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Jewel and I stood mute in the circle of Indians that seemed to press closer. They seemed to have forgotten us for the moment in their admiration of the plunder that had been brought back to the camp, but the malicious, sidelong glances of some of the women warned us that it would not be for long.
It was then that I noticed a warrior taller than the others, wearing an old cavalry jacket for warmth. He sauntered up casually and the others made way for him. I saw his eyes rest on me for a casual moment, and they seemed lighter in color than the eyes of the others. His features too, were different from those of the other men, his nose was straighter, his mouth not as wide. There was a strange, nagging air of familiarity about him, and I think it was because my wits had suddenly been sharpened by both terror and despair that I began to wonder if it could be possible… yes, and why not? A chance in a hundred, perhaps, but words spoken to me what seemed ages ago flashed into my mind.
“Julio, the second son, stayed with the Apache. Took himself a wife.”
I suddenly knew that this man reminded me of Ramon Kordes. A coincidence? Perhaps. But it was still possible, still worth taking a chance on. I did not dare speak yet, but almost unconsciously I had straightened, wiping the back of my torn sleeve across my face.
As I had hoped it would, the slight movement brought his attention to me. His eyes flickered over me, and boldly, I caught their glance with my own. I thought he frowned slightly, that he would have spoken if etiquette had not prevented his doing so. He spoke to the warrior who had captured me and they appeared to be bargaining or arguing back and forth. I could not help the sudden hope that sprang up in me, and stood even straighter, staring at him, willing him to look in my direction again. Instead, he spoke to a small boy who had been standing at his side. The child ran off, and my hand closed comfortingly around Jewel’s wrist. She had helped me through those first difficult hours. I wanted to help her, to comfort her in some way, even though she appeared to have given up hope and stood drooping wearily at my side.
The talking began again, in a more restrained fashion, although from the glances that were thrown at me I was almost certain now that they were bargaining.
But for what? A share of the silver, or…
For the first time, I realized there were others in the camp who were not Indians. Two men, who had been blurred shapes before a fire, walked up. The one in the lead looked as if he had Mexican blood in him. He wore crossed bandoliers and sported a bandit’s moustache. I did not care for the way he looked me over; his eyes going from me to Jewel, and back again.
He spoke to the tall warrior, and he spoke in Spanish I understood too clearly.
“So we were right in thinking there’d be plunder to bargain for. And the women—are they for sale too?”
“You think they are worth trading for? The one with the bright hair, perhaps. The other—I do not know if my friend will trade for her. She does not look like much but she is strong, he tells me.” The warrior’s voice took on a deeper, slightly contemptuous note. “I thought you came to trade for silver, and not for women, who are common enough.”
In spite of the disdain in his words I thought that perhaps he did not like the idea that I might be sold to this other man, who was clearly an outsider of some kind. A comanchero? Almost at the same time that the thought came to me I saw the other man who came up, his thumbs thrust into his belt He came shrugging, as if reluctantly.
“Siquisn, I thought we would bargain across a fire, like men. What is the hurry?”
The Mexican who looked like a bandit turned with a laugh.
“But we have more than silver here, amigo, although I do not think your brother is eager to trade for the dark-haired one, eh?”
He looked at me then, and my mouth formed his name.
“Lucas Cord!” I think there was hate in my voice. He was here, trading for silver bought in blood. Comanchero. All the worst things I had heard and been forced to believe.
Perhaps he would not have recognized me if I had not spoken. I saw his eyes widen and then narrow, and then his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. There was a stillness all around us. Even my captor looked taken aback. Julio, for it could be no one else, said slowly, “You know this woman, my brother?”
He had the insolence to speak to me.
“Are you sure we know each other? You do not look very much like the clean and sharp-tongued lady I remember. Let’s see—it was in your bedroom, was it not?”
“Oh! Why, you’re a… a…”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to get on your high horse. And now be quiet!”
His sudden harshness startled me into silence, and a realization of the position I was in.
I watched them argue. Lucas Cord had lapsed into Apache and his comanchero friend did not seem too happy about it.
The argument seemed first between Lucas and his brother, switching to cross-talk with the warrior whose captive I was. I did not think Apaches could smile, but some of the warriors seemed to be hiding their amusement behind their hands. What was he saying?
After a particularly sharp exchange, Lucas Cord turned on his heel and stalked off, his friend following him, grumbling in Spanish, “But the silver! We came to bargain for silver!”
“I leave that to you, ’Gado!” I heard him say.
“What is happening? Do you know one of them?” Jewel’s frantic whisper roused me, and I squeezed her wrist again.
“I’m not sure.” Julio looked darkly at me. Even when his brother came back, carrying a long case, he hardly turned his eyes away.
But Lucas did not glance once in my direction, as he opened the case to reveal a sleek, silver-ornamented rifle.
