moment--already she could imagine him grasping her by the shoulder, spinning her about and throwing her to the ground.
Malloy grunted and she heard him fall. Slowing, she looked behind her. Malloy lay sprawled on the black rock with the shaft of a spear protruding from his back.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jordan Quinn rode the bay gelding slowly up the dirt road from the beach with Senor Huerta, the Mendoza rancho overseer, riding beside him while behind them Jack McKinnon sat next to an Indian driver on the raised seat of a mule cart. Jordan envied his first mate, able to ride in comfort while he had to make the four-mile journey on horseback. Damn, he was sore already.
In the distance he saw Indian workmen carrying mortar up long ramps to one of the unfinished towers of the Santa Barbara Mission. In front of the church water spouted from the stone mouth of a statue of a bear, flowing into a basin where Indian women bent over their washing.
"Don Esteban," Huerta said, speaking in Spanish because he knew Jordan was fluent in the language, "asked me to extend a thousand pardons for his unfortunate delay. He hoped you would accept my own humble presence as a small sign of his regard for the esteemed American captain who has come from far across the oceans to marry his sister."
This was at least the fourth time Huerta had proferred Esteban's regrets for being absent when the Kerry Dancer anchored in the Santa Barbara channel. Jordan controlled his impatience.
"I appreciate Don Esteban's concern," he said, "and I know that only the most urgent business would have kept him from greeting me himself. I will not neglect to inform him that you, Senor Huerta, represented him with all the courtesy and hospitality for which the Mendoza family is so rightly renowned throughout Alta California."
In fact, Jordan thought, he'd just as soon not have to see Esteban Mendoza at all. He'd never liked the man even before he'd learned that Esteban opposed his sister's marriage to a foreigner. Jordan was here for one purpose and one only—to marry Margarita Mendoza as quickly as possible and take her with him aboard the Kerry Dancer to Monterey.
Senor Huerta smiled. "You are too kind," he said, "to a humble emissary."
Ahead of them two California oaks flanked the roadway at the entrance to the Mendoza rancho. Jordan, who had been a guest of the Mendozas the year before, knew that their lands extended from the rancho for many miles west along the coast.
"So must the gates of Paradise seem," Jordan said as they rode under the oaks with the scent of orange blossoms in the air all around them. He could match false sentiment with false sentiment any day, he told himself.
"The orange groves are white with blooms," Huerta told him. "This year will be a good one for all of us. The cattle are branded, the sun following the rains will speed the crops, the orchards are in leaf and—a crown upon our crown of happiness—Senorita Margarita will soon wed the man of her choice, the gallant Capitan Jordan Quinn of the stout ship Kerry Dancer ."
Jordan sketched a bow, reluctant to do even that for fear of losing his balance in the saddle. He made no reply, realizing when he was clearly overmatched in the contest of exchanging empty compliments.
They rounded a turn in the road and saw the two-story Mendoza casa set against the green background of the Santa Inez Mountains. A horseman, his black steed at a walk, the silver ornaments of his jacket glistening in the sun, came around one of the ranch buildings onto the road in front of the house.
" Bueno ," Huerta said. "Good, Don Esteban has returned."
As Esteban approached, Huerta raised his hand to his wide-brimmed hat while Jordan clumsily shifted the reins to his left hand. He'd be damned if he'd salute the man. Should he offer to shake hands? On horseback he'd be risking life and limb if he did.
Esteban reined in beside Jordan, leaned from his horse and clasped the sea captain to him, then guided
Malloy grunted and she heard him fall. Slowing, she looked behind her. Malloy lay sprawled on the black rock with the shaft of a spear protruding from his back.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jordan Quinn rode the bay gelding slowly up the dirt road from the beach with Senor Huerta, the Mendoza rancho overseer, riding beside him while behind them Jack McKinnon sat next to an Indian driver on the raised seat of a mule cart. Jordan envied his first mate, able to ride in comfort while he had to make the four-mile journey on horseback. Damn, he was sore already.
In the distance he saw Indian workmen carrying mortar up long ramps to one of the unfinished towers of the Santa Barbara Mission. In front of the church water spouted from the stone mouth of a statue of a bear, flowing into a basin where Indian women bent over their washing.
"Don Esteban," Huerta said, speaking in Spanish because he knew Jordan was fluent in the language, "asked me to extend a thousand pardons for his unfortunate delay. He hoped you would accept my own humble presence as a small sign of his regard for the esteemed American captain who has come from far across the oceans to marry his sister."
This was at least the fourth time Huerta had proferred Esteban's regrets for being absent when the Kerry Dancer anchored in the Santa Barbara channel. Jordan controlled his impatience.
"I appreciate Don Esteban's concern," he said, "and I know that only the most urgent business would have kept him from greeting me himself. I will not neglect to inform him that you, Senor Huerta, represented him with all the courtesy and hospitality for which the Mendoza family is so rightly renowned throughout Alta California."
In fact, Jordan thought, he'd just as soon not have to see Esteban Mendoza at all. He'd never liked the man even before he'd learned that Esteban opposed his sister's marriage to a foreigner. Jordan was here for one purpose and one only—to marry Margarita Mendoza as quickly as possible and take her with him aboard the Kerry Dancer to Monterey.
Senor Huerta smiled. "You are too kind," he said, "to a humble emissary."
Ahead of them two California oaks flanked the roadway at the entrance to the Mendoza rancho. Jordan, who had been a guest of the Mendozas the year before, knew that their lands extended from the rancho for many miles west along the coast.
"So must the gates of Paradise seem," Jordan said as they rode under the oaks with the scent of orange blossoms in the air all around them. He could match false sentiment with false sentiment any day, he told himself.
"The orange groves are white with blooms," Huerta told him. "This year will be a good one for all of us. The cattle are branded, the sun following the rains will speed the crops, the orchards are in leaf and—a crown upon our crown of happiness—Senorita Margarita will soon wed the man of her choice, the gallant Capitan Jordan Quinn of the stout ship Kerry Dancer ."
Jordan sketched a bow, reluctant to do even that for fear of losing his balance in the saddle. He made no reply, realizing when he was clearly overmatched in the contest of exchanging empty compliments.
They rounded a turn in the road and saw the two-story Mendoza casa set against the green background of the Santa Inez Mountains. A horseman, his black steed at a walk, the silver ornaments of his jacket glistening in the sun, came around one of the ranch buildings onto the road in front of the house.
" Bueno ," Huerta said. "Good, Don Esteban has returned."
As Esteban approached, Huerta raised his hand to his wide-brimmed hat while Jordan clumsily shifted the reins to his left hand. He'd be damned if he'd salute the man. Should he offer to shake hands? On horseback he'd be risking life and limb if he did.
Esteban reined in beside Jordan, leaned from his horse and clasped the sea captain to him, then guided
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