on the stranger. “We will settle our matters here,” he rapped, in
French; and explained, to the men: “This fellow is a spy, from the
governor. He has been dogging me and asking questions in poor English
all the way from the priest’s house. I have requested him to speak
in his own language, which is French, but he understands English and
would pretend that he is a prisoner to the Spanish――‘like ourselves,’
he alleges. I have informed him that we have committed no crime, are
not prisoners, and fear nothing. We are free Americans. As for you,”
he continued, to the man, roundly, “I know you to be only a miserable
spy, hired by the governor in hopes that you will win my sympathy and
get me to betray secrets. I have nothing to reveal. But it is in my
power to punish such scoundrels as you”――here the lieutenant drew his
sword――“and if you now make the least resistance I will use the sabre
that I have in my hand.”
“Let us fix him, sir,” cried Hugh, Freegift, and the others. “We’ll pay
him an’ save the governor the trouble.”
They crowded forward. The dark man’s legs gave out under him and down
he flopped, to his knees.
“No, señores! For the love of God don’t kill me. I will confess all.”
He was so frightened that his stammering English might scarcely be
understood. “His Excellency the governor ordered me to ask many
questions. That is true. And it is true that I am no prisoner. I am a
resident of Santa Fe, and well treated. The governor said that if I
pretended hatred of the country you would be glad of my help. I see now
that you are honest men.”
“What is your name?” the lieutenant demanded.
“Baptiste Lelande, señor, at your service.”
“You can be of no service to me save by getting out of my sight,”
retorted the lieutenant, scornfully, and clapping his sword back into
its sheath. “You are a thief, and doubtless depend upon the governor
for your safety. Tell His Excellency that the next time he employs
spies upon us he should choose those of more skill and sense, but that
I question whether he can find any such, to do that kind of work. Now
begone.”
John Brown opened the door. The man scuttled out.
“My lads,” spoke the lieutenant, when the door had been closed again,
“this is the second time that I have been approached by spies, on
the march. On the first occasion I assumed to yield, and contented
the rascal by giving into his keeping a leaf or two copied from my
journal――which in fact merely recounted the truth as to our number and
our setting forth from the Missouri River. The fellow could not read,
and is treasuring the paper, for the eyes of the governor. If I am to
be plagued this way, I fear that my baggage or person may be searched,
and my records obtained by our long toil be stolen. Accordingly I shall
trust in you, knowing that you will not fail me. I have decided to
distribute my important papers among you, that you may carry them on
your persons, out of sight.”
So he did.
“They’ll be ready for you when you want ’em, cap’n, sir,” Freegift
promised, as the men stowed the papers underneath their shirts. “If the
Spanish want ’em, they’ll have to take our skins at the same time.”
“That they will,” was the chorus.
“To the boy here I consign the most important article of all,” pursued
the lieutenant, “because he is the least likely to be molested. It is
my journal of the whole trip. If that were lost, much of our labors
would have been thrown away. I can rely on you to keep it safe, Stub?”
“Yes, sir.” And Stub also stowed away his charge――a thin book with
stained red covers, in which the lieutenant had so frequently written,
at night.
“We will arrive at Santa Fe to-morrow, lads,” the lieutenant had
warned. “And if my baggage is subjected to a search by order of the
governor, I shall feel safe regarding my papers.”
Presently he left.
“Lalande, the nincompoop was, was he?” remarked Jake Carter. “Well, he
got his come-upments. But ain’t he the same that the doctor was lookin’
for――the sly one who skipped off with a trader’s goods?”
“So what more could be expected, than dirty work, from the likes!” Hugh
proposed.
The lieutenant fared so heartily at the priest’s house that this night
he was ill. In the morning, which was that of March 3, they all had
ridden on southward, led by him and by the pleasant Don Lieutenant
Bartholomew. They had passed through several more villages, one
resembling another; and in the sunset, after crossing a high mesa or
flat tableland covered with cedars, at the edge they had emerged into
view of Santa Fe, below.
“Santa Fe! La ciudad muy grande (The great city)! Mira (See)!”
Those were the urgent exclamations from the dragoons and militia.
“‘Great city,’ they say?” Hugh uttered, to Stub. “Huh! Faith, it looks
like a fleet o’ flatboats, left dry an’ waitin’ for a spring rise!”
It was larger than the other villages or towns, and lay along both
flanks of a creek. There were two churches, one with two round-topped
steeples; but all the other buildings were low and flat-roofed and
ugly, ranged upon three or four narrow crooked streets. At this side of
the town there appeared to be the usual square, surrounded by the mud
buildings. Yes, the two-steepled church fronted upon it.
As they rode down from the mesa, by the road that they had been
following, the town seemed to wake up. They could hear shouting, and
might see people running afoot and galloping horseback, making for the
square.
A bevy of young men, gaily dressed, raced, ahorse, to meet the column.
The whole town evidently knew that the Americans were coming. The
square was filled with excited men, women and children, all chattering
and staring.
Lieutenant Bartholomew cleared the way through them, and halted in
front of a very long, low building, with a porch supported on a row of
posts made of small logs, and facing the square, opposite the church.
He swung off. The dragoons and militia kept the crowd back.
Lieutenant Pike, in his old clothes, swung off.
“Dismount!” he called. “We are to enter here, lads. Bear yourselves
boldly. We are American soldiers, and have nothing to fear.”
He strode on, firm and erect, following the guidance of Lieutenant
Bartholomew.
“Keep together,” Freegift cautioned; and the men pushed after, trying
not to limp, and to carry their army muskets easily. Stub brought
up the tail of the little procession. He, too, was an American, and
proud of it, no matter how they all looked, without hats, in rags and
moccasins, the hair of heads and faces long.
They entered the long-fronted building. The doorway was a full
four feet thick. The interior was gloomy, lighted by small deep-set
windows with dirty panes. There was a series of square, low-ceilinged
rooms――“’Tis like a dungeon, eh?” Freegift flung back――but the earth
floors were strewn with the pelts of buffalo, bear, panther, what-not.
They were halted in a larger room, with barred windows and no outside
door. Lieutenant Bartholomew bowed to Lieutenant Pike, and left.
Against the walls there were several low couches, covered with furs and
gay blankets, for seats. So they sat down, and the men stared about.
“Whereabouts in here are we, I wonder,” John Brown proposed.
“Did ye see them strings o’ tanned Injun ears hangin’ acrost the front
winders!” remarked Hugh Menaugh.
“Sure, we’d never find way out by ourselves,” declared Alex Roy. “It’s
a crookeder trail than the one to the Red River.”
The lieutenant briefly smiled; but he sat anxiously.
Lieutenant Bartholomew suddenly returned; close behind him a large,
heavy-set, swarthy, hard-faced man, of sharp black eyes, and dressed in
a much decorated uniform. Lieutenant Pike hastily arose, at attention;
they all rose.
“His Excellency Don Joaquin del Real Alencaster, Governor of the
Province of New Mexico,” Lieutenant Bartholomew announced. “I have the
honor to present Lieutenant Don Mungo-Meri-Paike, of the American army.”
Lieutenant Pike bowed; the governor bowed, and spoke at once, in French.
“You command here?”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant answered just as quickly.
“Do you speak French?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You come to reconnoiter our country, do you?”
“I marched to reconnoiter our own,” replied Lieutenant Pike.
“In what character are you?”
“In my proper character, sir: an officer of the United States army.”
[Illustration: “IN MY PROPER CHARACTER, SIR: AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED
STATES ARMY”]
“And the man Robinson――is he attached to your party?”
“No.” The governor’s voice had been brusque, and the lieutenant was
beginning to flush. But it was true that the doctor was only an
independent volunteer.
“Do you know him?”
“Yes. He is from St. Louis.”
“How many men have you?”
“I had fifteen.” And this also was true, when counting the deserter
Kennerman.
“And this Robinson makes sixteen?” insisted the governor.
“I have already told your Excellency that he does not belong to my
party,” the lieutenant retorted. “I shall answer no more enquiries on
the subject.”
“When did you leave St. Louis?”
“July 15.”
“I think you marched in June.”
“No, sir.”
“Very well,” snapped the governor. “Return with Don Bartholomew to his
house, and come here again at seven o’clock and bring your papers with
you.”
He shortly bowed, whirled on his heels and left. The lieutenant bit
his lips, striving to hold his temper. Lieutenant Bartholomew appeared
distressed.
“A thousand apologies, Don Lieutenant,” he proffered. “His Excellency
is in bad humor; but never mind. You are to be my guest. Your men will
be quartered in the barracks. Please follow me.”
They filed out, through the rooms, into daylight again.
“A sergeant will show your men, señor. They are free to go where they
please, in the city,” said Lieutenant Bartholomew. “My own house is at
your service.”
“Go with Lieutenant Bartholomew’s sergeant, lads,” Lieutenant Pike
directed. “Guard your tongues and actions and remember your duty to
your Government.”
Beckoning with a flash of white teeth underneath his ferocious
moustache the dragoon sergeant took them to the barracks. These were
another long building on the right of the first building, fronting upon
the west side of the square and protected by a wall with a court inside.
At a sign from the sergeant they stacked their muskets and hung their
pistols, in the court. Then they were led in to supper.
“Sure, we’re goin’ to be comfortable,” Freegift uttered, glancing
around as they ate. “The food is mighty warmin’――what you call the
seasonin’? Pepper, ain’t it, same as we got, above? Yes.”
“Did you hear what they call that other buildin’, where we were took
first?” asked Jake Carter, of Stub.
“The Palace of the Governors, the soldiers said.”
“Palace!” Jake snorted. “It’s more like the keep of a bomb-proof fort.
I’ve dreamed of palaces, but never such a one. There’s nothin’ for a
governor to be so high and uppish about.”
“The cap’n gave him tit for tat, all right,” asserted William Gordon.
“We’ve got a verse or two of Yankee Doodle in us yet!”
They finished supper and shoved back their cowhide benches.
“We’re to go where we plaze, ain’t it?” queried Hugh. “So long as we
keep bounds? Well, I’m for seein’ the town whilst I can.”
“We’re with you, old hoss,” they cried, and trooped into the court.
First thing, they found that their guns had vanished.
Freegift scratched his shaggy head.
“Now, a pretty trick. We’re disarmed. They come it over us proper, I
say.”
Spanish soldiers were passing to and fro. Some stared, some laughed,
but nobody offered an explanation or seemed to understand the questions.
“That wasn’t in the bargain, was it?” Alex Roy demanded. “The cap’n’ll
have a word or two of the right kind ready, when he learns. Anyhow,
we’ll soon find out whether we’re prisoners as well. Come on.”
The gate at the entrance to the court was open. The guard there did not
stop them. They had scarcely stepped out, to the square, when loitering
soldiers and civilians, chatting with women enveloped in black shawls,
welcomed them in Spanish and beckoned to them, and acted eager to show
them around.
“‘Buenas noches,’ is it? ‘Good evenin’ to ye,’” spoke Freegift. “I
expect there’ll be no harm in loosenin’ up a bit. So fare as you like,
boys, an’ have a care. I’m off. Who’s with me?”
They trooped gaily away, escorted by their new Santa Fean friends.
Stub stuck to Freegift, for a time; but every little while the men had
to stop, and drink wine offered to them at the shops and even at the
houses near by; so, tiring of this, he fell behind, to make the rounds
on his own account and see what he chose to see.
He was crossing the bare, hard-baked square, or plaza as they called
it, to take another look at the strings of Indian ears festooned on
the front of the Governor’s Palace, when through the gathering dusk
somebody hailed him.
“Hi! Muchacho! Aqui! (Hi! Boy! Here!)”
It was Lieutenant Bartholomew, summoning him toward the barracks. The
lieutenant met him.
“Habla Español (You speak Spanish)?”
“Very little,” Stub answered.
“Bien (Good).” And the lieutenant continued eagerly. “Como se llama Ud.
en Americano (What is your name in American)?”
“Me llamo Jack Pursley (My name is Jack Pursley), señor.”
“Si, si! Bien! Muy bien! (Yes, yes! Good! Very good!)” exclaimed the
lieutenant. “Ven conmigo, pues (Come with me, then).”
On he went, at such a pace that Stub, wondering, had hard work keeping
up with him. They made a number of twists and turns through the
crooked, darkened streets, and the lieutenant stopped before a door set
in the mud wall of a house flush with the street itself. He opened, and
entered――Stub on his heels. They passed down a narrow verandah, in a
court, entered another door――――
The room was lighted with two candles. It had no seats except a couple
of blanket-covered couches against its wall; a colored picture or two
of the saints hung on the bare walls. A man had sprung up. He was
a tall, full-bearded man――an American even though his clothes were
Spanish.
He gazed upon Stub; Stub gaped at him.
“It is the boy,” panted Lieutenant Bartholomew. “Bien?”
“Jack!” shouted the man.
“My dad!” Stub blurted.
They charged each other, and hugged.
“Good! Good!” exclaimed the lieutenant, dancing delighted. Several
women rushed in, to peer and ask questions.
“Boy, boy!” uttered Jack’s father, holding him off to look at him
again. “I thought never to see you, after the Utes got you. They took
you somewhere――I couldn’t find out; and finally they fetched me down to
Santa Fe, and here I’ve been near two years, carpentering.”
“Couldn’t you get away?”
“No. They won’t let me. And now I’m mighty glad.”
“Well, I’m here, too,” laughed Stub. “And I guess I’ll stay; but I’ll
have to ask Lieutenant Pike.”
“He’s gone to the palace, to talk with the governor again. You and I’ll
talk with each other. I came especially to see him; thought maybe he
might help me, and I hoped to talk with one of his kind. American blood
is powerful scarce in Santa Fe. There’s only one simon-pure Yankee,
except myself. He’s Sol Colly; used to be a sergeant in the army and
was captured six years ago along with the rest of a party that invaded
Texas. But he doesn’t live here. A Frenchman or two, here from the
States, don’t count. My, my, it’s good to speak English and to hear it.
As soon as the lieutenant learnt my name he remembered about you; but
he couldn’t wait, so Don Bartholomew went to find you. Now you’ll go
home with me, where we can be snug and private.”
He spoke in Spanish to Lieutenant Bartholomew, who nodded.
“Certainly, certainly, señor. Until to-morrow morning.”
And Jack gladly marched home hand-in-hand with his father, James
Pursley, of Kentucky, the discoverer of gold in Colorado, and the first
American resident in Santa Fe.
XXI
GOOD-BY TO LIEUTENANT PIKE
The lieutenant and men were to be sent clear to the city of Chihuahua,
more than six hundred miles southward, where the commanding general of
all Mexico had headquarters.
An officer and two soldiers from Governor Alencaster had called for him
again in the morning immediately after breakfast. He returned to the
Lieutenant Bartholomew house fuming. Stub never before had seen him so
angry.
“I protested with all my power,” he related, to Lieutenant Bartholomew
and Stub’s father. “I said that I should not go unless forced to by
military strength. The governor agreed to give me a paper certifying
to the fact that I march only as compelled to, but our detention as
prisoners is a breach of faith. I consented to come to Santa Fe, for
the purpose of explaining to him my accidental presence within his
frontiers; and I have so explained. He has even read my papers and my
commission. Now he orders us still further into the interior.”
“You have my sympathy, señor,” proffered Lieutenant Bartholomew.
“That’s the system here, sir,” added Stub’s father. “I am an American
citizen, and was brought in by the Injuns, from outside territory; and
I can’t leave without a permit. I’m close watched――but I’ve still got
my old rifle; and give me two hours’ start and I’ll not ask for any
other passport.”
“When I reminded His Excellency that my unintentional trespass was
not to be compared with his, when he dispatched five hundred troops
far into the Pawnee country, well within the territory of the United
States, he had no reply,” pursued Lieutenant Pike. “However, I am to
dine with him this noon, and march soon thereafter, to meet an escort
under that Lieutenant Melgares below.”
“You will find Don Facundo Melgares to be a very pleasant gentleman,
señor,” spoke Lieutenant Bartholomew.
“He spent a great deal of time and money looking for me,” Lieutenant
Pike grimly laughed. “He might as well have stayed here, for I should
never have yielded to him, north of the Red River; not while I had
a man left. I understand that Doctor Robinson, whom the governor
mentioned, also has been sent south.”
“That is possible, señor.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.
“And I suppose my sergeant and the other men will follow me.” He
turned to Stub. “Come, boy; we’ll look up our party and order them to
be ready. Their arms are to be restored to them, at least. We’re not
to be driven like cattle. His Excellency has promised that, and we’ll
march as soldiers.”
“You take the boy to Chihuahua?” queried Lieutenant Bartholomew.
“What?” Stub’s tall father demanded, with a start.
Lieutenant Pike smiled.
“No, sir. He remains here, where he belongs. I am only too happy to
have reunited him and his father. His service with me ends――and it has
been a greater service than you may imagine.”
They hastened for the barracks. Midway, the lieutenant halted in covert
of an old wall.
“You have my journal?” he asked, guardedly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! You may give it to me, now. Quick! There!” He swiftly tucked it
away. “It is the only paper unknown to the governor, and I mean to keep
it. Last night, when I considered that he was done with me, I heard
that the men were drinking wine with the town people. So in case they
should drink too much I sought them out and took the other papers from
them. They’re faithful, but the wine might have made them careless. I
stowed the papers in my trunk again (this was a little hand-trunk that
the lieutenant had carried, with help, from the Arkansaw, as his only
important baggage); then early this morning the governor unexpectedly
sent for me and my trunk and I had no chance to open it privately. By
trusting in him I was cleverly outwitted, but thanks to you I’ve saved
my journal. Had I found you last night I would have taken it, to place
it with the other papers.”
So, thanks to a boy, the journal of Lieutenant Pike was saved to the
world.
“Can’t you get your trunk again?” Stub asked, as they hurried on.
“It will go down to Chihuahua with me, but in charge of the officer of
the escort, for the commanding general.”
“Do the papers tell anything wrong?”
“No, unless they are wrongly read. There are letters, and scientific
notes upon the locations and distances; and maps. If the commanding
general thinks we were spying out the country, he may try to keep
everything. But the journal would be the greatest loss.”
And truth to say, Lieutenant Pike never did get back any of the papers
in the trunk.
Freegift and John Brown were at the barracks; the other men were
rambling about. John went to find them.
“To Chihuahua is it, sir?” Freegift gasped. “Without our guns?”
“You will get your guns.”
“An’ don’t we wait for the sergeant an’ them others, sir?”
“We’re not permitted. I’ll leave a note for Meek with this boy, here,
telling him to keep up courage and follow us.”
“But doesn’t the lad go, too, sir?”
“No. He stays in Santa Fe.”
“I’ve found my father, Freegift,” eagerly explained Stub. “He’s here.
The Utahs brought him here. I’ve got to stay with him.”
“Found your dad, eh? Well, well! An’ good! I want to know! That’s all
right, then. We’ve been some worried over you, but sure we felt sartin
you wouldn’t desert. Expect you’d rather have found your father than
the Red River; hey?”
“I don’t know,” Stub stammered. “I wish we’d found both.”
His heart ached for Lieutenant Pike, who seemed to have found
nothing――unless he really had intended to come here.
“We soldiers must not complain; we will only rejoice in your good
fortune, my lad,” answered the lieutenant. “All in all, we did not
toil in vain, and we have done what we could. Have the men ready to
march at twelve o’clock, Stout.” And turning on his heel he strode off.
“A fine little man, an’ a smart one,” mused Freegift, gazing after.
“We’ll go with him to Chihuahua――an’ to the ends o’ the earth, if need
be.”
The lieutenant left first, shortly after noon. He had dined with the
governor; when he came out of the palace, into the public square,
prepared to start, the governor’s coach was waiting, attached to six
gaily harnessed mules. A detachment of dragoons also were waiting; so
were Stub and his father, and old Sergeant Colly who had been captured,
six years ago, in Spanish territory.
They shook hands with the lieutenant.
“Good-by. Good-by, sir.”
“Good-by.” He held his head high, like an officer and a free American.
He did not mind the stares of the town people. “Remember, you are
Americans.”
“Don’t forget us, sir, when you reach the States,” old Solomon Colly
implored. “Don’t forget Sergeant Colly of the army, who made his only
mistake when he was trapped by these Spanish. You’ll do what you can
for us, sir?”
“I’ll not forget; not while I have breath in my body,” promised the
lieutenant, earnestly. “I will report you to the Government.”
The governor had clumped out, in his uniform and jack-boots. Lieutenant
Bartholomew, and Captain D’Almansa who was to command the escort
southward, were with him. They all entered the splendid coach decorated
with gilt.
The door slammed. The servant climbed to the seat beside the
driver――the sergeant in charge of the dragoons shouted an order, and
away they went, mules and horses at a gallop.
That was the last that Stub or anybody in Santa Fe ever saw of young
Lieutenant Pike.
Stub went to the barracks with his father and Solomon Colly, to watch
the men off. They were about to go. He shook hands with them, too: with
Freegift, and Alex Roy, and John Brown, and Hugh Menaugh, and William
Gordon, and Jake Carter――that brave six, still limping from frozen feet.
“Good luck to you, boy.”
“Good luck.”
“An’ never forget you’ve been a Pike man, on one o’ the toughest
marches in history,” added Freegift. “Stick up for your country. You’ve
l’arned never to say die――an’ that’s the American of it.”
“Yes, sir. I know it.”
“Ah, lads, but Sol and I wish we were going with you,” sighed his
father. “But maybe you’ll be back again, by the thousand, and then
we’ll see the flag floating.”
“Maybe. There’ll be a time,” replied Freegift. “There’ll be a time when
the flag’ll float over this very spot. But we won’t need any thousand.
Five hundred of us under Cap’n Pike could take the whole country. An’
now we know a way in.”
“I’ve half a notion that the lieutenant wasn’t so sorry to be made
prisoner, after all,” Stub’s father remarked to him, on the way
home. “There’s something secret about this that he doesn’t tell. As
that soldier friend of yours said, in case of war――and war over this
borderland dispute is likely to break out any day――the army will know
what’s ahead of it.”
“They’ll let Lieutenant Pike go, won’t they?”
His father chuckled.
“They’ll have to. He’s not the kind of man they can keep. They can’t
prove he’s a spy, for he’s in uniform (what there is of it), and his
orders are plain to read.”