Paxton Pride (56 page)

Marcelina staggered drunkenly. The gun dropped to the sand. Sobbing, she put her hands to her mouth to force back the bitter acid taste. Jaco killed her mother. Jaco was her lover. Jaco was her brother … her own brother … and she had … Moaning in anguish, despairing in the enormity of her sin, she spun about and ran down the creek bed, disappearing around the clump of mesquite.

Karen sagged, spent with the emotion of the scene. Marcelina … poor Marcelina. The shock had staggered her to the core and now, in the aftermath, Karen was suddenly embarrassed by the viciousness of her attack, ashamed for the way she had so totally destroyed the girl. The destructive power of words was as deadly as a gun, for did not Marcelina and Bodine have much in common? Karen shook her head sadly. No matter what Marcelina had done, she now deserved pity, for only … the gun! It lay on the sand within easy reach, forgotten when Marcelina flew down the path.
Now … Now
.… A quick glance showed no one was watching and Karen ran to the weapon. Stooping to pick it up, she recoiled with sudden fright as the revolver exploded and jumped away from her. Arcadio stepped from behind the clump of mesquite, his rifle ready for another shot “The
muchacha
is very careless,
si?
” Karen's spirits sank in the face of the smoking rifle. “I ask myself, why does she do this thing?”

“You will never know.”

Arcadio laughed, picked up the pistol and shoved it in his belt. “Come. The story will amuse Jaco. I shall.…”

“You will mention nothing of this,” Karen interrupted. “If you do, I will tell Jaco you forced me.”

Hesitant, Arcadio looked about furtively. “He will not believe you,” he said, nervously wetting his lips.

It was Karen's turn to smile. “Won't he?” Turning away, she stalked down the path, ignoring the troubled outlaw.

Arcadio stared glumly. If only he could figure out what had happened. The
gringa
… of her he was afraid. A glimmer of an idea formed in the back of his mind. He was not afraid of Marcelina, and she did not know the
gringa
had forbidden him to speak. The next time Jaco rode, he would find a way to stay behind. He and Marcelina could discuss the matter in great detail, for certainly she would not want Jaco to know what she had done. Grinning in anticipation, he hurried along to catch the
señora
and escort her back to the
jacalito
.

Shadows crept down from the hills, swept irresistibly across the rocky slopes and brought the chill cloak of evening to wrap the baking earth. Manuel, pretending he was a soldier already, shifted his rifle from one arm to the other then resumed his stance, leaning against the mud brick wall. Karen studied him from inside the door, praying for him to doze, off before Jaco came. A moment of indiscretion, of untimely relaxation, was her only hope, but even that faded as a solitary rider made his way into town. Jaco was returning. From across the plaza she could hear singing and shouts of laughter filtering from behind the closed bat-wing doors of the
cantina
. The rider halted, listening to the festivities within, then dismounted and entered, disappearing into the glare of the lanterns. Time was running out. First he would drink with his men, then come for her. She shrank back into the darkness until the back of her legs touched the edge of the cot and she sat down, staring at the moonlit door and waiting.

How long she remained there, motionless, she could not say. Seconds? An eternity? She had no more plans. There would be no escape. Tomorrow she would be … what? And Jaco, with or without her, would ride off to a self-proclaimed generalcy and as easily attained glory. Suddenly she was no longer alone. Her heart leaped, caught in her throat. Jaco stood in the doorway, filling the frame, cutting out the light. As casually as if arriving home after a day's work, he lifted the
serape
over his head, dropped it to the floor. Gunbelt and hat followed. “Your clothes,
señorita,
” he said softly.

The knife …! Where had she placed the knife? On the cot, the table?
The mattress. It's in the mattress … don't panic … whatever you do, don't panic
…

“Never mind. I shall remove them myself. You would like that? Many do.” He drew close to her, his hand touching, tilting her chin. “But first, the kiss.”

Karen's silent acquiescence lulled him, made him overly confident. He failed to see her hand, only heard the whisper of motion as the jagged metal arced through the air and carved a crimson furrow through his cheek. Jaco howled with pain and rage, stumbled backward and crashed into the table. The bloody knife blade clenched tightly in her fist, Karen ran for the door. Jaco lunged from the floor, one outstretched arm tripping her and sending her reeling against the wall, the weapon skittering from her hand. A second later his weight fell on her and he was kissing her, brutally, cruelly. Karen twisted her head away. “
Ramera! Mujer perdida!
” he cursed.

“The bleeding general! Pahh!” She spat in his face. “Braggart! Butcher of your mother! Do you think I would give myself to you? I would rather die first.”

Jaco slapped her, the palm of his hand drawing blood from her mouth. Lurching to his feet, he dragged her upright by the hair and hauled her from the
jacalito
. “So … you would rather die first. Before my men are finished, you will wish you had,
señorita
. You will beg me for forgiveness, beg me to shoot you, to put you out of your misery.” He touched the bloody streaks along his cheekbone and cursed her again. She had carved him, marked him for life. No woman had ever done such a thing to Jaco. Wherever men gathered the story would be told, and men would laugh.

Karen fought, tried to strike, kick or claw him, all to no avail. He was simply too powerful. She could not stop him, could only clench her teeth in desperation as he kicked open the
cantina
door. Smoke stung her eyes. A cacophony of coarse laughter and obscene mirth assaulted her ears. The stench of sweating, unwashed bodies, the aftermath of debauchery, of stale tobacco and hard liquor, was nearly unbearable.

A shot rang out and the men's voices fell. Jaco spoke in the silence, his voice tight and forced through his seething fury. “Tonight many of you leave to visit your homes and your villages, to say good-bye to your families before you become
soldados
. My loyal
compadres
, tomorrow I will be your
general
. Tonight, to celebrate, I bring you this gift so you will remember your good friend, Jaco.” He looked about the room, reading the faces as they stared at the
gringo
, the untouchable woman for such as they. A murmur of startled realization grew as the men whispered to themselves and each other. Jaco waited until the tension could be touched, until the men became a single beast, then thrust Karen into their midst, shouting, “Enjoy her as you will!”

A ragged cheer rose, filling the room. Several bandits fired revolvers into the ceiling, adding the roar of gunfire to the overwhelming clamor. Leering faces formed a circle around her, closed in. There was no time to think. Time, life, blurred in a haze of unrelieved animal terror. Karen lashed out wildly as groping hands caught at her, touched her hair, breasts, shoulders, buttocks, thighs, grabbed and caught between her legs, spun her about dizzily. Lights and smoke swirled about her in a purgatorial conspiracy. Derisive shouts swelled and faded, swelled again and diminished, unheard in the hallucinatory sea of hands and grinning faces. Her shirt tore and she clutched at the shredded strands, no longer aware, only acting on instinct. Hair flying, she was sent careening to the other side of the circle, then back across to more eager, monstrous hands. Above the din, the women of the
cantina
urged on the men with shrill cries.

An outthrust ankle sent her tumbling forward. More hands caught her, set her upright. Hands clawed at the top of her jeans, tore loose the buttons then spun her away again. Hands tugged violently on a trouser leg. Karen grabbed at her waist, but as she did the shirt was torn away. The sight of her breasts roused the bandits to new frenzy, and an undifferentiated roar of lust went up as a sea of hands caught her arms, lifted her bodily into the air and laid her down on a table. One of the bandits leaned over and covered her breasts with a series of repulsive, slobbering kisses. As he straightened, Karen freed one leg and drove her foot into his groin. The outlaw paled. Through the roar of laughter at his plight, a bottle crashed over his head and he dropped to the floor. Arcadio stepped to the table. “I am first,” he roared. The crotch of his filthy trousers was unbuttoned and Karen averted her terror-filled eyes from the swollen flesh standing in full view. Her leg was caught firmly this time and Arcadio leaned over and slowly, more for the effect on his compatriots, slowly slid Karen's jeans down.…

“Hold!” Jaco shouted, pushing his way through to the table. Men backed away from him, still trying to keep in sight the prize they had been promised.

Arcadio glanced up, his eyes red-rimmed with dissolution and lust. “The hell I will.…” Jaco's revolver slapped across Arcadio's skull and the outlaw collapsed wordlessly on top of Karen, covering her nearly naked figure with his unconscious weight.

Jaco was not alone. Gonzales was with him, and Gonzales was supposed to be at the North Pass. “A
gringo
is at bay in the hills,” Jaco shouted. “Medrano is dead, killed by the
gringo
. But the
Americano's
horse is dead. He is afoot and trapped in the rocks.” He paused while the news sank in then went on, his voice silky with anticipation. “The
gringo
belongs to this one. We will save her until we have him, and then …” The men glanced about, muttering their discontent. Jaco fired his pistol in the air. “Quiet! I say we will save her until we have him. You will still have your chance with her. Manual, take the
señora
back to my
jacalito
. Watch her well.” He reached over and shoved the unconscious Arcadio to the floor, hauled Karen to her feet and shoved her toward Manuel. “Do not let any harm come to her.
Vámonos, amigos!
”

The thought of a second prisoner, of an
americano
so close to town, was sobering at best. If there was one, might there not be more? The bandits hurriedly strapped on their cartridge belts, gathered their rifles and rushed from the
cantina
. Karen, dazed but somehow still on her feet, pulled her jeans about her waist and stared numbly at the outlaw leader. Jaco gazed with appreciation at her naked breasts. Streaks of dried blood caked his cheek. “So,
gringa
. An
hombre
in the pass, and we both know who it is, no? If you were my woman, if they stole you from me, I would ride after you myself.
Si
, even if it was to my death.” He grinned widely. “You have seen how much my men like you. I will bring your man here. He, too, shall witness the enjoyment of my
soldados
. Tell me,
gringa
, which of you should I watch? You? Or him?”

Manuel licked his lips nervously and led her outside, back to the mud hut that was her prison. The sight of her naked torso filled him with delightfully stirring images, all of which were evident in the hungry set of his features. But Karen no longer paid heed to the threat of the present or the promise of her predicament on the morrow. Vance was near. Nothing else counted. Vance was near. Numbly, she plodded away from the nightmare
cantina
filled with hands and shrieking demons, oblivious to the sound of gunfire in the hills.

CHAPTER V

Karen collapsed on the cot, exhausted and drained of all resistance and emotion. The horrible ordeal at the
cantina
had taken a fearful toll. Never In her wildest imaginings could she have conceived the depths of depravity to which she had been subjected. Cowering in the comparative safety of the
jacalito
, she shrunk from the imaginary hands still clutching at her, the leering faces still smiling as they retreated, leaving behind ringing echoes of demonic laughter in her mind. “Tomorrow … tomorrow … tomorow …” they said until she could bear the refrain no longer and clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the clamor.
Tomorrow … tomorrow … tomorrow
… Sobs wracked her body. What horrors did the morrow hold in store? More of the same? Worse? What could be worse?
No! Don't think it …!
Compelled to appease the brutal appetites of men, of beasts, to endure the living nightmare until … new fears, hellish fiends of the night rose to engulf her being until the echoing thunder in the hills broke through her trance-like state to shatter concern for her own safety.

She sat up, listening. They were hunting Vance. He was here! But what chance did he have, on foot and alone against Jaco and the rest? More gunfire rippled across the dark valley, a smattering of volleys, and then silence. Was it over? How long would she have to wait? The quiet grew to ominous proportions and a mantle of silence settled over the
jacalito
, ghostly gray in the brittle pale light of the moon.
Is it over? Is it over?

She woke in the half light of dawn, stiff from the cot, uncertain as to her surroundings. A moment later and the full recognition of her predicament once again consumed her thoughts, left her huddled and shivering against the wall, broken in spirit. A figure in the doorway roused her. Manuel entered, lit the single lantern. “I bring you fresh water,
señora,
” he said in halting English.

The solicitous gesture warmed her. Looking back, she was sure Manuel had not been among those in the
cantina. Perhaps he
.… The young man stiffened purposefully as she moved toward him.
No
… The fire of revolution burned too deeply in his eyes. “Thank you, Manuel,” she called as he retreated through the door.

The water refreshed her, lifted her from the deadly malaise. A wink of light on metal showed her Manuel had overlooked the broken knife blade in the excitement of the night before. Quickly, she retrieved it and sawed a hole in the blanket, fashioning a crude
serape
to provide cover for her nakedness. The length of rag previously used to roll the second blanket served as a belt for her jeans, and with the moccasins given to her on her arrival, completed her wardrobe. Returning to the bucket, she drank again and rinsed her face and hands. The cool water bolstered her resolve to face with equanimity whatever the day would bring. Waved back from the door by a now gruff and taciturn Manuel, her resolve faded as quickly as it had been born. Reduced to nothing more than waiting, she paced the empty room, keeping a lonely vigil in a circle around the broken table.