lla.theburninghills-第4节

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　He　was　delirious　。。。　he　had　to　be。　No　such　woman　could　be　in　this　lonely　place。　He　was　hiding　on　a　wind…hollowed　shelf　in　the　face　of　a　cliff；　miles　from　human　habitation。　And　then　she　turned　her　head　and　looked　at　him。
　Her　eyes　were　large　and　dark；　ringed　with　long　lashes；　and　in　that　first　glimpse　he　found　eyes　that　were　soft　with　a　woman's　tenderness　。。。　and　then　that　tenderness　was　gone　and　she　looked　away。　〃How　you　feel？〃
　She　spoke　abruptly；　her　tone　giving　nothing；　neither　friendly　nor　unfriendly。
　He　tried　several　times　to　speak　before　he　could　make　his　lips　shape　the　words。　〃Good。〃　And　then　after　a　pause　he　indicated　the　poultice。　〃Feels　good　…〃　She　gave　no　indication　that　she　had　heard　but　arose　and　went　to　the　edge　of　the　cliff　where；　concealed　by　the　manzanita；　she　looked　into　the　canyon。　He　listened　and　heard　nothing　and　after　a　few　minutes　she　returned　to　his　side。
　She　had　built　a　small　fire　to　heat　the　water　and　now　she　added　some　tiny　sticks　to　the　little　flame。　There　was　no　smoke；　almost　no　smell。
　〃Nice；〃　he　whispered。　〃Nice　of　you。〃
　She　looked　around　sharply。　〃I　do　it　for　a　dog！〃
　And　when　she　removed　the　poultice　the　gentleness　was　gone　from　her　fingers。　He　watched　her　as　she　worked；　liking　the　way　her　dark　hair　fell　across　her　shoulders；　the　swell　of　her　breasts　under　the　thin　blouse。　Yet　her　features　were　sullen　and　without　warmth。
　〃If　they　find　you've　helped　me　you'll　be　in　trouble。〃
　〃There　is　always　trouble。〃
　There　was　no　strength　in　him　and　he　lay　staring　up　at　the　overhang　and　he　must　have　slept；　for　when　he　awakened　again　she　was　gone。　The　fire　was　cold。　His　side　was　freshly　bandaged　and　his　face　had　been　bathed；　his　hands　washed。
　There　was　nothing　he　could　do　so　he　was　glad　no　effort　was　required　of　him。　Yet　he　could　wonder　about　the　girl　and　it　passed　the　long　hours　when　he　lay　awake　with　only　remote　sounds　from　the　canyon　or　the　distant　cry　of　an　eagle。　She　had　been　gentle　when　she　believed　him　unconscious　but　changed　abruptly　when　she　became　aware　of　his　attention。　It　made　no　sense　。。。　but　neither　did　her　presence　in　this　place。
　She　asked　no　questions　so　she　must　know　what　he　was　doing　here。　She　was　neat；　her　clothes　not　dusty　from　travel；　so　she　could　not　have　e　far　to　get　here。　Yet　if　she　lived　nearby；　the　Sutton　outfit　must　know　her。　Thought　of　the　Suttons　made　him　remember　his　guns。
　Lifting　himself　on　one　elbow；　he　saw　his　saddle　had　been　brought　nearby　and　his　rifle　lay　against　it　within　reach　of　his　hand。　His　two　pistols　in　their　twin　belts；　the　one　he　wore　and　the　spare　he　carried；　had　been　placed　near　him；　their　butts　within　easy　grasp。
　The　opening　of　the　path　down　the　mountain　had　been　barricaded　with　brush　and　branches；　all　dry　so　the　slightest　noise　among　them　would　awaken　him　if　he　slept。　Whoever　the　girl　was；　she　thought　of　everything　and　she　could　be　no　friend　of　the　Sutton…Bayless　outfit。
　Yet　how　had　she　reached　him　if　the　trail　was　blocked？　The　thought　of　another　approach　worried　him　and　if　the　girl　knew　of　this　place；　others　must　know。　For　the　first　time　he　gave　careful　attention　to　the　shelf　on　which　he　lay。
　That　part　of　the　hollow　exposed　to　the　sun　was　thick　with　grass　and　there　were　some　bushes　and　trees。　Where　he　lay　no　sunlight　could　reach　and　no　rain　unless　blown　by　wind。　There　was　grass　enough　for　his　horse　unless　he　had　to　remain　too　many　days。　Looking　around；　he　found　his　tobacco　and　papers　at　the　edge　of　the　ground　sheet　upon　which　his　blankets　were　now　spread。　He　rolled　a　smoke　and　when　it　was　alight　he　lay　back；　drew　deep；　then　exhaled。
　The　girl　might　be　an　Indian；　yet　she　was　no　Apache　and　this　was　Apache　country。　Yet　neither　her　facial　structure　nor　manner　impressed　him　as　Indian　and　her　inflections　were　definitely　Spanish。　Few　Mexican　families　were　supposed　to　live　along　this　section　of　the　border；　yet　it　could　be。
　It　was　very　hot。　He　rubbed　out　his　cigarette　and　eased　his　position。　Sweat　trickled　down　his　face。　His　mouth　tasted　bad　and　he　dearly　wanted　a　drink；　yet　lacked　the　will　to　rise。　Out　over　the　far　canyon　wall　a　buzzard　wheeled　in　wide；　lazy　circles。
　No　sound　disturbed　the　fading　afternoon　and　across　the　canyon　a　great　crag　gathered　the　first　shadow　of　evening。　Somewhere　a　horse　galloped　and　then　the　hoofbeats　drummed　away　into　silence　and　the　heat。
　Maria　Cristina　had　heard　the　riders　when　they　first　came　into　the　valley。　No　such　group　of　riders　had　e　to　the　canyon　since　her　father's　death　and　it　would　mean　nothing　but　trouble。　When　as　many　as　a　dozen　men　rode　in　a　group　in　this　country　it　meant　killing。
　Turning　from　the　sheep；　she　walked　to　the　horse　that　dozed　in　the　shadow　of　a　cottonwood　and　took　from　a　holster　an　ancient　Walker　Colt。　Held　at　her　side；　it　was　concealed　by　the　folds　of　her　skirt。
　She　had　no　reason　to　believe　the　oning　riders　were　friendly。　She　was　a　Mexican　and　she　owned　sheep　but　aside　from　that；　she　was　the　daughter　of　Pablo　Chavero；　who　had　died　up　the　canyon　to　the　west；　fighting　even　as　his　blood　wrote　its　epitaph　upon　the　rocks。　Listening　to　the　sound　of　their　ing；　she　could　almost　see　the　faces　of　the　riders。　Only　the　Sutton…Bayless　outfit　could　muster　so　many。　〃Juanito！　Stay　with　the　sheep！〃　Juanito　at　eleven　was　already　more　like　her　father　and　not　at　all　like　her　older　brother；　Vicente。
　She　walked　away；　her　hair　blowing　in　the　wind；　knowing　why　these　men　came；　and　she　waited；　standing　sullen　and　lonely　upon　the　hillside；　expecting　nothing。
　These　would　be　the　same　men　who　had　killed　her　father　and　driven　them　to　this　place。　And　now　if　they　could　find　him　they　would　kill　the　man　who　lay　up　there。　In　the　rocks；　perhaps　dying。
　It　was　a　vast　and　lonely　land　and　if　her　whole　family　were　killed　here；　there　would　be　none　to　ask　why。　Only　the　restless　eyes　of　the　men　along　the　street　of　Tokewanna　would　catch　fire　less　often；　for　she　would　not　be　passing；　her　skirt　rustling；　her　hips　moving　with　the　faint　suggestion　she　knew　so　well　how　to　use。
　It　had　been　four　years　since　she　had　a　new　dress。　Just　old　things　made　over。　It　had　been　three　months　since　she　had　been　to　town　to　look　at　the　goods　in　the　stores；　to　finger　the　cloth　she　could　not　buy。
　To　walk　in　the　town　was　good。　The　men　stared　and　made　remarks　and　the　women　turned　away　from　her；　their　lips　stiff；　eyes　angry。　She　was　that　Mexican　girl；　〃no　better　than　she　should　be。〃　The　women　resented　her　because　the　men　turned　to　look。　Deliberately；　she　challenged　their　stares。　She　might　hate　them　but　she　was　a　woman。　They　despised　her　but　they　wanted　her　too。　Among　the　pale…faced　women　her　dark　beauty　was　an　arresting　thing。　She　knew　it　and　liked　it　so。　She　knew　that　the　something　wild　within　her　was　felt　by　the　men。　She　lifted　her　chin　。。。　other　women　had　beautiful　clothes　but　she　was　Maria　Cristina。
　They　came　over　the　crest　of　the　knoll　in　a　tight　bunch；　then　walked　their　horses　down　the　slope　and　drew　up　a　dozen　yards　away。　There　were　ten　in　the　group　and　all　their　faces　were　familiar。
　Jack　Sutton　was　the　worst　of　them；　recklessly　good…looking　and　a　man　with　death　behind　him。　He　looked　her　over　deliberately；　insolently；　head　to　foot。　〃You　get　better…lookin'　every　time　I　see　you；　Mex！　By　the　Lord；　some　day　I'll　…〃
　〃Some　day！〃　Her　contempt　was　a　lash。　〃Some　day　you　get　keel！〃
　Ignoring　him；　she　turned　to　Ben　Hindeman。　〃What　you　want？〃
　There　was　no　nonsense　about　Hindeman。　Shorter　than　the　rangy　Sutton；　he　was　a　blocky　powerful　man；　his　broad　jaws　always　dark　with　a　stubble　of　beard；　〃You　seen　a　wounded　man　on　a　beat…up　red　horse？〃
　〃I　see　nobody。　Who　e　here？〃
　Sutton　was　staring　at　her　and　she　knew　he　wanted　her　and　deliberately；　with　every　move　of　her　body；　she　taunted　him；　hating　him　both　for　his　contempt　and　his　desire。　She　was　a　Mexican　and　she　kept　sheep；　yet　she　treated　him　with　contempt　and　it　drove　him　to　fury。
　〃If　you　see　anybody；〃　Jack　Sutton　said；　〃send　that　kid　brother　to　tell　us。　Better　still　。。。　I'll　e　back　。。。　alone。〃　He　looked　her　over；　grinning　with　no　smile　in　his　eyes。　〃I　think　you　need　a　man。〃
　She　turned　her　eyes　upon　him。　〃Where　is　a　man？〃　Contempt　edged　the　insult。〃You？〃
　Anger　whipped　his　face。　〃Why；　you　dirty　…　！〃　He　leaped　his　horse　at　her　but；　even　as　the　horse　sprang；　Maria　Cristina　whipped　up　the　heavy　Colt；　firing　as　it　lifted。
　The　blast　and　flash　of　the　gun　made　the　horse　jerk　aside　his　head　and　almost　fall；　but　a　bright　spot　of　red　showed　on　Button's　ear　and　blood　began　to　well　from　it　in　slow　crimson　drops。
　She　held　the　Colt　poised；　her　expression　unchanged。　〃You　go。　Next　time　I　no　miss。〃
　Unbelieving；　Jack　Sutton　touched　his　ear　and　brought　his　hand　away　covered　with　blood。　His　face　was　white　with　shock。
　Hindeman's　eyes　were　glinting　and　he　studied　Maria　Cristina　with　new　attention。　〃If　your　horse　hadn't　shied；〃　he　told　Sutton；　not　without　an　edge　of　satisfaction；　〃you'd　be　dead。〃
　〃Why；　yes；　Ben。〃　Button's　voice　was　low。　〃She　would　have　killed　me。　That　dirty　sheepherder　would　have　lolled　me。〃
　Hindeman　turned　his　horse　and　the　rest　followed。　Jack　Sutton　turned　in　his　saddle　to　look　back。　〃Keep　that　gun　handy。　Ill　be　back。〃
　As　they　crested　the　knoll　one　of　the　riders　lifted　his　hand　in　farewell。　It　was　Jacob　Lantz。
　Prom　a　pocket　in　her　skirt　s