I was a bit unsteady on my feet at first, and he held onto me until I gained my balance. A light breeze stirred the grass. His loose silk hood fluttered, flattening against his face. For a moment I could see the shape of his nose and cheeks and mouth outlined in black, dark brown eyes peering at me through the holes.
“How do you feel?” he inquired.
“Hot and tired and dusty.”
“Frightened?”
“Not a bit,” I lied. “That black outfit might intimidate some people, but I find itâridiculous. You can't be much of a man or you wouldn't have to hide behind a hood.”
His eyes were amused. “You do have spirit,” he observed. “Here you are, in the hands of a vicious outlaw, and you brazenly insult him.”
“Are you vicious?”
“Only when I have to be. Ordinarily I'm the best natured of men.”
“Robbing banks, holding up coaches, abducting women.”
“But politely,” he said.
“You just sit back and let your man Rico do the bullying. I'd hardly call him polite.”
“Rico has a tendency to get out of hand,” he admitted. “I believe I may have made a mistake letting him join us, but then he's only been with me for a few weeks. I'll soon have him under control.”
“I wish you luck,” I said. “How long are we going to stop here?”
“Twenty minutes or so, long enough for you to stretch your legs. The horses need a rest, too. It's still a long way to the hacienda.”
“Is that a river I hear?”
He nodded. “There's a small stream behind those rocks.”
“I wonder if you'd allow me to go wash my hands and face and have a few moments of privacy? I promise not to run away.”
“You wouldn't get very far if you did,” he told me. “Go ahead. I'll trust you.”
I turned and started toward the low gray boulders. The two men with the red bandanas over their faces were sitting under a tree. One of them had taken out his knife and was whittling at a stick. Rico leaned against a tree trunk, watching me with those smoldering black eyes as I moved past. Muttering something in Spanish, he bristled with hostility. I suspected that he blamed me for Black Hood's returning the jewels. He was clearly still unhappy about that. I ignored him and moved on across the short, stiff grass, across the small clearing in front of the boulders.