Marco and the Devil's Bargain (23 page)

If he was irritated at her presence, he didn't show it. “Farther south.” He looked around. “Not even animals like this Llano Estacado, as you call it. You know how little water there is, when we have to melt snow to drink.”

“
What do The People call it?”

“
Big empty.”

She didn't know if he wanted her company, so she asked. He nodded, which gave her courage to ask the question on her mind since the terrible night with the dying man.

“
You … you knew who he was, didn't you?”

He gave her a look of something close to admiration. “You were watching me. I cannot say his name, because he most certainly wanders with the restless spirits now, and I don't want to call him back.”

Paloma shivered. “I don't either. But … you knew him.”

He turned in his saddle and propped his leg across his horse without his horse faltering. “He was one of the men who had me thrown from my band because my wives complained.”

“
So … those people back there. Was that
your
band?” She didn't think she made an exclamation but she must have, because Marco called, “
Qué
es
?” She shook her head at him.

He watched her a moment, wary, then returned to his conversation with the doctor.

“
I recognized them.”

He couldn't have been more evasive. “Why did your wives complain?” She had wanted to ask before, but it was a nosy question, maybe even a rude one, the kind of question her cousin Maria Teresa might ask. “Oh, if I shouldn't ask ….”

Toshua shrugged. “I think it was the young one, or maybe that wife of the Spanish settler. They had their eyes on another man.” He made a cutting gesture across his abdomen. “Shaa! I would have let him borrow them, if he wanted.”

She had heard that about Comanches before. “Just like that?”

“
Certainly. We People share everything.”

“
If Marco tried either side of that
coin
, I would murder him,” she said with some feeling.

He gave her a kind look then, as if he wanted to help. “If he had another woman, or maybe two, he might have children.”

Sick at heart, Paloma turned away. In another moment, Toshua tugged her bridle and turned her horse toward him again.

“
I should not have said something that wounds your heart,” he told her.

Paloma nodded. It was her turn to ride ahead, not out of sight—she feared the Big Empty—but ahead far enough to wonder why, in all her helping of others, she could not help herself.

P
aloma knew Toshua did not mean to hurt her feelings; he was a practical man offering a practical solution to a problem. She told herself not to dwell on the matter because they had larger challenges at the moment: the horses were thirsty and there was no water anywhere.

“
I suppose this is one reason game is sparse here,” Marco said as they walked back to camp that afternoon after gathering buffalo chips for a fire. Her apron was weighed down and she walked slower and slower.

“
I'm a dolt,” he said and stopped her, lifting her cloak to untie her apron, which he gathered together and slung over his back. “Better?”

She nodded and started moving, but he stopped her again. “Is it too much, Paloma?”

“
Yes, but here we are. I just wish I had a little privacy.”

“
It's the journey, dearest,” he said. “Remember two Octobers ago when we came to Valle de Sol from Santa Fe? No privacy then.”

She nodded. “We had our mountains then and not this … this endless plain. I miss our mountains.”

“
I do, too.” He looked around. “There is no protection here.”

The sun had gone behind clouds and she was unsure of any direction. She fought down the panic, reasoning that her husband thought he had married a grown woman, and this was no time to show him otherwise.

They ambled slower toward the two tents, hobbled horses neighing from thirst, and the tiniest pinprick of a fire—the smallest speck in the immensity of the Staked Plains. She couldn't help her sigh.

“
What was that for?” Marco asked.

“
To return, we have to cross this again.”

“
But only once more.” He looked at the night sky so rapidly darkening. “I will never travel this far from my mountains again.” He put his lips close to her ear. “Between you and me, the Comanches can have it, and with my own
Te Deum
.”

She gave him her sunniest smile, and surprised herself by meaning it.

They walked slower, maybe both of them reluctant to return to a doctor who complained about everything, and a Comanche who knew more than he was letting on. Paloma tugged on her husband's hand, and he stopped.

“
Toshua knew those poor people.”

Marco nodded. “I thought so, too. I tried to get him to talk, but he was silent on the subject.”

“
I tried, as well. Why does he say nothing?”

“
Comanches don't speak of the dead. Maybe he cannot say more.”

She tugged on his hand again, pulling on it until he leaned down. She put her lips next to his ear this time. “Don't ever be that way with me. Be free to speak your mind.”

“
I already do. And you?”

Paloma nodded, then shook her head. She took a deep breath and told him Toshua's solution to her barrenness. There. Call it what it was, she was barren.

Marco winced. “A Comanche solution, not a Spanish one! Maybe I was not entirely forthcoming, either. When I rode with the
médico
this afternoon, I did tell him our … our … well, I asked if he had any suggestions. He's a doctor, after all.”

“
Did he?”

Marco shook his head. “He asked me some embarrassing questions, then he sighed, and said he wished he could see inside our bodies.”

“
Dios
, that could get him in trouble with the Inqusition!” Paloma said, her eyes wide. Then she chuckled. “I'm the dolt now! He's not even Catholic. See inside our bodies? Imagine such a thing.” She leaned closer, maybe thinking a priest would materialize there in the middle of absolutely nowhere. “Then I say it is too bad he cannot.”

They continued in silence to camp.

Anthony Gill knew he was not, by nature, an envious man. Envy required some thought, some observation, and here he was, observing. Maybe it was boredom. He looked around the little fire, watching the Mondragóns, actually watching them, Paloma so pretty, even though her nose and cheeks were red. He had never seen a more graceful woman. And there was Marco, a broad-shouldered fellow with a handsome, long Spanish face, and a close beard now, after only a week. Anthony knew it would take him a long time to grow even that much.

True, that face under the beard had reddened considerably as he had answered such probing questions that afternoon, reminding Anthony all over again that people of Spanish origin were, on the whole, shy. Anthony looked at Paloma again, wishing he could actually examine her. He thought of the surgeons he knew back in Georgia, those men who shaved and cut hair, and sometimes probed within the body. At least he could inoculate. He should be content with that, even as he wished he could help Paloma Mondragón.

Dinner was more of the dreadful pemmican and far-better wine. Anthony laughed to himself, watching Marco sweet talk Paloma into finishing her portion. Afterwards, Paloma went into their tent, and Marco spent some time with his hobbled horses. Anthony thought he even prayed among them, a rancher unhappy about no water for the animals that served them.

Determined to become a better observer, Anthony noticed that Toshua spent some time looking at the night sky. Was that how he knew how to navigate this sea of winter grass? Surely not; there was no daytime equivalent, unless it was the sun, itself.

He looked up, too, enchanted with the stars that seemed so close. He recognized Orion, that harbinger of winter, a man-god with a sword. It was the middle of February, and Orion dipped a bit lower. In a few months, he would make his exit and spring would come. Why did it seem so far away right now? That was the dilemma of February.

Later, in the tent he shared with Toshua, Anthony smiled to himself, amused as the Mondragóns tried to make love quietly in their own tent. Marco was less successful at silence, which made Anthony chuckle.

“
I always wish them joy with each other,” Toshua whispered.

“
I thought you were asleep.”

“
No, no.”

Antony heard Toshua turn over in the tight space. “I had a good wife once. I liked her more than the other two.” His voice turned contemplative. “I wonder why she decided to listen to those witches.” From contemplative to harsh—“Now those witches wander these plains forever, burning, freezing, scratching at their running sores.”

Good Godfreys, were your former wives among the dead by our camp?
Anthony asked himself. Frightened, he pulled his blanket higher, wondering just whom he shared this tent with. Thank God he did not believe such nonsense. Still, he also knew he would not stick his head outside this tent until morning; it paid to be careful.

“
Señor?”

Marco groaned. He had no earthly desire to leave his warm little cocoon of two blankets and Paloma. The sun was barely up.

“
Señor!”

Aware of the urgency, he sat up, careful to tuck the blankets around his wife, who was stirring now, too.
Dios
, it was cold! He dressed as fast as he could and stuck his head outside the tent.

Toshua nodded to him and pointed. Marco squinted, then his heart began to sprint.

“
Who are they?”

“
From the south. Maybe Apaches, maybe Tonkawas.”

“
How long, do you think?”

“
Hard to tell. They are far away right now, but they are riding, and here we sit.”

The men looked at each other; there was nothing to say. Toshua went to his tent and yanked the tent pole. The doctor inside yelped and swore. Marco was a little kinder.

“
Paloma, we have to ride fast. Hurry, please.”

She asked no foolish questions, even as her face paled. He turned to saddle the horses, assessing them, aware of how thirsty they were, how cold.

By the time the horses were saddled, Paloma was dressed and already folding the tent. On her face was that set, determined expression Marco had seen more and more on this cold journey. She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He pointed to the south. She looked and took a deep breath, even as she crossed herself.

“
Paloma, if you have anything of importance on the pack horses, carry it with you. If we need to, I'll loosen the ropes tethering them to us. We might need the distraction they can provide.”

She nodded, her eyes going in sympathy to the pack horses. “They've been so good to bear our burdens,” she said softly. She transferred another blanket and more pemmican to her horse, then let him help her mount. She settled her skirts around the side horn and turned resolutely away from the distant riders.

Even Antonio did not complain this morning. He usually rode on the far side of Paloma, as though wanting to remain separate from them all. This morning, he deliberately rode on the other side of Paloma, putting himself between her and the unknown riders, which touched Marco. The
médico
even leaned over to ask Paloma, “You have all your inoculating supplies, do you not?”

She nodded, and pulled back her cloak a little to expose the leather bag that hung from her shoulder.

“
You remember everything to do?”

She nodded again, and they started at a steady clip, heading east as always, but faster.

“
Let's see if they turn and follow,” Marco told Toshua.

“
They will.”

They did, although with no increase of speed, loping along in a way that was more than maddening, as they paralleled the travelers. Marco observed his companions, wondering at their apparently unspoken agreement not to deliberately look south, even though everyone's eyes strayed that way when they thought no one saw them. The only time Paloma showed any fear was when he dismounted fast, and as they watched, untied the packhorses. She whimpered, then set her lips more firmly. All Marco could do was pat her leg before he mounted again. To his relief, the obedient animals continued to follow, although farther back. It chafed him, because he knew the unknown riders were now aware of what he had done, and why.

Damn them! He watched, hoping they would take the bait and veer toward the pack horses, which even now had paused to nose among the sparse vegetation. No luck.

He could ask Paloma to pray for a miracle, but he knew she was already praying. Her lips moved in a continuous
Ave Maria
as she rode, her back straight, her eyes only darting small glances.

It was a party of ten or twelve and they did not ride like Comanches. “I think they are Apaches,” Toshua told him, then grinned. “At least Apaches won't eat our little doctor, like Tonkawas!”