The veil of fear was torn from her eyes. The trembling woman was gone, a vengeful wildcat in her place. “Left me, Maldonado? Left his home, where he traps the Indian with one coin in his pockets? No, señor. He brought her to our home, there, Lupe, the wife of Felipe, the Deguino. Felipe had found a wife in Nogales, had brought her down to the river, a mile below the oleander. She found the desert dull; she had the city’s foolishness in her head. Felipe was gone a good deal. Maldonado sent him to Ensenada with some poor wretches. Maldonado was never at home then; I told him not to fool with Felipe; the Indian was dangerous; he had hot blood. Maldonado struck me—he kicked me—he said I was jealous—and hit me again.” Rickard saw jealousy in the unveiled eyes of hate. She pressed her hand to her breast. Her movement betrayed pain; whether a bruise, or a deeper hurt to the heart of her he could not guess.
She told the climax simply, her hand pressed over her bosom. “Maldonado told me to get a big meal—tortillas and enchilades, metates: I told him that it was for Felipe; I could see a black plot in his eyes. He laughed at me; when I said I would not cook for that treachery, he cursed me, he kicked me again.” She threw off the reboso, dragging her dress loose. “Don’t,” frowned Rickard. He had seen a welt across her shoulder—a screaming line of pain.
She wound the reboso around the dishonored shoulder. “I cooked his tortillas, his dinner! There was a big meal. There was a lot of liquor—Felipe was drunk; the tequila made him mad, quite mad. He seemed to know something was wrong; he fought as Maldonado dragged him to the cell, the señor remembers the cell? The next day, Maldonado sent for two rurales, Felipe drank the pitchers of wine he put through the bars, but there was no liquor in sight when the rurales came! They started the next day for Ensenada, taking Felipe; that day, Maldonado brought Lupe home. I said she could not stay and he laughed in my face, señor. He put me outside the walls. He thought I would beg to be let in the next morning, come sneaking in like a dog that has been beaten, wash the faces of the muchachos, grind the corn for the metates, but I could stand it no longer. I beat that gate until my fingers bled. I remembered the kind face of the señor, and then I came here. You will help me, señor?”
“What is it you want me to do?” But he knew what she wanted him to do!
“Send that woman away. Make him send Lupe away. Let me stay here until he is over his anger. He is not bad, Maldonado, when he is not angry. Make him set Felipe free; he will keep that Lupe from my house, from the children.”
Rickard shook his head. “I shall have to look into this thing. If this is true, it’s prison for your husband. You won’t have to fear Lupe.”
“Prison, señor? For Maldonado? You will never get him. He will swear it is not so. He will kill me; he will know that I have told. They will not believe my word against his.”
She was verging toward a spasm of terror. To quiet her, Rickard said that they would have other proof. And her husband would have no more power to hurt her; Maldonado’s crimes would protect her from him.
He could see the struggle in her soul; he knew she wanted to say she had been lying to him. It was not that sort of revenge she wanted; she wanted her husband. She wanted him to help her get her husband back. The revenge sought to trap Lupe—
“When he gets out, he will kill me, señor.”