Harvest of Fury Read Free Page B

consent to leave it, move to the Socorro? Once before, when he was a boy, Apaches had driven him from this place. Pedro, now fifty, might well decide that this country would never be safe, take his herd and family, and depart with the aim of going far enough south to be out of the way of Apache raids.
    No one could blame him. But Talitha, mechanically noting the age of the cattle she passed by the rings around their horns, the wrinkles around their eyes, and the condition of their tails, prayed he would be steadfast.
    The Sanchezes were at dinner. Plump, motherly Carmencita scattered grandchildren to make room at the rough table, and soon all were relishing her perfect tortillas, tasty beans, and stewed wild turkey. Carmencita exclaimed over how the twins and Cat had grown and gave thanks to God that Talitha’s brother had returned from the devil Apaches.
    James showed his teeth. “ Señora , I myself am a devil Apache.”
    â€œYour poor mother was a captive. That is not your blame.”
    His hard grin widened. “No blame indeed to be the son of a great warrior and the foster son of Mangus.”
    Carmencita crossed herself at the feared name and hastily asked how little Tosalisewa thrived. After the health of all the children had been discussed, Talitha glanced up and down the table. The Sanchezes’ tall, quiet daughter, Juana, beside her mustached husband, Cheno Vasquez, his brother, skinny Francisco, on the other side. Next were the youngest Sanchez son, Natividad, his broad, friendly face looking younger than his thirty years, and his Papago wife, Mársat, a pretty girl with luxuriant black hair who laughed a lot and jingled her shell earrings flirtatiously. Güero, the oldest son, wasn’t there. Talitha didn’t inquire after him; if there’d been good news of the Sanchez black sheep, poor Carmencita would have been bursting with it. Though every man was needed, Talitha was relieved that he wasn’t here to watch her with his hot green eyes.
    All the men seemed made of rawhide, weathered and tough. Trained to horses and their woven leather ropes, or reatas , they knew every cañon and wooded thicket on the big ranch, every watering place, and if and when it would go dry. Even if new men could be found, it would take them years to learn the country as these vaqueros knew it. They were part of the place. Yet they must be given their chance to leave it.
    She told them the army posts were being abandoned, the troops pulled back to fight in the war between North and South.
    â€œAy,” said Carmencita, shaking her head. “That same war to which Don Patricio felt he must go, may the Virgin protect him!”
    Talitha nodded. “The Apaches don’t understand about the war. They just see troops leaving, the overland stage stopped, and think they’ve driven them out. This will look like their chance to get rid of all the settlers. I won’t blame you if you want to take your cattle and look for a safer spot in Mexico.”
    Pedro’s dark eyes studied her from his wrinkled, wise-monkey face. “And you, señorita? ” His gaze flicked to the O’Shea children sitting on the floor amid Vasquez and Sanchez youngsters. “You will refuge in Tucson with Don Patricio’s family?”
    â€œWe stay at Rancho Socorro.”
    â€œ Bueno . So do we.” He glanced at his son-in-law. “You, of course, Cheno, must decide for yourself, you and Francisco. Natividad?”
    â€œWith you, Father,” returned his younger son, grinning as happily as if he’d just been invited to a dance.
    Cheno caressed his mustache, then exchanged look with his brother Francisco, whose prominent Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Cheno shrugged, speaking for both of them. “What’s the difference? When one gets far enough south to be out of reach of Apaches, there are rebelling Yaquis and usually the last governor of Sonora is leading armies to