Ambush at Shadow Valley by Ralph Cotton Page B

mission stood against the rocky hillside at the end of a narrow, stone trail. The entire fortlike structure had long been grown over in a tangle of hanging vines and a carpet of wild-flowers, junipers and ferns. Inside the large wooden gates, the old Mayan Indian heard the voice of the woman call out from the trail; he immediately climbed to the top of a rickety catwalk atop the stone wall and looked down at her.
    â€˜â€˜Will you let me in, please?’’ Clarimonde called up to him, her voice slightly atremble. ‘‘I am a herder from the lower hills. I need food and water. Please open the door and let me in.’’
    Without a word of response, the Mayan disappeared down out of sight. ‘‘What kind of black heathen refuses food and water to a poor woman traveling alone?’’ said Ransdale, starting to reach for his holstered Colt. ‘‘I’ll shoot a way in if this is how they’re going to act.’’
    â€˜â€˜Easy, Nate,’’ said Soto, staring up along the ancient stone wall. ‘‘He’s gone to get someone. They’ll open the door for her. It’s their custom.’’
    The two sat atop their horses, out of sight behind a veil of hanging vines and twisted cedar branches. A silent moment passed; then a small door built into the larger door began to creak open. ‘‘There, you see?’’ Soto said with a half smile. ‘‘I know how these people think. They can’t turn away a stranger.’’
    â€˜â€˜It’s about damn time,’’ Ransdale grumbled under his breath, sizing up the old woman who walked out on brittle ankles and motioned Clarimonde down from her saddle.
    â€˜â€˜What’s going to keep our dear Clarimonde from ducking inside and locking us out?’’ Ransdale asked, getting anxious.
    â€˜â€˜She won’t,’’ Soto said confidently, ‘‘She’s too afraid of what we’ll go back and do to the old man.’’
    â€˜â€˜There’s no way we’d ride back all that way just to kill that old turd,’’ said Ransdale.
    â€˜â€˜But she doesn’t know that,’’ Soto grinned. The two nudged their horses forward as Clarimonde and the old woman started to lead the paint horse through the open door.
    Hearing the hoofbeats across the stone path behind them, Clarimonde clutched the old woman’s forearm and whispered tearfully as she held the small door open for the advancing killers, ‘‘God forgive me for what I have brought here.’’

Chapter 7
    From his room high above the ancient stone courtyard, the old priest heard the sound of horses’ hooves and angry voices. Hurrying to the balcony, he looked down in time to hear a short scream from the young French nun who had run from her garden at the sight of the old nun being knocked aside by the two galloping horses.
    â€˜â€˜Oh no, they are inside the wall!’’ the priest gasped, seeing one American down from his saddle in the middle of the courtyard while the other sat atop his horse, looking up toward his chambers as if he knew where to find him.
    â€˜â€˜Good day to you,’’ Soto called out, his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. ‘‘I hope we didn’t arrive at a bad time.’’ He spread his hand toward Ransdale.
    The old priest’s eyes followed Soto’s gesture to where Ransdale stood, knife in hand. Having knocked the young nun’s straw sun hat from her head, Ransdale held her by her short-cropped hair. His horse, the paint horse and the other spare horse ran in wild circles about the courtyard. ‘‘Turn her loose this instant! She is an innocent, a novice ! Who are you? What do you want here?’’ the priest demanded in a scorching tone.
    Soto raised a gloved hand and motioned him down with his finger. ‘‘Get your pious ass down here before me, and we’ll talk about