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cousins, Bill and Walter Clossen, who were surly to Ignacio upon occasion, stood to one side watching Charlie, a slender cowboy not much older than Ignacio. Charlie was talking earnestly to Teresa, leaning close to her, smiling and laughing, while Antonio, Ignacio’s fourteen-year-old brother, stood nervously nearby. Alarmed at such a sight, Ignacio made a beeline for them.
    “The señorita doesn’t speak English,” he said to Charlie as he approached.
    Charlie laughed. “I got that figured out all right, but I can tell she likes me anyhow.” He glanced at Teresa with the look of a hawk about to swoop up its prey. “Now, you go on and talk Mexican to the little lady for me. You tell her I like her mucho bueno, and that I’m gonna borrow me a horse and buggy on Sunday and come calling to take her for a ride.”
    “I cannot speak that to her,” Ignacio replied, glancing at Teresa. Although her eyes were lowered, she smiled sweetly at the cowboy.
    Charlie’s grin disappeared. “Sure you can. Just be a good Mexican and do as I say.”
    Ignacio shook his head. “Her father will not allow you his permission.”
    Teresa pulled at Ignacio’s sleeve. “What is he saying?” she asked in Spanish, her eyes fixed on the americano.
    For an instant Ignacio wished he had Charlie’s straw-colored hair and blue eyes. He switched to Spanish. “Nothing of importance.”
    Teresa’s mother was steps away, deep in conversation with some of the village women. He pulled Antonio along with him, walked over to Señora Armijo, and politely asked if he could dance with Teresa again once the music resumed.
    “Of course,” Señora Armijo replied with a smile, a bit perplexed by Ignacio’s request. There was no need to ask her permission.
    As she glanced around for her daughter, her smile froze when she caught sight of Teresa talking to the blond americano. She broke away from the chitchat, took Teresa by the arm, and led her away from the gringo.
    Charlie shot Ignacio a hard look and edged over to him. “You shouldn’t have done that, boy. I wasn’t finished talking to the lady.”
    “ Excusa, señor? ” Ignacio said innocently as he stood his ground and tried to keep his apprehension at bay. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
    Charlie bared his teeth. “Ain’t you just a sight, acting slow-witted and such. Don’t get uppity on me, boy, unless you want to go home, borrow your daddy’s pistola, and meet me outside.”
    Ignacio stiffened. “I have no querella with you.”
    Charlie smirked. “I bet you fancy that little chica yourself, don’t you, boy?”
    Ignacio could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks. He glanced at the pistola strapped to Charlie’s leg, swallowed hard, and said nothing.
    “Next time I tell you to do something, you jump to it, hear me, boy?” Charlie patted his pistol for emphasis. “Now, get.”
    Ignacio slowly turned away, angry at himself for not standing up to Charlie, certain that in his first test of manhood he’d failed dismally. Behind him he heard Charlie and the gringo Clossen cousins laughing at him. On the other side of the dance floor Teresa gazed at Charlie, that coy smile still on her lips. Never had she ever smiled at him that way. There and then Ignacio vowed that when he had money, instead of books he would buy a pistol and learn how to use it.
    The music started up again. He walked over to Teresa and asked her to dance. She refused and would not talk to him for the rest of the night.

7
     
    J ohn Kerney had been on the Tularosa for nearly a year, and the land still amazed and awed him. Mountains rose east and west of the wide basin, making for endless brilliant sunrises and astonishing sunsets. Under crystal-clear, deep blue skies, he could see in sharp detail a hundred miles up and down the range, from the northerly lava badlands the Mexicans called the malpais, past the gleaming waves of blinding white sand dunes that stretched for miles over the basin, beyond to the