flutter, and as they came nearer and nearer, Tess felt an even greater
terror growing within her. She began to see their faces, and they were
frightening. Most were Mexicans, dark, with long, scruffy beards and
heavy, dipping mustaches. They wore hats and shirts and trousers and
boots; many wore blankets over their shoulders.
All were heavily armed, some with shell cases crisscrossed over their
chests.
They would not run out of bullets in a fight. There were Indians, too.
Renegades of many tribes, Tess thought, Apache, Comanche, Navaho, some
in the Mexican regalia of their comrades, others in more traditional
buckskin, at least two of them in simple breech routs riding nearly
naked in the wind, hooting their triumph and their catcalls, racing
around and around the three of them again and again.
They meant to terrify her! Tess thought angrily. Well, supposedly she
wasn't in danger yet, even if she was so frightened that she wasn't sure
if she could talk or move. David had been a nightmare, but this was far
worse.
Any dreams she had entertained of rescue fell crashing down into a
horrible pit of despair. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life.
She swore, though, that she would not cower before these men who were so
determined to unnerve her. They wanted to see tears, she thought. Panic
and hysteria. She was close to giving them all that they desired, but
she locked her jaw against its trembling and raised her chin. And as the
Comancheros raced by her one by one, she kept her eyes levelly upon
them, and she ignored the dirt that rose to choke her, bringing tears to
her eyes. She sat very still, and she waited.
The horsemen rushed by, then doubled back, bringing their horses to a
halt behind her. Jeremiah and David swung around to face them. Tess
didn't know whether to find pleasure or new anxiety in the fact that her
captors seemed as unnerved as she by the rugged Comancheros. The
Comancheros were all lined up again, and silent once more. The leader
emerged, edging his horse forward. He was frightening indeed, with
coal-dark hair and coal-dark eyes and a dark olive complexion. He had a
great, drooping, handlebar mustache, and though he grew no beard, the
rest of his face was not clean shaven. A western hat sat atop his head,
the brim pulled low. His chest was crisscrossed with ammunition, and a
long, lean cigarillo fell in a slash from the corner of his mouth.
He paused before them and reached into his pocket, then struck a match
against his boot to light his cigarillo. He stared at Tess, a smile
forming on his features. 'So, amigos, the goods are delivered, eh?' He
smiled, staring at Tess. She returned his gaze. His smile deepened. 'She
stares at me hard.~Maybe she will be just what Nalte desires. Untie her
hands.'
'Chavez, she is dangerous,' Jeremiah warned him. 'Dangerous? One little
blond girl is dangerous when there are a hundred men around her? I told
you--untie her hands. Send her to me.'
Tess felt the movement as Jeremiah reached for his knife. She heard the
rasping sound as he severed the ties that bound her hands together.
Instinctively she brought her hands before her, massaging her wrists
