American Blood

by Jason Manning

  3

  The next day Hugh Falconer rode into Taos. He found Delgado in his bed, attended by his concerned mother, who had not left his side. Jeremy was there, too. But Angus was conspicuously absent, and when the frontiersman asked his whereabouts, Jeremy announced that the elder McKinn was in the process of turning the town upside down, looking for the man who had tried to kill his son.

  "So it has begun," said Falconer.

  "What?" asked Juanita. "What has begun?"

  "Never mind, Mother," said Delgado. "How did you hear of this so quickly, Hugh?"

  "That kind of news travels fast. Simeon Turley tells me he's heard rumors of a conspiracy brewing right here in Taos. A conspiracy by those opposed to New Mexico becoming a territory of the United States."

  Juanita McKinn looked up at Falconer, but she said nothing, and there was no surprise in her eyes. The frontiersman realized that this woman, who had lived here all her adult life and knew the people well, was aware of the undercurrent of violence rushing just beneath the placid surface of the province. She wasn't as naive as Delgado assumed. She was just acting as though she were.

  "You were to be an example, Del," continued Falconer. "An example to anyone who might contemplate betraying this conspiracy. Since you've collaborated with us Americans, you're a perfect target."

  "I think you ought to get out of here," Jeremy told Delgado. "Maybe you could go back to St. Louis. I know one person in particular who would be happy to see you."

  "If you'll recall," said Delgado wryly, "there is also a person in St. Louis who wants me dead."

  Jeremy shrugged. "That has probably blown over by now." But Delgado thought he was saying that for Juanita McKinn's benefit.

  "I won't go," said Delgado. "And that isn't foolish pride talking, either. I can't leave just yet. These people you're talking about, Hugh, have no honor. If they'll send an assassin to murder me in the dark of night, they could try to harm my father or mother."

  "I don't care about that," said Juanita. "Your safety comes first."

  "But your safety comes first with me. I am staying until this matter is resolved, and that's my final word."

  Juanita turned to Falconer. "What can we do?"

  "Not much. Wait. Keep your eyes open and your guns loaded. It won't be long."

  "I'll ride back to Santa Fe immediately," said Jeremy, "and report everything to Colonel Doniphan. I must convince him—and he must convince General Kearny—to stay until whatever is going to happen happens."

  A half hour later, Angus McKinn returned, cold fury on his craggy face.

  "No one can tell me anything. Bloody amazing, isn't it, that nary a soul in Taos heard a single word about a plot to murder my son? Or about a man with a peculiar wound to the neck. I thought I had friends here. After all these years I see I was mistaken on that score."

  "Now Angus," said Juanita, "perhaps they are too afraid to talk."

  McKinn uttered a skeptical grunt in response. He looked sternly at Delgado. "I do not approve of what you've done, lad. You shouldna have been involved."

  "I disagree, Father. In something like this a man cannot straddle the fence. He can't, and he shouldn't. Jeremy's sister taught me that."

  "I don't object to the Americans taking over," said Angus. "I have no love for the tyrants who reside in the presidential palace at Mexico City. The events of 1824 gave me high hopes, but men like Pareda and Santa Anna have dashed those hopes. I left Scotland to get out from under the English heel, you know. Still, I didna want to jeopardize my business concerns—that is to say, your future, son."

  "Well, I've done that for you," replied Delgado. "In the eyes of those who oppose the Americans, I am a traitor. And you, Father, are guilty by association."

  Angus sighed and nodded, his expression one of grim resolve. " 'Tis true, and I canna deny it. You know I'll stand by you, Del, and the devil take the hindmost."

  4

  Delgado spent more than a fortnight recuperating. He was weak as a kitten, having lost a lot of blood, and the doctor admonished him to stay in bed until the wound had completely closed, lest he retard the healing process. For the first week he slept a lot—so much that he began to wonder if something was really wrong with him, something mental rather than physical. He could scarcely keep his eyes open for more than an hour or two. Jeremy told him not to worry. The same thing had happened to him after he'd been wounded at Resaca de la Palma.

  After that first week, feeling stronger every day, Delgado began to rebel against his confinement, a rebellion that finally won him the right to spend some time in the courtyard, sitting in the warm sun of late morning, or in the cool afternoon shade.

  He parents were afraid that another attempt might be made on his life; Delgado gave that prospect very little thought. Apart from being bored and feeling isolated, his main concern was Sarah Bledsoe. Impatient, he prayed that something—anything—might happen so that the situation here resolved itself. The waiting, the not knowing, was the worst part. Then he could return to St. Louis and resolve that situation.

  Angus hired several men to guard the house. Falconer told him that these hired hands were practically worthless if their loyalty was to money and not the McKinn family. Delgado thought Falconer was right about that, but Angus kept the men on. He didn't agree with the mountain man. In his book loyalty to money was the kind one could really rely on. For his part, Delgado made certain his derringer was always within easy reach. He would not be caught by surprise a second time.

  Jeremy rode to Santa Fe to report the assassination attempt to Colonel Doniphan, and returned a few days later. "The Colonel has assigned me the task of keeping an eye on developments here in Taos," he announced. But it seemed to Delgado that Jeremy's true purpose was to keep an eye on him. Every time Delgado looked up, Jeremy was there. When confronted, Jeremy just smiled and said, "Well, I can't very well let my future brother-in-law get killed, now can I?"

  "I don't know that Sarah even thinks of me anymore," admitted Delgado, despondent and feeling sorry for himself. "It all happened so quickly between us. It could be possible that I misconstrued her feelings for me."

  "You're selling my sister short."

  "Are you sure you want me for a brother-in-law? After all, you were angry that I did not choose to defend her honor against Brent Horan's insults."

  Jeremy became very serious then. "You'll have no choice, Del. Mark my words, if you go back to St. Louis, you will have to kill Horan, or he will kill you. Is your love for Sarah strong enough that you are willing to take that risk?"

  "It is," said Delgado without hesitation. He did not think it would come to that.

  "Then the answer is yes. I would be honored to have Delgado McKinn as my brother-in-law."

  The next day Jeremy was in a grim mood.

  "I have just received word from Colonel Doniphan that General Kearny is leaving tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. He is going on to California, Del, and taking the dragoons with him. Doniphan says Kearny is convinced that the people of New Mexico are content with the change in government, that there is not and never will be any organized resistance. In a couple of months Doniphan will be on the march, too, south into Mexico." He glanced bleakly at Delgado.

  "Leaving Governor Bent and the rest of us to fend for ourselves if Kearny is wrong," remarked Delgado.

  Jeremy nodded. "I'm afraid that's the case. Supposedly, another regiment of Missouri volunteers is being formed, and will be on the Santa Fe Trail in a few weeks' time. But I personally don't expect them until early next year."

  "Well," said Delgado, philosophically, "that's where the glory is, Jeremy—California and Mexico. You must admit your volunteers have been spoiling for a fight since they left Fort Leavenworth."

  "But the fight will be right here, I'm certain of it. I just can't seem to convince anyone else."

  "I'll be sorry to see you go."

  "Who says I'm going anywhere?"

  "I just assumed that when the First Missouri march
ed, you'd be going with them . . ."

  "I have a few cards up my sleeve," said Jeremy, with a sly wink. "Oh, and something else." He drew a letter from beneath his roundabout and handed it to Delgado. "This is addressed to you. It smells like my sister's perfume."

  Delgado's heart lurched in his chest as he took the letter. Jeremy was grinning at him, and only after Delgado had paused, the letter half open, to look pointedly at him did Jeremy remember his manners.

  "Oh, I suppose you would like some privacy."

  "That would be nice, thank you."

  Chuckling, Jeremy left the courtyard. His hands shaking, Delgado finished opening the letter. Would his worst fears be realized? Or his wildest dreams?

  My dearest Del,

  I have missed you terribly, and I tell you now what I should have told you before you left St. Louis—that I love you with all my heart and soul and I will wait forever, if I must. Only I hope that very soon I can hold you in my arms and smother you with kisses. . . .

  Delgado heaved a sigh of relief. All was well. Then he laughed, thinking about Jacob Bledsoe. If Sarah's poor father ever read this letter, he would despair of his daughter ever becoming a proper young lady.

  5

  A few weeks later, Charles Bent, the newly appointed governor of New Mexico Territory, left Santa Fe and returned to his home in Taos and his wife, Maria Jaramillo. The Bents lived in a modest adobe house on the north side of the plaza, only a few hundred yards away from the McKinn residence. On the morning after his arrival, Bent strolled across the plaza and paid a call.

  "I was informed of the attempt on your life," Bent told Delgado. "I feel confident that you are no longer in any real danger."

  "I don't know how you can be so sure," protested Angus McKinn.

  "There was a conspiracy, true enough," replied Bent. "But we have nipped it in the bud. They were waiting for General Kearny's departure for California. Before they could carry out their plans, an informer came forward. All the ringleaders save two have been arrested. Those two are Diego Archuleta and a man called Tomas Ortiz."

  "Archuleta!" exclaimed Angus.

  Bent nodded. "The man in charge of Manuel Armijo's provincial militia, and his lieutenant governor. If you recall, he was not happy with Armijo for capitulating without a fight. When he learned that Armijo had lied to him—that more than just the northern portion of the province had been given up—he began to scheme."

  "What was the plan?" asked Delgado.

  "They were fanning the flames of discontent among the peons and the Pueblos. In the dead of night they were going to take me as a hostage and storm the arsenal at Santa Fe. Every American soldier was to be killed on sight. No quarter would be given. It was a devilish plot. But the danger has passed. My only regret is that we failed to capture those two, Archuleta and Ortiz. Colonel Doniphan has several patrols out searching for them, but I fear the fugitives will make good their escape into Chihuahua.

  "Sadly," continued Bent, "it has come to light that a number of Santa Fe's leading citizens were actively involved in the planned uprising. Manuel Chaves, Miguel Pino, and his brother Nicholas, to name a few. Furthermore, we suspect Father Antonio Martinez of playing a key role in inciting the people to revolt. We don't yet have enough evidence against the padre to arrest him."

  "What do you intend to do with these men?" asked Angus.

  "I will show them more mercy than they intended to show us," replied Bent. "If they agree to take an oath of allegiance to the United States, I will set them free."

  "Set them free?" roared Angus. "You canna do that, Charley. They'll have another chance to slit our throats while we sleep."

  "It's absolutely the right thing to do, Father," said Delgado.

  "I think so, too," said Bent solemnly. "I want to prove to the people that they will be fairly treated as long as I occupy the Palace of the Governors. My predecessor no doubt would have already executed the conspirators."

  "It will be seen as a sign of weakness on your part," insisted Angus.

  "You've become quite bloodthirsty, Angus."

  "Aye, that I have—ever since my son was nearly murdered by one of these rascals."

  "Thank heavens you were forewarned, Charles," said Juanita.

  "Yes, but it's all over now. To celebrate, I would like to invite all of you to dinner tomorrow evening."

  "We'll be there," promised Angus.

  "We'd be delighted to accept," said Juanita.

  "That's settled, then. If you will excuse me, I have a few more calls to make this morning. Until tomorrow."

  That evening, at the dinner table, Delgado announced his intention to return immediately to St. Louis. "If I leave in the next few days," he said, "I should reach my destination before the worst of winter sets in."

  "I think you should definitely wait until spring," said Angus. "I'll be sending a caravan up the trail in April. It would be safer for you—"

  "I won't be traveling alone, Father," said Delgado. "Hugh Falconer is eager to see his family again. He will jump at the chance to go with me."

  "Still," said Angus grimly, "I don't see why—"

  "Dear," said Juanita with a smile, "our son has made up his mind. He is in love, and you will not persuade him to stay. I remember how determined you were thirty years ago, even though my family counseled patience."

  "Because they hoped you would come to your senses and turn me away," said Angus, chuckling. "Oh, very well then. But what about Jacob? And this fellow you told us about—Horan?"

  "Sarah has written that her father is beginning to come around," replied Delgado happily. "As for Brent Horan, she says he is seldom seen outside of Blackwood these days. His father died a few months ago. They still aren't sure what killed him. Ever since then Horan has kept to himself. It sounds to me as though Horan wants nothing more to do with Sarah. And why should he? She's become what he despises most—an abolitionist."

  Angus rose and came around the table. Delgado also got to his feet, not knowing exactly what to expect. His father extended a hand, and when Delgado took it, Angus embraced his son.

  "My prayers and good wishes go with you, boy."

  "I would not leave," said Delgado, his voice thick with emotion, "except that matters here seem finally resolved."

  That very night, when the streets of Taos ran red with blood, he found out how wrong he was.

  6

  In the early morning hours angry voices in the plaza and an insistent hammering at his front door roused Charles Bent from deep slumber. As he got up to don a heavy cloak over his nightshirt—the night was cold and the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers glowing in a gray mound of ash—his wife, Maria, awoke startled and fearful from bad dreams and asked him what the matter was.

  "I don't know, my dear," he replied. "I have no idea who could be at our door at this ungodly hour."

  "Don't go, Charles. Don't open the door."

  Bent smiled and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Now, now, my dear. There is no cause for alarm."

  "I fear for your safety, my husband," she confessed, suffering a strong premonition of disaster.

  "Who would wish to harm me? I refuse to believe that these people, whom we know so well, and who know me as a man who has always had their best interests at heart, would threaten me or my family over, of all things, a political issue. My own children have Mexican blood in their veins! And in the early days, before Taos had a doctor in residence, was it not I who nursed so many men, women, and children back to health? No, my dearest Maria, we have nothing to fear from these people."

  A moment later, he opened the door to confront a mob of about twenty individuals. Some of them were Mexicans, while the majority were Indians from the Taos Pueblo.

  "Two of our people are in jail," said one of the Pueblo Indians. "We want you to release them."

  Bent smiled grimly. He felt sure they were just testing him. Would his responsibilities as governor prevent him from doing a favor for his neighbors?


  "I cannot interfere with the process of law," he replied, affable. "I could not, even were I so inclined. But I assure you that if it is within my power to show clemency to these individuals of whom you speak, I will do so. What are their names and what are the charges against them?"

  A man in the rear of the crowd, whose features were concealed from Bent by the hood of his cloak, spoke up.

  "They are charged with being patriots to their country. For trying to defend their homeland against the American plunderers. From people just like you, Bent."

  Bent caught a glimpse of the knife's blade just before it was plunged into his belly. He gasped as the cold steel ripped through him. The man who had attacked him, a swarthy Pueblo, stepped back. Bent clutched at the wound, felt his own hot blood sticky on his hands, and gaped in disbelief at the man.

  "In the name of God, what have you done?"

  The man in the hooded cloak brandished a pistol and fired. Bent was blinded by the muzzle flash. The bullet struck him in the chin. He reeled backward and fell, then tried to crawl away, tried to shout a warning to his wife and children and the old Indian woman who had been Maria's devoted servant for more than thirty years. As he crawled, the men surrounded him. Grim and silent men, they stood and watched him in his agony. One of them slashed at him with a cane knife, inflicting wounds upon the arms that Bent threw up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. His mouth was full of blood, and he could make only incoherent sounds.

  Somehow he reached the courtyard around which his house was built, in the Mexican style. Here the man in the cloak said, "Finish it."

  By a supreme effort of will, Charles Bent grabbed the man's cloak and pulled himself upright. He threw the hood back so that he could identify the man who had ordered his execution.

  Diego Archuleta's stern, hawkish face was creased by a faint, chilling smile. "Yes, Governor. It is I, Colonel Archuleta. Did you think I would forsake my country without putting up a fight?"

  He shoved Bent away, and the American fell to the cold stones of the courtyard. Archuleta nodded to one of the Pueblo Indians. A cane knife rose and fell. The stroke completely severed Bent's head from his body.