按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
〃Nice；〃 he whispered。 〃Nice of you。〃
She looked around sharply。 〃I do it for a dog！〃
And when she removed the poultice the gentleness was gone from her fingers。 He watched her as she worked； liking the way her dark hair fell across her shoulders； the swell of her breasts under the thin blouse。 Yet her features were sullen and without warmth。
〃If they find you've helped me you'll be in trouble。〃
〃There is always trouble。〃
There was no strength in him and he lay staring up at the overhang and he must have slept； for when he awakened again she was gone。 The fire was cold。 His side was freshly bandaged and his face had been bathed； his hands washed。
There was nothing he could do so he was glad no effort was required of him。 Yet he could wonder about the girl and it passed the long hours when he lay awake with only remote sounds from the canyon or the distant cry of an eagle。 She had been gentle when she believed him unconscious but changed abruptly when she became aware of his attention。 It made no sense 。。。 but neither did her presence in this place。
She asked no questions so she must know what he was doing here。 She was neat； her clothes not dusty from travel； so she could not have e far to get here。 Yet if she lived nearby； the Sutton outfit must know her。 Thought of the Suttons made him remember his guns。
Lifting himself on one elbow； he saw his saddle had been brought nearby and his rifle lay against it within reach of his hand。 His two pistols in their twin belts； the one he wore and the spare he carried； had been placed near him； their butts within easy grasp。
The opening of the path down the mountain had been barricaded with brush and branches； all dry so the slightest noise among them would awaken him if he slept。 Whoever the girl was； she thought of everything and she could be no friend of the Sutton…Bayless outfit。
Yet how had she reached him if the trail was blocked？ The thought of another approach worried him and if the girl knew of this place； others must know。 For the first time he gave careful attention to the shelf on which he lay。
That part of the hollow exposed to the sun was thick with grass and there were some bushes and trees。 Where he lay no sunlight could reach and no rain unless blown by wind。 There was grass enough for his horse unless he had to remain too many days。 Looking around； he found his tobacco and papers at the edge of the ground sheet upon which his blankets were now spread。 He rolled a smoke and when it was alight he lay back； drew deep； then exhaled。
The girl might be an Indian； yet she was no Apache and this was Apache country。 Yet neither her facial structure nor manner impressed him as Indian and her inflections were definitely Spanish。 Few Mexican families were supposed to live along this section of the border； yet it could be。
It was very hot。 He rubbed out his cigarette and eased his position。 Sweat trickled down his face。 His mouth tasted bad and he dearly wanted a drink； yet lacked the will to rise。 Out over the far canyon wall a buzzard wheeled in wide； lazy circles。
No sound disturbed the fading afternoon and across the canyon a great crag gathered the first shadow of evening。 Somewhere a horse galloped and then the hoofbeats drummed away into silence and the heat。
Maria Cristina had heard the riders when they first came into the valley。 No such group of riders had e to the canyon since her father's death and it would mean nothing but trouble。 When as many as a dozen men rode in a group in this country it meant killing。
Turning from the sheep； she walked to the horse that dozed in the shadow of a cottonwood and took from a holster an ancient Walker Colt。 Held at her side； it was concealed by the folds of her skirt。
She had no reason to believe the oning riders were friendly。 She was a Mexican and she owned sheep but aside from that； she was the daughter of Pablo Chavero； who had died up the canyon to the west； fighting even as his blood wrote its epitaph upon the rocks。 Listening to the sound of their ing； she could almost see the faces of the riders。 Only the Sutton…Bayless outfit could muster so many。 〃Juanito！ Stay with the sheep！〃 Juanito at eleven was already more like her father and not at all like her older brother； Vicente。
She walked away； her hair blowing in the wind； knowing why these men came； and she waited； standing sullen and lonely upon the hillside； expecting nothing。
These would be the same men who had killed her father and driven them to this place。 And now if they could find him they would kill the man who lay up there。 In the rocks； perhaps dying。
It was a vast and lonely land and if her whole family were killed here； there would be none to ask why。 Only the restless eyes of the men along the street of Tokewanna would catch fire less often； for she would not be passing； her skirt rustling； her hips moving with the faint suggestion she knew so well how to use。
It had been four years since she had a new dress。 Just old things made over。 It had been three months since she had been to town to look at the goods in the stores； to finger the cloth she could not buy。
To walk in the town was good。 The men stared and made remarks and the women turned away from her； their lips stiff； eyes angry。 She was that Mexican girl； 〃no better than she should be。〃 The women resented her because the men turned to look。 Deliberately； she challenged their stares。 She might hate them but she was a woman。 They despised her but they wanted her too。 Among the pale…faced women her dark beauty was an arresting thing。 She knew it and liked it so。 She knew that the something wild within her was felt by the men。 She lifted her chin 。。。 other women had beautiful clothes but she was Maria Cristina。
They came over the crest of the knoll in a tight bunch； then walked their horses down the slope and drew up a dozen yards away。 There were ten in the group and all their faces were familiar。
Jack Sutton was the worst of them； recklessly good…looking and a man with death behind him。 He looked her over deliberately； insolently； head to foot。 〃You get better…lookin' every time I see you； Mex！ By the Lord； some day I'll …〃
〃Some day！〃 Her contempt was a lash。 〃Some day you get keel！〃
Ignoring him； she turned to Ben Hindeman。 〃What you want？〃
There was no nonsense about Hindeman。 Shorter than the rangy Sutton； he was a blocky powerful man； his broad jaws always dark with a stubble of beard； 〃You seen a wounded man on a beat…up red horse？〃
〃I see nobody。 Who e here？〃
Sutton was staring at her and she knew he wanted her and deliberately； with every move of her body； she taunted him； hating him both for his contempt and his desire。 She was a Mexican and she kept sheep； yet she treated him with contempt and it drove him to fury。
〃If you see anybody；〃 Jack Sutton said； 〃send that kid brother to tell us。 Better still 。。。 I'll e back 。。。 alone。〃 He looked her over； grinning with no smile in his eyes。 〃I think you need a man。〃
She turned her eyes upon him。 〃Where is a man？〃 Contempt edged the insult。〃You？〃
Anger whipped his face。 〃Why； you dirty … ！〃 He leaped his horse at her but； even as the horse sprang； Maria Cristina w