Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  There was a long pause. Misunderstanding the subchief ’s silence, Reuben offered in a level tone, “I would like to give you a cow when we come through today. Their hides are good and they have a great deal of meat.” Ouray’s brow wrinkled.

  Zeb fought a wave of concern. Should have warned him about offering a gift. Don’t want to make a fuss. Need to buy some time to think. Reaching into the open collar of his leather shirt, he pulled out his tobacco pouch, extracting a chunk of chew. He offered it to the chief who smiled, taking the molasses-laden tobacco and biting off a chunk.

  Turning slightly away from Ouray, Zeb offered it to Reuben, his tone a mere whisper. “You never want to offer a gift. They will expect to give you something of equal or greater value in return, even a wife.”

  Reuben refused the offered tobacco, his face impassive. Zeb redirected his attention to Ouray, who smiled, his teeth brown from the chew.

  “Ouray, my young friend here is very skilled in the ways of cattle. He has brought fine animals.” Zeb pointed to Rebecca, “This is his woman. They have agreed…” he corrected himself, “…they have arranged to be married but there is no one with sufficient puwa to marry them. Reuben asks if you could assist. If he gave you one of his cows, which has a fine hide and much meat, could your bowa’gant, your medicine man, or your puwarat perform a wedding ceremony?”

  Ouray’s eyes widened in surprise, shifting back and forth from Reuben to Rebecca, before falling to Black Mare. A smile flitted across his wife’s face and she nodded her head in approval. Zeb spat some chew off to the side and Ouray did the same, wiping his lips with the palm of his hand, then spoke to Reuben.

  Zeb didn’t catch all the words but got the gist. Struggling to suppress a smile, the mountain man winked at Reuben with the eye hidden from the chief by the bridge of his nose. “Ouray says you picked a good time to offer your trade.” Reuben’s eyebrows shot up. “This is the last day of the powwow. The tribe’s bowa’gant and puwarat have great puwa, and the tribe is ready to eat and powwow with their friends, the Unita-at, and the Yamparika. It would be a good night for a wedding but finalizing the trade requires further talk. His father, the chief, has traveled to Santa Fe and the question of growing cows remains. We must smoke at Black Mare’s lodge so that final decisions can be reached.” Reuben’s eyes widened and his jaw fell slightly open. Zeb added, his voice without inflection, but his eyes narrowed in caution, “and discuss the permission of the Noochew.”

  Gesturing at Rebecca, Ouray spoke quickly to Black Mare. Bobbing her head, she waved to Rebecca to dismount and come to her. Rebecca hesitated, looking confused. Reinforcing the invitation, Zeb called, “Black Mare would like to spend time with you.” Zeb could not stifle the grin under his mustache as he added, “We are going to her lodge and smoke the pipe to finalize the trade Reuben has proposed.” Rebecca threw a wondering look at him. “Black Mare will introduce you to some of the other women over by the fire.”

  Rebecca hesitated for a moment and then dismounted, Black Mare meeting her halfway. Rebecca curtsied and smiled at her young Indian counterpart, who clapped her outstretched palms together, taking Rebecca’s hand and leading her toward the nearby fire where a number of women stood watching the scene with great curiosity. Ouray wheeled abruptly, issuing a quiet command with unmistakable authority. Two teenaged girls with flat features and dressed more plainly than the rest of the tribe ran forward, leading Buck, Red and Lahn away. The guard of warriors around him dispersed, walking in different directions back to their lodges or one of the fires.

  The three men made their way to Black Mare’s lodge.

  The lodge fire had diminished to a few dim, glowing coals, coddled by white ash. Ouray threw several sticks on the fire as he and Zeb seated themselves cross-legged, then watched approvingly as Reuben, still standing, scanned the walls of the lodge with fascinated interest.

  The young Prussian’s eyes lingered on the elk and buffalo robes on their bed, the lance, bow and heavy black-knobbed club huddled in one corner with the chief ’s war shield, and the several feathered, intricately beaded headdresses, carefully hung on racks of mule deer antlers. Ouray smiled at Reuben’s attention to the beaver hides stretched on rounded alder sticks, hanging on the lodge walls from rawhide strings, their hair cut and scraped in fine depictions of elk, deer and eagles. After a few minutes, the Indian gestured to him to sit.

  Several handsome baskets, heavily woven with great care, some beaded and all colored with bright vegetable dyes were tucked against the hide walls of the lodge. Reaching behind him, Ouray picked up the shallowest of the baskets. It was thirty inches long, oval in shape, and six inches deep with a high, curved, woven handle, its contents covered by a folded deerskin colored and painted with images and forms in a circular pattern. The diary of each winter past. He carefully lifted the story skin from the contents of the basket and withdrew a leather pipe bag, wondrously embroidered with beads. Thick, light rawhide stitches bound its ends, part of it raised, and including a full beaded moccasin stitched into its lower third. Ouray laid the pipe bag carefully in front of him, and began to speak, watching Reuben intently. Zeb haltingly repeated his words in English, trying to be careful in his translation, “This bag contains the three pipes used by Chief Guera Murah and his son, Ouray. The designs made by the beads are the sacred symbols of the Noochew. The blue is water, the yellow fire and sun, the green is the earth.” Zeb pointed. “The interspersed beads are the hail of the thunder beings, the turtle—a symbol of the land, and the moccasin means home to them.”

  His face solemn, Ouray pointed at the yellow beaded paw print with long claws on a field of red.

  “And that is the sign of the bear, sacred animal of the Noochew.”

  Ouray slid three pipes from the bag, laying them on the beaded surface. One was long and black, beautiful but with minimal carving, a second, longer, also black and carefully carved and a third, its wood grains swirling in light and dark brown, intricately carved and artistically decorated with small beads and glass baubles. Zeb held his breath.

  Without hesitation, the young leader picked up the salmon alabaster pipe. Reuben’s eyes shifted quickly to Zeb’s and then back to Ouray, who was loading the bowl with what Zeb knew was sage tobacco. Pulling a burning stick from the lodge fire, he lit the pipe, inhaling deeply twice. Leaning forward, he proudly displayed the pipe to them, then presented it to Reuben stem first. Reuben’s eyes darted to Zeb, then back to the pipe. He lifted it, inhaled and coughed.

  Ouray grinned, “Very good sage tobacco. The leaves are very young this time of year. Black Mare picked it only last week.”

  As Reuben exhaled, still coughing, Zeb commented, “Ouray says this is the finest sage tobacco you can find.” Reuben’s eyes flickered in understanding. The young man raised the pipe to his lips and inhaled again, but Zeb noticed he did not draw smoke into his chest, letting it linger instead in his mouth. Reuben passed the pipe to Zeb in the same manner it had been given to him.

  Ouray looked intently at Reuben. “How long ago was your woman promised to you?”

  Reuben blinked, as Zeb repeated the question, “Since yesterday,” Reuben responded.

  Zeb clarified, “Uno sol.”

  Ouray grunted, obviously well satisfied with the response. “Tuhaye. Good. It is not wise to let these things linger.” He chuckled, then stared at Reuben for a moment before his tone turned serious again. “On your marriage, I will accept your trade, but I wish for you to add a blanket with the cow. The Noochew have few wedding rites, but the Puwarat will perform a ceremony this evening as we powwow with our brother bands from the north. It will be a great cause for celebration.” Smiling slyly, he added, “And the first time whites have ever been joined in our village.”

  Zeb repeated Ouray’s words to Reuben. The young man’s face indicated that he caught on immediately. “Tell Ouray that Rebecca and I would be honored to be married here among the Noochew…” At the mention of the word, Ouray smiled and nodded. “…and though
he has offered a very fair trade, in return for the blanket, my woman has been traveling a great distance, and has no wedding dress.”

  Zeb watched the Indian’s face carefully as he relayed the Prussian’s counteroffer. Ouray’s expression was stone-like, but his eyes flickered approvingly. He likes to trade and he is impressed that Reuben did not agree so easily.

  The Indian raised the pipe to his lips, then handed it to Reuben, smoke curling from his mouth and nose as he spoke, “Black Mare is shaped much like your woman. She has fine, ceremonial, white doeskin dresses. One, she has worn only at two ceremonies, and I will have our braves put up a lodge by the hot springs closest to where the sun sets for your wedding night.”

  He and Zeb exchanged knowing glances and laughed.

  Reuben looked from one to the other, perplexed.

  “There’s no time to waste in making noohdtoohwuhch,” said Ouray, still chuckling. “Children are the heart of the family.”

  Zeb repeated the words and Reuben joined in their laughter, his face reddening. He turned his gaze to Ouray. “That’s a fair bargain. I accept. You are right on the children. One must not wait.” Ouray nodded his head vigorously, chortling, not needing Zeb to interpret Reuben’s tone or intent.

  Without taking his eyes from Reuben, Ouray spoke, Zeb listening carefully, interpreting the few times it was necessary.

  “You have many cattle? You are asking for much Ute land for these cattle?”

  Reuben looked briefly at Zeb without blinking, replying without hesitation, “We have three hundred cows and twelve bulls. We hope to double that number over the next few years. We will need enough land to build our home and barns near a creek, for water and to irrigate fields where we can grow grass to cut and feed the cows in the winter.”

  “Irrigate?” Ouray asked, repeating the word.

  “Irrigar,” Zeb spoke the Spanish word. “To move the water over the fields.” Ouray nodded his head, still looking puzzled and Reuben continued.

  “In the summer, we will bring the cattle higher in the mountains and they will graze the grass there before the first snow.”

  The young leader listened intently, his gaze fixed on Reuben. As they passed the pipe again, Reuben’s eyes watered.

  “You will never interfere,” Ouray questioned, “with the Tabequache crossing over, hunting or fishing the lands on which you grow cows and build your lodge?”

  Reuben shook his head solemnly. “No.”

  “You will never take up arms against the Tabequache or any of the northern band of Noochew without first airing your grievance to me?”

  “No.”

  Ouray stared into the fire, absently throwing another stick on the coals, then raised his head. “I will not stop you, nor can I give you permission. Each man must follow his path. I must speak to my father, the chief, when he returns from helping Carson parlay a treaty between the white horse soldiers, our Ute brothers, the Mouache, and my father’s fathers and mothers, the Jicarilla.” He was silent for a long moment, then added, “Roo-bin, the most sacred of the animals to the Noochew are the kweeyahguht, the bear, the wolf, and the coyote. One day, perhaps, I shall tell you of this.”

  Saying nothing more, Ouray carefully knocked the ashes from the bowl and placed the pipe gently back in the basket, covering it with the painted deer hide. Rising, he walked over to the tipi flap, opening it and calling out an order.

  Zeb could hear the sound of running footsteps receding in the direction of the fire to which Rebecca and Black Mare had been headed. I’d give five dollars to see the look on Rebecca’s face. Then a thought struck him and he chortled, drawing Rueben’s attention as Ouray returned to the fire, “What’s so funny this time, Zeb?”

  Zeb grinned at him, mildly feeling the sage tobacco, “I was thinking to myself about what Rebecca’s gonna think of all of this and then I remembered she can’t understand Black Mare’s language. She may not figure it out ‘til the last minute.”

  Reuben swallowed, then chuckled weakly, “Good, she’ll be less likely to change her mind.”

  “Zeb-Riah,” Ouray said, “there is a creek that flows northeast toward where the sun rises on the opposite side of the river that turns rock red, one third sun’s ride as the river flows from the Box Canyon and La Montana de Roja. We call it El Dallas Creek. As one rises above the river a quarter sun’s ride along the creek, the land levels. Grass grows high there, sometimes this high…” he raised a hand to his chest. “The warmth blesses the meadow most of each sun, even in the winter. The fishing is better than in the river of water that turns rock red. It would be a good place for Roo-bin and his woman to grow cattle and children.”

  Zeb fought with himself over whether or not to say something about Rebecca’s land on the Red Mountain. This is not the time. The mention of the Spanish land grant will only anger him.

  Reuben weighed Ouray’s words carefully and then nodded, smiling. “Thank you for your guidance. The Tabequache will always be welcome at our lodge.”

  Reuben began to stand but Ouray motioned him to stay seated. The leader rose and walking to a far wall of the lodge, bent over another larger basket for a moment with his back to them and then turned, a beautifully beaded, fringed leather shirt in his hands. He held it up by the shoulders looking critically at Reuben, then the shirt, nodding. “It will be a little big, but will be good for the celebration.” Reuben opened his mouth to protest but Zeb caught his eye with a warning squint as Ouray laid the shirt carefully in Reuben’s hands.

  As they stepped from the tipi, Ouray pointed across the slightly rolling, open grassy area to one misty column of steam rising from a solitary spring to the west. Two braves on ponies and a third on a horse dragging a travois piled high with lodge skins and poles were already moving toward the rising steam.

  Ouray walked away, issuing a directive in a loud voice. Turning to Reuben, Zeb said quietly, but quickly, “I’m not going to mention the locations in your father’s scout’s map, nor the land grant in the other map. There will be another, better time, and Chief Guera Murah should be present. But I do know this Dallas Creek. It is one of the prettiest and most productive creek bottoms in the upper half of the Uncompahgre. It lies below the mountains they call the Snaefel. Better sun, less snow, higher temperatures in the winter than Red Mountain. You understand, Reuben, he has made no specific promise?”

  Reuben nodded absently, obviously not focused on what he had just been told. The young man looked at the shirt in his arms, the Indians on their way to build the tipi for their wedding night and then over at the fire a hundred yards away where Black Mare and Rebecca were surrounded by a number of other women who were laughing and clapping. Rebecca appeared bewildered.

  “Did you hear me?”

  The young Prussian turned to Zeb, his face blank. “Sure…sure, I did.”

  Zeb laughed. “And another thing. Don’t be expecting no big ceremony. This ain’t a wedding like you’ve seen. Might be all of a minute or two, just for you cause of the trade, and he likes you. Most times, the brave and his woman go off to her parent’s tipi—share the sleeping robe. Doubt they get much sleep though. Then come morning, that’s it. They’re hitched.” He fixed his gaze on Reuben. “And if the woman is pregnant, then the Ute consider her married already.”

  Reuben blinked rapidly. “But…but what if Rebecca objects? This is kinda sudden.”

  Zeb slapped him heavily on the back, forcing him forward a step. “Well son, either way, that dark haired English woman is finally going to be your bride.” He chuckled, stroking his mustache and looking off in the distance. “I might just have to hang out a shingle as a matchmaker.” Turning his gaze east back up to the pass, a pang pulsed through his heart. Should’ve pondered this before. Now I know where to come for nuptials in these parts—maybe.

  Reuben looked over toward Rebecca again, returning his gaze to Zeb, still wide-eyed. “You’ll be fine, Reuben. She ain’t going to say no, and Ouray will take good care of you. He’ll give you a lodge to ge
t changed and spruced up in. Most likely a brave will bring you sage leaves. Rub yourself and your armpits down with them. No need to be smellin’ like the trail tonight.” He grinned at the dumbfounded look in the young man’s face. Like a hare under an eagle’s shadow. “I’m gonna head up the hill, let them know what’s going on and move the cattle down here quick like. I don’t think anyone will want to miss the shindig. I don’t suspect those critters will wander far from that green grass on the north end.”

  Zeb briefly relayed his intentions to Ouray. The young Ute leader nodded his approval, beaming as he surveyed the village already beginning preparations for the final night of the powwow and the wedding of the white-eyes, a surprise to them all.

  CHAPTER 41

  June 25, 1855

  WHITE DOESKIN

  Rebecca stood transfixed in the center of the excited women. Unable to understand but little of their chatter, she caught only a few of Black Mare’s scattered Spanish words…ella…novia…fiesta. Hoping for an inkling of understanding, she glanced at the youngest girl, barely a woman, standing close to Black Mare. Perhaps a younger sister?

  Black Mare stoically but warmly introduced her to each of the other females. Rebecca could neither pronounce nor remember their names, except for Chipeta’s. The young woman’s eyes were fixed on Rebecca, a gentle, almost sad smile playing on her lips. Like Black Mare, she was short, not much over five feet. She too wore a one-piece, loose fitting leather dress, long fringe hanging from the sleeves and tapers on the lower portion. Her black hair, parted in the middle, swung about her shoulders as she laughed, shyly covering her mouth with her hands.

  Black Mare tugged on the shoulder of Chipeta’s dress, gesturing and glancing at Rebecca. Chipeta leaned close, whispering something to Black Mare. Chipeta’s eyebrows arched and her mouth opened. She stared at Rebecca, and then toward Reuben standing with Zeb fifty yards away in front of the lodge Black Mare shared with Ouray. Reuben appeared to be holding something leather draped over his arm and Zeb was leaning close, talking to him. Black Mare’s eyes flew back to Chipeta, then to Rebecca. She held up her hands, quieting the laughter and clapping. She spoke in a serious tone, nodding toward Rebecca just a foot away before lifting her chin toward Reuben. The heads of the women swiveled, their faces etched in surprise.