THE VALLEY OF THE CIMARRON
Because of the next stretch to certain water, a matter of about
thirty-five miles, another very early start was made after the
surrounding country had been searched by the plainsmen for signs of
Indians. Although later in the season than usual for a caravan to cover
this part of the route, the dreaded dry stretch along the usually empty
river bed was found broken here and there by shallow pools and advantage
was taken of these to soak the wooden rims of some of the older and more
faulty wagon wheels. One trader with a wagon which never should have
left Missouri had been put to great trouble to keep the tires on his two
front wheels and had "borrowed" about all the wire and hoop-iron his
friends felt disposed to give him. He had driven so many pieces of iron
between the felloes and the tires that daylight could be seen between
the two; and on topping a little hill between two ravines near the river
bank one of the tires slipped off and went rolling and bounding down the
slope onto the dry river bed. Amid roars of laughter the column stopped
until he had recovered it and re-wedged it onto the wheel, and at the
next nooning stop he drove the wagon into a trickle of water running
down the middle of the river bed and spent most of his time backing and
pulling to get every part of the wheels soaked.
A strong body of scouts which had pushed on ahead of the column
returned shortly after the noon camp had been left, and reported that
about ten miles farther on a section of the river several hundred yards
long was full of water. Not being able to make the Middle Spring that
day, this wet section of the river was decided upon for the night camp.
A score of mounted men were sent on ahead to scour the country for signs
of Indians, but became so hungry for the numerous kinds of wild fruits
and berries along the sides of the ravines, that they did their work
poorly and did not reach the proposed camp site much before the caravan
got there.
The country was cut by a maze of ravines and gullies and studded with
small hills, little pastures of excellent grass nestling between them.
As the wagons filed down a narrow road onto a pasture fronting on the
Cimarron a plainsman, who had pushed on ahead of the caravan because he
doubted the seriousness and intelligence of the scouting party, was seen
dashing down to the farther bank of the river and splashing across it
without checking the speed of his horse.
One look at him was enough for Woodson, and the sharp blast of the bugle
cut the air. Wagoners whipped their tired teams into the best speed they
could give and the clatter and screeching of the rumbling wagons filled
the air as they raced around into the circular formation. The scout
barely had left the river and the wagons still were forming when over
the crest of a hill across the stream appeared a mass of horsemen, their
lances standing like drunken pickets against the sky. No need to ask
what tribe they belonged to, for the hint conveyed by their lances soon
was endorsed by their fantastic two-color blankets, one half red and the
other half blue. Most of them wore, in addition to the regular attire
of the plains Indians, a leather jacket, and from the heels of their
moccasins trailed tassels, another mark of their tribe.
These warriors, magnificent specimens of manhood and superb horsemen,
appeared to be gigantic as they paused and spread out along the crest of
the hill, boldly outlined against the bright sky behind them. They
watched the running circle of wagons stop by jerks as vehicle after
vehicle crowded against the one ahead of it and came to a stand, the
teams inside the corral. They rode slowly down the hill, their numbers
constantly growing, as a line of defenders moved out from the encampment
to interpose itself between the camp and the Comanche warriors; and as
the line stopped to wait for the cannons to get into position the red
enemy charged with a bedlam of whoops and yells. The two quick roars of
the cannons and the hurtling solid shot, which raised dust-puffs high up
on the hill, checked them and they spread out into two thin lines of
racing horsemen running toward both sides of the encampment.
Woodson, glad that the cannoneers had missed in their panicky aim,
ordered the defenders to fall back to the wagons, which they were only
too glad to do; but they did not obey his command to cease firing, and
sent their hastily aimed balls in the general direction of the enemy. No
harm was done by these, not only because of the poor aim but also
because the racing Indians were as yet well out of rifle shot and were
hanging over on the far side of their mounts.
Tom ran to the frantically working cannoneers and threw himself among
them without regard to how he handled them, shouting for them not to
fire until Woodson gave the word, and then to load with musket balls and
fire as fast and true as they could. Franklin joined him, his face as
black as a thunder cloud, and made threats they knew he would carry out
if the instructions were not obeyed.
The racing line drew nearer and nearer, those of the warriors who had
guns discharging them into the air. It looked like a desperate fight was
only a few seconds away when Hank yelled his discovery. Over the crest
of the same hill appeared the women and children of the tribe, their
dogs dragging burdens on their small travoises and the horses pulling
the dragging lodgepoles loaded down with the possessions of their
owners. This meant peace, for if war was intended, all but the warriors
would have been sent away. Some of the more quickwitted of the plainsmen
and traders waved their hats at the debouching village across the river,
and Woodson, with Tom and Franklin at his side, held up his hand and
walked toward the slowing line. An arrow suddenly quivered in the ground
almost under his feet and he stopped, raising both hands. An Indian
dashed back across the river, where he berated a group of non-combatants
and waved them toward the top of the hill. The traveling village
instantly became a confusion of quick movement and climbed the hill and
dipped over its crest much quicker than it had appeared.
Woodson swore under his breath. "Reckon we got ter fight, boys. Look
sharp an' fall back ter th' caravan. Drop th' first brave that lifts bow
an' arrer!" He glanced back to see how far they had to go and glimpsed a
dozen men under Hank and Zeb coming to their aid. He raised his hand to
them and they instantly dropped to their knees, their rifles leaping to
their shoulders. "Now," he grated. "We're bein' covered; turn an' run!"
As the three men reached the covering party they checked themselves,
joined it, faced the savages, and the entire party fell slowly back to
the wagons.
"Funny they didn't send in more'n that one arrer," growled Woodson,
thoroughly puzzled. "These hyar ain't Pawnee hoss-stealers; thar
fightin' men. _Knock down that gun!_" he snapped as a tenderfoot rested
a powerful rifle across a wagon wheel. The man beside the ambitious
Indian fighter struck it aside and the ball went into the ground. "Th'
next man as pulls trigger till I says fer him to is goin' to be d----d
sorry!" cried the captain, drawing his pistol.
The running line, moving back farther under the threat of the two
cannons, gradually stopped, facing the waiting defenders. It seemed like
the calm that precedes a storm. Then down the hill across the river came
a small group of savages more outrageously decked out than any seen so
far.
"Th' chiefs," growled Woodson. "Hope we git out o' this without a fight.
Even th' Comanches ain't usually anxious ter git inter a clawin' match
with Americans, though they air th' best o' th' prairie tribes."
"They do about what they please with th' Mexicans," replied Tom; "but
they've larned that Americans air a different breed, an' have better
guns. But some o' thar raids inter Texas have puffed 'em up. I don't
like thar village climbin' back over that hill."
"If it's ter be peace, I'd a cussed sight ruther have it over th' hill
than planted somewhar close ter us; they'd over-run th' camp an'
friction would be shore ter grow. While mebby they can't steal as slick
as th' Pawnees, they kin do it good enough ter make us cross-eyed
watchin' 'em. Some tenderfoot shore will ketch one of 'em stealin' his
belongin's an' start a fight thar an' then, with a hull passel o' 'em
inside th' corral. Wall, we'll soon find out what's goin' ter come of
it; they've jined th' line."
The white defenders eagerly watched the pow-wow being held to the
southwest of the encampment, their rifles balanced for quick handling;
then they slowly relaxed and some rested their weapons on the ground.
The consulting group of warriors split and from it, riding with slow
dignity toward the wagons, came two chiefs and two lesser warriors. They
held up their hands when within rifle shot and stopped. Woodson, Tom,
Franklin, and Haviland, mounted this time, rode with the same slow
dignity out to meet them. Franklin could speak their tongue well enough
to make himself understood, and Woodson and Tom knew the universal sign
language well enough to express themselves in it. As they left the camp
they caught a glimpse of another band of warriors riding around the
upper end of the hill and roughly estimated the combined force to be
close to five hundred. Here was good reason to be as tactful as
possible. When within speaking distance of the Comanche envoys they drew
up and the two groups eyed each other in silence for several minutes.
"Our village on the Washita is no more," said a chief who had enough
long hair to supply any hirsute deficiency of a dozen men and not suffer
by it. "Its ashes are blown by the winds and its smoke brings tears to
the eyes of our squaws and children. Our winter maize is gone and our
storehouses lie about the ground. White Buffalo and his braves were
hunting the buffalo beyond the Cimarron. Their old men and their squaws
and children were with them. Some of my young men have just returned and
brought us this news. What have the white men to say of this?"
"Our hearts are heavy for our friends the Comanches," answered Woodson.
"There are many tribes of white men, as there are many tribes of
Indians. There are the Americanos, the Mexicanos, the Englise, and the
Tejanos. The Americans come from the North and the East along their
great trail, with goods to trade and with friendship for the Comanches.
The Mexicanos would not dare to burn a Comanche village; but with the
Tejanos are not the Comanches at war? And we have seen Tejanos near the
trail. We have seen where they defeated Armijo's soldiers, almost within
sight of the Arkansas River. Cannot White Buffalo read the signs on the
earth? Our trail is plain for many days to the east, for all to see. Has
he seen our wagon tracks to the Washita? Are his young men blind? We are
many and strong and have thunder guns, but we do not fight except to
protect ourselves and our goods. We are traders."
"We are warriors!" exclaimed the chief. "We also are many and strong,
and our lances are short that our courage may be long. White Buffalo has
listened. He believes that the white chief speaks with a single tongue.
His warriors want the white man's guns and powder; medicine guns that
shoot like the clapping of hands. Such have the Tejanos. He has skins
and meat and _mulos_."
"The medicine guns are Tejano medicine," replied Woodson. "We have only
such as I see in the hands of some of our friends, the Comanches. Powder
and lead we have little, for we have come far and killed much game; blue
and red cloth we have, medicine glasses, beads, awls, knives, tobacco,
and firewater we have much of. Our mules are strong and we need no
more." He looked shrewdly at a much-bedecked Indian at the chief's side.
"We have presents for the Comanche Medicine Man that only his eyes may
see."
The medicine man's face did not change a muscle but there came a gleam
to his eyes that Woodson noted.
"The Comanches are not like the Pawnees or Cheyennes to kill their eyes
and ears with firewater," retorted the chief. "We are not Pawnee dogs
that we must hide from ourselves and see things that are not. Our hair
is long, that those may take it who can. I have spoken."
There was some further talk in which was arranged a visit from the
Comanche chief; the bartering price of mules, skins, and meat, as was
the custom of this tribe; a long-winded exchange of compliments and
assurances of love and good will, in the latter both sides making plenty
of reservations.
When Woodson and his companions returned to the encampment they went
among the members of the caravan with explicit instructions, hoping by
the use of tact and common sense to avert friction with their expected
visitors. Small articles were put away and the wagon covers tightly
drawn to minimize the opportunities of the Indians for theft.
The night passed quietly and the doubled guard apparently was wasted.
Shortly after daylight the opposite hill suddenly swarmed with dashing
warriors, whose horsemanship was a revelation to some of the tenderfeet.
Following the warriors came the non-combatants of the tribe, pouring
down the slope in noisy confusion. Woodson swore under his breath as he
saw the moving village enter the shallow waters of the river to camp on
the same side with the caravan, for it seemed that his flowery
assurances of love and esteem had been taken at their face value; but he
was too wise to credit this, knowing that Indians were quick to take
advantage of any excuse that furthered their ends. The closer together
the two camps were the more easily could the Indians over-run the
corralled traders.
Reaching the encampment's side of the stream the lodges were erected
with most praiseworthy speed, laid out in rows, and the work finished in
a remarkably short time. The conical lodges averaged more than a dozen
feet in diameter and some of them, notably that of the chief, were
somewhere near twice that size.
In the middle of the morning the chiefs and the more important warriors
paid their visit to the corral and were at once put in good spirits by a
salute from the cannons, a passing of the red-stone pipes, and by
receiving presents of tobacco and trade goods. While they sat on the
ground before Woodson's wagon and smoked, the medicine man seemed
restless and finally arose to wander about. He bumped into Tom Boyd, who
had been waiting to see him alone, and was quickly led to Franklin's
wagon where the owner, hiding his laughter, was waiting. It is well to
have the good will of the chiefs, but it is better also to have that of
the medicine man; and wily Hank Marshall never overlooked that end of it
when on a trading expedition among the Indians. He had let Woodson into
his secret before the parley of the day before, and now his scheme was
about to bear fruit.
Franklin made some mysterious passes over a little pile of goods which
was covered with a gaudy red cloth on which had been fastened some beads
and tinsel; and as he did so, both Tom and Hank knelt and bowed their
heads. Franklin stepped back as if fearful of instant destruction, and
then turned to the medicine man, who had overlooked nothing, with an
expression of reverent awe on his face.
For the next few minutes Franklin did very well, considering that he
knew very little of what he was talking about, but he managed to convey
the information that under the red cloth was great medicine, found near
the "Thunderer's Nest," not far from the great and sacred red pipestone
quarry of the far north. The mention of this Mecca of the Indians,
sacred in almost every system of Indian mythology, made a great
impression on the medicine man and it was all he could do to keep his
avaricious fingers off the cloth and wait until Franklin's discourse was
finished. The orator wound up almost in a whisper.
"Here is a sour water that has the power to foretell peace or war," he
declaimed, tragically. "There are two powders, found by the chief of the
Hurons, under the very nest of the Thunder Bird. They look alike, yet
they are different. One has no taste and if it is put into some of the
sour water the water sleeps and tells of peace; but if the other, which
has a taste, is put in the medicine water, the water boils and cries for
war. It is powerful medicine and always works."
The eyes of the red fakir gleamed, for with him often lay the decision
as to peace or war, and in this respect his power was greater even than
that of a chief. After a short demonstration with the water, to which
had been added a few drops of acid, the two powders, one of which was
soda, were tested out. The medicine man slipped his presents under his
robe, placed his fingers on his lips and strode away. When the next
Comanche war-council was held he would be a dominating figure, and the
fame of his medicine would spread far and wide over the Indian country.
"Got him, body an' soul!" chuckled Franklin, rubbing his hands. "Did ye
see his mean ol' eyes near pop out when she fizzed? He saw all th' rest
o' th' stuff an' he won't rest till he gits it all; an' he won't git it
all till his tribe or us has left. He plumb likes th' fizz combination,
an' mebby would want to try it out hyar an' now. Thar won't be no
trouble with _these_ Injuns this trip."
"An' that thar black sand ye gave him," laughed Hank, leaning back
against a wagon wheel, "that looks like powder, so he kin make his spell
over real powder, slip th' sand in its place, an' show how his medicine
will fix th' powder of thar enemies so it won't touch off! Did ye see
th' grin on his leather face, when he savvied that? He's a wise ol'
fakir, _he_ is!"
Tom grinned at Franklin. "Hank, here, has got th' medicine men o' th'
Piegan Blackfeet eatin' out o' his hand. Every time th' Crows git after
him too danged hot he heads fer th' Blackfoot country. They only
follered him thar onct. What all did ye give 'em, Hank?"
"Oh, lots o' little things," chuckled Hank, reminiscently. "Th' medicine
men o' th' Blackfeet air th' greatest in th' world; thar ain't no
others kin come within a mile o' 'em, thanks ter me an' a chemist I know
back in St. Louie. Th' other traders allus git what I leave."
When the important Indian visitors left there was quite a little
ceremony, and the camp was quiet until after the noon meal. Early in the
afternoon, according to the agreement with the chief and the medicine
man, the Indians visited the encampment in squads, and at no time was
there more than thirty or forty savages in the encampment at once.
Instead of the usual attempted stampede of the animals at night all was
peaceful; and instead of having to remain for two or three days in camp,
at all times in danger of a change in the mood of the savages, the
caravan was permitted to leave on the following morning, which miracle
threw Woodson into more or less of a daze. As the last wagon rounded a
hillock several miles from the camp site a mounted Comanche rode out of
the brush and went along the column until he espied Franklin; and a few
moments later he rode into the brush again, a bulging red cloth bundle
stowed under his highly ornamented robe.
But there was more than the desire to trade, the professed friendship
and the bribery of the medicine man that operated for peace in the minds
of the Comanches. Never so early in the history of the trail had they
attacked any caravan as large as this one and got the best of the fight.
In all the early years of the trail the white men killed in such
encounters under such conditions, could be counted on the fingers of one
hand; while the Indian losses had been considerable. With all their
vaunted courage the Comanches early had learned the difference between
Americans and Mexicans, and most of their attempts against large
caravans had been more for the purpose of stampeding the animals than
for fighting, and their efforts mostly had been "full of sound and
fury," like Macbeth's idiot's tale, and signified nothing. Still, the
caravan breathed easier as mile after mile took it away from that
encampment; but their escape was not regarded so seriously as to make
them pass Middle Spring, where good water always could be found, and
here they corralled.
Tom and his friends had grown more alert since leaving the Arkansas, and
without showing it had kept a close watch over Pedro and his companions.
The actions of these and of a few Americans, Franklin among the latter,
seemed to merit scrutiny. A subtle change was taking place in them.
Franklin spent more of his time near Tom and Hank, and Pedro and some of
the Mexicans were showing a veiled elation tinged with anxiety. Wherever
Tom went he was watched, and if he joined the advance guard, or the rear
guard, or the flanking parties, Franklin was certain to show up. He
seemed to have taken a belated but strong fancy to the young plainsman.
When Hank and Tom took the packs from the backs of their mules at night
not a move they made was missed; and they soon learned that quite a few
of the Mexicans were sleeping in the wagons of friends during the
morning traveling.
It was here at Middle Spring where Tom and Jim Ogden staged a serious
disagreement, which spread to one between Hank Marshall and Zeb
Houghton, and resulted in the two sets of partners becoming estranged.
When questioned about it in indirect ways by Franklin, Ogden sullenly
said that he could handle his troubles without the aid of others, and
_would_ handle them "danged quick" if a certain plainsman didn't look
out. Zeb was not so cautious and his remarks, vague as they were, were
plain enough to bring fleeting smiles to the faces of Pedro and his
friends.
The grass was better here than at any place since the Arkansas had been
left and as some of the animals were beginning to show unmistakable
signs of the long journey, it was decided to remain here another night
and give them a chance to recuperate a little. The news was hailed
joyfully and numerous hunting parties were arranged at the fires the
first night. Woodson called for volunteers to form a strong day guard
for the animals, which he wanted driven from the camp to graze over the
best grass, and he asked for another strong guard to watch the corral,
since Comanches, Pawnee Picts, Kiowas, and even more northern tribes out
on horse-stealing expeditions could be looked for without unduly
straining the imagination. Arapahoes, Utes, and even Cheyennes were not
strangers to the valley of the Cimarron, and once in a while Apache
raiders paid it flying visits.
Woodson made the round of the fires, trying to discourage the formation
of so many small hunting parties while the caravan was corralled in such
broken and dangerous country, and succeeded in reducing the numbers of
the hunters about half and in consolidating them into two large parties,
capable of offering some sort of resistance to an Indian attack. One of
these he put under the command of Hank, to that person's great disgust,
for Hank had planned to go on a hunt with his partner, and to join Ogden
and Houghton when well away from the camp. Tom was to remain with the
wagons; Ogden was to have charge of the other hunting party, and
Houghton and Franklin were to stay near the grazing herd.
The fires dimmed here and there as their builders forsook them for
blankets; others glowed brilliantly, among them the fire of Tom and
Hank. The former had said good night to Joe Cooper and Patience and was
walking toward his fire when Pedro silently joined him and went along
with him. Hank was off entertaining a party of tenderfeet with tales of
miraculous adventures in the mountains, and after lying to the best of
his ability for two hours, and hardly being questioned, he described a
wonderful country lying east of Henry's Fork of the Snake River; south
of the Snow Mountains; north of Jackson's Lake and west of the Shoshones
Mountains. It lay along the Yellowstone River and the headwaters of the
Stinking Water, and it contained all manner of natural wonders, which he
described earnestly and graphically, to bursts of laughter. The more
earnest he became the more his auditors roared and finally he got to his
feet, glared around the circle, declared he was not going to "eddicate
airy passel o' danged fools," and stalked away in high dudgeon,
muttering fiercely. Reaching his own fire he threw himself down by it
and glared at the glowing embers as if he held them responsible.
Tom nudged Pedro. "Somebody ask ye fer a left-hand wipin' stick, Hank?"
he asked.
"Thar a passel o' fools!" snorted Hank. "If hoss sense war ten paces
wide an' ten miles long in every man, ye couldn't collect enough o' it
in th' whole danged party fer ter make an ear tab fer a buffaler gnat!"
"Tellin' 'em about that thar river ye saw that couldn't find no way
outer th' valley, an' finally had ter flow up over a mounting?"
"Ye mean them up-side-down water falls?" queried Hank, grinning. "Yes,
an' some o' 'em come clost ter swallerin' it. Why, I sot thar an' filled
'em plumb ter th' ears with lies an' they didn't hardly wink an eye.
Then I told 'em o' that valley on th' Yallerstun, whar th' Injuns won't
go because they figger it's th' home o' th' Devil. An' th' more I told
'em about it, th' more th' danged fools laughed! I'd like ter hold 'em
over one o' them thar water-squirts, or push 'em down into th' bilin'
mud pots! Swallered th' lies, dang 'em, an' spit out th' truth!"
Tom roared and after a moment looked curiously at his partner. "I
thought ye said you'd never tell nobody about that country ag'in?"
"Oh, I felt so danged sorry fer thar ignorance that I reckoned I'd
eddicate 'em, th' dumb fools! If I had a ox an' it didn't know more'n
them all put together, danged if I wouldn't shoot it!" He sliced off a
pipeful of tobacco and pulled an ember from the fire. "What you an'
Pedro been hatchin' out?"
"Nothin', yit," answered Tom; "but I would like ter hear a little more
'bout that thar roundabout trail inter Santa Fe." He looked at Pedro.
"How fur away from hyar does it begin?"
"Not so ver' far, senor," answered the Mexican. "Thees way from thee
Upper Spr-ring, where thee soldats are used to meet thee car-ravan. We
come to eet soon. We should leeve thees camp tomor-row night."
"What's th' use o' that when ye said th' soldiers ain't goin' ter meet
us this year?" demanded Tom.
"Why don't they meet th' trains whar they oughter, 'stead o' waitin'
till they git past th' Injun dangers?" demanded Hank with some feeling.
"Does not thee senor know?" chuckled Pedro. "Eet ees not for protec'
thee car-ravan that they meet eet. Eet ees that no man may leave thee
tr-rail an' smuggle hees goods past thee customs. For what does Manuel
Armijo care for protec' thee traders? Eef he deed, would he not meet
them at thee Arkansas? Eet ees only for thee customs that he sends thee
soldats. To get away fr-rom theese we mus' tak thee other tr-rail befo'
eet ees too late."
"That's all right fer other years," growled Tom; "but if they ain't
goin' ter meet us _this_ time we kin stick ter th' trail an' leave it a
lot closer ter Santer Fe."
Pedro was doing his best to play safe from all angles. If the troops
tried to take Tom Boyd from the caravan, or show that he was a prisoner,
a great deal of trouble might come out of it, for these Americans were
devils for sticking together. If that fear were groundless, then Tom
Boyd and his trapper friends, on sight of the troops, might cut and run;
and if forced to stand and fight they could be counted on to give a good
account of themselves against the poorer arms of their Mexican enemies;
and somewhere in the hills he thought there were Texans and he knew them
well enough to know that they would only be too glad to take a hand in
any fight against Mexicans if they learned of it in time. At first he
had been content to get Tom Boyd to the Upper Spring or to Cold Spring,
only a few miles farther on, and there turn his responsibility over to
the commander of the troops. If he could get them to slip away from
their friends and be captured out of sight and hearing of the caravan
it would suit him much better; and if he could coax them to take their
goods with them, he and his friends could divide the spoils and slip the
plunder past the customs officers. The caravan was now within fifty
miles of Cold Spring and he must make up his mind and act quickly.
"Eet ees then you weesh to pay thee char-rges?" the Mexican asked,
raising his eyebrows.
"No!" growled Hank. "They air a robbery, plain an' simple."
"No!" said Tom, who was giving but little thought to the customs duties,
but a great deal to his own personal freedom. He did not want to meet
any kind of officers, customs or otherwise. He would have jumped at a
secret trail into the settlements had he not known so much about Pedro.
"At th' same time I ain't hankerin' fer ter leave th' caravan so soon.
We're nigh three hundred miles from Sante Fe, an' thar ain't no way we
kin go that'll cut off ten miles. This wagon road runs nigh as straight
as th' crow flies. What about grass fer th' mules, an' water?"
"Ah," breathed Pedro. "We weel not go to Santa Fe, senor; we go near
Taos, less than two hundred mile away from here. Along thee Ocate
Cr-reek I haf fr-riends who know ver' well thee mountains. They weel tak
us over them. How can thee senores sell their goods onless by ways that
ar-re made? Weeth us we haf men that know that tr-rail. We weel send one
befor-re to thee Ocate, an' follow heem fast."
Tom studied the fire for a few moments and then looked up at his guest.
"We want ter think this over, Pedro," he said. "You figger what per cent
o' th' customs savings you want fer yer share, an' we'll decide
tomorrow night. Hank, here, wants ter go ter Bent's an' reckons we kin
git a good price thar fer our goods. Let you know then. Good night."
After Pedro had painted the picture of the innocent-looking loads of
faggots and sheepskins, hay and produce, towering over the backs of the
nearly hidden pack mules as they toiled through the canyon and over the
rough trail leading from the Valley of Taos into Santa Fe, their loads
passing the customs house without drawing even a careless glance and
then, by many turnings, safely arriving at various destinations with
their smuggled goods; after he had described the care and foresight of
his friends and their trustworthiness, and made many knowing bows and
grimaces, he smilingly departed and left the partners to themselves.
Knowing that they were being watched they idled before the fire,
careless now of their store of wood, of which plenty was at hand, and
talked at random; but through the droning of their careless words many
times there could be heard the name "Bent's Fort," which Hank mentioned
with affectionate inflections. It seemed that he very strongly preferred
to go to that great trading post and rendezvous of hunters and trappers,
where old friends would be met and new ones made. Tom held out for Santa
Fe, but did not show much enthusiasm. Finally they rolled up in their
blankets, feet toward the fire and heads close together and simulated
sleep. Half an hour later they were holding a whispered conversation
which was pitched so low they barely could hear each other.