Paloma and the Horse Traders (36 page)

“
I think they already know.” The
Frenchman bowed. “I am Jean Baptiste LeCroix, a trader like these,
um, gentlemen of yours.” He indicated Lorenzo and Rogelio, who
watched with some interest.

“
They’re wretched worms, much like
you,” Marco said. He could almost feel Lorenzo bristle, but the
trader wisely said nothing.

Perhaps Jean Baptiste LeCroix thought to
ingratiate himself with Marco, the man with the power. Who knew
what a Frenchman thought?

“
What about this one?” he asked,
pointing to Claudio. “Is he a wretched worm, too? And this woman,
unless you all take turns with her?”

Big mistake
, Marco thought, and moved
out of the way.
Fool
.
You should have left it alone
.
As Marco expected, Rain Cloud whipped out his knife and filleted a
strip of skin from Jean Baptiste, who screamed and clutched his
arm. The chief gathered Graciela close. As Marco did
not
expect, Claudio stepped forward, grasped the dangling, bloody strip
and ripped it off the rest of the way, to the prisoner’s further
anguish.

“
Claudio is my brother-in-law,”
Marco said in his most conversational tone, when the Frenchman
stopped screaming. “I wouldn’t advise any more hard words about
him. My wife loves him. And Graciela? She has some standing in this
tribe, as you might have just learned. Certainly more than you
have. Do not try to impress me.”

The other Utes had gathered around, probably
happy enough to take their minds off their own miseries. Looking as
terrified as his two companions now, Jean Baptiste knelt in the
dirt beside them.

Marco turned to Rain Cloud, who had wiped off
his knife and returned it to its sheath. “My friend, before we do
anything else to these upstanding citizens of one country or
another, I would like to know just what they are doing
here.”

Rain Cloud nodded, suddenly the perfect host.
“We could all sit down right here and discuss this.”

“
Please, before God, I am bleeding
to death!” Jean Baptiste said, but softly this time. Possibly he
could see that he had no more standing than an earthworm. Lesson
learned.

“
It won’t come to that,” Marco said
in his most cajoling voice. He pointed to his cheek and its lengthy
scar, put there nearly two years ago by Kwihnai himself as a
reminder to stay away from the sacred canyon of the Kwahadi. “It’ll
give you good stories to tell. At least, it will if you live much
longer than today.”

Jean Baptiste sobbed out loud. Rain Cloud shook
his head. He gestured to one of his warriors, who threw down what
looked like an old rabbit skin. Jean Baptiste pressed it against
his wound.

“
Good. Rain Cloud, let us just sit
here in a circle and find out a few things.”

They sat down, Marco next to Rain Cloud, and
Toshua next to Marco, who couldn’t help noticing how Graciela and
Claudio seemed to find each other and sit close. Lorenzo and
Rogelio squatted by the prisoners.

Marco turned to Lorenzo. “Señor Diaz, tell us
how you found these worthless men.”

“
We were north of the Double Cross,
on our way to find you,” Lorenzo said. “I honestly think they were
lost.”

“
Imagine. And you took them to
Paloma—Señora Mondragón? I own that I am surprised, Lorenzo.” He
couldn’t resist. “Could it be that you have designs on my
housekeeper?”

He had to give the old scoundrel credit.
Lorenzo drew himself up, two spots of color burning in his cheeks.
“I never met a better woman, excepting your own wife, of
course.”

“
Of course.” Marco stared hard at
the prisoners. All three had gone pasty white. The Englishman was
even beginning to drool. Paloma did that before she had to find a
basin, but he thought the
ingl
é
s
could just
vomit in his own lap. “I do hope they were polite to my
wife.”

Lorenzo tisked his tongue. “There was a fourth
one, another Englishman, who thought he would be insolent to so
fine a lady.” Lorenzo nodded to Toshua. “
Your
wife
dispatched him with one stab.”

None of the prisoners would look up. Toshua
grunted his approval. “She would do that.”

“
I hope my children did not see any
of this,” Marco told Lorenzo, who shook his head, and continued his
narrative.

“
I asked la señora what to do, and
she told me to find you.” He laughed and clapped his hands, which
made the prisoners start. “And here we are!”

“
I commend you, Lorenzo,” Marco
said. “You could have taken those guns and I would have been none
the wiser.” He leaned toward the horse trader. “Paloma will be
proud of you, too, and more to the point, so will Sancha.” He
assumed mock anger. “Do you mean to deprive me of my
housekeeper?”

“
If I can,” Lorenzo said
cheerfully.

“
We shall see,” Marco said, quietly
pleased, even as he wondered about Sancha’s taste in men.
You’re
a fool
,
Marco
, he scolded himself.
Paloma decided you
were the man for her. Who can know what an otherwise rational woman
thinks?

He kicked Jean Baptiste’s boot. “Attend to me!
Where are you from and why have you come to sell guns to Great
Owl?”

Marco looked at Toshua, then back at them. “I
advise you to tell me the truth.” He looked next at Rain Cloud. “I
have certain resources here.”

Jean Baptiste drew a long, shuddering breath.
“We are from the Mandan Villages.”

“
Which are—”

“
Far to the north, on the Missouri
River.”

“
A long way to go for mischief,”
Marco said. “Are you French?”

“
From Canada.”

Toshua snaked out his hand and yanked on Jean
Baptiste’s bloody arm. “Señor Mondragón to you!”

Jean Baptiste sobbed out loud. “I was born in
Montreal and I work for the North West Company, señor,” he babbled.
“It is a British company.”

“
The British? They are going to
great lengths to foul things so far south.”

“
There are agents among the North
West Company,” Jean Baptiste said, his face even whiter than
before. “Agents of the crown.” He looked at the Englishman. “Some
of the
ingleses
aren’t yet certain which side of the fence
they belong on. Tell them where you are from, David.”

“
David Benedict, sir. I am from St.
Louis, Missouri.”

Jean Baptiste translated. “David is British, I
think, and American when it suits him.”

David Benedict said nothing. Marco already saw
death in his eyes.

“
All of you are working so hard to
keep the Comanches busy in New Mexico,” Marco said. “Why? We are a
poor colony. I will admit that Spain is on the decline here. What
could we offer you?”

Jean Baptiste gave him a sharp glance, then he
looked into the distance. Perhaps he saw his own puny influence
coming to an end. But he had to try, apparently. “Blame the
British. Think how much they lost last year when the Treaty of
Paris was signed.” He made an elaborate gesture. “A whole
continent!” He sidled closer until Marco wanted to back away in
disgust. “They want to cause as much trouble as they can for you
Spaniards.”

I don’t think like empire builders
,
Marco told himself,
but I can try
. “Let me guess: you have
been selling guns all along the way from the Mandan Villages. On
the Missouri River?”

Jean Baptiste nodded.

“
How, if I may ask?”

He tried to sidle even closer, and Marco put up
his hand.

“
The British crown sent agents among
all the tribes, promising muskets for money,” Jean Baptiste said.
“Some came here. And there are Frenchmen in Canada willing to play
the game, too. Anything to disrupt the Americans.” He made a
sorrowful face. “I fear Spain is just in the way.”

Marco wanted to laugh at the Frenchman’s
obvious attempt to turn himself into a valuable resource, the kind
who was kept alive to sing his self-serving melody to the viceroy
in Mexico City and not left to die in some dry canyon in poor New
Mexico.

“
How did you do this?” Joaquim said,
looking like a man interested and friendly. “You must be clever,
indeed.”

Jean Baptiste turned his attention to Joaquim.
Marco glanced at the other Frenchman and saw nothing on his face
but disgust. Marco smiled inside.
I am the hard man and Joaquim
is the kind man. And you are a fool to fall for that,
Frenchman
, he thought.

“
We started out a year ago with
guards and eight wagons of muskets,” Jean Baptiste said. “We
dropped off guns, and some of the guards rode to St. Louis with the
money.”

“
What a clever plan,” Joaquim
said.

Jean Baptiste seemed to relax, which made him
the only happy person for miles around.

“
Ah, St. Louis! Nature’s perfect
city,” Joaquim said. “I congratulate you on finding a place that I
would consider a den of thieves. I have to wonder if any money ever
got into the proper hands.”

Jean Baptiste’s eyes clouded over as he
realized the ragged man in the ill-fitting uniform was playing with
him. He turned his attention back to Marco.

Marco had no plan to make the man comfortable.
“So here you are, with no guards, and one wagon left. Why no
guards?”

“
Smallpox, señor,” the Frenchman
said mournfully. “The rest ran away.”

“
Wise of them,” Joaquim
said.

Marco shook his head. “You are at the end of
the line. How exactly do you plan to get back to St.
Louis?”

“
We plan to ask Great Owl to provide
us with an escort north to the land of the Pawnee,” Jean Baptiste
said.

Joaquim burst into laughter. “The
Comanches
? You think they will
help
you?” He slapped
Jean Baptiste on the back, then doubled over as mirth rendered him
helpless. “Oh, my! Helpful Comanches? Marco, have you now heard
everything under the sun?”

It wasn’t funny, but it was. “I would almost
give a year of my life to watch you ask Great Owl to assist you,”
Marco said. He laughed until tears came to his eyes. “Don’t you
know
anything
about Comanches?” he managed to
gasp.

Rain Cloud’s laugh started as a low rumble in
his throat. The other Kapota Utes looked at one another and shook
with silent laughter at first. When they laughed, Jean Baptiste
turned deadly pale. Everyone was making fun of him.

Marco held up his hand, and the laughter
stopped. “You will not sell guns to Great Owl.”

Marco had to give David Benedict a silent
bravo
. The Englishman knew it was over, but he was going to
die with dignity. He stood up.

“
Others will come after us, señor,”
David Benedict said quietly, in Spanish so poor that even Toshua
winced. “We are the first.”

Why us?
Marco thought.
We live a hard
life that your kind will make harder
. “I no longer doubt you,
Señor Benedict. But right now, and in this place,
you
will
not sell those guns to a terrible man.” What he said was complex,
so he waited for Jean Baptiste to translate.

David Benedict nodded and knelt in the dust
again, done.
You’re a brave one
, Marco thought.

He looked the prisoners over. He was a man of
honor, kind when he could be. He watched three pairs of eyes
trained on him, knowing that a lesser man might get some thrill
from such power over life and death. Marco felt nothing but
distaste at what he had to do, but he was not a man to shrink from
duty.

“
Stand up, you three,” he said, with
Jean Baptiste continuing to translate. Of the prisoners, Jean
Baptiste had no fear in his eyes. He knew he was safe because Marco
needed him.

He reached forward and took David Benedict by
the arm. “You will stay alive. Translate, Jean Baptiste, damn you!
I know a priest who lives where the Chama joins the Bravo. He
speaks English. I will take you, David Benedict, to the governor
and you will tell him about the English and especially the
Americans.” He looked at the two Frenchmen, staring at them long
and hard. “I have no use for the French.”

Both men sank to their knees again, then
farther, pressing their foreheads against the dirt, groveling.
We want so much to live
, Marco thought.
God help me, I do
not want to do what I must
.

He took out his dagger. “Tomorrow there will be
a battle. We are few, compared to Great Owl, but he cannot have
those guns. You are an encumbrance because I cannot trust
you.”

“
Spare us!” Jean Baptiste
pleaded.

Here is the dilemma
, Marco thought.
I
am Christian gentleman. I cannot order other Christians to their
death. God help me, I cannot
.

Toshua grabbed Marco’s arm. “Let us remove them
for now. We must decide soon, but another hour will not
matter.”

Marco nodded.

“
You need me!” Jean Baptiste cried
out, as Rain Cloud took his arm in a surprisingly gentle grasp and
started pulling him from the circle.