American Blood (19 page)

Then there was the other possibility—the one Delgado feared most of all: that Sarah Bledsoe
had
received his letters and just did not
want
to respond. Delgado didn't care to believe this could be the case; he
refused
to believe it. Yet the doubts tortured him just the same. In his case, absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder. But what if such was not the case with Sarah?

In this state of pure mental torment he wrote . . .

Sarah, my dearest love,

       
I have yet to receive a letter from you, though I have written at least a dozen times since my departure. If you had a change of heart please let me know and release me from this anguish . . .

Pausing, he stared with dissatisfaction at the lines he had written.

It was then that the sound behind him made him turn.

A man was crouched in the open doorway to the courtyard. He was wearing a dark cloak, and
the brim of his hat was pulled low over a face partially concealed by a bandanna. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, and the blade of the dagger in his grasp gleamed. Seeing that he had been discovered, the man leaped forward, raising the dagger.

Delgado whirled to face his attacker, overturning the chair in which he had been seated. As the would-be assassin crashed into him, he tried frantically to deflect the blade. He was only partially successful. The steel bit deep into his shoulder. A guttural cry escaped Delgado's lips—a sound that blended fear with pain and rage. He struck back with the only weapon at his disposal—he still had the quill pen in his hand. The sharp steel point tore at his assailant's throat. The man's hot blood spewed onto Delgado's arm. They fell, grappling, over the fallen chair, and then the man broke away, scrambling to his feet, the knife in his hand red with Delgado's blood. He clutched at his throat, though he still had not uttered a sound. Delgado tried to get to his feet, feeling suddenly weak and light-headed. The man turned on him, pure hate blazing in his eyes.

"Traitor!" he snarled and raised the dagger again.

"Del! Del, are you all right?"

This was Jeremy, pounding on the door to the hall so hard that it rattled on its hinges.

The assassin glanced at the door, at Delgado, and then fled into the shadows of the courtyard, an instant before Jeremy burst into the room. Jeremy paled as he saw Delgado's blood-soaked nightshirt.

"My God! What's happened?"

Delgado could not trust himself to speak. He
gestured at the door open to the courtyard. Undaunted by the fact that he was without a weapon, Jeremy rushed out into the night.

Angus appeared just as Delgado, leaning against the secretary, began to lose his balance. Catching his son, Angus laid him gently down on the floor. Jeremy returned from the courtyard.

"Whoever it was, he's gone now. But there's blood on the wall where he went over. You hurt him, Del. Hurt him badly." Kneeling with Angus at Delgado's side, he added, "Don't worry, Mr. McKinn. It isn't a fatal wound."

"Praise God," breathed Angus. "Watch over him. I will go myself for the doctor."

Jeremy nodded. "Who was it, Del? Who did this?"

Delgado shook his head. He had not known the man.

Standing, Angus McKinn trembled with rage. "In my own house," he muttered. "In my own house!"

As he turned to leave the room, Juanita McKinn appeared in the doorway and gasped through the hands that flew to her face as she saw her son on the floor. "Remain calm, woman," said Angus gruffly. "Boil water, and we'll need bandages. Our son will live—which is more than I can say for the bastard who tried to kill him."

3

The next day Hugh Falconer rode into Taos. He found Delgado in his bed, attended by his concerned mother, who had not left his side. Jeremy was there, too. But Angus was conspicuously ab
sent, and when the frontiersman asked his whereabouts, Jeremy announced that the elder McKinn was in the process of turning the town upside down, looking for the man who had tried to kill his son.

"So it has begun," said Falconer.

"What?" asked Juanita. "What has begun?"

"Never mind, Mother," said Delgado. "How did you hear of this so quickly, Hugh?"

"That kind of news travels fast. Simeon Turley tells me he's heard rumors of a conspiracy brewing right here in Taos. A conspiracy by those opposed to New Mexico becoming a territory of the United States."

Juanita McKinn looked up at Falconer, but she said nothing, and there was no surprise in her eyes. The frontiersman realized that this woman, who had lived here all her adult life and knew the people well, was aware of the undercurrent of violence rushing just beneath the placid surface of the province. She wasn't as naive as Delgado assumed. She was just acting as though she were.

"You were to be an example, Del," continued Falconer. "An example to anyone who might contemplate betraying this conspiracy. Since you've collaborated with us Americans, you're a perfect target."

"I think you ought to get out of here," Jeremy told Delgado. "Maybe you could go back to St. Louis. I know one person in particular who would be happy to see you."

"If you'll recall," said Delgado wryly, "there is also a person in St. Louis who wants me dead."

Jeremy shrugged. "That has probably blown over by now." But Delgado thought he was saying that for Juanita McKinn's benefit.

"I won't go," said Delgado. "And that isn't foolish pride talking, either. I can't leave just yet. These people you're talking about, Hugh, have no honor. If they'll send an assassin to murder me in the dark of night, they could try to harm my father or mother."

"I don't care about that," said Juanita. "Your safety comes first."

"But your safety comes first with me. I am staying until this matter is resolved, and that's my final word."

Juanita turned to Falconer. "What can we do?"

"Not much. Wait. Keep your eyes open and your guns loaded. It won't be long."

"I'll ride back to Santa Fe immediately," said Jeremy, "and report everything to Colonel Doniphan. I must convince him—and he must convince General Kearny—to stay until whatever is going to happen happens."

A half hour later, Angus McKinn returned, cold fury on his craggy face.

"No one can tell me anything. Bloody amazing, isn't it, that nary a soul in Taos heard a single word about a plot to murder my son? Or about a man with a peculiar wound to the neck. I thought I had friends here. After all these years I see I was mistaken on that score."

"Now Angus," said Juanita, "perhaps they are too afraid to talk."

McKinn uttered a skeptical grunt in response. He looked sternly at Delgado. "I do not approve of what you've done, lad. You shouldna have been involved."

"I disagree, Father. In something like this a man cannot straddle the fence. He can't, and he shouldn't. Jeremy's sister taught me that."

"I don't object to the Americans taking over," said Angus. "I have no love for the tyrants who reside in the presidential palace at Mexico City. The events of 1824 gave me high hopes, but men like Pareda and Santa Anna have dashed those hopes. I left Scotland to get out from under the English heel, you know. Still, I didna want to jeopardize my business concerns—that is to say, your future, son."

"Well, I've done that for you," replied Delgado. "In the eyes of those who oppose the Americans, I am a traitor. And you, Father, are guilty by association."

Angus sighed and nodded, his expression one of grim resolve. " 'Tis true, and I canna deny it. You know I'll stand by you, Del, and the devil take the hindmost."

4

Delgado spent more than a fortnight recuperating. He was weak as a kitten, having lost a lot of blood, and the doctor admonished him to stay in bed until the wound had completely closed, lest he retard the healing process. For the first week he slept a lot—so much that he began to wonder if something was really wrong with him, something mental rather than physical. He could scarcely keep his eyes open for more than an hour or two. Jeremy told him not to worry. The same thing had happened to him after he'd been wounded at Resaca de la Palma.

After that first week, feeling stronger every day, Delgado began to rebel against his confinement, a rebellion that finally won him the right to spend
some time in the courtyard, sitting in the warm sun of late morning, or in the cool afternoon shade.

He parents were afraid that another attempt might be made on his life; Delgado gave that prospect very little thought. Apart from being bored and feeling isolated, his main concern was Sarah Bledsoe. Impatient, he prayed that something—anything—might happen so that the situation here resolved itself. The waiting, the not knowing, was the worst part. Then he could return to St. Louis and resolve
that
situation.

Angus hired several men to guard the house. Falconer told him that these hired hands were practically worthless if their loyalty was to money and not the McKinn family. Delgado thought Falconer was right about that, but Angus kept the men on. He didn't agree with the mountain man. In his book loyalty to money was the kind one could really rely on. For his part, Delgado made certain his derringer was always within easy reach. He would not be caught by surprise a second time.

Jeremy rode to Santa Fe to report the assassination attempt to Colonel Doniphan, and returned a few days later. "The Colonel has assigned me the task of keeping an eye on developments here in Taos," he announced. But it seemed to Delgado that Jeremy's true purpose was to keep an eye on him. Every time Delgado looked up, Jeremy was there. When confronted, Jeremy just smiled and said, "Well, I can't very well let my future brother-in-law get killed, now can I?"

"I don't know that Sarah even thinks of me anymore," admitted Delgado, despondent and feeling sorry for himself. "It all happened so quickly be
tween us. It could be possible that I misconstrued her feelings for me."

"You're selling my sister short."

"Are you sure you want me for a brother-in-law? After all, you were angry that I did not choose to defend her honor against Brent Horan's insults."

Jeremy became very serious then. "You'll have no choice, Del. Mark my words, if you go back to St. Louis, you will have to kill Horan, or he will kill you. Is your love for Sarah strong enough that you are willing to take that risk?"

"It is," said Delgado without hesitation. He did not think it would come to that.

"Then the answer is yes. I would be honored to have Delgado McKinn as my brother-in-law."

The next day Jeremy was in a grim mood.

"I have just received word from Colonel Doniphan that General Kearny is leaving tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. He is going on to California, Del, and taking the dragoons with him. Doniphan says Kearny is convinced that the people of New Mexico are content with the change in government, that there is not and never will be any organized resistance. In a couple of months Doniphan will be on the march, too, south into Mexico." He glanced bleakly at Delgado.

"Leaving Governor Bent and the rest of us to fend for ourselves if Kearny is wrong," remarked Delgado.

Jeremy nodded. "I'm afraid that's the case. Supposedly, another regiment of Missouri volunteers is being formed, and will be on the Santa Fe Trail in a few weeks' time. But I personally don't expect them until early next year."

"Well," said Delgado, philosophically, "that's
where the glory is, Jeremy—California and Mexico. You must admit your volunteers have been spoiling for a fight since they left Fort Leavenworth."

"But the fight will be right here, I'm certain of it. I just can't seem to convince anyone else."

"I'll be sorry to see you go."

"Who says I'm going anywhere?"

"I just assumed that when the First Missouri marched, you'd be going with them . . ."

"I have a few cards up my sleeve," said Jeremy, with a sly wink. "Oh, and something else." He drew a letter from beneath his roundabout and handed it to Delgado. "This is addressed to you. It smells like my sister's perfume."

Delgado's heart lurched in his chest as he took the letter. Jeremy was grinning at him, and only after Delgado had paused, the letter half open, to look pointedly at him did Jeremy remember his manners.

"Oh, I suppose you would like some privacy."

"That would be nice, thank you."

Chuckling, Jeremy left the courtyard. His hands shaking, Delgado finished opening the letter. Would his worst fears be realized? Or his wildest dreams?

My dearest Del,

       
I have missed you terribly, and I tell you now what I should have told you before you left St. Louis—that I love you with all my heart and soul and I will wait forever, if I must. Only I hope that very soon I can hold you in my arms and smother you with kisses. . . .

Delgado heaved a sigh of relief. All was well. Then he laughed, thinking about Jacob Bledsoe. If Sarah's poor father ever read this letter, he would despair of his daughter ever becoming a proper young lady.

5

A few weeks later, Charles Bent, the newly appointed governor of New Mexico Territory, left Santa Fe and returned to his home in Taos and his wife, Maria Jaramillo. The Bents lived in a modest adobe house on the north side of the plaza, only a few hundred yards away from the McKinn residence. On the morning after his arrival, Bent strolled across the plaza and paid a call.

"I was informed of the attempt on your life," Bent told Delgado. "I feel confident that you are no longer in any real danger."

"I don't know how you can be so sure," protested Angus McKinn.

"There was a conspiracy, true enough," replied Bent. "But we have nipped it in the bud. They were waiting for General Kearny's departure for California. Before they could carry out their plans, an informer came forward. All the ringleaders save two have been arrested. Those two are Diego Archuleta and a man called Tomas Ortiz."

"Archuleta!" exclaimed Angus.

Bent nodded. "The man in charge of Manuel Armijo's provincial militia, and his lieutenant governor. If you recall, he was not happy with Armijo for capitulating without a fight. When he learned that Armijo had lied to him—that more than just
the northern portion of the province had been given up—he began to scheme."