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are
going. After lighting such a fire, we dare not stay. Come.”
    They walked to the horses, Maria hurrying ahead in
her anxiety to be away from the bloody ground and the nightmares
biding their time in the grove. The horses were restless, milling
around with nervous whinnies, tossing their manes, stepping here
and there in impatience.
    Maria saw the looks the men exchanged. Several of
them checked their heavy firing pieces before swinging into the
saddle. Diego loosened the strap holding his sword.
    “We may have work this night,” he murmured to no one
in particular. He looked at her frightened face. “And yet, they
might not attack. But they are here.”
    She nodded. She too could sense the presence of the
Indians. The Apaches were never far away. She watched Diego as he
mounted his horse. He had called her La Afortunada , the
Lucky One. How strange.
    The others mounted. Diego held out his arms, and
Maria put her foot in his stirrup. He pulled her up into the saddle
with him. “Hang on,” he directed. She grasped the high saddle
horn.
    They left the blazing funeral pyre at a gallop,
traveling two abreast and moving fast over the darkened land. The
moon was only a slice in the sky, and Maria could not see the path
they followed, but she did not question the abilities of the men
she rode with. They knew where they were headed. They knew this
road as they knew their own wives and children.
    After nearly a league of rapid, silent travel, the
pace slowed to a walk. Maria dozed in the saddle, trying not to
lean back. She struggled to stay awake. She had never been this
close to a man before, not even her father. When she felt herself
falling against him, she pulled herself awake. Once, when she
relaxed against Diego Masferrer, she yanked her head up, cracking
him under the chin. Without a word, he transferred the reins to his
left hand and with the other, firmly pushed her against his chest.
Her eyes closed and she slept.
    In her dream, Carmen de Sosa ran alongside Diego’s
horse, tugging at Maria’s dress with her bloody hands. Maria
whimpered. “ Por Dios , they follow me,” she whispered,
pulling her legs up out of Carmen’s dripping grasp. She cried out
and tried to scramble from the saddle, but Diego held her down, his
arms clamped firmly around her body.
    Diego was silent, as if trying to understand what
she feared. “Maria,” he said finally, “go back to sleep. I shall
keep them away.” She shut her eyes. “Sleep, sleep,” he said over
and over, until sleep overtook her and closed out the soothing
sound of his voice.
    They halted for the night several hours later in the
shelter of an abandoned building. The adobe had crumbled away from
the tops of the walls, and the roof was missing, but it was shelter
of sorts, protection.
    The men quartered their horses inside the small
enclosure, leaving the saddles on and lying down beside their
animals, the reins wrapped around one wrist. Diego helped Maria
into the most protected corner of the ruin and lay down without a
word. He was asleep at once. After looking around at the other men,
Maria sank to the ground and closed her eyes, knowing that she
could never sleep in such circumstances.
    She woke with the sunrise, and discovered to her
acute embarrassment that at some point during the night she had
curled up against Diego Masferrer. He had covered them both with
his cloak and his arm was thrown over her waist, drawing her up
tight against his body. She feared to move and wake him so she lay
still, looking at his hand close to her face. His fingers were
slender but strong-looking, and he wore a heavy gold ring on his
index finger. The reins of his horse were still wrapped around his
wrist. Maria closed her eyes again and sighed.
    The movement of her ribcage woke her protector. He
untangled the rein and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.
    “Válgame , it is late,” he said under his
breath. “We are old women.”
    Maria sat up. All the men were asleep except