Chapter 17

It was near sundown when they rode into Vasquez's camp, she in the wagon, he on horseback. There were fifteen or twenty men milling about, along with about a third as many women. A huge pot suspended over a roaring fire contained a stew which was quickly rising to a boil.

Three of the women greeted them as they dismounted. The women were actually only in their late twenties, but any observer would have guessed between forty and fifty. There were smiles on their faces, but each had that look indicative of a hard and demanding life. Miranda did not have to guess what those demands were. They crowded around Vasquez and his arms went wide to embrace them all.

"This is Rosita, Corrina and Conchita," smiled Vasquez.

"And you Senorita?" asked Rosita.

"I am Miranda, his woman!" Miranda said triumphantly. " But who are these women?" she asked, turning to Vasquez.

"Oh, we are his women too," said Corrina, smiling.

"But, I am his woman now," said Miranda.

"Si, you and Rosita and Corrina and I," smiled Conchita.

"You don't understand," insisted Miranda, "I am his ONLY woman now!"

"No, Miranda, it is you who does not understand," stated Vasquez.

Feelings of uncertainty, feelings she had not experienced for some time began to creep into Miranda's consciousness.

"But," she insisted, "you said I would be your woman."

"And so you are," answered Vasquez, "along with these other lovely ladies!"

The three Mexican women tittered.

Realization striking home, Miranda gave him first a hurt, then defiant look.

"Then they can have you!"

As she turned to climb back aboard the wagon, a strong hand clutched her arm, freezing her motionless.

"I'm afraid it is not as simple as that."

"Why not?" she asked, fighting vainly to break free of Vasquez's grip.

"Because you have seen our camp. You know where it is."

"I won't tell, I promise."

She heard herself pleading, hating herself for it.

He laughed.

"If there is one thing I have learned about you Senorita, it is that you are not to be trusted."

Desperation was beginning to creep into her voice though she was still trying to remain defiant.

"I'll run away. You can't keep me here!"

"Think not?" said Vasquez motioning to one of the other men.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, fear now rising steadily.

"Just a little insurance," replied Vasquez.

The other man reappeared with a rope.

"Please, don't do this. I'll be good. I won't try to escape."

"Eventually I am sure that will be the case, but until then we will have to take our own precautions."

"But... but I WANT to be your woman, I really do!" she heard herself pleading.

"Of course you do. And you are my woman, Miranda, for as long as I see fit."

Seeing the fear in her eyes, he smiled broadly.

"I take care of my women, eh ladies?"

They tittered once again.

"As a matter of fact, you are about to see what a generous man I am!"

"Raoul," he said to one of the men standing nearby, "go and fetch Carlos and Sanchez."

"What are you going to do?" asked Miranda, all semblance of self confidence gone.

"I told you I am a generous man. I share my good fortune with my compatriots. I share my food, my money and... my women!"

"No, please, no!" she begged.

Two burley men came walking up to Vasquez along with the man sent to find them.

"These are my good friends, Miranda. They are about to become your good friends too. Your VERY good friends!"

She looked at them in near revulsion. The man who had run the errand looked thin and emaciated, but the other two were grossly fat and ugly. What teeth were left were badly discolored. The smell told her neither had had a bath in months. Dirt was caked on neck and clothes. Their breath was foul and Sanchez still had food hanging from his moustache.