The Blackbirder by Dorothy B. Hughes

hotels. Above all being released from what she had believed was the surveillance of the gray man. It had been foolish of her to be suspicious of him simply because he rode the same train west with her. That sort of coincidence was certainly a frequent one with a traveler leaving New York for the West. If he had been from the New York police, he wouldn't have wasted time on this trip; he would have taken her into custody before the Century departed. She had been silly. Fear created such distortions. Fear magnified curiosity into suspicion. She must remember to keep fear sublimated. Remember the lesson she had learned escaping from France. If you act unafraid, you are not suspected of being afraid.
    What actually had she to fear? The agents of Paul Guille? They hadn't caught up with her in the cities where the representatives of the new order multiplied like rats. They would never have heard of this out-of-the-way village. The F.B.I.? They had not sought her in New York; only if she were brought to their attention would they learn she was an unauthorized visitor. The New York police? Yes. If the identity of the girl with Maxl became known.
    But she was certain she had covered her tracks leaving New York. Only by chance would she come into that again. If her name was given she would learn it from the newspapers in time to twist away on another covered trail. There was no imminent fear to face. There was time to breathe, time to make her arrangements with the Blackbirder. Ticklish business but she wasn't without resources as she had been three years ago. She had learned the tricks of evasion, of escape. She had learned to be sly and wise; she'd learned the animal importance of self-preservation without heed to the method. Only if some uncounted ill fortune touched her, need her plans be changed. If Dame Fortuna would but hold the wheel steady a few more days...
    She would gather information about Popin here, write to him to get in touch with Fran, before she departed. And if Popin did live in Mexico, she could see him personally after the blackbirding ship carried her across the border. Together they could work to effect Fran's release from prison, and his escape too on the Blackbirder's wings. Her heart beat more quickly. If the Dame were kind, she and Fran would be together so soon.
    She was slightly apprehensive of carrying with her any longer the diamonds and the large amount of money. Tickets for escape were seldom bartered for in savory surroundings. No need to add to her burden with fear of possible loss while the hotel safe was below. She removed her money belt, keeping out $50 for current expenses. She rolled the belt neatly; thrust it into her handbag, went down again to the lobby. At the desk she signed a statement, the amount of money; personal jewelry, one necklace. The white-haired woman behind the desk sealed the belt into an envelope, placed it in the safe. She smiled at Julie, “This is your first trip to Santa Fe?”
    Julie nodded.
    “It has an interesting heritage. There are many things you'll want to see.” She passed across a folder.
    Julie walked out onto the sidewalk. She stood motionless there for a moment and then unaccountably she shivered. It could be the small wind that had crept into the golden afternoon, a warning of the falsity of early spring. It could be that the blueness of sky had become flawed by the faintest brush of cumulus white. She didn't know. She looked up the street to the right. The cold brown-gray Cathedral stood rampant on its terrace, its squat towers dwarfed by the mountains pressing behind them. She turned her head quickly to the left. Beyond the straggle of narrow street stood another mountain.
    Mountains. She shivered again. She didn't like mountains. The unyielding, unholy mass of inert matter dwarfed human mind and spirit.
    She turned swiftly, crossed cater-corner to the barren Plaza. It was deserted. The shabby old men huddled together on the soiled stone benches only added