American Blood (18 page)

They entered the New Mexican capital in the afternoon. All day it had been raining; now, suddenly, the rain stopped, and the sun broke through the dispersing clouds. Kearny rode at the head of the column, followed by his dragoons. In spite of having just made an arduous nine-hundred-mile journey, Delgado thought the Regulars looked impressive, the first company mounted on black horses, the second on white, and the third on sorrels. Then came Doniphan's Volunteers, looking hardly less gallant and martial than the dragoons.

They were met by several functionaries at the Palace of the Governors. These men seemed to capitulate with as much grace as one could be expected to muster. At Kearny's order, dragoons rigged a flagpole on the roof of the palace so that the Stars and Stripes could be run up atop the seat of provincial—now territorial—government. Drums rolled as the soldiers presented arms in the square. From a ridge outside the city, Kearny's thirteen artillery pieces made their thunder. As a magnificent sunset painted the western sky in bold strokes of gold and crimson, Kearny appeared to make a statement to the hundreds of civilians who stood, quiet and somber, in the square. It was essentially the same speech the general had given at Las Vegas, and the response was just as subdued. Most of the town's populace, judged Delgado, remained in their homes, fearing the Americans would be set loose upon them like a pack of wild, ravening dogs.

That evening Delgado slipped away and took a stroll. The clouds were gone, and millions of stars glittered in the night sky. At this elevation over a mile above sea level, even in summer the nights were refreshingly cool. The crooked narrow streets of Santa Fe were dark and silent. The dragoons had bivouacked in or near the square, as their commander and his staff were quartered in the Palace of the Governors.

Delgado knew this town well. He had often come here from Taos, which lay only seventy miles to the north. The population of Santa Fe numbered no more than three thousand. The square, which was fronted on the north side by the palace and on the other three sides by the shops of merchants and traders, was the commer
cial heart of the province. Delgado was accustomed to seeing it filled with Mexican farmers and Indians from the nearby pueblos, selling their wares, with mule trains constantly entering the town laden with the manufactured goods that were always in such great demand. There was no sign of such commerce now. The shops, like the houses, were closed up tight. The people lurked behind closed doors, some afraid, some sullen, a few perhaps pleased with the change. But only a few, mused Delgado. The change had come so suddenly. Perhaps in time the people would come to accept it.

Returning to the vicinity of the palace, he found Sterling in the shadows of the long front gallery, the tip of the long, thin cigar he was smoking a pinpoint of orange heat in the gloom.

"Well, McKinn," said the newspaperman, "the deed is done. And with considerably less violence than I expected—or the Missouri volunteers hoped for."

"Listen," said Delgado. "Do you hear that?"

"What? I don't hear anything. All is quiet."

"Too quiet. The dragoons are silent. Usually someone is playing a fiddle, or singing a song, or there is loud talking around the campfires."

"Come to think of it, you're right. What do you make of it, my friend?"

"They're worried. This has been too easy."

"Well, General Kearny is bound for California, and he'll waste precious little time getting started. As I understand it, Doniphan and his regiment will wait here until Charles Bent is secure in his new role as governor, and then they are bound for Mexico to join Old Rough and Ready Taylor's army."

"And you? Where are you bound?"

"I would very much like to see California. You?"

"I suppose I will be going home tomorrow."

Sterling extended a hand. "I shall expect to see you back in St. Louis before too very long. I also anticipate, with relish, an invitation to your wedding."

Delgado grinned as he shook the newspaperman's hand. "You can count on that."

He met Falconer inside the Palace of the Governors. The mountain man was on his way out, a wry smile on his weathered face.

"The general visited Armijo's office a while ago," said Falconer. "Found a pair of human ears nailed to the wall."

Delgado nodded grimly. "That sounds like the Armijo I know. What did the general say?"

"Not much. You're bound for Taos, I guess."

"In the morning."

"I'll be going along."

Delgado sighed. "I'll make it the rest of the way safely, Hugh."

"I know that. But there are some old friends up that way that I want to see. Simeon Turley lives at the Arroyo Hondo, and you can always find a few of my kind lingering there, drinking up his liquor."

"You're not going to Mexico with Jeremy?"

"Don't know. I'll make a decision about that when the time comes."

"There is something else," said Delgado. "You know it's not over here, don't you?"

"No, it's not over," said Falconer, his smile fading. "Kearny thinks so, but he's dead wrong. There's big trouble brewing. I can almost smell it."

Chapter Seven

"
Keep your eyes open and your guns loaded."

1

T
he return of his only son after a three-year absence should have been cause for great rejoicing for Angus McKinn. Yet Delgado found his father troubled and strangely aloof. He would not speak of the cataclysmic changes that were occurring in the province. Delgado had the impression his father was hoping that if he ignored all the turmoil it would just go away. Since the American conquest seemed an accomplished fact, Delgado did not mention the Taos trader he had met a fortnight ago in the army encampment, the man who had been making a statement by selling flour to General Kearny's quartermaster, and who had enjoined Delgado to persuade his father to take a firm stand on the issue of the American occupation.

All that Angus McKinn would say was that he had hoped his son would have demonstrated the good sense to stay in St. Louis for a while, as he had wanted him to.

"I could not stay, for two reasons," replied Delgado. "One is that I wanted to be with my family during these troubling times. For another, I abused Jacob Bledsoe's hospitality, and a man wanted to challenge me to a duel."

Over a homecoming dinner of wild duck, boiled
custard, and Madeira, he told his parents about Sarah, and Brent Horan, and the rescue of the abolitionist, Jeremiah Rankin. He told them the whole story, the unvarnished truth, omitting nothing, and saving for the end the revelation that he was in love with Jacob Bledsoe's daughter, and she with him, and that he would return one day soon to St. Louis to claim his bride, regardless of the risks.

Recovering from his surprise, Angus looked pleased. "Well, my boy, I didna think you would ever settle down into marriage. This is good news. I suppose she is a bonny lass?"

"Angus!" scolded Juanita McKinn.

"What? What did I say?" Angus feigned innocence.

"Yes," said Delgado, smiling. "She is the second most beautiful woman in the world."

"The second?" queried his mother, mystified.

"Next to you, Mother."

Angus chuckled. "You're a sly devil, Del. I'll give you that. This is grand news. By this match, why, you and your bride will one day rule a vast commercial empire."

"Really, Angus," sighed Juanita. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"What's wrong with thinking about it? For Christ's sake, woman!"

Juanita winced. A devout Catholic, she had not grown accustomed, even after twenty-five years of marriage, to the casual profanity of her husband.

"I wish Jacob Bledsoe was as keen on the idea as you are, father," said Delgado.

"Don't worry your head about old Jacob, lad. He'll come around to seeing the good of it. You
and I will go to St. Louis with the spring caravan, and I'll talk some sense into him."

"The spring! I'm not sure I can wait that long, Father."

"There are plenty of young and available senoritas right here in Taos to amuse you until then."

"Angus McKinn," said Juanita curtly. "That is a horrible thing to say. If Delgado is in love with this girl, as he appears to be, he will have absolutely no interest in other women. Nor should he."

"I was merely suggesting that he enjoy his freedom while he may."

"His freedom!" Juanita's dark Spanish eyes flashed fire. "So you think of marriage, perhaps, as a life sentence in prison?"

Realizing he had well and truly put his foot in his mouth, Angus grimaced. "I didna mean to imply any such thing, woman," he growled.

Suppressing a smile, Delgado excused himself and rose from the table. His parents were both willful and outspoken people, and they often clashed in this way, only to mend their fences later. It was good to know that some things never changed.

He was glad, in a way, that his father had refused to discuss the coming of the Americans, for that exonerated Delgado from having to defend his own actions as General Kearny's unofficial envoy. He did not regret having done his part to prevent bloodshed, but he had to wonder how Angus McKinn felt about his activities on behalf of the Americans.

The days that followed were uneventful. Like Angus, all of Taos seemed to be living in a state of denial. Delgado could find no one who was inclined to discuss the current state of affairs. The
people went about their business with a grim determination to pretend that nothing unusual had occurred, and that their lives would go on just as before.

Two weeks after Delgado's homecoming, Jeremy Bledsoe showed up in Taos, bringing with him a lot of important news.

Kearny had gone out of his way to allay the fears of the New Mexicans and win their trust. He had immediately abolished a stamp act and other burdensome levies under which the New Mexicans had been laboring for many years. Though himself an Episcopalian, the general was regularly attending mass at St. Francis Church. He had given a ball at the Palace of the Governors to which the "common people" had been invited. At least five hundred Santa Feans had accepted the invitation. The ballroom had been festooned with the flags and banners of the Army of the West. A good time had been had by all, said Jeremy, who remarked on the numerous attractive senoritas who had graced the affair with their presence.

The general had issued a bill of rights for the new territory of New Mexico, consisting of thirteen sections and obviously derived from the Declaration of Independence and the first ten amendments to the Constitution of the United States. Called the Kearny Code, it had been written in large part by Alexander Doniphan, an accomplished lawyer in civilian life.

"Confidentially," said Jeremy, "Colonel Doniphan has informed me that in his professional opinion the code is completely unconstitutional. Only Congress can confer civil rights upon the people of New Mexico. Still, it is a smart move
on the general's part, and should go a long way toward allaying the fears of the populace."

Delgado agreed, then learned that Jeremy's visit was not entirely a social call; he had brought along a stack of handbills that included the Kearny Code in both Spanish and English, and which he was charged with distributing in Taos.

"We've had more rumors concerning Manuel Armijo," said Jeremy. "They say he has joined forces with five hundred Mexican Regulars somewhere to the south. So General Kearny has taken his dragoons and Laclede's Rangers to investigate." Jeremy grimaced. "Leaving us Missouri volunteers to look after Santa Fe—where absolutely nothing is going to happen."

Delgado smiled. "Glory is an elusive creature, isn't it? I wouldn't worry about Armijo. By running away he lost the support of the people. The dragoons will have a long, hard march and nothing to show for their efforts at the end."

"Where's Hugh Falconer?"

"He left as soon as we arrived here, and I assume he is still at Turley's Mill."

"Let's pay him a visit, Del. What do you say?"

Bored and restless, Delgado was quick to agree. "We will leave first thing in the morning," he said.

But he came very close to never seeing the morning.

2

For some reason he could not sleep, tossing and turning well into the night. The house was silent. Everyone else had turned in long ago, including Jeremy, who had been given the guest room next
door to Delgado's room. Finally, disgusted, Delgado threw aside the covers and went to the narrow louvered doors that provided access to the courtyard and pushed them open. Perhaps some cool night air would help him sleep. The McKinn house was shaped like a U with squared-off corners, and every room opened onto the courtyard, from which one had a fine view of the snow-clad peaks. Delgado could tell at a glance that there were no lights on in any of the other rooms. Apparently, no one else in the household was afflicted with insomnia.

He went back to bed—and still he could not sleep. He got up again, angry now, and lighted a candle, and sat down in his nightshirt at the old walnut secretary, intent on writing another letter to Sarah. He had written one yesterday, and another the day before. At least part of what bothered him was that she had not written back. Or, at least, he had not received a letter from her. He told himself that this was probably because the war had disrupted travel on the Santa Fe Trail. But, now that by all appearances the American occupation of New Mexico had been peacefully accomplished, that was beginning to change; some of the traders he had seen whiling away the days and weeks at Bent's Fort had started to show up in Taos and Santa Fe. The trail was opening up again. The great artery of trade was once more flowing freely.

So why had he not heard from Sarah? As Sterling had suggested, he was still sending his letters to the offices of the St. Louis
Enquirer
, care of a Mr. Stephen Maitland, the fellow Sterling had said was in love with Clarisse. But perhaps the arrangement wasn't working as Sterling expected it
to. Perhaps, for some reason, Sarah wasn't getting his letters after all. He had decided to ask Falconer if he could send his next missive by way of Lillian; he hated to involve the Falconers, but he was getting desperate. Of course, Hugh Falconer was an employee of Jacob Bledsoe, and he might not want to risk incurring Bledsoe's wrath by aiding and abetting a relationship between Delgado and Sarah—a relationship which, as far as Delgado knew, Bledsoe still strongly opposed. But Delgado was resolved to risk it and ask Falconer for help. The mountain man would tell him straight out if he didn't want to get involved.