“Is that what you call this? Special consideration? What do you think you are doing? Kidnaping me?”
Again Hijino laughed. “You will figure it out soon enough. When you do, do not blame me. Blame yourself.”
“You talk in riddles. Was it you who killed my Dar?”
“No. Berto, yes. But not your husband.”
Juanita believed him. She tested her wrists and ankles again. The rope was so tight it dug into her flesh.
“I told you not to struggle,” Hijino reminded her. “No one has ever slipped a knot of mine.”
“You said I was to blame?”
Fear stirred within her, but Juanita smothered it by force of will. “You would not dare. Murdering men is one thing. Murdering a woman is another.”
“Not to the murderer. Killing a woman is no different than killing a man. But you have a point. Others see it differently. To them, killing a woman is the worst offense of all.”
“Second worst. The worst is killing a child.”
“I have done that, too, senora. But I always make it quick. They do not suffer. Nor will you suffer. Much.”
Juanita’s mouth went dry.
“Out of respect for your daughter, I will grant you that boon.”
“My daughter? Dolores?”
“Oh, please. She would not permit a vaquero to touch her. No, it is sweet, young Trella. Last night she gave herself to me. Completely. Of her own free will.” Hijino smacked his lips. “She is a delight. So innocent, yet so wild. Does she take after you in that regard?”
Juanita cursed him. She used words she had heard, but never used. When she paused for breath, he fed her anger by laughing.
“You sound like my mother. She had a mouth. She could swear better than anyone in our village. Outdrink anyone, too.”
Clutching at a straw, Juanita asked, “What would she say if she knew what you plan to do with me?”
“She can not say anything. I killed her long ago.”
Juanita had heard of men like him. They plagued the frontier. South of the border they were called bandidos. North of the border they were called outlaws. Whatever they were called, they had certain traits in common: no respect whatsoever for human life, or for another’s property. They lived as they pleased, accountable to no one. Most lived short, violent lives that ended at the end of the rope, or by a bullet through a vital organ. The wild ones. The reckless ones. The ones Dar has shielded her from. She missed him now more than ever.
“Nothing to say, senora? Did I shock you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Juanita said. “I am not a child like Trella. I am not swayed by swagger and deceit.” She arched her back to raise her head as far as she could. In vain, she searched for the lights of the ranch, or a campfire.
Hijino divined her purpose. “We are alone. You can scream if you want. No one will hear you.”
“How did you spirit me away without anyone noticing?”
“It was easy,” Hijino said. “All the vaqueros were asleep. Your house was dark. I had the horses waiting nearby.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“Need you ask? You are not stupid. With my share, I will live like a prince. Or maybe go to Spain. I have always wanted to visit Madrid.”
The absurdity of her plight impressed itself on Juanita. Here she was, calmly talking to a man who in a very short while was going to murder her. “What if I pay you to let me go?”
“Do not insult me.”
“I am serious. How much would it take? Five thousand dollars? Ten thousand dollars? I give you my word you will be permitted to leave in peace.”
Hijino slowed, and tugged on the lead rope so the spare horse came up alongside his white one. “Ten times that amount would not be enough. The men I am with, they would do things to me that would sicken you if I betrayed them.”
Juanita was desperate. “What if I offer to protect you?”
“You are too kind. And silly to think your vaqueros are a match for those I ride with.” Hijino shook his head. “No. We must see this through, you and I. Try to be brave. We will be at the river soon.” He gigged his horse.
Juanita realized she must have been unconscious longer than she thought. She began twisting her wrists as much as the rope allowed. For minutes on end she kept at it, not caring how much it hurt, or how much she bled. Her life was at stake. She must not give up.
Hijino began whistling. He glanced back only once to say, “I will take care of Trella myself when the time comes. She will not suffer. This I promise.”
“Bastard,” Juanita said. Her wrists throbbed with torment. She twisted and twisted and twisted some more, and now she could move her wrists half an inch. But it was not enough.
“They will wonder what became of you,” Hijino said. “Julio will blame the gringos from the Circle T. He will have no proof, but he will blame them anyway. With you gone, Steve and Armando will not be able to stop Julio from doing as he has wanted to do since Berto died. Julio will attack the Circle T. They will attack the DP. On and on it will go until there are few left on either side.”
“You have it all worked out.”
“Not me, senora. A man named Saber. Perhaps you have heard the stories they tell of him? Compared to Saber, I am a saint.”
The rope bit so deep into Juanita’s right wrist, she grit her teeth to keep from crying out. Her forearms were slick with blood. She wrenched her right wrist to one side, then back again, and was elated when the rope slackened enough for her to slide her hands out. Fearing he had noticed, she glanced at Hijino. He was gazing to the north, whistling again.
Now came the hard part. Juanita could not straddle the horse with her ankles tied. But she had ridden sidesaddle often enough. Could her horse outrun the white one? She was about to find out. Shifting, she slowly slid onto his hips and gripped her mount’s mane. Balancing carefully, she swung her legs over one side. The horse’s head came up, but thankfully he did not nicker.
Hijino was holding the reins loosely in his hand, his sombrero pushed back on his head.
Juanita tensed. She would have one chance and one chance only. Easing forward, she reached for the reins.
Juanita bent low, in case he shot at her. She realized she was heading north, and immediately reined to the east to loop back toward the rancho. The horse was a swift one. Hijino’s doing, no doubt, in order to elude possible pursuit. She glanced over her shoulder. He was after her, lashing the white madly.
Juanita lashed her animal. Her hair was whipped by the wind, her nightclothes, too. The thunder of her mount’s hooves was music to her ears. The seconds became minutes. When next she looked back, the white had not gained.
