Comanche Dawn (35 page)

“And as for you, Juan,” the governor continued, “I know you mean well, but we cannot solve all the problems of the world this evening. However, there is one issue you can help us to decide.”

Jean raised the brows above his tattooed eyes.

“I have discussed it with Fray Ugarte and
Capitán
Lujan, and we are at an impasse. We need your council.”

Jean shifted, making his chair squeak. “I'm listening.”

“A messenger arrived from Tachichichi this morning, having ridden his horse to exhaustion. He told a peculiar story. He claims a large invasion force of Frenchmen and
Pani
allies is now marching on Tachichichi from across the plains. The Pueblos at Tachichichi are requesting Spanish troops.”

Jean stroked his chin, the tips of his fingers seeming to paint the tattooed lines that descended from the corners of his mouth. “And what do you say of this,
Capitán?
”

Lujan waited until the mestizo girl had refilled his cup with strong black coffee, as though he were too dull to watch her and answer Jean at the same time. “I say the report is preposterous and should be ignored. The Pueblos at Tachichichi are fugitives. They are probably laying a trap for us.”

Jean grunted. “Padre?”

“No matter what their motive, any time the Tachichichis request our presence, we should go there and bring back
genízaros.
”

Jean spooned sugar into his coffee cup, measuring the rare treat carefully. He took his time thinking about his response, enjoying the fact that these Spanish officials
needed
his advice—he a Frenchman with heathen tattoos.

“Well?” Governor Del Bosque finally said.

“I both agree and disagree with
Capitán
Lujan,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” replied the soldier in an irritable tone of voice.

“I agree that the report is preposterous. It is not the way of Frenchmen to send a large force into the wilderness.”

“That's exactly what happened with La Salle's Fort St. Louis,” Del Bosque argued. “You have told me about it yourself.”

“And it was a miserable failure—one reason it is no longer the French policy. The French have realized more success sending independent
couriers de bois
to live and trade among the
Indios.
So, I agree that the report of a large invasion force is quite preposterous. However, I disagree that the report should be ignored. If the Tachichichis made up the story, they did so for a reason. Obviously, they want us there. We should find out why.”

“So they can overwhelm and massacre us,” Lujan suggested. “Or lure the soldiers away so that they can attack Santa Fe.”

Jean nodded. Despite Lujan's narrowness of mind, the man understood military strategy. “Perhaps. On the other hand, they may simply need protection from their enemies, the
Pani.
They could have fabricated the part about Frenchmen simply to get our attention.”

“So you agree that we should mount an expedition immediately?” Ugarte said, hopefully.

“Not necessarily. How many regular soldiers have you at the
presidio, Capitán?
”

“Only eighty-three. To march on Tachichichi would mean exposing Santa Fe.”

“I agree. Militia and Pueblo scouts might triple the size of your force, but we are still short-handed compared to the hundreds of warriors the Tachichichis might muster if this turned out to be another uprising.” He turned to the priest. “No,
Padre,
it is not a good idea to mount an expedition until we know what we are up against at Tachichichi. I have a better idea.
I
will find out what is going on. I am trusted at Tachichichi. If I have to, I will ride all the way there myself.”

Lujan scoffed at the offer. “Tachichichi is eighteen days' march. We might have been overwhelmed by that time.”

“Tachichichi is eighteen days for a company of soldiers,” Jean said, “but only seven days for me.”

Lujan snorted.

“At any rate, the trip will probably not be necessary. I will speak to the
Tiwa
messenger who arrived this morning. He will probably tell me all I need to know. Where has he gone?”

“¿Quién sabe?”
Del Bosque grumbled. “He has disappeared.”

Jean nodded knowingly. “He will find me.”

“How do you know that?” Lujan said.

“I know. If they need help at Tachichichi, they will come to me.” Jean reached for a cube of chocolate on the silver dish. He studied it from various angles, thinking about nibbling on it. Instead, he decided he would rather devour it all at once, letting the experience hit him like a blast of wind whipping over a mountaintop. He tossed the confection into his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. As the sweet, rich chocolate melted in his mouth, he could feel the stares of his dinner companions suspiciously regarding his painted flesh.

31

When Jean returned to
his hacienda, he found Paniagua waiting in the stable, a candle burning. The stable man had a peculiar look on his face.

“What is it, Paniagua? I told you not to wait for my return.”

Without pointing, Paniagua glanced toward the door to his quarters. The door was ajar, and the light of the fireplace flickered through the crack. Jean guessed what it meant. The messenger from Tachichichi had indeed sought him out.

“May I?” Jean said, though he didn't need Paniagua's permission to enter his stable man's quarters.

Paniagua merely led the stallion away.

Jean crossed the tiny
placita,
pausing in the middle of the open square to look up at the countless stars visible over the high adobe walls. The normal nightly chill had crept out of the mountains, so he proceeded quickly to the door of Paniagua's room. Peering inside, he saw a young
Indio
man wearing a mix of traditional
Tiwa
and Apache dress—deer-hide moccasins and leggings, white cotton shirt under a woolen blanket. He recognized the young warrior, having traded with him at Tachichichi.

“Welcome, Coyote Man,” he said, in Spanish. “You have had a hard trip.”

Coyote Man glanced toward Jean, but did not meet his eyes. “Only for the horse.”

Jean chuckled. “Under how many suns did you ride?”

Coyote Man held up six fingers, the sixth being the thumb of his left hand, the tip of which touched the tip of his right thumb, in the
Indio
way of enumerating in signs.

“You must carry much wisdom to ride so swiftly.”

“The spirits order it.”

Jean crossed Paniagua's tiny room, to a chair made of leather stretched over a frame of crisscrossed pieces of cedar wood. It squeaked like a saddle as he sat in it. “One must obey the spirits,” Jean said to Coyote Man. “Tell me, what wisdom of the spirit world do you bring?”

“There have been visions among the elders in our village.”

“What kind of visions?”

“Fearful visions of a new nation.”

“What nation?”

“A nation of Horse People.”

Jean sat silently for a few moments, thinking about this. He believed every vision a valid message from the spirit world. It was only in the interpretation of the vision that mortal men sometimes failed. The
Indios
were much better at receiving and interpreting visions because they were closer to the spirit world than white men, but Jean was trying to overcome his lack of spiritual sophistication. Of course, he could never speak of these things among his Spanish friends, who might accuse him of practicing sorcery. Even now there was the risk that Coyote Man had been recruited by some enemy of Jean's—perhaps a rival trader—to report to the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Such were the risks of a frontiersman in the Kingdom of New Mexico.

“What do the visions of the elders tell us about these Horse People?”

“They are coming from the north.”

“When will they arrive?” Jean asked.

Coyote Man seemed to be staring at nothing on the wall, but Jean understood that it was considered impolite to look into the eyes of a respected person.

“The first have arrived already at Tachichichi,” the messenger answered. “They are coming here.”

“Why do they come here?”

“They seek horses.”

Jean felt a pang of dread in his chest, but could not say why. “How many are they?”

“Four warriors.”

“Only four?”

“They are like twenty.”

Jean pondered what Coyote Man might mean. Were they fierce? Large? Strong? Why had Coyote Man ridden a horse nearly to death to bring this news? Why were the elders at Tachichichi inventing fanciful stories to lure Spanish troops onto the plains? What was going on out there?

As if to answer all of Jean's questions, Coyote Man said, “They
ride.
Their leader is a very young warrior, and he rides even better than the others, who are like riders of the spirit world. His mount feels what is in his heart, and obeys him. This warrior scalps his enemies without touching the ground with his own moccasins.”

Jean considered what this might mean. Coyote Man had married into and adopted the ways of the
Tiwa,
but he was
Inday
by birth and by blood. Coyote Man was himself one of the better riders among the
Inday
horsemen Jean had seen. Jean had heard how Coyote Man had earned his name: He had found a coyote far from cover on the plains, and had chased this coyote until it was tired enough that Coyote Man could lean from his horse and pick up the animal by the tail. For Coyote Man to feel awed by another's riding ability spoke of something remarkable.

“The elders have seen this riding in their visions?” Jean asked.

Coyote man thumbed his chest with his fist, the thumb extended upward, then he made his first two fingers point forward in front of his eyes. More emphatically than any words he could have spoken, the messenger had said, “I have seen this riding with my own eyes.”

“Battle Scar's people came to Tachichichi,” he added. “They had a little fight with five Horse People warriors camped there, wounding one of them. The next morning, the other four Horse People warriors attacked Battle Scar's whole band. They stole all of Battle Scar's horses, and killed one warrior, all of the Horse People warriors escaping without a wound. I saw the young Horse People leader scalp the
Inday
warrior without getting off his horse. He made the horse pull the scalp.”

Jean listened to the pine wood pop in the fireplace. He had dreamt of horses himself lately. They were coming. A new nation. It was exciting in a way. But, for some reason he felt a hint of incredible dread. How would he prepare himself for the arrival of the Horse People? “What is the name of the young leader?” he asked.

Coyote Man lay down on a pallet Paniagua had made for him. He looked tired. “He is called Horseback.”

32

Horseback felt the pony
pitch forward, and absorbed the jolt of the animal landing hard on its knees. The coils of twisted horsehide rope looping over his knees and around the pony's chest prevented him from sliding over the mount's neck and head. The tough little yellow stud slid on his knees down the steep mountain trail, but lowered his hind end, scraping hide from his hocks, to keep himself from tumbling forward. As the trail leveled out, the stud sprang quickly from his knees, tossed his head, and released a blast of air that rattled his nostrils.

“Wait,” Horseback ordered, halting the party strung out single file on the narrow trail. Slipping his knees out from under the coils of rope, he grabbed a handful of tawny mane and hung from the side of his pony's neck to check the animal's knees for damage. Seeing little blood, he pulled himself back upright. Next, he reversed himself on the bear hide he used for a saddle, facing backward. He lay on his stomach across the pony's rump and peered over each hip to check the hocks for cuts. A good deal of hair had come off, but the hide was only scraped.

Horseback wouldn't have tried crawling all over just any pony this way, but the yellow stud had earned his trust. Captured from Battle Scar's band, this little stallion had at first seemed listless and cowed, having been beaten too often by some
Na-vohnuh
rider. Soon, however, the stallion had assumed the haughty spirit of his new master, Horseback. Pony and rider had spent much time together, breathed air from each other's lungs.

The stud was small, but quick and strong. His color was almost as bright as that of the meadowlark's breast, except for his mane, tail, and feet, which were reddish brown, like the dirt of the
Noomah
homeland. A dark line of the same color ran right down the center of the pony's back, straight as a tight bowstring. Horseback felt that the line possessed
puha
that pulled at the medicine bundle in his loin skins and helped him remain seated.

Of all his new ponies, he liked this yellow line-back stud the most. The entire captured herd belonged to Horseback now, for he led this party of searchers and protected it with his spirit-powers. Yet, the other
Noomah
riders trusted that Horseback would distribute the spoils evenly among them, should they manage to return alive to the country of the True Humans. This was the way of the elders, and it was good.

Satisfied that the yellow stud was uninjured from the slide down the steep trail, Horseback swung back around on his bear skin, ready to move on.

“You will have time to play on your ponies soon,” Bad Camper said, two mounts ahead of Horseback. He was guiding the party of mixed nations, followed by the
Tiwa
interpreter, Speaks Twice.

“We are near the Metal Men?” Horseback asked.

Bad Camper did not answer. He simply turned to face the trail ahead and started the line of riders moving down the slope again. They had ridden two suns among tall trees and mountains. Now, the trail dropped off to the west, snaking around smaller piñon pines, opening up wide views of a huge valley. The trail was beaten deep into the mountainside, the limbs of the piñon pines gnarled where many travelers had kept them broken back from the path. Horseback sensed that much trade had been carried out on this trail for many generations.