Free The Mission War by Wesley Ellis Page B

after all.”
    â€œWhat are you saying, Ki?” Maria asked nervously. “What does this mean? Does Mono know where we are?”
    â€œNo, this was not one of Mono’s bandidos. You see, this was made by a moccasin.”
    â€œThere are no Indians around here,” the Mexican girl said.
    â€œThere is,” Ki corrected, “at least one.” One who had come a long way, following them from the Canon del Dios in Arizona, one who had killed Carlos back at Tinaja Caliente. Ki stood and looked around carefully, his eyes—eyes used to searching, to careful watching—still failing to find anyone, anything. There was only the single track in the sand as if in a careless moment this phantom had become a creature of flesh, blood, and bone and formed it in his passing.
    â€œI don’t like this, Ki,” Maria said. She hunched her shoulders as if a sudden chill had crept over her.
    â€œNo,” Ki answered, “neither do I. Let’s go on to your cousin’s house before the sun rises.”
    They went on, hurriedly now, Ki with the strange feeling that there were eyes watching his back, dark eyes that waited, wanting what?
    The golden rim of the sun had crept above the dark line of the desert horizon before they reached Fernando’s house.
    It was a small adobe with a red tile roof, shuttered windows, and a door which was firmly barred. It might have been abandoned, but Ki could smell cooking within the house. Maria pounded on the door with the side of her fist.
    â€œFemando, Alicia! Open the door. It’s me, Maria Sanchez.”
    â€œWho is that with you?” a voice answered after a long interval.
    â€œA friend.”
    â€œWhat friend?” the challenging male voice wanted to know.
    â€œSomeone you don’t know, Fernando. I’ll explain inside, but for the sake of Our Lady, let us in now, please!”
    The door opened hesitantly and then swung wide. Maria hurried inside, Ki on her heels. A tall Mexican in longjohns waited, watching. Five sets of dark, children’s eyes watched from across the room where Fernando’s children clustered around the large, sheltering figure of his wife.
    â€œNow what is this? Madre de Dios,” Fernando said, running a hand across his rumpled hair. “To come to a man’s house at this time of the morning at a time like this!”
    â€œWe need your help, Fernando,” Maria said.
    â€œMy help? You can’t stay here. No, if Mono—”
    â€œWe don’t want to stay,” Maria said a little scornfully. “My friend Ki here is going to fight Mono and you will help him.”
    â€œMe fight Mono!” Fernando made violently negative gestures with his hands. “No, I have the children, I have my wife—”
    â€œShe doesn’t mean that I want you actually to fight the bandidos,” Ki said. Maria had begun to enjoy taunting her cousin. “She only wants you to lend me some clothes.”
    â€œAnd a little something else,” Maria said. “Anyway, why won’t you fight? Yoa men of San Ignacio!” she spat. “Whose town is this anyway, yours or Mono’s?”
    â€œIt is ours when Mono is away,” Fernando said. “But when he comes, it is his. Everything is his. He comes, takes what he wants, does what he wants, and then after a little while, if we are patient, he goes away.”
    â€œLeaving pain and destruction behind.”
    â€œHe breaks a few things. Steals a little—”
    â€œBeats a few men, kills some, rapes your wives and your daughters!” Maria went on with savage mockery.
    â€œWe survive!” Fernando said, growing angry now. “Mono is a killer, a pig. He has killed many men; all of them have. They have destroyed towns when they were not pleased. What good does it do my children to have their house burned down around them, to have their father killed, to have the crops destroyed?”
    Ki said, “Maria, we