Chapter 8 [That Night—Two Miles South of Tucson]
Luna rose over the desert landscape. The stars twinkled in their dark backdrop. Day's residual heat evaporated into the clear air overhead.
And at least one group of animals prowled south of town….
Sanchez guzzled tequila from a glass bottle. He set the bottle down before wiping his sleeve across his mouth. He and his comancheros enjoyed successes on that day. They'd taken another hundred cattle from both Don Sebastian's and Big John's respective herds. Neither vaquero nor American cowboy could detect so much as a whiff of their presence. Besides, he had his true prize. His eye leered toward the tent at the camp's edge. The Dons think themselves better than us? I will have my own noblewoman and make myself like them. Smugness prompted a smirk across his face. Between her birthright and these cows and horses, I'll make my own empire.
Javier sat down next to him.
"All clear out there?" Sanchez didn't even look at the other man.
"Si." Javier took his own bottle out. He drank a swig and then stretched.
"You'd best be alert, Amigo. Bad enough you shot the chica. Eh?" Sanchez glared at the other.
"That was Francisco not me, Jefe," Javier reminded him. "He's watching the tent."
"He best have both eyes open," Sanchez told him. "Bad enough he shot her. Anything?"
"Nada. She's still unconscious. Maybe we get a doctor in town?" Javier assessed.
"Mañana if she's not awake," Sanchez disagreed. "Just watch."
"Si." Javier stood up and headed toward his sentry point on the camp's other side.
Sanchez finished his bottle and glanced at the tent again. Let the chica sleep. Tomorrow we will see what happens.
Mercedes' eyes flickered open. Her shoulder throbbed and burned. "Wh…where am I?" Her eyes took in the dimly lit tent's inside space. She winced and sat up slowly. "Manolito?" Then she remembered the ambush. She recalled the searing shot hitting her. Is he all right? What did those pigs do to him? Manolo! Panic created several scenarios in her mind.
The throbbing brought her mind back to the present.
She recalled her parents' warnings and Lopez's fears. She also knew well of Sanchez's lurid intentions. She shivered and grimaced. It won't happen. I have to get away. She grabbed for the blazer rolled up and serving as her pillow on the hard ground. She wadded it up and held it against her wound. She looked about the area. "What would Manolito do? He'd look for a way out. Still I wish I knew how." She moved her arms and legs to make sure they could move.
Thinking of her caballero filled her with Inspiration.
Her foot struck a nearby sack. Its impact opened it revealing tools and weapons.
What are these? She looked about again. Then she rifled through it. She removed a pistol and a dagger from the burlap vessel. Gracias, Papa, for letting me learn to shoot. Mama would have me be helpless. She opened the barrel to find said gun fully loaded. Then she clicked it back into place and put it in her trouser pocket. Then she headed for the back of the tent. She stuck the dagger into the material and began to slowly cut at it. Within a couple of minutes, she'd opened a hole in the tent's back wall. Let the pigs not be watching! She bit her lip.
Risk said she could be free. Then again, she could also emerge right into the butchers' midst.
If I stay, those animals will abuse me. They'll make Papa pay for my return. Then there are other things. She grimaced. She could almost hear Lopez and her parents telling her to stay and wait for rescue. Still she didn't exactly get there by listening to her parents. Mi Manolo, I have to get back to you! She sucked in a deep breath. Lord, guide me. She folded her hands and muttered a silent prayer. Then she slowly stuck her head out for a look. I hope this is what you would do, Manolito.
Amazingly enough, nobody could be seen there. None came to investigate her handiwork.
She sucked in a breath. She grimaced while crawling out of the tent. She ground her teeth to endure Pain's burning jabs. She slowly made her way to the tent's edge.
There her horse glanced back at her. Lucinda stood with a dozen others in a picket line. She whinnied softly.
Mercedes crept over to her companion. "Shh, Lucinda," she whispered. She cut the rope attaching her friend's bridle. She couldn't believe her luck though. For some reason, the ingrates had left Lucinda's saddle still on her back. She mounted her friend.
Lucinda though wasn't as subtle as her mistress. With one well-placed kick, she took out the pole to which secured her and the other horses.
"YAH! ¡VAMANOS!" Mercedes urged the former captives.
The horses stampeded toward the camp proper.
Distraction having been served, she turned Lucinda away from the horses. "Hurry, Lucinda! That way!"
Lucinda needed no further prompting. She galloped away into the desert proper disappearing toward the north….
Meantime Sanchez finished his latest bottle. He tossed the empty bottle onto the ground beside himself. Desire stirred within his chest. He glanced toward the tent. He stood slowly.
The alcohol slowed his movements. Still it increased the tug between him and his prize. He staggered a couple of steps ahead.
Then he heard a loud sound like Thunder booming in a storm. He curled his lip. "What? I…" His eyes went wide. Instinct got him to evade what was coming next.
The stolen horses stormed through the camp. They trampled supplies and knocked everything askew. Then they scattered the half dozen comancheros before heading off into the night.
Three boxes of bullets and a barrel of gunpowder fell into the fire. The flames burned through the wood planks and boxes. Then the ammo exploded in a bright flare. A loud boom threatened to deafen them.
The flames spread to the remaining supplies and the tent. The smell of the roasting meat and burning flatbread filled the air. The fire consumed the tent's fabric.
"NO! ¿QUE PASA?" Sanchez looked about at the devastated camp. "¡La Chica!" He took two steps toward it.
The remaining weapons inside of it exploded. The tent scattered into a hail of flaming debris.
Sanchez flew backward from the explosion. Somehow, he avoided the remaining sparks and embers. Still his ears rang. His face reddened from the heat. Indignity hit him hard.
Somehow the horses had bolted. They'd kicked over the picket line. Then they stampeded over everything in their path. Their assault had destroyed the supplies and weapons.
And his prize, La Chica Noble, couldn't have survived the tent's explosion either.
He managed to sit up on the hard ground. He saw Javier looking around at the devastation. "HEY!"
"Jefe, I…" Javier gulped. "Are you all right?"
Sanchez staggered to his feet. "What happened? How did those horses get loose?"
"Jefe," Javier replied. Consternation had him looking around at their devastated camp. "The horses are gone! Marco and Rivera chase them."
"So is La Chica!" Sanchez growled. "She's dead! Who tied those horses?"
Javier motioned to Francisco's corpse lying not twenty feet away from them. "He did, Sanchez."
Sanchez spat on the ground. "Get this mess cleaned up! Then we'll wait for Marco and Rivera. They better find those horses!" He staggered away from the burning area.
Javier bit his lip. He knew Sanchez's anger could cost them all their lives. He set to work on the clean-up efforts.
Still Irony must've had a field day. What the Old Lion and the Chaparral hadn't been able to do, the wounded hostage managed to pull off…..
