Follow the Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  “Of course, señor.”

  8

  The “six, maybe seven” sleeps mentioned by the savages were to be cut to five, according to Garcia. He wished to spare neither horses nor men as they pushed rapidly ahead.

  They encountered one other village after two “sleeps” and, on questioning, received the same story. Yes, there was such a hair-face. Many of the people in this village had seen and talked to him. Beyond that information, the conversation bogged down again in the everpresent language difficulty. Again, however, there was the mention that the hair-faced one was honored. They spent the night and forged rapidly onward next day.

  Apparently, the village they sought was somewhat larger than most. The trail was well traveled and seemed plainer and broader as they came closer to their destination. Smaller paths straggled in through the brushy plain and from the canebrakes along the streams, joining the main pathway. It reminded Sanchez of a river, growing in size as it was joined by smaller tributaries along its course.

  It was shortly after noon on the day they all anticipated, when they encountered two young natives with bows and arrows, hunting rabbits. The two were fearful at first, but Lizard was able to set them at ease.

  Yes, the village was ahead. Word had preceded the party and they were expected, but their motives were apparently suspect. To reassure the savages, Garcia gave them some smalll gifts and asked that they go ahead to their village. The two nodded, pleased. They loped out of sight down the trail at the peculiar jogtrot that seemed the normal gait for long distances among these people.

  Shadows were lengthening before it began to be apparent that they were approaching the village. A smoky haze from cooking fires hung over a shallow valley ahead. Soon curious people ventured out to meet the travelers, walking alongside the horses and jabbering excitedly to each other. Lizard talked back to them, in his glory as interpreter for the expedition.

  They threaded their way down the main path between scattered huts and approached a knot of men who appeared to be leaders of the encampment. Lizard conversed with them briefly, then turned, pointing to one of the men.

  “Him chief. Hair-face there.” He indicated one of the long council houses nearby.

  The man identified as chief proudly led the way to the council house and beckoned them inside. The others stepped back in deference to Don Pedro and the old man stooped to enter. Cabeza and Sanchez followed. The chief beckoned again and pointed to the far end of the shadowy room.

  Their eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness. A recumbent figure lay on a rush mat, rising to an elbow to greet them.

  “Hair-face!” said Lizard proudly.

  The object of their gaze was a boy of some thirteen or fourteen years, a scruffy fringe of beard sprouting along his jaw and upper lip. Flat-lidded eyes and a vacant stare gave evidence to mental deficiency. Saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth, which spread in a blank, childlike grin.

  In silence, the travelers stared. Was this pitiful animal-like creature that on which the hopes of Don Pedro Garcia had been focused? This could not be the lost Garcia heir. This was hardly more than a child, a half-breed probably, and obviously an idiot.

  Sanchez finally realized the truth. The “big medicine” so proudly mentioned by poor Lizard must have to do with a curious custom among the savages. Madmen and lunatics, he had heard, were thought to be possessed of spirits. Therefore, to avoid angering the spirits, such unfortunates were treated with great deference and protected from all harm.

  “Mother of God!” Sanchez whispered, crossing himself.

  “Sanchez!” Garcia roared.

  The idiot boy on the mat jumped in fright and began to cry at the noise. Garcia whirled and grasped the cowering Sanchez by the front of his tunic.

  “Son of a snake!” The old don’s voice trembled with rage. “For this you drag me halfway around the earth?”

  Don Pedro’s great sword came whispering out of its scabbard, gleaming dully in the dim light. Sanchez squealed in terror and fell to his knees, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to avoid watching the final blow descend.

  “Stop!” The clear voice of Cabeza rang across the room. “It is not his fault, Señor Garcia!”

  The young lieutenant stepped quickly between the two to plead with the distraught old man.

  “Please, señor, Sanchez has said it was not here. The place would be much further north.”

  Sanchez, white-faced, dared to open his eyes and nod in frantic agreement. He was still unable to speak. Cabeza continued, somehow sensing that the flow of words was staying the old man’s hand.

  “He tells of a different people, who live in leather tents and hunt the wild cattle. And, señor,” his voice lowered and became confidential, “if you kill him, who is there to lead us to that place?”

  His eyes still fixed on the cowering Sanchez, Don Pedro sheathed his sword. He whirled on his heel without a word and strode stiffly from the lodge. Sanchez, still on his knees and too weak to rise, made little gasping noises. Cabeza helped him to his feet.

  “Him not hair-face?” Lizard was completely bewildered by this exciting turn of events.

  “Not same hair-face. Wrong hair-face!” Cabeza attempted explanation, since Sanchez was still not able to communicate. Obviously, Lizard still did not fully understand. Cabeza was not certain that he himself did. The visitors filed outside into the early evening.

  Don Pedro was nowhere to be seen. In his absence, Ramon Cabeza gave orders to camp for the night. It was a strained evening. At every motion or sound, Sanchez jumped in terror, fearful that Don Pedro would return with his sword.

  Eventually, after full darkness, the old don did return. He spoke to no one, but sought his sleeping blankets. Sanchez came out of temporary hiding and the camp began to settle down for the night.

  To smooth over the incident, Cabeza took it on himself to take gifts to the leaders of the village, with a special gift of a mirror for the unfortunate boy who was the center of all the misunderstanding. Sanchez had recovered to the extent that he was able to accompany the lieutenant and Lizard and assist in the giving of the presents and the attempted explanations.

  Sanchez had been convinced that he was as good as dead and it had been a very sobering experience. Yet, there was another experience which was equally mind-boggling. Ramon Cabeza had saved his life. It was the first time in his memory that anyone had intervened on his behalf—in anything.

  More puzzling to the devious mind of Sanchez was the reason. Why had Cabeza done such a thing, when he obviously had nothing to gain? Sanchez had felt, since their conversation a few nights ago, that the lieutenant had evaluated him quite accurately. There was little to make him believe that Cabeza respected him or even liked him very much. Cabeza was merely willing to tolerate and cooperate with him if it would be helpful to the Señor Garcia’s quest.

  Ah yes, that must be it. Cabeza knew that the search depended on the memory of Sanchez. Almost forgotten was the uneasy thought that the lieutenant half-suspected the truth. The fact that Sanchez did not know where he was leading them must have crossed the quick mind of Ramon Cabeza.

  For now, Sanchez was happy merely to be alive. Let tomorrow take care of itself.

  The morning did come, of course. Everyone in the party was tense and uneasy, wondering which direction they would take. Don Pedro still spoke to no one. Would he now turn back, having failed in his quest? Even Cabeza was reluctant to bring up the subject. He elected to wait until time to start the day’s march.

  Sanchez avoided Don Pedro as long as possible, but eventually, as it came time to mount up, the two had to make contact. The old don stepped into the stirrup and straightened himself, ramrod-stiff in the saddle. He glanced over the assembling column. It was noticeable that his face was drawn. Don Pedro Garcia had spent a sleepless night.

  His steely gaze fell on the still-frightened Sanchez for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle in its quiet tones.

  “Well, Sanchez, which way now?
”

  9

  Cabeza had done some very deep thinking as a result of the incident just past. There had come a sense of responsibility that he felt forced upon him. At the beginning of the expedition, he had envisioned himself as merely an officer of lancers. The party was under command of the Señor Garcia, for whom he had complete respect and loyalty. It would be guided by Sanchez, whose job it was to show the way, regardless of what anyone else thought of him as a person.

  Now, Cabeza was forced to re-evaluate his own position. The incident back in the Caddo village had made a number of facts quite clear. Don Pedro could easily become unstable enough to exhibit poor judgment. In addition, he was, after all, an old man. He could easily fall victim to an illness or accident. Then he, Ramon Cabeza, would have to assume command of the party, because there was no one else to do so. Somehow, Cabeza had overlooked this fact. He had grown up with the image of the elder Garcia before him as an invincible figure. It was with a great deal of misgiving that he thought of attempting to fill such mighty boots.

  And then there was Sanchez. Cabeza suspected, of course, that the devious little man had very little knowledge of where he was leading them. Despite this, Sanchez’s story had been accurate thus far. Cabeza was inclined to listen to him, though not to trust him to any extent.

  He now realized, however, that if anything happened to Sanchez, as it nearly had last night, that they would be in a strange country without a guide.

  Perhaps Lizard could be of help—if he could talk to him. Would it be possible to learn the language of the other? It seemed too difficult a task. He noticed, however, that when Lizard conversed with Sanchez, he always used many exaggerated gestures.

  Cabeza asked Sanchez about this as they rode.

  “Who knows?” shrugged Sanchez. “They talk with their hands.”

  So the gesturing has no significance, at least to Sanchez. The lieutenant thought it over more fully and was still certain that something has meaning. Lizard, he recalled, whenever he used the term “hair-face,” always accompanied the words with a motion of his hand along his jaw. Cabeza determined to try an experiment.

  During the noon halt, he managed to sit near Lizard. He still wondered exactly how he would accomplish this. Then he noticed a lancer near them who had a full beard. It was a magnificent brush, actually something of a legend among the lancers. Cabeza caught Lizard’s eye, pointed to the dozing lancer, and made the little hand motion along the jaw. Lizard looked startled, then burst into laughter, nodding vigorously.

  “Hair-face! Big hair-face!”

  As he said the words, Lizard repeated the hand sign, adding a gesture that could only be translated as “big.”

  Aha, thought Cabeza. It is a hand sign thing. He must learn more. He picked up his waterskin and took a sip, then offered it to Lizard with a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as a question. The other nodded, pointed to the stream nearby, and made a hand sign with a fluttering, flowing motion of the fingers. Of course! “Water.”

  By the time they resumed travel, Cabeza understood the signs for several common words. He was elated, but probably no more so than Lizard. The young native was eager to show him more signs.

  Sanchez, of course, was irritable and moody. He resented the fact that, suddenly, Cabeza could communicate with their interpreter better than he. In addition, both were obviously enjoying it.

  As the days passed and the party traveled further north, Cabeza became more adept at the use of the signs. He was constantly amazed at the breadth of ideas that could be transmitted in this way.

  After many sleeps, the travelers had entered a gradually changing landscape; the plain was more rolling, the grasses taller. In some areas, there were sizable valleys and hillsides covered with trees, most of which appeared to be various species of oaks. At one vantage point where they paused for a noon rest, it was possible to see for great distances in any direction. With this advantage, it was apparent that there was a rather abrupt line running in the general direction of their travel. To the east of this wavering margin were the tree-covered hills and valleys. To the west stretched the rolling plain, as far as the eye could see, finally becoming lost in the blue of distance. The party swung slightly to the west for easier traveling in the grassland when the march resumed.

  It was toward evening of the same day that they sighted the smoke of a village ahead. To the travelers’ surprise, the dwellings were completely different from the thatched square houses of the Caddoes. These were grass structures, but shaped like beehives in appearance, with pointed tops.

  Lizard approached some of the inhabitants and, in due time, the party was ushered forward to a larger structure in the center of the village. This, they assumed, was this group’s version of the council house.

  Cabeza was uneasy about entering. The openings, one on each side, were only waist-high. His military mind rebelled at the idea of entering practically on all fours in a completely defenseless stance. He managed to step quickly through and straighten as rapidly as possible. He glanced around the large circular room but found nothing threatening. The entrances were well planned for defense, he conceded. Any enemy must enter one at a time—and in a defenseless position. The major threat to the defenders would be that the attackers could use fire. The dry grass thatch would be terribly vulnerable.

  The visitors were seated on the white clay floor across from the leaders of the village and a parlay began. Lizard explained their mission and the usual small gifts were distributed.

  It was at about this time that Cabeza made a startling observation. Most of the dialogue was carried on in the sign language. As he observed further, it became apparent that Lizard spoke very little of the language of these savages. Likewise, they understood little of his.

  It had not occurred to the young lieutenant that here was an entirely different nation, with not only different dwellings, but different customs and language. Then the people of the skin tents as described by Sanchez must be yet another group, with their own language.

  Cabeza’s most significant observation, however, was that he was able to understand much of the dialogue in sign talk. How valuable, he immediately recognized, to be able to communicate with various tribes they encountered. He resolved to observe closely and master the skill, with the help of Lizard.

  Yes, the village chiefs were signing, they had seen Hair-faces before. No, they knew of none living with the natives. They had been only passing through.

  For some reason, it seemed that Don Pedro was now less impatient than before his great disappointment. He seemed willing to accept the statements of the natives at face value. At least, they knew of Hair-faces. This proved that some Spaniards had previously traveled this way. One of these could easily have been Juan Garcia.

  Perhaps it was only that the contact with a new and different tribe signified progress to the travelers. Whatever the reason, as they settled in for the night, there was a new feeling of optimism in their encampment.

  10

  Sanchez brooded over the obvious delight that Lizard was exhibiting in teaching the sign talk. Cabeza was quick to learn and soon could understand most of the exchange between the interpreter and the leaders of various groups they encountered.

  However, the lieutenant sensed that Sanchez resented his intrusion. He elected to remain aloof during the parlays with the natives. It was more expedient at times anyway for the other party to be unaware that one of the Hair-faces understood their sign talk.

  One wizened chief went so far as to approach Lizard with a suggestion that they could contrive together to defraud the travelers out of more gifts and trinkets. Lizard was appropriately indignant, but the spectacular response was on the part of Cabeza,. The lieutenant had caught enough of the drift of talk to recognize the attempt at subterfuge. He rose haughtily and, ignoring the chief, spoke in sign talk directly to Lizard.

  “Come! We will waste no talk with this fool!”

  He turned on his heel and left the parlay, while the faces
of the natives remained frozen in shocked surprise.

  It was noted at the next village that there was a great deal of deference to the travelers. They had long since realized that word was preceding them, telling of their coming. There was some discussion around the campfire as to how this might be accomplished. Some thought the native drums might echo a message, others that it was done with smoke signals. They had seen both during their travels.

  Finally, Cabeza realized what should have been obvious all along. They could ask Lizard. With a combination of signs and Spanish, he broached the question. Lizard shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious.

  “Men run ahead!”

  The party laughed uproariously. The mood was good. It had remained optimistic since Don Pedro’s change of attitude at the first of the beehive villages. Now the old don was very nearly his enthusiastic self again. He seemed to have accepted the fact that there would be many weeks of travel and search.

  Sanchez still carefully concealed the fact that he had no clear idea of their direction. He was beginning to be painfully aware of the fact that a showdown might ultimately be necessary. To cover his subterfuge, he pretended to recognize landmarks. He would stare at a uniquely shaped hill in the distance and nod, as if to himself, in satisfaction.

  In actuality, he recognized nothing at all. He had paid no attention to direction, even, on his previous expedition. One hill or grove or stream looked pretty much like another to him. He did take pains to keep the south wind at their backs and to keep pointing north. The country was greener and more pleasant here, which increased the general mood of optimism.

  They now saw more herds of the strange humpbacked cattle and the herds were larger. The animals showed no fear, but only raised shaggy heads to stare curiously as they passed. Sanchez described, during a noon halt, how the lancers on the previous expedition had delighted in hunting the animals. He recalled that they had furnished much meat for the party.