It was a time for thinking. To proceed south to Santa Fe for a proper marriage would put me into the hands of those who considered themselves my enemies. I would be imprisoned and probably sent in chains to Mexico for trial. What would happen to Itchakomi one could only guess, for despite the regulations laid down by the Spanish king forbidding enslavement of the Indians, it was done.
The Spanish would not accept my venture into their territory as being anything but a spying mission. Nor would they permit the establishment of a trading post by anyone not of their own. Diego was a practical soldier, but only a soldier and with no authority except over his own command. Diego was practical enough to realize that a post where they might obtain food or other supplies was much to be desired. There was always a difference of viewpoint between the soldier in the field and the man behind the desk.
So, from the Spanish I could expect nothing but trouble, and I would certainly hear again from Gomez.
The Komantsi were another risk. It was possible I might win them over, at least to tolerating my presence.
We would build a fort, but we would arrange an escape route, scouted and planned. We would have to secure trade goods, and we could trap for fur. At first it would be very difficult. Very difficult, indeed!
When I went back into camp Diego was up and seated by the fire. I filled a cup with coffee and sat across the fire from him.
“You know the land to the west?”
He shook his head. “We do not. Some patrols have gone there, and some have gone north, much farther than this, but we know little of the country.”
“The wild game?”
He shrugged. “What you know. Buffalo, elk, deer, antelope, bear—”
“Nothing larger?”
“Than a buffalo? What could be? We have seen them that weigh three thousand pounds, big bulls, very tough, very strong.”
“Bears?”
“Ah! There you have it. There are silver bears, very large. We have seen them. Black bears, also, but smaller. The silver bears—ah, they are huge! Very fierce!”
We talked long, and I thought him a friendly and a lonely man, pleased to be speaking with someone on a friendly basis.
“Coronado,” he said, “went far out upon the plains. He looked for golden cities. I think there are no golden cities. I think from far off someone sees the cities of mud, what is called adobe, and in the setting sun they look like gold. I think that is all.”
“There is no gold in the mountains?”
He shrugged. “Of course, but the mining is hard and the Indies do not like it. They die … too many die! I feel sad, but who am I? I am a soldier, who does what he is told.”
At dawn we arose and walked the few miles back to where we planned to build. There we said good-bye and he thanked us again for feeding his soldiers and treating their wounds. We shook hands, and to Itchakomi he bowed low.
At the last, he turned and said, “Be careful! That Gomez … he is a man of no morals. He wishes only for himself. He has no feelings. Yet he is a good fighter, better than me, and I fear he will have made it hard for me when I return. But do you beware. He will return. He will believe you have found gold, and only three things he wants, gold, power, and women.”
He walked off down the valley after his men. Each man who had a horse led it. There would be need for their strength and speed later.
The place we finally settled upon was between two canyons that led off to the north northeast. They would lead, I thought, to the place where the big canyon opened and the river flowed down into the plains.
How fared our friends, the Natchee? If they had survived the river and the Indians at the canyon’s mouth they would be well down the river by now.
For four days we worked, rolling rocks into place and settling them into the earth for a foundation, building a quick wall of defense so we might have time to build better, and further back.
Keokotah—like any other Indian—was unaccustomed to hard manual labor. Always he had been a hunter and a warrior, so I left the hunting and the scouting to him. He was willing to help, but he lacked the skills and the slights necessary. There was little in the life of an Indian that demanded labor of the kind needed. Some Indians built stockades, but these were the work of many people working together. The lodges of the Kickapoo were, I understood, though I had not seen one, domed affairs made of bark laid over a framework.
Building was not new to me. At Shooting Creek we had built largely and well, with the aid of men who knew much of such things, of notching logs and fitting them, of working with axe, saw, and adz.
Now I had planning to do as well as building, and several times I sat late by the fire drawing a rough plan on a piece of aspen bark.
The low hill where we intended to build was the source of a spring whose water trickled down to a small stream that flowed northeastward into a canyon. The top of the hill was mostly open, but I rolled the few scattered boulders to the outer edge of the hill to form part of a wall. There were trees growing and I trimmed their lower branches, constructing my house to use the trees as posts for added strength. Having no axe—only the hatchet I carried as a tomahawk—I had to choose from among the many downed trees the ones most solid and seasoned.
The top of the knoll made for good drainage, and again I used the device of cutting notches into the living trees to support my roof poles.
By nightfall I had the frame of the roof in place for a house of several rooms and considerable space. Around the perimeter of the hill I had rolled rocks to fill natural gaps in the rocks that rimmed the hill. It was a good defensive position with a view to all approaches.
During the days that followed I worked unceasingly, from dawn until dark and often long after dark, sitting by the fire to carve spoons, cups, and trenchers, the large wooden platters from which we would eat, just as they did in England.
Keokotah hunted far afield, eyes alert for enemies. He brought in a deer, an antelope, and several sage hens. He found no tracks of men but several of the huge bears of which we had heard. “Leave them alone,” I advised. “We don’t need meat that bad.”
West of our valley were the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, so named by the Spanish, as we had learned from Diego. They were a long, high ridge beyond which lay another, much larger valley. Keokotah had seen it from afar.
The Ponca woman, sturdy and quiet but always busy, found a granary in a natural rock shelter. An overhang had been walled in, leaving only a small window for access, and had been made into a storage place for grain. Some scattered corncobs lay about, all very small, but on the floor of the granary we found a half dozen cobs that still had grains of corn and maize.
With a sharp stick she made holes, and into each she dropped a kernel of corn. How old the corn was we had no idea, but we hoped it would grow.
Here and there we found signs of previous occupation, where some unknown people had lived for a time and passed on.
Every day I worked to build the cabin and to make our small fortress stronger. There were solid logs enough to build the cabin, and many for the stockade. Those logs in contact with the soil had usually rotted or begun to rot, but many had fallen across other logs and had only seasoned and grown stronger.
It was, I suppose, brutally hard work, but I’d been accustomed to little else, and manhandling the logs into position, sometimes rolling them, sometimes turning them end over end, simply took time. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed building. I always had.
Keokotah was ever restless, wandering the hills, scouting the possible trails, alert always as we all were. Each night when he came in we talked of what he had seen and where he had been. Occasionally, taking time off, I scouted the country myself.
Spring passed slowly into summer, and the cabin walls were up. A steeply slanted roof to shed the snow was in place. The meadows and hillsides were scattered with flowers now, Indian paintbrush, sunflower, larkspur, locoweed, and the ever-present golden banner.
Twice I ventured up the gulch, scouting
my way, careful to leave no tracks, a simple thing for there were many rocks. Always, I tried to keep under cover and not to frighten any of the wildlife that might betray my presence. I found no moccasin tracks, or pony tracks, either.
We hunted far out, and often I took Paisano with me. Paisano was the name I had given the buffalo, who seemed happy to accompany me anywhere. He often carried packs for me, following me around like a puppy, a huge puppy, however, for he seemed to grow larger with every day. He would follow no one else, although he did allow Itchakomi to touch him.
We gathered roots and leaves and wild strawberries as soon as they began to appear. We smoked and dried venison, preparing for the winter to come.
It was well into the summer before I found the cave. It was well hidden, just a hole in the bottom of a small hollow behind some brush. A sage hen I had shot had dragged itself into the brush before dying and when I went to retrieve it and to recover my arrow I bent over and found myself looking into a black hole under a rocky ledge.
Taking up a small stone, I dropped it into the hole. It fell but a few feet. I tried again, with the same result. Taking my bow, I reached down and touched bottom, extending the bow and my arm, at no more than four to five feet.
I kindled a small fire and made a torch. Leaning down, I held it into the cave. I found myself looking into a room roughly oval and about ten feet wide but all of twenty to twenty-five feet deep. Several openings suggested further passages. The formation was limestone. I lowered myself into the cave, excited by my discovery. I scraped the wall with a bit of rock, bringing down a grayish-white dust.
Saltpeter!
Having nothing in which to carry it I took none with me, but crawling out I took careful sightings on nearby landmarks to find the exact spot again. Charcoal was easily had, so all that remained was sulphur.
Several times I had seen indications of ore while hunting, and at least one good outcropping that looked to be silver. And lead was often found in conjunction with silver.
Now I must conduct a serious search for sulphur, and if I could find it I could make my own gunpowder, as we had at Shooting Creek.
Excited, I started back to camp. Keokotah was awaiting me among the rocks. He stood up as I approached, Paisano following.
“I find tracks,” he said.
I stared at him. “Indians?”
He spat. “Kapata!” he said. “He come, stay in rocks over there.” He gestured toward the entrance to the gulch. “He watch, watch a long time.”
Well, we had been expecting him. We had known he would come, yet—
“He come again. I think he come soon. He come forher , and he come for you!”
Chapter Thirty-One.
Itchakomi had come out from camp. “I see him,” she said. “Yousaw him?”
“He thinks he hidden, but from lodge I see him. He does not see me, as I am inside. He is not alone.”
Well, I had not believed he would be. So now we must be prepared. Our season of peace was over, even though it had been a watchful peace.
As we ate, I considered the situation, and was not happy with it. Desperately, I needed more powder and more lead for bullets. My guns were loaded, and there might be enough powder to load them one more time.
Not a mile from the lodge I had discovered a ledge of silver and lead, and I was less interested in the silver than in the lead at this point. I now had niter, and there was charcoal from our fires and more to be burned. Sulphur I needed.
We had arrows, and at every available moment, seated by the fire or on lookout, we worked at making more. Our life was to be guided by the skills of our hands, and all we would have we must either find or create ourselves from materials at hand. Fortunately, I had never known any other way of life. At Shooting Creek we had had utensils from the ships, but never enough. Most of what we had we made.
Desperately, I needed a source for sulphur, but I had found no deposits, although I kept a constant watch. Each foray we made into the country around was not only for hunting, but for sources of raw materials and for the best fuel. All woods were not equally good for making fires, particularly fires that would last and leave the best coals. For these the hardwoods were best, but there were not many to be found aside from oak.
Nor did I like our situation. We were committed to defending a position, when I preferred movement. I believed in attack as a principle of war, yet our lodge and the few possessions we had committed us to defense. Keokotah was no happier with the idea than I, and spoke his mind.
“I no like,” he said. “He who attacks chooses the time and the place and the how.”
My feelings were the same.
“Go!” Itchakomi said. “We fight. We are three women who can use the bow and the spear.”
It was tempting, yet I hesitated. The place was not easy to attack, situated as it was, and their water supply was inside the lodge. I doubted Kapata would use fire, for he did not wish to destroy Itchakomi but to capture her and return with her to Natchez. Yet we were only two, and he would have a dozen at least. Our only chance was to cut them off and kill them one by one, a thing not easily done.
It was Itchakomi who reminded me. “You are shaman. You master of mysteries. The Natchee who walk with Kapata know this.”
The Indian was a believer in magic, in medicine. He was a man of many superstitions, as were we the English, only the superstitions of the English were different. Superstition could be, might be, a formidable weapon. If I could create doubt, if I could make them hesitate—
The Natchee with Kapata knew their Ni’kwana had met with me and treated me with respect. Already I was known among them as a medicine man, so if I could build upon that and use it as a mantle to protect us all, so much the better.
It would be a feeble defense, yet I had lived long enough and learned enough to know that victories are won in the mind before they are won upon the ground. Perhaps I could offer them symbols that would project the idea of magic. They need not even know what the symbols meant or were supposed to mean.
Of this I said nothing to those who were with me. Keokotah, at least, was convinced that I had strong medicine.
When evening came I went out alone. Keeping under cover I gathered the skulls of four deer we had eaten that winter, and I suspended them from a tree branch over the trail leading to our lodge.
Four deer skulls, looking up the trail.
I knew where others lay and went to find them. Soon I had skulls suspended in groups of four at various places in the trees that surrounded our lodge.
Medicine to an Indian means power, and his life is spent in seeking the right medicine. He wishes for strong medicine for himself and those he follows, and he fears it in the possession of others.
The Indian in his native land did not seek for material wealth. He hunted, gathered, and lived. What he sought was stronger medicine, greater wisdom, a power within him that could equal the power of the spirits that surrounded him and could endanger him if he could not enlist their aid.
Kapata was driven by anger, hatred, jealousy, and the desire for power among the Natchee. Those who followed him believed his medicine was strong, but what if I could cause them to lose faith in him?
It was worth the chance. It was worth anything I might do.
Within the small pack I carried I had my own medicine bag, such as every Indian has, usually wearing it about his neck. Mine possessed not the things an Indian might carry but my own small medicine makers, one of them a prism, a burning glass. Now I took it from the bag and slipped it into a small pocket in my belt. I had no idea how I would use it, but somehow, somewhere, it might be useful.
Now I must think. I must plan.
We were well supplied with meat, and the women had gathered plants from the meadows and mountainsides or along the creeks. They were stores for winter, yet if need be those stores could feed those within the fort until the issue was decided.
Kapata was out there, waiting. Nor would he wait long. He was eager and angry, and now
that he had found us he would want it over quickly.
Suddenly I thought of caltrops, the devices made to throw out in the grass to impede cavalry. They were made so when thrown into the grass a point was always up, and a horse who stepped upon one was either crippled or frightened of advancing further. In the ancient days of knights and castles they had ended many a charge. Now if I could make smaller ones and scatter them in the grass about our place, leaving openings known only to us, we might slow them or stop them. At least, it would help to fend off any night attack.
A caltrop was simply a four-sided object with a point on each face, and once I hit upon the idea I began cutting pieces of wood with projecting spikes or using porcupine quills or sharp bits of bone, whatever was available.
When the women saw what I was doing they immediately went to work. It needed but a minute to make one, and by nightfall we had many. Sighting on distant trees I chose paths we would know, but elsewhere I scattered the caltrops in the grass.
Wild animals rarely approached a place where people were, at least not in wilderness areas where food was plentiful, so I had no fear of crippling an animal. Paisano would be with us for his own protection, for other Indians might kill him for meat. In any event, he preferred to be with us inside our stockade.
We worked and we talked. Itchakomi was endlessly curious about my people and the land from which they had come. She also had come to love our songs. Not that I sang well, for I did not. However, I did sing the old ballads from England, Ireland, and Scotland sung by my father or Jeremy or O’Hara or one of the others.
On the second night after we had glimpsed Kapata, I took my bow and went outside and stood in the darkness, listening. This we had been doing at intervals, even before Kapata had appeared, and solely for the reason that sound carries better at night and we might hear our enemies.
All was very still. There were scattered clouds but many stars. Looking up at the stars I wished I could remember more of the constellations Sakim had taught us, but I remembered only a few.
Jubal Sackett (1985) Page 24
