Comanche Dawn (54 page)

“So, what do you recommend, Juan?”

“That we make peace with the new Comanche-
Yuta
alliance.”

Del Bosque held his chin and shook his head. “We cannot afford to ally ourselves with too many
Indios.
We make peace with the most powerful nation, and promote warfare among all the others. We must keep them fighting among themselves, Juan. If they ever unite against us, this outpost will be finished, and you and I will find ourselves roasting over some heathen's fire.”

“In this case we can make peace with both the Apaches and the Comanches without ever having to fear them uniting against us. They hate each other like English and Turks. There was a war between the two tribes generations ago, and both still remember.”

Del Bosque rubbed his face and groaned. “Juan, I asked you to come here to simplify this issue, and you are only making it more complicated. I do not understand your obsession with these Comanches.”

“It is simple,” Jean insisted. “The Comanche-
Yuta
alliance is on the verge of becoming more powerful than the Apache nation. We must eventually break our alliance with the Apaches and align ourselves with the Comanches. We might as well start preparing for that eventuality.”

Del Bosque's eyes flared in the oil light. “Are you mad? The Apaches can muster thousands of warriors. You have said yourself that the Comanches have fewer than two hundred. And the
Yutas
have never been as fierce as the Apaches.”

“More Comanches arrive almost daily from the Snake lands. There will soon be more than one band. I assure you, Antonio, one hundred Comanche warriors can patrol the entire New Mexican frontier for us. You must remember that the Apache bands do not cooperate. In fact, they fight among themselves. No one band of Apaches will be able to repel the Comanche hoard that is coming.”

Del Bosque looked at his scribe. “Can you imagine my writing to the viceroy and telling him that I am breaking ties with thousands of Apaches in order to forge a treaty with a handful of Comanches? The same Comanches who all but destroyed our trade caravan six years ago?”

The scribe smiled sheepishly and glanced with uncertainty at Jean.

“There is going to be a great Comanche and Apache war,” Jean said, “and the Comanches will win. With their
Yuta
allies and with their new arrivals from the Snake country, they will wage the bloodiest mounted war you have ever seen. As long as Santa Fe is allied with the Apaches, the Comanches will raid us as well, and
Capitán
Lujan will pluck his beard in his inability to catch these riders.”

Del Bosque looked at his scribe again and pointed his thumb at Jean. “This plan comes from the same gentleman who once suggested we give the
Norteños
all the mules and geldings they wanted.”

Jean sat down on a wicker chair made of corded yucca fibers. “Let me share a story with you, Governor. My informants at Tachichichi have kept close watch on the Comanches. Not long ago, they noted that the young Comanche leader, Acaballo, passed through their
ranchería
on the first day of the full moon. Two days after the full moon, a group of
Tiwa
hunters from Taos encountered Acaballo not far north of their pueblo. They spoke to him. They described him and his mount perfectly.”

“What is the point of this story, Juan?”

“Acaballo covered more than forty leagues in those two days, riding the same horse. That is the way the Comanches travel. Twenty leagues a day without changing horses!”

Del Bosque brushed the intelligence aside with a flick of his fingers. “Pueblo informants cannot be trusted. They have no concept of time. No clocks, no calendars. They were mistaken. No one can ride from Tachichichi to Taos in two days.”

“Acaballo can. He and his warriors. They are hungry people, Antonio. They have been starved for generations. Their warriors are small of stature, but that only makes them stick better to the backs of their horses. They are muscular and tougher than rawhide. They ride like nothing the world has ever seen. Arabs and Mongols would gape at them in disbelief. They are the very embodiment of the Thessalian centaur!”

Finally, Governor Del Bosque seemed to sense some possibility of truth behind Jean's adamance. “I cannot make decisions such as these based on hearsay.” He turned to his scribe. “Roberto, prepare a letter to the viceroy. Tell him that I have commissioned the renowned frontiersman, Juan Archebeque, at…” he paused and looked at the vigas overhead “… fifty-four pesos, three reales, and nine granos—you know the viceroy is suspicious of even numbers. Tell the viceroy that Juan will investigate the
Indio
situation along the Rio Napestle. Make it sound important, with plenty of flowery phrases. Date it and sign it, May God guard Your Excellency many years, your most obedient servant, Don Antonio Del Bosque, et cetera, et cetera.”

“As you wish, governor,” the scribe said, collecting his tools. “Will there be anything else tonight?”

“No, that is all. I will sign the letter tomorrow. Juan, you will stay and have a glass of brandy with me.”

When the scribe left, Del Bosque watched him walk quite a way through the torch-lit garden before he closed the pine door. He poured the brandy in silence, handed Jean a glass, and sat facing him across the desk. “Juan,” he began, “you have prospered since I became governor.”

Jean gulped half his brandy and narrowed his eyes at the governor. “I have been fortunate. Your trust has benefited me.”

“I know it was hard for you after Maria died. You with two sons to raise alone. I have always done everything I could to help you in your business ventures.” He raised his glass and half whispered. “To the point of overlooking certain rules and royal decrees, my friend.”

Now Jean knew something strange was happening. Never had the governor spoken to him in such terms. “I am grateful for all you have done, Antonio.”

There was a long silence as the governor watched the brandy swirl in his glass. “I need your help, Juan. I am in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The worst kind. Financial trouble.” He sighed. “I have made loans to certain family members in New Spain. Bad loans. I am in debt. I have no way to pay, and worse still…” He rubbed his brow with trembling fingers. “I have invested the funds of this colony in my attempts to recoup my losses. I have made bad investments.”

Jean gulped the rest of his brandy and got up to refill his glass. “How much money have you taken from the colonial funds?”

Del Bosque looked at the floor. “About three thousand pesos.”

“Three thousand. How did you divert that much?”

“In the form of deductions assessed from the salaries of the soldiers.”

Jean took several deep breaths to consider that substantial amount. “Does anyone know you have used government funds?”

“Not yet, but there is going to be an audit of my records before winter.”

“How do you know that?”

Del Bosque smirked and looked Jean in the eye. “Your informants are among the
Indios.
Mine are in the government.”

Jean nodded. “Three thousand pesos. I would give it to you if I had it, but I don't. I can't make that much money in three years of trading and farming. How am I going to help you?”

“You mentioned something to me once. One of your wild ideas. You said the profits for this colony would be incredible if we could but trade with the Frenchmen across the plains. Do you remember?”

He nodded. “It is still true. We have things the French need—gold and horses. They have things we need—gunpowder, guns, iron tools, textiles … things we cannot seem to get from Mexico City. But trade with the French is forbidden by the Crown. You told me that years ago.”

“Were it not forbidden, how would it work?”

Jean began to pace, feeling somewhat trapped, yet excited by the conversation. “I would hire
Indio
traders to move the horses and other goods across the plains, and bring back the French goods. I would sell the French goods here or in New Spain. The guns would be in particular demand among the colonists.”

“And the profits?”

“Very high. We would triple or quadruple our investment. The
Indios
will work for a small part of the horses and guns. But such a trade would break all manner of laws. It would be very risky, not only legally, but bodily.”

Del Bosque reached under his desk and produced a pair of saddlebags. They were well-used bags of sturdy but ordinary manufacture. He used both hands to lift the sagging bags onto the desk top, and they rattled with the timbre of hard metal when he set them down.

“What is that?” Jean said.

“A thousand pesos in gold. All I could possibly take from what is left in the treasury without bankrupting the colony. If we can triple it before winter, I can avoid prosecution for misuse of funds. Then, I can begin to settle my debts with next spring's trading expedition.”

Jean looked at the saddlebags, a storm of excitement building in his stomach. Just the thought of trading with Frenchmen was enough to make him crave the adventure.

“Beginning with the spring expedition,” Del Bosque continued, “we will divide the profits two to one, in your favor. I will be getting out of debt while you are getting rich, my friend.”

Yes, and while I am taking all the risk, Jean thought. But he knew he would have to pay off the governor to allow the continuation of the illegal trade. That was the Spanish way. The way of the
mordida.

“Juan, will you help me? I have nowhere else to turn.”

Jean threw the brandy back, and felt its heat engulf his lungs. “You have been a good friend, Antonio.” He reached for the saddlebags.

50

Hair grew long from
the heads of the Grasshopper Eaters, and each chose his pony. Crazy Eyes seemed to use his peculiar gaze to charm a brown colt. This colt was two winters old and had never been ridden. His mane and tail were dark, connected with a perfect dark stripe that ran down his back. Across his withers, he wore another dark stripe that crossed the one running from mane to tail.

Crooked Teeth chose a yellow mare that would soon foal. “I will return the foal to you when it is weaned,” he promised.

Horseback smiled. “You have chosen well. Keep the foal.”

Crooked Teeth was soon riding his mare, but Crazy Eyes had to ask for help from Horseback to train the young line-back colt. Each day, as they worked with the colt, boys from the camp would come to watch and learn. Even Sandhill would watch for a while, before running back to the camp to be with Teal. Horseback was happy that his son loved horses.

“Crazy Eyes, what have you learned while you watched the horses and your hair grew?” Horseback asked the Grasshopper Eater who wanted to join the Horseback People.

Crazy Eyes looked at two different things for a while, then said, “I have learned much about horses, but I cannot say what I have learned.”

“You must learn to speak what is in your heart, so that you may teach your sons. I believe the spirits were wise to choose this pony for you, Crazy Eyes. The dark lines on this colt have strong power. The line that runs down the back will hold you on the pony's back if your heart is good and strong.”

“And the line across the withers?” Crazy Eyes asked. “Does it hold power, too?”

“This is a magic line, my friend. All horses have this spirit-line, but with most it is invisible. The spirits have revealed the magic line on this colt so that you may learn about horses.”

“What power does the line have? Is it different from the line down his back?”

“Very different. I will show you.” Horseback took the colt's lead rope from Crazy Eyes and approached the pony from the front. The colt raised his head and backed away a few steps. “If I stand in front of the line, the horse wants to go backward,” he said.

Now he handed the rope back to Crazy Eyes and moved around the colt until he stood behind the dark line that ran across the withers. Approaching from this angle, the colt moved forward, toward Crazy Eyes. “Stand behind the line, and the pony wants to go forward,” he said. “The line goes through the heart. When you ride a pony and you want it to back up, wrap your legs around in front of the line and the pony will learn to back up. When you want your pony to go forward, touch him with your heels behind the line, and he will go forward. That is the power of this line.”

Crazy Eyes smiled. “My pony shows the magic line. I have chosen well,
hah?
”

“
Hah.
Very well. But the warrior who chooses ponies well must learn to ride well. You have much to do.”

The next day, as Horseback helped train the colt, the young pony shied from Crazy Eyes when he reached to touch his head.

“The hand strikes,” Horseback explained, holding his palm flat and his fingers outstretched. “The hand grabs and holds. The horse knows this. But a single finger will charm the wild spirit in this pony.”

He curled all but one finger against his palm and approached the colt slowly. The colt watched the finger Horseback extended toward him, seemingly more curious than afraid. His nostrils quivered as the finger eased closer to his head. Finally, Horseback touched him between the eyes with the single digit, then slowly spread his other fingers and rubbed him on the forehead. The colt nodded his head in appreciation and leaned into the palm that rubbed him now between the eyes.

“Begin with one finger,” Horseback said, “then slowly move your hands over every part of the pony. You must touch him everywhere. Go slowly. He may kick at you when you touch his flank. Stay out of the way, and he will get tired of kicking after a while. Touch him everywhere and do not hurt or frighten him. Then he will trust and serve you.”

Crazy Eyes looked somewhat disappointed. “When will I ride him?”