“Can you doubt, señor? Am I not as truly a victim as they? I have not worked under a whip, but there are other punishments––for a woman!”
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she rested her chin on her hand, staring out into the shadows of the patio, oblivious of them all. Tula gazed at her as if fascinated, and there was a difference in her regard. That she was linked in hate against Conrad gave the Indian girl common cause with the jewel-eyed woman whose beauty had been the boast of a province. Kit noticed it and was vastly comforted. The absolute stolidity of Tula had left him in doubt as to the outcome if his little partner had disapproved of his fascinating protégée. He knew the thing she wanted to know, and asked it.
“Señora, the last band of Indian slaves from Sonora were driven from the little pueblo of Palomitas at the edge of this ranch. And there are sisters and mothers here with sick hearts over that raid. Can you tell me where those women were sent?”
“Which raid was that, and when?” asked Jocasta arousing herself from some memory in which she had been submerged. “Pardon, señor, I am but a doleful guest at supper, thinking too deeply of that which sent me here. Your question?”
He repeated it, and she strove to remember.
“There were many, and no one was told whence they came. It was supposed they were war prisoners who had to be fed, and were being sent to grow their own maize. If it were the last band then it would be the time Conrad had the wound in the face, here, like a knife thrust, and that–––”
“That was the time,” interrupted Kit eagerly. “If you can tell us where those people were sent you will prove the best of blessings to Mesa Blanca this night.”
She smiled sadly at that and looked from him to Tula, whom she evidently noted for the first time.
“It is long since the word of blessing has been given to Jocasta,” she said wistfully. “It would be a comfort to earn it in this house. But that band was not sent away,––not far. Something went wrong with the boat down the coast, I forgot what it was, but there was much trouble, and the Indians were sent to a plantation of the General Terain until the boat was ready. I do not know what plantation, except that Conrad raged about it. He and Don José had a quarrel, very terrible! That wound given to him by a woman made him very difficult; then the quarrel ended by them drinking together too much. And after that many things happened very fast, and––I was brought north.”
“And the Indians?”