“Hey, amigo, we need more wine!”
Automatically, Sanchez reached into the purse at his belt and tossed a couple of gold coins to the innkeeper. The man nodded, pleased, and scurried off to the cellar.
The other customer gave Sanchez a drunken smile and pounded him heartily across the shoulders. Strange, thought Sanchez, I thought it felt good for people to like me. It had, on the prairies of New Spain. He had relished the respect that he had felt from the other members of the party. And he had had no money then.
It was all very puzzling, the more so since he was so very drunk. His fuzzy thoughts refused to congeal and he tried to focus them.
Let’s see now, that one had just asked him for more money for wine. What if he had had no more money? Would he have no more friends? He looked around at an unkempt individual sleeping with his head on the next table, his wine spilling into his beard. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name.
He could remember the names of men who had respected him in New Spain. Cabeza, Perez, Don Pedro, Lizard, yes, even Heads Off, Long Elk, and Standing Bird.
A tear of self-pity ran down the cheek of Sanchez and dropped into his wine. He wished he were with some of those companions, men with whom he had shared and suffered.
Perez had gone to work for Ramon Cabeza. He, Sanchez, had never had employment, had little understanding of what it meant. But Perez could do it. It would mean being with men he had come to admire. Maybe Cabeza would hire him, Sanchez. It would do no harm to ask.
Sanchez stood, a little unsteady on his feet, but standing taller and with more pride than at any time since he was paid and said good-bye to the others. He threaded his way among the tables toward the door. The innkeeper, alarmed at the threat of losing his best paying customer, scurried after him.
“Señor Sanchez,” he fawned, “we need more money for the wine and the dancers.”
Sanchez looked at the man for a long moment, then slowly reached into his leather purse and drew out a handful of gold and silver coins of various denominations. He let them drop slowly through his fingers to bounce on the puncheon floor. The innkeeper scuttled around, trying to pick them up.
Sanchez glanced back at the revelers, dancing, drinking, staggering. One man crouched in a corner, vomiting from overindulgence, and a girl laughed drunkenly. Sanchez turned back to the barkeep.
“When that is gone,” he said, pointing to the handful of coins, “throw them out!”
He passed through the doorway and out into the cool night air. He threw back his shoulders and strode purposefully down the street. He would go in the morning to talk to Cabeza. It could do no harm.
ALSO BY DON COLDSMITH
The Elk-Dog Heritage
Buffalo Medicine
Daughter of the Eagle
The Long Journey Home
WAR ON THE PLAINS
The line of mounted warriors broke and poured forward, lances and war clubs waving overhead. Ramon Cabeza wheeled his horse and ran, hearing the thunder behind him, watching his pitiful platoon attempt to form a defensive position as he approached.
He yanked the gray stallion to a sliding stop and pivoted to face the oncoming rush. With the precision of trained professionals, the Spanish lancers swung into their short defensive charge. The two forces clashed, horses and men went down in the melee. The tangle swept toward the creek and the cross-bowmen began to make themselves felt. Short, heavy crossbow bolts twanged, taking a deadly toll.
Cabeza slashed, parried, thrust and circled. He saw a lancer struck down, but another vaulted to the saddle to bring his lance into play. A young warrior loomed before him, swinging his stone club. Cabeza readied his sword.
It could not last much longer. More warriors were pounding across the meadow, anxious to count honors before the last Spaniard fell. The yipping falsetto war cry blended into a continuous high-pitched roar … .
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
FOLLOW THE WIND
Copyright © 1983 by Don Coldsmith
All rights reserved.
Originally published by Doubleday Books in 1983.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates. LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
eISBN 9781466820937
First eBook Edition : May 2012
First Forge Edition: April 2004
Follow the Wind Page 17