She caught his arm, turning him back.
"No," she said. "It is something. Huerta?"
Crawford pulled away from her hand, uncomfortable, somehow. "I just
can't see you with him. You're not the type."
"What type do you think I am?"
He started to answer. Then he moved his shoulders again, letting out a
muted, rueful sound. "I guess I don't know, really, do I?"
"Don't you?" She was meeting his glance with a wide, candid demand in
her eyes.
"Santa Anna's chests?" he said.
She drew in a long, slow breath, and nodded, finally. "You do know,
then," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "You have known, all along." She
hesitated, studying him. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger.
"That's inconceivable to you, isn't it?"
"No--"
"Yes!" She blew out the punk with the word. "You've lived in the
_brasada_ most of your life. Money to you represents no more than a
barren, lonely ranch like this and a herd of cattle to support it. You
have no conception of what riches can really mean. Not just the horses,
the servants, the jewels. The grace, Crawford, the ease, the beauty,
the way of life." An intensity had gripped her voice, and her face was
flushed. "Do you know what it is to be a peon in Mexico? No. You've
never seen it, have you? You've seen the women in the brush here,
living like animals in a one-room mud house with nothing but a cotton
sheet for a dress. That's nothing. They're rich. They're hidalgos
compared with a real peon. I should know. I was one, Crawford. I won't
be one again. I'd rather steal and lie and cheat. I'd rather murder.
Can you understand that? I will, if it's necessary. I--"
She broke off, breathing deeply, looking wide-eyed up at him. Then
a short bitter laugh escaped her, and she turned away, the line of
her shoulders bowing faintly. Light drew a soft glow from the rich
black hair drawn tightly across the back of her head. With a new
understanding of the woman, he stepped in behind her.
"All right," he said.
The simple acceptance of that drew her around. They were standing so
close her breast touched his when it stirred faintly to her breathing.
"You were going to tell me what happened downstairs," he murmured.
"_Derrotero?_" she said, watching his face narrowly.