Marco and the Devil's Bargain by Carla Kelly

look. “ Sí , they did. I allied myself with traders and went in search of her.”
    â€œ Really?” Mondragón asked, his skepticism evident. “All hard living aside, I have never seen an ally of Spanish traders in such sorry shape as you.”
    â€œ I was not precisely an ally of the traders,” Anthony admitted. “I did their menial work. They kicked me and beat me whenever they felt like it.”
    Anthony said it matter-of-factly. There was no point in whining about his mistreatment by men who traded, gambled, and whored in the same room with him, filthy and foul.
    Señor Mondragón had obviously heard tales similar to his, because his expression did not change. “And have you located your daughter?”
    â€œ Quite possibly. The traders knew of a deep and long canyon controlled by Kwahadi.” He laid out his whole hand. “Señor, I have been searching for you because I have been told you are the man who can get me there.”
    Mondragón shook his head, much as Anthony thought he would. The man was no fool.
    â€œ I know of no white man who has ever been there. Granted, we are improving relations with the Kwahadi since the death of Cuerno Verde, but our good intentions are still as shaky as a baby trying to stand. Maybe in a year or two I can help you. I’m sorry, but that’s where the matter must rest, especially while la viruela stalks the plains.”
    Draw it out and make him suffer, Anthony thought. You know you don’t like him any more than the others. “La viruela is going to kill your wife.”
    Anthony may have overplayed his hand. He hadn’t thought the juez would move so fast, and with his knife drawn. Anthony hadn’t even heard it leave its sheath, but there it was, the point against his throat. He held his breath.
    â€œ Damn you, Señor Gil,” Mondragón said, his voice practically quivering in his anxiety. His hand, however, was rock steady. “Tell me why I should not push in this blade and silence you?”
    â€œ Because I am a physician, un médico .”
    The knife clattered to the floor, and the juez sank back into his chair with a noticeable whoof of the leather cushion. He passed a shaking hand in front of his eyes. Anthony rubbed the spot where the blade had left a nick.
    He watched Mondragón, interested to know this man, and how he could play him. He knew the juez was not stupid. There it was—the relief gone, the bleakness back.
    â€œ What good can you possibly do my darling? Can you cure la viruela when it strikes? I doubt it supremely. No one can.”
    â€œ I cannot,” Anthony agreed. This had to be good, and he took his time. “What I can do is prevent it. I scraped some scabs from that trader. Over there in that tin box. I can inoculate your wife.”
    The air went out of Marco Mondragón in a whoof , as it had gone out of the chair. “Thanks be to God,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How soon?”
    Anthony slapped down his last card, the winning card. “As soon as you promise me you will take me to that canyon so I can find my daughter.”
    Silence. Anthony knew he was being weighed and found seriously wanting. The shame of it might have bothered him two years ago, but nothing bothered him after seeing Catalina Gill crammed onto a Comanche lance, probably while she was still alive, the iron tip coming out of her skull. He matched him stare for stare.
    â€œ There is no honor in you, is there?” Mondragón said finally.
    â€œ None whatsoever.”
    â€œ If I do not agree, you will withhold treatment.”
    â€œ Most certainly.”
    â€œ Damn you.”
    â€œ I assure you that has already been taken care of. Take it or leave it. If you think to try the inoculation yourself, you will kill her.”
    The juez flinched. He picked up his knife, fingered the blade and sheathed it. “I have no choice.”
    â€œ I