Allegiance

  "How about the ammunition and rifles we asked for?"

  Gutierrez shook his head. “They sent nothing."

  Alizar threw his hat on the ground. “This is intolerable! The war in Texas cannot account for this criminal neglect of the northern territories."

  "It's not just Texas. I heard that several states to the south have seceded from the republic. By the way, New Mexico is no longer a territory; it has been reduced to a military department. The new governor they sent from Mexico City answers to authorities there, not to us. Our treasury is empty, doubtless through embezzlement. The governor lives in unbelievable luxury."

  Abruptly, Alizar left his seat to walk a few yards away and try to collect his temper. He gazed toward the south with hands on hips. How he despised the bureaucratic imbeciles in Mexico City! Accustomed to a certain amount of apathy from the capital, he had come to cherish the relative freedom it allowed. Still, Santa Fe and the other pueblos, strung like beads along the Camino Real, would not survive if the junta in power continued to plague them with stupid regulations. Clearly, New Mexico's lifeline led to Missouri; trade with America offered the only means of survival for the isolated colony.

  He took a deep breath, willing his raging fires to diminish. After a few minutes, he strolled back and righted the chair he'd accidentally overturned. Amy gazed solemnly at him as he sat down. Unable to understand Spanish, she was doubtless bewildered by his behavior. He gave her a weak smile, ashamed of having alarmed her.

  He turned to Gutierrez. “So tell me about the illustrious Governor Pérez."

  El capitán sighed. “First he raised the duties on trade goods—as if they weren't exorbitant already. And rumors abound that he will collect a head tax on every man, woman, and child. I don't know how he thinks they will pay it."

  Alizar clenched his jaw but didn't comment. He knew something would have to be done—something drastic. But it wouldn't be wise to speak rashly of it to just anyone. Certainly not to an officer of the governor's troops, regardless of his apparent disloyalty to his commander.

  Amy broke the short silence. “Is there danger for Americans in Santa Fe?"

  Gutierrez raised his eyebrows at Alizar. “What did she say?"

  Alizar translated.

  The captain smoothed his long mustachios. “Tell her from me that I am at her service, to offer any protection that is in my power to give. The governor expects an invasion from Texas any day, but as long as the Americans do not aid the enemy, they have nothing to fear."

  Amy's eyes lingered on the captain's face as he spoke, and before Alizar could pass the message on, something that looked like comprehension flashed across her face. But of course, she couldn't understand—could she? He translated the officer's words, watching her face intently.

  Amy smiled. “Thank him for me, Alizar."

  * * * *

  Tyler carried Amy's report inside his shirt along with his own letters. He cursed under his breath thinking about what she endured in order to gather the information. What he endured. The report was outstanding, the result of clever diligence, but he wondered if it was worth the heartache.

  The images of Alizar and Amy laughing and talking, dancing, or riding together across the prairie kept him awake at night and tortured him during the day. How long had it been since he'd enjoyed life? His growing bitterness poisoned even the fleeting pleasures of a sunrise or a bird song. His body might survive the arduous journey, but he doubted his spirit would.

  The U.S. troops were breaking camp on the island under the direction of a lethargic Lieutenant Schouffler.

  "You're leaving too late in the day, Shoo."

  Shoofly tightened the cinch on his saddle. “If I give in and let ‘em stay another night, they'll just celebrate again, sleep late, and walk around like feeble-minded idiots ‘til noon. I gotta call a halt to this sometime."

  Tyler chuckled. “Take care then. And thanks for posting my letters for me. The ones going to New Orleans are important."

  "I know.” Shoofly patted his saddle bag. “I'll guard ‘em with my life."

  * * * *

  Tyler found Jeb at the river's edge filling the water kegs in preparation for the jornada. He scooped water up in his hand, tasted it, and grimaced. “This river water tastes like Epsom salt."

  Jeb shook his head. “You'll get used to it."

  "Will I get used to the stomach cramps?” Tyler lifted one end of Jeb's water barrel and helped him carry it across the campground, grunting with the effort. “You'll never guess what I discovered last night with my zenith telescope. The 100th meridian! I knew we had to be close."

  Jeb blinked at him. “Zenith telescope? 100th meridian?"

  "Now I can get my bearings. Never mind, are you ready to help me survey?"

  "Sure. We're not leaving here until tomorrow morning. Let's do it now."

  "I'll need other assistants: chainmen, rodmen, and signal bearers."

  "Set the barrel up on the rack here. That's good.” Jeb wiped his hands on his trousers. “I can probably get the Orlandos to help. They owe me for fixing their wagon. I'll ask them to bring their cousins."

  Tyler dug his equipment out of the back of the wagon and set it up while Jeb assembled the assistants. Soon, several pairs of dark eyes watched with interest from the shade of wide-brimmed sombreros, gathering close around Tyler and eyeing his display of instruments.

  He showed them how to use the solar compass and the sextant with the artificial horizons of mercury, then distributed among them three box chronometers, a chain compass, a railroad transit and a spirit-level. Even if he didn't actually use the gadgets, they might impress the unlettered traders.

  Other curiosity-seekers collected to swell the ranks.

  Tyler called for their attention. “Men, I've established the exact placement of the 100th meridian. In reference to that point, then, we'll determine the point of beginning of the Cimarron Cut-off.” Tyler glanced around at the blank faces. “Who wants to be the barometric observer?"

  Some of the Mexicans chattered with one another, apparently seeking a translation. They watched every move he made, but nobody volunteered. Even Jeb had a bemused look on his face.

  Tyler hid a smile. “Never mind, then. We'll only have to use the barometer if the brush gets too thick for the level. First we'll figure the azimuth and start from there. Got your equipment? Let's go."

  As he led the way into the desert, he wrestled with his frustration over the fact that he wasn't surveying in earnest. How he'd dearly love to do some real exploring and mapping!

  Chapter 22

  Amy took the copper bucket down to the water hole they'd found in the bottom of the otherwise dry Cimarron River. The shallow wash, studded with a few willows and hemmed in by sagebrush, wound through a perfectly flat desert. In the distance, blue hills knuckled the skyline.

  She filled her lungs with the morning air, brisk and fresh-washed by a rare rainstorm. The unexpected downpour had turned the grim jornada into a safe journey. To the south, the last remaining clouds, their bellies dark and bloated, sailed over the thirsty land, dragging a bluish-purple veil of precipitation.

  Gnats prickled Amy's bare arms and face without biting. Following the rain, they had become thick and annoying. She bunched her skirt around her knees to keep it out of the mud and scooped up a bucketful of rusty-colored water. Back home, she wouldn't have given it to the chickens, much less served it at the table, but out here, every precious drop counted.

  Heading back to camp, she rounded a clump of greasewood and almost fell over an Indian youth crouched there. She would have screamed if her throat hadn't closed up. He was naked, save for a leather breechclout and knee-high moccasins; his headband held a single feather. He kneeled in a non-threatening way, extending an open hand toward her. For a frozen moment she stood rooted to the spot, wavering between fleeing and staying.

  His outstretched hand trembled. “Amigo."

  Friend.

  Her first noble savage!

&n
bsp; He pointed to her bucket, held up a fox pelt, and said in clear Spanish, “Trade?” His dark skin was a map of fresh scrapes and scratches overlaying fainter, older scars, undoubtedly a natural result of living outdoors half-clothed. He smelled of sage smoke and sweat and wild game.

  A rush of excitement lifted the hair on the back of her neck as she met his earnest black eyes. She reached out to stroke the fur he offered, then turned it over, examining the flesh side. It appeared in good condition, a winter fur. The bucket wasn't hers to trade, but she might have something else he would like.

  Suddenly, sharp reports erupted out on the prairie. Quick as a rabbit, the boy leaped up and disappeared in the brush. Amy stood transfixed, the fur dangling from her hand. Gunfire?

  Once she got her feet moving, Amy hurried back to the wagons, dodging panicked livestock on her way. Around the outskirts of the encampment, pandemonium erupted as parents chased after children, loaded muskets, and barricaded their carts. The caballeros, yipping shrilly, funneled a herd of mules and oxen into the enclosure formed by the ring of wagons.

  At the Lorenzo camp, Amy grabbed Felicité's arm. “What happened? Are we under attack?"

  "I don't know. Get in the wagon!"

  "No, I must see to my own wagons.” Amy raced around the outside of the corral to avoid the heedless surging of the frightened stock inside. The bellowing and braying drowned out all but the loudest shouts of the men.

  Jeb and several Mexican youths hustled into camp, awkwardly juggling various survey tools. Where was Tyler?

  The caballeros wheeled their horses in the corral entrance, waving their hats and lariats to keep the animals contained while men on foot erected a hasty barrier. The carts and wagons around the square bristled with musket barrels. Alizar rode by with a group of well-armed men.

  "Alizar! What is it? What's happening?"

  Alizar turned back. “Kiowas! They have gone, but we can expect them back any time."

  Out of the sagebrush, two men rode up leading a third horse—an Indian pony with a half-clothed body draped across its back. Limp arms dangled; long black hair dripped blood. One glance assured Amy he wasn't her new acquaintance; she shuddered and turned away.

  Alizar's men paraded their horses around the fallen enemy. Their shrill hoots and jeers alone could have passed for an Indian charge.

  Tyler, riding hard into camp, cursed aloud. He reigned in next to the wagon master. “Alizar! What the hell are you doing? Did you order your men to fire on those Indians?"

  The Spaniard's eyes narrowed. “Who are you to question what I do?"

  Fury spilled like liquid fire into Tyler's veins. “There was no offense! They wanted to trade with us, that's all. What purpose did you have in killing one?"

  "These innocent Kiowas drove off several mules before dawn. Only a greenhorn Yankee would suggest we treat them like guests."

  Tyler itched to grind his fist into the man's insolent mouth. “It was not necessary to fire on them. A few head of livestock is not worth the threat of reprisal. If they weren't planning on attacking before, they are now."

  "Back off, Yankee soldier!” Alizar crowded his horse close to Tyler's, his eyes blazing. “It is not your affair."

  Alizar's black stallion snaked its head toward the neck of Tyler's mount, its vicious teeth bared. Tyler kicked out, and his boot collided with the animal's jaw. The stallion squealed and threw his head up.

  Instantly, Tyler felt the lash of Alizar's quirt, a red-hot swathe across his cheek. Smarting with pain, he seized the man's arm and heaved him out of the saddle. Somehow, Alizar latched on and took Tyler down with him.

  For a few agonizing moments after hitting the ground, Tyler fought to drag air into his deflated lungs. Hooves stomped dangerously near his head. He rolled over and struggled to get his knees under him.

  Alizar levered himself off the ground, crouched like a prairie wolf, and rushed him. Hatred lent Tyler the strength to launch himself to meet him and drove his fist where it would do the most good. Blood spurted from the Spaniard's nose; the man staggered back. Tyler leaped on him and straddled the writhing body between his knees, then cocked his arm for another blow.

  Amy appeared suddenly at his side, tugging on his arm. “Stop! Stop it, I say! We have no time for that!"

  Alizar jerked his knees up and launched Tyler off to the side, then followed with a knife in his hand.

  "Alizar, no!” Amy flung herself on the Spaniard's arm, gripping it in both hands. “We have enough trouble with the Kiowas without that!"

  Alizar knelt in the mud, breathing hard and glowering at Tyler. The gleaming blade twitched a little in his restrained hand. “Stay out of my way, Yankee!” He got to his feet, gave Tyler one last venomous look, and stalked off toward his horse. One of his men handed him the reins.

  "Come, Amy!” Alizar dabbed at his nose with a white handkerchief.

  To Tyler's dismay, Amy obliged the man.

  The caballeros rode off laughing, the hooves of their steeds throwing little clods of dirt over Tyler. He stood up, shaky in the legs. His insides went cold as he watched his woman walk away with the man he hated most in the world.

  * * * *

  After twenty-four hours, when the Kiowas still hadn't attacked, the order had gone out to move on. Jeb fell into line with his wagons, struggling to ignore his premonitions. Walking alongside his oxen with his whip looped over his shoulder and his long-barreled rifle held ready in his hand, he studied Point of Rocks a few hundred rods away with the loathing any canny frontiersman had of ambushes. The landmark meant they were on the right track, but it also provided a dandy hiding place for Indians.

  He hadn't been eager to break camp that morning; however, he had to agree with one thing: the wagons couldn't stay corralled forever. He approved of Alizar's insistence that the caravan travel in four parallel lines so it could form a diamond-shaped defense in a hurry. He hoped they didn't run into trouble before they reached the first Mexican settlement.

  The Lorenzo's Dearborn carriage rolled up beside Jeb, and Amy stuck her head out the window. “See any sign of them?"

  "No, but that don't mean much.” He rested his hand on the edge of the carriage window and adjusted his stride to match the slow but steady pace of the caravan. “If the huntin’ party went for reinforcements, we could still have a right smart number of warriors headin’ our way."

  "We don't have many people to defend the wagons—no more than a hundred counting the women.” Amy's face wore a worried frown. “Do you think the Mexican soldiers put the odds in our favor?"

  "Hard to say.” Jeb studied the ragtag escort leading the caravan. “They look a little pathetic, don't they? I doubt there's two complete uniforms among ‘em. Have you noticed how rusty their weapons are? Too many of ‘em carry lances and clubs instead of muskets."

  She placed her hand on his. “If there's an attack, I want to be near you and Tyler. I have more faith in you than the soldiers."

  Her confidence and affection touched his heart. “You stick close, little sister. I'll see you come through this all right."

  He fell silent, thinking of the times he and Pa had covered this trail together and how lonely they'd gotten without womenfolk. Mama had died so young, and Amy had grown up In St. Louis without a family around her most of the time. Still, if Pa knew Jeb had taken her into Mexico, he'd be rollin’ in his grave.

  "I've been meanin’ to tell you, Sis, you're a brave gal, and I'm proud of you. I haven't heard a peep of complainin', and you've carried your own weight. You come up with the dangest ideas sometimes, but mostly you got a head on your shoulders. You're welcome on my bulltrain anytime."

  Her eyes swam with moisture, and her smile quavered.

  Jeb could have kicked himself. “Sorry. What did I say?"

  She swallowed. “You made me very happy, that's all."

  "Women!” Jeb shook his head.

  The carriage hit a bump, and Jeb released his hold on the door. As he wandered back toward his doubled wa
gons, yelling curses at the oxen and uncoiling his whip, Amy thought about the kind of person her brother had become. Although she could imitate the cultured women at their high-society teas and musicals, she'd never been entirely comfortable with the role. Jeb, on the other hand, had never had to pretend: he was a true frontiersman, completely at home in the wilderness. Here, his capability had won the respect of the other traders. At last she was beginning to understand him, she thought.

  She kept her head out the window watching for Indians, but the lines of wagons on either side blocked her vision. Between the wagons, she caught only glimpses of the flat plain. It was like crossing the hollow of a mighty bowl where the horizon-edge continued to swell, so that no matter how far the wagons traveled, they never reached it.

  Tyler's wagon trailed after Jeb's doubled ox-train, but Amy spared her heart that familiar jolt of pain by keeping her gaze from wandering in that direction. Close behind him trundled the Orlandos’ two carts, creaking like a quartet of bass fiddles out-of-tune. She imagined Jeb wanted Rosa close by in case of attack. The fact was, the entire Orlando family had practically adopted Jeb and vice-versa.

  Before the caravan came abreast of Point of Rocks, the lines of wagons split to go around a coulee in which a foot of water had collected. A buffalo stopped wallowing and hoisted himself to his feet to move off looking like a mud-scow.

  Amy stared, fascinated by the strange-looking creature. A small glittering eye shone through the mass of woolly hair as he turned his head to look back. The front end of the animal was massive while the back end tapered to a more believable size. He stuck his short whip-like tail straight up in the air and broke into a rocking gallop. He didn't get far before several high-caliber rifles boomed, bringing him down on his face in a big somersault. He lay on his side with his belly mounded high, and kicked his stubby legs. Amy winced, saddened to see the majestic beast reduced in a moment to humble provisions.