The Blackbirder by Dorothy B. Hughes

Author:Dorothy B. Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Wonder Audiobooks, LLC
Published: 2011-11-13T13:12:14+00:00

Chapter Five

PURSUED BY THE F.B.I.

Julie saw nothing in the room, not shapes, not shadows in the firelight. Her choked voice alone had function, crying hoarsely, “Please help me. Don't let them get me! Please, please! Help me!”

She heard the door close behind her, heard the bolt fall while her voice babbled frantically, “Please, please help me. Don't let them in. They'll take me back! They'll kill me!”

The figures closed in on her. She shrank back. Only then did she actually see the man who had admitted her, his faded blue jeans, his faded blue shirt, the weary hat on his head, the inscrutable black eyes in-the face like an Aztec mask. The two black braids over his shoulders were twined with red rag. She was in the Tesuque Indian pueblo.

She said brokenly only to herself, “You don't understand. You can't save me.” She leaned back against the door to keep from falling.

The voice was quiet. “You are in some trouble.” He came into the circle then, a younger Indian, blue-jeaned like the older man, his hair cut short. There were two women coming nearer, fat, black-banged, curious. There were children with sleepy, black-bead eyes slanted at her. There was no expression on any face.

She heard a motor cut. She broke in whispering, her eyes begging all of them, “Don't let them take me. Help me. Please, help me.” She didn't realize how she must appear, shoeless, stockings frozen to her legs, her wild hair frozen above her face, the man's mackinaw wrapping her. She didn't even realize that fear was livid on her face and that fear transcended language barriers.

The braided man said, “Soledad.” He pointed.

One woman came forward, took her hand, led her like a child to the wall. She draped a blanket over Julie's head, about her shoulders, pointed to the floor. Julie sank down. She could hear a voice shouting outside. The woman spoke, evidently in Tewa. The children scuttled to their positions by the hearth. The woman squatted beside Julie, pulled a blanket about herself, rested her head against the banco. The guttural shout was outside the door. “Open up, in there. Open up, I say.” Julie shivered. The woman laid a quiet brown hand against her shoulder.

The door shuddered. “I say, in there.” That was Blaike.

The braided Indian moved cat quiet to the door. His hands were deliberate on the bar. The opening was small. The lantern was held high to foreign faces. The young Indian stood behind the older man.

“Where is that girl what came in here?” Schein's voice was heavy.

The Indian shrugged. “No girl. Nobody. Go ‘way.”

The thick voice grew more guttural. “Don't lie. She is here. I saw her come.”

“Nobody here. Go ‘way.”

Blaike broke in pleasantly, trying to eradicate the hostility engendered by the German. “My sister. She lost her way in the storm. We are searching for her. We thought we saw— ”

The Indian repeated, “Go ‘way.”

“If we could but look— ” His ingratiation could succeed where Schein's arrogance failed. Blaike was pushing to the door opening.

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