Bad to the Bone Page 14

  Hesitant about asking, he did so anyway. “Why are you going to town?”

  “I want to spend time with my new brother before we leave, if you don't mind.”

  “Don't you think there'll be a scandal?”

  She raised her eyebrows in scorn. “My father's infidelities are practically an institution, and everybody has accepted them except me. But the boy is part of my family, and I'd like to give him a little present. It is not proper for a Vásquez to live like that.”

  “I'm certain that your father will make new arrangements, now that your mother has ... departed.”

  “I think that Conchita and Pepito should move into the hacienda. There's plenty of room, and the boy should receive an education, don't you agree?”

  “Absolutely, your royal highness. My, how you've changed these past few days, Doña Consuelo. I've never seen such a conversion in my life. What has happened to you?”

  “I'm in mourning for my mother, and I'd like to be alone.”

  “Don't forget that we're leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “I'll get to bed early,” she replied. “I promise.”

  Duane cleaned his Winchester, then loaded it with seventeen cartridges. He ran a patch down the barrel of his Colt .44, blew out the chambers, and cleaned dust from little crannies with a brush that he'd bought in Escondido, his last stop in the good old U.S. of A.

  He packed his saddlebags, noting that he was low on ammunition, and that one of his shirts was getting threadbare. We'll have to buy supplies in the first town, he reminded himself. He counted his funds, approximately two hundred American dollars in coins.

  He felt like a rich man, but the desert was full of Apaches. He doubted that Doña Consuelo would adapt to life on the dodge, but told himself not to worry. She's not running away with me, because she's not that stupid.

  There was a knock on the door, and Don Carlos made his grand entrance. “Ah, you're packing,” he said. “I'm glad I've caught you.” He held out a leather bag the size of a grapefruit. “This is for you, from Don Patricio and me.”

  Duane opened the bag, and his eyes bugged at the sight of gold coins, approximately two thousand dollars worth. “I don't deserve it,” he said, “but I sure as hell won't turn it down.”

  Don Carlos couldn't help smiling. He's just the kind of lost rake that women love. They want to save him from himself, or at least that's what the little vixens tell themselves, but what they really want is his ...

  Duane Braddock held out his hand. “Thanks for everything, sir. You've been real good to me.”

  Their hands embraced, as they performed the ancient ritual. Don Carlos peered into Duane's eyes, and said, out of the blue: “Tell me something, Mister Braddock. I can't help wondering—are you having a love affair with my wife?”

  Duane's eyes dilated, and he noted the position of the cuckold's hands. “I may be a wanted man, but I'm not that bad,” he said.

  Don Carlos realized the enormity of what he'd just admitted to a strange gringo, but couldn't stop. “Sometimes even the most elegant ladies surrender their dear little hearts to utter scoundrels.”

  Duane smiled. “I guess there's no telling what goes on in a woman's mind.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if they have minds in the first place.” The difficult moment passed, and Don Carlos took the opportunity to retreat. “Have a safe journey, my friend,” he said, as he made his way toward the door.

  Don Carlos traversed the corridor, wondering if Duane Braddock was romancing Doña Consuelo in the nooks and crannies of the hacienda, as he, Don Carlos, had done in Seville, when he'd clambered across treacherous rooftops to reach the boudoirs of certain ladies.

  You can't put anything past young lovers, Don Carlos admitted ruefully. Nothing keeps them apart, once they make their minds up, and isn't it clever how Doña Consuelo arranged for the vaqueros to stop guarding her?

  The caudillo could place his wife in shackles and chains, declare her insane, and transport her back to his hacienda, where she'd be under guard for the rest of her life, but he'd been a young cavalier once, had fought duels over matters of honor, and would have contempt for any man who'd lock up his wife.

  She's a grown woman, Don Carlos acknowledged. If she wants to leave me, I wouldn't stop her. But Doña Consuelo has too much dignity to take up with a low-class gringo, no?

  But Don Carlos had been viewed as a low-class provincial himself when he'd arrived in Seville nearly forty years ago. Many fine titled ladies who should have known better had admitted him to their beds, because the sad truth was that even the most exquisite women were attracted to wastrels and outlaws. Perhaps they need somebody to look down upon, speculated the man of the world. They probably say to themselves: He's such a fool, he couldn't possibly judge me.

  Don Patricio saw his daughter standing before him, wearing a black shawl. “I need some money, father.”

  “What in the world for?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  “Why don't you ask your husband?”

  “Because I'm asking you.”

  She looked like the Madonna of death in her black shawl, and he shivered involuntarily. “In my office, the bottom drawer on my desk—take whatever you need.”

  She kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Daddy, and whatever happens—I'll always love you.”

  He smiled at the touch of her lips, and then she was out the door. She located the appropriate drawer, and her eyes widened at the sight of gold coins five inches deep covering the bottom. She scooped handfuls into the big pockets of her suede skirt. Her father snored as she slipped toward the door, glanced both ways, and headed swiftly toward the village.

  Duane gazed into the eyes of his unfaithful horse. “How's it going, pardner?” he asked cheerfully.

  It was going all right before you came along, Midnight seemed to reply, chomping oats.

  Duane looked him over, and the animal appeared to have put on a few pounds. “Sure doesn't look like you've missed any meals while you were here.”

  I've got a feeling I'll be missing some soon, Midnight blinked sorrowfully.

  Mendoza appeared out of the shadows. “You are going somewhere, señor?”

  “Moving on,” replied Duane. “Don Carlos said I could take any horse I wanted, in addition to my own— you hear about that?”

  The stablemaster bowed at the mention of the great caudillo's name. “Those were Don Carlos's orders, sir.”

  Duane leaned toward the stablemaster and confided out the corner of his mouth, “What's the best horse here?”

  “Best in what way, señor?”

  “Endurance, speed, and fairly easy to handle. A horse a woman might like.” He winked. “I've got a girlfriend in another town, and I'd like to take her with me.”

  “You want a gentle horse, but a gentle horse will not run as fast as a wild horse.”

  “I want the fastest gentle horse you've got.”

  “That is Josephina.”

  “Make sure her shoes are in good condition, then saddle her for a long trip. I plan to leave soon as it gets dark.”

  Hiding behind a grandfather clock, Don Carlos watched Doña Consuelo pass down the corridor. His heart ached violently, because formerly she'd found any excuse to be with him, and seemed to crave his attention, but now she dined alone in her room, and was leading a life that had nothing to do with him.

  What is she up to? he wondered, as he slipped silently across the shadows. Is she really going to town, or has she planned to meet Duane Braddock in the hayloft? He maintained a discreet distance, peered through the lower corner of a window, and saw her headed for the village, head held high, unlike the whiny, simple-minded former Doña Consuelo.

  He was tempted to run after her, but managed to control himself. Doña Consuelo would never leave me, he decided, because she's got too much to lose.

  Duane sat on Midnight's back and gazed at twinkling village lights at the edge of town. Beside him was Josephina, who kept casting sidelong glances
at Midnight, while that great beast snorted and snuffled in annoyance at Duane sitting upon him again. I ought to toss him into the air, thought Midnight darkly.

  “Relax,” Duane said. “What the hell's wrong with you?”

  Midnight shook his head from side to side. I'm tired of your ridiculous and dangerous shenanigans.

  “Come on—you're my horse, I stole you with my own two hands, and if you keep up your rotten goddamned temper, I'll get rid of you first chance I get.”

  Duane peered at the back of Conchita's house, waiting for the lantern to pass in front of the rear window, the signal for him to bring Josephina. Doña Consuelo will never go through with it, he anticipated. I'm wasting my time, but it won't hurt to have an extra horse in case this damned Midnight gets too persnickety.

  Doña Consuelo knocked on the door, and it was opened by Conchita, who immediately bowed. “Doña Consuelo,” she said. “I am so surprised to see you.”

  Doña Consuelo wore a brown suede shirt, red silk blouse, suede jacket, and wide-brimmed vaquero sombrero. “This is the last time I'll bother you, I promise,” she replied, as she entered the small enclosed space. “Where is Pepito?”

  “Asleep.”

  “May I see him?”

  Conchita led Doña Consuelo to the corner, where Pepito slumbered in a box filled with straw. Doña Consuelo knelt beside the makeshift bed and whispered: “You carry the blood of the Spanish nobility in your veins, little brother.” Then she withdrew a handful of coins from her pocket, and passed them to Conchita. “Take this, and buy him new clothes. I have spoken with my father, and you will move into the hacienda before long. Pepito will have his own tutor, and become an educated man. It is possible that my father will marry you someday.”

  Conchita stared at her wide-eyed. “Married? The hacienda? Me?”

  “I'm leaving,” Doña Consuelo said. “I don't know what's going to happen, but tell my father that I'll always love him, and kiss Pepito every day for me.”

  Doña Consuelo lifted the lamp off the table, carried it to the rear window, and passed the light back and forth three times.

  “Who are you signalling?” asked Conchita. “Are you sure you're all right?”

  Doña Consuelo heard approaching hoofbeats, and a tremor of fear passed through her. “I apologize for being cruel last time I was here, my dear stepmother. Now perhaps I am a little wiser, and I must follow my destiny wherever it leads.”

  Doña Consuelo hugged the short peasant woman, then kissed her cheek. Horses’ hooves could be heard approaching the rear of the hut, and Doña Consuelo hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, then reached for the door.

  In the backyard, the Pecos Kid sat atop a black horse. “Howdy,” he said like a rough old cowboy, his hat slanted at a rakish angle, hand resting on his gun, and his sharp eyes glancing about nervously. “Coming along for the ride?”

  Doña Consuelo placed her foot in Josephina's stirrup, and raised herself into the saddle. Midnight pranced sideways, anxious to get rolling, but Duane held him on short rein, as he leaned toward Doña Consuelo.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “We'd better start moving, before someone realizes that I've gone.”

  He spurred Midnight, who walked softly toward the desert. Josephina followed, carrying Doña Consuelo away from family, reputation, and social acceptability. The noblewoman turned toward the hacienda, lights burned in long corridors, and she felt a twinge of sorrow. They passed darkened shacks at the edge of town, and soon found themselves in the wilderness. It closed around them, and the town couldn't be seen behind heaps of vines, cactus, and scraggly desert trees. After a short distance, Duane steered Midnight into a gully and brought him to a halt.

  “What is wrong?” asked Doña Consuelo, coming abreast of him.

  He held out his hand. “Hand me your gun carefully, please.”

  She passed it to him, and he proceeded to examine it, noting that it was a Colt like his, except for the fancy Mexican handiwork. “You ever shoot one of these?” he asked, as he loaded it.

  “Not yet.”

  “Just thumb back the hammer, pull the trigger, and get ready for the kick. If we run into Apaches, save the last one for yourself.” He loaded the gun with five cartridges, leaving the hammer resting on the empty sixth chamber.

  She swallowed hard, as she accepted the gun. “I don't know if I could do that.”

  “Let's hope we don't put it to the test. By the way, it's still not too late to turn back.”

  She scowled. “Sometimes I think that you don't want me along.”

  “We'll travel all night, because we want to put as much distance as possible between us and your husband. Before sunup, I'll find a place for us to sleep. Are you with me?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied.

  He leaned toward her, kissed her lips, and their tongues touched lightly. Then, reluctantly, they parted. Duane wheeled Midnight toward the Sierra Madre Mountains, and gave him a nudge with his spurs. The horses advanced deeper into the night, merged with the shadows, and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 8

  DON CARLOS SAT AT THE DINING TABLE and wondered why Doña Consuelo hadn't joined him for breakfast. They were scheduled to depart for their hacienda that morning, but evidently she was sleeping late, while Don Patricio remained drunk in his bedchamber, muttering to himself.

  Don Carlos drank his second cup of coffee, musing about his beloved wife. He viewed her as the fountain of youth itself, and the mere thought of her never failed to revive him. I'd better wake her up, he thought with a smile, as he finished the coffee. His amorous mood heightened by caffeine, he launched himself down the corridor and up the stairs to her door. He knocked, anxious to see her in her night clothes, loose and sleepy, susceptible to salacious promptings.

  No one stirred on the other side of the door. She must really be asleep, poor child, thought Don Carlos, as he opened the door. The bed was made, and she was nowhere in sight. “Doña Consuelo?” He rushed to the next room, where she took baths, but the tub was empty and dry as a bone. Don Carlos's jaw dropped open, his heart pumped noisily, a terrible horror came over him, and he struggled to understand. Wait a minute, he cautioned himself. Perhaps she arose early and has gone for a walk. “García!”

  “He is coming, Don Carlos,” called a voice.

  Don Carlos opened the closet, and her beautiful dresses hung cheek by jowl. He touched the white lace of a black velvet dress, one of her favorites. He raised the sleeve to his nostrils to catch her scent.

  Footsteps entered the bedchamber, and Don Carlos dropped the sleeve immediately. García strode toward him, the usual hangdog expression on his face. “You wanted to see me, Don Carlos?”

  “Where is Doña Consuelo?”

  García shrugged. “I do not know, sir. None of us want to lose our jobs, but...” He looked both ways, then said, “Gonzalez saw her walking toward the village late yesterday afternoon. What is wrong with Doña Consuelo, sir? Has she gone loco?”

  Don Carlos realized that his wife was embarrassing him, an intolerable situation for a caudillo. He placed one fist on his hip, scowled, and said, “Round up the vaqueros and search for Doña Consuelo. Do you know where her maids are?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Find them, and send them here at once.”

  García rushed out of the room as Don Carlos gazed at the empty connubial bed. It occurred to him that he might never sleep with Doña Consuelo again, and all his worst fears were coming true. He dropped onto a chair, lit a cigarillo, and tried to think clearly.

  She wouldn't give up her ancestry, would she? he asked himself. But wait a minute, she's probably in the library, her favorite spot, or the chapel. I'm letting my fears run away with me.

  He arose from the chair, and was on his way to the library when Teresa, his wife's chief maid, approached from the opposite direction. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Do you know where Doña Consuelo is?”

/>   “No, sir.”

  “Why aren't you attending to her?”

  “Yesterday afternoon she said she wanted to be alone, so she could mourn her mother in peace.”

  “Who made her bed this morning?”

  “Not me, and neither did any of the other maids.”

  “You may return to the servant's quarters,” Don Carlos said stiffly.

  Don Carlos walked back to his rooms, sat in a dark corner, and pondered the unused bed. Where did she spend last night? The sun rose in the sky, but it was gloomy and nebulous in Don Carlos's heart. Where is my wife?

  Duane Braddock lay on the crest of a hill and gazed through his C.S.A. brass spyglass at a scattering of buildings on either side of the trail. It was barely a village, and he wondered if they had a store that sold cartridges for Colts, a blanket for Doña Consuelo, and some tarpaulin to keep her dry in rainstorms.

  But somebody might recognize the Pecos Kid, and there could be gunplay. He clambered down the hill, where Doña Consuelo was waiting at the bottom with the Colt in her hand.

  “It's a little town,” he explained. “We have to buy some things, but be ready to ride at a moment's notice.”

  She climbed onto her horse, and rode closer to him. “When are we going to stop for a rest?”

  “After supper. Your husband might be on our trail, and we can't take chances.”

  “I will never go back to him,” she declared, as if she really meant it.

  But Duane still didn't trust her, because she'd been pampered all her life. A few days of this and she'll change her mind, he was certain. “Stay close, and watch out for drunken vaqueros. Some of them come to town after a few months on the range, and they haven't seen a woman for so long—they go loco. I should give you shooting lessons, but there isn't time. If there's trouble, drop to the floor and don't get up until I say so.”

  García said: “We have looked everywhere, sir. She cannot be found.”