“You’re getting yourself worked up for no reason,” Nate assured him. “I’d never let the Apaches get you. You know that. You’re as safe as if you were back home in our cabin.”
Winona gave him a long, hard look, but she said nothing.
~*~
The next couple of weeks tended to bear Nate out. Their days passed uneventfully, and their nights were undisturbed. Because Becknell was taking the Mountain Route and not the Cimarron Cutoff there was ample water all along the way. Twice they did see Indian smoke signals in the distance, but the Indians left them alone.
When, at last, the wagon train negotiated the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and crested a last low rise, before the overjoyed wagoners unfolded the sprawling whitewashed city they had traveled so far to reach. At the sight of their destination the traders and muleteers whooped in delight, fired their guns, and waved their hats.
Nate was equally thrilled on seeing the many flat-topped roofs crowning the neatly arranged adobe-brick buildings. He squinted in the bright sunlight at patches of green on many of the roofs and said aloud, “I’ll be darned if that doesn’t look like grass.”
“It is, señor.”
Turning, Nate found Francisco Gaona riding beside him. “I’ve never heard of grass roofs before.”
“The roofs themselves are made of heavy timbers,” Francisco revealed. “On top is piled a thick layer of earth, then grass seed is spread around and let to grow.”
“Amazing.”
“There is a method to our apparent madness, señor. You will find that it gets very hot here, hotter by far than anywhere you have ever been, and the earth helps keep the rooms cool during the heat of the day. For this same reason the walls of our buildings are much thicker than those in your country.”
The rutted track they had been following merged into a road bearing westward into Santa Fe. At the side of the road, watching the wagons go by, stood an old man dressed in a plain white cotton shirt and pants. A straw sombrero protected his head from the sun. He was holding a rope lead in his left hand, and strung out behind him were six burros laden with large bundles of chopped mountain scrub pine.
“Firewood?” Nate asked.
“Si,” Francisco answered. “Yes, it is firewood. Piñon, we call it. At this time of year the days are hot but the nights are cold. That old man will sell all he has gathered in the city.”
Further on they encountered two riders heading into the mountains. Both were well dressed in expensive clothes and sombreros. In addition, gaily colored blankets with slits in the center for their heads had been draped over their shoulders.
At a question from Nate, Francisco said, “Those are called ponchos, my friend. And those men are Caballeros. ‘Gentlemen,’ I believe you would say in English.” The caballeros called out greetings to Gaona as they went by, and he returned the favor.
Soon they were close enough to see people moving about along the streets. Nate marveled that there were so many, until he remembered the city boasted a population of three thousand. When all the surrounding ranches and other estates were taken into account, there were close to four thousand local inhabitants.
Zach rode up on Nate’s right side. “Isn’t this wonderful, Pa?”
“It’s an education,” Nate said.
The road entered Santa Fe from the east. Many of the pedestrians stopped to stare, while the rest just went about their business. Nate and his companions started to cross a wide street, and as Nate glanced to his right he spied a huge church silhouetted against the background of the snowcapped Sangre de Cristo range.
“That is our cathedral,” Francisco said, sitting straighter in the saddle. “If you like, we will go there during your stay.”
The innocent proposal gave Nate pause. For some reason it made him feel oddly uncomfortable. Maybe, he told himself, it was because he hadn’t attended church in years, not since that day long ago when he left New York City for the unknown lands beyond the frontier. Zach, he realized with a start, had never set foot in a house of worship. Doing so might do the boy some good. “We’d be pleased to go,” he said.
Suddenly an immense plaza opened up ahead, and Becknell led the wagons toward the customhouse situated at the north side of the public square. Along the south side was a row of shops. On the east side farmers had spread out blankets on the ground and were busily peddling vegetables, melons, bread, and more. A long, low building on the west side of the plaza was distinguished by a tall flagpole in front, from which hung the Mexican flag.
“That is the governor’s palace,” Francisco mentioned when he saw where Nate was looking. Then he added rather ominously, “It is also the prison.”
The square bustled with activity. Nate saw chicken vendors carrying their birds in large wooden cages. There were oxen pulling carts containing sacks of grain. Horsemen rode at their leisure. Dark-haired women sashayed about in the shade. At each corner of the square sat a large cannon. And, to his delight, Nate spotted a man-sized sundial positioned at the very middle of the plaza.
Winona and Blue Water Woman were gazing at everything in awe. This was something no other Shoshone or Flathead woman had ever experienced, and they would have much to tell their relatives and friends when they next visited their respective villages.
Zach stared at one new sight after another, giggling in childish glee.
“If you have no objections, señor,” Francisco said, “I would like to go to my hacienda to see how my family is doing. Tomorrow or the next day, after we are well rested, we will come back to Santa Fe.”
Since Nate had already arranged with William Becknell to meet the trader in one week in front of the customhouse to begin their trip back, he was free to do as he pleased. He put Gaona’s proposal to his family and friends and they all agreed.
It was late afternoon when the sprawling estate with its tilled fields and large herds of cattle and horses being tended by skilled vaqueros came into view. Francisco had spent the ride telling them about early Spanish settlements in the region, and how the Mexicans had carried on after winning their independence in 1821.
Nate was picking up more and more Spanish words as they went along, but he couldn’t begin to compete with Winona, who only had to hear a word spoken once and be told its meaning to always use it correctly from that time on. Zach also learned readily. Shakespeare, it turned out, was already fairly well versed in the language. Blue Water Woman, much to Nate’s satisfaction, had to work as hard as he did.
Francisco was given a tremendous welcome. Vaqueros, servants, and family members streamed from all directions. A beautiful woman in a fashionable blue dress swept into his arms and tearfully kissed him. A young girl of ten joined them, and for a minute no one else disturbed these three as they tenderly embraced.
Then Francisco cleared his throat and introduced his newfound friends to his family. “This is my beloved wife Maria and my daughter Juanita.”
The weary travelers were escorted inside while their horses were tended to by servants. Nate gratefully accepted a glass of fruit juice. As he slowly sipped they were given a grand tour, and he was greatly impressed by the many immaculate rooms with their simple but expensive furnishings.
After being afforded the means to wash off the dust of the trail, they were seated at a long table and treated to a sumptuous feast fit for a king. There was wine, beer, tequila, juice, milk, and a cinnamon-flavored hot chocolate. There was beef and wheat bread and pastries. And there was traditional Mexican fare: enchiladas, tostadas, tacos, tamales, frijoles, and more.
Nate’s stomach was ready to burst when he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Francisco, if I ate like this every day I’d be too heavy to climb on my horse.”
“We are strong believers in hospitality, my friend. While you are under my roof all that I have is yours.” Suddenly a servant appeared. Hurrying up to Francisco, he spoke urgently in Spanish.
“It seems my men have a problem, señor,” Francisco addressed Nate. “Your gel
ding would not let them remove your saddle at first, and now he will not let them put him in our corral. Perhaps you would be so kind?”
“Gladly,” Nate said, rising. He stayed on Gaona’s heels as they went out the front entrance and around the side to where nine vaqueros, who had formed a large circle to prevent Pegasus from getting away, were laughing at the futile efforts of a tenth to get a rope around the gelding’s neck. The vaquero was trying his best, swinging his reata with measured precision, but every trick he tried was foiled by the wily Palouse.
Pegasus would stand still and warily eye the roper until the instant the reata flashed out. Then the gelding would dash a few yards and watch as the vaquero coiled his rope for another try. Whether the vaquero hid the reata behind his legs or tried an overhand throw made no difference. Pegasus was always one step ahead of him, moving around the circle of vaqueros.
Francisco smiled. “Ignacio will be the brunt of many jokes in the weeks ahead. He is the best roper on the hacienda and until now there hasn’t been a horse he couldn’t catch. Perhaps you should spare him from further humiliation.”
Nate stepped forward, between a pair of vaqueros, and straight over to Pegasus. The ranch hands all fell silent, observing with interest as the gelding snorted, then rubbed its head against him like an oversized puppy. He stroked Pegasus’s neck and whispered in its ears. Ignacio, a lean man with a wide black sombrero, a brown jacket, and brown pants that flared out at the bottom, walked up and sadly shook his head. He glanced around as Francisco approached, and said something in Spanish.
“He would like to know where you obtained such a magnificent animal,” Gaona translated. “None of my men have ever seen a horse such as this.”
Nate briefly detailed how he received the gelding as a gift from the Nez Percé.
“It is unfortunate they saw fit to castrate him,” Francisco lamented, “or I would be tempted to buy him from you so he can sire a line that would make my rancho the talk of New Mexico.”
“I would never sell him,” Nate said. “He means as much to me as my son’s dog means to him.”
“Then you are an hombre after my own heart,” Francisco said. “I too love horses.” He pointed at the corral. “Which is why I had this built a few years ago so we can keep watch over our best stock at night. The Apaches used to come in this close to Santa Fe quite regularly, but they no longer do. Still, I play it safe, as you say in your country. I have insisted that three or four vaqueros always go with my wife and daughter when they go for their daily ride.”
Nate took Pegasus to the corral, then paused to admire the broad vista of beautiful countryside visible in all directions. The ranch was located in a lush valley watered by a swift running stream. From the abundance of green grass and trees the soil was ideal for tilling. To the southeast rose hills. Far to the south and west were more high mountains. “This land is almost as pretty as the northern Rockies,” he commented.
“Almost?” Francisco said, and laughed. “There is no more lovely land anywhere as far as I am concerned. For four generations my family has lived here, has fought here, has died here. And through it all we have prospered. When my time comes, I want to be buried on that hill to the west where my father and his father and his father before him are all buried, and on that day the son I hope to have before too long will take over this land and continue the good fight.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke and his face shone with profound inner pride.
“I hope all that you wish comes true, friend,” Nate said.
Just then the vaquero named Ignacio rejoined them and spoke to Gaona. Several minutes were spent in earnest conversation, and when Francisco turned to Nate there were worry lines around his eyes.
“This is not good.”
“What?” Nate inquired.
“I have just been informed that during my absence the Apaches raided an estate twenty-five miles northwest of here and another fifteen miles to the southeast. Close to thirty people were killed, including women and children.”
“Do you expect trouble here?”
“Not really. My estate is one of the largest in the territory. I have forty-one vaqueros and they are all brave men. The Apaches know they would pay dearly for an attack.” Francisco gazed at the distant mountains. “The estates that were raided are much smaller than mine. We have nothing to fear.”
Nate couldn’t help but notice that Gaona’s tone belied his statement. He debated whether to stay at the hacienda or to return to the security of Santa Fe. There were plenty of hotels where they could stay. But he disliked doing so since it might hurt Francisco’s feelings. As if Gaona could read minds, he unexpectedly spoke.
“I would not like for anything to happen while you and your family are my guests, señor. During your stay I will make certain all my men stay close at hand and I will have guards posted each night. You need not worry about your loved ones.”
“Thank you,” Nate said, his mind made up. It was highly unlikely the Apaches would dare go up against such a large force of competent fighting men. He would stay.
“There is still some daylight left. Would you care to go for a short ride? I’ll show you some of this land I hold so dear.”
“I’d be delighted,” Nate said.
Vaqueros saddled fresh horses, and they were soon making a circuit of the thriving ranch, attended by six armed men. As they rode off Nate glanced back at the house, wondering what had happened to Shakespeare. The mountain man, he decided, must be entertaining the ladies with tall tales of his exploits, or else regaling Mrs. Gaona with quotes from old William S. He did see Zach and Juanita by a tree, talking and laughing and thoroughly enjoying one another.
The Gaona family had developed the land wisely over the years. They had dug irrigation ditches from the stream to water the tilled acreage, which was just enough to meet the food needs of the estate with a little extra produced to trade for needed goods. The rest of the land was maintained in its pristine state and afforded abundant grazing for a huge herd of cattle. There were also many fine horses and dozens of mules. Each year some of the best mules were culled and sold in Santa Fe for tidy sums since there was such a huge demand for the animals.
Wildlife was present in great numbers. Nate saw dozens of chipmunks and several colonies of prairie dogs. Rabbits often bounded off in alarm at their approach. He also saw coyote sign—and once, at the stream, the tracks of a bobcat, which he pointed out to Francisco.
“Are you a skilled tracker, señor?”
“Some might say so,” Nate said, “but I don’t hold a candle to McNair. That man can follow a fly across a desert.”
“Really?” Francisco grinned. “I have a few good trackers in my employ, although I am afraid they have not yet learned how to track something through thin air.”
“I’m sure Shakespeare would be willing to teach them,” Nate quipped, and they both laughed.
A rosy twilight sheathed the verdant land when they made their way back to the corral and dismounted. Francisco gave orders to his vaqueros, then led the way inside, where they found the mistress of the house laughing over something Shakespeare had told them.
“What outrageous stories are you telling now?” Nate asked, seeking to bait his friend.
“I was just practicing my Spanish by informing Maria about the time you were being chased by a grizzly and you managed to ride smack into a tree limb and get knocked from the saddle.”
“Oh.”
“And how you thought you were going to die because you were sure your chest was caved in, but all you had was a tiny scratch,” Shakespeare went on, eliciting smiles from the women.
“I wish you’d limit your yarns to ones about yourself.”
“I would, but they’re not half as comical.”
“Where’s Zach?” Nate asked to change the subject.
Winona rose. “He was playing out back with Juanita the last time I checked on him,” she disclosed. “They have become very good friends in such a short time.”
“Y
oung’uns have that knack,” Shakespeare said. “They’re more open with each other than old coons like us. Since they don’t put on airs, they have fewer walls to break down.”
Taking Winona’s hand, Nate walked down a long, cool hallway to the sturdy back door. Outside was a carefully cultivated flower garden and several cottonwoods. Zach and Juanita were playing tag, chasing each other back and forth among the trees.
“Do you ever wish you were young again?” Nate asked softly, raising Winona’s hand to his lips.
“Never,” Winona said, leaning against him. “I have never been more content in my life than I am as your wife. You have brought me all the happiness I have ever wanted.”
“Even though any of the bravest warriors in your tribe would have leaped at the chance to be your husband? Why, if you’d wanted, you could have married a chief. You’d now be living in the finest of lodges and own more horses than any other Shoshone woman.”
Winona’s teeth were white in the encroaching darkness. “Treasures of the heart, husband, matter more than treasures we can own.”
“Is that a quote from William S.?”
She laughed lightly. “No. It is something I learned from my mother. She taught me that true love matters more than all the horses and lodges in the world. A woman who marries to gain such things goes through life as empty as one of those shells my people sometimes get in trade from the tribes who live close to the big water far to the west. She is lovely on the outside but inside there is nothing.”
Looking both ways to be sure no one other than the children happened to be in sight, Nate drew Winona into the shadows, tenderly embraced her, and gave her a lingering, passionate kiss.
“What was that for?” she asked when he broke away. “My love overflows my heart,” Nate said, using the English equivalent of a Shoshone endearment. “You make me proud to be your husband, and I only pray I prove worthy of your trust.”
“You already have.”
Reluctantly, Nate stepped into the open and called out, “Zach, it’s time to come in for the night.”
Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6) Page 23