Chapter Thirteen

They hadn't been on the valley floor for long before they came upon some men who appeared to be mending a serrated pit in the road. They paused at their work in curious attitudes, as if the approaching party was the most important thing they had seen all day. In a field off to one side, two boys who had been poking sticks at a cooking fire rose slowly and watched the wagons, their bodies tense and faces unreadable. It seemed as if everyone was holding his breath. This was no ordinary road crew.

Amalia and Gonzales had been at the head of the party but now they dropped back and let Peterson draw his cart forward. As he approached the road workers he raised a hand in greeting. "Buenos días, vecinos," he called. "It’s Jules Peterson y mis vecinos de Valle Redondo."

The oldest of the crew straightened and tipped back his hat, "Come a little closer, amigo, it's hard to recognize anyone with the sun behind him. Is that really you, Jules?"

Peterson clucked to his team. Once the men were close enough to recognize each other, the road worker's face lit up in a grin and he dropped his heavy shovel. "Óye, Peterson! Long time, friend!"

Peterson jerked on the reins and his mules shuffled to a stop. "Good to see you, too, Espinoza. We've got some stuff to trade today, if you've got folks who are interested."

"Claro, of course we're interested." Espinoza tried to peer into Peterson's wagon but the goods were covered with a tarp. His eyes scanned the rest of the party. "Three wagons, eh? Not so many, but you'll do good business just the same."

Now that everyone seemed reassured, Gonzales came trotting up on his buckskin. He touched his hat brim and nodded toward Espinoza, then turned his attention to the other men, who had been gathering around their leader. "Óyen, hombres, what're things like these days? Any news? You know we don't hear nothing in the country."

The men exchanged sharp glances, but only Espinoza spoke. "Same old, as far as we know. We don't get much news either. Everyone who comes here is in from the country to trade, just like you. They don't know nothing about the war or the government."

"No Guard sightings?" Melinda asked. "No tax collectors?"

"No, Señora," the man said with a shrug. "Our courier from the post office in Jonasville comes almost every week, and there's probably a spy or two, but we can't do nothing about that."

"Of course not," Gonzales said, the expression on his face suggesting he didn't agree with Espinoza at all.

"So are there any new rules?" Peterson asked. "I haven't been here since May and I don't think anyone else. . ." he looked at the members of his party for confirmation.

Espinoza frowned and turned to the other members of his group. "Anything new since spring, amigos?"

"Just that Miss Janie's getting a little forgetful," one man piped up. "If you lodge any of your animals with her, get her to write you a receipt every time either one of you does something. There've been a few problems with people disagreeing on what got done and what's been paid for."

"Good advice for anytime." Peterson straightened up and twitched the reins. "I guess we better get going, then. It'll take us a little while to set up and we'd like to make a few sales before the sun goes down."

"I'm going to trade for some cash and visit the Tortuga Rosa," Gonzales added with a grin. "I could stand for some good liquor, and a little female company to enjoy it with."

Espinoza chuckled. "You'll find everything just like you're expecting it." He stepped back from the road and his men did the same, dragging their carts and phony road-mending equipment with them. The boys who had been watching the scene from the side of the road moved back toward their fire, still darting wary glances at the trading party.

Peterson, Amalia and Diana called to their teams and the wagons jerked forward with a creak of harnesses and shuffling of hooves in the dust. Gonzales trotted toward the head of the group while Melinda dropped back to bring up the rear.

Donovan, who had by now joined Amalia in her wagon, waited until they were out of earshot, then leaned close. "Clever checkpoint, but how were they going to get word to the town if we weren't what we appeared to be?"

"I think they have a radio or a telegraph setup or something," Amalia said, stiffening at Donovan's nearness but not moving away, either. "Those kids you saw by the fire? Their job is to run and get word to the town about danger while the men cause as much delay as possible."

"When I was in the Guard, there were some places that booby-trapped the entrances to their town or ranch. It doesn't look like they do that here."

"I don't know. If they have a plan other than to delay, hide the stuff and look poor, they aren't talking. I don't blame them. There are a lot of evil people in the world these days. You can never be completely sure who's a spy, or who will turn on you someday."

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