A Lady Bought with Rifles by Jeanne Williams

adobes, welcoming Trace, falling hushed as they recognized Reina. Trace told them Doña Luisa was dead. They crossed themselves and murmured. A man with lean hips, massive chest, and a curious moustache, white on one side, black on the other, approached Reina and spoke in a stilled rumble.
    â€œWe have much sorrow, señorita. Your mother was a great lady. May the saints receive her and comfort you.”
    She thanked him quite graciously, but when. Trace explained that I was also Doña Luisa’s daughter, Reina ignored his proffered hand and swung down by herself. The broad-chested vaquero waited till Trace had helped me from the saddle and then bowed.
    â€œI am Lázaro Pérez, at your orders, señorita. I regret you have had such a sad homecoming.” His gaze moved to Sewa.
    The child kept her outward calm, but I knew she must be shrinking inwardly. Lázaro said sharply to Trace, “Yaqui?”
    Trace nodded. Lázaro swung from the girl without a word and took Reina’s horse and mine while a second man led away Sewa’s after Trace lifted her down. He carried her into his house, kicking the door ajar, put her down, and lit a candle.
    The dim yellow glow showed a square room plastered with clay, benches of adobe built out from the wall, and a fireplace at one end. There was a rough table, a chair, and a bed spread with a serape in tones of brown and gray. A shelf by the fireplace held a few dishes and cooking staples. Clothes hung on pegs. The floor was hard dirt and there was only one window.
    One of the vaqueros brought in the bedrolls, my valise, crumpled hat, and Reina’s saddlebag. “Can’t you send him after this witch doctor?” Reina inquired acridly.
    â€œNo.” Trace shook out the pallets, put one on his bed. I helped spread the others on the floor.
    â€œWhy not?” she persisted.
    â€œThe men won’t ride up his canyon at night.”
    The green of her eyes was almost hidden by swelling black pupils. “Then he is a witch!” she breathed.
    â€œWise,” Trace corrected. “Though to be wise or even sensible in this world comes close to magic.”
    â€œSurely it can wait till morning,” she urged.
    Trace went to Sewa, who still huddled on the bench where he’d placed her. He undid the bandage. The stench made my stomach turn. Reina gagged and flung away in disgust. Trace’s nostrils twitched. He rewound the bandage and said briefly, “I’d better take Sewa with me. Now.”
    â€œIt—it’s that bad?” I asked, heart constricting. Blood poison, gangrene—terrible names I didn’t fully understand thrummed in my head.
    â€œI’m afraid so.”
    â€œThen I’ll come, too.”
    â€œStay here, Miranda. You’re done in. There won’t be any way for you to help.” But when he spoke to Sewa, her dark eyes sprang to me.
    She didn’t ask; she never would. But I dragged my body up and said, “I’m going.”
    He started to argue, glanced at Sewa, and gave in. He shouted out the door for fresh horses and coffee, if any was left. In a few minutes Lázaro brought coffee that was at least lukewarm. Reina declined the bitter brew.
    â€œYou are mad,” she told me. “Trailing about in the dark to find a Yaqui witch.”
    â€œCruz?” demanded Lázaro. He stared at Trace. “That one is an onza! If you have business with him, leave it till morning.”
    â€œWe are friends,” said Trace.
    â€œPerhaps by day,” retorted Lázaro. “But once in his cat shape, an onza has no friends.”
    â€œCrazy talk,” snapped Trace. “Didn’t Cruz set that broken ankle for you? Didn’t he cure Roque when he was dying of snakebite?”
    â€œHe is still an onza ,” Lázaro maintained stubbornly. “I beg you. Wait.”
    â€œWe cannot.”.
    Lázaro cast a hate-filled look at Sewa. “All for this