The Shadow Man (5 page)

As Tamarron turned to leave, he heard one of the trappers call out along the street in a rough, loudmouthed voice, “Woman, come and give a lonely American some lovin'.”

The pair of gray riding horses traveled at an easy gallop, carrying Petra and Conrado Solis along San Francisco Street. The brother and sister rode easily, their bodies swaying smoothly to the stride of the mounts and the big rowels of their spurs reflecting bright silver sun arrows.

Petra swung her gaze out over the town. She enjoyed riding through Santa Fe. When dressed much like a man, as she was now, and on horseback, she didn't feel so strongly the difference that separated her from other women.

Petra gave only a short glance at the group of buckskin-clad mountain men loitering by the cantina. It was best to ignore the rowdy Americans. She drew her horse to a halt beside Conrado in front of the Estudillo Mercado on the opposite side of the street.

Refugio Estudillo, owner of the large general store, was watching through the window. He saw the Solis man and woman dismount and tie their horses to the hitching post. The Solis family held an old Spanish land grant of more than three hundred thousand acres in the Pecos River valley. The family was one of his best customers. He hurried toward the store entrance to greet them.

“Good day, Petra, and to you, Conrado,” Refugio said in greeting.

“Good day,” Petra replied. “How are Dona and the children?”

Refugio looked at the Solis woman standing straight and slim beside her brother. They were dressed like caballeros, in leather pants and decorated jackets, hers a lively maroon and his somber black. Conrado wore a broad-brimmed felt hat. Petra was bareheaded, her black hair woven into a large braid that hung down her back. She carried a thin-bladed stiletto in a sheath on her belt. She would have made an outstanding caballero had she been a man, thought Refugio.

“All are well, and the children are growing rapidly, Petra. How are Señor and Señora Solis?”

“They are anxious to return to the rancho and see about the sheep and cattle. We've sent a crew of men with shovels to the mountain pass to dig out the snowdrifts and open the trail over the summit. They should be finished by Monday, and then we'll leave for the Rio Pecos.”

“Dona and I shall be sorry to lose your pleasant company,” Refugio said.

“And we yours,” Petra replied. She spoke to Conrado. “I will see if my dress for the
baile
is finished, and make the purchase mama requested. I'll return here in a quarter hour or so.”

“Very well, Petra. While you're doing that I will order our supplies,” said Conrado.

Petra turned and walked across the street. At the edge of her vision she saw the Americans halt their conversation and watch her as she stepped up on the stoop and entered the dressmaker's shop.

The seamstress came forward quickly with the dress she had been working on for two days and held it up proudly for Petra to see. “Señorita Solis, it has turned out beautifully. You selected just the perfect cloth and color.”

Petra reached out and fingered the soft yellow silk that had come the long distance from China. She had given one steer just for the material, and then three sheep to the dressmaker. A very high price for one dress. But her herds of animals were growing, and she could afford it.

She lifted the dress gently and, stepping before a long mirror, held the garment up against her body. “Yes, it is beautiful. Please wrap it.” She did not look at her face.

Petra left the dressmaker's shop with her bundle and turned up the street. She would have to pass through the lazing band of Americans. However, that did not worry her. Though the trappers would watch the women of the town with sharp eyes and sometimes whisper words deep in their beards, they really never bothered them. Except the ones that were for sale in the cantina.

To Petra's surprise, one of the Americans, a huge young man, separated from the group and marched a few steps to intercept her. He spread wide his long arms, completely blocking her path. “Woman, come and give a lonely American some lovin',” he said in a loud voice.

Petra stepped to the right to go around the trapper. He moved in the same direction and stopped her passage again.

“Please allow me to pass,” she said in cold, precise English.

“What's the matter? Ain't us Americans good enough for you Mexican ladies?” growled the man.

“Just let me by.” Petra made a motion to go to the left. But the trapper barred her path.

“Damn you! Get out of my way!” Petra said, her voice slashing the air.

“Don't talk to me like that, you ugly bitch,” snarled the American. “I'm doing you a favor.”

Petra caught her breath at the horrible insult. Her hand closed around the hilt of the stiletto in her belt.

* * *

In astonishment, Tamarron watched the trapper block the Mexican woman's course along the public street. He listened to the argument for a moment, not believing what he was witnessing.

“What in the hell is wrong with that fellow?” Jacob asked Tim.

“This is Unger's first winter in the mountains. He and his partner were hit by Cheyenne. His partner stopped some arrows. But Unger killed two braves with his knife, and now he thinks he's a real bear of a man.”

“Why hasn't somebody taught him some manners?”

“‘Cause he's strong as an ox and not smart enough to be afraid of anything.”

Jacob heard the man's insulting words—”You ugly bitch”—and saw the woman's eyes flare black flame. Her hand jumped to her knife. God! Jacob liked her bravery. A sudden thrill ran through him at just watching her. He shoved aside two trappers and strode forward past Unger.

The woman hastily backed up a step at Jacob's swift advance. She half drew her stiletto.

Tamarron stopped beside her and pivoted to face Unger.

“Let the lady pass, Unger. But first apologize to her.” Tamarron's voice was like rocks breaking.

“Apologize, hell! And to a woman so ugly, I'd have to put my hat over her face to get close enough to make love to her.” Unger threw back his head and laughed.

“Do it now, Unger, or I'll make you one sorry bastard,” warned Tamarron.

“Why, you gray-bearded old fart, I'll cut you into ribbons.” Unger's face lost its mirth, and his eyes flattened and glinted cruelly. He slid his knife from its sheath.

Unger heard the sharp, amazed voices of the trappers at his rear. He didn't understand their concern. He would cut the old man just enough to show him who was cock of the walk.

He recognized the voice of the trapper called Tim speaking above the general clamor of words. “Unger, you just signed your own death warrant. That's Jacob Tamarron. He's killed more men with a knife than your small brain can count.”

Petra understood the English, and she looked at the man called Jacob Tamarron. She sensed him drawing in, coiling like a great steel spring. His beard bristled as the muscles along his jaw became tense and ridged.

A low chuckle, more like the low growl of a lion, escaped from Tamarron. A crooked smile stretched across his mouth. An eagerness for battle rose hot and somehow pleasant in him. He'd come down from the mountains looking for a different kind of life, but he knew he was ultimately a warrior and would always be ready to settle his argument with violence.

“I'll give you one last chance, Unger, because you're young and ignorant. Put your knife away and apologize to the lady.”

“Hell, no, I say. Hell, no!” Unger extended his extremely long arm with the knife clutched in his hand. “I've got five, maybe six inches reach on you. I'm not afraid.”

“If I have to pull my knife, I'll make your arms a lot shorter,” Tamarron said, his eyes boring into Unger. “You'd already have been dead for what you said if we weren't in this Mexican town. I don't want to spend time in their filthy
calabozo.”

“Unger, this is Hadden,” called a man directly behind the young trapper. “You can't beat Tamarron. I've seen him fight. Put the blade away and do as he says. We don't want trouble with the governor's soldiers.”

Another voice chimed in. “Here comes a Mexican now. He's dressed like her. Probably kinfolk. He'll fight, for sure. Damn it, Unger, give it up. The whole town will come down on us.”

Conrado had seen the trapper preventing Petra from going along the street. Then the other American had gone up close to her. From his angle of view Conrado couldn't be sure what the second man was doing. He could only hear the mutter of the trappers' words. He broke into a run across the street.

“Unger, damn you, apologize before we all have to fight our way out of this town. That means we'll lose everything we're not carrying.” Hadden's voice was like flint.

Unger hesitated, listening to the angry exclamations of the pack of trappers at his rear. He sheathed his knife. “Goddamn,” he said.

Jacob saw the cunning slither over Unger's face. He was figuring out a plan for revenge, at a time when he would not be expected, in the dark when an enemy couldn't be seen.

“I apologize,” Unger said with a growl. He spun around and bulled his way through the group of trappers. He stopped in front of Tim. “I'll remember what you said about me. You'll pay big for that.”

“Unger, I wouldn't fight you with a knife like Tamarron would,” Tim said coldly. “If you come after me, well, I'll just stand off with my rifle and shoot the hell out of you. I've kept this skinny old body alive for twice your age. I suspect I can keep going for a while longer.”

Deek spoke to Unger. “And if by chance Tim got killed somehow, I'd take that personal. I'd find you and blow a .50-caliber hole through you sure as hell.”

Both partners grinned at Unger, secure in the knowledge of their skill with a rifle and the strength of their friendship. Unger stormed away pounding his feet.

* * *

Petra looked at the American who had come to her aid unasked. He was gazing at her in an intent, measuring way. She was startled by his light gray eyes, almost white, as if they had been bleached by a thousand suns. So very strange and different from the black eyes of her people.

She turned squarely to face him and let him see plainly the horrible scar on her face. Let him see how ugly she truly was; so ugly, as the other American had said, that a man would have to put his hat over her face to make love to her.

His expression of calm appraisement did not change. It was so unlike the many times the interest of other men had faltered when they looked fully at her. Always they were quick to hasten away. She felt her heart lift at the steadiness of those grayish eyes and the interest still showing in them.

“I am Jacob Tamarron,” said the American.

“Yes, I know. I am Petra Solis. Thank you for your help.” She extended her hand.

He clasped her hand. He didn't shake it as she had seen men do. Instead he simply held her hand firmly in his grasp, the calluses on his hand pressing against her palm.

“He was a fool,” said Jacob, motioning in the direction in which Unger had gone. “Please don't judge all of us by his actions.”

Petra thought she could detect his heartbeat in the warm blood pumping through his hand. Foolish thought. She smelled the wood smoke on him, and the odor of horses. His buckskin clothing was dirty with ashes and soil, and there were big brown splotches that she was certain were from dried blood. She smelled the male scent of his unwashed body. It was not unpleasant.

“I do not think you are like him,” Petra said. She extracted her hand. “This is my brother, Conrado.”

“Hello,” said Tamarron, and held out his hand.

Conrado Solis was slow in reacting to Jacob's overture. Jacob noted the grudging response and the weak, short shake. Mexican men held no liking for the gringo that came unasked into their land and lay with some of their women.

“Yes, I, too, thank you for helping Petra,” Conrado said. “There easily could have been a fight.”

And you probably would have died, thought Tamarron, measuring the young man.

“It's over,” said Jacob.

“Yes, over for now. Come, Petra, let us go. We have much to do before we leave for the rancho.”

Petra turned away with her brother, then slowed in the middle of the street and partially turned to look back. She showed only the unmarred side of her face, as she'd become accustomed to doing, and watched from the edge of her vision. Jacob Tamarron still stared after her. She smiled a short, quick smile at him, the first time she'd done that in a very long time to a man who wasn't a member of her family.

The American trapper did not return the smile. Unless, yes, she thought there was a slight lifting of his head and those gray-white eyes were opened more widely and quite visible.

* * *

Jacob closely observed the woman as she moved away, evaluating the strength of her body, the swell of her hips under the leather pants, the narrowness of her waist, and her straight back. When she turned and smiled, only the undamaged portion of her face was to him, and her true beauty showed.

He smiled beneath his beard. His heart was tapping high in his chest and his breath was blowing quick and shallow. The Solis woman could give a man fine children.

He spun around and, paying no attention to the group of trappers frankly eyeing him, grabbed up the reins of his ponies and headed off along the street.

* * *

Jacob entered the broad, main plaza of Santa Fe. On the north side lay the Palace of the Governors, together with the military headquarters, national jail, customhouse, and warehouse of the army garrison.

Some four hundred feet directly opposite across the plaza were dwellings and a church, smaller than La Parroquia and not yet finished. On the other sides were stores and additional residences. Many of the houses were quite large, obviously the homes of the town's wealthier families.