and went. They knew on what day the family went to church in the village, at what hour they departed, knew that Geraldo’s mother always drove the one-horse buggy with the boy on the seat beside her, that his father always rode his horse alongside, carrying their infant daughter on the saddle in front of him. They knew that where the trail narrowed in a small pass between the rocks, the man had to drop back to allow the buggy to pass first. And it was in this place that Indio Juan planned to abduct the boy.
Because she was nimble and small enough to operate in the close confines of the buggy, Indio Juan gave the girl the job of taking charge of the reins and the boy, while he himself cut the woman’s throat. The two of them crouched together on the rocks above the pass, waiting for their moment, while the others stayed with the horses farther up the trail. And as the buggy passed beneath, they fell upon it, dropped soundlessly from the sky with nothing but the faintest rush of displaced air to warn the hapless churchgoers. Maria Huerta looked up in that instant and it must have seemed as if enormous birds of prey were stooping upon her from the heavens, blocking out the sun. Her eyes were wide with terror as Indio Juan fell onto her back, took hold of her hair, snapped her head backward, and drew the knife across her throat. In the same instant, the girl dropped onto the buggy seat beside her and gently took the reins from the woman’s yielding hands as if Maria Huerta were herself complicit in the abduction. She remembered how the Mexican woman had looked at her in that moment, the surprise and terror in her eyes, how she had tried to cry out for her son, but nothing came forth but a final rush of escaping breath from her severed windpipe to which she raised a futile hand to stem the geyser of warm blood that spilled flowing down her breast. The girl had seen a great deal of violence and death already in her short life, and she had been brought up to consider all Mexicans her enemies. Yet as she looked in the woman’s dying eyes all she saw was the heartbreak of a mother taken from her child.
As the woman tumbled lifelessly from the buggy like a limp child’s doll in her Sunday dress, Indio Juan climbed onto the back of the buggy horse and cut the traces of the harness. The girl gathered up the screaming boy, holding him tight, and leaped nimbly on the horse behind Juan, and they rode off down the trail to join the others. Behind them, the husband and father, Fernando Huerta, bellowed in rage and anguish, but as they had counted on, he did not dare ride forward in pursuit, for he still held his baby daughter in his arms.
She did not sleep long, and when she awoke in the cave she was fully alert and lay listening for several minutes. She peered cautiously through the opening of the cave, unable to see the ridgetop from her hiding place. If she stayed low and moved carefully, she could conceal her movements behind the rocks. She would certainly hear the old man if he was nearby, for the rattling of the dog’s chain would betray him. Unlike the People, who had moved through this country for centuries as soundlessly as a breath of wind, both the Mexicans and the White Eyes were clumsy and made a great deal of noise when they traveled.
She slipped from the cave and began working her way toward the arroyo up which the old White Eyes had himself ridden. He would be searching for her in the rocks or keeping to the ridge hoping to intercept her if she came over the top. He would not expect her to double back and pick up his old trail up the arroyo.
When she reached it, she made her way quickly to the top, running lightly over the rocks, her feet barely seeming to graze the ground as she ran. At the head of the draw she peered carefully over the top, hoping to spot the White Eyes’ mule. And there it stood, dozing in the afternoon sun, head hanging low, eyes hooded, ears laid back, one hobbled front hoof cocked in
Because she was nimble and small enough to operate in the close confines of the buggy, Indio Juan gave the girl the job of taking charge of the reins and the boy, while he himself cut the woman’s throat. The two of them crouched together on the rocks above the pass, waiting for their moment, while the others stayed with the horses farther up the trail. And as the buggy passed beneath, they fell upon it, dropped soundlessly from the sky with nothing but the faintest rush of displaced air to warn the hapless churchgoers. Maria Huerta looked up in that instant and it must have seemed as if enormous birds of prey were stooping upon her from the heavens, blocking out the sun. Her eyes were wide with terror as Indio Juan fell onto her back, took hold of her hair, snapped her head backward, and drew the knife across her throat. In the same instant, the girl dropped onto the buggy seat beside her and gently took the reins from the woman’s yielding hands as if Maria Huerta were herself complicit in the abduction. She remembered how the Mexican woman had looked at her in that moment, the surprise and terror in her eyes, how she had tried to cry out for her son, but nothing came forth but a final rush of escaping breath from her severed windpipe to which she raised a futile hand to stem the geyser of warm blood that spilled flowing down her breast. The girl had seen a great deal of violence and death already in her short life, and she had been brought up to consider all Mexicans her enemies. Yet as she looked in the woman’s dying eyes all she saw was the heartbreak of a mother taken from her child.
As the woman tumbled lifelessly from the buggy like a limp child’s doll in her Sunday dress, Indio Juan climbed onto the back of the buggy horse and cut the traces of the harness. The girl gathered up the screaming boy, holding him tight, and leaped nimbly on the horse behind Juan, and they rode off down the trail to join the others. Behind them, the husband and father, Fernando Huerta, bellowed in rage and anguish, but as they had counted on, he did not dare ride forward in pursuit, for he still held his baby daughter in his arms.
She did not sleep long, and when she awoke in the cave she was fully alert and lay listening for several minutes. She peered cautiously through the opening of the cave, unable to see the ridgetop from her hiding place. If she stayed low and moved carefully, she could conceal her movements behind the rocks. She would certainly hear the old man if he was nearby, for the rattling of the dog’s chain would betray him. Unlike the People, who had moved through this country for centuries as soundlessly as a breath of wind, both the Mexicans and the White Eyes were clumsy and made a great deal of noise when they traveled.
She slipped from the cave and began working her way toward the arroyo up which the old White Eyes had himself ridden. He would be searching for her in the rocks or keeping to the ridge hoping to intercept her if she came over the top. He would not expect her to double back and pick up his old trail up the arroyo.
When she reached it, she made her way quickly to the top, running lightly over the rocks, her feet barely seeming to graze the ground as she ran. At the head of the draw she peered carefully over the top, hoping to spot the White Eyes’ mule. And there it stood, dozing in the afternoon sun, head hanging low, eyes hooded, ears laid back, one hobbled front hoof cocked in
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