Coyote (16 page)

The last of the sandy haze dropped away as we climbed the final hill. The air was clear again and shimmering in the heat. Ahead, in the flat red dirt, lay a sea of bracken and wild grasses and somewhere in the centre of that sea floated the Convent of Our Lady of the Wilderness, marooned as surely as if it was on an island.

I brought the mares to a halt, watered them and stripped them of their gear. Then I checked their hooves, rubbed them down and fed them. I had to keep them in tiptop condition; my life and theirs depended on it.

They wandered, scrounging for more food, while I sat on the rocky peak of the hill overlooking the red plain. According to the friar, the convent sat in the middle of the Plaza del Sol, a red plain that lay at the feet of the Santa Avia Mountains. I checked my compass and then lifted my binoculars.

Hmm, couldn't see anything — no dwelling, no structure of any kind.

Just as I was about to give up, I found it. I adjusted my focus. It sure didn't look like any convent I'd ever heard about.

It had been hard to make out as the red adobe walls blended into its surroundings like a sculptured ants' mound. The convent was really a walled compound, flattish and fitted to the earth like a crust on a skin. That was professional camouflage … If I hadn't been using my binoculars I would've ridden right through this plain and never even known it was there.

I focused in again.

Strong, defensible walls surrounded the central complex, in the middle of which rose an adobe red watchtower. With a guard scanning the plain. I caught an answering gleam. Yeah, I'd seen them — but they'd also seen me.

So the convent had a manned, camouflaged watchtower that could see at least two miles in every direction?

I repacked my gear, saddled up and headed down for a visit. The guard in the watchtower scanned me every step of the way. As I came up to the walls, I could hear the bell in the lookout tower still ringing. Two women dressed in rough red-brown habits with matching head veils stared down at me. They were as camouflaged as the walls they defended. They were both armed with rifles, cocked and ready.

Armed nuns in camo … how very interesting.

The taller one addressed me in Spanish-accented English. She was decisive and unmovable. When I refused to ride on without speaking to the Abbess, I was told I would be let in only after I had dismounted and laid down all my weapons.

I complied.

The red painted gates opened.

Two more armed nuns came out, took my guns and led my horses through. A third walked at my side, her rifle ready.

Inside was a complete surprise. In the central courtyard there was a fully stocked vegetable garden, chickens and a flock of sheep all surrounding a well with an efficient pump installed. From the flourishing garden it had to yield a sizable draught.

I licked my cracked lips; I was glad not to have to plan another stop to fill my canteens. I'd learnt how to find water in the desert the hard way. Once, when I was a stupid young kid, I'd gotten lost on Des Carmichael's family cattle station in Western Australia. I'd been sent there to keep me out of trouble — but it hadn't worked out that way. I'd still managed to almost get myself killed in a variety of ingenious ways and given recurring nightmares to all the adults involved.

But at least after that I'd learnt how to find water in a desert. Some kinds of lessons tend to stick.

I turned in a circle, taking it all in. The walls, the watchtower, the weapons … I was betting there was a grain storage silo somewhere in this complex too. These women were ready for a siege.

They may've been given a death sentence but they sure weren't going quietly.

While I was busy sizing up the compound with three rifles still aimed at my torso, a pretty young nun, maybe fourteen years old, ran up to coo over my black beauties. She helped me water them and then, with my permission, she led them off to the stables to be tended. From the way their greedy eyes followed her, they knew more food was on the agenda.

I followed the girl with my eyes. What was a fourteen-year-old doing here? These nuns had been cast into this wilderness many years before she was even born.

The nuns who were guarding me refused to answer my questions; instead they silently escorted me into the central building. They were all tall and lean in their coarse red-brown habits and, judging by their hands and forearms, as muscular and tough as forging a living out of the desert can make you. But they weren't afraid, and these Hispanic women certainly weren't cowering here in their foreign prison. No … they all had that clear-eyed stare that an uninterrupted horizon gives and the intense focus of a person living their chosen life.

No, they were definitely not afraid.

But why not?

The main building was cool and surprisingly elegant. Heavy dark wood furniture, elaborately carved and upholstered, filled the spacious rooms and oil paintings of haughty Spanish noble women with mantillas and fans lined the walls. I'd expected stark rooms relieved only by sombre religious paraphernalia and instead I got some Spanish grandee's richly appointed hacienda. I was ushered into a waiting room, offered water in a heavy goblet and made as comfortable as was possible given my saddle-sore derrière. I hadn't been riding in two years.

I turned the goblet in the light. It was crystal.

My guards only left when an older nun flowed into the room. She had the same hooked beak as the grandees in the paintings but smiling dark eyes that charmed you away from focusing on it.

She introduced herself as Sister Teresa. ‘Caballero,
are you lost?' she asked in perfect English. Obviously they weren't used to visitors.

Another equally tall nun bustled in to stand at Sister Teresa's shoulder and listen to my answers. She had a stern visage with eyebrows that rose like black crow's wings above her black eyes. From the way she scowled down at me it looked like it was going to be a good cop, bad cop kind of interrogation.

‘So who are you, and what are you doing out this far? Don't you know this is hostile territory?' barked the stern nun.

I wanted to ask her exactly the same question.

‘It's all right, Sister Annunciata. Look at him, he's just a boy; let him rest for a moment.'

Good. I stifled a smile; they hadn't recognised my cover.

Sister Annunciata replied curtly, in Spanish, that no one was to be trusted.

Their bickering about what to do with me lasted for a few more minutes. I kept my face blank. Let them feel safe in speaking Spanish in front of me.

Then Sister Annunciata turned and barked, ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I've come from Santa Fe to speak with the Abbess —'

From the fierce look on her face that wasn't the right answer. ‘You mean you came out here to find us?' she boomed. ‘Why? And how did you know where to come?'

My detective antennae shot up like a red flag at a car race.

That was a surprising amount of paranoia. Why was their location so top secret? They were smart enough and feisty enough to scrape a comfortable living out in the middle of an arid war zone,
surrounded by Native American nations who probably saw them as the worst kind of intruders … Yet they were concerned that little old baby-faced me had managed to find out where they were.

They certainly hadn't recognised me — so why was I the enemy?

I said, with care, ‘Brother Buenaventura gave me the directions.'

As soon as I spoke his name, the two nuns relaxed … well, a little anyway.

Perplexed, Sister Annunciata said, ‘But why would he —' Then she stopped, afraid that she was giving too much away to an intruder. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why exactly did you come out here?'

‘As I said … I need to talk with the Abbess.'

They exchanged a cool glance.

‘And why is that?' The stern nun stuck her face right into mine to make sure she could judge the truthfulness of my answer.

‘I've been told,' I said, as casually as possible, ‘that the Abbess knows where to find Spruce Tree Mesa.'

That put them back on full alert.

Sister Annunciata said a shade too quickly, ‘There's no such place. It's just a legend. It doesn't exist.'

I studied her — why was she lying?

‘Still … I want to ask the Abbess in person.'

‘You can't —'

Sister Teresa cut in to say more appeasingly, ‘I'm sorry you came all this way, my son. But Mother Leocadia is away — she won't be back for another two days.'

‘Away? Is she back in Santa Fe?' Brother Buenaventura had said they were prohibited from leaving the convent.

They exchanged glances.

‘No,' volunteered Sister Teresa. ‘Mother Leocadia is on a spiritual retreat … in the desert.'

I stopped my eyebrows from shooting into my hairline with disbelief. A lone nun out in hostile territory? The women who built this fortified convent weren't stupid enough for that. There was something else going on here that they were afraid I'd uncover.

‘I can't wait two days — tell me where the Abbess is and I'll find —'

‘We don't know where she is,' cut in Sister Annunciata. ‘You have to leave — immediately. No men, no outsiders, are allowed in the convent after dusk.'

I looked at Sister Teresa; she was torn on how to treat me. Was she really going to send me back into that desert? I tried to look as harmless and appealing as possible.

They exchanged another burst of Spanish. Teresa's soft heart won over Annunciata's harsh wisdom.

‘As long as you promise not to return,' said Sister Teresa, ‘you may rest above the stables tonight … but you must leave at sunrise.'

 

I sat in the room above the stables and watched the compound. They were spending more time on producing food and maintaining their fort than any displays of religious penitence I could see.

What was really going on here and why were they desperate to keep me away from the Abbess?

The young nun who had been spoiling my girls also brought me my dinner. She told me her family had fine horses back in Mexico, and that she missed them. I noticed she had a smaller version of the same hooked nose as Sister Teresa and the portraits of the fine Spanish ladies I'd seen in the main complex.

Hmm. One thing was certain: these women weren't street prostitutes or petty criminals. They were all aristocrats … every last, camo-clad one of them. What had these fine Spanish ladies done to make the Bishop of Mexico send them here? And how had these hidalgos known how to survive in this desert so successfully?

From my window I studied the nun in the watchtower as she searched the darkening horizon. She kept scanning south towards Santa Fe, the direction I'd come from … Why wasn't she looking north towards hostile territory? For whom exactly was she watching?

About 3 am I saw the watch nun light a lantern. She waved it three times to the northwest and an answering light responded up in the mountain range. She sent some kind of coded message and got a set of flashes in reply.

I had a good idea about the content of the message that'd just been sent. The nuns had let me stay the night to keep an eye on me and warn the Abbess.

At dawn they gave me back my guns. I checked my stores, filled up my canteens, saddled up my beauties and headed for the source of that distant lantern light.

I was riding Duquesa, leading Incendio, and Azucar was carrying my bags. It took me a while to find the lantern site hidden in between the toes of the Santa Avia Mountains. I rummaged around and found a recent set of tracks — of a rider leading their horse — and followed them to the base of a strange eagle-shaped rock. I scaled it and found a lantern tucked in a cleft at the top.

I used my binoculars to locate the Convent of Our Lady of the Wilderness. It was floating in the red plain, the Plaza del Sol. Yep, they were in a line with this rock — this was the place all right.

Then I looked over the other side of the eagle-shaped rock. It concealed the entryway to a steep-walled, narrow canyon. A single set of horse tracks — the same ones I'd just followed — led into it.

It had to be the Abbess — or someone closely connected to her.

I remounted Duquesa and we headed for the mouth of the narrow canyon … But Incendio snorted
and neighed at the entryway, as though catching a menacing scent. She jerked back on her lead rein and reared, hauling Duquesa and me to a decisive halt. Incendio wasn't afraid, she was incensed. She pawed the ground as though crushing an enemy's skull. She was giving me a warning. I studied the high walls of the canyon as it wound its way into the mountains.

Damn. There was no other way to follow the fresh tracks.

It was that or trudge back to Santa Fe and hope that Hector would reappear in time for me to search him.

Waiting wasn't my strong point.

Incendio could be scenting a mountain lion, so I pulled my rifle from my back and laid it across my lap. At least that's what I hoped she was sensing.

I called Incendio and she reluctantly complied, snorting as if to say, ‘Okay, if we must.' She moved up to my right side, nudging Azucar as she went. Azucar moved up on my left. Whatever Incendio could smell, we four were facing it together.

The narrow canyon twisted around and around like a labyrinth. It pulled us deep into the jagged heart of the steel-grey mountain range that towered above us. The high walls cast heavy shadows, corralling the diamond-clear light into a mere slit above our heads. It gave me the creeps. And from the way Incendio kept peering around each fresh twist and turn I could tell she was well and truly spooked too.

After half a mile the canyon narrowed even further, squeezing us closer and closer together.

It was an excellent place for an ambush.

By now all three mares were edgy, their liquid black eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching … I kept my own eyes up, checking the walls of the canyon. If it was a mountain lion then it'd come from
above, leap down onto one of the mares' necks and bite through their spinal cord.

That's if it didn't go for me.

And that's if it was a mountain lion.

Ahead the walls narrowed almost completely to a bottleneck. We'd have to squeeze through one at a time, our sides scraping against the hard rock. Only the sight of the recent horse tracks convinced me we could actually make it. I dismounted, tied Azucar's and Incendio's reins to their manes and led Duquesa. The bottleneck led into darkness, the sky above almost completely blocked out.

 

The old familiar feeling of claustrophobia crept over me like a plastic bag over my face. My heart was racing and I had trouble sucking in a full breath. You can shoot me out of a cannon, tie a rope to my foot and throw me off a cliff, but don't put me in any kind of confined space.

They are my worst nightmare. They unlock the darkest place in my soul.

Not a good fear to have for my kind of work. Over the years I'd tried every means I could to overcome it, and I never let it stop me, but when that choking feeling descended I had to fight to stay the course.

Anger usually worked. Angry was better than terrified …

Bloody Hector! Where was this bottleneck headed? Were we about to meet the owner of the lantern in complete darkness? Bloody pain-in-the-neck Hector!

A stone dropped and tumbled behind us. I swear I could hear something creeping ever so slowly. We were being stalked.

I raced for the light ahead, drawing the girls along with me. We burst out into the open, into a small
natural amphitheatre formed by the canyon walls. Beyond, the path narrowed again.

There was a bloodcurdling howl … human, I think, coming from the way ahead. I swung my rifle up and took aim.

‘Come to momma,' I muttered. Now I was furious, eager to vent my fear.

Through the gap raced, at full gallop, five men with their guns raised ready to fire. I couldn't tell who they were; they wore a weird mix of Western clothes and animal hides.

Without hesitation Incendio, Duquesa and Azucar surged in front of me, forming a protective barrier with their great muscular bodies.

‘No! Stop!' I yelled. ‘Come back!' But it was too late.

The cords in the mares' thick necks stood out as, together, they drew back their ears, bared their teeth and screamed an enraged battle cry that would've rivalled a T-Rex protecting its nest. The terrifying sound halted the riders dead in their tracks as it echoed deafeningly off the amphitheatre walls. Then my girls lunged into battle, their great heads straining forwards, lusting for combat. They swirled, biting and kicking the attackers and their mounts into panicked confusion, shoving them all right up against the canyon wall.

The riders never knew what hit them.

I just stood there, riveted in place and anxious. I couldn't use my rifle, I couldn't shoot — I'd hit my girls.

Then something knocked me from behind — took me right off my feet and down to the ground. My rifle went flying, discharging with an almighty boom as it hit the dirt.

What a fool I'd been. The frontal attack had just been a distraction …

I fell heavily but managed to grab my handgun as I went. I lay face up, my attacker on top and snarling down into my face. I slammed his pistol out of his hand with a numbing block to the wrist then grabbed his throat … hard, my fingers digging cruel inches deep into the flesh. His neck was surprisingly slim and soft. He gagged, his eyes bulging with pain and surprise.

I brought up my right hand with my pistol cocked, ready to blow his head off. ‘Tell your men to drop their guns,' I growled, jabbing the muzzle of my pistol into the side of his head, ‘… while you still can.'

As my attacker digested that order I pushed him off me, noticing he was surprisingly light and well padded. Then I saw his body. He was a she.

My attacker was female.

They all were.

 

With my pistol trained on her, I scooped up my rifle, slinging it back over my shoulder, then took the guerrilla leader's gun.

The woman's Spanish hidalgo features were the elder twin of the fourteen-year-old nun who'd cooed over my mares back at Our Lady of the Wilderness. But her black eyes were fixed in an expression as hard and sharp as if they were knives she could plunge through my heart. She was prepared to defend her territory to the death. Preferably mine.

‘I'm here on business, nothing more,' I said. ‘I just want to talk to your Abbess and then I'll be gone.'

Her eyes lit up in denial. ‘I don't know what you're talking about!'

‘Don't bother, sweetheart, yesterday your kid sister watered my horses. I know you're part of Our Lady of the Wilderness.'

I shucked out the bullets and then handed back her gun, handle first. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

My mares had the five riders packed like sardines up against the canyon wall, their teeth still bared and awaiting my orders. The riders must have submitted quickly or they'd have been stomped into the ground. And if these women had been real desperados, they would've shot my girls.

I dusted myself off and surveyed the leader and her crew. They were all female, all Hispanic.

What the hell were these women doing out in the middle of nowhere? And how had they learnt to ambush, guerrilla-style?

I whistled.

Incendio, Duquesa and Azucar spun in an instant and a second later were hanging over my shoulders, checking out the leader's intentions. They relaxed.

The woman stepped back a pace at the sight. ‘Who are you and what are you doing on our territory?' she challenged.

Our territory?

‘As I just told you,' I said with gritted teeth, ‘I've come to speak with the Abbess. I need her advice.' Surely that sounded sufficiently non-threatening?

The rest of her crew walked up to us, leading their trembling horses and skirting my girls' heels. They were all covered in dust and there were bruises and grazes here and there but nothing too serious. They'd been handled by professionals. The women eyed my three mares with a surreal combination of fear, awe and intense envy.

One of them said, ‘They're the Galindo mares, aren't they?'

I nodded.

The women sighed, like fans meeting their idols.

‘Men aren't allowed here,' barked the leader, irritated at her crew's disaffection. ‘How did you know how to find us?'

‘Brother Buenaventura told me,' I lied.

Her stunned expression said those were the magic words. They all went into a huddle, arguing in Spanish over what to do with me.

‘Just why do you need to speak to the Abbess?' barked the leader.

‘I'm just passing through … I need directions from her to reach my destination.' I added for good measure, ‘Brother Buenaventura said the Abbess would help me. That's why I'm here.'

That did it; they decided to take me with them. One girl raced ahead, the rest of us followed at a trot.