Comanche Dawn

by Mike Blakely

  Whip dropped the broken stick he had been holding, and took two steps back. “I do not have to swear. She should be the one to swear!”

  Without hesitation, Dipper lifted her face and palms to the sun. “As Father Sun is my witness, I am not a witch. I am only a woman!”

  The people looked on for a long moment of silence, and knew Dipper spoke the truth, for she would not have sworn falsely for fear of sure death.

  “Hah!” Horseback shouted. “She is good. My friend has beaten the evil witchcraft out of her! Now there is no more reason to beat her!”

  Whip sneered. He kicked dirt at his wife and stalked away.

  As the onlookers went back to their own concerns, Teal hurried to her husband’s side.

  “He will beat her again,” she said. “It gets worse for her every time.”

  The look of foolishness fell away from Horseback’s face, and he became serious. “There is only one way I can protect her.”

  “I know the way,” she said, looking at the ground.

  “Does my wife wish me to protect this woman?”

  Teal looked at him and sighed, a look of frustration and helplessness in her eyes. “She should not be beaten to death with a Noomah child in her belly, but I cannot tell my husband to protect her. He must want to.”

  Horseback looked across the river and saw the high, grassy bank above the greenery of the timber. He saw a stallion nipping at his mares there, and felt better. He slipped his hand around the back of Teal’s neck, and pulled her closer. “Always, you carry my shield. I could love no wife more than I love you, my sits-beside woman.”

  Teal put her hand on his bare chest. “I will speak to Dipper. She will know what to do.”

  49

  Jean L’Archeveque held the tallow candle as the governor’s scribe lit the oil lamp with its flame. It was quite a rare pleasure to sit under the steady glow of a lamp, as opposed to the flickers of a candle flame that made shadows lurch all around the room. Even bear oil was precious in Santa Fe, and only to be used when necessary. But Captain-General Antonio Del Bosque had insisted on this late-night meeting at the Casas Reales, and so Jean had come to burn precious oil and discuss the problems of the kingdom.

  “It gives me no end of consternation,” Del Bosque said. “The viceroy has become obsessed with the Indios. In the old days, I could refer to them as savages, or Norteños, or what-have-you, and get along well enough. Now, the viceroy—his highness, the Duque de Albuquerque—insists that I produce a map demarcating the range of each group of savages, using their particular names. He requires a lengthy noticia describing their ways of subsistence, types of shelter, and all other manner of ridiculous detail. It is so confusing to me that I am going to place the entire affair in your hands, Juan. You will help my scribe make the map and prepare the noticia.”

  Jean shrugged and rubbed his stomach, feeling stuffed after the feast in the dining hall. He wondered what fee he might command for this assignment, but thought better of asking just now. “How far does the viceroy want the map to extend?”

  “To the very ends of Spanish influence among the savages. I must satisfy his curiosity once and for all, so I can get on with the important affairs of this colony. The viceroy has no concept of our hardships here in this remote outpost. No concept at all, my friend.”

  Juan stepped across the governor’s cramped office and took the quill pen from the scribe. He dipped it into the inkwell and began tracing a crooked line onto a piece of parchment spread across the governor’s cluttered desk. He wondered why Antonio Del Bosque had not requested this information long ago. “Let us begin on our own Rio Grande,” he said, labeling the line he had drawn with that name. “Now, the first problem is with the Pueblos. They are not one nation, but several. They are Tewa, Tiwa, Tompiro, Keresan, Zuni…”

  “Basta!” the governor cried, waving a hand. “Do not complicate, Juan. Simplify. The viceroy does not have to know everything you know. It is more than he can understand.”

  “But, the Pueblo nations all speak different languages,” Jean argued.

  “I don’t care if they debate in Latin. They all live in the same kind of houses, and so we will continue to call them all Pueblos.”

  Jean sighed. “Very well. The mapmakers know where the villages lie.”

  “Sí, sí. Get to the Apache problem, the one that vexes me with its complications.”

  Jean sketched an oblong territory east of the Rio Grande, and another circle west of the river, but north of the Pueblo villages. “Apache is not really the proper name, for it is merely a Zuni word meaning ‘enemy.’ The French call them Padouca. They call themselves Inday.”

  “With God’s blessing, they will one day call themselves Christians, and their heathen names can be removed from the pages of history. Until then, they will be referred to as Apaches.”

  Jean frowned, but he did not argue. “The confusion is in the number of bands. They are like little cities, except that they move around to hunt after they harvest their crops. Most of them are also misnamed—the Pharaohans, the Mescaleros, the Lipanes. To add more confusion, they sometimes make war on each other, as one village might attack another in the old feudal days of Spain. Then there are the Navajos, here, across the river.” He pointed to the separate territory he had sketched to the west of the Rio Grande. “They speak the Inday language, though they live independent of the others.”

  “The Navajo will remain Navajo,” Del Bosque ordered. “We will continue to consider them a nation unto themselves. This is no time to arouse the curiosity of the viceroy by changing our names for these bárbaros. With the Apaches, simply write down the name of each band in its recognized territory. I don’t care if they are misnamed or not. You will have the mapmaker write Apache in capital letters, and the band names in lower case.”

  “Very well,” Jean said. He carefully wrote each band name in its appropriate place on the map. He stepped back and looked at his creation for a moment, deciding not to add other nations he had encountered far to the east with La Salle—the Tejas, the Caddoes, the Carancahuas. These peoples lived beyond Spanish influence.

  He brushed the plume of the quill pen absentmindedly against his cheek as he studied his rough map, then drew in a large territory north of the Navajo lands. “This is the mountain domain of the Yutas, with whom we are well acquainted. And far to the north of their mountains, hundreds of leagues from here, lies the country of the Snake People, sometimes called Shoshone. They call themselves Noomah.”

  “Label them Snakes,” Del Bosque said. “The office of the viceroy will enjoy a certain familiarity with the term.” He chuckled and nudged the scribe, who also felt obligated to laugh.

  Juan made the entry, then motioned vaguely to an area north of the Snakes. “I have heard of nations beyond the Snakes. The Blackfeet. The Crow. Here, to their northeast, the Snakes tell of a people they call Kiowa, meaning Mouse People. The Kiowa are allied with two nations lately arrived from the east and supplied with French guns. These two are called the Throat Cutters, or Lakota, and the Finger Choppers, or Cheyenne.”

  “Have any Spaniards had contact with these Indios?” Del Bosque asked.

  “No.”

  “Then we will not bother the good viceroy with their existence. Continue, Juan. What about the plains tribes?”

  “To the east of the Snakes lies the land of the Wolf People, who live in villages of large earthen houses. The French call them Pani. They call themselves Parisu or Chahiksichahik.”

  “Label them Pani. It is a term we have used before.”

  Jean dipped the split quill point into the ink well again and carefully wrote the label on the parchment. “Now, south of the Pani lie the villages of grass houses inhabited by the Raccoon-Eyed People, among whom I spent two years. The French call them Painted Pani, or sometimes Wichita, which is the name of one of their villages. They have been called Jumanos in Spanish records.”

  “Very well. We will continue to call them Jumanos. Tell me, Juan. Ar
e there really any riches at Quivira as the old legends suggested? Is it not indeed one of the seven cities of gold?” His eyes sparkled with hopeful fascination. “Tell the truth, my friend.”

  “The truth is, you would be lucky to find a copper ingot there. But they do have fine gardens of corn, pumpkins, and squash. And excellent plums.”

  Del Bosque chuckled knowingly, as if he understood some hidden meaning in what Jean had said. “I know many expeditions there have turned up no gold. But, they could hide it in tunnels under their grass huts, no?”

  Jean shook his head. “I have seen Quivira without a white man within three hundred leagues. There is no gold there, Antonio.”

  “Do you forget that you, yourself, are a white man? Maybe they tattooed your face like theirs, but do they forget you are white? Do you think they would show you the gold? Think of it, Juan, there could be riches there, yet.”

  Jean smirked and said, “I suppose all things are possible, no matter how unlikely.” He turned back to the map, shaking his head. Now he drew the meandering line of a river that started in Yuta country. It flowed due south, then turned abruptly to the east, slithering across the vastness of the plains. He labeled its serpentine course Rio Napestle.

  “The Indios call this the River of Arrowheads,” he added. “The French call it the Arkansas. There is a French post many hundreds of leagues downstream where this river empties into the great Colbert, or Messipe.”

  “We will retain the term Rio Napestle. So it has been identified for many years. What savages live along its course?”

  “Here,” Jean said, “far to the east, even beyond the Jumanos of Quivira, live the Osage. They are powerful. Some of them are seven feet tall and can run almost as fast as horses for short distances.”

  Del Bosque snorted. “Please, Juan, do not attempt to entertain me with ridiculous heathen legends. Have these Osages had any contact with Spaniards?”

  “No, but they are supplied with French guns.”

  Del Bosque stared at the map and rubbed his chin. “Then we will exclude them from the map. If the viceroy learns of their existence, he may order an expedition into their country. I simply cannot spare the men or materiel for that. And don’t mention any of these distant nations to Father Ugarte. He will begin his own campaign for an expedition to reduce them to Christianity. Those Franciscans all dream of martyrdom, but that doesn’t mean they have to take any of us poor sinners with them.”

  “I rarely engage in conversation with the padre,” Jean replied.

  “Good. Now, is that all?”

  “There is one more nation on the Rio Napestle.” He placed the point of the pen at a location upstream of Tachichichi. “Do you remember the Comanches?”

  Slowly, Del Bosque’s expression darkened. “Six years ago. The attack on the caravan of carretas.”

  “Yes.”

  “They took a captive girl with them as I recall—the daughter of a whore—and she was never heard from again, though Father Ugarte walked all the way to the Yuta country looking for her. The Comanches stole all the horses and mules they wanted on their way back through the colony. Their leader—what was his name? Acaballo? He cut away a piece of Capitán Lujan’s scalp in the battle of carretas.”

  Jean nodded. “I saw the capitán without his helmet on a few days ago. I barely noticed the wound.”

  “Yes, the scalp has grown back nicely.” The governor stared at the map for a few seconds. “Why do you mention those wicked bárbaros now, Juan?”

  Jean tapped the parchment with the point of the pen. “My informants tell me they have returned.”

  Del Bosque stood silent for a long moment, then snorted. “There were only five of them here six years ago. They were very lucky with that raid on the carretas. Capitán Lujan might have killed them all had he been more prepared. I think he learned much from that defeat. He has become a terror to all Apache raiders since that day.”

  “He will not find terrorizing Comanches as easy,” Jean said. “I have learned more about these people. They are really Snake People.” He pointed to the Snake lands on the map, far to the north of the Yutas. “They have broken away from their brothers to seek horses, buffalo, and trade. This time, a whole village has come south. They have come to stay.”

  “How many warriors?”

  “I have heard their camp has fifty or sixty lodges. That could mean one hundred fifty warriors, or more.”

  The governor laughed in relief. “Is that all! Juan, you worry about strange things.”

  “We must not underestimate them. One mounted Comanche is equal to ten foot-warriors, or three of our own mounted soldiers. They are marvelous horsemen. In addition, they are now allied with the Yutas.”

  “You know the royal policy, Juan. We cannot align ourselves with every warrior nation on the frontier. We treat only with the most powerful, and that is the Apaches. As long as we maintain relations with the Apaches, they will shield us from the others.”

  “But, Antonio, you know as well as I do that the Apaches have become increasingly belligerent. They steal and kill and take captives wherever they wish, among the Pueblos and even among the Spanish settlements.”

  “And Captain Lujan punishes those who raid.”

  “Lujan has only eighty soldiers. He cannot handle the increasing Apache raids. Besides that, I have evidence that he often punishes the first bunch of Apaches he encounters, whether they are guilty of raiding or not. This only leads to increased hostility.”

  “So, what do you recommend, Juan?”

  “That we make peace with the new Comanche-Yuta alliance.”

  Del Bosque held his chin and shook his head. “We cannot afford to ally ourselves with too many Indios. We make peace with the most powerful nation, and promote warfare among all the others. We must keep them fighting among themselves, Juan. If they ever unite against us, this outpost will be finished, and you and I will find ourselves roasting over some heathen’s fire.”

  “In this case we can make peace with both the Apaches and the Comanches without ever having to fear them uniting against us. They hate each other like English and Turks. There was a war between the two tribes generations ago, and both still remember.”

  Del Bosque rubbed his face and groaned. “Juan, I asked you to come here to simplify this issue, and you are only making it more complicated. I do not understand your obsession with these Comanches.”

  “It is simple,” Jean insisted. “The Comanche-Yuta alliance is on the verge of becoming more powerful than the Apache nation. We must eventually break our alliance with the Apaches and align ourselves with the Comanches. We might as well start preparing for that eventuality.”

  Del Bosque’s eyes flared in the oil light. “Are you mad? The Apaches can muster thousands of warriors. You have said yourself that the Comanches have fewer than two hundred. And the Yutas have never been as fierce as the Apaches.”

  “More Comanches arrive almost daily from the Snake lands. There will soon be more than one band. I assure you, Antonio, one hundred Comanche warriors can patrol the entire New Mexican frontier for us. You must remember that the Apache bands do not cooperate. In fact, they fight among themselves. No one band of Apaches will be able to repel the Comanche hoard that is coming.”

  Del Bosque looked at his scribe. “Can you imagine my writing to the viceroy and telling him that I am breaking ties with thousands of Apaches in order to forge a treaty with a handful of Comanches? The same Comanches who all but destroyed our trade caravan six years ago?”

  The scribe smiled sheepishly and glanced with uncertainty at Jean.

  “There is going to be a great Comanche and Apache war,” Jean said, “and the Comanches will win. With their Yuta allies and with their new arrivals from the Snake country, they will wage the bloodiest mounted war you have ever seen. As long as Santa Fe is allied with the Apaches, the Comanches will raid us as well, and Capitán Lujan will pluck his beard in his inability to catch these riders.”

  Del Bosque looked
at his scribe again and pointed his thumb at Jean. “This plan comes from the same gentleman who once suggested we give the Norteños all the mules and geldings they wanted.”

  Jean sat down on a wicker chair made of corded yucca fibers. “Let me share a story with you, Governor. My informants at Tachichichi have kept close watch on the Comanches. Not long ago, they noted that the young Comanche leader, Acaballo, passed through their ranchería on the first day of the full moon. Two days after the full moon, a group of Tiwa hunters from Taos encountered Acaballo not far north of their pueblo. They spoke to him. They described him and his mount perfectly.”

  “What is the point of this story, Juan?”

  “Acaballo covered more than forty leagues in those two days, riding the same horse. That is the way the Comanches travel. Twenty leagues a day without changing horses!”

  Del Bosque brushed the intelligence aside with a flick of his fingers. “Pueblo informants cannot be trusted. They have no concept of time. No clocks, no calendars. They were mistaken. No one can ride from Tachichichi to Taos in two days.”

  “Acaballo can. He and his warriors. They are hungry people, Antonio. They have been starved for generations. Their warriors are small of stature, but that only makes them stick better to the backs of their horses. They are muscular and tougher than rawhide. They ride like nothing the world has ever seen. Arabs and Mongols would gape at them in disbelief. They are the very embodiment of the Thessalian centaur!”

  Finally, Governor Del Bosque seemed to sense some possibility of truth behind Jean’s adamance. “I cannot make decisions such as these based on hearsay.” He turned to his scribe. “Roberto, prepare a letter to the viceroy. Tell him that I have commissioned the renowned frontiersman, Juan Archebeque, at…” he paused and looked at the vigas overhead “… fifty-four pesos, three reales, and nine granos—you know the viceroy is suspicious of even numbers. Tell the viceroy that Juan will investigate the Indio situation along the Rio Napestle. Make it sound important, with plenty of flowery phrases. Date it and sign it, May God guard Your Excellency many years, your most obedient servant, Don Antonio Del Bosque, et cetera, et cetera.”