by Mike Blakely
Then there were the horses. Fat. Sleek. Few showed a rib. There were more foals here than would be found in a camp of starving people. Jean tried to number the ponies, but lost count at ninety when the herd wandered around a bend in the valley.
These people were not poor. These people were no longer Snakes. They were Horseback People. They were Comanche. The Tiwa prophesies had come true. A new nation of riders had risen beyond the mountains and migrated south, seeking wealth and land and especially—yes, most especially—horses.
But with new power came danger. Jean knew from his travels that the most dangerous people and the most dangerous persons were those who had suffered, then decided to suffer no longer.
He thought of Minime Duhaut, the buffoon from La Salle’s ill-fated Fort St. Louis. La Salle had caught the little sneak-thief stealing from his own bed chambers in Paris. He had beaten Minime and impressed him into years of service on the frontier. But all the beatings in the world could not reform the likes of Minime Duhaut. Small of stature, he had been beaten all his life and had become immune to the pain of even the cruelest blows. And when Minime discovered a peculiar vehicle upon which to rise above the oppression he had suffered his whole life—the Cult of the Convulsionaries of Fort St. Louis—he had seized his chance at revenge, destroyed Fort St. Louis, and murdered the great explorer, La Salle.
Jean saw more nobility and honor in Horseback’s Comanches than Minime Duhaut had ever dreamed of mustering, yet the danger in their rise from oppression existed as surely as Minime’s act of retribution. Revenge was a prime motivator in the codes of the simplest civilizations. Thanks to the stupidity of Fray Ugarte and Capitán Lujan, Horseback already had reason to hate the Spaniards.
Then there was the problem of the Inday. This was strange. A war lain fallow for generations. Jean had heard of it from both the Inday and the Noomah. At some time lost in the recesses of antiquity, these two people had made bloody war upon each other. Both nations spoke of this in terms of legendary tribal memories from some distant land far to the north and west. By both accounts, the Inday had virtually exterminated the Noomah—the source of Noomah suffering and Inday power.
How long ago this war had occurred was something Jean had been unable to determine. The Zuni, who call the Inday “Apache,” claimed the Inday had come to the Pueblo country no fewer than a dozen generations ago. If this were true, the ancient Inday-Noomah war must have taken place hundreds of years ago. It was remarkable that a hatred could exist so long between two people separated by many generations and many ranges of mountains. But to a society faced forever with a struggle for survival, the threat of extermination could live a thousand years in the stories of old men and in the bloodlines of warrior sons.
No clash with the Inday had occurred since Horseback’s Comanches had moved south to stay, but Jean knew it would come. War was on the horizon, and no amount of diplomacy could avert it. True, Horseback had made peace with the Yutas, but the Noomah-Yuta war had never been one of extermination. The Inday and the Comanche were bound to fight.
The question was one of which nation to take on as an ally. The Spaniards were already on poor terms with the Inday. Yet, relations with the Comanches had begun just as poorly. The Inday had been weakened by European fevers, yet strengthened by modern weapons given to them by French traders to the east They were much more numerous than these new Comanches, all of whom lived in this single camp on the River of Arrowheads for all Jean knew. But in their semipermanent farming villages, the Inday would present easy targets for the horsemen of the Comanche nation.
The Comanches were unpredictable. They were no longer starving, but they still remembered hunger. When it came to the warriors, each grown man possessed two memories: his own recollection of personal battles with enemies, and a tribal recall of an ancient Inday holocaust. They neither expected nor preferred to die old.
Most important, Jean had seen Horseback ride. He had heard stories from Tiwa warriors and Spanish soldiers of how a single Comanche warrior could kill and scalp an enemy without ever breaking the stride of a full gallop. They could shoot arrows from the backs of ponies, even while hanging alongside the flanks of the beast, using the mount as a living shield.
It was odd, but not even Horseback himself seemed to know what manner of horseman he was. It was said that Horseback had been born on the day the Snake People discovered their first horse. If this was true, Horseback belonged to only the second generation of Noomah horsemen. How he had learned in his short lifetime to ride better than all the horsemen the world had ever known was a mystery Jean sought to unravel.
Jean L’Archeveque, meanwhile, found himself in the middle. A Frenchman on Spanish soil. A white man with a red man’s tattoos. Perhaps today’s meeting with Horseback would help him determine the future for the Spanish frontier. Jean thought it well that he had learned to adapt to many cultures. He did not know which one might survive here.
“Look,” Speaks Twice said. “We have been sighted.” His right hand alone made the signs as his tongue spoke perfect Spanish.
Jean saw several warriors catching mounts, and knew he must react quickly to avoid trouble. Was Horseback even in camp? He could take no chances.
“Come,” he said to Speaks Twice, curling the heels of his moccasins against the flanks of his mount. He rode to the brink of the riverbank, where everyone in the camp could see him. A few warriors were already riding his way, for they kept their best mounts staked in camp should they need to mount quickly.
Raising the musket he carried across his thighs, he lifted the frizzen and checked the pan to make sure his charge of priming powder remained. Finding the pan half-empty, he quickly used his teeth to pull the stopper from his buffalo-horn powder flask and refilled the pan.
Speaks Twice’s concern showed on his face. “Will you shoot at them?”
“Of course not.” He latched the serpentine back against the tension of its spring, put the musket butt to his shoulder, and aimed vaguely southward. Just before the Comanches came within arrow range, he pulled the trigger. The serpentine sprung forward, striking the flint against the steel frizzen. Sparks shot down into the frizzen pan holding the priming charge. The powder flared with a wizard’s burst of flame and smoke, a split second later setting off the main charge in the breech. The musket bucked to the roar of escaping lead and flame, and the mounts under Jean and Speaks Twice darted suddenly, only to be gathered in with taut reins.
The Comanche horsemen scattered at the sound of the musket shot, some of their ponies ramping in fear of the explosion. Jean grinned, slid the long weapon into its fringed scabbard, drew the two flintlock pistols from his saddle holsters, and cocked them. He clenched his reins in his teeth, angled both pistol barrels high at arm’s length, and pulled the triggers. The one in his right hand fired, but he had to cock the left pistol two more times before it would spark enough to set off its charge.
“Is that Horseback?” he asked, returning the pistols to their holsters.
“Yes,” Speaks Twice answered. “On the near horse. The bay with black mane.”
Jean raised his hand and drew in a breath. “Horseback, my friend!” he shouted in the Yuta tongue. “My guns have spoken my greeting! I come in friendship!”
The Comanche riders leaped their mounts forward. In an instant Jean found himself surrounded by warriors singing joyous yelps. He recognized Horseback first, though he had matured, his chest and shoulders broader than before, his eyes filled with more suspicion, his face struck with confidence. Horseback sent a rider back to camp—to prepare a greeting, Jean supposed—then rode close enough to clasp hands with the tattooed visitor.
“Raccoon-Eyes, mi amigo.”
Jean’s brows peaked in surprise.
“Speaks Twice teaches me the tongue,” Horseback added, his Spanish accent passable, though learned secondhand.
Jean grinned and glanced at the other faces. He recognized Shaggy Hump, a little more grizzled but plenty sound. Bear Heart sat smiling
on a prancing red pony. Echo-of-the-Wolf seemed strangely amused. Then there was Whip. Something had happened to him. His scowl was the same one Jean remembered, but now his eyes looked hollow, almost like those of a dead deer laid upon the ground.
Wild yells of “ye-ye-ye-ye!” accompanied Jean into the camp, and he could see immediate preparations being made for a lavish feast. Dogs came running into camp, barking, as women went scrambling for stacks of wood to stoke larger fires. The excitement made his pony prance.
The day had warmed during the ride from Tachichichi to the Comanche camp, so Horseback invited Raccoon-Eyes into his lodge for a smoke. Before he stepped in, Jean removed his flat-brimmed Spanish hat, letting the breeze briefly cool his brow. Inside the lodge, the robe-covered ground yet retained the overnight cool, and no fire burned in the center ring of rocks. The shade of the hide lodge felt good in contrast to the glare of the white summer sun. It was a large lodge—larger than any tipi Jean had ever entered. Some twenty hides must have been used to cover the tall lodge poles. As he waited for the others to enter, he counted twenty-four poles—more than he had ever seen used.
Jean was in no hurry to sit down, as he had been riding for hours. He waited for the circle of powerful warriors to form, then sat when they did, the thick buffalo robe under him pleasant after the hard leather of the saddle he had straddled all morning.
A young warrior brought fire to the door of the lodge in the form of a stick with a glowing ember on one end. This was passed to Horseback, who used it to light the tobacco he had stuffed into the red stone pipe. Horseback began to chant. Jean did not know the Snake words, and Speaks Twice did not offer to translate, but Jean felt the power of prayers offered to the spirits on smoke that rose to the opening above.
When the pipe had completed the circle, Horseback sighed with satisfaction, and glanced briefly at Jean. “Raccoon-Eyes,” he said, “you travel far from the city of the Metal Men.” He spoke in the Yuta tongue, knowing Jean would understand, yet he used hand signs as well, layering talk on talk.
Jean nodded. “I am a trader. I must travel far to bring my friends the things they need.”
Horseback chuckled. “My friend, have you come here to bring us what we need?”
Jean thought about this, trying to be careful. “I have come to visit friends. I do not see that you need anything. Your camp is rich.”
Horseback translated to the approval of the Comanche warriors, then said, “You know what we need, my friend. More True Humans join us with every moon, traveling far from our old country. Most of them come on foot, yet they want to ride.”
The pipe circled to Jean again, so he paused to draw smoke up the long, elegant stem. “The pony trade is forbidden in the country of the Metal Men.”
Echo began to chuckle, soon joined by other laughing Comanche warriors. Jean pretended to fight back a smile. He had seen ponies in Horseback’s herd wearing Spanish brands. When the Comanches needed horses badly enough, they took them.
Shaggy Hump spoke: “Our enemies, the Inday, have plenty of horses, and they do not know how to use them. Soon, we will begin to take their horses, and their scalps.”
Jean frowned. “Yes, they have many ponies, for they have many villages, and many camps. Horseback, my friend, I must tell you about things the Inday have said to nations I trade with. The Inday know about your camp. The chief called Battle Scar remembers your attack on his band, six winters ago. The Inday have been smoking, and dancing, and trading for weapons. They say they will find your camp and destroy it.”
Horseback thrust his hand into the air. “Our war with the Na-vohnuh—the Inday as you call them—is to you no importante,” he said, finding use for some of the Spanish he had learned from Speaks Twice. “It is the war of our grandfathers’ grandfathers, and it cannot be stopped now that we have found the horrible Na-vohnuh again.”
Jean nodded. “I warn you only as a friend. I did not come to talk of war, but of trade.”
“I want to hear this talk,” Horseback replied. “You know we need ponies. We need more than our mares can provide. But why do we talk of this trade, when you say that the Metal Men forbid the trade of ponies?”
“I am not one of the Metal Men. The people of my blood are enemies to the Metal Men. I know a way to get the horses you need.”
Silence swirled through the lodge like the dust in the narrow ray of sun that streaked down through the smoke hole.
“Tell me.”
Jean nodded. “I am born of the blood of a nation called France, in the old country of hairy white men, far across the great waters. To the south of France is the nation called Spain—the old country of the Metal Men. France has been at war with Spain many times over the generations. Here, in this country, the Metal Men of Spain hold the Big River to the west of the southern plains.”
“The Rio Grande,” Horseback said.
Jean nodded. He was impressed. Speaks Twice evidently had been schooling him on geography as well as language. “Across the plains to the east, in the land of timber, my kinsmen from France live among the nations, and trade weapons to them, and iron, and pots, and many good things. My people are called Flower Men, for the sign of the blooming flower on their banner.”
Horseback gestured his understanding. “I have heard of the Flower Men living among the nations. The first white hairy man I ever saw was one of these Flower Men. A bald one with hair on the backs of his hands. He traded things to our enemies, the Northern Raiders—those who paint their feet black.”
“Yes,” Shaggy Hump added, “and we took the horses of the Northern Raiders and the Flower Man in that camp! That was a fine raid, my son. Yes?”
“Finer than fine, my father.”
The men laughed, including Jean, who understood the humor in taking things from enemies.
“Now,” Jean said, “hear what I have to say about the Flower Men. They are different from the Metal Men. They do not take country away from the nations. They do not wish to conquer, only to make allies, and trade. They are not forbidden to trade anything to the nations. They have many things in the land of timber that the Metal Men need along the Rio Grande. And the Metal Men have many things that the Flower Men want.”
Horseback held one of his long braids in his hand, stroking it as if it were a pet. “How many sleeps are the Flower Men from this place?” he said, his head turning to one side like that of a curious dog.
“For good riders with ponies such as yours, twenty sleeps. The grass grows taller to the east.”
“Will you guide us to this land of the Flower Men?”
Jean shook his head with sincere sadness. “It is dangerous for me to take you all the way there, my friend. Many winters ago, one of my countrymen, a great leader, was killed by men in his own camp. I was in that camp. My countrymen believe that I helped to murder the great one. I did not, but they will not believe me. If I go back to the Flower Men, I will be killed.”
“You should go back to the Flower Men and swear an oath under the eyes of Father Sun, then your people will believe you.”
Again, Jean shook his head. “The Flower Men do not understand such a sacred oath, for they do not know the power of Father Sun as your Noomah people do, and as I do.”
Horseback sat silent for some time, thinking, as the pipe came to him. He took more tobacco from his pouch and refilled the pipe, lighting it from the stick that Bear Heart had kept burning by blowing on it. “It is a strange country to us. Who will guide us, if you will not?”
“I will take you as far as the villages of the Raccoon-Eyed People, among whom I lived for two winters. If we do not find a Flower Man there, one of the Raccoon-Eyed men will take you farther east. It will be dangerous, of course. There are many nations at war to the east. Some of them hate the Flower Men for trading weapons to their enemies.”
“We are Noomah,” Horseback said. “We seek danger. Brave men die young.”
Jean nodded his admiration. “I, too, seek danger. But, I do not wish to die with a rope ar
ound my neck, trapping my soul in my body.” He almost regretted saying this, for he could feel the dread of this evil thing pass among the men in the lodge. “This is how the Flower Men will kill me, if I go back.”
“What do the Flower Men wish to gain in trade from the nations?” Horseback asked next. He said it almost casually, yet Jean knew he understood the importance of the question.
Jean shrugged. “Hides. Furs. Meat.”
“These things they can get from any nation. What of slaves?”
Jean let his face serve warning. “That is a bad trade to begin. The slave trade almost destroyed the Metal Men. It makes enemies, as you know.”
“If you wish to trade with the Flower Men, what will you offer that no other nation can?”
“The Flower Men want what the Metal Men own,” Jean said. Slowly, he reached into his shirt and began to pull out a fine chain of gold, forged with heavy links. “They want the yellow metal, and the white metal. These metals are sacred to all white men.”
Horseback seemed unimpressed with the chain, and even less moved by the attached cross that came last from Jean’s shirt. “Then why do the Metal Men not take this sacred metal across the plains to the Flower Men?”
“It is forbidden. France and Spain are no longer at war, but Metal Men and Flower Men are still enemies. Each nation has a great chief, and each is suspicious of the other. The great chiefs forbid this trade.”
“And you, Raccoon-Eyes, cannot take the metal across the plains, because the Flower Men—your own people—will kill you.”
“This is my fear. But your people can take the metal for me,” Jean said. “It is dangerous, but your people do not fear danger. There is something else the Rower Men want. Horses. If your warriors take the horses and the sacred metal across the plains, and bring back the things the Metal Men need, you will keep a portion of the horses—let us say one in ten. It is a way to get horses without raiding the Metal Men or fighting the soldiers.”
