Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  Hughes gave out a rebel yell of victory, riding up to Emanuel. The attack on the Galvez estate had not been sanctioned by anyone truly in charge. It had been planned by Hughes and his ruffians, who were simply volunteers out to gather the spoils that could be realized from the wealthier Spaniards. This would not be the only ranchero that would go down under Hughes and his men. And with the current, though minor, revolution going on, it gave men who were no better than outlaws a chance to reap some of the benefits.

  Emanuel’s hunger for power had taken him to Sonoma seeking Americans who would be willing to overrun the Galvez estate. Emanuel’s information on just where guards were posted, how the ranchero was laid out, and the best time of day to attack, had helped Hughes and his men move in in a matter of minutes with no losses on their side. Emanuel knew the best time to attack was while Tom Sax was gone.

  “Señor Galvez is inside,” Emanuel told Hughes. “He is dead.”

  “You find the daughter?”

  Emanuel nodded. “You can take what you want from the house, and you can have any of the horses and the cattle that you wish, even claim some of the land. Just leave me the house—and the girl.”

  Hughes nodded. “You were right. They didn’t hardly put up a fight.”

  “That is because they are so ignorant as to think you americanos will be friendly to them and treat them kindly if they give no resistance and cooperate. Señor Galvez did not think there would be any real fighting. He was a fool!”

  Hughes laughed. “We’ll herd these men up and walk them to Sutter’s Fort. Frémont can decide what he wants to do with them. We’ll be rounding up some cattle and horses.”

  Emanuel grinned, raising his rifle victoriously. “Take what you wish, señor. I already have all that I want.” He turned and hurried back toward the house. Hughes looked toward an upstairs window from which he thought he had heard a woman’s screams.

  “Hidalgo,” Hughes shouted.

  Emanuel turned.

  “That little filly you wanted—any chance of sharing her once you’ve had your fill?”

  Emanuel grinned. “Bring back some good whiskey, señor, and we will talk about it.”

  Hughes laughed and looked at the upstairs window again. The screaming had stopped.

  • Chapter Ten •

  Tom rode into Sonoma, proudly leading the two palominos he had purchased for Galvez. He was tired and thirsty and decided to stop in Sonoma for a couple of drinks and a visit to the bathhouse behind the barbershop before returning to the ranch. He wanted to look his best in case Juanita was watching and waiting when he returned.

  He had not ridden far down the dusty main street before he noticed a flag perched atop one of the buildings, a flag bearing a star and something that looked like a bear. He frowned, realizing something was amiss. The sleepy little town was teeming with horses and wagons, and a few cannon sat at the end of the street. Those who were Spanish walked around quietly, dipping their heads, women hiding under shawls and scampering about as though afraid.

  Tom took inventory, noticing a lot of rough-looking men standing about. They were not Spanish. They were white—Americans—the rugged, buckskin-clad type very much like the ruffians who had come to Texas to help that republic gain its independence. What were so many of them doing in Sonoma? Were the rumors he had heard in San Francisco about Americans taking over California true? People even said an American fleet would soon land on the coast.

  He dismounted in front of a tavern, tying his Appaloosa and the two palominos. He walked inside the tavern, where several white men sat around a table eating peaches from a basket and laughing about the “greasy Mexican” from whom they had stolen the fruit. The peaches gave off a sweet scent, but the smell did not erase another odor—the scent of danger. The men all looked warily at Tom, and a couple more who had spotted him outside walked through the doorway as Tom approached the bar.

  A short, nervous-looking Mexican stood behind the bar wiping his hands on a towel. “Can I help you, señor?”

  “Give me a whiskey.”

  “Sí, señor,” the little man answered.

  “What’s your name, mister?” one of the Americans asked.

  Tom turned, watching the man carefully. “Maybe that is my business.”

  The man rose from his chair. He was huge, tall and heavyset, and he sported a thick beard. He seemed all hair, hair that surrounded cold gray eyes and wide lips.

  “I’m John Hughes, and everything that happens here is my business now, mister. We’ve come here to protect the American settlers.”

  Tom frowned. “American settlers? Protect them from what?”

  Hughes’s eyes moved over Tom. “Protect them from being overrun by the fancy rich Spaniards around here. Seems some have been talking about taking over American claims and making the Americans leave. You the kind that would do that?”

  Tom kept a defensive pose. “I have no interest either way. I am from Colorado. I just bought a couple of horses in San Francisco—intend to start my own ranch.” Tom decided not to mention Galvez and his ranch. These men were looking for trouble. He would not draw their attention to the Galvez estate.

  Hughes’s eyes moved over Tom as though to sum him up. “You see that flag outside?”

  Tom nodded. “I saw it.”

  “Well, that’s the flag of the new Bear Flag Republic. That’s what us Americans are calling California now. Just a precaution.”

  Tom frowned. “A precaution?”

  “Against the Spaniards. Word is the United States will soon be at war with Mexico—maybe already is. Now that means the Spaniards here might turn against us. Not that they care about Mexico that much anymore. What they think is that Mexico will probably lose, and they’ll lose their own protection as a result. So they figure they’ll get together and protect themselves against the Americans who might come here after they defeat Mexico and try to claim California. These Spaniards here call themselves californios. Now you wouldn’t by any chance be one of these californios, would you?”

  Some of the others snickered.

  Tom watched them, trying to think. Something had happened here he didn’t know anything about. Were the Spaniards contemplating war against the Americans, or was it the other way around? He knew there had been conflict, but most californios were all for simply peacefully joining with the United States if it came to that kind of choice. Even Antonio Galvez intended to handle the whole thing peacefully.

  Tom’s anger began to build at the realization that the Americans had probably decided that was not good enough. They were going to push this—use it as an excuse to take over valuable Spanish land for themselves. Immediately he was alert, and his first thought was for Juanita and the Galvez estate.

  “I told you I have no interest either way,” he said carefully.

  “You got to be one or the other, mister. You’re either American or you’re a californio,” Hughes told him, deliberately trying to egg Tom on. “Now judging from your appearance, it ain’t likely you’re American now, is it?”

  They all laughed then, and the little Mexican behind the counter set a glass of whiskey on the counter, then moved back, sure there would be trouble.

  “I am American,” Tom answered calmly. “But not your kind of American. I am a true American,” he said proudly. He didn’t care what these men did or thought. They were the kind who had forced his father out of Texas, and he hated them!

  “Now what is that supposed to mean?” Hughes asked with a grin.

  “It means I am Indian,” Tom replied.

  The men sobered, and Hughes’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He stepped back a little more. “Well, well. Now the way I look at it, an Indian is even lower than a californio, wouldn’t you say, boys?”

  The others nodded, some snickering again.

  “Please. Let the man drink his whiskey and go,” the Mexican behind the bar told Hughes.

  “You shut up, you greasy little tit,” Hughes growled at him. “You want to be arres
ted like the others?”

  The little man turned away.

  “What others?” Tom asked warily.

  Hughes rubbed at his beard. “All the traitorous californios we can round up, that’s what others, especially the rich ones. They’re the ones with enough power to chase out the Americans. California is going to be part of the United States once this thing is over. Until then us Americans are getting together to protect ourselves. We’ve got the help of one of our own kind—a John Frémont. He’s at Sutter’s Fort right now—a government man sent here by President Polk himself. He’s set himself up as our leader.”

  “I heard of this Frémont when he first came. He was supposed to be on a peaceful mission for the U.S. government, making maps or something.”

  “Well, once we all knew there might be war with Mexico, he agreed to help us stay a step ahead and start right now to secure California.”

  “And what have you done to secure it? Have you attacked the Spanish landowners?”

  Hughes scowled. “We haven’t attacked anybody but them who are a real threat. We’re here to keep the peace, not start a war. We’re holding Sonoma and we’re here to protect any Americans that need protecting.”

  Tom felt an urgent need to get to Juanita. Had the Galvez estate been targeted? This was the very thing he had once warned Galvez about. Now he was frightened for Juanita. This would be just like Texas. Once the Americans took over, many of the original Spanish citizens would be destroyed or cast out. If that happened to Galvez, what would happen to Juanita?

  Apparently the Americans had the help now of John Frémont, whose own men were brash, hard frontiersmen who knew how to fight and how to use knives and guns. The californios didn’t want Mexican control any more than the Americans did. They wanted to rule California themselves. But now so did the Americans, and Tom well knew that what the Americans wanted, they almost always got in the end. He picked up his whiskey and quickly drank it down, keeping his eyes on the one called Hughes.

  “It seems to me I heard this Frémont came here as a mere surveyor for the army,” he told Hughes. “How is it he has become the leader of the Americans in California? We do not even know if war has been declared against Mexico.”

  Hughes scowled. “You talk mighty pretty for just a dumb Indian who’s not concerned.”

  “I fought against the Mexicans in Texas. I was at the Alamo, but I was captured before the mission was taken. My father fought at San Jacinto.” He relaxed a little more when he noticed a hint of respect come into the eyes of a couple of the men, but Hughes still scowled.

  “So what?” Hughes spoke up. “You’re in California now, not Texas. You saying you’re ready to join us against the Mexicans in these parts?”

  Tom set his glass aside. “I am saying I have had my fill of war, mister.” He wiped his lips with his shirtsleeve and headed for the door.

  “Fine looking pair of palominos you got out there, mister,” one of the other men spoke up. “We’ll be addin’ them to our collection.”

  Tom stopped and turned, fire in his eyes. “What did you say?” It was then he realized that while he had headed for the door several guns were pulled on him.

  “I said them two horses will make a nice addition to some of the rewards we’ve been gettin’ for helpin’ out the Americans.”

  It was all Tom could do to control an impulse to pull his own pistol and start shooting. But he forced himself to remain clearheaded. He must keep Galvez out of this! He must stay alive and get to Juanita. Drastic measures were apparently being taken by these American invaders.

  “Those horses are worth a lot of money,” he hissed at the man who had spoken to him. “And they are mine!”

  The man just grinned, and the rest of them chuckled. “Not no more,” another told him. “We seen when we come in that they didn’t have no brand on them. We’ll sell them to the highest American bidder and split up the reward. We can’t let nobody with dark skin have such a fine pair of horses. He might start himself a ranch and end up a rich man. We got to nip all this in the bud, don’t you see?”

  They all laughed harder, and Tom secretly swore a mighty vengeance.

  “You have no right to take those horses,” he snarled.

  Hughes walked closer. “Right now we can do anything we want, mister. I’ve got me a whole army of men, all volunteers willing to come here and help hold California for the Americans. These men aren’t getting paid. If they want those horses, they can have them—and anything else we choose to take from anybody who wants to give us trouble.”

  Tom felt on fire with rage. Juanita! If not for Juanita he would risk shooting them all down! But he must not do anything foolish. All that mattered now was to get to Juanita and get out of this area completely. He would leave it up to Galvez what to do about the horses. The man had plenty of men. He could take care of it however he chose.

  “You are all nothing but a bunch of thieves,” he sneered. He turned and barged through the doors to see two men in buckskins blatantly leading away the palominos. How he longed to draw his gun and shoot them both in the back! He never should have stopped first in Sonoma.

  He went to his own horse and mounted up, and the men in the tavern came outside, still laughing. “Get your ass out of town, Indian,” the one called Hughes shouted.

  Tom backed his horse, glaring at Hughes with eyes that gave the man the chills and wiped the smile off his face. Tom decided to check the urge to take his case further. He could do nothing until he knew if Juanita was all right. He jerked the reins and turned his horse to ride out of town.

  “Go on back to Colorado,” one of the men behind him yelled. “They’ve got plenty of Indians there!”

  He heard more laughter, and his fury knew no bounds. In only a moment they had stolen away the beautiful palominos for which Galvez had paid so much money. They had apparently taken over the whole town and the outlying area, which might include the Galvez estate.

  How he hated men like Hughes and those with him. He would get Juanita to safety, and then if Galvez wanted to try to get his horses back, he would help the man. Perhaps if they talked to the one called John Frémont, they could get some help. Surely this Frémont had no idea some of the Americans were taking such drastic and unfair measures.

  Hughes watched Tom disappear, then turned to one of the men. “Saddle my horse, will you? I’m heading back to the Galvez place. I’m getting an itch to have another turn at that pretty little gal Hidalgo’s keeping there.”

  The other man shook his head. “Hidalgo charges too much in whiskey and cash for that one.”

  “She’s worth it.” Hughed rubbed his hand across his chest. “I haven’t seen anything that pretty in my whole life. If I leave now I can get there by night.”

  “You think that Indian will be any trouble to us?”

  “Hell, no. He’s just a damned worthless drifter and only one man. I expect he’ll head on back to where he came from. We’ve pretty much got this whole territory under control, Bailey—and that Frémont says help is coming by way of the coast. California belongs to us now. Men like Galvez and that Indian and the others learned that the hard way. The days of the wealthy Spanish landowners are over.”

  They both laughed and went inside.

  Tom headed toward the Galvez ranch, debating whether to go there first or to Sutter’s Fort to talk to John Frémont. Did Frémont know what the men in Sonoma were up to? Surely he would not condone horse stealing and whatever other theft must be taking place. Maybe Frémont and his men would protect the innocent people who were suffering from this American takeover. And if he talked to Frémont first, he would know better what to tell Antonio Galvez. Perhaps Frémont would help get back the palominos. The last thing Tom wanted was to go back to Galvez without the horses. Maybe Galvez would be so angry he would not consider talking about marriage to Juanita.

  Tom headed for the fort. He was sure he could reach it by nightfall, and it was not that far from the Galvez estate. He could be back at the r
anch by the next day, perhaps with some help from Frémont. His mind fought his heart, which told him to go directly to Juanita. He struggled to decide what was the most logical thing to do—what would be most helpful to Antonio Galvez—and that was to go to Sutter’s Fort first. He wanted to be sure Galvez acted rationally and did not go riding into Sonoma after his horses, risking an all-out battle with Hughes and his men.

  He rode steadily, hoping his already weary horse could make the last few miles before dark. After several hours he spotted smoke from a campfire not far ahead. The presence of ruffians looking for trouble in the area made him wary, and he slowed his horse. He veered into some brush, heading along the foot of a high bank that would keep him hidden from whoever was camped up ahead. He rode for close to a half mile, then dismounted, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to check on who was camped on the other side of the ridge. A man had to know his odds now. Whoever was camped there could be part of more American volunteers, and they were no more than a day’s ride from the Galvez estate.

  He dismounted and tied his horse, ducking through the underbrush and making his way up the barren ridge dotted with scrub grass and wildflowers. He reached the top, carefully peering over and spotting the campfire again at the foot of the ridge. There were three men sitting around it, talking loudly to each other.

  Tom moved back down out of sight and walked closer, then moved back to the top, removing his hat and lying on his belly to watch and listen.

  “I say we just go in there and clean them out!” one shouted in Spanish.

  “There are too many of them!”

  “Not anymore. Many of them left when they herded us to the fort. They took what they wanted and left! My wife and children are still there and I am going back! And what about that poor Galvez girl? God only knows what has happened to her!”

  The entire conversation was in Spanish, and the voices sounded familiar to Tom. He scooted closer, moving down behind a huge boulder above the men. He daringly peered around the boulder, recognizing Andres Terres, a Galvez ranch hand who lived in a small house on Galvez land with a wife and small son. Tom’s heart pounded harder. He recognized the other two men also—Jesus Vasquez and a man called Rico. Tom knew Jesus the best, had worked closely with the man, who helped Tom with the injured and ailing horses and helped in breaking in new horses.