Chasing the Texas Wind Read online

  Zachary chuckled when he found the note later on in the tortilla. It was clever of the woman, but she was known for being clever. He was able to conceal it from the Señora. He had come here to do a job for Texas, and he would do it. He was sure there would be no opportunity to deal with Chaco. The Lord had said that vengeance was His, and Zachary was not anxious take it on himself. His only thought was that killing Chaco would free the woman Vienta. But did she really want to be free? Recalling her cryptically beautiful face, Zachary wasn’t at all sure.

  Day Two

  Vienta closed up the cantina at midnight as usual. Business had been slow, but every single person who had come in had talked about the tall gringo. Chaco had come in four times, always looking around suspiciously, but the stranger hadn’t come in when the time of the ten o’clock meeting had come and gone and Vienta had made no effort to keep it. She prayed he would simply eavesdrop on Chaco’s meeting and be satisfied to leave her alone.

  Vienta walked quickly along the street to her house. Chaco did not live with her, since he was a supply officer, constantly traveling, engaged for and with Ampudia, but at the present he had been in town several days, staying at his uncle Juan Diego’s house across town. His meetings went on for hours in the back of the alfareria Juan Diego ran. He would be drunk and full of macho when he came to her house, and Vienta hoped to get a little sleep before he did return. There would be none afterward. Being an officer of Ampudia fed Chaco’s ego like almost nothing else. When he combined a show of his power with a night of drinking, both of which he would do tonight at his meeting, he was sure to want to do the other thing that fed his ego. Ownership of the most attractive woman in the village, and one who owned her own business, too, was another macho high for Chaco.

  Vienta pushed open the door of the house and groped for the lamp on the table. It was not there. She reached farther, and her hand touched large, strong fingers that suddenly grasped her hand, pulled her bodily across the table, and clamped over her mouth before she could scream.

  “I got your note, but we still need to talk,” the man said softly in her ear. “Nod your head if you’ll co-operate. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if you won’t so don’t try me.”

  Vienta nodded vigorously. The man released her and she stood gasping in the darkness, staring up at his huge shadow so close to her.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” the man said gently. “I did listen in on that meeting, and I think I learned a thing or two they’ll want to know up north, but I need to be sure of something. Is this Chaco the one who killed the man who owned that ring?”

  “Yes,” Vienta breathed.

  “Figured he was,” nodded her visitor. “He spent the afternoon trying to learn something about me, but there wasn’t anybody to tell him anything except you, and obviously you didn’t, since I’m still alive.”

  “I would never do anything to cause you men to be hurt,” Vienta said fervently.

  “Not even to save your own skin?” the fellow asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

  “I would not betray you,” Vienta insisted. “I avoided meeting you because I was afraid, but as you see, I did nothing that put you in any more danger than you already accepted when you became a spy.”

  “I still want to know how they found out about my friend,” murmured her visitor. “Is there anybody else who is involved in this kind of thing? Anybody who could have betrayed him?”

  “I know of no one,” Vienta replied. “I knew it was important, of course, because I could be betrayed, too, but he came here, he got the information I had for him, and he left again the same day. They caught him after he had been gone from here for two days. I just do not know how Chaco found out about him.”

  “You share a bed with this Chaco fellow?” the stranger asked abruptly.

  Vienta drew herself up. “I do, sometimes. I am his woman.”

  She could feel his eyes studying her, though she could still only see his silhouette. “It was thought necessary because he is close to Ampudia, and because in this village we are equal in station and it would be expected that we would come together. It was not my choice.”

  “Who told you it was necessary – or did you just decide it for yourself?” the man’s voice rasped harshly. “I ask because in our group – the man whose ring you wear was the leader of that group – we fight for Christ as well as for Texas and we would never encourage a woman to commit fornication just to get information.”

  “I’m not a part of your organization,” Vienta said, but she blushed furiously at his use of a word that was not one of the more comfortable ones she was used to hearing regarding what she had done with Chaco. “I’m paid by an agent of the American government. What I do is what I think is best for the cause.”

  The man came closer to her. “Why, Miss, you’ve lost your accent,” he said, lifting her face to look at her in the moonlight. “You’re not a Mexican at all, are you?”

  Terror gripped Vienta’s whole being. She pulled away from him. “Get out,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare tell a soul what you just said, or I’ll see to it that you’re killed myself. You have no idea what would happen if that got back to Chaco.”

  “You might get free of him,” the man said in a low voice. “No information’s worth you sinking yourself into this quagmire of sin. You’re the one who should get out of here. Listen, we have people who can help you. Come with me if you want to leave. They’ll protect you, hide you, get you out of Mexico, and Chaco will never find you. They’re good people who love the Lord. “

  “I told you to go,” Vienta spat. “You said you got information from Chaco’s meeting, and you did it without soiling yourself. Go and deliver the message. Things change quickly around here. It could be old news if you don’t hurry up and get it out of Mexico.” She whirled away and fled into the back room.

  In the bedroom she covered her burning face with her hands. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed. She heard the man depart out the back door. Some minutes later she heard a commotion outside and ran to the window. She could barely see off in the distance where six of Chaco’s men had seized the stranger and were struggling to subdue him. Vienta blanched. Not even stopping to put on her shoes, she bolted out the back door and faded into the thorny mesquite hedge that ran along the ditch in back of the house. Stones tore her feet and brambles caught her clothes and hair as she crept along the ditch toward the group of men. They were slowly bearing the American toward a wagon. As big and strong as he was, he was no match for them. Vienta gasped as she caught a glimpse of his face in the moonlight, already marred with blood from a long cut.

  “We will have the whole story out of you soon enough, gringo!” Chaco’s voice raged. He joined the men, running from the direction of the village. “You will tell me where Vienta has gone!”

  Vienta realized that Chaco’s meeting had ended and he had come looking for her. His men had seen the American slipping away, apparently. Chaco had already connected Vienta with him. The American had been right. It was time for her to get out of Mexico. Then she heard the American cry out in pain and rage as they forced a coarse sack over his head and threw him into the back of the wagon. Suddenly she knew that she couldn’t leave another man to have his fingers cut off and his corpse thrown out into the desert by Chaco.

  She fingered the ring of the dead man. The men had told her there were people who would help her escape. Would they also help rescue this man from Chaco? Vienta knew it would be a long time before Chaco killed this man. Ampudia had not been pleased about the fact that he had learned nothing from the other one. There was a chance of getting him free. But she did not know where his people were. She had been promised that there were men standing by ready to do anything she asked that would help the cause of getting information out of Mexico. She had none herself, but the American did.

  Vienta stopped at the house of Anita Mendez. Mia came to the door sleepy-eyed in response to her urgent banging.

  “I have to g
o to Chollo,” Vienta told her in Spanish. “My sister died. She was taking care of my father. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Mia looked at her in a stupor. Vienta didn’t stay to be sure she understood. She slipped away and prayed as she went that the young man was strong enough to hold out until she got back with help. And she ran, barefooted, across the desert.

  Hamilton Jessup moved slowly along in the small, plain cart in the bare gray first hint of dawn, watching Hermes and the brush alongside the rutted dirt road. Ham had done a severe roughing-up job on Hermes’ fur and had rubbed in patches of gray and brown dye. Ham had dressed in rumpled Mexican clothes and a big sombrero, scuffed boots on his feet. A very deceptively sorry-looking horse pulled the cart, and Angelita sat by his side, dressed in a frilly skirt and shawl, nervously watching also.

  Ham turned sharply at a noise in the bushes, clutching the knotted walking stick he had substituted for his ebony cane. A woman staggered out of the mesquite and aloe, clothes torn, hair hanging like cast-off black tow, a thick coating of dirt masking her face and every bare spot on her body. She saw the cart and dodged back into the underbrush, gasping as if she had run for miles, limping on bloody feet. Hermes darted after her and woofed just once.

  “Will You Come to the Bower I Have Shaded for You?” Ham began to whistle, not too loudly. Angelita scrambled down off the wagon as the woman reappeared, staring at the cart, the dog tugging at her ragged skirts. Ham dismounted more slowly and approached.

  “Maeve, it’s me,” Ham said with difficulty. He couldn’t take his eyes off her feet, the cuts and bruises all over her. “Maeve, What happened to your shoes?”

  “Ham?” Maeve said, and collapsed. Ham didn’t hesitate a moment longer. He gathered the filthy, ragged woman up in his arms and carried her to the cart, struggling the few feet over the sand and coarse grass.

  “Now, look, Maeve, you’ve got to rest,” Ham protested weakly. Ham had laid Maeve in the back of the cart on the straw mattress. Angelita bathed her face in water and tried to get a comb through her knotted hair as Ham turned the cart around and drove as rapidly as possible back toward Rio Grande City. As soon as Maeve had regained consciousness she demanded that he drive to Nate Grover’s office.

  “There’s no time, Ham,” Maeve snapped. “I have to get to Nathaniel Grover right away.”

  “You ran all night across the desert in bare feet to get this far,” Ham protested. “You have to rest.”

  “And a man is going to die a horrible death if I don’t get to Nathaniel Grover and get help,” Maeve said sharply. “Ham, I don’t know how in the world you found me, or even knew to come just when you did, but this is not about me or my comfort.” She winced as Angelita tried to bathe her torn feet.

  “Maeve, we haven’t heard a word from you in five months,” Ham said. “We didn’t know if you were even alive. Can’t you at least – “

  “How far are we from Rio Grande City?” Maeve interrupted.

  “Only about ten miles now,” Ham said reluctantly. “Why do you have to see Grover? Let me assure you he’s not interested in helping you, or he would have done so sometime before you were stuck down there for five months. You were trapped there, weren’t you?”

  “I have to talk to him,” Maeve said, but Ham could see she was shaken by his words. “I can’t tell you anything, Ham, I really can’t.”

  “Okay, then I’ll tell you something,” Ham spat. “We are not going anywhere near Nathaniel Grover.”

  “You have to take me to him!” Maeve cried.

  “Remember that concert where you drank some punch and passed out on the way to the carriage?” Ham demanded. “I had a chat with a man who tried to kill us outside the concert hall. He said he was paid to kill a woman with a drunken cripple and that they would both be drugged. He would have killed us except Nat Grover was the one who was handing out the punch and I didn’t drink any of it. I believe he also sent you down to Avecita to get you trapped and unable to escape, or killed, because he didn’t want you to learn the truth about what you knew but didn’t understand. You were just too smart for him and survived anyway.”

  Maeve stared at Ham, uncomprehending at first, then slowly taking in what he had said. “Mr. Grover told me you were dangerous,” she whispered. “He said that you were a drunk, and that you were bitter about being wounded and unable to be a soldier, that you would do anything to sabotage my efforts to help Texas. He told me never, ever to trust you or believe anything you said, especially about him.”

  “And which parts of all that do you believe?” Ham asked. He had been concentrating on driving fairly rapidly on a very bad road, and he wasn’t looking at Maeve. She was silent for a long time.

  “I thought you were a drunk when we entered into our agreement,” Maeve said finally. “And you certainly seemed to be bitter about your wound. And you shut me out whenever I tried to understand you, to like you – But I – I don’t believe any of it, now, Ham. I thought about you so much all this time I was gone. You were kind to me so often, and cared about me, and the work I was doing.

  “You love the people of Texas. You humiliated yourself as much as I did at our reception. When you made light of your job I thought you weren’t being honest with me, because you always belittled what you were, and what you did. Ham, did you really save my life? And you think Grover sent the man? What do you know about him that makes you distrust him so much? I was going to ask Grover to help me rescue that young man. Don’t you think he will? What did you mean, Grover sent me there to – to what did you say? Trap me? Kill me? How can that be? He works for the American government. He’s trying to help us. He told me I was finding out real information, doing important work.”

  “First let me say that part is true,” Ham replied, “and you certainly were. You found out things I had no idea of and I still want to know how you did it, but later. Maeve, I can’t convince you of what Grover is because I couldn’t convince anybody ten years ago, and I can’t do it today. You know how to put together a puzzle?”

  “I’m terrible at puzzles,” Maeve laughed in spite of herself.

  “I’m incredibly good at them,” Ham said. “But one time I tried to solve the puzzle of Nathaniel Grover and I couldn’t find any pieces.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Who erases every scrap of paper he ever writes on? Who burns every document that mentions his name? Who never lets anything connected with himself remain as a record anybody else can look at? Nathaniel Grover, that’s who. How does he do it? I don’t know. Why does he do it? Because he was at least partly responsible for half the defeats of Texian and Texan war efforts over the last ten years, I think. I hate like anything to say I only think, because people who know me say I never think anything until I know it. But Grover, he’s like a waterbug. He doesn’t even break the surface of the pond, but he’s there. And when a man’s that careful to sweep out his tracks it isn’t because he’s a good guy.”

  “God help us, Ham.”

  “I believe He will,” Ham replied. “Your boy didn’t tell you how to contact his people?”

  “He wanted me to come with him,” Maeve answered. “But he didn’t say where.”

  “Maybe it will help if you just tell me everything this man told you, everything you know about him, what you said to each other, anything that might give me a clue about where he wanted you to go.”

  “There have been several men from the same group. I never know any of their names,” Maeve began. “They are Americans, they don’t come in disguise, or try to speak much Spanish. They come at siesta time, when no one else is there. They say they’ve heard my cantina is the place to get milk and honey and living water.”

  “Wait, milk and honey?” Ham turned around and looked at Maeve. She ran trembling fingers through her hair and Ham grabbed her hand. “Where did you get this ring?” he asked, staring at the bronze and lapis and the eagle crest. Maeve looked at it and burst into tears.

  “He was – he was one of
the other men,” she sobbed. “A big, friendly, freckled man with green eyes and red hair. Oh, Ham, I can’t get it out of my head. Chaco – Chaco brought all his fingers – “

  “Stop,” Ham said. He was holding her hand so tightly it hurt, but his face was so white Maeve couldn’t say anything to make him let go. Ham realized what he was doing suddenly and relaxed his grip, sliding his thumb over the surface of the ring. He took a long, slow breath. “Okay, I know where to go now. Rest, Maeve, if there’s help to be had, it’s in Parmenos.”

  “Parmenos? What’s that? Where’s that?” Maeve asked.

  We’ll be there soon,” Ham said. “I wish I had my puzzle pieces.”

  “We’re coming into Parmenos,” Ham said to Maeve, touching her shoulder to wake her. It was still only just barely midday. “Maeve, I want you to do the talking. You know I don’t speak Spanish worth a hoot, and we don’t have time to wander around looking for somebody who understands me. Don’t worry about pleasantries. Say milk and honey and living waters, English and Spanish. Just keep saying it ‘till we get a reaction, and show people that ring. Are you strong enough?”

  “Of course,” Maeve joined him on the seat of the cart, a serape thrown over her feet. Ham approached a woman and a man carrying baskets of market goods. She marveled at how clean and orderly the town looked, and how tidy the people were.

  “Leche y miel,” Maeve said to the man and woman. “Agua vivale.”

  The couple looked up at her. Maeve thrust out her hand with the ring on it. They looked at each other, nodded, and the man went away quickly, leaving his basket on the boardwalk. The woman continued on down to a house, deposited her basket in the doorway, and came back for the other one. Then they were alone, the other people coming from the market giving them a wide berth.