CHAPTER 15
The broad-shouldered man steadied his monocular in a cedar crotch and from his cover, studied the little homestead for long minutes. Finally he turned toward the soft footfalls approaching behind him. 'If you can't keep those horses quiet,
Espinel, move 'em further back into the cedar brakes.'
Espinel started to complain; thought better of it. Judging from the squint lines at the corner of his leader's eyes, this was no time for debate. 'They smell water, Lufo,' Espinel shrugged, and turned back. Lufo Albeniz might be the toughest jefe in Wild Country but his big scarred, slim-hipped body only looked like that of a Mexican cowpoke. Lufo was TexMex, but city-bred and no vaquero. He'd been cursing those good horses all the way up from Ciudad Acuna.
Lufo ran a hand inside his mottled threadbare shirt, scratched his swarthy hide, spat cottony fluff. He wanted water as much as those scruffy horses did, but you didn't just ride up to some squatter's soddy in these parts without reconnoitering first. Lufo saw a flash of yellow hair and trained the monocular near the soddy again. After a moment he grinned to himself and, almost without sound, whistled his appreciation between his teeth. She was young and blonde, and he guessed that her husband would be inside.
Lufo flicked his comm unit on, speaking softly. 'Espinel; Thompson; there's a cute little rubia moving out to hoe the far end of the garden. If I can get near the soddy on foot, I'll be between her and whoever else is inside. Tie up those goddam horses; bring your carbines and cover me.'
Tinnily in his speaker, from Thompson: 'I'm no good with a weapon, Lufo, you know that.'
'But those folks don't know it, and you can pull a trigger for effect. We're not after trouble, Thompson, but we must make a show of readiness for it. Do you want a roof over your head so you can work, or don't you?'
'Got it,' from the speaker.
Lufo stuck the monocular in his pocket, made sure his sidearm was hidden, and began a careful approach. He limped for effect, in case someone was watching from the half-submerged cabin with the log walls and sod roof. His pauses might have been frequent rests. But they weren't; he moved only when the woman turned away to chop with the hoe. The place wasn't much, but they had a wind-powered generator and a gravity-feed water tank. From the look of it, the place didn't support more than a small family. Perhaps there'd be only one man to watch for as long as Thompson needed the place. And if the man was in sympathy with the Indys, Lufo wouldn't need to use threats. In Wild Country, you never knew…
The high shrill tone stopped him in midstride, the woman turning, hurrying between rows of vegetables with the springing step of a girl. But Lufo was already near the doorway, calling out. 'Hello the soddy!
Can you spare a liter of water?' He saw the thin big-eyed child inside through the multi-paned window, did not realize such small lungs could generate such a piercing blast until she whistled again, thumb and forefinger curled at her lips.
He laughed then, raised his hands in mock surrender, put them back on his hips. The sidearm was only a flicker away from use as he awaited the man of the house.
No man emerged — but that proved nothing. The yellow-haired young woman approached quickly.
'Welcome,' said the shapely gardener, eyes wary, carrying her hoe in a way that was not quite a threat.
She had a low husky voice but, Lufo realized, she couldn't be over eighteen. Strong-limbed, sun-bronzed with startling blue eyes, she reminded him that he hadn't had a woman in too long, not for nearly a week…
'Wondered if I could buy some water,' he said, fishing with two fingers into his jeans.
She completed her half of the ritual by pushing with one hand, palm down. 'No, but you can have some.
Childe, fetch our visitor the pitcher,' she said past him, then walked around him. He allowed it; even if anyone had a bead on Lufo, he'd be crazy to take chances with two vulnerable females so near.
Lufo followed the blonde's gesture, ducked into the soddy, let his eyes adjust to cool shadows. His nostrils tasted earth, smoke, cornmeal, goat cheese; the odors of a clean soddy. He smiled at the tiny girl as he took the plastic pitcher from her; paused before drinking. 'Got a broke-down pony out in the brush. You suppose I could talk with your man?'
'I thought you were thirsty,' said the girl-woman.
He nodded, took a mouthful, rinsed and spat it out the door onto hard-packed earth. Then he drank, feeling danger somewhere near. But perhaps it was only the low roof that seemed to threaten his head.
'I can look at your horse,' she said when he handed the pitcher back.
'Well, — I'd like to talk to your man first,' he said carefully. 'I'm not alone, but I didn't wan't to worry you folks. The others are out in the cedars.'
'I know,' she said, smiling for the first time, showing strong small even teeth and a confidence that was downright unsettling. 'You three have been out there for an hour with a half-dozen thirsty ponies.
Anyway, consider me the man of the house.'
'You weren't worried — without a man here?'
This time she made a distinct effort to
'Thought it might be that way,' he said, utterly failing to understand her. 'But I do need to talk with whoever makes the decisions here.'
'Talk away,' she said. 'But if you're running drugs, just keep running.'
Negative headshake. 'You don't mind any other kind of little independent operation then,' he hazarded.
She reached out to tousle the hair of the small silent girl before saying, 'We're pretty independent here ourselves. My name's Sandy Grange and this is my sister, Childe. She doesn't talk.'
Now his answering smile was more relaxed. With the faintest stress on the word 'independent', she aligned herself with the Indy party. At the least, it meant a somewhat liberal interpretation of the law. At most, it meant you leaned toward the rebels — or were one of them yourself.
Lufo walked to the door, spoke into his comm unit: 'Bring the horses in, Espinel, it's clear. I have some negotiating to do with a lady.'
'First five-cylinder-word I've heard for months,' said Sandy.
'Sorry.'
'For what? Music to my soul,' she said, then turned quickly to Childe and whispered something, patting the little backside as it whisked out the door. She stepped to the doorway and called, 'And don't you dare let him come nosing around up here; I know how you love to show off!' Turning to her guest again, pleasantly: 'Don't ask. I don't want trouble any more than you do. Now then: what do I call you, and what's your problem?'
You didn't ask for real names in Wild Country unless you courted violence. The title of a very funny new Southwest ballad was 'What Was Your Name In Streamlined America?'. It acknowledged that many a saddle tramp was a fugitive from Fed justice.
'Lufo Albeniz,' he said, shaking her small work-hardened hand. 'We're packing some things back to Ciudad Acuna — they strayed, you might say. Very delicate stuff but as you put it, don't ask. In fact, it's so delicate we need to repack it. What if I offered you two hundred pesos gold to go into Rocksprings for a day?'
She pursed delectable lips in a silent whistle, her brows arched. Then she reached under the silky blonde mane and scratched behind her ear in a gesture so artless, in a way so unfeminine, that he could have hugged her in sexless camaraderie. 'I didn't realize I could be so easily tempted,' she said.
She waved him to a homemade cane-bottomed couch, trundled her Lectroped to one side, and plumped herself cross-legged on the floor, fetchingly limber for a girl so nicely rounded. 'This isn't the first time someone's borrowed my place for a day or two,' she explained, 'but the last time I came back to find the soddy just ruined. Somebody had spilled a lot of blood and mezcal in here, shot my mirror all to flinders, even disamorced my generator.'
'Dis-what?'
She grinned. 'Remember the Rosicrucians? A M
R C? The light and power of the universe, and all that. Well, those ladrones took away my light and power. Disamorced me for a month. That's worth more than two hundred to me.'
Lufo nodded uncertainly; this anglo hotsy had more kinds of language than a polyglot parrot. 'We intend to
