Page 54 of Cutter’s Lady

Chapter 10

As the three of them stood facing each other, two more men stepped out of the jungle growth on either side of Cutter and Leslie. They cradled rifles in their arms. Leslie’s mouth was dry as dust, and her heart hammered erratically.

The leader lowered his gun to point at Cutter’s waist, and he spoke to him in rapid Spanish. Leslie wished for the hundredth time since they got here that she had been taught Spanish in elementary school like her Harvard classmates from California, Florida and Texas.

Cutter released the donkey’s reins and slowly raised his hands to his belt. He unbuckled the gun belt and held it out to the side, then dropped it on the ground. One of the men sprang to pick it up and slung it over his shoulder. The leader spoke to the other man, and he went to Cutter’s donkey and pulled the high-powered rifle from his pack. Though Cutter’s guns had frightened Leslie, her heart sank lower at the removal of each weapon. It was a horribly helpless feeling to stand beneath the men’s guns and watch them take away all their means of defense.

The leader barked another command, and Cutter spread his arms and legs wide. One of the men stepped forward and patted him down, searching for any hidden weapons. Then the man turned toward Leslie, and she realized in horror that he intended to search her the same way.

“No!” Cutter stepped in between the man and Leslie, letting forth a barrage of Spanish. Leslie waited, her palms sweating. Cutter then grinned and ran his eyes down Leslie’s figure appraisingly. He said something that sounded flip even though she couldn’t understand what it was. All the men laughed. The leader shrugged and turned, motioning for them to follow. Leslie swallowed, faint with relief, and started forward behind Cutter. The other two men fell in behind them.

“What did you say to make him stop?” Leslie whispered.

Cutter glanced back and grinned. “I just said your jeans were so tight anyone could see you didn’t have anything concealed on your body.”

Leslie shoved Cutter in the middle of his back and he stumbled forward before catching himself.

“Hey!” he laughed. “I was just helping you out.”

“And I must have just tripped.” Leslie smiled beatifically.

The leader of the squad looked back at them and motioned for quiet. Nothing more was said the rest of the trip.

They struck off at a different angle from the one Leslie and Cutter had been following, slashing through the heavy undergrowth with machetes. Finally they emerged onto something that resembled a trail and were able to walk without the use of machetes. Cutter looked back at Leslie, then began to talk to the leader, his voice persuasive. The other man stopped and glanced first at Cutter, then at Leslie, considering. He said a few sentences and Cutter replied. After a moment the guerrilla shrugged and nodded. Cutter came back to Leslie.

“Get on your donkey.”

“What?” Leslie glanced around at the others. “But no one else—”

“Quit arguing for once and just get on.” Cutter’s strong fingers gripped her waist, and he lifted her up onto the small mount. “I explained to him that you were an American woman and not used to such rigors. Take what you can get and don’t complain.”

“Yes, sir.” Leslie gave Cutter a mock salute. But as he walked away, Leslie called after him, “Thank you.”

He nodded.

They started off again. The men seemed untiring. Dusk gathered, but still they tramped on. Leslie was beginning to wonder if they would ever stop when she saw a flicker of light through the trees. As they walked, the flicker appeared again and again, and she realized that it was more than one light. They had been going downhill for some time, but now the ground leveled out. There was the sound of rushing water, and she decided they must be following the course of another mountain creek. The trees thinned, and suddenly they emerged from the forest into a clearing. Several thatched huts and a few tents were scattered around, and a few small fires burned in front of them. A larger fire was lit in the middle of the area, and several men squatted around it.

Here and there Leslie saw a woman sitting in a doorway or tending to one of the fires. Next to one of the women sat a young boy of ten or twelve, and another woman cradled a child who couldn’t have been more than two. They glanced curiously at the new arrivals but made no move to approach them. A hen crossed their path, head bobbing busily. Off to one side was a pen of small pigs.

The men around the large central fire turned to stare at Leslie and Cutter, and several rose to their feet. The three guards guided Leslie and Cutter toward the fire. As she looked at the men, Leslie’s stomach sank. All the way to the camp she had been berating herself for ever having come up with this plan; it had been sheer stupidity. Mentally she understood the danger involved, but she hadn’t even come close to knowing the gut-wrenching terror of it.

She hadn’t understood what it felt like to be threatened with a machine gun or to be taken prisoner and marched into an armed camp. She had been a naive idiot to think that she could waltz in and bargain with these hardened men. Rather than getting Blake out, she was more likely to get both herself and Cutter killed. Why hadn’t she listened to Cutter when he had argued against it? He had been right, and she had been too stubborn to see it.

Now, looking at the crew around the fire, Leslie’s spirits sank even lower. Not a single man wore a smile, and, among their ragtag assortment of uniforms, the main consistency was the large number of knives and guns each of them carried. It seemed to Leslie as if every one of them looked straight through her.

She edged a little closer to Cutter, and he reached out to pull her into the circle of his arm. He stared back at the men, his face as closed and cold as theirs. Their guards talked back and forth with the men around the campfire for a few minutes. One of the men, who wore his hair long and shaggy and who had a deep scar splitting his forehead, gave Leslie a long, examining look. He grinned in a way that was more menacing than his earlier frown.

“Hey, Yanqui!” he called to Cutter. “She is a beautiful woman.”

Cutter’s expression was hard and challenging. His arm dropped down from Leslie’s shoulder to her waist, and his hand curved around the front, splaying out possessively across her abdomen. “Yes, she is,” he agreed. “And she is my woman.”

Leslie’s eyes widened at the blatant sexuality of his gesture and the masculine arrogance of his words, but she said nothing. She didn’t enjoy being treated like Cutter’s possession in front of these men, but she could understand why he did it. Cutter’s claim on her was probably something they respected. Right now wasn’t the time to be going on about her independence.

The other man shrugged, giving Leslie another fleeting look. She was glad when he turned away. There was more conversation among the men, then Cutter spoke up, rattling off a string of Spanish in an authoritative manner. The leader of their guards stepped away from the group and motioned for Leslie and Cutter to follow him. When they started forward with their donkeys in tow, he shook his head and spoke a few words. Cutter responded, and the man shrugged and nodded. Cutter walked over to one of the donkey’s and dug into the pack on his back while the guard watched him closely. Cutter removed a few things from it, including their bedrolls, quickly wrapped them into a bundle and turned to Leslie.

“Here, carry this,” he ordered, tossing her the bundle. Startled, Leslie automatically caught it. The guard started off and Cutter followed him without even a backward glance at Leslie. Irritated, she set out after them.

The men led them to one of the small thatched huts. Cutter ducked under the low door frame and entered, Leslie on his heels. The guard remained outside. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but Leslie could make out that the tiny room was empty save for an object in one corner, which she assumed was a bed.