saying a word. Despite the two open windows it was hotter than hell’s backlog. After fuming for a couple of moments in silence, Reno banged his cup on the table and in the best style of Descardo roared, “I have the thirst, woman!”
She came over with the pot and filled his cup with steaming chocolate. Reno’s lips curled, “How is a man to gain strength on that pap? Bring the tequila, woman —
andale
, hurry!”
She went to a cupboard and came back with a bottle. He was pulling the cork with his teeth when he heard heavier steps and saw the fat man, Juanito, looking in from the door, “Pardon me, General, but when you are through the patron would like to see you.”
Reno took a long pull from the bottle and grunted.
The Mexican’s tongue licked across his dry mouth. He wiped his hands on the legs of his trousers and, though it was plain he was aching to bring up the matter of those unpaid pesos, he finally went off without again speaking.
The old woman brought him a plate and the stack of tortillas on another. Reno attacked the food with gusto. While he was swabbing out his plate with the last of them Linda came in and stood looking down at him. They both said good morning and she put his wallet and his Durham on the table beside his elbow.
“What has happened to the pistol?” Reno asked with a slanchways look at her.
“I believe Don Luis has it.”
“So? And is your Don Luis aware upon whom he bestows so much of his hospitality?”
Though a blush thrust heightened color into her cheeks, making it obvious she’d caught his sarcasm, she said, “I am sure he knows that you are General Don Raul Descardo, commander of the rebel cavalry.”
“Rebel, eh?” Reno said in English, swiveling his chair to stare at her more closely. “You are brash with your description of the Liberator’s forces.” She blushed again, more painfully, under his pointed regard but did not turn her eyes away. She had spunk, he thought. “Where did I kill that mestizo dog the other night?”
She looked away. Fingers twisted in the seam of her skirt. Then she raised her head, brilliantly alive. “About an hour’s quick ride. It is one of the Tadpole’s line camps. I haven’t thanked you, excelencia, but I want you to know I am grateful.” She spoke this last in a kind of outrush of breath, then added, “Truly.”
“And what were you doing, alone at such a place?”
Embarrassment was painfully apparent in her face. “I went to keep a tryst.” She said, “He was to tell me about my father.”
“Your father?” Reno looked at her, surprised. “Don Luis, you mean?”
“I am not related to Don Luis. My father was killed three months ago by bandits when they destroyed our home.” Her hands grew clumsy; then she said with more confidence, “It happened that I was not there at the time. Don Luis very graciously asked me to remain here while the place is being rebuilt. He has been trying to track down those responsible.”
Out of a welter of thoughts Reno asked, “You lived near here?”
“Our ranch, Broken Spur, adjoins Tadpole,” she nodded. “My father was Major Farrel.”
Reno shook out the makings and twisted a smoke. He’d heard of Farrel and his artesian wells. The Broken Spur, according to rumor, was second largest and by far the most valuable holding around here.
“What happened to your hands?”
She fetched them up, her eyes astonished.
“Your crew,” Reno explained.
“Oh. Your pardon, excelencia. Those who weren’t killed, I suppose, left the country.”
“Is Don Luis of that opinion?”
“Yes, excelencia.”
The American frowned. “Call me Reno.”
“Reno’s a pretty far piece from here.”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s why I like the sound of it.” Lifting the bottle he took another drink. A sigh rolled out of him. He fired his cigarette then and blew gray smoke from his nostrils. “Are you comfortable here?”
“But of course!” She said it too quickly and then looked
She came over with the pot and filled his cup with steaming chocolate. Reno’s lips curled, “How is a man to gain strength on that pap? Bring the tequila, woman —
andale
, hurry!”
She went to a cupboard and came back with a bottle. He was pulling the cork with his teeth when he heard heavier steps and saw the fat man, Juanito, looking in from the door, “Pardon me, General, but when you are through the patron would like to see you.”
Reno took a long pull from the bottle and grunted.
The Mexican’s tongue licked across his dry mouth. He wiped his hands on the legs of his trousers and, though it was plain he was aching to bring up the matter of those unpaid pesos, he finally went off without again speaking.
The old woman brought him a plate and the stack of tortillas on another. Reno attacked the food with gusto. While he was swabbing out his plate with the last of them Linda came in and stood looking down at him. They both said good morning and she put his wallet and his Durham on the table beside his elbow.
“What has happened to the pistol?” Reno asked with a slanchways look at her.
“I believe Don Luis has it.”
“So? And is your Don Luis aware upon whom he bestows so much of his hospitality?”
Though a blush thrust heightened color into her cheeks, making it obvious she’d caught his sarcasm, she said, “I am sure he knows that you are General Don Raul Descardo, commander of the rebel cavalry.”
“Rebel, eh?” Reno said in English, swiveling his chair to stare at her more closely. “You are brash with your description of the Liberator’s forces.” She blushed again, more painfully, under his pointed regard but did not turn her eyes away. She had spunk, he thought. “Where did I kill that mestizo dog the other night?”
She looked away. Fingers twisted in the seam of her skirt. Then she raised her head, brilliantly alive. “About an hour’s quick ride. It is one of the Tadpole’s line camps. I haven’t thanked you, excelencia, but I want you to know I am grateful.” She spoke this last in a kind of outrush of breath, then added, “Truly.”
“And what were you doing, alone at such a place?”
Embarrassment was painfully apparent in her face. “I went to keep a tryst.” She said, “He was to tell me about my father.”
“Your father?” Reno looked at her, surprised. “Don Luis, you mean?”
“I am not related to Don Luis. My father was killed three months ago by bandits when they destroyed our home.” Her hands grew clumsy; then she said with more confidence, “It happened that I was not there at the time. Don Luis very graciously asked me to remain here while the place is being rebuilt. He has been trying to track down those responsible.”
Out of a welter of thoughts Reno asked, “You lived near here?”
“Our ranch, Broken Spur, adjoins Tadpole,” she nodded. “My father was Major Farrel.”
Reno shook out the makings and twisted a smoke. He’d heard of Farrel and his artesian wells. The Broken Spur, according to rumor, was second largest and by far the most valuable holding around here.
“What happened to your hands?”
She fetched them up, her eyes astonished.
“Your crew,” Reno explained.
“Oh. Your pardon, excelencia. Those who weren’t killed, I suppose, left the country.”
“Is Don Luis of that opinion?”
“Yes, excelencia.”
The American frowned. “Call me Reno.”
“Reno’s a pretty far piece from here.”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s why I like the sound of it.” Lifting the bottle he took another drink. A sigh rolled out of him. He fired his cigarette then and blew gray smoke from his nostrils. “Are you comfortable here?”
“But of course!” She said it too quickly and then looked
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