“Puenta Piedra,” he mused, tugging idly at his scraggly black beard. “I wonder if those stories about a natural stone bridge could have started from one the Spaniards built on the route south from San Antonio.”
“How does this line up with Tinaja de la Tortuga?”
He looked upward, turning his head till he found Lucero, and raised his hand to it. “There’s the Shepherd’s Star. And the one the Mexicans call La Guía. They’re always fixed in relation to each other. That leaves us almost due south of Turtle Sink.”
“That tallies with the map,” she said, spreading the parchment out against her horse’s neck. “Red Trails must be right in the middle of that thicket we skirted. And this is the Puenta Piedra they mean. We have to turn east a little now to strike Llano Sacaguista.”
He got onto the pin
