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judge them. I’m sure our use of horses is equally idiotic to them.” Once more, Teresa silenced him. “But those are just customs. What is key to know about them is that their god tells them not to welcome strangers. They most certainly follow that declaration even though they’re on our land now.”
    Alvito touched his liver and heart. “Santiago preserve us.”
    â€œAnd why would they come here?” Ramiro asked the question that had bothered him since the Northerners arrived.
    Teresa shrugged. “I’d love to talk to one and find out, cousin. Will you capture one for me?”
    Salvador looked thoughtful though Alvito laughed. “A good way for the bisoño to earn his beard, no? What say you, kiddo? Shall you capture a Northerner for your cousin?”
    Ramiro scowled. “Would that be so impossible?”
    â€œLeave off,” Salvador interrupted, with a glare at Alvito. “We didn’t come here to argue among ourselves, or to tease.”
    â€œ ‘A man without his beard is a source of potential possibility,’ ” Teresa quoted from an old proverb. “It is no shame, but a limitless prospect. One that makes a man think deeply and act bravely, cousin.”
    â€œExcept that without a beard, a man is no man, cousin,” Ramiro answered, annoyed. Now she sounded like his mother. “But a boy, no matter his age.”
    â€œLet’s get back to our mission,” Gomez said like the peacemaker he was. He had picked up his pace to ride closer. “The swamp witches. Is it true women are immune to their magic? That they beguile and drive men insane and foster an irrational hatred of anything male?”
    â€œWe have no idea if the magic works only on males,” Teresa said. “That, like most else, is only a rumor. There is no corroborating evidence of any women meeting a witch. There are few reports of men meeting them.” She wobbled on her gelding again, the smile vanishing. “Perhaps we’ll find out firsthand.”
    Ramiro stared at her. She might be here for her knowledge, but it could also just be because she was a woman and protected from the witches. It sounded like a decision his father would make: anything to increase their chances of success.
    What about the witches then? They preferred to dwell alone, away from the presence of men, even though it meant choosing the swamp over more desirable dry territory. Had their magic developed because a woman alone was so vulnerable? Did they really hate men?
    â€œSo there’s little information on the witches,” Alvito said with a twist of the head. “And isn’t that because no one survives an encounter with a witch? We’re all dead men who just haven’t realized it yet.”
    â€œTwo days until we reach the vast swamps of the western lands,” Salvador said. “And then, as Teresa said, we’ll find out firsthand. There’s no sense in letting our imagination have control.” He gestured ahead toward a massive pile of boulders that covered the cross trail running north and south. The wider, more used road north went toward Aveston. A powerful flood must have deposited the enormous rocks there years ago, where they caught in the depression between hills. “We’ll make camp after that crossroad. Catch a bit of sleep.”
    Ramiro’s heart lightened at the hint of a goal. Scattered brush and thick groupings of saguaro grew among the rocks, further screening the crossroad from view, but he hoped for a clear space close by. His seat was beginning to grow stiff. He couldn’t imagine the discomfort Teresa must be feeling, unaccustomed as she was to the saddle. Even Gomez the Inexhaustible urged his horse faster.
    The birdsongs had ceased, and their horses made little sound since the dust muffled their steps. As the company entered the crossroads, Ramiro cocked his head as the slight clink of metal beating against metal came