Night of the Condor by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page A

was close to despair when the waiter who brought her breakfast asked, 'You wish to go up to Atayahuanco? My cousin has a mule to sell. And in his village, there are many who would guide you there.'
    My saviour, Leigh thought joyously. She said, 'How do I get to this village? And what's your cousin's name?'
    'You take the
collectivo, seňorita
. And my cousin is Pablo Ortega. He is a good man, and will not cheat you,' he added piously.
    Now, with hindsight, Leigh could see she had allowed her enthusiasm to out-run her common sense.
    The journey in the
collectivo
, a kind of communal taxi whose condition made those in Lima seem positively luxurious, had been a nightmare from start to finish. The roads had been appalling, many of them little more than tracks traversing the sheer edge of some stomach-turning chasm, and she had been crammed in with vegetable crates, and two families, one of whom had a baby who wailed continuously. After the first few miles, Leigh had felt like joining it. She closed her eyes as they rounded the worst bends, but she had a terrible suspicion that the driver did exactly the same.
    When the interminable jolting and lurching finally ground to a halt, and she realised they had arrived safely at their destination, her feelings were a mixture of mild surprise and profound relief.
    The village turned out to be an unimpressive collection of shacks, huddled dejectedly round a small square, entirely dominated by a massively imposing church. Leigh would have quite liked to visit this church while she was awaiting the arrival of Pablo Ortega, on the grounds that anything would be better than standing around in the square being openly stared at by the village's entire population. But the building was locked and impregnable, and seemed to have been for some time, and she managed to deduce from one of the women that the priest no longer came.
    Nor did there seem to be any kind of store that she could see, or anywhere to buy a cup of coffee. She was almost convinced that she had reached yet another dead end, and that there was no Pablo Ortega and certainly no mule, when she heard the padding of hooves, and the jingle of harness.
    The first setback was Se ň or Ortega's firm refusal to allow her to hire Rosita. How could there be any such arrangement, he demanded righteously in atrocious English, when there was no guarantee he would ever get his property back at the end of the hiring period? Such things were with God. It would have to be a sale or nothing. After all, the
seňorita
would have no problem selling a fine mule like Rosita at the end of her journey.
    It took an hour for a bargain to be struck. Leigh wasn't sure what the correct asking price for a mule should be, but she gritted her teeth and bartered vigorously, and eventually with much shrugging and sighing on Seňor Ortega's part, the deal was made, and Leigh was having her first lesson in bridling Rosita, and loading her correctly.
    It was simpler than she had originally feared, Leigh thought with satisfaction as she sat beside her small fire, and watched Rosita hobbled and placidly grazing a few yards away, but it had been a blow to discover that the mule's tack was not included in the price agreed, and had to be bought separately.
    But worst of all had been her discovery that neither Pablo Ortega nor any other member of the community was prepared to act as her guide to Atayahuanco. Leigh had argued and persuaded, and offered generous pay, but they were all adamant. But in the next village, they assured her, only a day's stroll away across the
puna
, there would be many willing to help the
seňorita
.
    The thought of spending the night in the wilderness with only a strange mule for company was totally unappealing, but she had no choice. It seemed important too to leave the impression that she was in charge, not worried about a thing, so she buried her qualms under a bright smile as she loaded her gear on to the clearly reluctant Rosita, and the whole