The Wildest Heart

I felt as ashamed and humiliated, but his eyes had merely flickered over me, their expression unreadable, and now they were fastened upon Lucas, who turned slowly to face his brother.

“Well? Surely you have some explanation. You are not usually at a loss for one. Were you merely testing her true feelings for me? Or would you try and make me believe that she threw herself at you and deliberately enticed you into making love to her? Come, you must admit that I am patient! By now another man in my place would have shot you as you stand.”

I noticed, for the first time, the awful, om

inous stillness that surrounded us. There was no more music in the background. Here in this secluded, shaded corner even the torchlights were merely a faint glow somewhere behind us. And I saw, as he casually moved his hand upward, the gun that Ramon had carried against his thigh.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I could not make any sound emerge from my suddenly dry throat.

It was Lucas who spoke, his voice quiet. “I have nothing to say. No explanations.”

“And you expect me to be content with that?”

The hammer clicked back on the gun. I felt as if I had been trapped in a nightmare.

“It seems as if you will be content with no less than to pull that trigger, Ramon. Why don’t you do it quickly before your scruples get the better of you?”

Even in my half-dazed state I could not mistake the soft, deliberately taunting note in Lucas Cord’s voice.

And it seemed to me in that tiny, suspended moment when they faced each other—Ramon with the gun in his hand, his face grim, and Lucas, standing so negligently, his arms at his side—that some men appear to court death deliberately, and that Lucas was one of these.

I know Ramon realized this too, and his handsome face twisted in a snarl of bitterness.

“I think you would like me to murder you and carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life. But I will not make it so easy for you. Where is your gun?”

“I saw no need to wear it this evening. And in any case, Ramon, I will not duel with you, if that is what you have in mind. For God’s sake!” I saw Lucas’s eyes narrow, and his voice turned harshly impatient, “Must we stand out here acting out some stupid drama? I kissed Rowena, and she slapped my face. Now… if you feel you ought to shoot me for that go ahead an’ shoot. Or else I’m walking away.”

“Must you be reminded that you are no longer dealing with a little brother, but a man you’ve insulted? I saw you strike my novia, and had I been close enough I would have killed you then!”

I saw, even in the darkness, the look on Ramon’s face, and I managed to say faintly: “No, Ramon!” But Lucas, although he must have seen it too, merely raised an insolent eyebrow and started to walk past him. Perhaps he meant to take the gun from Ramon, perhaps he did not really believe that Ramon, the quiet-spoken gentleman who had been brought up by Jesuits, would actually shoot.

The gun went off with a blinding flash. I think I screamed, and the smell of powder was bitter in my nostrils. It is strange how the small details come soonest into one’s mind afterward, when the recalling of violence is too frightening or too painful.

I remember that I leaned back against the wall, feeling my legs suddenly too weak to support me. I remember the warmth of the rough adobe bricks under my ice-cold hands.

Ramon had taken a step backwards, and now he took another, the gun still steady. Lucas had seemed to stumble, but now he stood still, staring at Ramon. Very slowly he touched his right arm, and I saw him look down at fingers that were sticky with blood.

He looked back at Ramon then, and his voice sounded abstracted. “Either you’re a very bad shot, hermano, or an excellent one. You’ve drawn blood. Does that satisfy your honor?”

“You have a poor idea of honor if you think so! Now, will you draw the knife that you carry in your boot, or will you stand there like a coward and let me use you as a target to prove that I am as good a shot as you are?”

“So it’s to be knives, now?” Lucas’s voice sounded faintly contemptuous. “Ramon, you’re making a fool of yourself! Can’t you see that?”

The gun boomed again.

This time the bullet had grazed his thigh, and already the blood was starting to drip down his pants leg, leaving an ugly, dark stain. I thought I saw a look of shock on Lucas’s face as he looked from his wound and back at Ramon.

The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, but one of the torches suddenly flared in a rising wind, and I saw the cold determined look on Ramon’s face. “Have I convinced you yet, Lucas?”

It was at that moment that Jesus Montoya, a cigar in his mouth, strolled casually to join us.

“So this is where you all are! Elena heard the shots, and asked me to find out what they were about. So—have you two been having a little target practice to impress the lady?”

“Montoya, you keep out of this!” Lucas said furiously, at the same time that Ramon gave a short, sneering laugh.

“I’ve been trying to persuade my usually reckless brother to fight like a man. But it seems he doesn’t like having to face the consequences of his actions!”

Montoya took his cigar out of his mouth and studied it carefully. “So! This becomes interesting.” He looked straight at Lucas then, and there was a knife edge of hardness underlying his smooth voice. “I am not so old that I do not have eyes, and ears. Did I not warn you once that women would be your downfall? I think you cannot make up your mind, Lucas amigo. I think you always want that which belongs to someone else… or is beyond your reach. Am I not right?”