Paloma and the Horse Traders (8 page)

Marco followed the man and the slowly moving
herd. He looked back for Toshua, and stopped, watching his friend,
who had stepped into the shadow close to the door of the shop. His
hand rested on his knife.

Marco gestured to him. “Come on! I need to
strike a deal before anyone else does.”

Toshua shook his head. He wiggled his hand like
a snake, and pointed with his lips to just beyond the horse herd.
Then he motioned for Marco to come closer.

Marco walked back to Toshua, going against the
crowd that followed the horses, the lawyer among them. He stood
beside Toshua and looked beyond the herd.

He counted fifteen Comanches, as travel worn as
the horse traders. He looked closer and saw three children with
ropes around their necks. Two of the children couldn’t have been
more than six or seven. Closer observation told him that the third
child was no child, but a young woman. She had the look of the Ute
about her, but he saw the Spanish, too, in her deeply porched eyes
and full lips. The younger ones had light hair, but the older girl
had hair as dark and lustrous as Felicia’s. Two races mingled in
her.

“
Captives,” he whispered to Toshua,
all the while wondering why he whispered. “The first two might be
settlers’ children, but I do not know about the third.” He gave
Toshua a lengthy appraisal. “You’ve seen captives before. Why stand
in the shadows?”

“
I recognize the Kwahadi there with
the horned owl headdress,” Toshua replied, barely moving his lips.
“I saw him in the sacred
cañón
last winter. Believe me, he
is trouble. Hang back with me. I fear the worst.”

Marco did as Toshua said, moving back until
they stood in the door of the shop. He patted his sheathed knife
and wished he had not left his bow and arrows in the public house
where they slept.

He watched how the Indians with the captives
waited, hanging back from the horse herd, as if biding their time
until they could make the most dramatic entrance. Some instinct
assured him that they had not traveled with the horse traders,
considering the wary glances from the traders. He watched and began
to wonder if the Comanches had followed the traders for a longer
time than just this appearance at the trade fair.

“
Toshua, do you
think ….”

His companion nodded. “You know what will
follow.”

Marco swallowed the sick feeling in his stomach
and wished that Governor de Anza had not left a fool in
charge.

In
which Marco cannot haggle, because Paloma would never forgive
him

T
he Comanches were evidently
familiar with the trade fair and the streets of Taos, because they
ducked down an alley, riding single file but paralleling the crowd
and the horse traders.

Marco made a small hand gesture to Toshua then
regretted even that miniscule movement as the rider bringing up the
rear glared at him. The Comanche held the rope that bound the neck
of the young woman and gave it a vicious tug, a clear warning to
Marco to stay well back.

The captive turned her own eyes on Marco. He
could see her bare pleading from across the street, as well as long
scars on her arms where she had been tortured. He knew what else
they had probably done to her, and it shook him, even though he had
ample understanding of just how vicious men could be to women. He
made a silent vow to himself to never fear sacrificing his own life
to keep Paloma and now Soledad safe.

“
Don’t move again,” Toshua
whispered, barely moving his lips. “We’ll follow when they are out
of sight.” His eyes tracked the other fairgoers, who must not have
noticed the brief exchange, so intent were they on following the
horses. “Slowly now, let us join these oblivious people who would
not last five minutes in
our
Comanchería.”

He said it with a certain quiet pride, and
Marco took heart. Their clothes and own roughness may have set them
apart from the Taoseños and settlers from this softer part of the
colony, but what they lacked in polish they made up for in
capability. Hadn’t Paloma told him, in the quiet of their bedroom,
her leg thrown over him, that she never feared because he was there
to keep her and the babies safe? Her absolute faith in him always
seemed to add exquisite fervor to her lovemaking, and he was not a
husband to quibble.

He tucked the cotton-wrapped package down the
front of his shirt, wished again for his bow and arrow, and set off
with Toshua at a fast walk, keeping with the crowd now and in the
shadow of the portal. They came to the area just a block off the
plaza to the corral where all teamsters drove their wagons and
unhitched their horses. Merchants would gather, dicker, purchase,
and then load the goods onto the backs of servants or
slaves.

Thinking of captives, Marco looked at the three
bound ones, two so young but with eyes already old. He shivered,
thinking of his own babies. He knew what life was like in this
harsh colony, but not until he was a father did he understand the
true peril. He hoped the lawyer that de Anza left in charge would
do the right thing, but he was not sanguine, which made him ignore
Toshua’s hand on his arm and edge toward the front.

The three traders dismounted and stood close
together. The trip from the cloud land of the Utes must have
instilled some discipline in the horses, because they bunched
tight, too.

Several of the settlers had started forward to
examine the merchandise on hoof when the Comanches rode into the
gathering place. Fearful, or at least prudent, the buyers drew
back. Marco counted fifteen of The People, as Toshua had said. He
stared at the man with the owl headdress and the cold eyes. The
Comanche raised his lance and many in the crowd stepped back.
Mothers with their children moved to the rear of the gathering. Icy
fingers went down Marco’s back as he watched some of the Navajos
and Utes melt into the background, too.

He looked for the lawyer and suppressed a smile
to see that several of the town’s leading businessmen had pushed
him forward. Marco took a deep breath. Soon everyone would know
what the man was made of. He touched the pouch tied to his own
belt, hefting it, wondering.

His breath came faster when the Indian with the
smallest blond boy seated in front of him dismounted. He held the
rope around the child’s neck loose in his hand, looking up at the
boy in the saddle, then around the silent circle of people, and
then at Enrique Rojas.

“
I have a slave here, taken in a
raid near Isleta,” he said in perfect Spanish. When he said
“Isleta,” someone in the crowd gasped—perhaps a relative of the
boy. People moved aside to allow that person passage forward, but
no one took a step toward the Comanche.

The Comanche held up five fingers. “
Cinco
reales
,” he said in a loud voice.

The figure was preposterous; everyone knew it.
Who in their cash-starved economy had such money? Marco felt the
reales
in his pouch, his heart sinking. He had only four,
more than enough for his original plan to buy a team of horses, but
the Comanche wanted five. He saw other mothers hurry their children
away, running down a side street now.

The lawyer looked around, then at the Indian.
“That is a stupid amount. You must think we are idiots. We will
bargain,” he began.

“
No, please no,” Marco whispered.
“At least show him what money you have.” Toshua tightened his grip
on Marco’s arm.

The Indian raised his eyebrows. He looked
around elaborately, then yanked on the rope, spilling the child
from the saddle and snapping his neck with a sound heard all around
the circle. Whatever suffering he had endured at the hands of his
captors was over.

Rojas went deathly pale, and tried to retreat
into the circle. No one budged to let him in. He looked around in
terror.

The young mixed-blood woman put her hands to
the rope around her own neck, crying out when the Indian
controlling it tightened the knot. “Please help me, someone,” she
implored. “Mary, Mother of God!”

Four reales
. Marco shook off Toshua’s
hand and strode into the circle that grew wider as people continued
to back up. He walked to the dead child first, swallowing his
tears, and knelt beside the little body. He closed the boy’s eyes,
and made a small sign of the cross on the dusty forehead. He took a
deep breath and stood up.

He knew all eyes were on him as he deliberately
untied the pouch from his belt and willed his hands not to shake.
He held it up, coming closer to the man Toshua had called Great
Owl.

“
I have four
reales
in this
pouch,” he announced, grateful that he was far beyond the age when
his voice would squeak. “I will give all of it to you for the
woman.”
Please, Se
ñ
or Rojas, surprise me and be a
better man than I think you are
, he thought.
If Owl won’t
take four, please offer at least one real
.

“
I asked five for a mere child,” Owl
reminded him. He said something in the language of The People, and
the other Comanches laughed.

Marco felt the hand of death draw near to the
desperate woman. “True, you did.” Maybe he could appeal to the
man’s vanity. “I can understand that. This
pobrecito
was a
Spanish child, and worth more.” He looked at the young woman, who
had clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. “She is Ute,
perhaps? Maybe there is some Spanish blood in her, but she is not
worth five
reales
. I doubt she is worth four, because all of
you have probably ridden her hard.”

He hated to say such ungentlemanly things, but
this was a harsh bargain with men made of flint. “Four,” he said
again. “It’s a very good offer for broken-down goods.”

He stared at the Comanche, who stared back.
I will walk naked through this town before I will look away
first
, Marco thought. He heard his own heart thundering in his
ears. He held the pouch high, stared at the Indian, then shook the
pouch so the coins rattled.

The silence that followed was broken suddenly
by a sighing sound as the last air left the body of the dead child.
Great Owl jerked his horse back and glanced away, reminding Marco
just how superstitious The People could be. Someone shrieked. A
woman moaned and fainted.

“
Show me,” Owl said, his voice more
subdued now. He angled his horse away from the little body lying in
the dust.

Marco took the coins from the pouch and held
them up. He reached in the pouch again, pulling out all the smaller
coins too.

“
Hand them to me,” Owl said, his
voice softer still.

“
After the girl dismounts and comes
to stand beside me,” Marco said, knowing this was the most critical
moment in the whole, terrible affair. He listened with real relief
to hear someone close by clicking rosary beads and praying out loud
in Latin.
Please, Mother Mary and all the saints
, he
thought.
Intercede for us here, you who sacrificed your Holy
Child
.

He let out a small sigh of relief when the
Indian holding the rope around the girl’s neck dropped it. With a
flash of brown legs, the captive leaped off the horse and ran to
stand behind him. He heard her ragged breathing nearly in his ear,
because she was taller than Paloma.

“
The other child?” Marco said, after
he handed all his horse money to Great Owl.

He turned his back on the Indian riders and
took his place beside the young girl. Marco looked at the circle of
fair goers, their faces so serious. The priest who had been praying
came forward and knelt beside the dead child. He picked up the
little one and walked toward the church, cradling the ill-used
body.

“
The other child?” Marco asked
again. He turned around to look directly at Enrique Rojas, his eyes
boring into the weak man who would now and forever in New Mexico be
branded as a fool and a coward, whether those titles were truly
justified or not; the man was simply too green for this harsh land.
Maybe he could succeed elsewhere. “Come, señor, I know the governor
gave you money for horses.”

“
That belongs to the Treasury,”
Rojas began. Someone behind him in the crowd threw a shoe. Another
followed, then another. “Very well!” he exclaimed, his face the
color of the red dirt plastered on the church where the priest
stood with the small corpse in his arms.

Rojas’ hands shook too hard for him to even
open the pouch, much less remove it from his belt. One of the
soldiers in the crowd slit the strings and the pouch dropped to the
ground.

Great Owl laughed out loud as the lawyer
groveled in the earth, picking up coins and then in his terror
dropping them.

“
Dos reales
,” the man said,
fear raising his voice an octave or two, which made the Comanches
laugh harder. Some of the people in the crowd were smiling
now.

“
Bring the money here,” Great Owl
ordered.

The lawyer sobbed and sank to his knees. Marco
snatched the coins from him and walked to Great Owl again. He held
the coins just out of reach.

“
See here, Great Owl, I do not think
this child is all Spanish either, and look, he has a shriveled arm!
I didn’t notice that before. This is more than enough.”