Disclaimer: The characters -- Tessa Alvarado, Dr. Helm, Colonel Montoya, Captain Grisham and the Queen of Swords -- are copyrights of the producers, Fireworks Productions and Paramount. No infringement or revenue is intended. The story plot is original and copyright to the author, Maril Swan.

This episode picks up the story from Episode One. The events will make better sense and continuity if you read the first episode before this one. As always, your feedback on the story is my reward.

Rating: PG-13

Montoya glanced up in annoyance at the hasty intrusion, then his features settled into an amused tolerance. "Well, Pedro. You seem to be bursting with news. What is it?"

His dull features animated by the secret he was about to impart, Pedro had rushed into Colonel Montoya's office, panting from the heat and from the urgency of his report. Another reward would follow, no doubt. The colonel would be his friend.

"A murder, mi colonel! At the well. It was Señor O'Toole." Pedro crossed himself quickly and continued in a conspiratorial tone, "We saw it with our own eyes, Ignacio and me."

Montoya's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the peon. "Exactly what did you see, Pedro? Who killed Señor O'Toole?"

Confused and now frightened, Pedro marked the dangerous tone of Montoya's voice. "We saw someone bending over his body, and when she turned to us, it was the Queen of Swords. She killed Señor O'Toole!" he said in a rush.

Montoya expelled a deep breath and stood up. "Tell me the rest of it. What was she doing there?"

"I don't know, Colonel. But she had a gun and she forced us to put the body on a horse. Then she rode away with it."

A hearty laugh burst from the colonel, startling the peon, as Montoya strode about the room, rubbing his hands together delightedly. "So first she kills the man, then she steals the body. Oh, this just gets better and better!" He clapped Pedro on the back good-naturedly and added, "Pedro, you are becoming indispensable to me. You deserve a great reward for this news." He went to his desk and withdrew a leather purse. From it, he pulled out a gold coin and held it up to the peon's eyes.

"Do you know what this is, Pedro?" he asked smoothly.

"Gold?" replied Pedro, seemingly transfixed by the shiny metal disc waving tantalizingly before him.

"It's a reale. Worth ten times the silver coin I gave you a few weeks ago. This is your reward." Montoya placed it in Pedro's grimy calloused hand, observing the abject worship with which the peon seemed to regard this treasure. It's almost a pity, Montoya mused, I seem to have awakened greed in this dumb beast. The thought amused him greatly and he chuckled. So much the better for me. "You may go now, Pedro, and gracias, mi amigo. Oh, and Pedro, be sure you tell everyone you see about the murder committed by the Queen of Swords," the colonel added as he held the door open for the peon and propelled him through it.

"Corporal, bring Captain Grisham to me." Montoya closed the door and collapsed into his chair, laughing so heartily he didn't hear Grisham enter a few minutes later. Becoming aware of the captain, Montoya tried to compose himself but each time he tried to speak, a new burst of laughter overwhelmed him.

Finally, wiping his eyes, he said, "Grisham, you will not believe what I just heard."

Intense heat and thirst drove Tessa to the pool near the rock wall where she drank deeply of the clear water, bathing her face with its coolness. Hunger roiled in her stomach as she recalled she had not eaten since dinner the night before. With a grim smile, she remembered Helm's taunt about never knowing what it is to be hungry. She felt it keenly now as she arose, stretching the tautness of her neck and shoulders. She also knew what it was to be so tired all she could think of was sleep. But her duty was to finish what she had started, and resignedly Tessa rode the horse back to the gravesite across the meadow.

The trench was finally deep enough, Tessa decided as she climbed out. The sun was already declining to the west. It must be late afternoon. What would Marta think had happened to her? Thrusting that guilty thought away, she turned her attention to the grimmest part of this task: placing O'Toole's body into the grave. She had set it on the ground earlier and covered it with his saddle blanket.

Collecting her strength for this last effort, Tessa dragged the lifeless weight toward the trench that looked like a raw wound in the dark earth. She lined the bottom with the blanket and, as reverently as possible, rolled his body into the grave. Panting with the exertion, she stood back and looked around. Perhaps, she thought, he has left some things in that hut, things that should be buried with him.

In the cool dimness of the sod hut, Tessa could see items of clothing hanging from pegs in the wall and a leather-bound book on the earth floor. She picked it up and some letters fluttered out from between the leaves. The writing was in a language she did not know, not English she surmised, perhaps Gaelic. She pressed the letters back into the book and kept it in her hand as she surveyed the rest of the small room. A razor and strop lay on a makeshift cot which was covered by a rough wool blanket. Gathering all these things together, she returned to the graveside and laid the book on his chest, crossing his hands over it. She placed the rest of the items next to him and covered him with the blanket from the hut, leaving his face exposed.

Her throat ached with unshed tears as she realized that this would be the last time in this life she would look upon his face. She drew the blanket over it, and placed his hat on top. Making her mind go blank, she began to methodically fill the grave. She carried stones from the wall and laid them atop the newly mounded earth, staggering with fatigue and hunger. Laying the last stone she saw a light shimmering before her.

A gentle familiar voice caressed her mind, a wavering image of her father seemed to appear in that glow. "My child, you have made me proud."

"Papa," she cried, almost too weak to speak. Bitterness and rage seethed through her as she gazed into the light. "There is nothing to be proud of. I have failed. This land kills. It kills men and it kill dreams. Land is nothing to die for or to kill for."

"It is not for land, Tessa, that one gives up one's life -- but for freedom. That is worth dying for. Your friend believed that too."

"The forces against me are too powerful. I cannot win no matter how hard I try. What can I do alone?"

"You are never alone, Tessa." The voice and light faded to darkness, a velvety blackness that covered her like a soft blanket, and soothed her wounded spirit.

Her eyes flew open as she felt something prick the back of her neck. Disoriented for a moment, Tessa realized she was lying face down on the earth. I must have fainted, she thought, as she reached up to see what was painfully pressing into her skin. She gasped as her fingers touched the cold steel of a blade.

"Don't move," a male voice growled from above her. "Señorita," he continued acerbically, "You need protection!" He chuckled at his own wit.

"Now tell me something I don't already know. Such as who you are and how you got in here?" Unable to move, Tessa noted her hair covered her face. Perhaps there was a way out of this without being recognized.

"You may have heard of me, Señorita. I am known as El Gato." Her sharply indrawn breath made him laugh. "I see that you have. And I have also heard of you, the Queen of Swords."

Forcing herself to remain still, Tessa pushed back the panic threatening to engulf her. She waited quietly for him to speak again, trying to formulate a plan of escape.

"Nothing to say?" he began. "Perhaps I should tell you about an interesting event I saw in the early dawn today. That may loosen your tongue a little." He pressed the blade harder, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. "I watched the Queen of Swords change, like a butterfly, into ...Tessa Alvarado. Yes," he laughed as Tessa shivered, "I saw everything. Then I followed you here." He lightened the pressure on the sword and Tessa sighed involuntarily with relief. "You have done well, Señorita. Led Montoya a merry chase. Like me. We are very alike, are we not?"

She clenched her fists at this outrageous statement. "We are nothing alike! You rob and kill without mercy. That is not my way. I am not a thief or a murderer."

"You think not? What about that soldier you killed a few weeks ago in the pueblo? Who was he, a nobody? What about those men you shot this morning? One of them may be dead by now. You have stolen and killed, Señorita, so don't try to put yourself above me. You think because you are a spoiled aristocrat that you are better than me? Hah!"

El Gato pressed the sword tip hard against her neck as if for emphasis, and Tessa held her breath against crying out. "Let me tell you something. I was once a landowner, a don. I had land, servants, everything. It was all stolen from me, many years ago. I barely escaped with my life." He took a ragged breath and continued. "I took some of my peons when I ran away, and became an outlaw, a much-feared bandito-El Gato, with the stealth of the cat. What choice did I have? At least, Señorita, you can choose what you do."

"Obviously, you don't plan to kill me, or you would have done so. What do you want?" Tessa asked, trying to keep her voice level.

"That is more like it. I wish to make a deal with you."

"The last man who made a deal with me is dead. Perhaps you should take a warning from that," she said flatly.

As El Gato pulled the sword back, giving her a measure of relief from its painful pressure, he laughed nastily. "When I go into a business deal, I hold all the cards... including the Queen of Swords." He guffawed loudly at his own witticism while Tessa seethed with silent rage, her cheek uncomfortably pressed into the earth. "Here is what I offer, and consider it well, Señorita. I know who you are and can denounce you to Montoya any time. But he has been pursuing my men hard and forcing them to hide in these hills in very uncomfortable circumstances. Now that I have seen this place, I want this valley for a hideaway. In return, I keep your secret. And to sweeten the deal further for you, my men will guard your water and vineyards until the harvest. They can hide in the hills above the vineyard and watch over everything. It will be worth someone's life to attack you again."

"You must be mad if you think I would enter into such an arrangement with a murdering scoundrel like you!"

"Oh well, it is too bad. I have given you a fair chance." El Gato gave a short laugh. "You see, Señorita, there is a big reward for the Queen, dead or alive. Dead, I think, would be much easier for me."

He began to press the blade harder and Tessa cried out, "If you kill me, Montoya will take over my land. You would have no hideaway for your men. And eventually even a fool like Grisham might have the luck to catch up with you, with no place to hide."

El Gato chuckled, "You are a very clever woman. It would be a great pity to kill you, though the reward is most tempting. And I do love the way you tweak the nose of Montoya, leaving those little cards of yours. I wish I had thought of something similar."

"And what would you leave....a dead cat?"

The remark caught the man off guard and he began to laugh uncontrollably, taking the sword point away from her neck. It was all the opening she needed. Twisting away from the sword, she lunged at El Gato, hitting him squarely in the stomach with her shoulder. He grunted with pain, expelling a loud breath as he landed hard upon the ground. Tessa fell and rolled quickly away, her hand already on her sword hilt. As she regained her feet she saw that he had a pistol levelled at her head and she dropped her hands. Rubbing his stomach, he painfully got up, staggering a little, but keeping the gun aimed menacingly at her.

"I haven't lived so long by being a fool!" he rasped as he glared at her and cursed. The mask had slipped from the lower half of his face. She had recognized him!

"Señor Ortiz! What is this? I cannot believe it. You are El Gato? Why? You have a successful cantina in the pueblo, a good life."

"You call pouring wine for drunken sots to swill, a good life? Listening to the tedious gossip of women and peasants a good life? Hah! When I have enough money, I will buy an hacienda and get back what I deserve. That will be a good life." Ortiz paused, then added with an acerbic grin, "But the cantina does have its uses. Where else can one glean so much information about everything that happens? When the mail coach will arrive, who is travelling, when the payroll comes from Monterey for the soldiers. Yes, it does have its uses."

"You would buy a new life with blood money?" Tessa said in a voice hoarse with anger and fatigue. She lifted her chin haughtily, her eyes unwavering from his face. "But now we are on a more equal footing. You have as much to lose as I. There will be no deal. I will keep your secret as long as you keep mine."

"No, Señorita. We are not equals here. I have the upper hand. I can kill you and claim the reward, even be a hero in the pueblo. But it would amuse me to keep you alive so you can distract Montoya and Grisham, keep them off my trail while they try to catch you. You have everything to lose, and I have much to gain." He raised the pistol to the centre of her forehead and said, "What is it to be?"

Looking into those merciless dark eyes, Tessa knew he would kill her. "All right, Ortiz. We have a deal," she said, resignedly. "How long will you keep your men in here?"

"It is a lovely place, so well hidden and yet so peaceful. Some of my men have women and children. They could build little huts, like that one," he said gesturing to the sod hut, "and stay here as long as they like." His triumphant smile sent a shaft of bitter rage through her and she felt her fingers wanting curl around the hilt of her sword.

Ortiz shook his head warningly. "Do not even think to try anything. You have been beaten. Accept it. Now, get your things and leave my valley. If any of my men see you in here again, they will have orders to kill you. Oh, and one more thing, Señorita. You will tell no one about this arrangement, not even your priest. On your oath?" Tessa nodded. "Now, vaminos," he said harshly, waving the pistol at her.

A bellow of mocking laughter followed her, echoing off the rocks, amplified until she felt maddened by the cacophony.

Heavy boots rang through the hacienda, coming toward her. Marta experienced a sudden sense of alarm at the disturbing presences. Montoya and Grisham marched into the main room as she leapt up from the dining table. Montoya's pale eyes seemed to pierce right through to her soul, as if he could see anything she tried to hide. She swallowed convulsively, looking from one to the other, fearing what this visit portended. Tessa had not returned this morning, nor the whole day. It was after the dinner hour and still she was missing. Was she dead or in their hands?

Curtly, Montoya stated, "We have come to see Señorita Alvarado on a most serious matter. Please inform her that we await her." His eyes dismissed Marta as of no real account, just another servant, or worse, a Gypsy. The lowest of the low. He stood tensely alert, like a puma about to spring, those penetrating eyes missing nothing.

"My mistress is indisposed, and cannot be disturbed. Perhaps tomorrow..." Leaving the sentence unfinished, Marta assumed a studiously nonchalant pose, betraying no emotion. At least she knew that Tessa was alive, but what did they want with her?

Montoya frowned, watching her narrowly, waiting for her to lose her composure. When she remained aloof and seemingly unmoved by his demand, he said, "It is unfortunate that she is unwell. Our questions will only take a few minutes of her time. You will get her immediately."

Grisham interjected with, "Perhaps, Colonel, the servant can give us some information, and we may not need to disturb the señorita." He crossed the floor to Marta, and she forced herself to hold her ground although the aura of evil that emanated from him made her want to flee. "We are investigating a rumour that Señor O'Toole was murdered at this rancho this morning."

Marta's face paled as her eyes widened in horror and disbelief. She shook her head, unable to speak.

"I see you have not heard this rumour then, Marta," Montoya asked, his eyes never leaving her face. "When did you see the Señor last?"

Marta thought wildly, trying to recollect when she had seen him, and moreover, what Tessa's story would be. She must be convincing and their stories must synchronize. Tell the truth, she admonished herself. "It was two afternoons ago. He came to the hacienda to have his dressings changed and wound attended to. I have not seen him since." She levelled her eyes at Montoya, almost daring him to dispute her.

"And when was the last time Señorita Alvarado saw him?" Grisham demanded harshly.

Marta was taken aback by his bitter tone, but answered calmly. "I do not know. I am not always with her. She often goes to the fields to oversee the workers, and tend to the harvest. She may have seen him there. What makes you think Señor O'Toole was murdered? He may just have gone away as he said he would do."

"We have an eyewitness who saw it. He was killed by the Queen of Swords," Montoya said, watching her reaction. He smiled slightly as her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes looking past his shoulder. "Yes. You may all have been slaughtered in your beds. You could have no idea that this danger was so close."

"What danger, Colonel Montoya?" a female voice asked from behind the men. Tessa entered the room wearing a robe, her hair unpinned and somewhat dishevelled. The dark circles under her eyes and her flushed face seemed to confirm her ill health.

Montoya spun to face her, bowing formally and keeping his eyes fixed on hers. "Señorita Alvarado, I am sorry to see you in poor health. Perhaps this climate does not suit you after all. The heat and the dryness is very hard on even those who are used to it. I apologize for disturbing you, but we are investigating the alleged murder of your hired man, Señor O'Toole."

Tessa seemed to swoon as Grisham dashed to her side and set her gently on a chair. Marta glared at the men. "You can see she is unwell and now you have severely upset her. I ask you to go and let my mistress rest."

"No, Marta, I am all right now. I will answer your questions, señores."

"When did you last see Señor O'Toole?" Montoya asked with affected gentleness.

"Yesterday afternoon. He said he was leaving this morning. He came to say goodbye and collect his earnings. He had been sleeping by the well, but as there have been no further incidents, he felt it was time to go to los estados unidos. He hoped to buy land there." She paused as if to compose herself and regain her strength, then added, "This rumour cannot be true, Colonel Montoya. Señor O'Toole helped me through a difficult time and I feel I owe him much. It cannot be true." Tessa lowered her eyes which had filled with tears. Grisham seemed at a loss, torn between his duty as a soldier and a desire to comfort her. Montoya merely grimaced and turned away.

"The rumour was started by an eyewitness who said he saw the Queen of Swords kill your man with a pistol. I am sorry to bring you this bad news, but I fear it is true. Apparently she took the body away to bury where it would not be found." Grisham held Tessa's hand while he spoke. He added, "Your grief for your friend does you great credit in my eyes." He pressed a fervent kiss on her hand and laid it back in her lap.

Tessa arose a little unsteadily, giving the men a weak smile. "If you will excuse me, I will retire to my chamber now. I have told you all I can."

The men bowed curtly and left the room, their booted heels echoing on the tiled floors. Marta turned to Tessa with a furious expression, but the younger woman forestalled her with a touch to her lips. "Wait until they are gone, Marta. You may scold me then."

"Well, Grisham, what do you think? Either they're both consummate actresses or they knew nothing of O'Toole's death. The well is too far away from the house for those shots to have been heard, and it would seem that none of the servants wanted to be the bearer of the bad news. Presumably our men made a clean getaway. Except for poor Gomez. Bury him somewhere, secretly." Montoya glanced across his horse at Grisham who seemed to be in a world of his own, a fatuous grin on his face. Montoya turned away in disgust. It takes a woman to turn a fool into a complete idiot, he thought bitterly. A memory edged closer, but he pushed it away before it formed.

The captain was recalling the warm weight that he had caught in his arms, briefly, all too briefly, and the flowery scent Tessa always had about her. He grinned at the thought that now the field was clear again. He could woo her and win her without any rivals getting in the way. And after a formal courtship, he would marry her, and the Alvarado rancho would be his. In his most ambitious dreams Grisham had never imagined a chance like this, a beautiful woman and more land and wealth than he could ever have hoped for. Whatever it took, Grisham vowed, he would have her.

"If you're quite finished mooning over the Alvarado girl, perhaps we could make some plans," Montoya snapped impatiently, recapturing Grisham's attention. He chuckled delightedly. "This whole thing has taken a twist that couldn't have turned out better if I had planned it. With O'Toole out of the way, Señorita Alvarado has no man to help her or protect the water. Soon, she will lose the hacienda and go back to Spain where she belongs. And, with my informant spreading the rumour that O'Toole was murdered by the Queen of Swords, the people will turn against her. I'm sure that in time someone will turn her in for the reward. And that will be the end of that particular irritant." Montoya's laugh was cut short by the look on Grisham's face, a look that he did not like. What was the idiot thinking? That he would get the Alvarado girl and the rancho? Montoya stifled a scornful laugh. As if any noblewoman would be interested in a low-born brute like him. Still let him dream. It can only keep him loyal to me.

"Madre de dios, Tessa. Your back... it is fiery red!" Marta reached a tentative hand to touch her and Tessa flinched away. "It is sore, no? I will get some aloe to soothe it." Lifting the younger woman's hair she noticed a deep cut on her neck. "What is this? Where have you been all day? How did you get that cut, and such a sunburn?"

Tessa strode across the room, then whirled, her face a mask of anguish. "Leave me alone! I am not a child. Stop fussing at me!" Raising her chin haughtily, her dark eyes narrowed in anger, she added harshly, "If you want to do something for me, get me some food. I have had nothing to eat all day."

Marta regarded her ward solemnly. A gulf between the women opened up suddenly as Tessa seemed to erect the unseen barrier that had always been there, but never acknowledged-mistress and servant. "You would not consider getting you a meal, fussing?" Marta asked, a hard edge to her voice.

Marta lowered her eyes, unable to bear the pain she saw in Tessa's face. Something has happened. She seems changed, lost, Marta thought sadly. Her eyes have a darkness in them, a depth of torment that I have not seen before. And she will not tell me anything. Why? As she turned to the door to do as she was bid, Tessa's voice, hoarse with emotion, called her back.

"Marta, I'm sorry." Tessa moved to embrace her friend, leaning her head on Marta's shoulder. "It has been an evil day, the worst I can ever remember. And I am taking it out on you. I am sorry." She sighed heavily, adding, "And some aloe on the sunburn would be most soothing."

The candle flickered in its holder, making dancing shadows on the bedroom wall. Marta's mouth quirked in a quick smile as she watched Tessa devour her meal in a most unladylike manner, eating with the appetite of a starving animal. When her ward had finished, she asked Tessa about Montoya's visit and what it was about.

Tessa replied, "Seamus is dead. Murdered by three men who rode into his camp and shot him on the ground, like a dog. He had no chance to defend himself, and I failed to protect him. I failed." Expelling a long breath, she added, "He brought me hope and I brought him death."

She lapsed into a morose silence for several minutes, then began again. "I took his body and buried it in the canyon that he loved. That is where I was all day." Tessa sat for a long time, studying her hands, her jaw clenched, her breath laboured with the repressed emotion that she would not give in to. She longed to open her heart to Marta, tell her everything about her ignoble deal with El Gato. But she had sworn an oath. And she feared the look of horror that she was sure she would see in Marta's eyes if she knew. She must carry this accursed secret alone. A deal with the Devil.

Finally, she stood up and walked to her closet to pull out a tattered, patched shirt that seemed to be wrapped around something. She withdrew the divining rod and handed it to Marta. "Seamus wanted you to have this," she said quietly. "He said he passes his gift on to you."

Marta took the old forked stick reverently, as if it were a sacred object, her heart too full for words. She just nodded gently as tears spilled down her cheeks. "A good man," she said at last. "He was a good man."

The beefy hand set down a glass, startling Vera Hidalgo who was gazing from the cantina into the brilliance of the pueblo street. "Oh," she said with a gasp, "Señor Ortiz! I didn't hear you coming. You are as quiet as a cat." She simpered up at the tall, heavyset man, into his affable face and mild dark-brown eyes. He smiled ingratiatingly, wiping his hands on his apron.

"This is a special drink I have prepared for you, Señora Hidalgo. Please try it." His swarthy face wrinkled into a well-creased grin as he watched the fair-haired woman delicately sip the concoction in the glass. "It is a mixture of fruit juices and wine," he added, half-bowing as if awaiting her approval.

"Mmm," she said, "Very tasty, Señor Ortiz. Perhaps you could give the recipe to our cook so she can make this for our fiesta."

He nodded, then looked up suddenly, his attention attracted by a carriage that had just stopped across the street. Following his glance, Vera spotted Tessa Alvarado alighting from the bench, turning to give some instructions to her driver. She walked purposefully away, striding toward a row of buildings which held shipping and other government offices. As if feeling their eyes upon her, Tessa looked toward the cantina, and Vera beckoned her over.

Unable to ignore the summons without seeming rude, Tessa made her way into the cantina. As she caught Ortiz' eye, his mask of geniality dropped and he levelled an intense glare at her, a warning in those black eyes that threatened death. In spite of the heat, she suddenly felt cold in the pit of her stomach.

"Sit down, Tessa. It has been so long since we have seen you in town. I heard you were ill last week, but I hope you are fully recovered now." Vera prattled on mindlessly while Tessa settled uneasily onto a chair. "Señor Ortiz, bring another of these special drinks for my friend, por favor." Dismissing him, Vera turned back to the other woman. "So much has happened since we last met, I hardly know where to begin." She touched Tessa's hand sympathetically and said, "I heard what happened to your man, Señor O'Toole. Such a terrible thing, and so close. Imagine, the Queen of Swords committing a murder practically on your doorstep! Are you not frightened, out there all alone?"

Tessa's attention had wandered from her companion to the view afforded by the cantina. From here, she thought, you can see practically everything that goes on in this place. Opened on three sides, there was an unobstructed view of the street, the plaza and many of the buildings. No wonder Ortiz said this place was useful. And of course, the gossip from those taking their ease in here would reach his ears as well.

Her attention returned to Vera just as she was saying, "...and have you heard that the reward on her head has been increased to one hundred reales?" Tessa glanced up at Ortiz who had arrived with her drink on a tray, and was setting it down.

"And, Vera, how much for the head of the outlaw, El Gato?" she asked nonchalantly, staring impudently at Ortiz. His hand shook slightly, spilling a few drops on the table. He moved away silently, and Tessa could hear his booming voice at the other end of the cantina, joking with his patrons.

"Fifty reales, or so Captain Grisham told me. Did you hear what happened a week ago at the Mission? El Gato and his men raided it and stole many gold ornaments from the church. While escaping, they trampled a Mission child to death with their horses. Poor little thing, she had gotten in their way, I suppose. And just a few days ago, they robbed a hacienda further up the coast. The don and his wife were away. They killed two of the servants who were trying to protect the place, and took everything they could lay their hands on. The fiends! They just get bolder all the time. Captain Grisham and the soldiers have chased them many times, but he says the earth just seems to swallow them up. They find no trace of them." Vera paused, then continued, "Not only that, Tessa, but Señor Ortiz told me he had heard the Queen of Swords has joined forces with these banditos!"

Noticing Tessa's pale face and stricken look, Vera said, "Are you unwell, my dear friend? Perhaps you should not have come out so soon. These terrible incidents have upset you. And no wonder, with no man to protect you." Vera's face took on a sly expression and she added, "Did you love him very much?"

Tessa frowned, and said with some asperity, "Who? Who are you talking about now?"

"Señor O'Toole, of course. I heard he was quite handsome."

Tessa shot her an impatient look and rose abruptly, preparing to leave just as Ortiz returned to their table. "How did you like the drink, Señorita Alvarado?" he asked with affected cordiality.

"I found it rather bitter," she returned curtly and stepped back into the blinding brilliance of the sunlit street.

Vera glanced up at Ortiz, observing his flushed face and baleful stare. "She is not usually so rude, Señor Ortiz. Perhaps she is just working too hard."

"Si, Señora, I believe she has taken too much upon herself," he said in a harsh whisper. When Vera looked around, he was gone. Quiet as a cat, she thought again.

Vera watched as Tessa made her way across the street to the offices, and went inside. So far, here in the cantina, Vera thought she had learned nothing that Montoya would find worthwhile. There was just endless talk about cattle, grapes and water, or the lack of it. He had told her to keep her ears open, and she had. For weeks, she had been listening to anyone and everything, reporting whatever she heard to Montoya. He was becoming impatient with her. She had not brought him anything that would earn her the reward he promised. She drummed her fingers on the table, wondering what Montoya was hoping to find out.

Seeing Tessa leave the offices several minutes later, Vera suddenly jumped up from her table, dropping a coin next to the glasses. She stepped quickly toward the carriage, intercepting Tessa and taking her arm, smiling excitedly. "I nearly forgot to tell you, Tessa. We are having a fiesta this Saturday. You are invited. It is in honour of the betrothal of my husband's niece, Inez, to Don Hernan Campillo. The Campillos have a very big hacienda with hundreds of cattle. Very wealthy." Vera squeezed Tessa's arm and added, "Don Hidalgo's brother and his niece will be arriving in their own coach tomorrow sometime. They are bringing her dowry and some gifts for the family. In his letter, he also said he had something special for me." Vera giggled.

A spoiled child in a woman's body, Tessa thought ruefully. What was it Marta had said? 'That woman is a dangerous fool. She is careless with her virtue and will be the cause of Don Hidalgo having to defend her honour, perhaps getting himself or someone else killed for it.' Tessa tried to disengage her arm gently while getting past Vera. She did not enjoy the woman's company, but had no wish to make an enemy of her. Not so long as Vera was having an affair with Grisham.

"I will be there, Vera. Thank you for the invitation. Now, I have some other errands to do before I return home." A sudden thought struck her, and she turned back to Vera. "Did you perhaps mention this news about the arrival of Don Hidalgo's brother to anyone in the cantina?

"Only to Señor Ortiz. He is always so interested in local news. Such a gossip he is," Vera laughed. "Always with the jokes and the stories. He seems to know everything about everyone."

Something like shock passed over Tessa's features, then she turned away and hurried down the street, leaving Vera gazing after her.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she considered Tessa's pale look and odd behavior. She seems troubled and nervous, Vera thought, then shrugged, but perhaps it is only what happened to Señor O'Toole that is on her mind. Spying Dr. Helm leaving his office, Vera cut across the street and hailed him.

>Helm slowed his quick pace to see what Vera wanted. At least here in public he was safe from her efforts at seduction, he thought, as he watched her coming toward him, a coy smile pasted on her face. He arranged his own chiselled features into what he hoped was a welcoming look, though, in fact, he wanted nothing more than to escape before she reached him. A dangerous woman, he reminded himself.

"Dr Helm!" she cried as she caught up to him, breathless with the exertion of walking fast in the heat and hampered by her tightened corsets. "I wanted to talk to you. I am worried about my friend, Tessa. She has not been well, and I was hoping you might speak to her, see if she is all right."

"I'm sure her companion, Marta, is quite capable of taking care of any troubles the Señorita might have," he said, trying to keep his voice level. What is she up to now? He added, with a curt bow, "Your concern for your friend does you credit, Señora Hidalgo."

"Please, Dr. Helm, she is in town now, just down the street. It wouldn't take you a minute, and it would do so much to set my mind at rest." Vera clutched his arm and looked into his eyes imploringly. Helm glanced around to see if they were being observed. It wouldn't do to be called out by Don Hidalgo for seeming to be a suitor for his wife's affections.

"All right, Señora. I will speak to her." Helm saw Tessa in the plaza and turned his steps reluctantly toward her, feeling Vera's eyes upon his back. Small towns are the worst, he fumed. Everyone into everyone else's business. He accosted Tessa as she was speaking with one of the merchants, evidently arranging to purchase some supplies.

"Señorita Alvarado." Helm touched her arm and Tessa jumped, drawing in a quick breath. Her eyes held a frightened look and she stepped back defensively. Relief flooded her features when she recognized him. Oddly, Helm mused, it would seem Vera was right. She doesn't look well at all. "It has been a long while since I have seen you in town. I heard you had been in ill health. Is there anything I can do?" he asked, with a brief smile.

"Dr. Helm. I am so pleased to know that my health has become the subject of common gossip," Tessa retorted. She attempted to brush by him, but he restrained her with a light touch on her arm. She glanced down haughtily, and he removed his hand quickly, a slight flush coming to his face.

He tried again. "You seem troubled. If ever you need a friend, someone to confide in--"

Tessa cut in with, "Dr. Helm, if ever I do need someone to confide in...." she paused and he leaned toward her eagerly.

"Yes?" he said.

"I have Padre Gonzalez!" She pushed past and marched toward her carriage, leaving Helm dumbfounded, speechless with chagrin.

For several seconds he watched her, then finally in English, spluttered, "Well, of all the damned cheek!" Turning abruptly, he nearly collided with Vera who had come up behind him after Tessa had left.

"So, Dr. Helm. What do you think? Is she all right?"

"There's certainly nothing wrong with her tongue!" he answered brusquely as he moved past her. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a birth to attend."

The gunfire came from somewhere just ahead. The Queen of Swords urged her horse into a gallop. Dios mio, she thought, heart beating faster, I hope I am not too late! Coming over a slight rise, she rode into the middle of a hold-up. An elegant black carriage stood motionless, surrounded by nearly a dozen masked men on horseback, while on the ground the carriage's two occupants awaited their fate. The driver lay prostrate across the coach bench, unmoving.

Almost as one, the group turned their faces toward her, and one of the bandits raised his pistol, aiming at her.

"No, Paco. Don't shoot! She is one of us." The muffled command came from a heavyset man, the lower part of his face masked, showing only a pair of mean dark-brown eyes. "What do you want?" he asked harshly, directing his black stare at her.

"I'm here to challenge you for the leadership of this band, El Gato," she said casually.

His loud guffaw buffeted her ears, his laughter taken up by the rest of the desperados. She clenched her jaw more firmly. "Are you such a coward you will not accept my challenge?" she asked, a hard edge to her voice.

"I do not fight with women," he returned with a laugh, looking around at his men. They leaned on their saddles, evidently enjoying this little diversion. "Now, go, before I change my mind and let Paco finish what he started."

"No, you do not fight with women... if they have weapons. Killing defenseless women and children is more your style. Coward," she taunted. "Son of a puta, offspring fathered by a pig..." Tessa drew on as many scurrilous insults as she could remember, thinking that she could never have imagined herself saying these things to anyone. Marta would wash my mouth with soap if she could hear this, she thought dismally. Almost clinically, she watched El Gato's face darken, his chest begin to heave with rage. The other men were no longer laughing as they waited to see what their leader would do.

Finally he shouted, "Enough! You want a fight! You have it." Dismounting, he pulled a sword from a scabbard attached to the saddle. He strode toward her, menace in his narrowed eyes.

Tessa dismounted and unsheathed her own sword, watching him carefully. A voice called out from beside the coach, and all eyes turned toward the speaker. A distinguished and elegantly dressed man, he was one of the occupants of the carriage. He walked toward the two combatants. "If you will permit me, I will be the second. To make sure this is a fair fight. Though," looking dubiously at Tessa, who was smaller than El Gato and probably half his weight, he added, "it does not look at all fair to me. Would honour be satisfied by first blood?" he asked, looking from Tessa to Ortiz.

"I have no wish to kill you, Señorita," Ortiz sneered.

"Don't worry, you won't," she answered with a short laugh. "But as for me, first blood will be good enough. If I draw first blood, you will leave this area and never harm the people again. If you draw first blood, I will go and never trouble you further. Is it agreed?" She searched his treacherous eyes and recoiled from the coldness that lurked there. The coldness of death.

"First blood." Ortiz agreed. He moved into the en garde position, and Tessa noted with satisfaction that he assumed the style of the French Academy. Her maestro, Torres, had drilled those moves into her until she nearly dropped with weariness. Now, she thought grimly, comes the test.

The don called out, "Engage!" and the two fencers touched swords. He dropped his hand and the duel began.

Immediately, Tessa realized Ortiz' swordsmanship was rusty, but his greater strength and reach were giving him an advantage. He drove her relentlessly onto the defensive, the shattering blows of his steel on hers vibrating through her whole arm. Keeping carefully out of range, she led him this way and that, trying to tire him. Already his face was flushed, his shirt soaked with perspiration. He is very much out of condition, Tessa thought. She did not want to finish the duel too soon, though she knew she could. I want to teach him a lesson and humiliate him as much as possible in front of his men, she thought smugly.

For several minutes, Tessa parried, counterparried and forced him to waste his strength against her skill. Ortiz' rasping breath and grunts told her he was getting tired. She kept her eyes unwaveringly on his, as Torres has taught her, waiting for the signal that he would make a desperate move. It came suddenly as he lunged and thrust. She parried easily and gave him a shallow cut on the cheek. Stepping back, Tessa raised her sword to end the duel. Ortiz put his hand to his cheek, examining the blood on his fingers.

"First blood to the señorita," the don said. "Has honour been satisfied?"

Tessa nodded, preparing to withdraw, but from the corner of her eye she saw Ortiz move quickly. He bellowed like a bull, charging straight at her with his sword lowered. Her agility saved her as she leapt out of his way, stumbling then regaining her balance in time to deflect another thrust aimed at her throat.

Ortiz abandoned all pretense of style -- slashing and stabbing, hammering blows on her sword with desperate strength. Unused to this unorthodox type of fencing, Tessa was defending herself again, this time knowing he intended to kill her. It took all her skill and agility to keep out of the reach of his sword while watching for an opening. She felt a burning sensation on her arm and knew he had given her a serious cut. There was no pain, just a sudden uprush of fury, a maddened desire to kill. The world shrank to herself and Ortiz, their dance of death.

His breathing was laboured, his black eyes seethed with bloodlust, but still he drove at her, deriving a superhuman strength from his hatred. Tessa was tiring. Her arm began to ache and she knew she had to end this or be killed. There was no room for a mistake. She feinted, giving him an opening in her defense, and as she hoped, he went for it. Brushing his sword aside, she plunged her blade straight into his chest.

Ortiz looked down, amazement in his eyes as he saw the steel protruding from his body. He glanced up at Tessa, his eyes searching hers, his mouth opened as if to speak. He pitched forward suddenly when Tessa withdrew her blade.

Her sword arm began to tremble, then the shivering spread to her whole body. Unable to control it, she turned away, drawing in great, rasping breaths and leaning on her sword for support. Torres had warned her about this reaction, but she had not expected it. He had said, 'To kill a man is no small thing. Watching his eyes as he knows you have given him a death stroke, burns into your very soul. You never forget it.' Dully, she noticed the blood on her arm as if it were not connected to her. There was no pain, no sensation, only those terrible eyes as he died on her sword. A rushing sound filled her ears as if a great wind was suddenly blowing. From somewhere far away she heard a voice. It pulled her back.

"Señorita!" a hoarse male voice called. Tessa tensed, expecting a bullet or a knife between her shoulder blades. "Señorita," he called again, more insistently.

She turned to face Paco, the bandit who had aimed the gun at her. He was smaller than Tessa, but sturdily built, his swarthy features marked by several scars. A heavy black moustache drooped down both sides of his mouth as he grinned uncertainly at her.

"Señorita," he began hesitantly. "You won the duel. Does this mean you are now our leader?"

Tessa choked back a laugh, afraid that if she started she would not be able to stop. Keeping herself rigidly under control, she answered, "No, Paco. I never wanted that. All I wanted was for you to leave us in peace. With all the loot you have stolen, you and your men must have enough to go somewhere far away and start a new life. Perhaps take up an honest trade."

Paco narrowed his eyes, considering, then replied with a flash of white teeth, "Quien sabe? I have heard of stranger things. Like a woman beating a man in a sword duel." He nodded his head, looking around at the other bandits. "We will keep the word El Gato broke. You will never see us around here again, Señorita."

He turned toward his horse as Tessa called him back. "One more thing. Take his body away and bury it where no one will find it. And," she added in an undertone, "not in the canyon."

The small band rode off, soon becoming no more than a dust trail on the horizon. The don's daughter had been attending to the coach driver who seemed to be coming around, though in great pain. He was sitting upright on the driver's bench.

The don hesitantly approached Tessa. "I don't know how to thank you, Señorita. If you had not shown up, I am certain Inez and I would be dead now. What can I do to repay you?" he asked sincerely.

"Just tell the truth about what you saw here today. That will be enough." Tessa lifted her sword, preparing to replace it in her scabbard. For a long moment, she stared blankly at the drying blood, not sure how to get rid of it before sheathing the sword.

"Allow me," the don said, flourishing a linen handkerchief. Taking the sword, he cleaned it, handing it back hilt first. He tossed the soiled cloth onto the ground as if it were contaminated.

"What do they call you, Señorita?" the don asked, squinting up at the masked woman as she mounted her horse.

Tessa opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated, gazing across the vast openness into which the bandits had disappeared. I could just ride away, like them, she thought, to a new life and leave all these burdens behind. No more killing, no more fear. She glanced at the injured coach driver and the woman attending him, then at the man waiting expectantly for her answer. In her heart she knew her destiny was already laid out and she had no choice but to follow it.

The masked woman spurred her horse into a gallop suddenly, tossing something into the air that fluttered at the don's feet. He picked it up, a quizzical expression crossing his face as he examined the picture card, then murmured,"The Queen of Swords."

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