Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  “There’s nary a place on the map to show us a desert like this one.” McGregor turned his back to the wind, trying to protect the map with his body.

  “In his journal, Coronado called this place the Llano Estacado,” Marina said.

  “Reckon that would mean somethin’ like the empty desert from Hell,” McGregor observed, still struggling with the map. “Never seen a place with fewer trees. And the grass is so poor that our animals is near t’ starvin’.”

  Yank looked up from the sextant at Marina. “If you know the name of this place I presume that you know where we are.” He blew on his hands in an attempt to warm them.

  “I know, but almost wish that I didn’t.” Marina got up, walked to McGregor and touched the map.

  “That ain’t possible.” McGregor shook his head.

  Yank walked over to look. “That would put us nearly four hundred miles too far south.”

  Marina pointed over her shoulder with her thumb toward the west. “There’s a canyon right there through the mountains that leads to the Rio Grande valley and Albuquerque.”

  “Albuquerque is a Spanish garrison,” Yank said.

  She looked at him with a blank expression. “What has that to do with our current situation?”

  He shook his head and then shrugged.

  “What mountains?” McGregor asked, trying to locate the mountains on the map.

  She traced them on the map with her finger. “The southern end of the Rockies.”

  McGregor turned to look west. “There ain’t no mountains there.”

  “You can see the peaks just on the horizon.” She pulled her collar up, trying to protect her ears from the biting wind.

  McGregor gave up on the map, rolled it, stuffed it into the map case then turned toward the west, shielding his eyes. “Well, I canno’ see ‘em.”

  “They’re covered with snow and they blend with the clouds,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Yank asked. He opened the telescope.

  “Yes. I saw them when the sun was just rising.”

  “I canno’ see ‘em,” McGregor repeated.

  “I’ve been here before,” she said. “This isn’t the kind of place that one ever forgets.”

  “I see something just on the horizon,” Yank said as he focused the telescope. “It must be a mountain range. But they don’t seem high enough to be snow capped this early.”

  “We’ve been climbing slowly for days now and are already quite high,” Mariana said.

  “Climbin’?” McGregor scoffed, “This here country’s the flattest I ever saw. Flat as a billiard table.” He turned his back to the wind and wiped tears from his eyes.

  “The rise is so gradual and so steady that it looks flat,” Marina agreed. “But we’re very high and by the time we get close to those peaks we’ll be very, very high.”

  “How high is very, very high?” Yank asked.

  “I was told that the peaks are over two miles high, but I cannot say if that’s accurate.”

  “We’re not equipped for the kind of snow and cold we’d find at ten or twelve thousand feet,” Yank said, in obvious alarm. “We’d freeze to death.”

  “We are already very high,” she argued. “That’s why it’s so cold at night and why everyone tires so quickly. The air is thin.”

  “You may have a point, there.” Yank turned around in a circle then looked back toward the west. “You say there’s a pass through the mountains, Marina?”

  “Yes. You can see it from here. It’s between two ranges.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It is a bad place but this is a worse place. No one lives here. The Indians avoid it.”

  “I know what’s here, I want to hear more about the pass before I consider it,” Yank insisted.

  She gave him a look that was pregnant with displeasure. “The trail winds through a canyon of huge rocks, often along the face of sheer cliffs. The drop is sometimes hundreds of feet.”

  “How wide is the trail?”

  “In some places as wide as a modern road but in others it is very narrow.”

  “Define very narrow.”

  “Perhaps two or three feet wide. But, as I said, only in some places.”

  “Two or three feet wide,” Yank muttered. “That’s not wide enough for the cattle.”

  “Not for horses neither,” McGregor added.

  She nodded her head. “The mules might manage it, but I think horses would have to be blindfolded and then be led, one-at-a-time.”

  “There would be no choice but to leave the cattle behind,” Yank said, looking at the herd. “The goats might follow us.”

  “I’ve seen wild goats in these very mountains,” Marina replied. “They would be quite at home but, I fear, impossible to herd. The good news is that there are trees and brush for fires.”

  “Was it snowing when you came through?” Yank asked. “Was there ice on the trail?”

  “No,” she said. “I came through in the summer and it was terrifying. I don’t even like to think of what it might be like in the snow.”

  “Volunteers could clear the snow in advance of the main body.” McGregor was looking west.

  Yank sighed. “The Spanish garrison in Albuquerque could be a serious problem. What about Santa Fe?”

  Marina shook her head. “The only trail to Santa Fe that I know of begins in those same mountains and crosses the highest crest. The snow will be ten feet deep by now. Besides, the Spaniards are in Santa Fe too. Possibly in larger numbers.”

  “What if we just turn north?” Yank asked, looking in that direction. “If we keep the mountains in sight on our left we’ll eventually reach Yellow Stone.”

  “The animals can’t survive much longer on this grass,” McGregor said. He looked at Marina. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “Until I woke up this morning and saw the mountains I thought we were further north, half way to Yellow Stone,” she said defensively. “Game is plentiful there, even in winter, and we would have had fodder for the animals, trees to build cabins and to burn.”

  “Well I never seen a place so bare as this.” McGregor shook his head. “Nary a tree anywhere and only clumps of poor grass.” He looked at Yank. “If it’s like this north, it don’t seem like a good plan.”

  Marina pointed west. “It’s like this north and south, until we reach those mountains.”

  “How in God’s name did this happen?” McGregor asked.

  Marina waved her hand at Yank. “Ask Colonel Van Buskirk. He’s the navigator.”

  “False horizon perhaps,” Yank said shaking his head. “The compass or sextant may have been damaged. I just don’t know.”

  “You did it on purpose,” Marina accused. “You wanted to come this way.”

  “I assure you that I did not.” He looked at the cold, miserable men and animals of his expedition. “I should have turned back days ago. The Comancheros’ camp was defensible; it had good water and enough vegetation to keep a fire burning.”

  “Well it’s too late now,” Marina said. “We must continue west to Albuquerque or freeze to death.”

  “I’d rather take my chances goin’ back,” McGregor grumbled.

  Yank shook his head. “Marina’s right. It’s too late to turn back now. The Comanchero camp is too far and for all we know, it’s been reoccupied by a new band. Our only choice is to make for the pass at all possible speed.”

  McGregor was unconvinced. “We got a better chance against them bandits then we does against the Spanish army.”

  “Perhaps we don’t have to go all the way through the pass to Albuquerque,” Yank suggested. “Would it be possible to winter in the canyon, Marina?”

  “I remember seeing a small pueblo on this side of the canyon,” Marina replied. “We might be able to trade horses and cattle for shelter.”

  Yank looked up at the clouds. “Whatever we do we better do it fast. It’s beginning to snow.”

  “Fast ain’t likely,” McGregor said, looking at th
e rest of their party. “The animals ain’t fed proper in weeks and the men ain’t ate or slept in near three days.”

  “What would you have us do, Mr. McGregor?” Yank had obviously lost patience.

  McGregor looked surprised. “I was just sayin’, Colonel. I know we ain’t got no choice.”

  “Then let us get the men up and moving.”

  By the time the company had been organized, the west wind had reached near gale force and the snow was horizontal.

  December 14, 1804

  Tijeras Pueblo, Spanish New Mexico Territory

  The pueblo was set back against a sheer cliff, partially protected from above and on both sides by towering rock formations. The main building was five stories high with each floor set back from the one below, giving the structure from the front an appearance similar to that of a stepped pyramid. In this manner, the flat roof of each level doubled as a terrace for the level above. Each terrace was edged with a low parapet to provide protection for defending warriors from an attacker’s arrows and spears. Access to the various levels was accomplished via strategically placed wooden ladders that could be pulled up in the event of an attack. The lowest level had no doors and the rooms within it, accessible by hatches from the roof, were primarily used by the Indians for storage. It was here, in several of these ground-floor rooms, that the eighteen survivors of the Van Buskirk party had been given shelter.

  Marina sat up in the dark space of their small apartment and shook Yank. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  His eyes popped open and he blinked at her for several seconds as the dream was replaced by reality. “I saw them fall,” he mumbled.

  She pulled the buffalo robe up over them and snuggled back into her previous position with her bare back against his naked chest.

  Yank squinted toward the trapdoor in the ceiling. “I see daylight.”

  “Yes. I think it must be nearly noon.”

  “The snow must have stopped.”

  “I heard someone pushing snow off the roof, so perhaps it has.”

  He threw off the heavy robe and stood up with a groan, then groped in the darkness. “Where’s the lamp?”

  “In the left, outside corner of the room,” she said from under the robe. “Just where you told me to put it.”

  “I am standing in that particular corner and there is no lamp.”

  “Then the other front corner. I may have gotten confused after I blew it out.”

  He followed the wall, trailing his fingers along the rough adobes. “Ah. Here it is.”

  “Good. Now be quiet. I’m going to sleep until spring.”

  “But no tinderbox.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Marina!”

  “You had it last.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  “The lamp was burning when I came down yesterday.”

  “Well, it must be in one of the other corners then.”

  “Why do you find putting things in their proper places so difficult?”

  “I cannot understand what difference it makes. This room is no more than three paces wide, it has no doors or windows, it contains only four corners and we have no schedule to keep.”

  “Ah, I have it.” He struck the flint and then used the tinderbox to light a pottery oil lamp.

  Marina uncovered her face to watch him dress.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I like looking at you when you’re naked.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you like looking at me?”

  “Of course I do, but I’m a man.”

  “So I see.” She kicked off the buffalo skin and held out her arms. “Come back here and let us explore the wonders of man and woman.”

  He smiled. “If you really want to.”

  She considered the idea for a few seconds then sat up. “I really want to but I have an urgent need to relieve myself which means getting dressed and going outside.”

  “Why don’t these people use chamber pots?”

  “They do.”

  “Then why don’t we have one?”

  “Everything they’ve given us has been grudgingly.” She stood up and began dressing. “They really don’t want us here.”

  “They took our livestock happily enough.”

  “I spoke with that Sioux woman yesterday. Do you know who I mean? The woman that’s married to the son of the chief’s brother.”

  “Why don’t these people have names?”

  “They have names but using them is impolite if you’re not a family member or close friend.”

  “As far as I can tell, all the people in the pueblo are related by blood or marriage.”

  “Yes, but we’re not.”

  “Go on. What about the Sioux woman?”

  “She knows of a trail to the settlement of San Carlos on the eastern slope.”

  “What good is that?”

  “We could avoid the Spanish garrison at both Albuquerque and Santa Fe.”

  “And what makes the garrison at San Carlos more attractive?”

  “The Spanish abandoned San Carlos and there are no Spanish settlements between there and the Yellow Stone any more.”

  “Is the trail she mentioned passable now?”

  “No. We would still have to wait for the spring thaw.”

  “The Spanish patrols will be moving with the thaw.”

  “Yes, but the council thinks that we could reach the trail before the pass from Albuquerque is open.”

  “The council? You spoke with the tribal council about this?”

  “No. They spoke of it and sent word to me through the Sioux woman. As I said, they’re anxious to see us go and they don’t want the Spanish to know that we were ever here.”

  “Do you know the Sioux woman’s name?”

  “Yes.” She giggled. “It’s Sioux Woman.”

  “Her name is Sioux Woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that her name when she was with the Sioux?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You say that as if the question is illogical.”

  “It is illogical. When she was with the Sioux, she was one of many Sioux women. Here she’s the only one.”

  He decided not to reply and instead climbed the ladder then bumped the trapdoor repeatedly with his shoulder and the heel of his hand until the ice broke.

  “Wait a minute,” Marina complained. “I have to put my leggings on.”

  “I’ll go check on our men while you do.” He climbed out and looked around until his eyes adjusted to the glare, then crossed the hard packed snow on the roof to another hatch. The other members of his party were sharing five interconnecting rooms. Each room was about the same size as the room that he and Marina occupied. He pulled open the trapdoor and climbed down the ladder finding the room unexpectedly vacant and empty. Puzzled, he crawled into the next apartment and found it empty too. With growing concern, he examined all five rooms then climbed the ladder again and emerged to the roof as Marina was closing the trapdoor to their apartment. “They’re not there.”

  “What’s not there?” she asked.

  “The men. Our men. They’re all gone.”

  “Who’s on guard?”

  “No one. They’re all gone.”

  “They left the weapons unguarded?”

  “The weapons are gone too.”

  “All of them?” Her voice conveyed her alarm.

  Yank had walked to the parapet and was looking down at many tracks in the snow. “There’s been a lot of activity while we slept.”

  She came to stand beside him and gasped. “It looks like an army passed through here.” She looked around then down again. “No ladders.”

  Yank turned to look up at the pueblo. “I don’t see anyone. Could they have all left for some reason?”

  “The ladders are all up.” She walked closer, cupped her hand and shouted a greeting in Tiwa. When there was no answer, she tried again. After her third attempt, an old
man appeared and shouted something, waving at her with a shooing motion. She shouted back.

  “What’s going on?” Yank asked.

  “The medicine man is telling us to go away and I’m telling him we won’t go until I speak to Sioux Woman.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, that’s why I want to talk to her. It’s plain that he’s not going to tell us what’s happened, but I think she will.”

  After a continued exchange of angry words, the old man disappeared from the upper parapet and was soon replaced by a young woman.

  As Marina conversed with the woman, Yank walked across the roof, examining the tracks in the snow.

  “It was Spanish soldiers.” Marina was running toward him.

  He pointed at some marks in the snow. “The sound you heard wasn’t someone sweeping snow off the roof, it was someone being dragged.”

  “Is that blood?” she gasped.

  “Yes.” He looked toward the upper levels but the Sioux woman was gone. “Did she tell you why the Spaniards didn’t take us?”

  Marina shook her head. “She asked me that very question. The people here thought that we had all been taken.”

  “The Spaniards must have just overlooked our trapdoor,” he said.

  “What should we do?”

  “Well, it’s clear that our Indian friends won’t risk their skins for us and sooner or later someone in our party will tell the Spaniards that we’re here, so…” He shrugged.

  “We run.”

  “No, we find a better place to fight.”

  “We’ve got two pistols and two ammunition pouches, no food or warm clothes.”

  He nodded. “That sums it up nicely. Where would the Spaniards take our men?”

  “There’s a little log stockade with two or three cabins inside about halfway through the canyon. They use it in the summer time.” She looked thoughtful. “They must have gotten stranded there by the early snow and came here to get provisions.”

  “And your friends gave us up.”

  “They’re not my friends. They traded us shelter for beef. There was no discussion about them risking their lives to protect us.”

  “You certainly are protective of these damned people,” he said angrily.

  “All these people want is to live in peace and the white man keeps disturbing it.”