The Legend of Sophronia Rose
Chapter 2
Sophronia stumbled through the nearby brush, dazed by the information presented to her. She crammed the leather document case into her haversack, falling free of the foliage and onto her hands and knees. A new sound joined the thunderous hoofbeats of the approaching cavalry — shouting, angry voices. She pulled her rifle from its place at her shoulder, holding it in both hands and she ran along the dry riverbed.
She heard the horses slow and stop, while the shouting grew more intense. In the distance, she could see the rocky overhang that led to her hunting bosque. A series of gunshots rang out from the site of the battle, and she winced reflexively. Soon after, the echoing sound of galloping horses filled her ears yet again. She sprinted to the overhang, clawing her way up the loose dirt to escape to the relative safety of the trees beyond.
The ground to her immediate left exploded in a shower of dust and grime. She lost her grip, tumbling down several feet as bullets began to pepper the sharp surface of the hill. No longer willing to risk the ascent, she let go — sliding unceremoniously back into the short, dangerous bushes below. She tried to run, but the terrain kept her from making quick progress. The Mexican horses didn’t suffer the same shortcoming. She felt a hard impact between her shoulder blades and collapsed to the ground yet again.
The Mexican cavalryman continued for a few feet before bringing his horse around in a sharp turn. Luckily for her, he had opted for the butt of his carbine rather than the wicked saber at his side. Sophornia coughed and sat up, staring down the barrel of the man’s gun.
“No te muevas!” He barked, gesturing with the barrel of the gun for emphasis. She slowly held up her hands, moving only her eyes to search for her dropped rifle. Another two horsemen arrived soon after, one of which wore a considerably more ornate uniform.
“¿Hablas español, niña?” The dandy asked her, a bushy mustache quivering as he spoke.
“Apologies, partner, but I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said slowly and evenly, eyeing the gun that remains trained on her. The dandy waved at the other rider, who lowered the gun — but kept it held tightly in both hands.
“Yankee?” the dandy asked with a thick accent. Sophronia winced up at him and sighed.
“Yeah, reckon so, in this context. Can’t say I like you puttin’ it that way,” She mumbled. The three men conversed in Spanish, and she could pick out a handful of words. Mapa wasn’t hard to figure out, and she definitely heard oro peppered in.
“You knew these men? The filibusters?” the dandy asked, gesturing back at the battlefield behind them.
“Never met ’em before in my life,” Sophronia said, telling the technical truth. “You mind if I stand up out of the dirt? I think I’m sittin’ in deer scat.”
The man holding his gun gave the dandy a look, but they ultimately acquiesced. Sophornia stood and dusted herself off, patting at her thighs and arms. The men seemed unable to decide on a course of action, until the more aggressive of the three pointed the barrel of his gun at her haversack.
“My compatriot wishes to know what you have in the bag, miss,” The dandy asked, fishing in his own belt pouch for a pipe. “Those dead filibusters had a very important document, you see.”
“In my bag…” Sophornia began, looking down to where the canvas satchel sat at her hip. She bit the edge of her lower lip, considering her surroundings. The man in the ornate uniform had his eyes down at his pipe, stuffing it with tobacco. The third man had stopped paying attention entirely, instead looking cautiously off into the distance. She reached deep into her bag, searching for a familiar polished oak surface. She wrapped her hand around the grip of her revolver and yanked, pulling back the hammer in the same motion.
The gun cleared canvas before the cavalryman could react, and she fired. It caught him in the collarbone, dropping him in a spray of bright red blood. The dandy fumbled his pipe while reaching for his own pistol, but she turned and fanned an additional two shots into his chest. The last three thudded into the chest and shoulder of the final cavalryman’s horse.
While the gunfire didn’t kill the horse outright, it did send the creature fleeing in the opposite direction as the man tried to shout and aim at the same time. His single shot carbine roared, but the bullet went wide. Sophronia ducked instinctively before seizing the opportunity to vault up onto the dandy’s abandoned steed. The bay-colored horse whinnied in apprehension, but reluctantly responded to her command — taking off at a quick cantor, away from the final soldier and his dead or dying brethren.
Sophornia kicked hard, driving the horse to a full gallop as she shouted in adrenaline-soaked fear. Horse and rider streaked down the dry riverbed, until they hit marsh and finally the bubbling waters of the Gila River beyond. She didn’t dare slow down, knowing that the Mexican army detachment would be in hot pursuit, but she did whip around to head across the same shallows she’d used to investigate less than an hour before. Back on her original side of the river, she made for her meager campsite.
She vaulted from the horse, gathering her items into the canvas she used as a rain-stop. She mentally cursed at the loss of her rifle — an expensive newer model that had cost her a month’s worth of hunting sales.
“Reckon it won’t take much gold to make up for that,” she murmured, securing her belongings to the stolen horse. “Now I just gotta find that Mr. Whitlow.”
