his
ears. He held the pouch high, stared at the Indian, then shook the
pouch so the coins rattled.
The silence that followed was broken suddenly
by a sighing sound as the last air left the body of the dead child.
Great Owl jerked his horse back and glanced away, reminding Marco
just how superstitious The People could be. Someone shrieked. A
woman moaned and fainted.
“ Show me,” Owl said, his voice more
subdued now. He angled his horse away from the little body lying in
the dust.
Marco took the coins from the pouch and held
them up. He reached in the pouch again, pulling out all the smaller
coins too.
“ Hand them to me,” Owl said, his
voice softer still.
“ After the girl dismounts and comes
to stand beside me,” Marco said, knowing this was the most critical
moment in the whole, terrible affair. He listened with real relief
to hear someone close by clicking rosary beads and praying out loud
in Latin. Please, Mother Mary and all the saints , he
thought. Intercede for us here, you who sacrificed your Holy
Child .
He let out a small sigh of relief when the
Indian holding the rope around the girl’s neck dropped it. With a
flash of brown legs, the captive leaped off the horse and ran to
stand behind him. He heard her ragged breathing nearly in his ear,
because she was taller than Paloma.
“ The other child?” Marco said, after
he handed all his horse money to Great Owl.
He turned his back on the Indian riders and
took his place beside the young girl. Marco looked at the circle of
fair goers, their faces so serious. The priest who had been praying
came forward and knelt beside the dead child. He picked up the
little one and walked toward the church, cradling the ill-used
body.
“ The other child?” Marco asked
again. He turned around to look directly at Enrique Rojas, his eyes
boring into the weak man who would now and forever in New Mexico be
branded as a fool and a coward, whether those titles were truly
justified or not; the man was simply too green for this harsh land.
Maybe he could succeed elsewhere. “Come, señor, I know the governor
gave you money for horses.”
“ That belongs to the Treasury,”
Rojas began. Someone behind him in the crowd threw a shoe. Another
followed, then another. “Very well!” he exclaimed, his face the
color of the red dirt plastered on the church where the priest
stood with the small corpse in his arms.
Rojas’ hands shook too hard for him to even
open the pouch, much less remove it from his belt. One of the
soldiers in the crowd slit the strings and the pouch dropped to the
ground.
Great Owl laughed out loud as the lawyer
groveled in the earth, picking up coins and then in his terror
dropping them.
“ Dos reales ,” the man said,
fear raising his voice an octave or two, which made the Comanches
laugh harder. Some of the people in the crowd were smiling
now.
“ Bring the money here,” Great Owl
ordered.
The lawyer sobbed and sank to his knees. Marco
snatched the coins from him and walked to Great Owl again. He held
the coins just out of reach.
“ See here, Great Owl, I do not think
this child is all Spanish either, and look, he has a shriveled arm!
I didn’t notice that before. This is more than enough.”
Maybe he had overplayed his hand, maybe not.
Two reales would have bought the best horse in the traders’ remuda . He had no money for those matched bays
now.
Great Owl gave him such a stare, as if
memorizing his face and storing up his vision of this bold New
Mexican for use in the future. So be it , Marco told himself. Our lives are all in the hands of God .
He held his breath until the Comanche shifted
in his saddle and lip-pointed toward the child, who hadn’t raised
his eyes from the space between the horse’s ears, so cowed was
he.
The captor looped the rope around the child’s
arm and playfully lowered him to the ground as the little boy
struggled to loosen the noose around his neck. Marco ran forward
and grabbed him. He lifted off the
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