The Native American Experience

by Dee Brown

  “The big trader roared at me: ‘You son of a bitch Mex, or whatever you are! You can’t steal away my buffalo skins!’

  “ ‘You’ve been doing the stealing,’ I said, and I think my unexpected use of clear English unsettled him for a moment. Anyway the young Cheyenne on the spotted horse reached a hand down for me. I leaped up behind him and we filed off toward Mr. Lykins’s wagons, all the Cheyennes turning to laugh at the big trader, who was shaking his fist and threatening me with a violent death.

  “What I had failed to take into account was that George Gant had no authority to trade. He also told me that I had made a dangerous enemy. ‘That’s Flattery Jack Belcourt over there, one of the meanest bastards in the Santa Fe trade,’ he said. ‘A scoundrel and a horse thief. As soon shoot you in the back as spit. He won’t rest easy till he evens the score with you, amigo.’

  “Gant looked at the buffalo hides and said they were of good quality, but we would have to wait for Mr. Lykins to return. This was a great embarrassment to me. I had some difficulty in explaining the situation to the Cheyennes, but I think they finally understood. Gant made some coffee for them, sweetening it thickly with sugar, and while we waited I had an opportunity to get better acquainted with the Cheyennes. The young leader told me that his name was E-o-ve-a-no, repeating it several times and then surprising me by saying it in English: Yellow Hawk. Then I repeated my name for him until he could say it quite plainly. He knew very few English words, however, and we were still struggling to understand each other when Mr. Lykins and William Bent returned.

  “Bent knew the young Cheyennes, and when he found out that I had stopped them from being cheated by Flattery Jack, he came over and thanked me. He also warned me to be careful. ‘A malicious man, that Flattery Jack,’ he said. ‘I don’t allow him to trade in my fort.’

  “Mr. Lykins traded for the remaining buffalo hides, giving Yellow Hawk and his friends four or five times more goods than they would have got from Belcourt. When they rode off with their led ponies loaded with bags, Yellow Hawk turned in my direction, coming so close that he was able to lean down and give me a stinging slap on the back. ‘Damn plenty rascal,’ he said, pointing toward Belcourt’s wagons. He turned then, raised his hand in farewell, and cried out: ‘Dane!’

  “ ‘E-o-ve-a-no!’ I yelled back at him.

  “Well, the next morning we spent overhauling the wagons, tightening braces, setting the iron tires, greasing axles, whatever needed to be done. That afternoon the Arapahos came in with their buffalo skins, and after the trading was finished, Mr. Lykins informed us that we would be starting for Santa Fe at daylight.

  “When we moved out, my wagon was about midway of the train, and at our first road halt, the drivers in the rear passed up the word that Flattery Jack Belcourt’s wagons were following behind us. Mr. Lykins, being out ahead on his horse, did not learn of this until our nooning stop, and I could see then that he was more than annoyed at having the rascally trader close on our rear.

  “That night when we formed our circle for camp, he cautioned all of us to sleep with one eye open in case Belcourt and his hirelings tried to steal some of our merchandise. At most night stops, however, Belcourt camped his three wagons some distance from us, and it was George Gant’s opinion that Flattery Jack was keeping close to our train because he was afraid of Apaches. ‘Soon’s we get through the Ratons,’ Gant said, ‘we’ll be in Apache country, and Apaches ain’t afraid to take on as few as three wagons. Old Flattery Jack wants our protection.’

  “I’d never heard of the Apaches, but I was as curious about them as I had been about Cheyennes and Arapahos. When I asked Gant what Apaches were like, he said they were the fiercest of all the tribes. Looking my Mexican clothes up and down, he added: ‘Ain’t nothin’ Apaches like better’n roastin’ a Mex over a bed of coals, amigo.’ Gant was always talking like that. I’ve known Apaches in my time, and found them to be like all people, some good, some bad.

  “In the Ratons the trail became very rough and steep, much worse than the passage we Cherokees made over the Cumberlands in Tennessee. For the heavier wagons we sometimes had to use ropes, every driver pulling along with the mules. After we crossed through the pass, I thought surely we had left Belcourt far behind, but one night when we camped alongside a stream called the Ocate, his three wagons appeared out of the dusk, halting not far from us.

  “Next day they followed us very closely, Belcourt riding out in front on his gray horse. Once he ventured alongside our train. I was made suddenly aware of his presence when he called out to me: ‘Smart Mex-Indian, how’d you like your cods cut out?’ His eyes looked at me with the bad blood of a mean snake, and then he wheeled his horse, waiting for his wagons to come up to him.

  “Three or four days after that we camped beside the stone and adobe ruins of what had once been a large town. George Gant said the people who had lived there were Pueblos who revolted against the rule of the Spaniards, and so many were killed that the few survivors fled to join another town. For the first time that evening I learned that we were no longer in the United States but were in a foreign land ruled by Mexicans.

  “Before we bedded down that night, Mr. Lykins came to each driver and warned us he would wake us before daybreak and that we must eat cold rations for breakfast. He wanted an early start so that we might bring the wagons into Santa Fe before sundown the next day. No one grumbled about that, each of us being eager for the end of the journey. I especially wished to see, at last, our destination, the city of Santa Fe that I had heard so much about during my long dreamlike passage toward the sun.

  “Next day we kept the mules moving steadily, shortening our rest stops and nooning for only a few minutes. The trail was the easiest we had traveled since leaving Bent’s Fort and we had no trouble with wagons or teams until late in the afternoon. As fate willed it, the bad luck was mine. The rear wheel on the right side of my wagon began whining, and after the many days I’d spent driving I knew the axle would soon wear the hub into a wobble if I did not get some grease into it. I yelled out the signal for a halt, and the wagons began slowing for a stop.

  “As usual my wagon was about midway of the train, and before I could get the wagon jack and lever into place, Mr. Lykins came riding back at a trot. He dismounted and satisfied himself from the smell of heat in the hub that it needed grease. ‘Pull off here to the side of the trail before you raise that wheel,’ he said. ‘That’ll let the wagons behind you keep rolling. I want to beat sundown into Santa Fe. You’ll have to catch up as best you can.’

  “I did as he said, working the jack and then slapping on grease, and some tar for good measure, all as fast as I could. I made certain the linchpin was tight, and then lowered the jack down. By this time the last wagon in line had passed me and was almost out of sight.

  “I had just got into the seat and was hawing the mules back into the trail when Belcourt’s lead wagon came rattling alongside, blocking my way. As I pulled back on the lines to avoid a collision, Belcourt appeared on his horse from around the other side of his wagon. He waved his driver to a stop, and yelled across at me: ‘Get your damn mule team out of my way, Mex-Indian!’

  “I didn’t say anything. The mules were excited by the presence of the other team, and it was all I could do to hold them steady. Belcourt eased his horse around between the wagons so that there was little more than the width of my seat between us. ‘Sam Lykins run his train off and left you, eh?’ he said, peering under the canvas. ‘Nothing of account left in your wagon, I see. You wasn’t worth waiting for.’

  “That thought had already occurred to me. Mine was the supply wagon, and we had used up almost everything in it. If the wagon had been full of necklaces, mirrors, whiskey, leather, tools, nails, guns, and ammunition like the others, I knew Lykins would not have moved the train without it. I was beginning to lose my good opinion of him, but right at that moment my attention was on Flattery Jack Belcourt, who had a score to settle with me.

  “He was rubbing his be
arded chin with one of his gauntlets; they had big white stars on the flaring cuffs. His eyes squinted to those yellow specks of light that made him look like an animal searching for prey. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, not looking at me, but beyond me, just as I heard the clatter of hooves against rock. ‘Apaches!’ he shouted. I saw them then, on three wiry mustangs trotting out of a cleft concealed by gnarled and stunted pines. ‘Get the wagons moving!’ Belcourt screamed, but he was too late. The Apaches were already in the trail, their ponies spread out across it, facing us, four riders on three ponies. One of them was a young woman. Her moccasined feet were bound to each other with a rawhide lariat beneath the pony’s belly. Her wrists, resting on the pommel of a crude Spanish saddle, were also bound. She was wearing a tan buckskin vest tight around her breasts and a short buckskin skirt. Her eyes had fear in them. The man behind her on the mustang wore a faded red turban quite similar to those I had seen old Cherokees wear. The other two men had forehead bands of purple around their long dusty hair. All three were naked except for dirty breechclouts, and boot moccasins that reached almost to their knees. They were thin-bodied and sinewy like their mounts.

  “Belcourt had jerked his rifle into position and I heard the click of a hammer from the right side of my wagon. One of his drivers had come up from the rear and was using my wagon for cover, leaving me a fine target in case there was any shooting. I had no arms of any kind. However, the Apache with the faded turban was clasping his hands in front of him in a peace sign.

  “ ‘We could kill ’em all,’ Belcourt muttered, and moved his horse forward a few paces. The Apache was making other signs; it was plain to me that he wanted to trade.

  “ ‘Show me what you have,’ Belcourt called out. ‘Show me.’

  “The Apache held up some kind of jewelry, turquoise I think, but Belcourt shook his head, motioning then toward the young woman. Balancing his rifle across his saddle, Belcourt made a quick sign for copulating. The Apache nodded his head, laughing, and started his horse forward. ‘Hold up!’ Belcourt shouted at him, bringing his rifle back to the ready. The young woman’s fingers were trembling against the saddle pommel.

  “ ‘He wants tobacco,’ Belcourt said to the driver crouching on the right side of my wagon. ‘Bring me five twists, but stay ready. I don’t put any trust in that son of a bitch.’

  “After the driver brought the tobacco, Belcourt held up three twists. The Apache shook his head and made the sign for drinking. Belcourt held up four twists. No, the Apache wanted whiskey.

  “ ‘Give me the bottle under the seat,’ Belcourt said to the driver in the forward wagon. ‘It’s half-full.’ He showed the bottle to the Apache, who nodded, but held up four fingers for the four twists of tobacco. He slid off his pony, unfastened the rawhide lariat from around the young woman’s legs, and helped her to the ground. He started to tie the lariat to his saddle, but Belcourt called to him: ‘I need the riata. Five tobacco twists and the bottle for the female Indian and the riata.’

  “Belcourt dismounted, keeping his rifle steady, tossed the tobacco twists out in the trail and rolled the bottle after them. The Apache looped the lariat around the young woman’s neck, led her up to the objects he had traded her for, and shoved her in the direction of Belcourt. Then without wasted motion he collected his tobacco and whiskey, and as quickly as they had come the Apaches rode away to the south, vanishing almost at once in that wasteland of sage and scrub cedars.

  “By this time Belcourt had seized the young woman, making her sit while he tied her ankles tightly together. The driver on the right side of my wagon went out to help him. The two men whispered together for a moment, laughing as they lifted the young woman and carried her to the rear of the first wagon. I could hear the thump of her body striking the wagon bed; they had thrown her inside. Both men laughed again. I thought they were laughing about the young woman, but I soon found out they were not, at least not entirely.

  “ ‘Move it out!’ Belcourt shouted to the driver of the first wagon. ‘Sun’s going down and it’s a far piece to Santa Fe.’ To my surprise and relief he trotted his horse off in the lead. I wondered if the excitement of trading for the young Indian woman had put me out of his mind.

  “As soon as his last wagon passed, I cracked my whip over the mules and started the wagon into the trail. It had not rolled ten paces when the rear right end collapsed with a crash, frightening the mules so that I had to put all my weight on the lines to keep them from dragging the axle. I tied the lines and leaped out; the wheel lay on the ground still spinning. I could not find the linchpin, and I knew that this had something to do with what Belcourt and his driver were whispering and laughing about. The driver must have removed the linchpin while my attention was fixed upon the Apaches.

  “Luckily there was a spare pin among the supplies. I soon had the axle jacked up and the wheel fastened back in place. Just as I finished, I heard hoofbeats coming down the trail ahead. Certain that it must be Belcourt returning, and being unarmed, I was on the point of making a dash for that crevice in the rocks where the Apaches had appeared from. But then I saw the horseman was Mr. Lykins.

  “He wanted to know the reason for my delay, and I told him what had happened. ‘You’re lucky Flattery Jack did no worse to you than that,’ he said. He slid his carbine out of its bucket and handed it to me, remarking that with Belcourt’s wagons between me and the train I might need a weapon before I reached Santa Fe.

  My faith in Mr. Lykins was immediately restored. After giving me directions for reaching the wagon yard at Santa Fe, he wished me good luck and went loping back along the trail.

  “Maybe Belcourt decided he’d settled accounts with me, or maybe he was in a hurry to get to Santa Fe with his pretty young woman. Anyway he gave me no more trouble that day. The sun was setting as I rolled down a long hill past a cornfield and over a bridge into the squares of Santa Fe. When I entered the plaza a soft gray light was falling over the town, and I could hear many voices everywhere speaking words I did not understand. A church bell began ringing, the clear sound startling me with its music. At the end of the plaza I turned left as Mr. Lykins had instructed me, and then I saw the wagon yard, twice as large as any I had seen in Independence.

  “I had no trouble finding the train. The other drivers were still tending their mules, and Mr. Lykins was waiting for me. When I handed him his carbine he gave me a coin. ‘This is against your pay, which you will receive after I’ve completed my business tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Now find George Gant and see about guard duty.’

  “We had to stand guard on the wagons through the night, half of us until midnight, the other half from midnight until next daylight. Gant told me I was to start at midnight. ‘The first guards are around the corner getting some food in a cantina,’ Gant said. ‘Soon as they come back the rest of you go eat. That Mexican money Mr. Lykins gave you is for food, not drink. Soon as you eat, come back and bed down under your wagon. If you’re not there when I come for you at midnight you’ll receive no pay tomorrow, amigo.’

  “By the time I unharnessed, watered, and picketed my mules, the first guards were back. I was hungry all right, but I had something else pressing on my thoughts. I slipped away in the dark, circling around the big yard searching for three wagons. I found them in deep shadows lined up end to end alongside the stone wall of a stable. Not a sound came from them. I crouched low, my nostrils filled with the scent of hay and horse manure. Then I saw a faint flare of light under the forward wagon. One of the drivers was smoking. As there was no talking, I guessed he was the only guard. I moved across to the end wagon, rose up, and pulled back the canvas. It was packed solid with barrels. With all the stealth that Grandmother Mary had taught me in stalking a deer, I crept to the next wagon. The canvas hung loose; it was partly empty. I swung up like a cat. The darkness inside was almost solid. I heard a faint whimper, the sound of a cornered animal, and I knew she was there.

  “At that moment I had the feeling that I could accomplish anything. Nothing coul
d stop me or harm me because I had powers greater than those of other human beings. You have felt that way, have you not? More recently than I, I’m certain, you being much younger, although maybe age has nothing to do with the losing of it. We lose that feeling of power when we become shields for other human beings and start fearing risks.

  “On that night I was willing to chance anything. Not wanting her to cry out, I whispered all the words I knew for ‘friend,’ including the Spanish amigo I’d learned from George Gant. She did not respond, and it was too dark for her to see any signs I might make. The only word I could think of was Sanaki, the Cheyenne word for Cherokee, and to my astonishment she repeated it. Then I touched her very gently, took out my knife, and cut the rawhide from her ankles and wrists. Because I wanted Belcourt to believe she had escaped by herself, I stuffed the cut lariat inside my shirt. While I was doing this, she tried to stand, but she was very unsteady on her feet.

  “I led her back to the tailgate and helped her out as noiselessly as possible. We crawled on hands and knees until we were almost to my wagon at the end of the row. One of our guards was pacing back and forth. When he made his turn away from us, I lifted her inside. There was enough light from the starry sky for her to see me bring my closed right hand down in a sign for her to stay there. Then I put my fingers to my mouth and pointed toward the plaza, and she must have understood that I would try to bring her food. Anyway she smiled for the first time.