Jubal Sackett (1985)

by L'amour, Louis - Sackett's 04

  “We have no horses,” I repeated. “You are escaping from the Indians?”

  He was facing me now, a squarely built, not unhandsome rascal, bearded and with what seemed a freshly broken nose. He was Spanish without a doubt, and he had recently been in a fight of some kind.

  “I have seen no Indians,” he replied stiffly. “Not lately, anyway. I must get back to Mexico.”

  “It is a long way,” I replied. “You can get a horse in the Spanish settlements.”

  “Days!” He spoke angrily, impatiently. “Every minute is precious!”

  “There is food,” Itchakomi said.

  He glanced at her, looked again. “My God,” he said. “You’re beautiful!”

  I was suddenly angry. Who did he think he was, anyway? “She is a Sun,” I spoke coolly, “a Sun of the Natchee. She is a princess.”

  “I can believe it.” He looked at her again. “Such a woman! In such a place!”

  He irritated me, so I grabbed his arm and pointed the way. He tore his arm free and reached for his belt. There was a dagger there.

  He glared at me and I shrugged. “Keep on going, then. You’ve a long way before the settlements.”

  He swore. Then he said, “I am a fool! You spoke of food?”

  Indicating our cave, I led the way. When I glanced back Itchakomi was watching me. I thought she was smiling, and for some reason, that made me angrier still.

  He was no common soldier—that was obvious. Perhaps the leader of a wiped-out expedition? I asked him. “No,” he replied to my question, “not wiped-out.” He accepted the food I offered and began to eat. “We quarreled,” he said then. “Diego wished to go no further. I wanted to push on. We fought.”

  “You lost?”

  “I won.” He swallowed, gulped water, and then examined the piece of meat he was eating and chose the place to bite. Then he looked over at me. “I won,” he repeated, “and that dog of a Diego set the others upon me.”

  He ate, drank, and then paused again, gesturing with the hand that held the meat. “They tied me. They would take me back to be tried for mutiny. It would mean my death. My death, d’you hear?

  “So I escaped. I shall return and tell my story first, and then we shall see! Moreover”—there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes—“I shall have something to offer.”

  “A bribe?”

  “A gift. A very special gift.” He smiled at me. “Thank you, my friend, for being here. I was wondering what I could do, how I could appeal to a man of his very special tastes. Now I know.”

  He talked no more, but he had aroused my curiosity. He recovered amazingly. With the food, the drink, and a bit of rest he was a new man.

  “You might think I was a fool to challenge Diego,” he commented. “He was the leader and I but a follower, yet had anything happened to him, I would have been captain. I was the only man of rank, and Diego, the fool, insisted on holding to his orders, which were to go so far and no farther and not to risk hostility from strange Indians.

  “Trade! That was what was wanted! Trade bedamned, as you English would say. Gold is what I wanted, and I knew where to find it!Gold!

  “I could not make him see reason so I risked all.” He glanced up at me. “A man who will not risk all is a fool! A child!”

  “If it is gold you want,” I suggested. “Diego evidently thought first of duty.”

  His contempt was obvious. “Duty? A word for slaves! For servants! A man’s first duty is to himself!” He shot me an impatient glance. “Of course it is gold I want! Gold can buy whatever it is you wish. It can buy power, position, women … whatever.” Then he smiled suddenly and said, “And women can buy all those things as well.”

  He threw a sly glance my way.

  “You did not see any Indians when coming here?”

  He shrugged. “A camp that I avoided. A dozen lodges on the bank of this river out there.” He looked thoughtful. “Six or seven miles beyond the opening yonder.”

  His eyes were busy, estimating everything. What he had in mind I did not know, but he was making a quick judgment of all we had and what we might be doing here.

  “English?” he asked.

  “I am. I was born here, in America.”

  “You’ll be thrown into prison if the Spanish find you here,” he commented, “although I might intercede for you.”

  He sat back and looked around him again. “Diego, now, he would arrest you at once and return you to Santa Fe. Then you would be sent to Mexico, in chains.”

  “We hope to avoid that,” I said. “We do not expect to meet your Diego.”

  “I could speak for you,” he said, “if you will do something for me.”

  “When spring comes and we can travel again, we shall be leaving here.”

  Leaving him there with Keokotah I went outside and looked back over the route he had used. His tracks were visible for some distance. He had pointed a finger at us and if he was pursued they would certainly find us all. Moreover, any Indian who discovered his trail would follow it. I looked at the gray, overcast sky.

  Itchakomi was seated by the fire when I entered her cave. The women were working, and one of the men was chipping an arrowhead. I never ceased to marvel at their skill in chipping the finest flakes, especially the bird points, small arrowheads used in killing feathered game.

  She looked up as I entered, and I went and sat across the fire. We sat for several minutes in silence, and then I spoke.

  “You must have a care. He has left a trail the blind could follow.”

  She said nothing and irritably I shifted my seat. “He is a dangerous man.”

  She was amused. No doubt she thought me jealous, but what had I to be jealous of? Yet he worried me.

  “He has something on his mind. I could see it when he looked at you.”

  There was laughter in her eyes. “Most men do,” she said.

  My cheeks were flushing with impatience and irritation. “I did not mean that. I meant something more. I do not know what. Just be careful.”

  “Oh, I shall!”

  A bit longer I sat, feeling uncomfortable, and then I got up and walked out. Again I looked across the fields of snow. Nothing in sight but the tracks, a furrow in the snow pointing right at us. And after all our care!

  Gathering some wood from under nearby trees I made a pile near the cave mouth. It was something to keep my hands busy while my thoughts took off down another trail. Our only advantage lay in the fact that he was in a hurry to be off. From what I gathered he wished to be in Santa Fe to tell his story first, and he had implied he had something to offer.

  That night, when alone in the cave for a few minutes, I donned the coat of mail I had found near the village on the Arkansas. Over it I put my fringed buckskin hunting jacket, drawing the laces tight. Feeling with my fingers I assured myself no part of it was visible. Had I a mirror …

  I had not seen a mirror since leaving the settlement on Shooting Creek, almost a year ago. A year! And what had I done in that year? I had broken a leg and crossed the plains to the Shining Mountains. It was little enough, but when spring came we would be over the passes and into the lands beyond.

  My broken leg had mended well. True, I limped somewhat, but I could still walk and run. Of course, I had accomplished the mission given me by the Ni’kwana. I had found Itchakomi and delivered the message entrusted to me.

  Again I looked across the snow, but my mind was puzzling over the Spanishman. I could not make him out. Well, he wished to be on his way, and the sooner the better.

  When I went back inside he was sleeping. He was a powerfully built man and seemed quick in his movements despite the cold that must have stiffened his muscles. He would be a dangerous antagonist.

  Keokotah glanced at me but said nothing. I knew he did not like or trust the Spanishman and would be alert for mischief.

  Let the Spanishman rest and eat and be off. He would have caused us trouble enough.

  He thought only of his destination and what h
e would do there and had given no thought to hiding his trail, even had he been capable of it.

  Outside I looked toward the mountains, white with snow under the cold gray sky. A low wind stirred the snow, sending faint waves of it dusting across, settling, and then stirring again. It was bitterly cold still. I carried wood into the cave, then more wood.

  How lonely those icy ridges! Yet what treasures might lie there? Gold and silver, yes. Beauty intrigued me more, beauty and the glorious wonder of walking where none had walked before me. What else might await discovery? Strange plants and animals, unknown hollows in the hills, green and lovely in the summer. I could not wait to be wandering along their flanks, following nameless streams into nameless valleys. What more could man want than this? A land to discover, food for the hunting, a quiet place to rest when night falls.

  When I came back into the cave the Spanishman was sitting up.

  “We must talk together, you and I,” he said. “We are men of the world, and we can settle this small matter between us.”

  “What have you in mind?”

  He smiled, that quick, assured smile. “I want to buy the woman,” he said. “The tall one.”

  For a moment I was stunned. “You want tobuy her?”

  “Why not? She is an Indian, is she not? There are many women for you, and she can be useful to me for trading purposes. With her I could buy—”

  “I do not traffic in women,” I said, “nor is she mine to sell. She is her own woman.”

  “Bah!” He waved a careless hand. “No woman is her own, least of all an Indian woman. If you will not sell her or trade, I shall simply take her.”

  Chapter Twenty.

  The man’s audacity amazed me. For a moment I just looked at him. “Tomorrow,” I said, “you will be fit to travel. I would suggest you do just that.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “You will leave here at daybreak and you will leave alone.”

  He smiled, showing a fine set of white, even teeth. “And if I do not choose to?”

  “Bodies do not lie long upon the ground. The coyotes dispose of them.”

  His eyes were mocking but suddenly wary. He measured me carefully. Then his eyes shifted to Keokotah.

  “Do not think of him. It is I who would kill you. Itchakomi is one of our party. I am the head of that party. If she needs protection, I shall protect her.”

  “You said she was not your woman?”

  “She is not, yet she is under my protection.”

  We had not heard her enter. How long she had been standing there I did not know. We saw her at the same moment standing tall and still inside the cave mouth. A slight movement of air stirred her skirt.

  “She who is not your woman thanks you, but I shall need no protection.” As she spoke the Spanishman sat up, his eyes on hers.

  For the first time he realized the kind of woman she was, and certainly no queen upon a throne could have been more cool and imperious.

  “My name is Gomez,” he said. “You would be wise to remember it.”

  “Kitch!“She used the word contemptuously, and although he knew not its meaning he recognized the tone, and his face flushed.

  Ignoring him, she spoke to me. “We talk, you and me. We talk soon, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  She left the cave and he stared after her, his anger showing. “What does it mean, ‘kitch’?” he asked.

  “It is a Natchee word for dung,” I said cheerfully. “In this case it was an expression of opinion, I believe.”

  His face flushed with anger. “I’ll show that—!”

  Keokotah spoke suddenly. “You think fool! She brave! She strong! She have strong medicine! You nothing to her.”

  Gomez swore. He got to his feet, staggering a little. I watched him, noting that he favored his side. He started to speak again but I interrupted.

  “You are a guest here. Tomorrow you go. We will give you meat. Your settlements are to the south. Whatever you are, have been, or wish to be I do not know or care. You are conducting yourself as no gentleman would, and if you raise your voice or speak against anyone here, you will leave tonight.”

  His hand rested upon his waistband. He had a pistol there that I had glimpsed.

  “I do not wish to kill you, but if you were to draw that pistol under your hand, I would.”

  He had not seen my guns, but I was wearing them under the buffalo coat, which I had not removed since returning to the cave.

  He wanted to call my hand. It was in his mind, and I was ready.

  “What could you have better than a pistol?”

  My smile was cheerful. “A better pistol,” I said, “or something of the sort.”

  Abruptly, he sat down. “All right!” He waved a dismissing hand. “Forget what I have said! I am impatient! I did not know what manner of woman she was.” He looked at me. “She is truly an Indian?”

  “She is. She is like no Indian you have met. Pizzaro might have met someone similar in Peru.”

  “She is an Inca?Here? “

  “There may be a connection. I do not know. She is with us now, but she was the leader of her group.”

  “Group?”

  He had seen only four of us. I smiled at him. “She has ten strong fighting men with her, and some women. She has my protection if she wishes, but she does not need it. She has ten men who would have your scalp in no time, or they might simply geld you.”

  “Geldme?” His face flushed and then paled. “What kind of talk is that?”

  “It has happened,” I said, “to men who thought themselves too important.” I smiled again. “You are in a different land, my friend, and before you swagger too much you had best learn the customs of the country and the people.”

  A cold wind was blowing up outside, swirling the snow. We added fuel to the fire and then I went to my bed beyond the flames. Gomez, if that was his name, was staring into the fire, thinking.

  He was a bright man, and brave enough, I suspected, but his plans had gone awry, and now he would be considering his next move. That he did not wish to arrive back among his people empty-handed was obvious, as it also was that he had contempt for anyone’s feelings but his own. Yet he was no fool. He was a man of whom to be wary. In this, the smaller cave, there were but three of us.

  Whatever else Gomez was, he was now desperate. Beaten and driven from Diego’s expedition, he had stumbled upon us, hoping for a horse. Now he must head south through the snow to Santa Fe. I did not know the distance but it was many days travel, and I could not believe he was anxious for it.

  That night I slept not well. At every move he made my eyes flared open, and Keokotah was equally on edge, yet at daybreak he shouldered the small pack of food we gave him and without so much as a thank-you he walked off into the snow, going back the way he had come.

  We watched him move away, and Keokotah followed him, after he disappeared from sight, to see if he continued on his way.

  When he was gone I went to Itchakomi’s cave.

  Two women were making moccasins, another was stitching furs together for a robe, a fourth was cooking.

  We seated ourselves together near the wall. No men were in the cave. “They hunt for meat,” she explained. “The winter is long, and we eat much.”

  “This place is good,” I said. “You will bring your people here?”

  She was silent for several minutes. “I do not know. My people have lived long beside the river. It is warm there and what they plant will grow. Here they must learn new ways. The planting seasons will be different. I do not believe they will wish to leave the warmth and the river. They will stay, and hope for the best.”

  “But you will tell them of this place?”

  “People do not lightly leave what they have always known. Our old ones are buried there. The young who died are buried there also. Our memories are there, and they will turn their eyes from danger.”

  “And you?”

  “Their place is my place also. I must be wit
h them. I must lead and I must advise.”

  “If the Great Sun dies while you are gone?”

  “If I do not return in time, another will take his place.”

  For a time we did not speak and then I said, tentatively, “It is lovely here, and in the spring—”

  “When very young I went one time to the mountains. I went with my mother, my father, and the Ni’kwana. There were others, too. We went to trade. We went to a long valley with forest all about and a small stream. There was a stockade—”

  “It was my home.”

  She looked at me. “I do not know—”

  “There was no other, except far away near the sea. We traded with the Cherokee, the Creek, and yes, the Natchee.”

  “We walked for many days after the river. When I saw the mountains I could not believe. Ni’kwana had spoken of mountains, but—”

  “These are higher, some of them.”

  “I loved the mountains! Nobody understood but the Ni’kwana. I believe that was why he chose me to come here.”

  “It was not an easy thing for a woman to do.”

  “I am a Sun.”

  The fire was burning low, the women worked, and firelight flickered on the walls, reminding me of the cave of the dancing shadows.

  “Who knows what the Ni’kwana thinks? Long ago when I was small I used to tell him of my dreams.” She looked over at me. “Do you have dreams?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “We know there is a time after this because we see those who have died in our dreams. We are in the afterworld, and my mother is there and my father.”

  She turned to me suddenly. “What will you do when the cold is gone?”

  “Go into the mountains. I want to see what is there.”

  “I told him of a dream. I told only the Ni’kwana. It was a dream of a boy. The boy walked on the mountains. He was alone, always alone.”

  “What did the boy do? Where was he going?”

  She shrugged. “He was in the mountains. He walked alone. He did not do anything. Oh, yes! Once he met a bear.”

  “A bear?”

  “A very large bear. I was afraid for the boy, but he spoke to the bear and the bear reared up on his hind legs to listen. The bear had a white streak on the side of his face, perhaps from an old wound. The bear peered at the boy who talked to him and then the bear got down on all four feet and went away.”