Allegiance

  Amy sat with her back against a tree trunk, squinting her eyes against the glare of the sun and watched Benito climb the slope in a sea of light. If all went well, she would soon be free to search for Tyler and find out what he'd meant by his last words to her.

  * * * *

  Alizar lounged in the carved wooden chair behind the governor's desk, trying it for size and comfort. His caballeros were searching every room of the palacio, but so far, they hadn't found Señor Pérez—nor any of the officials that had fled with him from the battlefield. Their absence did not worry Alizar; he would expand the search to include all of Santa Fe and surrounding area. As a precaution, he had already dispatched a messenger to the pueblo of Santo Domingo, alerting them to watch for the traitors. Anyone escaping south toward Mexico City had to travel the Camino Real, the royal road running south along the Río del Norte through one pueblo after another. Any other route would be suicidal, given the Apache threat and the miles between water holes.

  Alizar's plans had fallen into place better than he had hoped. Two days before, all but a handful of his caballeros had followed him in loose formation as part of the governor's retinue. On horseback they'd ridden, north past La Mesilla, all dressed in the red and white uniforms he had provided them and bristling with American-made rifles. Beyond the towering black mesa, home of the legendary giant people, an ominous hush had settled over the governor's retinue. The best armed among the hundred or so Indio troops, conscripted from the southern pueblos, carried nothing better than flintlocks and blunderbusses. Certainly not good enough to balance the odds when they unexpectedly met the fifteen hundred to two thousand rebels waiting for them.

  Alizar had not been surprised to meet with such opposition. Nor did he harbor any remorse for the tragic outcome. Tragic, that is, for Pérez, an outsider from Mexico City, a member of the same class that had banished Alizar's family after the Revolution. Now Pérez was the outcast. Vengeance was sweet.

  The battle had begun immediately as a group of trigger-happy rebels began firing, and then the entire revolutionary force had charged, yelling and shooting. The governor and his officials took cover as the lieutenant colonel ordered his troops forward to meet the foe. Alizar held his own men back with a gesture of his arm. As the clamorous tumult desecrated the sanctity of the black mesa and its brooding ghosts, he continued to hold back, watching and waiting.

  Swarming like bees, the rebels surrounded the entire retinue, braving the scattered musket fire. Pérez's Indian conscripts deserted en masse to the enemy and joined in the attack on the governor's party. A couple of military officers belonging to the presidial force, assisted by a handful of soldiers and some citizens from Santa Fe, cut the ropes and harness on the mules pulling one of the cannons and aimed the gun toward the knoll where Pérez had sought refuge. By then, he'd lost all but a handful of supporters.

  That was when Alizar signaled his own bugler to sound a retreat and led his band away. Circling around behind, Alizar stormed the knoll with his men. The half dozen troops guarding the governor's remaining cannon died in the first assault. When the lieutenant colonel fell, Alizar reveled in his sense of vindication. Go back home to Mexico, pompous dogs! Go home, or die!

  In the end, Pérez had slipped through his fingers. Not for long, however.

  Alizar glanced around the governor's office with its odd mix of crude and luxurious furnishings and sighed with satisfaction. Governor Alizar de Agustin y Federico. An elegant and fitting title. The position was his if he wanted it. Who could stop him? He and his half a hundred trained caballeros could build an even larger army, turn the presidio into the fortification it had once been, and hold off any number of savage indios, not to mention disgruntled citizens.

  He smiled, imagining how Amy would change her mind about him when she learned of his triumph. Just picturing her here, dressed in her fancy ball gowns welcoming guests into these august rooms, strengthened his determination to make it happen. Would she turn down his proposal of marriage if he were the new governor? It was not conceivable.

  One of his trusted scouts, a dusky-skinned lad, entered the room and stood waiting in silence for acknowledgement.

  Alizar's hopes flared. “You have found the American girl? Where is she?"

  The youth shook his head. “We did not find her."

  "Did she go to San Miguel with the Lorenzo family?"

  "No, Señor."

  Alizar leaped to his feet. “I want her! Do you hear me? Now! No excuses!"

  "There is one thing."

  "Tell me!"

  "General Armijo took Domingo Orlando and his nephew captive—"

  "What does that have to do with anything? It is Señorita Baker I want."

  "But Señor, the general searches for her also."

  "What?"

  "He mentioned illegal weapons—"

  "Illegal weapons!” Alizar snorted in disgust. “Every Mexican in the country owns some kind of illegal weapon. It is only recently that Santa Anna declared them against the law. What do we care about such stupidity?"

  "But, Señor, two hundred muskets?"

  Alizar stared at him. “Two hundred?"

  "In a cave in the mountains."

  "De veras?" Alizar absorbed the news. “I must know more about this.” If it were true ... Who would have a greater need for an arsenal than himself, the new governor? “Bring these prisoners to me at once."

  The young caballero dropped his gaze. “No es posible. They are dead."

  Exasperated, Alizar kicked a footstool across the floor. “That bastardo sheep thief Armijo! He would love to get his hands on a shipment of arms like that, thinking he could put himself in this office. Where is the sly scoundrel now?"

  The youth lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug.

  "Never mind.” Alizar paced the floor, frowning. “I will assume he discovered this arsenal. He will bring them from the mountains.” Amy Baker ... What could her involvement be in this? He sifted through his memory, isolating images: his first introduction to Felicité's schoolmate from St. Louis, arriving with the Bakers’ freight wagons at Independence ... the sharing of extra stores of ammunition to help repel a Kiowa attack ... a midnight raid on the trade caravan in the Santa Fe plaza. Happenstance or design? A cold chill raised goosebumps on his flesh.

  Alizar whirled and strode to the door. “Take some men and ride out toward the mountains. If the general plans to transport that many muskets, he will need a wagon. His tracks should not be difficult to find on the dusty road."

  "How many men?"

  Alizar weighed his options. “I would send a detail, but I need to keep things under control here and to continue the manhunt for Pérez and his cronies. Armijo cannot have more than a few soldiers with him—most of them went north with us.” Alizar regarded the Indian boy with dissatisfaction, wishing he had Toluca at his side. “The situation is most critical—Never mind, you and I will go. It should not take long. You are a good tracker, are you not? All indios are good trackers."

  Alizar left a sensible man in charge of the palacio and hurried to the stables with Chulo. It was difficult to imagine how Amy fit into all this, but if she did, he would find out. Then he would decide what must be done about it.

  * * * *

  Twilight robbed the landscape of color and began to disguise the boulders along the rutted track. As the wagon bucked and pitched over the rough road, Amy's spine protested the repeated shocks. Driving the mules from the wagon was punishing enough, but her bottom couldn't take another minute of straddling a bony mule.

  Thank goodness Alizar had been missing from his townhouse when she'd gone to get the wagon she'd left. He wouldn't have let her wander about the hills with minimal protection. His mules had been handy in the stable, so she'd borrowed them, leaving her oxen grazing out at pasture. After all the bragging she'd done about how superior oxen were, she supposed she'd never hear the last of this.

  The Orlando boys rode their mules ahead of the wagon, guiding the way. How grat
eful she'd been when Mateo had returned in late afternoon to say Armijo and Gutierrez had gone and they could continue.

  Amy suppressed a curse as the wagon wheel dropped into a rut with a solid thump that rattled her bones. “How much farther to the Taos Trail?"

  Benito, leading the way, glanced back. “Not far now—it is at the foot of the mountain. We will manage better after the moon rises."

  "Should we make camp and wait for morning? It's risky to travel at night on such a bad trail.” Amy waited for a response, but got silence. “Fine—I don't want to stop either. But if we keep going, we'll have to use the lanterns.” She reined the mules to a halt.

  At the back of the wagon, she shook the nearly empty whale oil can, hoping she had enough to fill both brass lamps one more time. Unscrewing the lid and draining the contents into the reservoir of the lamp wasn't an easy task in the failing light. “Blame this thing!"

  Rosa climbed up beside her. “Qué pasó?"

  "I spilled some. We can't spare even a drop."

  "Let me take them out and light them. Mateo and I will walk ahead."

  About an hour later, two deer leaped off the bank past the weaving circles of lamplight. The startled mules made a wild plunge off the road and the front wagon wheel bounced against a rock with a splintering sound.

  Amy threw her hands up in despair. Mateo, holding the lantern, squatted down to inspect the damage.

  "How bad is it?” she asked.

  "Do you have three extra wagon spokes?"

  "Three! No. Fool that I am!"

  Mateo stood up. “I will wrap it with rawhide. It will serve for a time."

  "What rawhide do you propose to use?"

  He glanced around. “Which way did the deer go?"

  Amy wanted to laugh, but she was so tired and discouraged, she feared her laughter would turn into tears—or even runaway hysteria. “Never mind. Why don't you and Benito ride to the Rancho and bring back help? It might be quicker and easier for your friends to come here to get the muskets."

  Mateo frowned. “I wouldn't leave two women here alone."

  "Why not? No one knows we're here. We might as well have gone to the ends of the earth!"

  "Nevertheless ... If we unhitch the mules, we can all ride into town."

  Amy shook her head. “I won't leave the wagon unattended. Besides, I'd rather straddle a picket fence than ride that razor-back mule again."

  "Then, with your permission, I will leave Benito with you and take Rosa."

  "Suit yourself. But hurry back."

  Mateo grinned, a white flash of teeth in the dusk. “I will ride like the wind."

  Rosa and Mateo had been gone a short while when Benito succeeded in shooting a deer on the mountainside above the wagon.

  Amy could hardly believe it. She crawled out of her blankets, all thought of sleep gone, and left the pine thicket beside the road. Carrying a lamp with her, she joined him at the wagon. “In heaven's name, how did you find game at night?"

  "They are everywhere. I am surprised one did not step on you."

  "Can you really use the hide to fix the wagon, like Mateo suggested?"

  "Of course! Rawhide is all that holds my own cart together."

  In the light of both lamps, he skinned the deer with an efficiency that spoke of regular practice. After cutting the hide into strips, he disappeared under the wagon with one of the lamps. After a time, he emerged with a confident smile. “We should wait a few hours for it to dry out and shrink tight. Meanwhile, let us feast on what God has provided us. I'll build a fire."

  One of the two lanterns burned out during Amy's search for firewood, and she had no more oil to fill it. Without an axe, she had to be satisfied with gathering a few fallen branches and the leaves and stalks of a dead yucca plant. It aggravated her to know that Jeb or Tyler would never have been caught without at least a hatchet of some kind.

  "It is good,” Benito assured her. “We do not need a large fire."

  The dead yucca leaves went up like a torch, sending brilliant light over a wide area. Amy crowed with delight. “Look at that! It burns like gunpowder!"

  She searched for more dry yucca leaves within the lighted area. “If we keep it going, this fire will serve as a beacon for Rosa and Mateo when they return."

  "They will not return before tomorrow.” Mateo speared a piece of venison on a green stick and held it over the fire.

  * * * *

  Tyler welcomed the falling darkness that obscured the gruesome sight in the encampment outside the Rosario Chapel. A row of human heads, mounted on bloodied poles, formed a macabre silhouette against the rust-red sunset.

  He moved back from the open window, retreating to the shadows at one end of the nave. Upon his arrival at the chapel that afternoon, Tyler had encountered not the few rebel leaders he'd expected, but hundreds and hundreds of renegades, primitively armed and lusting for blood. García had not censured Tyler for his failure to procure arms as promised, probably due to his own quick victory over Pérez's troops. However, Tyler's initial relief over the rebel leader's easy forgiveness had turned rapidly to horror on observing what was happening around him. The atrocities which the angry citizens performed on their prisoners had left him sick at heart. How could the so-called generals have allowed their men to get so far out of control?

  "You had better stay with me until morning,” García had advised. “Some of the Indians are shouting Death to all pure-bloods! I do not know how safe you would be wandering around out there."

  Tyler approached the altar and bowed his head, wondering whether God in his wisdom had abandoned this church and this town. Like a maddened pack of animals, the rebels had brought the governor's head into camp and used the grisly trophy as a football, kicking it back and forth across a field. Twelve other officials had been tortured, mutilated, and killed. Tyler had been helpless to do anything except watch from the refuge of the chapel.

  He laid his hand on the worn surface of the altar, yearning for spiritual help. As soon as the light faded from the sky, he would risk slipping away under cover of darkness. He must find Amy and soon. He tried not to think about what could have happened to her. Jeb had promised to meet him here with Amy if he found her, but Tyler knew his nerves wouldn't let him wait much longer.

  The commanders of the rebellion—García, Esquibel, chiefs of the northern pueblos, and others—had made the church their temporary headquarters. Huddled together on a large wool rug near the entrance, they discussed their plans and plotted further strategies while chaos reigned outside. Tyler listened with half an ear as they argued about the division of spoils—a padre called Martinez had asked for the printing press they'd confiscated; the man who had killed the governor wanted his bloody cape.

  Tyler desired nothing more than to be far from the whole stinking revolution. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he'd succeeded in finding the muskets and delivering that much more fire power to the mayhem. They might have even gone after the American traders camping in the plaza—who could say? His contribution would have earned him a share of the responsibility, and he wondered how he would have lived with that.

  Lord, help me. He closed his eyes in fervent prayer before his thoughts veered again to Amy's plight. What if she'd been forewarned of Pérez's march and had gone to the mountains to get the muskets? Would she be there now, wrestling with a wagon full of powder kegs, lead, and muskets? Someone would have to help her—Raul and Domingo? If so, Jeb wouldn't find much at the Orlando farm.

  Tyler took a deep breath, concentrating on logistic possibilities. If she brought the muskets out of hiding, where would she take them? Would she know about this encampment at the church? If not, she'd soon find out from someone.

  Then what? She'd run into the rebel forces—the drunken brutal men who'd dismembered the government ... literally.

  Tyler headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?” García looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor. Other members of the committe
e in the circle fell into silence.

  "I have to go."

  García nodded. “You know best. When will we see you?"

  "Perhaps tomorrow.” Tyler hefted his saddle, balanced it on one shoulder; scooped up his bedroll.

  "Bueno.” García rose and accompanied him to the entrance. “You realize, Señor, we did not plan this blood-bath you saw. Such barbarity must seem unnecessary to a man such as you. But you must understand, the indios have a different way of dealing with their fear and anger."

  Tyler grunted. “If you say so."

  "We will talk mañana, no? I have a proposal for you. New Mexico could use your help."

  "More exterminating?"

  "No, no. It is a time for building and shaping a new destiny for this country. We will need good minds like yours to advise us. Men experienced in democracy. Someone who can speak for us in Washington, too, about making us a part of the United States. Would you stay and be our voice to the world?"

  Tyler hesitated. With the gory scenes of the day so fresh in his mind, he found it difficult to envision better things. Reason alone might make sense of it for him, but not now—perhaps later when raw feelings didn't have his stomach in knots. “I'll have to think about it, García. I'm not trained in statesmanship. I'm trained as a surveyor."

  García grinned. “We will also need a Chief Surveyor on our staff. At this very moment we are arranging for a judicial review of the administration of Pérez and his officials. In spite of how it must look to you, we intend to proceed in a lawful manner. Very shortly, we will conduct an election of officers."

  "You believe the fighting is over?"

  "It is finished, except for a tweak here, an adjustment there. We have a contingent of renegades settled in at the palacio, but we'll smoke them out. And that turncoat, Armijo, pulled foot for Bernalillo. Can you believe he thought we'd appoint him the new governor?” García chuckled, shaking his head.