terror growing within her. She began to see their faces, and they were

frightening. Most were Mexicans, dark, with long, scruffy beards and

heavy, dipping mustaches. They wore hats and shirts and trousers and

boots; many wore blankets over their shoulders.

All were heavily armed, some with shell cases crisscrossed over their

chests.

They would not run out of bullets in a fight. There were Indians, too.

Renegades of many tribes, Tess thought, Apache, Comanche, Navaho, some

in the Mexican regalia of their comrades, others in more traditional

buckskin, at least two of them in simple breech routs riding nearly

naked in the wind, hooting their triumph and their catcalls, racing

around and around the three of them again and again.

They meant to terrify her! Tess thought angrily. Well, supposedly she

wasn't in danger yet, even if she was so frightened that she wasn't sure

if she could talk or move. David had been a nightmare, but this was far

worse.

Any dreams she had entertained of rescue fell crashing down into a

horrible pit of despair. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life.

She swore, though, that she would not cower before these men who were so

determined to unnerve her. They wanted to see tears, she thought. Panic

and hysteria. She was close to giving them all that they desired, but

she locked her jaw against its trembling and raised her chin. And as the

Comancheros raced by her one by one, she kept her eyes levelly upon

them, and she ignored the dirt that rose to choke her, bringing tears to

her eyes. She sat very still, and she waited.

The horsemen rushed by, then doubled back, bringing their horses to a

halt behind her. Jeremiah and David swung around to face them. Tess

didn't know whether to find pleasure or new anxiety in the fact that her

captors seemed as unnerved as she by the rugged Comancheros. The

Comancheros were all lined up again, and silent once more. The leader

emerged, edging his horse forward. He was frightening indeed, with

coal-dark hair and coal-dark eyes and a dark olive complexion. He had a

great, drooping, handlebar mustache, and though he grew no beard, the

rest of his face was not clean shaven. A western hat sat atop his head,

the brim pulled low. His chest was crisscrossed with ammunition, and a

long, lean cigarillo fell in a slash from the corner of his mouth.

He paused before them and reached into his pocket, then struck a match

against his boot to light his cigarillo. He stared at Tess, a smile

forming on his features. "So, amigos, the goods are delivered, eh?" He

smiled, staring at Tess. She returned his gaze. His smile deepened. "She

stares at me hard.~Maybe she will be just what Nalte desires. Untie her

hands."

"Chavez, she is dangerous," Jeremiah warned him. "Dangerous? One little

blond girl is dangerous when there are a hundred men around her? I told

you--untie her hands. Send her to me."

Tess felt the movement as Jeremiah reached for his knife. She heard the

rasping sound as he severed the ties that bound her hands together.

Instinctively she brought her hands before her, massaging her wrists

where the rope had burned them.

"Come down here, nirut," Chavez ordered.

She was ready to defy him; Jeremiah was not. He dismounted quickly from

the horse and reached for Tess. He set her hastily on the ground, then

moved away from her as if she were a rattler.

"There she is, good as new, just as we promised. Now, where is the gold,

Chavez?"

Chavez motioned to one of the men behind him, a half- naked Indian

wearing a headband of eagle feathers, a breech clout twin leather strips

of rifle bullets and nothing more.

He carried a small leather satchel that he tossed to Jeremiah. Jeremiah

instantly opened the bag. He let out a joyous whoop and looked to David.

alpache Summer "Gold. I mean gold!" He bit the coins, smiling wolfishly.

"See, David, it was all worth it!"

"Wait, my friend," Chavez said. He took a step closer to Tess.

"These rat piss, they did not touch you?"

Tess narrowed her eyes, then thought of her own safety. "No, they did

not touch me."

Chavez nodded.

"Nalte, he does not like to be he- trayed." He raised his voice,

shouting in Spanish. A Mexican rode up leading a small pinto pony.

"You," he told Jeremiah and David.

"You are done. You go. That is all.

And you, woman, you will ride this horse."

She did not move. Jeremiah mounted his horse once again, but Tess made

no move. Angry, Chavez urged his mount forward until his large buckskin

was nearly stepping upon her.

Still, she did not move.

"Ni~a" -- "I'm not a girl, Chavez, and I have a name. It's Miss.

Stuart."

Chavez started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he crunched down on his

cigarillo. He nearly swallowed part of it and started to choke.

When he caught his breath, he dismounted from his horse and thundered

furiously over to her. He was a short man, she thought. One who looked

much better on a horse than standing. She was almost as tall as he. She

would be taller.

She raised her chin and met his stare.

"Get on the horse," he said. Still, she refused to move. "Eh, nifta, I

am talking to you." He reached out a hard, callused palm and set it

against her cheek. Tess slapped him with all the strength in her.

There was silence from every man there.

Then Chavez let loose with a spate of Spanish oaths. Tess thought he

would strike her, but he did not. He lifted her, setting her upon the

bare back of the pinto. She fought and clawed at him. His hat went

flying into the dirt.

Her nail imprinted a bright line upon his unshaven cheek. He swore

again, stooping to swoop up his hat.

"Hey, Chavez!" David snickered.

"We warned you she was dangerous."

Chavez calmly pulled out his pistol and shot David through the heart.

Tess, who had despised David, nearly gasped aloud. She clenched her

chattering teeth, managing to remain immobile and silent as she watched

the red stain flare out on David's shirt.

His eyes widened, and then glazed over, and he crashed down from his

horse.

He had deserved it. He had savagely, heinously attacked Jamie. He had

nearly raped her. And yet the cold brutality of his shooting sent waves

of shock rippling within her. "You--you shouldn't have done that,"

Jeremiah stuttered, shocked.

"Mr. von Heusen, he" -- Jeremiah's words broke off in a scream as he saw

Chavez lowering the still smoking pistolin his direction. Chavez was not

a man of mercy. The pistol barked again.

That time Tess did scream. She catapulted from the pinto horse and threw

herself against Chavez, clawing, raking, pummeling him. He swore,

dropping the pistol, ducking her blows, trying desperately to seize her

wrists.

Finally he had her. His heavy arms locked around hers, and she was

assailed with the scents of onion and sour breath and unwashed human

flesh. A sickness nearly overwhelmed her, and she locked her jaw,

standing very still as he stared into her eyes with his own coal-black

ones.

"Don't be too dangerous--Miss. Stuart. You see how I deal with people

who can no longer serve me. You will behave until we have delivered you

to Nalte.

Do you understand?"

"No, I do not. I do not, because I do not give a damn!" He swore again,

savagely. His arms tightened around her as if he intended to break every

rib in her body, but as suddenly he released her, thrusting her into the

dirt.

The dust rose high around her. Tess started to cough and choke. Chavez

wrenched her up and helped her onto the pinto pony. The horse protested,

letting out a shrill sound and prancing back and forth.

"You will ride!" Chavez yelled, his eyes black upon her. Trying to

maintain her balance, Tess reached for the reins.

She wanted to protest; she wanted to fight.

But she said no more. She held the reins and leveled a glare at Chavez.

She didn't want to be bound once again. At least she was not tied, and

the pinto pony was sound and sturdy. Her dreams had escaped her, but now

they were finding a rebirth. There were a hundred men surrounding her,

but feeling the power of the horse beneath her, the determination

reawakened within her that she would escape. She would survive.

"Ride!" Chavez roared again. She was going to obey him, and he knew it.

He started to laugh.

"Miss. Smart. Yes, Miss. Smart, you must ride! Nalte is waiting!" The

Comancheros shrieked again. Men lifted their rifles in the air; some

chanted.

Horses pranced around, and their hooves hit the dust. Then they were

off.

Tess found herself holding tight to the pinto lest she be thrown and

trampled in the stampede.

"Damn?"

High atop a cliff where the mountain range began its craggy rise to the

sky, Jamie threw himself against a rock near his perch overlooking the

broad, dusty plain below. He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them

to stare across at Jon, who was still squatting on the flats of his

feet, stating down at the riders who were racing away in a cloud of