Desert Dreams (7 page)

Rafe snapped the locket closed and curled his fist around it.
No, she was more than a complication. She just might be the only person alive
who knew Luis Demas's secret. It didn't matter who she was or why she was here.
He didn't care about her lies or her secrets or the emptiness this locket
seemed to speak of.

He crammed the locket into his saddlebags and dressed
quickly. As he tucked his shirt into his pants, he reminded himself that he was
only here to find out what, if anything, Demas had revealed before he'd died.
He had to somehow convince the girl to tell him what she knew about the gold,
the gold that would lead him to El
Alacran
. Finding
El
Alacran
, after all, was the only thing that really
mattered.

Chapter 4

The road to Hondo
might
be wide and
well-marked, as the blacksmith had assured her it would be, but the surface
left much to be desired. By midmorning, Anne had been jostled and jolted until
she was certain her body must be covered with bruises. Her hands felt as if
they had been cut to shreds, despite the heavy leather gloves she wore.

This part of Texas must be the closest thing to hell on
earth. In fact, had anyone asked her for a description of hell, this would have
been
it.
The sun pressed down on her like a scorching
flatiron. The barren terrain stretched as far as the eye could see in all
directions. Short, scrubby trees dotted the gray-green landscape in irregular
clusters, but they provided no shade.

Once again, life had set her on a course not of her own
choosing. The words of the banker, Mr. Sampson, echoed in her mind. "I'm
sorry, Miss Cameron, but the house is scheduled for auction. You may bid on it
like everyone else, but..."

She knew he hadn't been sorry. He hadn't cared one bit about
her or her problems. He'd wanted her gone. She'd known from the first caustic
words he had spoken to her that the battle was lost.

"She was my aunt," Anne explained, knowing it would
do no good. "I came here to live with her."

"I do sympathize, Miss Cameron, but your aunt did not
leave a will. You will have to take your chances with everyone else."

Mr. Thaddeus P. Sampson of the Bank of Ubiquitous had been
unmovable. The house would be auctioned off at the end of the month.

She couldn't let that happen, but what options did she have?
A hotel room would cost at least two bits a night, which would mean she could
bid even less by the end of the month. And she had to eat. Maybe she could get
a job, but she would never earn the money she needed to live until the end of
the month and purchase the house. If she fell just a dollar short of the
highest bid, she would be homeless.

From the bank, she had returned to the hotel where she had
learned that the stagecoach she'd arrived on had continued on to Hondo last night.
The driver would lay over there to resupply and rest the horses before
continuing to Eagle Pass in the morning. The next coach wouldn't pass through
Ubiquitous for another two weeks. Somehow she had to get to Hondo before
morning.

She'd paid what was for her a fortune for a pair of
swaybacked horses and a wagon from the blacksmith who had tried to dissuade
her, even as he told her to take the coach to Eagle Pass and explained how to
get to Chihuahua, Mexico from there.

He didn't realize she had no choice. Besides, her father had
taught her to drive a carriage after he won one in a card game. She could
handle a team of two horses. And forty miles didn't seem so far, not compared
to the miles she'd traveled already.

She wore men’s clothing, a gift from the blacksmith whose son
had been killed in the war back east. “He won’t be needing them anymore,” the
craggy-faced man had said, the sorrow etched in his gray eyes.

Like the boots she still wore, the pants were hot and too
large, held on by a frayed belt. The pants might feel odd, but the strangest
sensation was the absence of a corset. It was freeing and uncomfortable at the
same time. And the coat she wore over a cotton shirt to hide her breasts
scratched her skin. And for all that trouble and suffering, her disguise would
only fool the most casual observer.

The blacksmith had assured her she should be able to make the
journey in seven or eight hours.

She had to get there before dark. Being on this road in this
wilderness after dark filled her with dread which she swallowed, along with all
of the other fears and doubts that welled up inside her. But nothing could be
as difficult as the trip from New Orleans to Beaumont-could it?

“…you're getting into Indian territory once you leave Ubiquitous,”
the annoying young man’s words returned to her, and her gaze skimmed the
horizon as it had all morning. She was alone except for the infrequent cotton
wagons that rumbled past, leaving a trail of cotton in their wake that looked
like snow on the ground.

What would she do when she got to Eagle Pass? At least the
stagecoach went that far. But after that… Beyond that lay Mexico. How would she
manage there? She didn't know the language or even exactly where she was going.

She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on something
else – anything else. Fear could destroy her if she let it. There was no
turning back. There was no choice. Either she would find the gold or… she
didn't want to think about what might happen if she couldn't find the money to
go on, to eat,
to
pay for shelter.

She carried a deck of cards in her running bag, and she knew
how to use them to relieve men of their money and make it hers. But once she
started down that path, she would be committing to a hard, risky way of life, one
she knew all too well. Better to risk everything on one impossible quest than
to live with uncertainty for the rest of her life.

A sigh of exhaustion escaped her lips. She couldn't remember
the last time she'd gotten a good night's sleep. Right now she could sleep for
a week. The heat of the day, the monotony of the terrain, the rhythmic swaying
of the wagon contrived to lull her. If not for the frequent deep ruts that
jarred her to the marrow, she could easily have nodded off.

And then, without warning, a violent, erratic movement from
one of the horses shattered her boredom. She pulled back on the reins as the
horse on the right reared and bumped into its companion. The other horse took
up the panic, and they both leaped forward, nearly jerking her from the seat.

Terror tingled down her arms and set her heart pounding. They
were galloping across the barren terrain, leaving the road behind as they cut
across the wild land to the right.

The wagon lurched and bucked over the uneven ground, throwing
her out of the seat and sending her crashing back down on it, tossing her from
side to side as she fought desperately to stop the frenzied horses.

She remembered the brake at her left. If only she could reach
it. Carefully she inched across the seat, lifting her left foot, slamming it
against the lever, screaming when it broke off.

In the next instant, the back end of the wagon flew into the
air. A back wheel broke off and rolled away across the dry ground. She braced
herself to keep from being thrown out. The wagon tilted dangerously toward the
missing wheel. She lost her seat and nearly flew from the careening vehicle.
Wood began splintering as the wagon hit another bump.

As the horses broke free, she had the presence of mind to let
go of the reins to avoid being pulled from the wagon and dragged to her death.

Dust settled slowly around the wagon, but she was unaware of
anything except the fact that she had somehow survived. Her heart thundered in
her breast, the breath hissed between her teeth. She fought the trembling that
possessed her, and the sobs that ripped through her.

Tears formed in her eyes and she steeled herself against
them. It gave her something to concentrate on other than the fact that she had
almost been killed. If she hadn't let go of the reins... if the wagon had
turned over, as it easily could have...

She sat still and quiet in the wagon until her heart rate
slowly returned to normal. In the distance, the horses had stopped running and
stood nuzzling the ground for something to eat, as if nothing unusual had
happened.

"Damn!"

The flat wilderness around her was quiet again, quiet and
desolate. She surveyed her surroundings, and a terrible hopelessness settled
over her like the dust and grime that covered her arms and matted her hair.

Dear God, where was she? How was she going to get out of
this?

She had lost her hat somewhere in the tumult. It seemed
foolish to fret over something so inconsequential, but without it she had no
protection from the sun. Her cheeks were already growing hot. Without the shade
of the hat's brim to shield her eyes from the sun's brightness, she could
hardly see.

"Damn."

On weak and unsteady legs, she managed to move toward the
side of the wagon. It shifted beneath her weight. She gasped and stopped until
she had a feel for how to proceed without upsetting her perch. Slowly she
worked her way to the edge and climbed down.

Think
.
There's got to be a way out of this. How far can I be
from Ubiquitous?

She gazed at the sky. It was well past noon. She'd been
traveling for more than four hours. It would take much longer than that to
return on foot. The blacksmith had told her it would take around four hours to
reach Hondo. She was better than halfway there.

She glared at the grazing horses, calm and quiet now. Stupid animals.
They were useless to her now. Even if she could catch them, she had no idea how
to unharness them, and the thought of trying to ride one of them filled her
with terror. She'd never been on a horse before. They frightened her with their
snorting and bucking. It was impossible.

Maybe she could walk the rest of the way. But she didn't know
exactly how far it was or what direction for that matter. The horses had
carried her far from the road and she wasn’t sure in what direction. She knew
which way was south, and she knew that was the general direction she needed to
go, but she hadn’t been traveling due south at all. Her path had been more
southwest. Maybe if she traveled due south now she’d reach the road.

Maybe she should just stay put. There were bound to be more
wagons traveling south with their cotton. But of course they would be traveling
the road and it was nowhere in sight. No one would ever find her if she didn't
get back to it.

And a part of her hoped they wouldn't find her. If the men
she’d encountered in San Antonio were any indication of the character of the
teamsters who drove the wagons, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be better off
alone.

Oh, it was too hot and she was too thirsty to think clearly.

A shrill cry drew her attention. High overhead, a buzzard
soared in a leisurely pattern, watching and waiting.

Scanning the horizon once more, she spotted the wagon wheel.
It was a good distance behind the wagon. Was it broken? Could it be reattached
if someone came along? Her legs trembled as she climbed gingerly from the
unsteady wagon. She started walking toward the wheel, shielding her eyes from
the sun's glare. If someone did stop, maybe they could put it back on for her –
if it wasn't damaged.

She'd misjudged the distance. By the time she reached the
wheel, she was out of breath and covered with sweat. Worse yet, the spokes were
shattered. It was useless. She let out a growl of frustration, kicking the
wheel with all her might.

The buzzard cawed loudly. Drawing her loaded pistol, she took
aim and fired at the circling bird, though it was far too high to be in any
danger.

"Go away!" she shouted. "I'll be damned if I'm
going to die in this godforsaken hell!

"Damned bird. Damned stupid horses!" She kicked the
wheel again but derived even less satisfaction than she had the first time.

She marched back to the wagon. She'd fetch her carpetbag and
canteen and strike out to the south. That would take her back to the road, she
was certain of it.

But when she reached the wagon, she had another unpleasant
surprise. The canteen, a last-minute purchase, was gone. It had been thrown
from the wagon. Worse than that, her carpetbag was missing as well.

She spotted something white blowing in the scant breeze
behind her and knew with heartsick dread that it was one of her petticoats. The
carpetbag had broken open and her worldly belongings were strewn over half of
Texas.

"My money!"

She'd transferred most of the money from her running bag to
her carpetbag this morning. She could hardly attach it to trousers.

She ran across the uneven ground in the direction of the
petticoat. The carpetbag lay on the ground nearby—empty. She picked it up and
began running willy-nilly around the area she had just traversed in the runaway
wagon, scooping up dresses and stockings and undergarments as she went. She
threw them in the back of the wagon and set about searching in earnest for her
money, digging in the dirt for scattered coins.

Sweat streamed down her face and into her eyes, blinding her.
She wiped it away impatiently with the sleeve of her shirt, ignoring the
burning thirst that built within her and the punishing heat of the sun on the
back of her head, but she recovered precious little of the money she'd had that
morning.

Finally, she dropped to the ground in exhaustion, panting for
breath, battling against the anger and fear that clogged her throat. Her dress,
wet with perspiration, hung on her in cloying folds. Lifting the mass of unruly
hair that had come loose, she allowed the scant breeze to touch the moist skin
beneath. The sun was so hot she could feel her scalp burning.

She swallowed past the knot of fear lodged in her throat. She
would die if she stayed here. Her situation was hopeless, utterly hopeless.