Ambush at Shadow Valley (14 page)

Before Soto put his horse forward on the dusty trail into town, he said to Clarimonde, who rode the paint horse close beside him, ‘‘We'll be taking up with some business associates of mine near here. I'm going to trust you to keep your mouth shut about what brought you and me together.''

‘‘I'm not going to say anything,'' Clarimonde replied quietly, her eyes lowered.

‘‘That's real good,'' said Soto, lifting his hat from his shaved, tattooed head long enough to wipe a bandanna across his brow. Adjusting the hat back down into place, he went on to say, ‘‘Because you can bet these people will tell me anything you have to say to them.'' He looked her up and down and smiled. ‘‘Before you say anything to anybody, remember the old Mayan, how he looked lying chopped up all over the yard.''

‘‘I—I won't say anything,'' she repeated. ‘‘I swear I will not.'' She paused tensely for a moment, then asked cautiously, ‘‘Why did you do that?''

‘‘What?'' Soto asked. ‘‘You mean kill him, or chop him up, or eat his heart?''

‘‘Any of that,'' she replied. Her face lost all color, recalling what she'd witnessed that evening from the window of the nuns' living quarters.

‘‘Killing is in my blood, especially killing Mayan Indians,'' Soto said matter-of-factly. ‘‘For generations, my family, the Soto Ceras, and the Mayans have been enemies. It's legendary. The old priest knew about it. It was my ancestors who showed the Spanish the land routes across South America. When my people killed an enemy in battle, they had a tradition of cutting out his heart and eating it.'' He looked at her intensely and bared his strong white teeth. ‘‘Does that sound uncivilized to you?''

She didn't answer, but a cold fear gripped her insides.

‘‘In my family it is an act of religion. Don't let it shock you. If you think there are parts of Mexico that are uncivilized, you have no idea how much worse it gets where I am from.''

As he spoke about his origins, Clarimonde noted how his voice took on a trace of accent. ‘‘And where is it you are from?'' she asked, still cautious.

But he ignored her question. Instead, knowing the effect his words had on her, he continued, saying, ‘‘The Mayans once called us ‘brothers of the dark monster,' because of how my people tortured and killed them, and ate their hearts. Over time, as my people spread out among the rest of the world, that name changed to ‘brothers of Satan.' I do my part to keep the practice alive.'' He chuckled darkly under his breath. ‘‘For that reason I can summon demons at my command and they will travel the world to find me and protect me.''

Were these the ravings of a depraved mind? She wasn't sure. But he was talking freely; she wanted it that way to find out all she could. ‘‘Your family once owned the mining interest in Shadow Valley. You come from wealthy people, yet you choose to live this way,'' she said.

‘‘Yes, the Soto Ceras are wealthy indeed.'' He smiled at her again and said with a shrug, ‘‘I was educated in Amsterdam. I speak seven languages as well as the natives of those countries. I am schooled in the world of commerce and industry.''

‘‘Yet, you chose to be an outlaw,'' Clarimonde ventured, hoping to gain as much insight into the man as she could gather while he was in a talkative mood. Part of her survival in the rank brothels and on the throat-cutting streets of California's Barbary Coast had depended on her wits and wiles. She had hoped never to have to live that way again, but here it was thrust upon her. She listened, weighing his every word.

‘‘Yes, I chose to become an outlaw instead.'' Again Soto's white smile sparkled. ‘‘But being an outlaw in America here is mild compared to being a Soto Cera in the jungles where I come from. Like all of my family before me, I can slice out a heart and eat it before it stops beating.''

As he spoke he reached a hand over and squeezed her thigh firmly, high up, near her open lap. ‘‘That's something for you to keep in mind,'' he added, half joking but half-serious. ‘‘You are a woman who has been around. You know how well a man will treat a woman who makes him happy. You've also seen with your own eyes how badly things will go for you if you anger or betray me.'' Kneading her thigh firmly, he said in a whisper, ‘‘So, make me happy, Clarimonde. Make me
very
happy.''

‘‘I—I will . . . I'll do whatever you want me to do for you,'' she said, shaken not only by his words, but even more so by the image of what she had seen happen to the old Indian. ‘‘Was Ransdale a part of this practice? Is that why he took scalps?'' she asked.

‘‘No,'' said Soto, letting his hand fall away from her thigh. ‘‘I didn't know Ransdale was a scalper until we got out here where he could indulge himself. It was his scalp collecting that brought the Soto Cera blood in me back to life,'' he said. ‘‘There's something about killing that never leaves a man once he's acquired a taste for it.''

Clarimonde couldn't help but raise her eyes and stare at him, either in shock or disbelief.

‘‘Nate was a low-minded animal,'' Soto continued. ‘‘He didn't even realize that when he asked me if he could eat the French nun, the ‘sweet cookie,' he had the same deep craving for warm, raw flesh as the most raging savage in the jungle.'' A dark, piercing look came to his eyes.

‘‘I . . . think I understand,'' Clarimonde offered. She said it only in hopes that it would gain her some better standing with him, something she would need if she was to ever free herself from him.

‘‘Oh, do you now?'' Soto said with a flat, cynical look in his dark eyes. Again his gloved hand went up onto her thigh, this time roughly, with urgency; he squeezed more firmly through the thin peasant trousers. Lowering his voice he said, ‘‘The only thing separating any of us from the beasts is our self-restraint.'' Clarimonde saw a pulse beating quickly in his throat. Again, he gave the smile. ‘‘My self-restraint knows better than to get in my way once I've tasted what I want.''

Clarimonde stared straight ahead as the horses walked onto the dusty street. She had been given a better glimpse into the darkness of Soto's soul, and whether he had said things deliberately to frighten her and keep her in his power, or whether he was indeed the monster he had so casually defined himself to be, she didn't know. But she did realize that when it came time to make her break, she'd better know beforehand that her plan would work. From all she'd seen and all she'd heard from him, this man was more dangerous and more insane than anyone she'd ever met those years on the Barbary Coast.

They rode on in silence.

On the busy, dusty street, the two stepped down at a hitch rail out front of Modale's Big Diamond Saloon, a gambling and drinking establishment set up in a large, ragged army tent. No sooner had Soto's boots touched the ground than a young member of the Hole-in-the-wall Gang stepped up as if out of nowhere and asked in a whisper, ‘‘Are you Suelo Soto?''

Soto took his time before answering, looking the young man up and down as he hitched the supply mule and the spare horse between his horse and the big paint. ‘‘I might be. . . . Who's asking?'' he said finally, sizing up the blue-eyed, youthful face as no threat to him.

‘‘I'm Billy Todd Carver,'' the young man said, touching the brim of his flat-crowned hat. He breathed a short sigh of relief, eyeing the pack mule and its tied-down cargo covered with a dusty canvas. ‘‘Man oh man, am I glad to see you!'' he said, still in a whisper, struggling to contain his excitement. ‘‘We've been looking for you the past two weeks.'' As he talked to Soto, his eyes went up and down Clarimonde, noting her clothes, her straw sombrero. ‘‘What happened to the convicts you brought to back you up getting away from the law?''

‘‘They backed me up. I got away.'' Soto gave a thin, wry smile, taking off his gloves and stuffing them into his waist.

‘‘Ha, I get it!'' Carver chuckled, appearing a bit simple. ‘‘That's a dang good answer, sure enough.'' He gave an openmouthed grin. But as Soto started to take a step toward the ragged saloon tent, the slender young man suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking him. His hand flipped back his coat lapel and wrapped around the butt of a big Remington sticking up from his waist. His laugh, his foolishness and the openmouthed expression were gone, replaced by a dead-serious glare in his clear blue eyes.

‘‘Did I do something to make you think you're talking to an idiot, Mister? If I did, maybe we best start all over, so you won't get yourself smeared all over the street—''

"Whoa, easy there, Billy Todd!" said Ben Kirkpatrick, another gang member. ‘‘There's no cause to be inhospitable here.'' The tall man spread the tent fly to one side and stepped out, facing Soto from fifteen feet away. He wore a shiny black, Montana-crowned hat and a pair of polished knee-high riding boots.

‘‘I was hospitable enough, T.'' Carver kept his eyes on Soto as he answered. ‘‘I asked him a straight question. I expected a straight answer.''

Eyeing the mule, with its load of canvas-covered cargo, the tall man said, ‘‘I'm Ben Kirkpatrick. You'll have to overlook ‘Quickdraw' here. We've had lots of railroad detectives on our necks of late. It's got us all a little jumpy.''

‘‘ ‘Quickdraw,' huh?'' Soto asked, returning Bill Carver's stare.

‘‘Don't ever doubt it,'' Carver responded without backing away an inch.

Soto made no further comment as he looked around the busy street, taking note of three other men, stationed here and there, who were watching intently to see where this confrontation was headed. Those men were English Collin Hedgepeth, Hunt Broadwell and Max Short. Finally Soto turned to Kirkpatrick and gestured a hand toward Clarimonde.

‘‘This is my woman, Clair,'' he said, shortening her name. To her he said, ‘‘Clair, meet Bill Carver and Ben Kirkpatrick, ‘the Tall Texan.' ''

Kirkpatrick stepped forward, took off his hat, bowed slightly at the waist and said, ‘‘My close friends call me ‘T.' I hope you will do me that honor, ma'am.''

Carver took a step back, took off his hat and bowed his head slightly toward Clarimonde, letting the confrontation drop. ‘‘A pleasure, ma'am,'' he said politely.

The Tall Texan offered a forearm to Clarimonde to steady herself with as she stepped onto the low boardwalk out front of the saloon tent. ‘‘Allow me, Miss Clair,'' he said.

Clarimonde's eyes went to Soto; then she declined the offer of Kirkpatrick's arm and stepped closer to Soto's side. ‘‘Well then,'' Kirkpatrick said cordially, ‘‘I have a buggy for the lady to ride in. I think it's time we rode out and introduced you both to Beck and the others. They've been waiting for you like a child waits for Christmas.'' He smiled.

‘‘She'll ride her horse. I'm having a few drinks before I go anywhere,'' Soto said, stepping toward the tent fly, taking Clarimonde by her arm and leading her with him.

The Tall Texan and Bill Carver looked at one another curiously. ‘‘Beck doesn't like being kept waiting, Suelo,'' Kirkpatrick said.

Soto stopped and turned to the two men. ‘‘Let's get this straight right now. You boys hired me to do something for you . . . something none of you can do for yourself. As long as I'm the top ace in the deck, I'll say how I play my hand.'' He thumped himself on the chest, and added, ‘‘I'm having some whiskey. You can join me, drink with me or go on about your business, Quickdraw.''

Carver and the Tall Texan watched Soto lead Clarimonde in through the tent fly. ‘‘Well well now, what have we here?'' said Kirkpatrick, just between Carver and himself.

‘‘Say the word,'' Carver replied, staring at the tent fly that had fallen back into place. ‘‘I'll go raise a goose egg on his head and throw him over a saddle.''

‘‘No, that won't help us any,'' said Kirkpatrick. ‘‘This job is too far along to have to go rounding ourselves up a new safecracker. We need him too bad to start right off having trouble. Let's get in there and drink some whiskey with him. I want to learn more about this woman. She doesn't look very happy to me.''

‘‘Damn it, T,'' Carver said, giving the Tall Texan a disgusted look. ‘‘Leave your hands off his woman. You just said yourself we can't afford trouble with him.''

‘‘I'm not after this man's woman, Billy Todd,'' said Kirkpatrick, leveling his hat brim and in doing so, giving the other three men a signal that everything was all right.

‘‘As long as I've known you, you've always been after every man's woman,'' said Carver.

‘‘Not this time, Billy Todd,'' said Kirkpatrick, ushering the young man toward the tent fly. ‘‘I want you to believe me. . . . This time I'm innocent. I only want to find out what the circumstances are with these two.''

‘‘Yeah, I bet,'' said Carver, walking in ahead of him. ‘‘I'm not taking my eyes off you, T. Beck told us to wait here for Soto and bring him out to the cabin. Whatever is going on twixt these two is strictly none of my business. Whether she's happy or not makes me no difference. I want no part of some lovers' spat."

‘‘Neither do I,'' said Kirkpatrick. ‘‘But ‘lover of women' that I am, I hate to think she might be some poor gal who's being preyed upon and kept by some bully, against her will.''

‘‘Dang,'' said Carver, ‘‘that would make her no different than most every woman I know!''

‘‘Don't be a knucklehead, Billy Todd,'' said the Tall Texan. "It always pays to know what's going on among those you work with.''