~Chapter 10~

RoZita could hold back no longer, she had to touch him. She put up a hand and laid it, hesitantly, on his shoulder, then let it slide down over the muscles of his arm. She felt dizzy remembering the touch of his lips on hers, his muscular body pressed against her body on the camel, his curly damp hair under her fingers….

And just at that moment as he laid a hand over hers, Elena emerged from the rock shelter crying, "Please come, Alejandro is getting worse!"

His skin was flushed deep red and felt alarmingly hot. Although they had no thermometer, RoZita would have wagered that his temperature was close to 108 degrees Fahrenheit. The real danger point. He seemed unaware of his surroundings and was jerking his head from side to side moaning. He appeared to be in pain.

"What will we do?" Elena almost yelled. "There is no doctor around for miles!"

"Let's put him in the water," RoZita said, "in the shallow part of the stream. The water is cold and may bring his temp down."

"Are you sure? The water felt very cold crossing it."

"It's not quite so cold in the shallow part where the sun hits. If we don't bring his fever down he may die."

Once more they lifted Alejandro onto the bamboo stretcher.

"Get those pants off him," RoZita ordered. In spite of everything it made her feel rather good to be telling others what to do. For once in her life she was in command. "The less he's wearing the better."

They laid him in only his long drawers in the shallowest part of the stream, where the cool water flowed over him, just his head and shoulders on the sandy bank. Willy and Nestrelda watched with silent interest. Elena wet a rag and bathed his face and neck with it, then laid it across his forehead. Then took his hand in hers once more.

~O~O~

Carnal Love poked around the cave, touching the weapons hanging on the walls, taking some down and examining them, then touching the ropes strung from ceiling to floor, swinging himself over them. Then he saw the large design of circles on the floor, which matched the silver medallion Alejandro wore.

Shaking his head, he exited the cave. Still no Elena. Face it, she wasn't coming. Swearing, he untied his horse and mounted, and dug his spurs in the beast's flanks harder than was necessary and began riding back to the cutthroats' lair.

By and by, he saw some buzzards circling near the boulders where Cochino had been stationed as lookout. Love peered downward and spied two bodies. One of them he didn't recognize, the other was…Cochino. With a big hole torn out of his back and a mightily surprised look on his bloodied-up brown face, around which buzzed a swarm of bluebottle flies. Something that looked like a copper earring lying nearby. A scrap of gold silk clinging to a bramble bush. Footprints, some of which looked quite feminine.

Love was shaken. Proceeding with caution he rode into the lair, one hand on the pistol in his belt. And a little further up the way...

No, it couldn't be. He hadn't had more than a few swigs of whiskey, so surely his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He rubbed them hard and looked again. And ventured closer to assure himself that no-indeedy-sunshine, that was NOT a goddamn white camel tied to a tree up ahead!

But it was. And where the hell was Murieta? And the others?

When he saw what was under the big blanket, he jumped back in terror and revulsion. How did the bastard get loose? he wondered. What do you want to bet it was that bitch of a Nestrelda that freed him? When I get my hands on that gypsy whore, I'll tear her limb from limb, I swear to Godalmighty!

Shuddering, he dropped the blanket and glanced nervously around. Buzzing of flies caught his ear further into the woods and he proceeded with caution, drawing his pistol from his belt. Presently he spied some sort of blood-stained white garment lying on the ground, and, and…

"Sweet Jesus," he gasped as he saw the mutilated bodies, drawing back in nauseated horror. It looked like part of a battlefield. Murieta couldn't have done all this by hisself, Love surmised, Zorro or no Zorro. Somebody was in cahoots with him. Hmmmm...maybe Elena had got worried when he didn't show up and had rounded up a posse to rescue her lover boy?

Yes, that must be it. He ought to have known. She was a spunky gal, he shoulda give her more credit. Of course, there weren't many, including hisself, who woulda wanted to tangle with the likes of Scourge. His tattooed mug was on many a WANTED poster with a high price, but you didn't notice many riding out to try to earn that reward. And those few who did just kinda mysteriously disappeared.

But where the hell had that dad-blasted camel come from? Not many posses went around riding on camels!

Love's knees were shaking now. Maybe he should just haul his big fat ass outa here right this minute. Some of them might be still lying in wait. It was too silent around here now. Downright spooky…then he spied something lying near the tree Murieta had been tied to. A small shoe. Very small, like it belonged to a little boy. A boy Willy's age maybe.

But how in the hell would Willy have gotten here?

Yet the shoe had a button missing. Luisa had been fussing yesterday about Willy always popping the buttons off his shoes, waving that very button around, till Ruby Mae impatiently snatched it away from the girl and laid it on the bureau, saying she'd sew it back on when she got around to it.

It was still there. The shoe was Willy's.

Ahmed knelt off by himself, and although he was speaking in Arabic, RoZita could see he was praying. Nestrelda and Willy were sitting by the bank of the stream with their bare feet in the water, and the gypsy was showing the boy how to catch fish with his bare hands. "You got to be quiet," she kept telling him, "or you scare the fishes." RoZita got the feeling Nestrelda was trying to keep him from making too much noise and disturbing Alejandro.

"Where is your other shoe?" the gypsy asked in a whisper.

"I dunno," Willy whispered back, trying to snatch at a crawfish in the stream. "I took it off cuz it had a rock in it. Then I forgot to put it back on-hey, look, is that a snake?"

RoZita put a hand to the back of her head, which was hurting badly from the blow now. She could see Elena crossing herself, a gesture that looked odd with the oriental costume she still wore, and decided it wouldn't hurt to pray herself. She thought, well, Elena is Catholic, I am Protestant, and he is Moslem, surely God will listen to at least one of us if not all…

"Merciful and compassionate Allah," Ahmed was saying, "please forgive me for losing my faith when my wife and son were lost in the epidemic. I do not know why this man's life is so important to me. I do not know him, and yet I feel that somehow I have always known him. He saved my life, as I saved his, and now it seems so senseless that he should be lost after all that. I feel somehow that his life is important to the fate of the world. I am sure You brought me here for a purpose. So now I kneel before You as Your servant to plead for his life. For all we ought to have done and have not done…"

"Alejandro," Elena whispered, "you must not leave us. I am carrying your child. You must struggle to live. We need you. The country needs you. Perhaps the whole world needs you. Yes, it does, for the world needs a hero. A hero keeps the people's eyes turned up toward heaven. Without him their eyes are turned downward. They have no visions. They can look no further than the dust at their feet. And then they turn to dust themselves. But you could keep their faces turned to the light, so that they become filled with that light. They will become rich inside, glowing with color and warmth. Please, mi amor, you must not let that light go out..."

"What did you say?" Alejandro looked up at her, taking a deep breath. Elena started, looking at him. "We'll get a baby? You mean it?"

Tenderly she bent and kissed his hot lips, tears filling her eyes once more. "Yes, mi amor, of course we will!" It seemed to her he looked just a little more alive. . . .

RoZita knelt down by the stream. She tried to pray also but her head was still throbbing. All she could think was, "Please, spare him…please." She heard a step behind her but did not turn or look up. Then she felt hands on her head, fingertips kneading her temples, pressing on certain areas of her head and neck. She supposed it was Ahmed, although the hands seemed a bit small to be his. Her headache went away almost immediately.

"Better?" she heard Nestrelda's voice say. She started, then turned slowly to see the gypsy standing behind her.

"Tylenol never worked that fast," RoZita said with a little smile. Nestrelda smiled a little also, even though she had no idea what Tylenol was. Lacking the animal coarseness and cruelty, her round face had something girlish and appealing about it, with the long black braids and copper earrings framing it, little curls clinging to her sweaty forehead.

"Look," Willy said, pointing toward the path through which they had come. A big black horse had appeared, foaming and sweating.

Alejandro sat up in the water. "Tornado is here," he said with a kind of boyish sweetness and innocence. "He has found me."

Elena touched his face. "Your fever has gone down," she said with quiet joy.

Ahmed found a dry garment in his bag and he and Elena helped Alejandro out of his soaking drawers and into the dry robe. Then they made him lie down under the overhang and covered him with a thin sheet. Ahmed found a large flask in the bag of medicinal supplies.

"This is a solution of opium and morphia," he said, pulling the stopper from the flask and sniffing it, then holding it to Alejandro. "Drink some of it. It will ease the pain and help you sleep."

"Laudanum? Will it help me forget this day?" Alejandro asked with a sigh. He tipped the bottle to his lips.

"Only for a while," Ahmed said. "I regret I have nothing that can do that. It will remain to Elena and to you…There, do not drink too much. That could be fatal."

Alejandro handed the flask back to Ahmed. "It seems so strange . . . to see your own face bending over you," he said. "Are you really my twin?"

"I suppose it is…possible." Ahmed wondered if it could be that Alejandro was a descendant of his, that could account for the resemblance.

"I had a brother," Alejandro said. "He was not a twin, he was older than I, and he did not look like me. Yet now, it almost seems I have him back again."

He reached up and touched Ahmed's face. Even their hands were alike, finely shaped with long straight fingers. Ahmed pushed a wet curl off Alejandro's forehead, then kissed his hand.

"Try to sleep now," he said. "You have had a terrible time. But I think you will be all right. You are a hero."

Alejandro smiled sleepily. The drink was already taking effect. "Yes. I will be a father. Thank you…hermanito."

Ahmed winced inside, but said only, "Hermanito? What is that?"

"Little brother," Alejandro said, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~O~O~

Carnal Love stared at Tornado galloping off into the woods. At first he just stood there wondering why in creation Murieta would go off without his horse. Then it occurred to him that maybe the horse was going after his master…With a grin Carnal turned to follow the animal when he felt a whopping blow to his rear that sent him sprawling forward, hitting his head on a stump.

When he came to he had the worst headache he'd ever experienced in his whole life. Groaning, he tried to raise his head, but the motion caused even more pain than just lying still. He felt something damp in his hair, and supposing it to be blood, he put up a hand to his head and found that he was right.

"Almighty Jesus Christ," he moaned. His butt hurt too, but not as much as his head. That dad-blasted camel had kicked him, he'd stupidly turned his back to the beast when he heard Tornado. "Shit," he gasped as spasms of pain nearly blinded him, and he wondered if his skull was fractured. No, couldn't be, he'd be dead then, wouldn't he?

For a while he couldn't even think straight, couldn't remember why he was here, where he was, what had happened. But the smell of Scourge's dead body, none too fragrant even when he'd been living, slowly brought Love back to reality.

"Willy," he whispered, remembering the shoe. And the horse. Where had the varmit gone?

He sat up, in spite of the agonizing pain in his head. If that damn stump had 'a been just one foot closer, he'd 'a been a goner, he realized. But he had to get Willy back. He couldn't just lay here all day when there was a chance the boy might be alive and Murieta and Elena's posse had him. And he reckoned it weren't no use going after the horse. In the first place he didn't know where it had gone to. Second place, wherever Murieta was, he had good backup now. There was no way Love was going to take him all by hisself. But what was he to do now that Scourge's band was all strewn around providing a Sunday-school picnic for flies and buzzards?

"Carnal, you're a old woman," he told himself, moaning a little as the effort of speaking worsened his head further, but all the same it was better than listening to the silence. "You gotta do something. It's your boy. What would Harrison of done?"

Harrison had been a soldier. He had a cool head and a cold eye, and he would 'a known what to do. Carnal fingered the pistol that had belonged to his brother. Harrison wouldn't 'a let hisself get his ass kicked by a goddamn camel, he'd 'a rode out and rousted them son of a bitches and got his boy back. He would 'a called out the cavalry.

"Cavalry," Love said to himself, grinning in spite of the pain. "Yes. By god, why didn't I think of that in the first place. Yes-indeedy-sunshine. Cavalry. Cornelius, maybe you ain't so dumb after all, boy."

And he rose and staggered toward his own horse, which was calmly cropping the grass near the body of Scourge.

Ahmed sank down beside the stream once more, leaning his head against his hand, when he heard RoZita slip up behind him, as he had rather hoped she would. She held the jar of salve in one hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked him. "Why don't you let me put some of this on those scratches now. They look pretty bad."

He let her apply the salve. It reminded him of a time, long ago…very long ago indeed…when Olga had applied an ointment she said was made from cow urine to his face. RoZita was quite different from Olga. She was gentler. When he winced, she winced too. Her eyes were a soft green and still looked innocent in spite of everything that had passed.

"How did you get those scars?" she asked him. "Did a lion take a swipe at you?"

"A bear," he said with a little smile, but the smile was sad. "You have a good touch. You would make a fine nurse."

"Do you think he'll be all right now?" she asked.

"Thanks to you, I believe he will. He is going to be a father. That is a fine thing, a wonderful thing." There was an unmistakable ache in his voice.

"You…are a father?" She realized she knew nothing about him really. He was silent for a long moment, and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"I was," he said finally, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance. "My wife and my child died of cholera three years ago. My son would have been six years old now. I was away on a mission to Algeria and did not fall ill. When I returned to Baghdad, they were dead and buried two weeks gone. Olga was pregnant with our second child. There were so many who died in the epidemic. Sometimes…I cannot forgive myself for not dying with them."

She gasped and he looked away, tears filling his eyes. The pain in his voice horrified and dismayed her. But after a moment she put her arms around him and he leaned against her and sobbed. She held him as tightly as she could, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. She had never been in such close proximity to such profound grief. The thought of losing a mate and a child was unimaginable to her.

She stroked the curls at the back of his head, wondering if it were depraved of her to feel both maternal and lustful at the same time. No, she told herself, lust was not the right word. She wanted him, true enough, but lust did not begin to describe that feeling.

She finally gave into the urge to kiss the side of his neck where it angled into his shoulder. And then suddenly she heard a yelp that startled them both. It came from Willy, who was frantically trying to hold onto a big fish.

"Look what I caught!" he yelled, as Nestrelda tried to keep the trout from flopping back into the stream. Ahmed smiled a little in spite of his reddened eyes.

"The boy has caught dinner for us," he said.

Nestrelda borrowed RoZita's dagger and skillfully gutted the fish. RoZita and Elena gathered firewood, which was quite plentiful in the woods, and Ahmed attempted to build a fire by rubbing sticks. RoZita tried to think whether matches had been invented before 1849, and even if they had been, who would have any? Then she had an inspiration.

"The bag of makeup," she said. "Where is it?"

"Makeup?" Ahmed said with raised eyebrows.

"You know, the face paint. It had a mirror in it. We can catch the sunlight with it and ignite some dry leaves."

"RoZita, what would we ever have done without you?" Ahmed gave her a proud smile that thrilled her to the core.

As they built the fire, Nestrelda whittled a green branch into a spit to roast the fish.

"That was a pretty good catch, wasn't it?" Willy said as the gypsy skewered the fish and set it in the crotch of two forked green sticks Ahmed had driven into the ground by each side of the fire. "I caught a couple of little ones, but Nestrelda made me let 'em go. Then I got this big fella. I'm some fisherman, ain't I?"

RoZita smiled at him. She hadn't liked this kid at first sight, although in general she was fond of children. She'd pegged him as an obnoxious brat with an undoubtable mean streak. But now, radiant with cheeky pride over his first catch, he actually was…cute.

"Yeah, that was some catch, for a beginner," she said. "And without any rod or reel or net or anything. That's really cool, Willy."

"Cool?"

"Yeah, you know, like, well…cool." She shrugged.

"Oh. Cool." His chubby freckled face creased into an impish grin. "That was cool how you built the fire too."

"Thanks," she grinned back, reaching out to rumple up his stubbly reddish-blond hair. "That WAS pretty cool, wasn't it?"

Alejandro stirred in his sleep. Elena hastened over to him. He groaned a little. She bent down whispering, "Alejandro? Are you better now?"

"Elena?" He blinked, glancing all around. "Where am I? You are here?"

"Yes darling. Do you feel any better now?"

"I hurt everywhere…but I will live." He smiled with groggy sweetness at her. "The others…where are they?"

"They are here. They are cooking dinner now. Do you think you could eat something?"

"My mouth feels strange…but yes, I am hungry." Alejandro tried to sit up, wincing at the pain in his wounds. "I can see him now. This place is no longer evil, he has blessed it with his presence. He walks in goodness. You can see that in his eyes."

He did not seem aware that he had been moved from the cutthroats' lair.

"We are not there anymore," Elena told him. "We moved you to another place far away from there. Well, not so far. But far enough."

Alejandro seemed not to have heard her. "He is sad, though. You can see that too. I wish I could find out what troubles him. I sometimes believe I could have saved Don Diego if I had known sooner what troubled him so. But he never would speak of it to me for a long time. I suppose he could not bear to. I sometimes think that if I had known sooner, perhaps I could have helped him to get you back from Montero without him being killed."

"I doubt that and there is no use regretting what could not be helped, Alejandro. You did what you could, and you did splendidly. As for Ahmed, perhaps she can help him with whatever troubles him."

"Who is she?" Alejandro squinted at the girl he could see kneeling close to Ahmed.

"I have no idea really." Elena wondered what he would have said if she had told him RoZita had come from the year 1980. Then she saw a look of horror creep into Alejandro's eyes. "What is it?"

She looked around to see what he was looking at, a chill running over her.