TOM RENEGES
As the days passed while waiting for the return of the caravan to
Missouri, Patience rode abroad with either her uncle or her father,
sometimes in the Dearborn, but more often in the saddle. She explored
the ruins of the old church at Pecos, where the Texan prisoners had
spent a miserable night; the squalid hamlets of San Miguel, which she
had passed through on her way to Santa Fe, and Anton Chico had been
visited; the miserable little sheep ranchos had been investigated and
other rides had taken her to other outlying districts; but the one she
loved best was the trail up over the mountain behind Santa Fe. The
almost hidden pack mules and their towering loads of faggots, _hoja_,
hay and other commodities were sights she never tired of, although the
scars on some of the meek beasts once in awhile brought tears to her
eyes. The muleteers, beneficiaries of her generosity, smiled when they
saw her and touched their forelocks in friendly salutation.
On the mountain there was one spot of which she was especially fond. It
was a little gully-like depression more than halfway up that seemed to
be much greener than the rest of the mountain side, and always moist.
The trees were taller and more heavily leafed And threw a shade which,
with the coolness of the moist little nook, was most pleasant. It lay
not far from the rutted, rough and busy trail over the mountain, which
turned and passed below it, the _atejos_ and occasional picturesque
_caballeros_ on their caparisoned horses, passing in review before her
and close enough to be distinctly seen, yet far enough away to hide
disillusioning details. The mud houses of the town at the foot of the
long slope, with their flat roofs, looked much better at this distance
and awakened trains of thought which nearness would have forbidden. It
was also an ideal place to eat a lunch and she and Uncle Joe or her
father made it their turning point.
Her daily rides had given her confidence, and the stares which first had
followed her soon changed to glances of idle curiosity. Of Armijo she
neither had seen nor heard anything more and scarcely gave him a
thought, and the Mexican officers she met saluted politely or ignored
her altogether. Her uncle still harped about Santa Fe being no place for
her, but, having the assurance that she would return to St. Louis with
the caravan, was too wise to press the matter. His efforts were more
strongly bent to get his brother to sell out and he had sounded Woodson
to see if that trader would take over the merchandise. Adam Cooper
seemed to consider closing out his business and returning to Missouri,
but he would not sacrifice it, and there the matter hung, swaying first
to one side and then to the other. By this time Santa Fe had palled on
the American merchant and he had laid by sufficient capital to start in
business in St. Louis or one of the frontier towns, and his brother was
confident that if the stock could be disposed of for a reasonable sum
that Adam would join the returning caravan.
It was in the storehouse of Webb and Birdsall one night, about a week
before the wagons were being put in shape for the return trip that the
matter was settled. Disturbing rumors were floating up from the south
about a possible closing of the ports of entry of the Department of New
Mexico, due to the dangers to Mexican traders on the long trail because
of the presence of Texan raiding parties. The Texans had embittered the
feelings of the Mexicans against the Americans, whom they knew to be
universally in favor of the Lone Star Republic, and the Texan raids of
this summer were taken as a forecast of greater and more determined
raids for the following year.
When Adam and Joe Cooper joined the little group in the warehouse on
this night, they met two Missourians who had just returned from
Chihuahua with a train of eleven wagons. These traders, finding business
so good in the far southern market, and having made arrangements with
some Englishmen there, who were high in favor with the Federal
authorities, were anxious to make another trip if they could load their
wagons at a price that would make the journey worth while. They were
certain that the next year would find the Mexican ports closed against
the overland traffic, eager to clean up what they could before winter
set in and to sell their outfits and return by water. They further
declared that a tenseness was developing between the Federal government
and the United States, carefully hidden at the present, which would
make war between the two countries a matter of a short time. Texas was
full of people who were urging annexation to the United States, and
their numbers were rapidly growing; and when the Lone Star republic
became a state in the American federation, war would inevitably follow.
Some in the circle dissented wholly or in part, but all admitted that
daily Mexico was growing more hostile to Americans.
"Wall, we ain't forcin' our opinions on nobody," said one of the
Chihuahua traders. "We believe 'em ourselves, an' we want ter make
another trip south. Adam, we've heard ye ain't settled in yer mind about
stayin' through another winter hyar. We'll give ye a chanct ter clear
out; what ye got in goods, an' what ye want fer'em lock, stock an'
bar'l?"
"What they cost us here in Santa Fe," said Uncle Joe quickly, determined
to force the issue. "We just brought in more'n two wagon loads, an' what
we had on hand will go a long way toward helpin' you fill your wagons.
Come around tomorrow, look th' goods over, an' if they suit you, we'll
add twelve cents a pound for th' freight charge across th' prairies an'
close 'em out to you. Ain't that right, Adam?" he demanded so sharply
and truculently that his brother almost surrendered at once. Seeing that
they had an ally in Uncle Joe the traders pushed the matter and after a
long, haggling discussion, they offered an additional five per cent of
the purchase price for a quick decision.
Uncle Joe accepted it on the spot and nudged his brother, who grudgingly
accepted the terms if the traders would buy the two great wagons and
their teams. This they promised to do if they could find enough extra
goods to fill them, and they soon left the warehouse for fear of showing
their elation. They knew where they could sell the wagons at a profit
with a little manipulation on the part of their English friend.
Elated by the outcome of his protracted arguments, Uncle Joe hurried
around to Armstrong's store and told the news to Tom and his three
friends.
"We can get them goods off our hands in two days," he exulted; "an' th'
caravan will be ready to leave inside a week. Don't say a word to
nobody, boys. We'll try to sneak Adam and Patience out of town so Armijo
won't miss 'em till they're on th' trail. Them Chihuahua traders won't
disturb th' goods before we start for home because they got to get a lot
more to fill their wagons, an' th' merchandise is safer in th' store
than it will be under canvas. I wish th' next week was past!"
To wish the transaction kept a secret and to keep it a secret were two
different things. The Chihuahua traders found more merchants who felt
that they would be much safer in Missouri than in Santa Fe, and the
south-bound wagon train was stocked three days before time for the
Missouri caravan to leave. There were certain customs regulations
relating to goods going through to El Paso and beyond, certain involved
and exacting forms to be obtained and filled out, much red tape to be
cut with golden shears and many palms to be crossed with specie. Uncle
Joe and his brother found that the matter of transferring their goods to
the traders took longer than they expected and were busy in the store
for several days, leaving Patience to make the most of the short time
remaining of her stay in the capital of the Department of New Mexico.
At last came the day when the eastbound caravan was all but ready to
start, certain last minute needs arising that kept it in the camp
outside the city until the following morning. Busily engaged in its
organizing and in numerous personal matters, they told her to stay in
the city. Uncle Joe and his brother could not accompany Patience on
another ride up the mountain and they understood that she would not
attempt one; but she changed her mind and left the town in the care and
guidance of a Mexican employee of her father, in whom full trust was
reposed. She rode out an hour earlier than was her wont, and when a
Delaware Indian called at the house to beg alms from the generous
senorita he found the building open and empty. Knowing that the last
night was to be spent in the encampment and thinking that she had gone
there, as he understood was the plan, he gave little thought to this and
wandered back to the _Plaza Publica_ to look for his companions. They
were not in sight and he went over to the barracks to seek them there.
Don Jesu swaggered along the side of the building, caught sight of the
disreputable Delaware and contemptuously waved him away. "Out of my
sight, you drunken beggar and son of a beggar! If I catch you here once
more I'll hang you by your thumbs! _Vamoose!_"
The Delaware stiffened a little and seemed reluctant to obey the
command. "I seek my friends," he replied in a guttural polyglot. "I do
no harm."
Don Jesu's face flamed and he drew his sword and brought the flat of the
blade smartly across the Indian's shoulder. "But once more I tell you to
_vamoose_! _Pronto!_" He drew back swiftly and threw the weapon into
position for a thrust, for he had seen a look flare up in the Indian's
eyes that warned him.
The Delaware cringed, muttered something and slunk back along the wall
and as he reached the corner of the building he bumped solidly into
Robideau, who at that moment turned it. The foot of the second officer
could not travel far enough to deliver the full weight of the kick, but
the impact was enough to send the Indian sprawling. As he clawed to
hands and knees, Robideau stood over him, sword in hand, threats and
curses pouring from him in a burning stream. The Indian paused a moment,
got control over his rage, ran off a short distance on hands and knees
and, leaping to his feet, dashed around the corner of the building to
the hilarious and exultant jeers of the sycophantic soldiers. He barely
escaped bumping into a huge, screeching and ungainly _carreta_ being
driven by a soldier and escorted by a squad of his fellows under the
personal command of Salezar. The lash of a whip fell across his
shoulders and cut through blanket and shirt. The second blow was short
and before another could be aimed at him, the Delaware had darted into a
passage-way between two buildings.
The officer laughed loudly, nodded at the scowling driver and again felt
of the canvas cover of the cart: "The city is full of vermin," he
chuckled. "There's not much difference between Texans and Americans, and
these sotted Indians. Tomorrow we will be well rid of many of the gringo
dogs and we will attend to these strange Indians when this present
business has been taken care of. But there is one gringo who will remain
with us!" He laughed until he shook. "_Captain_ Salezar today;
_Colonel_, tomorrow; _quien sabe_?"
He looked at two of his soldiers, squat, powerful half-breeds, and
laughed again. "Jose is a strong man. Manuel is a strong man. Perhaps
tomorrow we will give each one of them two Indians and see which can
flog the longest and the hardest; but," he warned, his face growing hard
and cruel, "the man who bungles his work today will have no ears
tomorrow!"
The Delaware, his right hand thrust into his shirt under the dirty
blanket, crouched in the doorway and was making the fight of his life
against the murderous rage surging through him. The words of the officer
reached him well enough, but in his fury were unintelligible. Wild, mad
plans for revenge were crowding through his mind, mixed and jumbled
until they were nothing more than a mental kaleidoscope, and constantly
thrown back by the frantic struggles of reason. He had nursed the
thought of revenge, mile after mile, day after day, across the prairies
and the desert; but for the last half month he had fought it back for
the safety his freedom might give to the woman he loved.
The grotesque, ungainly cart rumbled and bumped, clacked and screeched
down the street, farther and farther away and still he crouched in the
doorway. The sounds died out, but still he remained in the sheltering
niche. Finally his hand emerged from under the blanket and fell to his
side, and a wretched Indian slouched down the street toward the _Plaza
Publica_. In command of himself once more he shuffled over to the guard
house in the _palacio_ and leaned against the wall, the welt on his back
burning him to the soul, as Armijo's herald stepped from the main door,
blew his trumpet and announced the coming of the governor. Pedestrians
stopped short and bowed as the swarthy tyrant stalked out to his horse,
mounted and rode away, his small body-guard clattering after him. The
Delaware, to hide the expression on his face, bowed lower and longer
than anyone and then slyly produced a plug of smuggled Kentucky tobacco
and slipped it to the sergeant of the guard.
"They'll catch you yet, you thief of the North," warned the sergeant,
shaking a finger at the stolid Indian. "And when they do you'll hang by
the thumbs, or lose your ears." He grinned and shoved the plug into his
pocket, not seeming to be frightened by becoming an accessory after the
fact. "Our governor is in high spirits today, and our captain's face is
like the mid-day sun. He is a devil with the women, is Armijo and his
senora doesn't care a snap. Lucky man, the governor." He laughed and
then looked curiously at his silent companion. "Where do you come from,
and where do you go?"
The Delaware waved lazily toward the North. "Senor Bent. I return
soon."
"Look to it that you do, or the _calabozo_ will swallow you up in one
mouthful. I hear much about the _palacio_." He shook his finger and his
head, both earnestly.
The Delaware drew back slightly and glanced around. Drawing his blanket
about him he turned and slouched away, leaving the plaza by the first
street, and made his slinking and apologetic way to Armstrong's, there
to wait until dark. His three friends were there already and were
rubbing their pistols and rifles, elated that the morrow would find them
on the trail again. The two Arapahoes planned to accompany the caravan
as far as the Crossing of the Arkansas and there turn back toward Bent's
Fort, following the northern branch of the trail along the north bank of
the river.
"Better jine us, Tom," urged Jim Ogden. "You an' Hank an' us will stay
at th' fort till frost comes, an' then outfit thar an' spend th' winter
up in Middle Park."
"Or we kin work up 'long Green River an' winter in Hank's old place,"
suggested Zeb Houghton, rubbing his hands. "Thar'll be good company in
Brown's Hole; an' mebby a scrimmage with th' thievin' Crows if we go up
that way. Yer nose will be outer jint in th' Missouri settlements. I
know a couple o' beaver streams that ain't been teched yit." He glanced
shrewdly at the young man. "It's good otter an' mink country, too. We'll
build a good home camp an' put up some lean-tos at th' fur end o' th'
furtherest trap lines. Th' slopes o' th' little divides air thick with
timber fer our marten traps, an' th' tops air bare. Fox sets up thar
will git plenty o' pelts. I passed through it two year ago an' can't
hardly wait ter git back ag'in. It's big enough fer th' hull four o'
us."
"Thar's no money in beaver at a dollar a plew," commented Hank, watching
his partner out of the corner of his eye. "Time war when it war worth
somethin', I tell ye; but them days air past--an' th' beaver, too, purty
nigh. I remember one spring when I got five dollars a pound fer beaver
from ol' Whiskey Larkin. Met him on th' headwaters o' th' Platte. He
paid me that then an' thar, an' then had ter pack it all th' way ter
Independence. But it's different with th' other skins, an' us four shore
could have a fine winter together."
"It's allus excitin' ter me ter wait till th' pelts prime, settin' in a
good camp with th' traps strung out, smokin' good terbaker an' eatin'
good grub," said Ogden, reminiscently. "Then th' frosts set in, snow
falls an' th' cold comes ter stay; an' we web it along th' lines settin'
traps fer th' winter's work. By gosh! What ye say, Tom?"
Tom was studying the floor, vainly trying to find a way to please his
friends and to follow the commands of an urging he could not resist. For
him the mating call had come, and his whole nature responded to it with
a power which would not be denied. On one hand called the old life, the
old friends to whom he owed so much; a winter season with them in a good
fur country, with perfect companionship and the work he loved so dearly;
on the other the low, sweet voice of love, calling him to the One Woman
and to trails untrod. The past was dead, living only in memory; the
future stirred with life and was rich in promise. He sighed, slowly
shook his head and looked up with moist eyes, glancing from one eager
face to another.
"I'm goin' back ter Missoury," he said in a low voice. "Thar's a
question I got ter ask, back thar, when th' danger's all behind an' it
kin be asked fair. If th' answer is 'no' I promise ter jine ye at Bent's
or foller after. Leave word fer me if ye go afore I git thar. But
trappin' is on its last legs, an' th' money's slippin' out o' it, like
fur from a pelt in th' spring; 'though I won't care a dang about that if
I has ter turn my back on th' settlements." His eyes narrowed and his
face grew hard. "Jest now I'm worryin' about somethin' else. Here I am
in Santer Fe, passin' Armijo an' Salezar every day, an' have ter turn my
back on one of th' big reasons fer comin' hyar. Thar's a new welt acrost
my back that burns through th' flesh inter my soul like a livin' fire.
Thar's an oath I swore on th' memory of a close friend who war beaten
an' starved an' murdered; an' now I'm a lyin' dog, an' my spirit's
turned ter water!" He leaped up and paced back and forth across the
little room like a caged panther.
Hank cleared his throat, his painted face terrible to look upon. "Hell!"
he growled, squirming on his box. "Them as know ye, Tom Boyd, know ye
ain't neither dog ner liar! Takes a good man ter stand what ye have, day
arter day, feelin' like you do, an' keep from chokin' th' life outer
him. We've all took his insults, swallered 'em whole without no salt; ye
wouldn't say _all_ o' us war dogs an' liars, would ye? Tell ye what;
we've been purty clost, you an' me--suppose I slip back from th'
Canadian an' git his ears fer ye? 'Twon't be no trouble, an' I won't be
gone long. Reckon ye'd feel airy better then?"
Zeb moved forward on his cask. "That's you, Hank Marshall!" he exclaimed
eagerly. "I'm with ye! He spit in my face two days ago, an' I want his
ha'r. Good fer you, ol' beaver!"
For the next hour the argument waxed hot, one against three, and
Armstrong had to come in and caution them twice. It was Jim Ogden who
finally changed sides and settled the matter in Tom's favor.
"Hyar! We're nigh fightin' over a dog that ain't worth a cuss!" he
exclaimed. "Mebby Tom will be comin' back ter Bent's afore winter sets
in. Then we kin go ter Green River by th' way o' this town, stoppin'
hyar a day ter git Salezar's ears. Won't do Tom no good if us boys git
th' skunk. If ye don't close yer traps, cussed if I won't go out an' git
him now, an' then hell shore will pop afore th' caravan gits away. Ain't
ye got no sense, ye bloodthirsty Injuns?"