Gringo Wade

by Tony Masero

  Each tribe though, had its own high chief and sub-chief and a shaman or seer advised each of them.

  It was Juan Antonio that called them all together and presented Asesino to them before taking his place in the semi-circle of tribal chiefs and followers that gathered around the Apache. Beyond them the mixed tribes stood and listened. They waited quietly patient in their hundreds to hear what he had to say, the only sound the wailing of infants and the barking of cur dogs stirred up by the excitement they sensed in the tense silence.

  After the niceties had been made and the holy men offered due obeisance to the elements and the Great Spirit, Asesino got to his feet. He stood proudly and studied the men before him.

  First there was his host, Juan Antonio of the Cahuilla, whom he understood as an intelligent man but somewhat tentative and cautious. Perhaps too cautious, Asesino thought.

  Lomstock of the Mohave, a younger and most heavily tattooed man, his aggression evident in his bristling restlessness. His eyes were everywhere and his head constantly turned to take in any slight movement at the periphery of his vision. Asesino had great hopes for his support as he reminded him of the volatile, but now deceased Nachez.

  Lastly, white haired Hope Deer of the Yuma, an old man whose heavy eyebrows hid the direction of his gaze from where he sat, swathed in skins against a cold that no one else felt. Asesino thought him asleep and considered he would follow where the others led.

  “Great chiefs of the Cahuilla, Mohave and Yuma. Brothers,” he began, encompassing them all in the span of his arms. “It does my heart good to see so many of the People gathered together. I am new amongst you and although a stranger have been made as welcome as if I were one of your own. For this, my thanks.” Asesino considered it would never hurt to be polite, despite the fact that in actuality he had received little more than a meal and a bed in the open next to the horse corral. “I have come to be here,” he went on. “Through the murder of my band. Whites came amongst us and slew without mercy. You have all suffered, so you know of what I speak. They use their muskets that speak with thunder and send balls of death amongst us. My people stood little chance even though we fought bravely, for the thunder sticks cast their death from a great distance. Too far for a brave to fight, warrior to warrior. These whites are not alone, many more are coming and will come in the future. There is a train of wheeled carriages that makes its way across your lands even now. A heavy train guarded by soldiers, which means it must be of great value to them.”

  He paused, as there was a rustle of whispering amongst the gathered crowd as they leant forward and listened intently at the prospect of a prize worth owning.

  “It is my thinking that all of your people would benefit by the taking of muskets from the whites. For without them we are at their mercy as were those closest to me. Hear me, for I am on a vengeance path. It was my brother who was among those slain. His blood is my blood and until I strike down his killer my brother’s spirit will not rest.

  I ask you to consider the taking of this train. You are many, it will be an easy task to overrun them. They will have weapons we need and perhaps more in the great wagon, whose length and weight imply a reward worth considering.”

  Even before Asesino had seated himself, Lomstock leapt to his feet. The chief carried a long and gleaming black hardwood club that stood chest high, its end a round knob with a savage beak. Lomstock proudly raised the weapon above his head and shook it vigorously.

  “These are the words of a warrior that I hear. Let us spill the blood of those that trespass. If there are prizes to be had, let us take them. If not, let us take their lives to show the whites that there is no home for them here. As our friend Asesino says, the whites are few to our many. It will be an easy victory.”

  The old chief, Hope Deer mumbled something and Lomstock looked down at him with an expression of derision. “What is it you say?” he demanded arrogantly.

  Hope Deer cleared his throat noisily, spat phlegm and croaked his reply, “I said, have you seen this train of white men with your own eyes, Lomstock of the Mohave?”

  Lomstock shrugged, “I see it through the eyes of the Apache here.”

  The old man raised one whiskery eyebrow, “You are very trusting to let the eyes of another do the seeing for you.”

  Asesino leapt to his feet. “I do not lie!” he snapped. “What I tell you is the truth.”

  Hope Deer allowed a clawed hand to escape his layer of skins and he wagged a bony finger negatively. “I have not said that you did lie. But all perspective depends on where one stands. You have already admitted to your vengeance path, perhaps when you gaze on the train of wheeled carriages it is this blood promise that you see. Lomstock of the Mohave, who has seen nothing, jumps in readiness for war, not knowing to where he leaps. This is all I say. But now, let us hear from Juan Antonio.”

  “This is not the problem of the Cahuilla,” said Juan Antonio. “So, a few whites travel across our lands, what is this to us?”

  “Where some lead others will follow,” answered Asesino. “Will you give up what you possess so easily?”

  Juan Antonio shrugged. “What do we own here? The land? The sky? There is nothing that is not freely given and freely received. All of us benefit under the hand of the Great Spirit. The Lord God who is Our Father in heaven.”

  “And with such thinking this is how your people were enslaved and forced from their homes,” Asesino rebutted. “Juan Antonio speaks the truth though, the Great Spirit does give us all but I ask you this, does He not also trust us to care for what He has given? Think of your tribe, your clan. Think of your women and children and the future of your grandchildren, how will they prosper under the heel of the white men?”

  Again Lomstock stepped forward, his voice ringing with forceful aggression. “It is our way to take what we can. Why hesitate? Here is a prize worth having. If it were a fine string of ponies kept by your enemies would you not immediately plan to raid? Let us make war on these strangers and take what we will.” He turned away from the gathering to face Asesino. With a grim face Lomstock reached out with both hands, the long club held lengthwise before him. “We of the Mohave are with you in this.”

  Asesino nodded approval and turned to the other two chiefs. “How do you speak?” he asked.

  “I say this,” said Juan Antonio, who could see the restlessness amongst his own young men, and thought it politic to make some concessions. “I am not for this war but if there are those amongst my people who will go with you I will not forbid it.”

  Asesino waited on the elderly Yuma chief, who shuffled where he sat and tugged his skins tighter around himself as if a sudden chill had struck up.

  “Like the Cahuilla,” he finally admitted in a shaky voice that trembled with age. “I am against this. But when war is on the lips of the young there is no stopping it. It is a fever, an unavoidable illness that calls on youthful blood. I fought in many raids when I was young myself, many here will know of my conquests. My lodge is full of trophies. My wives and children are many. I have great numbers of horse taken in war. So I am content. Perhaps, some will say I grow soft in this. Maybe it is true. I am old now and my days of war are over but here are my words of warning to you. Be aware that any man who goes into a cavern without a burning torch may meet a mountain lion in the dark. If you will make this war and I see you will, prepare well, my brothers.”

  Even before the old man had finished Lomstock whooped loudly and waved his club about his head in wide looping circles. He was soon joined in the celebration by his own loyal band of followers as they leapt and hollered in excitement at the prospect of battle.

  Asesino allowed a slight smile of success to play on his otherwise normally fixed features.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two of the lancers, foraging ahead, came across a deserted mission house sitting alone in the desert and Alcazar ordered that they bring in the wagons to rest there for the night. The place was surrounded by waves of high dunes and it was with some diff
iculty that they brought the heavily laden wagons down the steep slopes and into the level area of the mission compound.

  Cut into the stonework over the curved entrance way, Gringo made out the words ‘Misíon Santa Cruz de los Dolores 1756’. Sad looking place indeed, he considered, thinking that a few tears had probably been shed here over the years.

  The outbuildings; a blacksmith’s forge and sheds for weaving and carpentry, evidenced for Gringo by the few rusting remnants found inside, had long since fallen into disrepair. Now they were no more than heaps of collapsed dry timber standing beyond the crumbling walls of the large mission courtyard. It had obviously been a simple place, sheltering in the lee of a mountain range and built from the stone found in rockslides there. Too far out from the nearest presidio to be really safe, he thought. Constructed, more than likely in haste, at the outer limits during early Spanish colonization.

  Although obviously raised for defense the surrounding adobe walls had disintegrated over time and what remained were only jagged sets of piled rubble marking the outer boundaries of the interior plaza. The mission itself stood at the rear of the broad courtyard backed by a high, perpendicular and smooth wall of rock. A natural overhang in the face, swelling like a cresting wave, protected it from above.

  Gringo knew that when Mexico had formed its New Republic some fourteen years before, most of the missions had become secularized but this place looked as if it had been vacated long before that. It was a forgotten refuge on the edge of the desert, left only for the winds and sands to take up habitation.

  But there was water here, in a well, no more than a deep dust-rimmed dark hole at the center of the mission square. A roped canvas bucket was soon dropped down by one of the Cazadores and sweet water lifted.

  Gringo sat mounted at the gateway and studied the building. The more solid structure of the mission house itself was stone built and faced with cracked and fallen adobe, the grey face of the structure rising above the rest of the cavalcade as they entered. It was a false front though, raised up before the lower body of the building behind and with its now empty trinity of bell openings, it bore only the illusion of height. Above it, at the pinnacle, a rusted metal cross leant tiredly on its side, as if echoing the sadness of religious departure.

  Gringo dismounted and led his pony into the courtyard, standing beside Alacazar as he too looked up at the frontage.

  “Probably Franciscans,” The captain observed.

  “The brown monks?” Gringo asked, not being too well versed in the monastic divisions of the Catholic Church.

  “The same,” Alcazar nodded.

  “A bleak place for your prayers,” Gringo noted as he watched the sailors maneuver the long custom made wagon into place with some difficulty. Brewster’s supply wagon followed and then Mrs. Darby brought her family wagon in behind to form a barrier across the open gateway. With the lancer’s mounts, the wagon teams and the oxen, the mission courtyard was soon filled.

  “But defendable,” answered Alcazar, raising one eyebrow meaningfully.

  “You’re thinking of the Indians?”

  Alcazar shrugged. “Whoever might mean us harm.”

  Gringo looked at Alcazar sharply, wondering if there was some message for him there.

  “How long do you stay with us, senor Wade?” the captain asked.

  “I had hoped to pass some time until our party caught up.” Gringo answered as disarmingly as he could.

  “This land is contested between our people. I trust you have no ambitions other than trade in this country, senor.” There was a warning note in his tone, Gringo noted.

  “I only follow where my commander bids, Captain. But, tell me, what is your cargo? It seems a monstrous cart you carry there.”

  Alcazar smiled. “Like you, senor Wade. I do no more than follow my orders. I am commissioned to bring these people safely to their destination. That is all I can say.”

  With one last long look, Alcazar turned away to post his guards. Gringo watched him leave then went off to unsaddle his pony. Alumette and Judas were both doing the same at a line that had been stretched between sections of the wall to enable stabling.

  “What do you think?” asked Allumette, jerking his chin in the captain’s direction.

  “Oh, I believe our Mexican friend is no fool. He suspects something,” Gringo answered as he unfastened the girth on his pony.

  “Do you think we should approach the sailors?” said Judas. “It may be they have no liking for this affair either.’

  Gringo shook his head. “I don’t like the look of that Brewster fellow. I have a feeling that he has his own agenda with that crew of his. We may have a problem there.”

  Allumette looked across at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly, “So what do we do?”

  “I think,” grunted Gringo, as he eased his saddle free. “That we wait on Le Touquet.”

  Judas nodded agreement. “Then we will have the numbers, that’s for sure.”

  Gringo left the two and went across to the Darby wagon to see how Lucy and Ellen were getting on. He found Ellen watching the children play, she stood with one arm draped affectionately around her seated mother’s shoulders.

  “All well?” Gringo asked, nodding towards the three children, who were busily engaged in a game of tag.

  Ellen smiled across at him and her mother looked up. “Lord, I do declare Mister Wade, I don’t know where they get the energy.”

  Gringo removed his hat and fumbled with it in his hands. “Mistress Darby, I would have words with you, if you so please?”

  Mrs. Darby watched him, a little cautiously. “Of course, sir. What is it?”

  “Perhaps this is an inopportune moment, you being so recently at loss of your man. If it is so, please say and we can talk another time.”

  Mrs. Darby drew a deep breath and looked squarely at Gringo. “Yes,” she sighed. “A great sadness for us to be sure but Joseph was never one to avoid an issue. So I will not either. Speak your mind, Mister Wade for I believe I already know what’s in it.” With that she cast a stern sidelong glance at Ellen, who stood beside her, eyes downcast.

  “I see you do, ma’am. Well then, I’ll say it plain. Ellen and I have formed an affection and I would that we might marry, with your approval of course. I speak true when I say I have little to offer in way of worldly goods, nothing save a promise to care for your daughter all my days.”

  “Promises are one thing, actions another,” said Mrs. Darby, her eyes never leaving Gringo’s face. “I have lost a husband and now you would take a child from me as well.”

  “This is how I see it,” said Gringo, still self consciously twisting his hat between his hands. “I shall give up my roaming ways and settle. I know of land in the north that is fine and rich for farming, there is water there and lumber going a-begging. It is a place where a body can find peace and plenty. There I plan to build a house, it shall have rooms for you and the children if you so wish.”

  Ellen’s hand went up to cover her mouth and Gringo could see tears of joy filling her eyes at his words.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Darby, a slight smile lifting her otherwise stern features. “It seems we are not to be forgotten after all.”

  “No, ma’am,” said Gringo. “It shall be a home for us all. And most welcome.”

  Mrs. Darby’s tone softened. “I have paid heed to how it is between you two. Ellen has spoken of her feelings and I trust my daughter, I believe a love match has been made. Whether I like it or not that Ellen might marry a man clad in homespun and animal skins it would do no good. The fire is lit, may it burn long and true. You have my blessing on this, Mister Wade.”

  Gringo sucked in air, a tight smile of pleasure on his face as he looked across at Ellen. “Thank you, Mrs. Darby. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Go on,” she said. “Get along the pair of you. I’ll mind the children as I dare say you two have plans to make.”

  Ellen took his hand as they left the courtyard and walked o
ut past the ruined outbuildings. She bit her lip looking at him coyly, “I didn’t think you would ever say something like that to mother, Gringo. That was a nice thing to do.”

  “It must be right between us, Ellen. We could not leave your ma alone with no one to fend for her and the children.”

  “I’m so pleased,” she said, looking around and seeing they were out of sight of those in the mission. “Now I may kiss you as you deserve.”

  With that she enfolded him and brought his lips to hers.

  “Wait,” he said, holding her back gently. “There is more to say.”

  A frown crossed her brow as she waited.

  “I must tell you that all is not as it may appear with our expedition, we are intent on another kind of mission here. Le Touquet is more than just a surveyor. He works for the government in a secret fashion and this discovery of the big gun has him in uproar. He will not let it fall into Santa Anna’s hands. He is set upon taking or destroying it.”

  “And are you with him in this?” she asked.

  “I believe I am. It does our countrymen no credit to give up a weapon that may be used against us. That is a foolishness to conceive of and would be foolishness to allow.”

  She paused, her lips twisting as she thought it through. “I’ve had my own grave doubts since first I heard of it. I cannot say I agree with any of it but I fear there will be bloodshed. Captain Alcazar will not release the wagon easily and I’m sure that wretched Caleb Brewster has something in mind concerning the gun’s disposal. He has been very close with the other sailors these last days, whispering and carrying on together. I believe he would like to take command now father is gone.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gringo said, patting her arm in a comforting fashion. “There will be too many of our men once Le Touquet arrives. We shall outnumber them all.”

  Ellen was doubtful, “Let us hope it will be that simple.”