“…no longer the muchacha and I the older woman. Now we are both women,” Froilana was saying.
Samantha suppressed a grin as she pulled her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I suppose so,” she answered as seriously as she could manage.
From as far back as Samantha could remember, the older girl had thought of herself as a woman. Yet Froilana had been only thirteen when Samantha joined her father in Texas, and Maria and her family had come with them to Mexico the year after. Her father had moved to Mexico in order to avoid the Civil War brewing in the American states. There had been fighting in Mexico, as well, a revolution, but her father remained neutral there, and they were so far north that the trouble never reached them.
“Now you do not laugh and giggle when I talk of men,” Froilana continued, making Samantha’s bed. “Now you have an interest in men, eh?”
Samantha yawned, tiptoeing to the small room adjoining hers where her huge four-legged bathtub was kept. Water had to be carried to it, but there was a piped drain which led outside for emptying it. Her morning bowl of cool water was on the towel stand.
“Oh, I don’t know, Lana,” Samantha called over her shoulder. “Men can be very deceptive. I think I can do without them for a while yet.”
“Ay, no!” Froilana scoffed.
“I mean it.”
“What will you do then when the young Ramón asks your papacito to marry you? And he will. He was always taken with you, even though you act like a child. Wait until he sees you now!”
Samantha splashed cool water on her face then grabbed a towel before she replied. “Ramón can ask my father for me all he wants, but I am the one who will have to give the answer. And how can I know what I will say when I haven’t seen him for almost three years?”
“You will like what you see, patrona.”
“Patrona?” Samantha called out in surprise. “Lana, you never called me mistress.”
“But you have changed so,” Froilana explained, subdued then. “You are a lady now.”
“Nonsense. I haven’t changed that much. You just call me what you always have.”
“Sí, Sam.” Froilana grinned.
“That’s better. And as for Ramón and my liking the changes in him, it will not matter,” Samantha said as she came back into her room and headed for the wardrobe. “As I said before, I can do without men for a while.”
“The prospect of seeing Ramón again does not excite you? Not even a little?”
“Excite me? Heavens no.” Samantha laughed. “I’m happy just being home. I don’t need any more than that.”
“But what then did you think of El Carnicero? Were you not excited by the stories about him?”
Samantha turned around and gazed curiously at Froilana. “El Carnicero? The Butcher? What kind of name is that?”
“It is said he cuts up his enemies and serves them to his dogs, piece by piece. That is how he came by the name,” she said breathlessly.
“Lana! How disgusting!”
Froilana shrugged. “I do not believe that story about him, but the other things, sí. They say he is mucho hombre, but very mean. They also say he is very ugly, but that he can have any woman he wants. I wonder—”
“Wait a minute, Lana.” Samantha interrupted. “Who are we talking about? Who the devil is this Carnicero you find so fascinating?”
Froilana’s dark eyes widened. “You do not know? El patrón did not tell you?”
“No, my father didn’t say anything about it,” Samantha replied.
“Ay!” the older girl gasped. “Mamacita will take a stick to me for telling you!”
“But you haven’t told me anything much,” Samantha said impatiently. “Who is El Carnicero?”
“No! I say no more. I go now.”
“Lana!” But the girl ran from the room, leaving Samantha confused. “Damn and be damned, what the hell was that all about?” she muttered to herself as she dressed quickly in a jade-green riding outfit of suede and a bright yellow silk shirt.
The Butcher. A man who cut up his enemies. What sort of man would kill people in this time of peace? A general from the revolution, perhaps? There had been many fierce men on both sides. An outlaw, perhaps, or an official of the government? The liberals had triumphed in the revolution, and Juárez was president. But the president could not control the officials in all of his states.
Soon she joined her father for a breakfast of thick corn cakes, ham, and hot, strong coffee.
“Who is El Carnicero?” she asked him.
“Where did you hear that name?” Her father sat back and frowned.
“What difference does it make?” she rejoined. “Who is he?”
Her father hesitated for several moments, then replied, “He’s no one you need to be concerned about.”
“Father, you’re evading. Why didn’t you tell me about this man?”
“He’s a bandit, Sammy, a man who has gained notoriety farther south in the past several years.”
A bandit. “Why is he being talked about here?”
Hamilton sighed. “Because the fellow came north recently. He and his followers are living in the West Sierras now.”
“You mean they’re hiding out there? Has no one tried to get them out?”
“You know as well as I, Samantha, that if someone wanted to hide out in those mountains, it would be almost impossible to find him.”
Everything fell into place suddenly. “Has this bandido been giving you trouble?”
“I can’t be sure it’s the same man.”
“The chickens and the cattle?”
“It’s possible, of course. Our people say it is, that El Carnicero has declared war on me for some reason. I doubt it, though. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never even met the man. And besides, the Sierras are a good three, four days’ ride from here.”
“And that’s why you think he’s not the one causing you trouble?”
“Yes. There are other ranches closer to the mountains that he could prey on far more easily. It doesn’t make any sense for him to ride so far to forage for food and make mischief here. And then there is another good reason, which the vaqueros who insist it is him constantly ignore. This man is supposed to be a cold-blooded killer, yet in all the trouble we’ve been having, no one has been hurt. And no one has seen him or any of his band. They say that when El Carnicero rides, he rides with all his men, dozens of them. Yet whenever something happens here on the ranch, the tracks of only a few men are ever found.”
“Which would indicate drifters.” Samantha spoke her thoughts aloud.
“Yes.”
“Then why are people so convinced it is El Carnicero?”
Hamilton shrugged. “Having a famous bandit declare war on you is more exciting than drifters passing through. People love dramatic stories. Once it was learned that the famous bandit was in the area, every mishap was blamed on him. They gossip about him constantly, because he has brought excitement and danger, and they love it.”
“Is there any real danger?”
“Nonsense,” Hamilton scoffed. “Don’t you go believing any stories. That’s why I didn’t want you to hear about this bandit. I didn’t want you to be worrying.”
“I wouldn’t have worried a great deal, father. We’ve had bandits in the area before now.”
“I’m glad you’re being sensible about it.” He leaned forward again and looked her over carefully. “You’re wearing your riding outfit. Were you going out?”
She grinned impishly. “That was always my habit, wasn’t it? To ride in the mornings. I’m eager to get back to my old routine.”
“I hope your routine doesn’t still include going out to work the range with the men?”
Samantha laughed. “Do I detect a note of disapproval? No, father, I won’t be working the range anymore. My wild days are over,” she assured him.
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” He grinned. “I know you will have sense enough also to take an escort with y
ou for your rides.”
“To ride on our own land?” Samantha laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, father.”
“Now, Sammy, you’re not a child any longer. A young woman shouldn’t go out without an escort.”
“Let’s not fight, father,” Samantha sighed. “I’m not giving up my freedom simply because I’m a few years older.”
“Sammy—”
“Why, you old faker.” She had heard the alarm in his voice. “You really are worried about this bandido, aren’t you?”
“It doesn’t hurt to be careful, Sammy.”
Samantha hesitated, then stood up. “Very well, father, I’ll play it your way for a while,” she conceded. She turned to leave, then stopped and grinned mischievously at him. “But it won’t do any good, you know. The vaqueros can’t keep up with me. They never could.”
Samantha rode in the direction of the south range, racing as fast as she could, leaving her two-man escort far behind. El Cid was a gem. He seemed to fly through the air. Samantha was exhilarated. She hadn’t raced like that for years. Her saddle was magnificent, of the best Spanish leather, mounted with silver and fancy with fine carvings and gold braid. It suited El Cid.
She dismounted atop a small hill and stood waiting for the vaqueros. She could see for miles, miles of flat plains, with a few hills breaking the monotony. Flat land dotted with cactus and a few lonely trees. But to the west were the magnificent mountains—and smoke.
Samantha stared off into the distance at the spiral of black smoke, her brow furrowing. She mounted immediately and rode to join her escort, pointing out the smoke before she passed them, heading for it. She reached the burned-out line shack in only fifteen minutes, finding just a smoldering pile of rubble. She sat on her horse, looking off in all directions, but there was no sign of anybody nearby.
When the two vaqueros finally reached her, she asked, “What could have started this fire?”
“El Carnicero,” Luis answered promptly.
Luis, Manuel and Maria’s oldest son, should have had better sense, Samantha thought. “Look around, Luis. There is no one here. Do you see any tracks?”
“No, but it was El Carnicero,” he replied stubbornly. “The fire has burned out already. He has had plenty time to get away. And this is the second fire here in a week.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean this shack had just been built after another fire?”
“Sí. It was finished only yesterday.”
Samantha frowned. “How many fires have there been?”
“Nine in the last two weeks.”
“Nine!” she gasped. “The storehouse? Was that one of the fires?”
Luis nodded. “Such a waste, that fire. So much food and supplies burned to nothing. And so close to the rancho. El Carnicero, he dares much.”
Samantha said nothing further. She rode back to the ranch in a spirit of hurt and disappointment. Her father had lied to her. He had talked of repairs, when actually buildings had been burned down. Why had he lied to her? And what else, she asked herself, wasn’t he telling her?
Chapter 14
WHEN Samantha returned, she saw Ramón Baroja’s horse in the stable. She recognized the mustang and the rich silver-mounted saddle, emblazoned with the initials RMNB for Ramón Mateo Nuñez de Baroja.
Samantha was not interested in seeing Ramón just then. It was Manuel she wanted to talk to, the one man she knew would be honest with her, and she found him beyond the branding corrals, where the workers’ houses were all located. Manuel was sitting on the steps of his little house, eating a lunch of chili and fat enchiladas in the shade of a porch cluttered with potted plants and bright wicker chairs.
“Hola, Sam,” he called as she approached. “There is one waiting for you at the house. He came soon after you rode out. Did you not see him?”
“Ramón can wait,” she replied, sitting down on the steps beside him, removing her wide-brimmed hat. “It’s you I want to talk to, Manuel. You know my father as well as I—at least, as well as I thought I knew him. Perhaps you know him better.”
“What is wrong, chica?” he interrupted, understanding her troubled mood.
“Why would he lie to me?”
Manuel was amused, not shocked. “And what has he lied about?”
“All the trouble we’re having. He wasn’t even going to tell me about it at first. If Lana hadn’t mentioned—”
“Lana!” Manuel’s temper rose. “My hija, she has a big mouth. If el patrón did not want you to know, then you should not have found out.”
“Nonsense. With everyone talking about it, I would have found out soon enough. But that is beside the point. Last night, when we talked of the ranch, father told me that the line shacks had needed repairs. Today I found out that they were destroyed by fire and had to be rebuilt for that reason.”
“Wait, Sam. Your father did not lie to you. Many repairs were made while you were gone. What year does not pass without repairs?”
“I’ll grant you that. But why didn’t he tell me about the fires? Even the storehouse burned down. But he didn’t tell me that, only that he had built a new one.”
“Is this why you say he has lied?” Manuel chided her, grinning.
“He didn’t tell me the whole truth,” Samantha pointed out firmly. “That is the same as lying, Manuel.”
“If he did not tell you, perhaps it is only because he did not think to tell you. He has a lot on his mind lately.”
“I don’t wonder, with all these fires and thefts and God-only-knows-what-else he’s keeping from me.”
“But can you not see that he might only have forgotten these things?”
“Oh, I suppose,” she admitted grudgingly. “But tell me, what do you think is going on? Do you believe this Carnicero is responsible?”
Manuel shrugged. “How can I say, niña, when I have only just returned? There was no trouble when I left for New Mexico to bring you home. I learned of this bandido last night for the first time, when Maria filled my ears with all the news.”
“I’ll bet you learned everything,” she said bitterly. Maria always knew everything that went on at the ranch.
“Perhaps,” he chuckled, knowing her thoughts.
“Well? Is the bandit causing all the trouble, even though he is hiding out so far from here? Or is it just coincidence, so many things happening at once? My father says it could be drifters.”
“Drifters? No.” Manuel frowned. “For the cattle, sí. Maybe even a few of the fires. But for what reason would a man passing through destroy the mine?”
“Destroy?” Samantha gasped at this additional news. “What do you mean, destroy?”
“Luis said there was no doubt that dynamite caused the explosion that collapsed the mine.”
“Accidents, he told me. Accidents!” Samantha gasped. “Manuel, another shack was set on fire this morning. I saw it smoldering.”
“Dios!”
“Never mind calling on God. He’s too busy to bother with mischief going on here.”
“But you might have been closer to the area when the fire was started. You might even have come upon the men who set it. Dios, Sam!” Manuel exclaimed. “You might have been killed!”
“Nonsense. It was probably only one man or two who set that fire.”
He threw his arms up in frustration. “Certainly it takes only one man to set a fire, but there still might have been a dozen others with him.”
“There was no evidence of many men, Manuel,” she insisted. “In fact, I found no tracks at all.”
“Luis tells me there is never any sign,” Manuel said. “Yet others could have been nearby, watching. The men doing this always seem to know where our men are, and they strike when no one is nearby. But you, niña, you ride where you will—you never follow the same path.”
“What are you getting at, Manuel?”
“That you could come upon these men. They would not expect a señorita to be riding the range, and you never keep to a route.”
“So
?”
“So? It is not safe for you to go out, even with an escort. I must speak to el patrón about this.”
Samantha bristled. “Before you do that, Manuel, I want you to tell me everything that Maria confided to you last night—everything. Let me be the judge of whether it’s safe or not.”
He did, in vivid detail. Samantha managed to hold her tongue, even as the news got worse and worse. Besides the mine explosion, the stolen chickens, the few dead cows, and the fires, there had been two dozen mustangs stolen, and not just a few cattle, but over a hundred head. That was rustling, pure and simple. That Samantha could understand. But the rest—a large initial “C” smeared one night with blood on every outside door of the ranch. Was this El Carnicero’s way of bragging over the deeds he had done? Or was it someone else pointing blame at the bandit?
And that was still not all of it. Two messages had been left, one stuck to the carcass of a dead cow, the other stabbed with a rusty dagger into the front door of the house.
“No wonder they say the bandido has declared war on my father,” Samantha gasped when Manuel was through. “What did those messages say?”
“Only el patrón knows, and he has told no one.”
“But were they signed by El Carnicero?”
“I do not know that either,” Manuel replied.
Samantha shook her head in disbelief. “I find it inconceivable that all of these things could have happened in only the last two weeks.”
“I felt the same way. But Maria says something happens every day. And now you tell me there has been a fire today.”
“It really does sound as if a war is going on—a one-sided war,” Samantha remarked. “Isn’t my father doing anything about it?”
“He has not notified the authorities, if that is what you mean. Not yet.”
“Don’t you think he should?”
“What can they do, Sam, that we cannot do?” Manuel said a little indignantly.
“I suppose you’re right,” she replied, remembering the last time the soldados were called when cattle were stolen. They had not been eager to help the americano, as they called her father. “But what exactly is my father doing?”