lla.theburninghills-第17节

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　shape　on　his　lips。　They　all　seemed　empty　and　meaningless。
　He　was　learning　that　to　speak　of　love　is　not　easy　when　the　feeling　is　deep　and　strong。
　She　lifted　her　eyes　suddenly　and　looked　across　the　small　fire　at　him。　〃You　think　because　I　e　here　with　you　that　I　am　your　woman？　Well　。。。　I　am　not。〃
　〃I　need　you；　Maria；〃
　〃You　need　me？　You　need　a　woman　。。。　any　woman。　Then　you　ride…on。　Maybe　sometime　again　you　need　a　woman；　you　find　one　again。〃　She　looked　at　him　with　a　taunt　in　her　eyes。　〃Anyway；　I　don't　think　you　need　a　woman　very　often。〃
　He　ignored　the　ment　and　relaxed。　〃Trouble　is；〃　he　mused；　〃I　let　you　ride　that　horse。　I　should　have　made　you　walk　。。。　all　the　way。〃
　He　sat　up　and　began　to　roll　a　smoke。　〃And　I　should　have　made　you　carry　the　pack　too。〃
　She　glared　at　him。　He　took　a　stick　from　the　fire　and　lighted　his　cigarette。　〃A　good　woman　needs　to　work；〃　he　said。　〃They're　unhappy　if　they　aren't　working。　Keep　'em　busy；　that's　what　I　say。〃
　〃You！〃　she　said　witheringly。　〃What　do　you　know？〃
　He　drew　deep　on　the　cigarette。　〃I　know　you're　my　woman；　Maria　Cristina。　Maybe　I'll　make　you　my　woman　tonight。〃
　〃Maybe　you　die。〃　She　looked　at　him；　her　eyes　fierce　and　proud。
　〃Sure；〃　he　said；　〃my　mistake　was　letting　you　ride。　If　you　had　followed　behind　with　a　pack　on　your　back　you'd　be　happy　now。　Next　time　we　move；　you　walk。〃
　〃You　think　you　strong！〃
　The　moon　had　risen　beyond　the　mesa　and　the　cholla　needles　were　like　white　flowers　in　the　strange　light；　a　beautiful　white　like　a　garden　of　flowers　。。。　a　garden　of　death。　A　bat　dipped　and　darted　through　the　air　and　out　across　the　pool　something　splashed　in　the　water。
　He　rolled　up　on　his　elbow　again。　〃Always　figured　to　get　myself　a　ranch。　Just　a　few　cows　and　some　horses。　Mostly　horses。　Nothing　real　big；　just　a　place　that's　mine。　I　want　my　own　home。
　〃I　always　wanted　a　place　with　a　view。　One　where　I　can　see　all　the　way　into　tomorrow　。。。　a　place　with　a　long　trail　leading　to　it　with　my　house　at　the　end　of　the　road。　I　want　to　see　my　own　horses　feeding　in　my　own　meadow。　I　want　to　see　some　youngsters　growing　up。〃
　He　smoked　the　cigarette　down　to　a　butt；　then　nursed　the　last　few　drags　before　tossing　it　into　the　flames。　〃Been　a　long　time　since　I　had　a　home。　Take　me　awhile　to　get　halter…broke　again。。。　but　I　could　do　it。〃
　A　coyote　spoke　the　moon；　his　shrill　cries　mounting　in　crescendo；　then　dying　away　in　echoes　against　the　mesa　wall。
　〃A　man　can't　make　it　alone。　Needs　him　a　woman。　These　here　city　women；　they　look　mighty　nice　but　a　man　out　here　needs　a　woman　who　can　walk　beside　him；　not　behind　him。〃
　Maria　Cristina　said　nothing。　Her　eyes　were　a　little　softer；　perhaps；　her　hands　relaxed。　Some　of　the　tenseness　seemed　to　have　gone　out　of　her。
　〃You　an'　me；　we　could　make　it。　I'm　a　hand　with　horses　and　I　know　where　there's　some　pretty　good　wild　stock。　Buy　us　a　stallion　maybe；　good　blood。　Might　get　a　Morgan。
　〃Man　can　do　a　lot　worse　than　raise　horses。　This　is　horse　country；　an'　down　here　they'll　always　have　a　need　for　horse　stock。　With　a　Morgan　stallion　a　man　could　breed　some　fair　stuff　in　a　few　years。　First　year　or　two　might　not　be　easy。　Reckon　I　couldn't　offer　you　much　。。。　not　right　off。　Nothin'　much　but　work　and　a　home。〃
　〃I　have　always　work。〃
　She　did　not　look　at　him　but　she　spoke。　He　glanced　across　the　fire　at　her　but　she　did　not　meet　his　eyes　and　then　suddenly　she　got　up　and　started　away。
　〃A　man　should　stick　to　what　he　knows；〃　he　said；　to　her　departing　back。　〃I　know　horses　。。。　maybe　not　so　much　about　women。〃
　He　made　no　move　to　follow　her。　She　seemed　to　wish　to　be　alone；　to　think；　perhaps。　Well；　it　was　true　of　himself。　He　took　his　rifle　and　walked　off　toward　the　path；　not　knowing　if　she　saw　him　or　not。
　The　forest　of　cholla　lay　like　a　fluffy　white　cloud　when　he　climbed　the　mesa；　yet　a　cloud　posed　of　thorns；　invisible　in　the　moonlight；　but　ready　to　rend　and　tear。　The　Indians　and　the　Mexicans　thought　the　bunches　of　needles　would　lean　toward　a　hand　that　came　close；　would　jump　at　bare　flesh。　He　doubted　it　but　there　were　times　when　it　seemed　to　happen。
　Atop　the　mesa　he　looked　off　into　the　vast　mysterious　distances　of　the　desert。
　He　thought　of　the　silent　girl　beside　the　pool。　He　had　known　few　women　and　certainly　none　at　all　like　Maria　Cristina。　Yet　it　seemed　to　him　she　was　like　some　horses　he　had　handled；　shying　from　a　hand　that　would　caress；　hungry　to　be　petted；　yet　afraid　to　be　trapped；　to　be　caught；　to　be　cheated。
　He　stared　out　across　the　desert。　Wherever　the　fire　was；　it　was　gone　now　。。。　no　。。。　it　was　there；　winking　from　time　to　time　across　the　distance。
　Around　that　fire　were　belted　men；　tough　men；　dedicated　to　hunting　him　down。　Between　those　men　and　himself　there　could　be　no　peace。　It　was　a　bloody　and　desperate　fight　for　survival；　a　fight　that　had　driven　him　until　soon　he　would　have　his　back　to　the　wall；　where　he　must　stand　and　fight。
　It　was　a　pity　that　Maria　Cristina　was　involved；　yet　had　she　not　chosen　to　involve　herself　he　would　be　dead。　He　would　have　died　on　that　mesa　shelf；　alone。
　All　the　more　reason　he　should　protect　her　now；　yet　it　would　be　useless　to　tell　her　to　take　the　horse　and　go。　She　would　merely　look　at　him　with　that　haughty　contempt　and　remain　right　where　she　was。
　So　what　to　do？　If　they　escaped　from　here；　where　could　they　go？　Deeper　into　Mexico？　He　did　not　know　the　trails；　although　he　knew　this　area　of　Sonora　and　much　of　Chihuahua。　And　he　was　sure　she　did　not　know　the　way。　Every　foot　of　travel　to　the　south　would　be　dangerous　because　of　marauding　Apaches。
　To　go　back　across　the　border　at　some　point　distant　from　the　Sutton…Bayless　stronghold？
　Yet　with　one　horse　it　would　be　a　dangerous　trip。　Only　luck　and　the　strength　of　the　red　horse　had　brought　them　this　far　and　neither　could　last。
　After　long　thought　he　got　up　and　went　back　down　the　trail　to　the　water。　Only　the　fire　glowed　。。。　there　was　no　sound　and　no　movement。　His　bed　lay　beside　the　fire　where　he　had　unrolled　it　but　of　Maria　Cristina　there　was　no　sign。
　He　spoke　her　name　into　the　silence　。。。　nothing。　He　said　her　name　again；　louder　this　time　and　with　rising　fear。
　No　sound；　nothing　。。。
　He　ran　swiftly　to　her　bed。　It　was　there　but　she　was　not。　He　called　her　name　loudly　and　only　the　echo　replied。　He　ran　to　the　water's　edge。　Something　caught　his　eye　。。。　a　fragment　of　cloth　on　a　branch　of　ironwood。
　A　good…sized　fragment；　as　though　she　had　deliberately　hooked　it　over　the　branch　to　leave　a　clue。
　There　were　two　paths　that　way。　He　ran　along　the　nearest；　praying　his　choice　was　right。　He　ran　to　the　crest　of　the　hill　and　stopped。　All　was　wide　and　white　in　the　moonlight　and　nowhere；　anywhere；　was　there　a　sign。
　And　then；　faint　and　far　off；　quickly　stifled；　a　cry。
　Faint。。。　lost；　until　he　almost　doubted　his　senses；　but　the　cry　of　a　woman；　a　cry　for　help。
　Heedless　of　obstruction　or　ambush；　he　plunged　down　the　traiL　He　darted　around　turns　in　the　path　until　he　had　covered　at　least　a　hundred　yards；　then　he　slowed　to　listen。
　No　sound　。。。　but　there　would　not　be。　This　was　not　a　white　man　for　no　white　man　could　have　stolen　a　woman　in　such　a　way　without　noise。　It　had　been　an　Apache　。。。　or　more　likely；　Apaches。　Possibly　the　three　they　had　met　upon　the　trail；　for　they　knew　where　Jordan　and　Maria　Cristina　were　going。
　And　being　Apaches；　they　knew　every　trick；　every　device；　and　they　were　men　trained　to　desert　war　from　childhood；　men　who　would　kill；　and　kill　swiftly；　for　this　was　their　way　of　life。　Yet　they　had　his　woman　。。。　Suddenly；　somewhere　off　in　the　desert；　he　heard　a　sudden　rush　of　horses；　a　pound　of　retreating　hoofs。
　He　did　not　stop　to　swear　or　even　to　listen。　Immediately　he　turned　and　ran　back　to　the　pool。　Once　there；　he　saddled　the　red　horse　and　loaded　his　gear。　It　needed　only　a　minute　to　roll　her　bed　also　and　to　fill　the　canteens。　And　then　he　was　riding。
　This　much　time　he　had　taken；　for　upon　an　Apache　trail　there　was　no　guessing　how　far　a　man　would　travel　until　he　came　up　with　them。　Yet　e　up　with　them　he　would。
　When　he　reached　the　place　where　the　Indians　had　left　their　horses　there　was　still　a　smell　of　dust　in　the　air。　The　earth　showed　no　tracks　in　the　dim　light　and　he　dared　not　strike　a　match；　yet　he　circled　until　he　caught　again　the　smell　of　dust　and　then　started　after　them。
　At　any　moment　they　might　try　an　ambush；　yet　he　had　doubts　of　that　for　they　were　a　small　party；　three　or　four　at　most。　Twice；　when　well　started；　he　got　down　to　examine　the　ground。　Here　the　earth　was　less　torn　and　he　could　find　the　hoofprints。　He　pushed　on　until　the　moon　was　gone　and　the　risk　of　losing　the　trail　was　too　great。
　Dismounting；　he　picketed　the　horse　and　settled　down　to　wait。　He　rolled　an　endless　chain　of　cigarettes　and　smoked　until　only　half　a　sack　of　tobacco　remained　of　his　store。　The　last　hour　before　dawn　was　endless；　yet　he　waited　and　when　the　day　became　gray　and　the　air　was　cold　with　morning　he　could　see　the　tracks。　Four　horses；　all　unshod。　One　carried　double。
　Big　Red　was　rested　and　eager。　He　lunged　into　the　trail　with　that　swift　space…eating　stride　that　was　only　his。　And　the　miles　fell　behind　with　the　trail's　dust　and　the　sun　came　up；　hot　and　red。　The　desert　turned　to　flame　and　sweat　streaked　the　dust　on　Big　Red's　flanks　and　soaked　Jordan's　shirt。　Twice　he　dism