Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  “Johannes, do you think…”

  “I don’t know, Reuben. I honestly don’t know whether she’ll be there.”

  Reuben nodded and cleared his throat, “So, how is the King’s Cavalry doing with the cows?”

  Johannes shook his head and swore in Danish.

  Reuben laughed. “If we don’t spot the fort soon we’ll make camp up there a few miles where the river bends north, get the cows watered and settle down early for the night. Zeb is not expecting us until tomorrow, and that Philippe is some cook.”

  Johannes smacked his lips, “Yes he is. That camp coffee of his is about the best I’ve had anywhere.”

  “Yep, but what do you think of him?”

  Johannes began to speak, then abandoned his first instinctive answer, instead choosing his words carefully. “He is very capable, Reuben. I think he is honest and smart, but…” Reuben looked at him, waiting, “…similar to your first impression, he’s the kind of man you want as a friend and never as an enemy. And, there is no inbetween with him.”

  The young Prussian stared at him for several moments before nodding.

  Reining in Lahn a half hour later, Reuben squinted into the distance. They were nearing the point requiring a decision to camp or keep moving. He pulled out Mac’s telescope and extended the tube.

  “What is it, Señor Reuben?” Reuben hadn’t heard Philippe ride up over the grunts, muffled shuffle of cattle hooves, and the whistles and shouts of Johannes and Michael.

  “I do believe that’s Fort Massachusetts up there three or four miles.”

  “You are aware, Señor, that this fort is the only location on the Old Spanish Trail with reliable supply and repair facilities. It was only built in the last several years. At least it was not the staging point for Kearney’s Army of the West.” There was bitterness in his voice. “The gringo soldiers who stole my parent’s land.”

  “Yes, Philippe. I know that Army staged at Bents’ Fort. Randy gave me a bit of the history. I understand your anger. I can not imagine a greater injustice than losing one’s land. You don’t need to go into the fort. We will be here just long enough to obtain final supplies before the more difficult part of the journey.”

  Philippe sighed, then grinned, his facial muscles relaxing. “But you had nothing to do with that. So, we will soon meet the rest of your estancia. That pleases me. Señor Johannes has told me just a bit.”

  “Yep,” was Reuben’s tense reply.

  “You’re wondering if your señorita will be there?”

  Reuben felt himself start in surprise. “Maybe.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, the vaquero observed, “One never knows the heart of a woman.”

  Reuben felt a pang of disappointment. It’s not like Johannes to have a big mouth.

  Sensing his thoughts, Philippe grinned. “No Señor Reuben, Philippe Reyes just knows the questions to ask. I think she shall be there.”

  Reuben threw him a sharp glance. “What makes you think so?”

  “Because…” There was a sparkle in the Mexican’s eyes. “Philippe Reyes is a romantic.”

  Despite himself, Reuben laughed.

  An hour later, they could clearly see the low-slung, meticulously constructed buildings of the army post, built to protect the sparse, but increasing settlement of the San Luis Valley.

  The walls of the distant structure rose about ten feet, built of logs which blended with it’s backdrop of the uneven edge of forest where it had been constructed. The gentle roll of the valley floor and the gold, grey and green tones of sagebrush, grass and rock complemented the post’s combination of peeled and unpeeled timbers. Just east of the fort was the tree line of Ute Creek, dwarfed by towering mass of Mt. Elbert. It appeared to be approximately one hundred fifty feet wide, built in a rectangular shape, and slightly shorter in the opposing dimension. Turreted bastions with firing apertures for cannons rose at several corners. A corral was off to one end. An American flag flew smartly over the scene from somewhere near the center of the compound which was completely enclosed by a stockade of pine logs, ten feet high. A number of wagons, buggies and horses moved to and fro. Others were tied off at various hitching posts. The blue of uniforms was visible at various points along the parapet which ringed the top of the walls of the fort.

  Despite the warmth of the midday sun, Reuben’s hands felt clammy and he noticed his heart beating more rapidly than normal. That, and the hollow feeling in his gut, fueled his annoyance with himself.

  He turned at the pounding of hooves behind him. Johannes, wearing a mischievous smile, rode up. “Hey, Prussian, hand over that spyglass.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  Johannes said nothing but rapidly extended the glass, stopping Bente’s prancing with a gentle curse. After a moment, he lowered the glass with a big grin, handing it back to Reuben. “Look to the right of the Fort—north just a bit. I’d swear those are our wagons. One prairie schooner looks like the next but that makeshift freight wagon, the one that bastard Jacob had, is one of a kind.”

  Reuben was puzzled. “So what?” he snapped. “Zeb was leading them. Didn’t you think they would be here?”

  Johannes shook his head. “You are a stubborn fool. And what your words don’t reveal, your eyes do, changing color faster than your mood. Put the damn telescope on the wagons and take a look behind the prairie schooner.”

  Reuben held up the glass.

  “Reuben, see that red sorrel behind the wagon. That’s Mac’s horse, Red.”

  Reuben’s heart jumped and he heard his own intake of breath. “It does, kind of, look like Red.”

  “Kinda, my ass. That’s Red. Why you suppose Red would be tied up behind that wagon? Think Zeb brought that temperamental mare to ride?”

  Reuben slowly lowered the spyglass, turning to Johannes, now grinning ear to ear.

  “Don’t just sit here like the dumb farm boy. Ride up there and kiss her.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. Show some enthusiasm. Remember that deal we made back on the train? I would teach you about women and you would teach me about cows. After the last week, you’re well on your way to keeping your promise, unfortunately. Now I have to keep mine. Get your ass up there.”

  Reuben felt giddy. Shoving the telescope hurriedly back in his coat pocket, he spurred Lahn. Behind him he heard Johannes, still laughing, and then a shout, “And don’t say anything stupid.”

  It seemed like it took forever for Lahn to cover the mile between the cattle and wagons. Reuben’s thoughts were jumbled. Maybe Zeb just took Red as an extra horse. Maybe she just wants to see her father’s land, maybe…

  Then he was there; dismounting before Lahn fully halted his run, the dust of their gallop catching up to them in a swirling cloud that billowed over the top of the canvas of the prairie schooner like an excited spirit. Taking a deep breath, Reuben half ran to the back of the wagon.

  As he rounded the corner, Sarah leaned out the rear of the canvas, her blue eyes bright and smiling. “Reuben,” she called out. Much too loudly. “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

  “We made good time, Sarah…” My voice is way too anxious, calm down you idiot. Reuben took a deep breath,

  “Sarah, I…”

  His words died. Sarah had backed into the wagon. In her stead was a petite, trim figure with a shock of long dark hair, wide brown eyes looking into his and a radiant, but amused smile accented by the scar almost healed, but visible above her lip. “Mr. Frank, you are a sight for sore eyes. Did you roll in the dust to impress me?”

  “I… I,” Reuben looked down, realizing with a start the color of his clothes beneath the dust was barely discernable. He began to brush himself off.

  “Reuben.”

  He stopped mid motion.

  “I don’t care about the dust. Help me down.”

  Taking a step forward, Reuben extended his left hand. Her fingers slipped over his perfectly. Holding her riding skirt, she descended the ladder, standing inch
es from him, looking up into his eyes.

  She raised a delicate hand to the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. Their arms wrapped tightly around one another and Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder. Reuben felt a huge weight of uncertainty lift. “I love you, Rebecca,” he whispered.

  “Reuben, there some things we must discuss.” He could feel her lips moving against his throat. “I want you to know why I am here.”

  Reuben bent his head and kissed her neck. “We have plenty of time to discuss whatever you wish, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca pushed him away, but her hands remained entwined in his shirt. “Reuben, I want you to understand the situation.”

  “Rebecca, I…”

  Sarah’s exclamation interrupted him. “Who is that?” Sarah stood framed in the rear of the wagon, sun streaked red highlights shimmering in her hair, her blue eyes widened, her gaze fixed over their heads.

  Reuben turned. Fifty yards away Philippe was riding toward them in an easy lope, back arched, shoulders stiffened, proud and handsome, his eyes fixed on Sarah. He reined in, his gaze momentarily shifting to Reuben, then to Rebecca.

  Reuben realized with astonishment that from the time Philippe had left the herd to gallop to the wagons, he had managed to brush most of the dust off his finely fitted tunic and hat.

  Sweeping off his hat, the aristocratic vaquero bowed low from the saddle. “Señorita Rebecca, I presume. I am Philippe Reyes.”

  Philippe’s gaze again moved to Sarah. She stood in the rear of the wagon, each arm outstretched to the edges of the canvas, which formed the oval opening. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest rose and fell rapidly and, Reuben noticed, her eyes were wide, very wide.

  Philippe bowed again. “I presume you, Señorita, are Sarah Bonney.”

  “Yes.” Sarah’s response was more a breath then a word. Rebecca darted quick glances from Philippe to Sarah, then back again.

  A long silence grew more awkward by the second. Reuben cleared his throat. “Where is Zeb?” “Sarah?” There was an edge to Rebecca’s voice.

  “Yes?” Sarah’s eyes were still fixated on Philippe.

  Rebecca shook her head, looking at Reuben. “He went to the fort to see what supplies they might have.” Rebecca stared at Sarah. “Right, Sarah?”

  “What? Oh, oh, yes, Zeb is at the fort.”

  Philippe smiled, again bowing from his horse to Rebecca, and then to Sarah. “I’m sure we will have ample opportunity to further converse.”

  His eyes still on Sarah, he wheeled Diablo and galloped back toward the cries of the cattle still a quarter of a mile away.

  Reuben had a sudden vision of Sarah sobbing into Zeb’s chest at Two Otters Creek, one long arm of the mountain man wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the other holding his coonskin cap—his exposed hair far more grey then Reuben had ever previously supposed.

  CHAPTER 22

  June 11, 1855

  PRIMAL SURPRISE

  “What exactly was that all about?” Reuben’s brow furrowed, his eyebrows low over a puzzled expression. “What was what all about?” Rebecca tried to keep her voice nonchalant.

  “Whatever happened here between Philippe and Sarah. You’re a woman.”

  “So glad you’ve noticed, Reuben.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve noticed from the first day I saw you walking up the gangplank of the Edinburgh back there in Portsmouth, Rebecca.”

  Reaching up her left hand, she smoothed her delicate fingers down his cheek. So handsome. “I think Philippe is a rather dashing figure, obviously charming and well mannered. I imagine Sarah just found those qualities a bit surprising.”

  Reuben nodded, looking somewhat relieved, but a lingering doubt was evident in the purse of his lips. Rebecca laid her head on his chest, her thumb and fore-finger playing with the heavy wool of his shirt. I like the smell of cattle, dust and Reuben. She closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to bathe her eyelids, trying to still the anxious, rapid beat of her heart.

  Reuben had one arm around her. He cleared his throat, one boot scratching self-consciously in the dirt. “I can’t tell you how pleased and relieved I was to see that you decided not to return to England.”

  Rebecca craned her neck upward. The deep green of Reuben’s eyes unsettled her. She sighed, the butterflies in her belly mixing uneasily with the slight queasiness she had been feeling for most of the day. I must tell him. “Reuben, before Philippe rode up, I mentioned that we needed to talk. It is very important to me—to us,” she added hastily, “so that we have an understanding.”

  Reuben blinked. “An understanding?” he repeated slowly. “Pretty simple to me, Rebecca. I love you. You decided not to go back to England. We are together and I aim to—”

  She raised her fingers to his lips. “Shhhh. Let me talk, Reuben. It’s not so simple as that.” Her stomach cramped, her neck suddenly clammy with sweat.

  “You’re turning pale, Rebecca. Are you all right? Are you sick?”

  “No, Reuben, I’m not sick. Take me for a walk down to the river.”

  Reuben nodded at the scabbard on Lahn. “We should bring our Sharps.”

  “You bring yours, Reuben. The only thing I want to hold is your arm.”

  Reuben’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, the same wondering expression on his face as a few minutes before when he tried to decipher the meaning of whatever currents had flowed between Sarah and the vaquero. Peering toward the fort, he asked, “When’s Zeb coming back?”

  “Not for a while, Reuben. We have time.”

  The spring sun warmed her shoulders. Her left arm was hooked to his right at the elbow. Beneath her right hand, she felt the hard muscle of his bicep. We do fit well. They walked slowly, enjoying the slight breeze that wafted down the valley from the west. The distant spines of the Sangre De Cristo mountains, to the southwest rose abruptly, sparkling, twinkling white. The voices and sounds of the fort were distant and detached. Reuben laughed as Rebecca pointed out circuitous paths between larger sagebrush to avoid tangling her riding skirt in the twisted limbs of the sweet smelling ground plants.

  As they approached the tree line, two mule deer doe sprang up from their daybeds in the cottonwoods, watching them for one surprised, panicked moment. One whistled an alarm and they tucked their black-tipped tails and bounced off into the timber.

  The river was chocolate, swollen by the melting snows miles upstream and rushing toward a far-off destination. He dropped back a step, leaning the Sharps against a downed tree trunk. Rebecca stopped and turned to Reuben, lifting her hands to his shoulders. “Reuben, I want you to know that when you touch me…,” she felt the heat rise in her face and involuntarily looked down, momentarily breaking eye contact with him, “…when we are together it is…indescribable. I could never have imagined such intensity, such pleasure, such a feeling of impassioned completeness.”

  Reuben smiled. “And I—”

  Rebecca shook her head and raised her fingers to his lips again. “Please, Reuben, I must finish this thought. You said that you love me. Perhaps we’re too young to know what love really is. Maybe this is just some magical physical attraction.” Reuben’s eyes widened, wondering, looking down at her. Rebecca fixed her eyes on a button on his shirt.

  “Please know, Reuben, that I trust you, more than any man other than my father. It is because of this trust and what we’ve shared between us, in our journey, losing Inga and Mac, that I always want you to know where I stand, even though at times…,” she smiled, trying to still the tremble in her lip, “it takes me a while to utter the words.” His cheek muscles twitched as she spoke. “I decided not to return to England at the current time— because I must see the land my father left. I must investigate his deathbed whispers about gold. With the death of my mother, the impetus to immediately return to the continent has been dulled.”

  Reuben’s lips tightened. He was silent a moment and then spoke slowly. “One of the maps, drawn by that scout my father and Uncle Hermann hired,
is missing. It was supposedly a map of potential gold or silver deposits around where we intend to establish the ranch. Perhaps there is some link.”

  Rebecca smiled. “Something else I’ve meant to tell you. Sarah has a map. I believe it is the missing chart drawn by your father’s scout.”

  Reuben’s eyebrows shot up. Rebecca thought she heard the echo of a blacksmith’s hammer coming from the fort.

  “Apparently, Jacob killed the messenger bringing the map to your uncle Hermann in New York. Happen chance. Bizarre coincidence. And it was his plan to file that map and try to exploit the resources whatever they may be, for his own account. Sarah was hoping that if the map bears fruit and it is through her that it is being returned, that you would take that into consideration.”

  Reuben nodded. “Of course.” There was an edge to his voice. “Are you telling me, Rebecca that you are simply tagging along to the Uncompahgre as a matter of convenience, of transportation?” His eyes narrowed. There was a hint of grey in the green and his jaw tightened.

  I’m so very poor at this. “No, no, Reuben. There is something strong and magnetic between us.” She felt her face flush and fought back tears. “I felt it when I first laid eyes on you on the ship, before we ever conversed.”

  Reuben chuckled without mirth. “You didn’t do a particularly good job of showing it.”

  “I was unsure, Reuben. I’ve never been in a situation like that, never felt attracted to a man as a woman.” She felt a wave of frustration. I am not saying this correctly. “What I’m trying to tell you is I’m still unsure but on a different level. I am positive you and I have something unique and special. I just can’t yet tell you that I love you, nor promise you that I will never return to England.”

  Reuben cleared his throat. Stepping away from her, he stooped down, picked up a rock and threw it forcefully into the muddy current. “What are you going to do with those creditors you told me of, your London house, the Aborigine servants?”