DOÑA CONSUELO LOCATED A CLOSET filled with pistols, rifles, holsters, and boxes of ammunition. Most of the weapons were gifts to her father, with handles wrought from silver, ivory, and gold. She didn't know one gun from another, but found a lethal-appearing length of iron that looked like Duane's, then strapped on a brown leather holster, covered everything with her shawl, and was on her way to breakfast.
She'd heard scandalous stories about women leaving their husbands for adventurers, and now it was her turn. Her family would disown her, but she could never again sleep with Don Carlos. God had sent Duane Braddock to me for a reason, and she couldn't turn her back on love.
She thought perhaps she'd gone mad, for she was running off with a strange American outlaw. She wanted to lay naked in his arms, drink mescal, and have fun for a change, before she ended in Lucifer's bean stew.
She entered the dining room, and saw him eating eggs, tortillas, bacon, and beans heartily. He glanced at her, smiled uncertainly, then returned to his breakfast with gusto. The eyes of her husband followed her as she walked toward the seat opposite him.
“How are you this morning, my dear?” he asked pleasantly.
“Quite well,” she replied.
“I didn't sleep last night, and neither did our guest. But a woman can sleep through anything.”
“Not always.”
What did she mean by that? Don Carlos asked himself. He glanced at Braddock, who methodically devoured everything in sight. I remember when I had a healthy appetite, Don Carlos mused. A terrible desolation came over Don Carlos, and he slouched at the table.
Doña Consuelo glanced at her husband as she elegantly downed her breakfast. In the morning light, the lines and ravages of his tanned visage were cruelly indicative of his age. I fell in love with a fairy tale, she realized. He's older than my father, and treats me like an idiot child.
She noticed Duane finishing his last swallow of coffee. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, smiled broadly, and said: “Think I'll take a walk.”
He strolled from the room, and his spurs jangled down the hall.
“When did he say he was leaving?” asked Don Carlos.
“He didn't mention anything that I recall,” replied Doña Consuelo.
Don Carlos knew that he was being a jealous fool, but couldn't stop himself. “What do you think of him?”
“I hardly know him.”
“Would you consider him attractive?”
“What an odd question.”
Don Carlos realized that it truly was an odd question, and regretted asking it. “Just curious,” he said, with a choked little laugh. “You seem different since you've returned from the desert last night. Has anything happened?”
“I've forgiven my father for lying.”
“I'm glad to hear it, and it might be best if we left as soon as possible. How about tomorrow morning?”
“So soon?”
“Is there something keeping you here?”
“Such as?”
He smiled. “Concern for your father, of course.”
“You're right—he'll be better off alone. If you want to leave tomorrow morning, I'll notify the servants.”
In the library, Duane found volumes of history, novels, works of poetry, philosophy, science, and theology. It didn't take long to locate The Imitation of Christ, by Thomas à Kempis. It was a book that he'd studied at the monastery, and he carried it to the table, opened it at random like a roulette wheel, and saw:
Firstly, be peaceful yourself, and thus you will bring peace to your fellows. A man of peace does more good than a very learned man.
It's true, he preached to himself. I should dwell in that quiet gentle part of my heart, but unfortunately I can't find it any more. He glanced toward the next page:
. . . to be able to live at peace among hard, obstinate, and undisciplined people, plus those who oppose us, is a great grace and a most commendable and manly achievement.
Anyone can be a lowdown son-of-a-bitch, considered Duane, but it takes a real man to stay relaxed when most folks are angry, vengeful, and spiteful. If I had any sense, I'd start building my own ranch, so I wouldn't have to tolerate other people's bad manners. Then I'll marry the right woman, and live like a decent Christian for a change. He flipped a few more pages and saw:
Whoever clings to any creature will fall with its falling; but he who holds to Jesus shall stand firm forever.
Maybe so, pondered Duane, but I can't live without pretty women. He recalled his all-too-brief interlude with Doña Consuelo, and his ears became warm. I hope she shows up, because I'd love to get my hands on her again.
Not every desire comes of the Holy Ghost, though it may seem right and good; for it is often difficult to judge whether a desire springs from good or evil inclinations, or whether it arises from your own selfishness. Many are deceived in the end, who at first seemed to be led by the Holy Ghost.
The door to the library opened, and Doña Consuelo materialized, dressed in black like the Madonna of death. “Oh, hello Duane,” she said, as if they hadn't plotted the rendezvous.
“Howdy,” he replied nonchalantly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I felt like reading something, to take my mind off things.” She selected a tome, joined him at the table, and opened it. “What are you reading?” she asked.
“The Imitation of Christ. How about you?”
“Don Quixote.”
“I studied it at the monastery,” explained Duane. “My favorite character was Sancho Panza.” He looked both ways, then lowered his voice. “Have you changed your mind?”
“About what?” she whispered.
“Coming with me.”
“Why would I change my mind?”
“You're giving up an awful lot.”
“When you ask certain questions, I think you don't feel as I do.”
“I can't believe you'll really run off with me.”
“That is because you don't see yourself as I do.” She reached beneath her black shawl, yanked the gun out of its holster, and lay it on the table. It was a Colt .44, just like his, but with gold inlaid custom grips and apparently never fired.
“Maybe you'd better put it away before somebody sees it,” said Duane. “Do you think you can make it to the barn around midnight without being seen?”
“No, because they watch me closely. However, there is one place where they will never follow—the house of my father's woman, Conchita. I will visit her and my baby brother late this afternoon, just before nightfall. You will be waiting behind her home with a horse for yourself and another for me. We will leave then, and no one will miss us for a long time, I hope.”
He analyzed her plan, studied its frail edges, and tried to poke a hole through the center. “Where will I get the second horse?”
“You'll buy it from Don Carlos, and he might even give it to you. You'll need a packhorse, won't you?”
“I don't have that many things to pack.”
“Lie,” she said, as the Devil giggled victoriously in a corner of the library.
“I hope your husband doesn't suspect anything,” uttered Duane.
“I think he does, actually. We must be careful, and we shouldn't be seen together again until tonight.”
They pursed lips and kissed long-distance. Then she arose, returned the book to its spot on the shelf, and walked in measured steps to the door. He undressed her with his eyes, and recalled grappling with her on the desert. I can't believe, when it comes right down to it, that she'll be at Conchita's tonight, he told himself. Cowboys like me aren't that lucky.
Doña Consuelo walked the corridors of the hacienda, passing sofas, chairs, and tables holding bowls of ripe fruit. She felt relieved and at peace with her decision, although she feared deadly consequences. But what is life without love? she wondered. And what does it profit a woman if she gains a fortune but loses her soul?
My marriage was inspired by convenience, while I, little Doña Consuelo, got lost in the shuffle. She relived the wrestling match with Duane Braddock's firm strong body, the scent of desert in his hair, and his all-engulfing passion that had transported her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. I can't live without him, and I don't know what'll happen to me, but maybe we'll get married one day, after we make the proper contribution to the right bishop.
Don Patricio sat in his office, the top button of his shirt unfastened, his cravat untied and hanging loose. A bottle of Spanish brandy sat on the table, next to a goblet made from cut glass. The landowner hadn't shaved since the funeral, and a foul reek emanated from his body, as he looked at Don Carlos through bloodshot eyes. “I apologize for not being more hospitable ...” began Don Patricio.
“I understand, of course,” replied Don Carlos, standing before him. “I've come to tell you that Doña Consuelo and I shall leave first thing in the morning.”
“Go with God, my friend. I hope that our next meeting will be under happier circumstances.”
Don Carlos retreated from the office, anxious to be alone with his thoughts. Jealousy nagged him mercilessly, and he wondered what to believe. Is Doña Consuelo having a love affair with Duane Braddock behind my back?
Suddenly the Pecos Kid appeared around the corner of the corridor, a big friendly smile on his face. “Just the person I'm looking for,” he said.
Don Carlos smiled back falsely. “What can I do for you?”
Duane hitched his thumbs in his belt and peered into Don Carlos's eyes. “I've decided to hit the trail first thing in the morning, and I'd like to buy a horse.”
“What's wrong with the one you have?”
“I need another for a packhorse.”
Don Carlos raised his hands generously. “You may have whichever horse you like. Nothing is too good for the man who saved my wife's life.”
They shook hands. “If I don't see you before I leave,” said Duane, “thanks for the hospitality.”
Duane receded down the corridor, and Don Carlos envied his youth, vitality, and undeniable good looks. The old nobleman felt a twinge of jealousy, although Duane Braddock was a callow young man, in his estimation. Is he putting the horns on me? wondered the caudillo.
Don Carlos de Rebozo knew there was no honor among men where women were concerned, and even blood brothers sometimes stole each other's wives. Duane Braddock just looked me straight in the eye, but if I were sleeping with his wife, I'd do the same thing.
Don Carlos knew the wickedness that dwells in the hearts of men, because he'd seduced other men's wives as a devil-may-care student in Seville. Once his limbs had been as sound as Duane Braddock's, and he'd climbed balconies to be with his ladies, who themselves were deceiving husbands or fathers.
Don Carlos knew that proper religious ladies like Doña Consuelo could be the most outrageous once they broke with Holy Mother Church. He removed a lace handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the slick of sweat on his brow, overwhelmed by disgraceful and unworthy considerations. The vaqueros are probably laughing behind my back, he feared. He turned the corner, and nearly bumped into García. “I have something to tell you, sir,” the captain of vaque-ros said solemnly.
Now what? Don Carlos asked himself. “Out with it, and don't spare my feelings.”
“A dead Apache has been found in the desert. Evidently he came to raid last night, but someone killed him with a knife.”
“Perhaps the Apaches were fighting among themselves.”
“There were boot tracks just like the gringo's.”
Irony tinged García's answer, and it wasn't lost on the nobleman. It would explain why Braddock was dirty and ragged when he returned from the desert, but on the other hand, it proved that he was there at the same time as Doña Consuelo. Perhaps they'd met before or after Braddock killed the Apache?
Don Carlos was getting a headache from so much speculation. “I'll be in my room, if you learn additional information.”
García bowed, as Don Carlos proceeded to his chambers. He removed a bottle of brandy from a cabinet, poured a stiff drink, and gulped it down. Events were moving too quickly, and he didn't know what to believe.
He sat on the balcony chair, and was just getting comfortable when the door opened. It was Doña Consuelo, an angry expression on her face. With great effort, the great man arose to greet his possibly errant wife.
“What are you doing to me?” she began indignantly. “Why am I being followed everywhere by your vaque-ros? Do they think I'm going to run into the desert?”
“I have no idea . . .” he lied, backed against the wall.
“Tell them to stay away from me. Understand?”
“I will give the orders right now. García!”
“He is coming,” replied a voice on the other side of the balcony.
Doña Consuelo's eyes were narrowed with barely concealed rage. “If I see one more of those hounds behind me, I'll fire him.”
“But Doña Consuelo ...”
She didn't reply, and Don Carlos speculated that her magical transformation was taking a turn for the worse. They heard running footsteps, then García turned the corner. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Don Carlos, “I—”
Doña Consuelo interrupted him. “I'll give the orders, if you don't mind, my dear husband.” She turned slowly toward García, who shriveled beneath her merciless glare.
“García, hereafter you and your men will stop following me, and if I catch them up to their old tricks, they and their families, and you and your family, will no longer be employed by us. Do I make myself clear?”
García bowed in terror. “Yes, Doña Consuelo.”
The vaquero backed around the corner, as Don Carlos studied his wife with new interest. Never could he imagine such words coming out of Doña Consuelo's mouth. She reminded him of titled ladies whom he'd met in Seville, who'd managed immense households as El Cid had commanded his army in the battle for Valencia. “You've frightened poor García,” he said with a forced chuckle.
“Excellent,” she replied, “because that was my intention. I'm going to town later in the day, and may not be back for dinner.”
Hesitant about asking, he did so anyway. “Why are you going to town?”
“I want to spend time with my new brother before we leave, if you don't mind.”
“Don't you think there'll be a scandal?”
She raised her eyebrows in scorn. “My father's infidelities are practically an institution, and everybody has accepted them except me. But the boy is part of my family, and I'd like to give him a little present. It is not proper for a Vásquez to live like that.”
“I'm certain that your father will make new arrangements, now that your mother has ... departed.”
“I think that Conchita and Pepito should move into the hacienda. There's plenty of room, and the boy should receive an education, don't you agree?”
“Absolutely, your royal highness. My, how you've changed these past few days, Doña Consuelo. I've never seen such a conversion in my life. What has happened to you?”
“I'm in mourning for my mother, and I'd like to be alone.”
“Don't forget that we're leaving first thing in the morning.”
“I'll get to bed early,” she replied. “I promise.”
Duane cleaned his Winchester, then loaded it with seventeen cartridges. He ran a patch down the barrel of his Colt .44, blew out the chambers, and cleaned dust from little crannies with a brush that he'd bought in Escondido, his last stop in the good old U.S. of A.
He packed his saddlebags, noting that he was low on ammunition, and that one of his shirts was getting threadbare. We'll have to buy supplies in the first town, he reminded himself. He counted his funds, approximately two hundred American dollars in coins.
He felt like a rich man, but the desert was full of Apaches. He doubted that Doña Consuelo would adapt to life on the dodge, but told himself not to worry. She's not running away with me, because she's not that stupid.
There was a knock on the door, and Don Carlos made his grand entrance. “Ah, you're packing,” he said. “I'm glad I've caught you.” He held out a leather bag the size of a grapefruit. “This is for you, from Don Patricio and me.”
Duane opened the bag, and his eyes bugged at the sight of gold coins, approximately two thousand dollars worth. “I don't deserve it,” he said, “but I sure as hell won't turn it down.”
Don Carlos couldn't help smiling. He's just the kind of lost rake that women love. They want to save him from himself, or at least that's what the little vixens tell themselves, but what they really want is his ...
Duane Braddock held out his hand. “Thanks for everything, sir. You've been real good to me.”
Their hands embraced, as they performed the ancient ritual. Don Carlos peered into Duane's eyes, and said, out of the blue: “Tell me something, Mister Braddock. I can't help wondering—are you having a love affair with my wife?”
Duane's eyes dilated, and he noted the position of the cuckold's hands. “I may be a wanted man, but I'm not that bad,” he said.
Don Carlos realized the enormity of what he'd just admitted to a strange gringo, but couldn't stop. “Sometimes even the most elegant ladies surrender their dear little hearts to utter scoundrels.”
Duane smiled. “I guess there's no telling what goes on in a woman's mind.”
“Sometimes I wonder if they have minds in the first place.” The difficult moment passed, and Don Carlos took the opportunity to retreat. “Have a safe journey, my friend,” he said, as he made his way toward the door.
Don Carlos traversed the corridor, wondering if Duane Braddock was romancing Doña Consuelo in the nooks and crannies of the hacienda, as he, Don Carlos, had done in Seville, when he'd clambered across treacherous rooftops to reach the boudoirs of certain ladies.
You can't put anything past young lovers, Don Carlos admitted ruefully. Nothing keeps them apart, once they make their minds up, and isn't it clever how Doña Consuelo arranged for the vaqueros to stop guarding her?
The caudillo could place his wife in shackles and chains, declare her insane, and transport her back to his hacienda, where she'd be under guard for the rest of her life, but he'd been a young cavalier once, had fought duels over matters of honor, and would have contempt for any man who'd lock up his wife.
She's a grown woman, Don Carlos acknowledged. If she wants to leave me, I wouldn't stop her. But Doña Consuelo has too much dignity to take up with a low-class gringo, no?
But Don Carlos had been viewed as a low-class provincial himself when he'd arrived in Seville nearly forty years ago. Many fine titled ladies who should have known better had admitted him to their beds, because the sad truth was that even the most exquisite women were attracted to wastrels and outlaws. Perhaps they need somebody to look down upon, speculated the man of the world. They probably say to themselves: He's such a fool, he couldn't possibly judge me.
Don Patricio saw his daughter standing before him, wearing a black shawl. “I need some money, father.”
“What in the world for?”
“Personal reasons.”
“Why don't you ask your husband?”
“Because I'm asking you.”
She looked like the Madonna of death in her black shawl, and he shivered involuntarily. “In my office, the bottom drawer on my desk—take whatever you need.”
She kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Daddy, and whatever happens—I'll always love you.”
He smiled at the touch of her lips, and then she was out the door. She located the appropriate drawer, and her eyes widened at the sight of gold coins five inches deep covering the bottom. She scooped handfuls into the big pockets of her suede skirt. Her father snored as she slipped toward the door, glanced both ways, and headed swiftly toward the village.
Duane gazed into the eyes of his unfaithful horse. “How's it going, pardner?” he asked cheerfully.
It was going all right before you came along, Midnight seemed to reply, chomping oats.
Duane looked him over, and the animal appeared to have put on a few pounds. “Sure doesn't look like you've missed any meals while you were here.”
I've got a feeling I'll be missing some soon, Midnight blinked sorrowfully.
Mendoza appeared out of the shadows. “You are going somewhere, señor?”
“Moving on,” replied Duane. “Don Carlos said I could take any horse I wanted, in addition to my own— you hear about that?”
The stablemaster bowed at the mention of the great caudillo's name. “Those were Don Carlos's orders, sir.”
Duane leaned toward the stablemaster and confided out the corner of his mouth, “What's the best horse here?”
“Best in what way, señor?”
“Endurance, speed, and fairly easy to handle. A horse a woman might like.” He winked. “I've got a girlfriend in another town, and I'd like to take her with me.”
“You want a gentle horse, but a gentle horse will not run as fast as a wild horse.”
“I want the fastest gentle horse you've got.”
“That is Josephina.”
“Make sure her shoes are in good condition, then saddle her for a long trip. I plan to leave soon as it gets dark.”
Hiding behind a grandfather clock, Don Carlos watched Doña Consuelo pass down the corridor. His heart ached violently, because formerly she'd found any excuse to be with him, and seemed to crave his attention, but now she dined alone in her room, and was leading a life that had nothing to do with him.
What is she up to? he wondered, as he slipped silently across the shadows. Is she really going to town, or has she planned to meet Duane Braddock in the hayloft? He maintained a discreet distance, peered through the lower corner of a window, and saw her headed for the village, head held high, unlike the whiny, simple-minded former Doña Consuelo.
He was tempted to run after her, but managed to control himself. Doña Consuelo would never leave me, he decided, because she's got too much to lose.
Duane sat on Midnight's back and gazed at twinkling village lights at the edge of town. Beside him was Josephina, who kept casting sidelong glances at Midnight, while that great beast snorted and snuffled in annoyance at Duane sitting upon him again. I ought to toss him into the air, thought Midnight darkly.
“Relax,” Duane said. “What the hell's wrong with you?”
Midnight shook his head from side to side. I'm tired of your ridiculous and dangerous shenanigans.
“Come on—you're my horse, I stole you with my own two hands, and if you keep up your rotten goddamned temper, I'll get rid of you first chance I get.”
Duane peered at the back of Conchita's house, waiting for the lantern to pass in front of the rear window, the signal for him to bring Josephina. Doña Consuelo will never go through with it, he anticipated. I'm wasting my time, but it won't hurt to have an extra horse in case this damned Midnight gets too persnickety.
Doña Consuelo knocked on the door, and it was opened by Conchita, who immediately bowed. “Doña Consuelo,” she said. “I am so surprised to see you.”
Doña Consuelo wore a brown suede shirt, red silk blouse, suede jacket, and wide-brimmed vaquero sombrero. “This is the last time I'll bother you, I promise,” she replied, as she entered the small enclosed space. “Where is Pepito?”
“Asleep.”
“May I see him?”
Conchita led Doña Consuelo to the corner, where Pepito slumbered in a box filled with straw. Doña Consuelo knelt beside the makeshift bed and whispered: “You carry the blood of the Spanish nobility in your veins, little brother.” Then she withdrew a handful of coins from her pocket, and passed them to Conchita. “Take this, and buy him new clothes. I have spoken with my father, and you will move into the hacienda before long. Pepito will have his own tutor, and become an educated man. It is possible that my father will marry you someday.”
Conchita stared at her wide-eyed. “Married? The hacienda? Me?”
“I'm leaving,” Doña Consuelo said. “I don't know what's going to happen, but tell my father that I'll always love him, and kiss Pepito every day for me.”
Doña Consuelo lifted the lamp off the table, carried it to the rear window, and passed the light back and forth three times.
“Who are you signalling?” asked Conchita. “Are you sure you're all right?”
Doña Consuelo heard approaching hoofbeats, and a tremor of fear passed through her. “I apologize for being cruel last time I was here, my dear stepmother. Now perhaps I am a little wiser, and I must follow my destiny wherever it leads.”
Doña Consuelo hugged the short peasant woman, then kissed her cheek. Horses’ hooves could be heard approaching the rear of the hut, and Doña Consuelo hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, then reached for the door.
In the backyard, the Pecos Kid sat atop a black horse. “Howdy,” he said like a rough old cowboy, his hat slanted at a rakish angle, hand resting on his gun, and his sharp eyes glancing about nervously. “Coming along for the ride?”
Doña Consuelo placed her foot in Josephina's stirrup, and raised herself into the saddle. Midnight pranced sideways, anxious to get rolling, but Duane held him on short rein, as he leaned toward Doña Consuelo.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“We'd better start moving, before someone realizes that I've gone.”
He spurred Midnight, who walked softly toward the desert. Josephina followed, carrying Doña Consuelo away from family, reputation, and social acceptability. The noblewoman turned toward the hacienda, lights burned in long corridors, and she felt a twinge of sorrow. They passed darkened shacks at the edge of town, and soon found themselves in the wilderness. It closed around them, and the town couldn't be seen behind heaps of vines, cactus, and scraggly desert trees. After a short distance, Duane steered Midnight into a gully and brought him to a halt.
“What is wrong?” asked Doña Consuelo, coming abreast of him.
He held out his hand. “Hand me your gun carefully, please.”
She passed it to him, and he proceeded to examine it, noting that it was a Colt like his, except for the fancy Mexican handiwork. “You ever shoot one of these?” he asked, as he loaded it.
“Not yet.”
“Just thumb back the hammer, pull the trigger, and get ready for the kick. If we run into Apaches, save the last one for yourself.” He loaded the gun with five cartridges, leaving the hammer resting on the empty sixth chamber.
She swallowed hard, as she accepted the gun. “I don't know if I could do that.”
“Let's hope we don't put it to the test. By the way, it's still not too late to turn back.”
She scowled. “Sometimes I think that you don't want me along.”
“We'll travel all night, because we want to put as much distance as possible between us and your husband. Before sunup, I'll find a place for us to sleep. Are you with me?”
“Absolutely,” she replied.
He leaned toward her, kissed her lips, and their tongues touched lightly. Then, reluctantly, they parted. Duane wheeled Midnight toward the Sierra Madre Mountains, and gave him a nudge with his spurs. The horses advanced deeper into the night, merged with the shadows, and disappeared.