Hannah Howell (17 page)

Keeping pace at Antonie's side, Patricia said, “Yes? Well, do you know what I think?"

“I am sure you will tell me."

“Royal only made that rule because he was worried about you."

“That is ridiculous."

“Oh yes? It keeps you in the background, doesn't it? You can't get in the middle of any trouble we might face because you'll be trying to get me safe and out of the way. He was just making sure you wouldn't get shot."

“But, of course, he does not worry that his only sister will be shot. You are silly,
niña."

“Why do you always talk to me like I'm a child?"

“Because often, like now, you act like a child. Now, if you are so tired of eating dust, you'd better ride. The herd catches us."

Frowning as he watched Antonie and Patricia riding further and further ahead, Royal muttered, “What are they up to?"

“Getting ahead of the herd a mite, I'd say. Tired of the dust,” Cole answered.

“Fine, as long as they don't get too far ahead."

“Antonie knows her business."

“Yes, she does, but today I'd like everyone to stay close."

“Think there'll be some trouble?” Cole frowned and briefly looked around.

“Maybe,” Royal shrugged. “I've just got this feeling that something's in the wind."

“The stink of Raoul Mendez. I would've thought we'd had enough trouble."

“Little stuff. As Antonie calls it—a wolf nipping at our heels."

“Well, maybe we'll be lucky and he'll stay at our heels."

“Luck hasn't been with us much lately, I'd say, so keep a close watch."

It was mid-afternoon when Antonie stopped for a moment and dismounted, Patricia doing the same. Antonie felt bone-weary, dusty, and dry. Taking only a small mouthful of water from her canteen, she rinsed her mouth, then had a small drink.

“This really is a boring business, isn't it?” Patricia remarked as she sipped from her canteen.

“Some,
sí."

“Why are we stopping?"

“We have gotten too far ahead. Our orders were to stay close, to keep in sight of the others. We will wait a moment until the men are closer."

“Funny how the land goes along so flat, then you get a rocky outcrop like that over there."

“It might mean that soon the land will not be so flat anymore. I cannot say. I do not know this land."

“Neither do I, and there's a lot of times I wish I'd stayed ignorant.” Patricia grimaced as she wiped her face with her bandana.

“If this was just a trip and not a cattle drive, it would look better, I think. I do not mind the flatness. One can see far away. There are fewer places to hide. That dog Mendez must hate it. He likes to sneak up on his prey."

“Well, he's a
bandido."

“He is the lowest of curs. He likes to kill, to hurt. He is not worth spitting on."

“How can you talk like that about a
bandido?
The man who raised you was one."

"Sí,
but he, too, hated Mendez.” Patricia's question was asked so innocently, with a child's untainted curiosity, that Antonie found it easy to push aside any sense of insult.
"Chica,
Mexico is a poor place. If a man is not a
patrón,
he is a peasant. A peasant is nothing in Mexico. The soldiers trample him and the
patróns
work him like a slave. If he complains about his lot, he is usually shot or beaten. If he is lucky, he can scratch the dirt for just enough to survive from the day he is born to the day he dies, old before his time. If he is not, the soldiers get him, rape his women, and ruin his fields. Maybe filth like Mendez comes to do the same. Then there are Indians and no one helps the peasant against them. Of course, he could be taken to the mines to die in the darkness and worked harder than a burro.

“Juan was a peasant. He chose to be a
bandido.
He was a thief and he knew this was not right, but he never stole from the poor on either side of the border. No, Juan struck at the strong and the rich. Sometimes he would win and gain some pesos. Sometimes he would lose the fight. He never killed the unarmed, the innocent or the ones who surrendered. He did not want blood, only money. If there is such a thing as an honorable thief, Juan Ramirez was one."

“But Mendez is not?"

“No, he is a pig. He murders, he tortures, he rapes. Mendez is eaten with hate. You do not surrender to him."

“It is hard to understand people like that."

“You do not try to understand them. You kill them."

“Antonie!” Patricia cried, shock softening her voice almost to a whisper.

Antonie shrugged. “It is what you must do."

“I don't think I could."

“Maybe not, but if you face him, you'd better do it or prepare for a long, slow death. Just think about all the people he has killed and
will
kill if he continues to live. He stinks of death. Not just men either. Women and children. He shot a baby once, right in the mother's arms, for he had the hangover and the baby was crying. You think about that if you ever face him."

Before Patricia could express her shock over that tale, the faint sound of gunfire reached them. “Antonie?"

“Get back on your horse."

Just as they started to mount, another sound came to them, freezing them where they stood. Antonie felt sure that she had gone as pale as Patricia as they both stared in horror in the direction of the herd. There was only one explanation for the sound they heard, and it made Antonie's blood run cold.

“Oh my God, a stampede."

“Mount,
chica.
Now."

Even as they swung up into their saddles, the herd came into view, barreling straight for them. Antonie slapped Patricia on the back to shake the girl out of her immobilizing fear. She then pointed toward the rocks that were a little ahead of them. If neither of their horses stumbled, Antonie was sure they could reach the safety of the rocks before the herd got to them.

Once at the rocks, Antonie dismounted, ordering Patricia to do the same. She grabbed their canteens and weapons, then slapped each horse on the rump to set the animal running. There was no room to shelter them in the rocks and Antonie knew the animals would have a good chance of surviving if they were let go.

Pushing Patricia before her, Antonie climbed to the top of the rocks. The outcrop was wide enough and tall enough that the herd would have to go around it. Tying a bandana around her face, an action Patricia quickly imitated, Antonie watched in horrified fascination as her theory about what the herd would do was proven right. She just hoped that the others would see that she and Patricia were safe.

The dust kicked up by the herd was stifling. There was almost too much noise to endure, the frightening combination of thousands of hooves pounding over the ground, the screams of the animals who faltered and were run down, men yelling frantically, sometimes fearfully, and guns being fired either at an enemy or in an attempt to turn the herd. When Patricia started to cling to her, Antonie unabashedly clung onto Patricia. She had a need to know she was not alone in the midst of such madness. The stinging dust finally forced Antonie to close her eyes.

“Is it over?"

Hearing Patricia's dry, raspy whisper, Antonie eased her hold on the girl. “I don't know. I think I can still hear it."

“So can I, but I think it's only in my head."

Using her bandana, Antonie wiped her eyes, then carefully opened them. It was a little hard to believe what her watering eyes told her. The herd was gone. The thunder of hooves she still heard was the echo of the stampede in her head.

“They are gone,” she finally said.

“What do we do now?” Patricia winced as she sat straighter on the hard rock.

Dampening her bandana with water from her canteen so that she could better wash the dust from her face, Antonie replied, “We head after them."

“But our horses are gone,” Patricia muttered as she too bathed her face.

“You have feet,
chica."

“Antonie, they could be miles ahead of us."

“Very true, but someone will come back for us."

“Then why not just wait here?"

“Someone started that stampede. I do not want to meet them."

“Oh. I hadn't thought of that,” Patricia said quietly as she followed Antonie and climbed down the rocks. “They'd follow, would they?"

“There is a good chance that they would."

Even as she spoke, a shot rang out, the bullet hitting the rocks to Antonie's right. She scrambled back behind the protection of the rocks and pushed Patricia down behind cover. Cursing softly and continuously, she looked out at what she estimated to be at least half of Raoul's private army. She wondered if Raoul himself hid amongst the pack.

“Oh, Antonie, what do we do now?"

“Stay behind these rocks. Take up your rifle,
chica."

Patricia did so, but said shakily, “We can't fight them all."

“No, but we can hold them off for a while."

“What good will that do?"

“It will buy us time, Patricia. Time for the others to come."

When they finally stopped the herd, Royal felt as sweat-soaked and exhausted as his horse. As his men gathered, however, his weariness faded, replaced by fear. His gaze frantically searched among the ones around him then all along the horizon.

“Where's Antonie and Patricia?"

“I saw them, boss,” said one young lanky hand as he slapped the dust from his clothes. “They are fine. Sitting up on some rocks as safe as can be. I was near the back of the herd, too."

Relaxing slightly, Royal asked, “You're sure, Tom?"

“Sure as I'm sitting here. Rocks were high enough and wide enough to make the herd go ‘round them."

“I've got their horses, boss,” called a bad-complexioned teen as he joined the men. “Sent ‘em off to fend for themselves, I reckon."

“Well, hang onto them, Johnnie,” Royal ordered. “We're going back for them. Half of you get fresh horses and come with me. The rest of you make camp."

“Why so many men?” Cole asked as they started out.

“Someone started that stampede. That someone might just follow along to see how much damage was done."

Just as Royal began to wonder if they had somehow missed the spot where Tom had seen the girls, he heard the sound of gunfire. As he had feared, the girls had been left far enough behind to be caught by the ones responsible for the stampede. He ordered Johnnie to hold back with the girls’ horses, then led the others in a charge that reminded him strongly of the war.

“Antonie, here they come!"

Grabbing hold of Patricia before the excited girl could leap up, Antonie advised, “We are—how you say it?—not out of the forest yet."

“Out of the woods."

“Same thing. Keep shooting,
chica.
Keep shooting ‘til these curs are out of sight or our men get in the way."

Antonie saw that Patricia knew this was a time to be silently obedient. The girl doggedly began to shoot at their attackers again. What amusement Antonie felt over the rebel yells and whoops of the cowhands faded when she saw Patricia turn ashen. A
bandido
fell to Patricia's bullet only a few feet from where they crouched in the rocks. Although Antonie suspected the girl's shots had hit others, they had been faceless and far enough away so that the girl could give little thought to where her bullets were landing. This one had been so close that his blood had splattered the rocks they hid behind. To save the girl any further shock, Antonie ordered her to put up her gun sooner than she otherwise might have.

As she waited for their men to come for them, Antonie kept a close eye on Patricia. The girl could not seem to stop herself from looking at the dead man. Neither did her color improve much, but she showed no sign of hysterics.

“Are you all right?” Royal demanded when he finally reached them.

"Sí,
we are not hurt. Just dusty, eh?” Antonie smiled faintly as she fruitlessly tried to brush the dust from her clothes. “It is good that you came. I was running out of bullets.” She indicated her half-empty bandoleras.

“Royal, I killed a man,” Patricia said flatly.

Even as Royal put his arm around Patricia and opened his mouth to speak, Antonie said, “Him? Bah. You did not kill him."

“But, Antonie, he was coming right at me. I shot and he fell."

“You shot and you missed. I shot him. See? Clean through the chest. You are not that good.” She patted Patricia on the back and said gently, “You are a very bad shot."

“A bad shot?” Patricia looked stunned, then glared at Antonie. “Well, if I'm so bad a shot, why did you have me shoot at all?"

“Well, they did not know how bad a shot you are."

“I'm going back to camp,” Patricia grumbled and strode away, her slim back stiff with indignation.

Following Antonie as she moved to search the dead man's pockets, Royal said quietly, “You lied."

Studying the fine gold watch she had just found, Antonie nodded.
"Sí.
I lied. She killed him."

“I thought you never lied."

“I told you that I do not lie about Oro and me. I never said I
never
lied. You did not see her face when she shot this man."

“She must have known her shots were hitting men. She was fighting for her life."

"Sí,
and she will see that eventually. The others were far away. She could not know who she hit or if she did. She saw this man's face as he saw his death, saw his blood flow, heard his cry of fear. Patricia does not know this way of life. This violence and death is new to her. Her mind and heart have not hardened.

“Me? I have seen many die. Some by my gun. Some by my knife. I know the fight to live. Patricia knows flattering beaus on porch swings and tea with the preacher's wife. I am used to seeing this, but a part of me still curls up, sickened by it. Everything in Patricia was horrified. So, I lied to ease that horror, a horror maybe too big for her to accept. I lied to take that look out of her eyes. I think these men are making raids as they follow us."

Shaking free of his fascination with that brief look into how she thought, Royal became aware of the fact that Antonie was cleaning out the dead man's pockets. “Antonie! You're robbing the dead! Put those things back."