Scent of Tears

by M. Juan Knecht

  Chapter Ten

  Lucinda did teach me to read. By the time she got done with her instruction, I still couldn’t read very well, but enough to understand the basic reading primer she’d given me on our wedding day. It was fair progress to be made in a week. Lucinda had a unique way of encouraging fast learning.

  One of the things she used as a teaching aid was moving my foot every time I made a mistake. I yelped like a scalded dog the first time she did it, but it got my attention. When I complained about the pain, she told me it would speed my recovery and help me concentrate on my lessons.

  Whether it was this foot-manipulation as punishment for mistakes, or simply the passage of time, I was able to stand in two days and walk with the aid of a rough crutch by the end of the week. I still struggled and had a pronounced limp, but at least I could go outside to use the bathroom.

  Having her hold a razor so near my jugular was unnerving at first, but her hands were very sure and precise. She lingered as she drew the razor’s edge down my cheek, the light dancing in her eyes as she held my gaze.

  “My mother says that men are like large dogs. They have little practical use around the house, they demand attention, and they must be disciplined lest they become unruly. Are you like a large dog, Charlie? Something that requires attention and care to keep you from pissing on the wagon wheels and shedding on the furniture?”

  “I don’t believe I need anything,” I said, somewhat confused.

  “Doing fine in your dirt-floor hovel, drinking out of gourds and living on meat and beans?”

  “It suits me to live with my horses. The life of a vaquero is peaceful.”

  “You are primitive, Charlie, much like the wild cattle you hunt. Is it fair to say you could never live in town?”

  I had the feeling that this was an important question. It left me bewildered. Lucinda knew I could live in a town, because we had lived in the same house in Monterey.

  She walked out of the cabin, and came back with the last of the opium.

  “Tell me the perfect day for you here at the Chualar Ranch,” she said.

  I thought about it for a minute.

  “The sun would warm my face, my mount would act like a true spade bit horse. The other vaqueros would be in good spirits, with much laughter. If I needed to rope something, I would not miss.”

  “How fun you make it sound. Do you want to know what a day on the ranch would be for your wife? I would get up an hour before sunrise to try to find some dry wood to start the fire. Then I would go to the chicken shed and see if I could find any eggs. I would cut meat off the hanging carcass, and hope to find some that hadn’t turned green yet. After building the fire, fixing breakfast and washing the dishes, I would be ready to start my day. I would spend another hour cleaning the stove and the floors where the vaqueros had tracked cow manure into the dining room. Were there children, the rest of the morning would be taken up with fetching water from the creek and washing and changing diapers. Fruit would need to be gathered and canned if I didn’t want my family to come down with scurvy. I would haul more water from the creek so I could wash the stink and dirt out of everyone’s clothes. By then it would be time to fetch wood, build a fire and start dinner. After dinner, while everyone else digested their food I would do the dishes and prepare for the next day. If I still had any energy I could try and school the children. My reprieve from this would be a monthly trip to church, if I had the energy.”

  She smiled like I should understand whatever it was she was trying to tell me.

  “Most of the time, you would be gone working, and when you did get home you would be too tired to pay attention to me. On the few days when you were able to take a bath and weren’t exhausted or absent, you would chase me around and try and put another baby in my belly.”

  She looked at me fiercely. I was at a loss for words.

  “You understand,” she said, “that I am not going to be trapped in some cabin, cooking and cleaning for everyone while you are out enjoying your horses.”

  “No one has asked you to do anything of the sort. Our marriage was not my idea.” I must have really looked crestfallen, because she put her hand on my arm.

  “It’s too bad you are crippled. The moon is full, and it’s a beautiful night.”

  I was getting more confused by the second.

  “What does my being hurt have to do with the night being beautiful?”

  “I don’t think men are supposed to understand women. You have a strong body, Charlie, but a child’s mind. I see from the way you are watching me that you will recover from your accident.”

  Lucinda slipped her fingernails inside my shirt, where they played along my chest. I had an unexpected and very strong urge to reach for her. However, I feared the shocking pain any sort of sudden movement would bring. Lucinda was a strong, active girl who might return my embrace but could just as easily grab me by my ankles and jerk me off the bed and onto the floor. I felt the warmth of the opium seeping into my body.

  “My sisters tell me that when their husbands become aroused, the blood leaves their brains and they lose the power of speech. Is that true, Charlie? Can you still talk?”

  I sensed she was mocking me, like she always did.

  “Did Tiburcio’s blood leave his brain the night you shaved him?” I asked.

  Her nostrils flared and her eyes went dark.

  “You were spying on me that night?”

  “I was told to sleep in the guest house and saw you on my way there. I have never spied on you or anyone else.”

  To my surprise, Lucinda nodded and her anger seemed to die down.

  “Seeing that must have bothered you, and yet you never told my mother or sisters. Perhaps my father is right about you. Are you my ally, Charlie?”

  I slowly reached up and took her fingers in mine, feeling the soft skin on the back of her hand. Then the opium cloud lifted me away from my concerns, and my eyes closed.

  “I am whatever you want me to be,” I mumbled.

  The last thing I remembered was the soft caress of Lucinda’s fingers on my face.

  The next morning when I awoke, she was gone.

  I was not to see Lucinda again for some months. During that time the pain in my back lessened enough to walk. I started riding the older, gentle horses and going with Genero as he looked for cattle. In the beginning, I could only ride for a short while before the pain drove me back to the cabin, but eventually I was able to stay with Genero for the full day. It felt lonely at the cabin without Lucinda there, even though my chances for a long life were better.

  Four months after her visit, I received orders from Don Topo to round up what yearling heifers I could and meet him at the ranch outside of Monterey. It took many weeks to gather the cattle and sort off the heifers. The heifers I did find proved difficult to drive. If Genero hadn’t been with me, I never would have gotten anything gathered at all.

  The morning I arrived, Don Topo joined us as we went to work separating more heifers off a large set of cattle he had in a holding field.

  All morning Don Topo had kept busy pointing out the heifers he wanted to sort off. I didn’t understand why he was separating the first calf heifers from the herd. Once the heifers produced a calf they would be more valuable. I didn’t question the little fat man but spent the morning enjoying how responsive and broke Luna was.

  “Why do you waste your time on a mare?” Don Topo asked me later in the morning.

  “She is a very fine horse,” I replied. Had anyone but Topo asked me that question I would have found it insulting. Luna had filled out and now had a powerful hip and the well-developed forelegs of a mature horse who was accustomed and conditioned to working in steep country. Don Topo’s horse by contrast looked like a boat. The white gelding was slow-moving and lazy. He was an old man’s horse, meaning he was quite gentle. I would not have ridden him.

  It was a crisp morning. There had been a brief early fall rain and the ground was soft and free of dust. Several times
during the work, Luna slid her hooves in the dirt while preventing a heifer from returning to the herd. The marks looked like the number eleven. Having a horse that stopped hard enough to make the elevens was a matter of pride with vaqueros. Every time she did it I sat taller in the saddle.

  I was riding Luna in an artistically braided rawhide jaquima that Genero had made for me. Luna was refined enough in her response to deserve the finely woven artwork that hung on her nose but I could have ridden her with a silk thread. She was quick in her reaction to the rein or spur, and seemed to know what the cattle were going to do before they did it. She worked as an extension of my thoughts in sorting off the cattle that needed to be separated.

  “You have done a good job with her, but she’s a mare. You own some nice geldings. Wouldn’t one of them work as well?”

  “She plays with a cow the way a cat plays with a mouse,” I replied. “She is perhaps the best horse I’ll ever own. Certainly the only one I’ll ever truly love.”

  “Geldings bring more money. In the end, Charlie, it all comes down to money. Given enough time, you will learn that.”

  “Why would money matter if she isn’t for sale?”

  Don Topo had told me many times that everything has a price, and I expected him to tell me that again, but he surprised me.

  “I’ve never heard you brag on something before,” he said.

  “I never owned anything I thought worth bragging on.”

  “How many geldings do you have now?” he asked.

  “Ten,” I replied.

  “I may need to request the use of your horses.”

  I was surprised and dismayed by this but tried to keep it out of my voice. “Of course, Jefe. Whatever I have is at your disposal.”

  Topo shifted in his saddle, then looked at the group of heifers that were being held up by the other vaqueros. I could see he was trying to get a count.

  “We’ve separated off thirty-seven heifers, Jefe,” I said.

  “You have a very sharp eye, Charlie. You are probably wondering why I need your little set of horses? I have been selling the ranch horses to the mines. I got excited by the price these horses were bringing and sold off more than I should have. As a result, I am short of sound, serviceable saddle horses.”

  “I’m glad to help. Where do you want them delivered?” I asked, assuming that one of the ranchos needed them.

  “I want you to take your geldings and four hundred of our heifers to Oregon,” he replied.

  I reached down and flexed Luna’s head toward my knee with the bosal. Then I dropped the hackamore rope as Don Topo’s words sank in.

  “Oregon. Why Oregon?” I replied in alarm.

  “Let’s go to the house and have lunch,” Topo said and turned back toward town. There obviously wasn’t a short answer as to why I was being sent into the northern wilderness.

  Don Topo kept his personal saddle horses at the barn one street away from the main house. There we gave our horses over to a crippled old man who was assigned to tend to the riding stock.

  It was a short walk to the estancia. We settled into the chairs at the table, and both drained glasses of water.

  Don Topo wiped the sweat from his brow with a silk scarf and began to expound about his plans in Oregon.

  “We are now part of California, the newest state of the Union. As such, I am subject to taxes. As long as it rains and the cattle prices stay up at Butcher Town, all is well. However, if it doesn’t rain or the cattle prices fall, we could lose what we have. These taxes are designed to take land from the Californio ranch owners.”

  Topo helped himself to one of the tomatoes sitting on a plate. He sliced it into sections and offered me one. I drank some more water, and helped myself to one of the warm tortillas a house servant had brought to the table. In a moment, she returned with a bowl of boiled beef to place inside the tortillas.

  “Of course, I have tried to expand my interests into other areas beside cattle. I own a dry goods store east of Sutter’s Fort, which has done very well. I am trying to protect my holdings, to be careful for our future. These are perilous times, Charlie. I want some of our cattle in a place that will have feed if there is no rain falling here.”

  Since my marriage to Lucinda, Topo had taken to referring to the cattle as ours rather than his.

  “I’ve never been to Oregon, Don Topo. In all truth, I’m not sure where it is.”

  “I have hired a reliable guide to meet you north of Yerba Buena. He will arrange grazing for the cattle and tell you where to buy supplies. But you must leave soon, so you can avoid the snows.”

  I must have looked confused.

  “I have acquired land in a little valley that has good grass. I have been studying the records kept by the missions. No one knows for sure when, but we are due to have a drought in the next few years. Meanwhile, the ranchos have been increasing the size of their herds to satisfy the demand for meat in San Francisco and in the gold fields. The country has more cattle turned out than I have ever seen. If I am right and drought plagues the country soon, then most of the cattle in the Alto Sierra will die. When that happens, any cattle that remain will be worth a great deal.”

  “How many rivers do I have to cross?” I asked.

  “A good question, but unfortunately I have no idea. When I went up the coast to trade for the ranch in Oregon, I went by ship, and then traveled inland. But I have every confidence in your ability to get the cattle where they need to go.”

  It seemed that the more difficult the task was, the more confidence Don Topo had in me, which was both flattering and unrealistic.

  “If you say I can do it, then I can do it,” I said. My words sounded hollow but I didn’t wish to disappoint the old man.

  “One more thing, Charlie. I need you to take Lucinda with you.”

  I choked on my tortilla and turned to Topo, my eyes wide.

  “She cannot get along with her mother, and she wants to go to the dances and festivals, which, for a mother and a married woman, is scandalous behavior. She needs a challenge like this trip to help settle her mind.”

  “It is a long way to Oregon, Jefe. She could drown in a river, or freeze to death during a snowstorm, or perhaps get eaten by a bear.”

  I became dizzy envisioning the many possible scenarios that could end Lucinda’s life.

  “Have you ever seen an obstinate and dangerous horse die of colic or snake bite or step on a nail?”

  “I see your point,” I replied.

  “Trust me, it isn’t Lucinda’s fate to die by accident. You can take her on the trail with you. No matter what happens to the other members of the expedition she will come back safe and sound.”

  Topo sat back in his chair and sighed. I was still trying to take it all in.

  “Think of it this way, Charlie. The last time I sent her to be with you, she was responsible for the death of a good horse and a nearly put you in a wheel chair. Other things around her may suffer, but Lucinda will be fine.”

  “That accident was my fault, Don Topo. I was riding the horse when he broke his leg.”

  “You were doing something foolish because my daughter challenged your courage. She told me exactly what happened. I will say this for her: she doesn’t shrink from telling the truth. Sometimes I wish she could sugarcoat things, but it isn’t her way. My point is, she will be fine; you need to worry about yourself.”

  “What’s to become of Patty if his mother is gone?” I asked.

  “He will be well cared for. My wife gives him much more attention than Lucinda does, and the little pirate has his aunts fighting to do things for him, as well. He will be fine.”

  I was out of objections for the moment and shrugged.

  Topo hunched forward and his tone became confidential. “I will be in your debt. Understand, if you don’t take Lucinda with you, I cannot continue to live at my own house. I can no longer endure the fighting between her and my wife. They sound like donkey’s braying before they get their grain, each dema
nding that I chastise the other. I can’t say good morning without being in severe disfavor with one or the other. It is so bad, I have taken to eating at the restaurant down the street so I won’t have to endure their arguments.”

  “Then... I hope it works out, for all of us.”

  Topo sat back in his chair and looked at an old painting of a relative that was hanging on the wall.

  “Lucinda reminds me of my great uncle. He came up the Mission Trail with the Spanish Expedition that conquered California. He was prone to saying whatever he thought, which upset people. However, when difficulty and danger came to call, there was no better man to have with you. It is my guess you will find Lucinda the same way. The worse the conditions and the harder the circumstances, the better Lucinda will do. At the very least, one thing is certain: you will be much better acquainted with her by the time you return.”

  I had my doubts.

  Don Topo rubbed his face in his hands, and then went back to business. “It’s important that you go to Oregon for me, Charlie. I am going to keep putting cattle there until the rains fail to come to the coast. That might be years from now, but we must prepare for the future. Look at it this way: Since you are married to Lucinda, you may end up owning the ranch. Your hard work will have a reward.”

  I would never make Don Topo beg me for anything, so that was the end of the conversation as far as I was concerned. I was going to Oregon.

  The next week was a whirlwind of gathering supplies, getting the horses and mules shod, mending tack, and braiding hobbles and riatas. The vaqueros drove small groups of heifers to the holding field near Monterey until finally three hundred head or cattle were gathered there.

  I asked anyone living in Monterey who had been to Oregon about their trip. The more I heard about snowstorms and swollen rivers, the more I wished Don Topo wasn’t sending me there. Lucinda saw the cattle as he father’s cattle, and by extension, her cattle. She was not likely to do what she was told. She never had in the past and there was no reason to start now.

  A young Mestizo was assigned to care for the remuda. Two of the better vaqueros under Topo’s employ, were assigned to help me with the cattle.

  The day we left with the three hundred heifers, Don Topo drove Lucinda out to the herd in a new wagon. The wagon held our provisions, bedding and grain for the horses as well as two large barrels of water. It was understood that when we got into country that was impassible for a wheeled vehicle, the wagon would be returned to Monterey.

  Topo drew the wagon to a stop. His old white saddle-horse was tied to the back. Topo slid out of the wagon and began looking for a nearby stone he could stand on so he could get a foot in the stirrup and mount his horse. He found a suitable rock, then paused as he noticed another figure galloping toward us.

  As the figure neared, I saw it was the Gotch-Eyed gunman that worked for Topo.

  He drew up and gave me a slight nod, then turned his attention to Don Topo.

  “What is he doing here?” Lucinda demanded, pointing at Gotch-Eyed Juan.

  “He will help Charlie look after you and ensure your safe return,” Topo replied, grunting as he awkwardly mounted his horse.

  “Charlie can take care of me if I need taking care of,” she replied.

  “Once again, it is not your decision,” Don Topo said. “You are leaving shorthanded, and Juan is a reliable man. As difficult as you are, I have no desire to lose you.”

  I regarded Gotch-Eyed Juan. The man never spoke unless he was asked a direct question that could be answered with a grunt. One of his eyes looked straight ahead, glowering out under a heavy brow. The other eye drifted inward. There was such a contrast between the two eyes: one the cold-blooded eye of a man angry with the world, and the other a clown’s visage. His appearance made me want to laugh, but I didn’t laugh, because Gotch-Eyed Juan held the reputation of someone who took action first and weighed the consequences later.

  “Can I at least ride my stallion?” Lucinda asked, condescending to pout a little. She looked very proper in her short jacket and black flat-brimmed hat.

  “You can ride whichever one of Charlie’s horses he assigns you.”

  Lucinda glanced at me, and I nearly put my hand up to ward off the malevolence.

  “I want to take my stallion,” she said.

  “Charlie?” Don Top said. “Do you want a stallion running with the saddle horses?”

  “No,” I replied. “A stallion would fight the geldings and create problems.”

  “Why can Charlie bring a mare, who caused the geldings to fight, yet I can’t bring my stallion? The rest of the remuda is made up of geldings.”

  Don Topo moved his horse around until he was facing her. He fixed her with his sternest look.

  “If you haven’t noticed, they are your husband’s horses. Not my horses, his horses. Through hard work and careful management, Charlie has built himself a remuda. If you thought about anything but yourself, you would have known that. Charlie is in charge of the herd and the cattle. You will do what he says.”

  I winced at his choice of words. Don Topo was heading back to Monterey, but I would be left to deal with Lucinda reacting to being told I was the boss.

  Lucinda glared at me and flared her nostrils slightly, a thing she did if something greatly displeased her.

  Her father continued on. “This is not a child's undertaking. This is a serious and dangerous task, and you will be doing well, daughter, to get back to Monterey without losing your toes to frostbite or your pretty black hair to hostile Indians. Now, for once, do what you are told.”

  With that, Don Topo spun his horse around and loped off in the direction of Monterey. I appraised the crew. A kid, a cranky opinionated young woman, a cranky, dangerous old pistolero and two close mouthed vaqueros. Outside of the kid, none of them would automatically accept me as the boss.

  Lord only knew what Gotch-Eyed Juan would do the first time I gave him a direct order. He was said to have been headed to the gallows before he came under the calming influence of Don Topo, and was reputed to have killed men during the Bear Flag Rebellion—but he never talked about it. His demeanor didn’t encourage questions. I had certainly never asked him anything other than to pass the tortillas.

  I rode to the front of the herd and pointed the heifers north while the vaqueros pushed them from behind. It was a good three miles before the remuda and the cattle relaxed into a walk.

  I pondered on what role the cross-eyed bodyguard would play on our journey. I had never seen him handle stock, but it would be surprising if he didn’t know how. Most all Californians knew how to handle stock before they quit suckling the tit and were experienced cowhands way before they started to shave. He was a dangerous man with a dark past, allegedly having killed three men and wounding another man badly in a well observed knife fight at the Custom House. I wondered whether he would take orders from me.

  I was still thinking about this when Lucinda came riding up next to me.

  “If my father had let me bring my stallion, I would look forward to this adventure. I have never been on a journey of this magnitude,” she said in a pleasant voice. “Do you know where we are going?”

  “To the ocean and turn right,” I replied.

  She looked at me quizzically, and I restated.

  “Some place called the Willamette Valley, in Oregon. Outside of knowing it is four hundred miles north of here, you know as much as I do.”

  Lucinda uncoiled her hair and let it spill out over her shoulders. She spoke quickly, like the excited child she was at that moment.

  “My father said we will have a guide when we get past San Francisco. Will it be a dangerous trip, Charlie? Was all that talk about Indians meant to scare me? Do you think we will see any bears?”

  “I hope not,” I replied, wishing I was with someone who didn’t anticipate the opportunity to rope a bear.

  Scent of Tears