“Changing Woman?”
“I will tell you about her someday. But now I think it must be time for the racing. I want to watch my husband’s bay beat that Stringy-Ass Cooper!”
Elizabeth laughed and they both hurried out.
When they reached the crowds, Serena nodded a goodbye and made her way to the group of Navajo women on the other side of the finish line. Elizabeth stood there for a minute, made very conscious of the fact that she was forging a friendship with a woman not of her own people. She would not really be welcome with the Navajo women. And Serena would not be able to join her with the officers’ wives. Some were sympathetic with the Indians’ plight, but most looked down upon them as dirty, filthy savages. Much like Mrs. Compton had taught her to look down on the Irish. She hadn’t quite thought of it like that before, she realized.
She couldn’t blame some of the white women, for some had seen their men off to the fighting for years. They had seen the suffering caused by massacres.
But her suffering had been caused by white men who could hardly have been matched in viciousness by any Indian “savage.” She had never spent any time questioning her own attitudes toward people. The Irish were ignorant, from a backward country. They were also superstitious papists. She had taken that for granted. There had been no Indians in Boston, but the educated men and women there tended to be sympathetic to them and speak on their behalf. She herself feared Mexicans more than Indians, because there had been Mexicans amongst the Comancheros. She supposed it was partly a person’s education and experiences that determined her attitudes. This was such a new thought that she stood there right at the finish line for a few moments before Mrs. Taggert called to her.
“Elizabeth, you’d better get yourself over here before you get stampeded!”
She laughed and, picking up her skirts, ran over to join the officers’ wives.
When she had squeezed herself in next to Mrs. Taggert, the captain’s wife turned to her and said with a wide smile, “We have an unscheduled race to watch first, before Mr. Cooper rides.” She pointed down the track.
A small burro was trotting toward the quarter-mile starting point with a Navajo on his back. Right behind him was an army mule with a soldier riding. With Sergeant Burke riding, Elizabeth realized as she recognized his straight back.
The troopers were digging into their pockets, laying bets with each other and any Navajo who were willing to wager. Elizabeth could hear them shouting reckless bets at one another and at Sergeant Burke’s retreating back. “Two bits says the burro doesn’t make it to the finish line before sunset!”
“Whatever is going on, Emily,” she asked Mrs. Taggert. It was hard to keep a smile from her own face.
“Evidently Sergeant Burke and Manuelito’s nephew met up a few days ago and challenged each other to this ‘match race.’ Would you care to wager something, Elizabeth?”
“Isn’t that Lightning Jack that Sergeant Burke is riding?”
“Yes, and he is supposed to be one of the fastest mules we have,” said Mrs. Taggert, giggling like a schoolgirl.
“He is also the stubbornest son of a…” said a voice behind them. Elizabeth turned and there was Private Elwell, his face red with embarrassment. “Pardon me, ladies,” he said bowing slightly. “But the outcome of this race is by no means sure,” he added with a mischievous grin. “I myself have put my money down on the burro!”
“Then so will I, Private Elwell. Emily, I will bet you two loaves of bread that the burro wins. I have always preferred burros to mules myself; they are so much sweeter.”
“Done,” said the captain’s wife.
Sweeter, my ass, thought Elwell as he watched the riders turn toward the fort. A burro can match a mule for stubbornness any day, but trust a lady to go for something small and sweet-looking.
The signal flashed and the race began. Or the onlookers presumed it had. The burro was small and distant and it was hard to tell if his legs were moving. And Sergeant Burke seemed to be turning the mule in circles.
“This way, Sergeant, this way,” shouted the troopers as Michael struggled to get the mule pointed in the right direction.
* * * *
Antonio’s legs were already sore from keeping his toes from dragging in the dust. He hadn’t ridden a burro since he was little. He had forgotten what bony backs they had and what a jarring trot. His wife would be lucky if his private parts survived the bouncing around! What with holding his legs up and trying to protect his balls, he must look like some rider. But at least he was going in the right direction, he thought as he watched Michael struggle with the mule.
Michael was cursing Lightning Jack in both Irish and English. He could not get the damned shavetail pointed in the right direction and so he finally gave in to the animal and reined him backward.
“Ye don’t want to turn, do ye? Well then, ye’ll cross the finish line arse first.”
Antonio had gone only a few hundred yards when he saw Michael backing the mule past him. He almost fell off the burro laughing as Michael gave him a cocky grin and waved his hand.
“The bilagaana might beat us after all,” he said to his little mount. “I just wish he’d hurry up about it.”
The mule seemed quite content to be moving backward and Michael was about ready to compliment him. After all, he was demonstrating, albeit in a very annoying way, his good training! When reined backward, he backed up. They were more than halfway there and he could hear the men shouting. Antonio was fifty feet behind him, or in front of him, depending upon how you looked at it! He turned to wave to his men and at that moment the mule dug his heels in, lowered his head, and bucked him off his back.
A collective groan went up from the spectators. Michael lay there in the dust, watching the mule take off.
“Ye’re running fast enough now in the right direction, ye bastard,” he yelled, shaking his fist at him.
Antonio’s burro trotted by, little legs moving in a steady trot. Antonio’s face was set in a serious expression and he mockingly urged his mount in Navajo.
“Ye don’t need to be rubbing it in, boyo,” Michael called after him, standing up and brushing the dust off his clothes.
When he reached the finish line, the Navajo were clustered around Antonio with wide grins on their faces. Some of the troopers had tears rolling down their cheeks and Michael knew they weren’t from their lost wages but from helpless laughter. Two of them were still rolling around in the dust, clutching their stomachs, unable to stop laughing.
“Did you see him go flying off? He’s lucky he didn’t end up in a cactus!”
“I told you Lightning Jack was one stubborn mule.”
Michael bowed his head with mock humility and said, “I did me best, lads,” as they cheered and jeered him at the same time.
He strolled over to Antonio, who was standing next to the burro.
“You were right, boyo. Yer burro’s a fine animal. Are ye hoping to enter him against Cooper in the half mile?”
Antonio grinned. “I am going to give my…legs a rest,” he said. “That burro’s back is as bony as the lieutenant’s ass.”
“I was trying to give ye a chance, ye know, ridin’ backwards like that,” said Michael sadly. “That’s the last time I’ll do a favor for a friend.”
“You were lucky to get that mule moving in any direction!”
“I was, wasn’t I,” said Michael, starting to laugh as he realized what he must have looked like. Antonio was bending his knees to loosen them and Michael remembered what he looked like, legs out in front of him, backside bouncing on the burro, and he laughed even harder.
“Ye should have seen yerself, Antonio,” he sputtered. “I’m surprised ye can still walk.”
Antonio’s face, which had been open and smiling, suddenly changed, and Michael wondered for a split second if he had somehow unwittingly insulted him when he heard a hated voice behind him.
“Sergeant Burke.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, whipping around to
face Cooper.
“Are you satisfied, having thoroughly humiliated yourself and the U.S. Army?”
Would “Yes, sir” or “No, sir” be the proper response? wondered Michael, having a hard time keeping his face straight and his laughter under control. He decided the safest thing was to stay silent and at attention.
“Get back over to your mare, Sergeant, and get ready for the next race,” Cooper ordered, giving a disdainful look to Antonio and the men who surrounded him. Their faces were closed and humorless and Antonio felt anger rising in him. He wondered how much trouble his friend was in, but as Michael walked away, he turned and gave Antonio a quick wink.
One of Antonio’s men came up to remind him that he was riding soon, and shaking out his legs again, he went off to prepare the bay.
Chapter Ten
Lieutenant Cooper won his own race, although not against Antonio, who had chosen the three-quarter-mile again. Cooper beat two Navajo ponies and Captain Taggert’s chestnut, and Elizabeth had a hard time keeping her face straight as she watched him strut about, accepting the congratulations of his men. Every time he opened his mouth she expected to hear him crow. And when his back was to her—well, she couldn’t help noticing how loose and wrinkled his trousers were. No bottom at all, she thought, and laughed to herself.
She didn’t laugh, however, when she saw one of the Navajo dogs trotting by. It was a black-and-white sheepdog, alert and curious and intent on finding someone, it seemed. Lieutenant Cooper saw the dog at the same moment as she did and went after it with a scowl on his face. Elizabeth watched in horror as he followed the dog to his owner and started arguing with a tall, distinguished-looking Navajo.
“Whatever is the lieutenant doing,” exclaimed Mrs. Gray.
“I think that dog is the sire of Misty’s puppies,” said Elizabeth. “Isn’t that Manuelito, one of the headmen?” she added, her voice full of concern. The last months had been peaceful, but the relationship between the Navajo and the soldiers was precarious, and what seemed like a small thing could tip the balance and destroy weeks of good feeling.
“Where is that husband of mine,” said Mrs. Gray, looking around in desperation. When she finally spied the colonel, it was on the other side of the course, obviously intent on his conversation with Major Wheeler.
Mrs. Gray looked around and her eyes lighted on Private Mahoney, who was slouched against the fence. “Private!”
“Private Mahoney, ma’am, at your service,” he said as he stood at attention.
“Get my husband over here as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mahoney hadn’t seen anything, but he could tell something important was up. He ran across to the colonel, and Elizabeth could see him pointing back at Mrs. Gray.
“Charles, your Mr. Cooper is going to have us all massacred if you don’t stop him,” she said fiercely but quietly when the colonel reached her side. “It is too long to explain, but get him away from Manuelito!”
It was obvious to Elizabeth that the colonel and his wife understood one another perfectly. They had been on the frontier for twenty years together and had formed a partnership in which Mrs. Gray’s judgment was trusted instantly. She wondered if she would have had the self-confidence to summon Thomas under similar circumstances. His work had always been his work, and her realm the household. She felt a sudden stab of envy. Mrs. Gray had always been motherly to Elizabeth, offering her care and support to her and the other officers’ wives, always with a warm smile for the rawest of recruits, encouraging them as though they were her sons. But today Elizabeth had seen another side of her, the strong woman who understood very well the delicacy of her husband’s position and the importance of everyday dealings with the Navajo.
* * * *
Antonio and Michael had just begun the three-quarter-mile race when Cooper spied Manuelito’s dog. There were five in the race, but by the end it was down to Frost and the blood bay. The bay was fresh and completely recovered from his injury and Michael was a few seconds off in calling on his mare for a last burst of speed. Those few seconds were enough to lose him the race by a head.
“Ye ran a fine race, boyo,” he said to Antonio with a wide smile. “I’m blamin’ meself and not me mare on this one. We would have had you if I’d called on her earlier!”
Michael’s appreciation of the bay and his rider were spontaneous and genuine and Antonio knew that the sergeant was not idly boasting or making excuses. Both horses and riders were different, but evenly matched. He suspected that each time they raced there might be a different outcome depending upon the length of the course and the split-second decisions a rider had to make.
“Then I’m lucky that you didn’t, bilagaana,” Antonio said with a stern face, but a smile in his eyes. He turned to look for his wife and when he found her in the crowd, he saw her gesture to him with a look of concern on her face. He turned in the direction she pointed and saw a small knot of men, Navajo and white, around Manuelito and some soldier. When he recognized Cooper, he muttered a quick, guttural curse and started over.
Colonel Gray had gotten there before him, however, and clearly had things in hand. He was speaking respectfully and apologetically to the headman and at one point reached down to pat Manuelito’s dog. Cooper was standing at attention, his shoulders pulled back so far that his blouse was wrinkled and loose, like his pants. His face was very red and Antonio figured it was either from anger or embarrassment. Or maybe both.
As he approached, Manuelito gave him a quick, reassuring look, and Antonio relaxed. Whatever had happened was almost over and it seemed the headman and the colonel had resolved it between them. He stayed back until the colonel walked away, with the lieutenant striding stiffly at his side.
“What was that all about, uncle?”
“That skinny, yellow-haired, two-stripe bilagaana soldier…!” Manuelito spat on the ground. “He says to me, to me, ‘Keep your mongrel away from the fort. He’s mounted my bitch and I had to drown the little Navajo mongrels.’ “
“That was what this was about!” Antonio felt a combination of rage and despair rising in him. Manuelito, Armijo, and all the headmen had worked so hard to get the Diné to agree to the treaty. To hold the Diné in loosely. But always, always a few young men went raiding sheep and horses. And always the Mexicans exaggerated what had been stolen. These new men were powerful and more and more of them every day arrived at the boundaries of Dinetah, enraging the younger warriors. And then, along comes a bilagaana like Cooper, willing to alienate a headman and cause a war over the breeding of a few puppies!
“He should be honored that his bitch was found pleasing to your dog,” said Antonio, trying for humor, but not quite succeeding. “These hunting dogs of the bilagaana have speed, but a little Diné wisdom would not hurt them.”
“Colonel Gray took care of the lieutenant, nephew. Very quickly and quietly, but I think,” said Manuelito, “that it won’t be so quiet when he gets him inside.”
* * * *
Michael had seen the quick interchange between Antonio and his wife and watched him walk toward the agitated gathering of soldiers and Navajo warriors. He saw Elwell out of the corner of his eye and pulling Frost behind him, hurried over.
“What in sweet Christ is going on, Joshua?”
“I’m not exactly sure, sir. It’s something about Mr. Cooper and that greyhound bitch of his. I think he’s after the headman’s dog as the sire.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” intoned Michael. “Has the man no brain in his head atall.”
“The colonel’s gone over, so I think he’ll take care of it. And to answer your question, sir, and begging pardon for the insubordination, the man’s head is so full of himself he has no room for a brain.”
“I didn’t hear that, Private Elwell. And you didn’t hear me say I agree with you! It’s a hopeless job, we have, Joshua,” continued Michael. “This ‘peace-keeping.’ I tell you, in all my years on the frontier I have never seen a treaty broken deliberately by the In
dians. It is always some fool settler or a Mexican with his sheep or a hotheaded young warrior. Or some stupid fool like Cooper, full of his own importance. The whole bloody story of it is all knots and impossible to untangle to the point of this one is right and that one wrong. Except for maybe one thing…” Michael hesitated.
“One thing?”
“That it is their country, Joshua, and we just keep pushing them back the way the bloody English pushed the Irish. I tell you, sometimes I am ready to give up the whole thing. But where else would I go, Private, an ignorant mick like me? My choice was to stay a stable lad till I died or join the army.”
Elwell hadn’t questioned much, for all his time in the army. And although he shared Michael’s disdain for men like Cooper, he wasn’t about to damn the whole enterprise.
“Wait for me, Josh. And hold me mare, will ye?”
Michael thrust the reins into his private’s hands and hurried over to where Antonio was readying himself and his wife to leave.
Antonio looked at him questioningly, almost coldly, and Michael wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t blame the man for pulling back. Why should he trust a soldier? But he liked Antonio and he would be damned if he’d give up the chance of a friendship, no matter how difficult the circumstances.
He said rather formally, “I trust the colonel was able to help out with Manuelito’s problem?”
“Both the colonel and my uncle agreed that while the buzzings of a gnat are annoying, they are not enough to break the peace over,” said Antonio with restrained anger.
“Or, I hope a new friendship?” Michael was still speaking formally, for he didn’t want to embarrass himself or Antonio. If the Navajo still wanted to pull back, so be it.
There was a long silence and Michael’s heart dropped. Then Antonio reached out and grasped Michael’s arm. “I don’t know what the future holds for this friendship, bilagaana, but the Diné live in the present. Today, I am your friend.”
Michael felt great relief and great joy, but he reined in his natural effusiveness and made himself respond quietly. It was an important moment for both of them. They were choosing to trust in an invisible thread of connection, choosing to create a fragile bridge, and he wanted the right words, but wasn’t sure he could find them. “Let’s live in today then,” he finally answered. It was so little, to say, but seemed to be enough for Antonio, who smiled, gave Michael’s arm a squeeze, and then mounted his bay.
Desert Hearts Page 9