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“Why, not exactly,” she said slowly, as if trying to remember. “She—I believe she was very young—only fifteen or sixteen—and very pretty, in a wild sort of way.”
“Did—did my father ever speak of her?” Something impelled me to ask the question, and Corinne gave me a rather puzzled stare.
“I—I can’t remember! But he must have been fond of her, for I know he taught her to read and write, and of course, later, he saved her life.”
She was tactful enough not to ask why I questioned her as she went on with the story in a hushed voice.
My father and Todd Shannon had returned from their expedition within a matter of weeks, only to find that while they had been away, the Indians had attacked. Their house was burned, their cattle stampeded, and worst tragedy of all, both Alma and her son were dead.
“One of the vaqueros survived long enough to tell what had happened. He said that Alejandro Kordes and some of his comancheros had taken part in the attack. Perhaps he didn’t know that his sister had been left behind. The house had begun to burn and she ran outside, carrying her child. An Indian arrow killed them both.”
“Oh, no!”
“The old vaquero said that before he became unconscious he saw Alejandro Kordes run forward, shouting like a madman. He said he wept as he knelt by his sister’s body.”
“And then? What of Elena? Was she killed too?”
Corinne shook her head, her small face unusually grim.
“That is what really started the feud. Just before Uncle Todd left, he’d had some kind of disagreement with her. He never liked Indians, you see, and he hadn’t wanted Elena there at all. A few days after he left, she had run away without a word. Later, he blamed her. He said she had called
her people down on the ranch, as her revenge.”
“But my father?”
“You must understand, Rowena, that Uncle Todd was like a wild animal, crazed with grief and hatred. He would have gone after the Indians and his brother-in-law alone, if your father had not stopped him. And then, to make matters worse, a few days later, Elena came back. It—it appeared—” Corinne lowered her voice conspiratorially, giving me rather an embarrassed look. “It appeared that she was—well, expecting a child. They always hushed their voices when they started talking about that part of the story, and I was ordered out of the room, but my mama told me later, when I was old enough, that Elena had been in love with Uncle Todd, and that the child she was expecting was his.”
“Oh, God. What did he do when she turned up?”
“He almost killed her, that’s what! He would have, if Uncle Guy had not dragged him off, after he started beating her. She lost her child, and it was Uncle Guy, your father, who nursed her back to health. But as soon as she was well enough, she ran away again, back to her people.”
“That couldn’t have been the end of it. How did the feud you were talking about begin?”
Corinne sighed.
“Oh, Rowena, that was the worst part of it! It wasn’t long before Elena had run off that the rumors began filtering back. She married Alejandro Kordes, of all people! Don’t you see how it must have looked to Uncle Todd? He felt it proved that Elena and Alejandro had been in league all the time!”
There was more to the story, of course, but Corinne had been too young at the time to remember too many details. I was to hear it told again later, in all its facets, some of it related in my father’s meticulously kept journals and some of it from the protagonists themselves. But I am going too fast—for many things were to happen before I was to know the whole of the truth.
First of all, I was to meet the strange and rather enigmatic Mr. Elmer Bragg, the ex-Pinkerton man to whom my father had referred in his last letter to me. It was my father’s legal adviser, Judge Fleming, who reminded me to seek him out.
“He is—well, a rather rough man, who puts on a show of illiteracy, although he’s self-educated, one of those men who are referred to in the west as ‘frontier lawyers.’ He was an excellent detective, though, and I know that my friend Allan Pinkerton was sorry to lose him when he insisted upon retirement. You know the saying—‘Old soldiers never die’? Mr. Bragg is a living example of it. He has officially retired, but he is not the kind of man who likes to remain idle. He takes on cases from time to time. Your father and he were friends, and I have the impression that he is in Boston at this moment for the particular purpose of meeting you.”
“He hasn’t attempted to meet me.”
Judge Fleming nodded in a self-satisfied manner.
“Of course not. That is not Elmer Bragg’s way. He knows of your father’s letter to you, and I think he is waiting for you to contact him.” He gave me a rather apologetic smile. “I’ve warned you, my dear, that Elmer Bragg is a rather eccentric man. This is typical of his way of going about things. I suppose he thinks that if you need his help or advice you will make some effort to seek him out.”
In the end, I did exactly this—partly because my father had advised me to do so, and partly because I was intrigued by Judge Fleming’s rather evasive comments about this Mr. Elmer Bragg.
I had decided to remain in Boston for a while until certain legal technicalities had been settled, so I had time on my hands. Besides, I wasn’t anxious to travel to New Mexico until I knew more about what I would have to face. It occurred to me that this mysterious Mr. Bragg, being a Westerner himself, would be just the person to give me the advice I needed. And I was right in this assumption, for our very first meeting proved informative.
Four
“You’re a sensible, self-possessed young lady, I see,” Mr. Bragg complimented me in his gruff, rather grumbling manner. His eyes, shrewd under bushy, grizzled brows, swept over me quickly, and then he gave an almost imperceptible, satisfied nod. “Yes,” he continued, as if there had been no pause in his speech, “I must say that you’re a pleasant surprise! Didn’t know what I’d have to deal with, if you’ll excuse my blunt manner of speech. After all, even Guy knew nothing very much about you, except that the old earl, his father, was determined to bring you up according to his notions. And you’re a highly educated young lady, too, I understand. That would have made your pa happy, for he set great store on education. What makes me happy is that you seem sensible as well as being pretty. Unusual combination in a female!”
I didn’t know whether I should laugh or be angry with his abrupt manner, but I managed to retain enough composure to return Mr. Bragg’s curious stare with a long, measuring look of my own. Then he began to smile, tugging at his large, untidy moustache.
