Celeste rode out of the burning sun with Ignacio and into the shade of the oak tree. She dismounted from her mare and took down the damp water gourd from where it hung on a limb. She drank deeply of the cool water as she surveyed her crew of men and mules working the rich bottom land of the San Joaquin Valley.
Dust rose in dense clouds from several moving machines. Four metal scrapers pulled by teams of mules were scooping up the higher ridges of dirt and depositing it into low places. Other mule teams were pulling plows. Iron-spiked harrows were dragged to break up the clods left by the plows. Men with axes were chopping brush.
The hired men had been working for five days. If she could keep them at the task until the middle of November, more than a thousand acres would be ready for planting in time to catch the winter rains to germinate the seed wheat. Then in the early summer, she would harvest her first golden crop of grain. The rancho could yet be saved.
She thought of the man who had fought Dokken’s accomplice and bought the first parcel of land at the auction. That act of his had started the bidding by others and provided her with money to pay the workers. “Thank you, Errin Scanlan,” she said to the wind. She wondered if the deed she had signed to the land had yet been delivered to him.
“Ignacio, come with me,” Celeste ordered brusquely. “We’re going to San Francisco.”
Ignacio hurried toward his mistress. Never before had she spoken in such a tone to him. He knew why she was so abrupt, and he was afraid for her.
Celeste pulled herself astride the mare with one strong yank of her arms. Without waiting for Ignacio, she spurred the mare and sent her racing up the mountain road to the hacienda.
Celeste bathed in the cool water in the big tub in the bathhouse. She moved slowly, leisurely. This might be the last time she would ever see the old, the dear familiar things she had grown up with. She traced the herringbone patterns of the poles supporting the roof. She shifted her gaze to look through the open window high on the outside wall. On a ledge under the eave of the roof was a tiny wren’s nest made of grass and the soft fuzz of seed heads. The three eggs had hatched and the heads of the infants turned this way and that, the liquid brown eyes watching for the mother bird to return. The wrens had built a nest in that very spot every year for as long as she could remember. How many generations of birds had that been?
She tried not to think of what she planned to do. Instead she concentrated on the young wrens in their cozy nest. They were safe there. Yet in a few days, the mother would push them out from the nest, out from under the protective eave of the house and into the world. There the wrens would kill to survive.
Celeste must also kill or she would lose everything. Dokken would not give up simply because she now had some money. No, he would increase his efforts, choosing his time to strike. She was so awfully vulnerable. And her property even more so. She knew of a man who had burned his enemy’s fields of wheat just as it became ripe but before it had been harvested. Dokken could do the same, wait, allowing her to expend her money and then destroy her crop, as easily as dropping a match. She could not allow that.
She began to move more purposefully. She completed her bath, put on a robe and went into the main house.
“Elosia, bring your scissors. My hair must be cut short.”
The old woman came with her sewing basket. “You should not fight that man,” she said. “You’ll be killed.”
“Don’t say that. Have faith in me.”
Tears came into Elosia’s eyes. “Celeste, I love you and don’t want you hurt.”
Celeste put her arms around the old woman. “I know you do. But I must keep my oath to Ernesto. It is even more than that. This man Dokken will destroy us unless I can stop him. Now cut my hair quite short.”
Elosia wiped at her tears. She opened her sewing basket and took out her scissors.
“Oh, how I hate to do this,” Elosia said, as a long strand of hair black as a slice of midnight fell to the floor.
An hour later Celeste stood in front of her mirror. She had bound her breasts tightly to her body with a broad strip of cloth. Then she had dressed in the clothing of a caballero, gray trousers, shirt and vest. The vest was decorated with heavy silver stitching along the front. She left it unbuttoned to hide the swell of her bosom that still showed even with the tight binding. A gray sombrero with a flat crown sat squarely upon her head. Heeled boots were on her feet.
She stared into the mirror and evaluated herself from several angles. She looked like a very young man. At least she hoped she would be taken for one.
Ernesto’s Colt revolver was belted around her lean waist. She slid the black iron weapon from the holster. She had continued to practice with it every day and it felt light and comfortable in her hand. She extended the gun and sighted down the barrel. The weapon was rock steady.
With a hiss of steel on leather, the Colt slipped back into the holster. In San Francisco, she would carry the pistol in her belt under her vest where it would not be so conspicuous.
Celeste was ready to find Dokken and challenge him to a duel. She had seen how easily he had beaten Ernesto. Could she aim her weapon and shoot Dokken before he killed her?
* * *
Levi and Errin raised their mugs of beer, grinned at each other across the table, and took long pulls of the cold brews.
“Damn good of you Americans to bring ice from Alaska just to cool my beer,” Errin said.
“What do you mean, you Americans?” Levi replied. “I thought you were an American now.”
“I guess I really am. And I like my beer cold.”
They sat in the Miner’s Billiard Palace, a place where the more wealthy Americans of the City came to shoot billiards, drink and talk business. The large hall was full of the click of ivory balls at a dozen tables, and the drone of voices from half a hundred men seated at tables and standing at the bar.
Levi caught the eye of the bartender. He held up his empty mug and two fingers.
“Damn fine celebration,” Errin said.
“That last group of men you signed up gives us two hundred and sixty working for us. We’re on the way to getting rich.”
“The men who can speak English keep quitting us and taking off on their own once they get to know the city.”
“There’s still plenty of men who can’t speak English, and also new men coming off the ships,” Levi said. “And the blacks don’t leave us. We’ve got a permanent business going.”
The bartender sat two beers on the table, took Levi’s money and left.
Levi sat facing the entrance. As he lifted his drink, he saw a slender, young Mexican dressed in gray clothing come into the billiard hall. The Mexican halted just inside the door and his black eyes swept the patrons.
“Errin, look, it’s one of those Mexican cowboys,” Levi said. “You don’t see many of them around.”
Errin turned. “Not just a cowboy. Looks more like one of the high-born Mexicans. Strange he’s in a place like the Miner’s Billiard Palace.”
They watched the caballero examine the men standing and drinking at the long bar. He shifted his scrutiny to the players at the billiard tables along the opposite wall. Then he scanned the men seated at the tables in the center of the hall.
“The fellow’s looking for somebody,” Errin said.
More and more of the men in the hall noted the presence of the Mexican and conversations began to die.
The Mexican ignored the stares. He thrust his head forward in a defiant attitude and his jaw tightened. With a slight swagger, he moved away from the entrance and deeper into the hall for a closer look at the many patrons, some of whom had their backs to him.
Errin heard the thud of the Mexican’s boots as he drew nearer. The flaps of his vest were unbuttoned and the butt of a revolver was visible stuck under the belt of his trousers. The dark eyes of the fellow caught Errin’s, and held them for a moment before ranging on. Errin thought the eyes were familiar, but how could that be?
As the Mexican went past, Errin’s pulse jumped with a sudden realization. The Mexican was a female and he was certain of that. Errin had been forced to live in close confinement with male convicts in the barracks and on the floating prison hulks of Australia for years and he knew men’s odors, how they moved, their facial characteristics, expressions. More than that, more than thought and logic, he could sense this person’s inner difference, the female aura. The ancient instinct of the male for the female could not be deceived by the man’s garb she wore.
“It’s a woman,” Errin whispered.
“What?” Levi asked. “A woman?”
Errin twisted in his chair and watched the woman walk on, her back straight and head swinging to see the face of each man she passed. She was indeed searching for someone. He would be an enemy for why else would that grim expression be on her face and the pistol in her belt.
* * *
Celeste stopped abruptly, every strand of her senses focused upon one of the men seated at a table near the rear wall. Her hand went into the front of her vest. She drew her pistol, cocked it as it swung down to point at the floor.
She placed her feet firmly and lowering her voice from its natural pitch, called out sharply. “Dokken, you bastard, stand up.”
The room fell silent at the challenging command. Then there was a scrape of chairs and feet as everyone not already watching, turned to look at the youthful Mexican holding a pistol.
Dokken looked over his shoulder and saw the Mexican. A surprised expression ran over his face, then swiftly vanished. He pushed back from the table and rose to his feet.
His eyes dropped to the pistol in Celeste’s hand, and then lifted to bore directly into her. He began to smile thin-lipped.
“Those are strong words coming from a Mexican, and a young one,” Dokken said. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”
“I’m Carlos Beremendes from Santa Fe. You killed my cousin Ernesto. Now I’ve come to kill you.”
Dokken laughed. “No kid such as you could kill me. Now go away before I get mad and shoot you.”
As Celeste looked into the confident eyes of the killer, she had her first glimpse of real fear, felt its cold, numbing fingers paralyzing her brain. The danger was terrible, and absolute. And she had sought it out.
Afraid or not, she must not fail to carry out her oath to Ernesto. She let her hot hate boil up, using it to combat her fear.
“You’re a coward,” Celeste said. “If not, then you will fight me.”
Errin watched in awe at the woman’s unexpected bravery in challenging the man to fight her. But how did she expect to beat a man who must be an expert with a gun for he had killed her cousin.
“Suppose I won’t fight you?” Dokken suggested with mock gravity.
Celeste had not anticipated that her challenge might not be accepted. Dokken must be made to fight her. “Then I’ll shoot you where you stand,” she said.
“You leave me no choice then.” Dokken seemed pleased at Celeste’s answer. “I must protect myself.”
He gestured at her pistol. “How do you propose we fight?”
She had thought of that and knew what she must say. “We will stand at opposite ends of the room. Someone will give the signal to shoot.” Celeste’s eyes became hooded, implacable. “Then I will kill you.”
“You can’t beat me,” Dokken said.
“Yes I can,” Celeste stated simply. She began to back away from her foe.
The two men at Dokken’s table quickly stood up and fanned out, one going a few steps left and the other to the right.
Errin studied the woman’s finely chiseled features, that now rigid with determination, seemed made of stone. God! How he admired her. But she could soon be dead. He rose to his feet and shoved his hand inside his jacket and gripped his Colt.
Catching movement in the periphery of her vision, Celeste turned quickly toward Errin. She tried to read the man’s intent in his cold gray eyes.
“I’ll see that none of Dokken’s friends tries to take a part in this,” Errin said to the unasked question.
Celeste nodded, the barest tilt of her head. The thought that someone might aid Dokken had entered her calculations but she had not arrived at a solution to the problem. She had an answer now. She once again riveted her attention on her enemy and resumed backing up.
Celeste stopped a step from the front wall of the billiard hall. She pivoted a quarter turn to put the thin side of her body toward Dokken. She reseated the pistol in her hand. Her thumb checked the cock of the hammer. She held the weapon pointing at the floor.
A tremble started in the core of her. Death from a bullet through the heart, the same as Ernesto, could be only a few seconds away. She caught the tremble, stifled it before it could reach her gun hand. Her shot must go true to the mark.
Dokken took off his coat and tossed it with a nonchalant air onto the table beside him. He drew his pistol from a shoulder holster, rotated the cylinders examining the firing caps. The gun was lowered to hang beside his leg.
Dokken called out across the billiard hall in a loud voice. “All of you heard this Mexican threaten to kill me. Don’t forget that.” He turned to the bartender. “Give the signal to fire. Make it loud and clear.”
“I don’t want that job,” the bartender replied.
“Do it!” Dokken ordered harshly.
“All right then,” the bartender said hastily. He looked at Celeste. “Both of you stand ready.”
Celeste’s eyes were locked on Dokken as she listened intently for the bartender’s signal to shoot. Was she truly swift enough to beat Dokken, to kill him before he could kill her? Madre de Dios, ayudame. Mother of God, help me.
“Fire!” cried the bartender and slapped the bar with the flat of his hand.
Celeste snapped up her pistol. Shoot! Shoot! Don’t hesitate. She pressed the trigger.
A thunderbolt exploded in her chest. The intensity of the pain seemed to fry her mind. She was hurled backward. Oh God! Dokken had shot her.
As Celeste fell, she saw Dokken standing with a smoking gun. Had her gun not fired? What had gone wrong? She crashed against the wall.
She stiffened her legs to stay erect. She tried to aim her pistol to shoot. Her arm strained, but the gun weighed a ton and would not hold steady. She crumpled, sliding down the wall to lie on the floor.
Dokken must not be allowed to live. Celeste struggled to rise, her body quivering with the effort. She only managed to turn her face toward her enemy. Her hate-filled eyes cut across the room.
Errin moved quickly toward the woman. He was angry at her. When the bartender had shouted his command to fire, she had lifted her pistol with amazing swiftness, beating Dokken to the shooting position. But then she had paused, a tiny length of time before she fired. Dokken’s pistol had exploded in that brief delay. Damn her, why start a fight unless you were going to kill. But she had grand courage.
He knelt beside the woman. Her eyes were open and staring, her breathing shallow. Gently he rolled her from her side to her back.
She was much thinner than he had first thought. The loosely fitting shirt and the open flaps of the vest had given her a fuller appearance. He grabbed the bloody shirt and ripped it open, popping the buttons.
The woman’s breasts were tightly bound to her chest with a band of cloth. Immediately below that was a ragged wound where Dokken’s bullet had skittered across her ribs, tearing the flesh open in a long, deep groove. Blood flowed in a steady stream.
The woman’s eyes, black pools of pain, shifted to Errin. She blinked, focusing. “Errin Scanlan?”
“Yes.” He understood how she knew his name, for this was Celeste Beremendes.
“I failed and he’s still alive,” Celeste said over the searing pain in her chest.
“You shot too late. His bullet hit you and made you miss.”
Celeste was quiet for a short moment, then her hand rose to weakly clasp Errin’s. “Please don’t let me die in here. Carry me outside.”
“All right. But I don’t think you’ll die. Levi, get her pistol.” Errin tenderly gathered Celeste up in his arms.
Celeste turned her head back to look at Dokken smiling a small, deadly smile at her. Then she groaned as a drum began to beat inside her temples, and it grew louder, the percussion beats jarring and thunderous. Images went out of focus. The world spun around her. Total darkness engulfed her.
Errin cast one last look around the Miner’s Billiard Palace and then, followed by Levi, carried Celeste outside.
“Senorita Beremendes! “ Ignacio cried, springing down from the buggy parked on the edge of the street. He hurried toward Errin. “Is she dead?” he fearfully asked.
Errin recognized the man as being with the Beremendes woman at the auction. “No, but she’s badly wounded. Why in hell was she fighting Dokken? Where’s her menfolk?”
“She has no men left in her family.”
Errin looked down at Celeste. “Then I see why she tried to do it herself. Where’s the nearest doctor?”
“There’s a medico a few blocks from here,” Ignacio replied, pointing up the street. “Lay her on the seat and I’ll drive her there.”
“You drive, and I’ll hold her,” Errin said. He stepped up in the buggy and sat down. He cradled Celeste against his chest and bent to listen to her breathing. It was still shallow, but steady. He had helped her in the sale of her land, and now he had participated in the duel by offering his aid to prevent Dokken’s cohorts from taking up the fight. Now Errin felt responsible, no more than that, protective of the gravely wounded and unconscious young Mexican woman.
Ignacio lashed the team of horses, and the buggy sped along the street. Four blocks fell away behind and he pulled the horse to a halt in front of a two-story house. “El Medico Carrington has his office here,” Ignacio said.
Errin stepped down from the vehicle and carrying Celeste, followed Ignacio up the walk to the house. As the door of the doctor’s office opened, a bell tinkled somewhere deeper in the house. Half a minute later, a small, white-headed man came in the outer office.
The doctor took one short glance at Celeste’s bloody body in Errin’s arms. “Follow me,” he directed, and led back through the door by which he had entered.
“Place him there,” the doctor said, gesturing to an operating table. “We must stop the bleeding.”
“He’s a she,” Errin said as he carefully lay Celeste down. He straightened her body and stepped back.
“How long ago did this happen?” asked Dr. Carrington. He took hold of Celeste’s wrist and began to count her pulse.
“Less than ten minutes,” Errin replied.
“It’s good that you brought her straight here.” He began to probe at the wound on Celeste’s chest. “Why is her breast bound?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued to speak.
“There’s no broken ribs, but some are chipped. I’ll take out the bone fragments and cleanse the wound. It’ll require several stitches to close it.”
Carrington looked at Errin and Ignacio. “You two wait outside. You’re of no use to her, or to me.”
“Will she be all right?” Errin asked.
“She’s young and seems in remarkable physical condition. It’s a serious wound, but I believe she’ll be well in a few days. The flesh has been badly torn, and she’ll have a scar. But it’ll only show to her lover.”