Falconer's Law

by Jason Manning

  "And you saved her life."

  Falconer smiled wistfully. "You've got a splendid imagination, Eben. That is the way it would happen in the storybooks, I guess. But no, I tried, got an arrow in my side for my trouble. It was her brother, Tall Bear, who killed the Snake rascal before he could kill her. Touches the Moon nursed me back to health. And when I went back up into the mountains she went with me."

  "I'm right honored you see fit to talk to me about her," said Eben gratefully. "I know you don't like to make mention of her."

  "Just said we wouldn't, didn't I? Well, it still cuts pretty deep. They say time heals such wounds, but I believe there are some wounds that never heal."

  "I don't know if I love Sombra or not," confessed Eben. "I haven't had time to think about it. I really don't know much about her, to be honest."

  "How did you feel when you first saw her?"

  "Like I'd been kicked in the chest by a knob-head. I couldn't catch my breath."

  Falconer nodded. "What I thought. There's that need in a man. Burns strong and steady and can turn him away from his instincts. It's a constant battle to keep that need at bay, keep it from taking charge over his soul, because if he lets that happen he can't put things in the proper perspective anymore. That's what happened to your brother, I think, over that Arapaho cutnose woman."

  "No. Silas just doesn't like to lose."

  "Isn't that cut-and-dried. If he lost his plews or his horse or his rifle would he commit murder because of it? Sure, he might fight to get his possibles back, because he needs all those things to make a living in the high country. But would he throw caution and common sense to the four winds and kill in cold blood and risk a hard mountain justice? No, it's that burning need a man has to deal with, makes him feel like he isn't a whole man, or a real honest-to-God man, anyway, if he doesn't have a woman, or the woman leaves him."

  "I haven't thought much beyond helping Sombra escape her father," said Eben. "She didn't come to me for help because she has any feelings for me. And even if she did, and we managed to get away from Don Carlos, what could I give her? She's accustomed to living in pretty high style, wouldn't you say? How could I provide for her? I have little or nothing to offer."

  "You're getting way ahead of yourself. But I know how you're feeling. Way I felt about Touches the Moon. I lived alone, way up at the timberline, and years could go by without me seeing another living soul unless I saddled my horse and rode down and made a real effort to find somebody to talk to. Touches the Moon had spent her whole life surrounded by friends and family in her village. And she got plenty lonesome, there at the beginning. I wasn't sure the feelings she had for me were deep enough that she could overcome that loneliness. Turned out they were. If a woman truly loves you, you'll have no cause to worry. A woman's need is just as strong as the man's. You can be poor as dust, but if she knows you need her, she'll probably stick."

  "All I know for sure is that I've got to help her," sighed Eben.

  "I realize that. But I'll ask you one favor. It's a big one, too. Do nothing until we reach Monterey."

  "Don't figure there will be any chance on the road anyway."

  "I mean don't even talk to her, or look at her, if you can help it. You're sitting on a powder keg, Eben. The wrong word, even the wrong look at the wrong time, could blow you to kingdom come—and you might take the brigade with you."

  "Won't be easy," admitted Eben.

  "Do it anyway." Falconer stood up. "When we get to Monterey I'll do what I can to help you. Who knows. Maybe you've found what the Almighty intended for you when he turned your steps toward California."

  "What about you, Mr. Falconer? Have you found what you're looking for?"

  "Not yet." Falconer smiled. "But I have a feeling I'm getting closer."

  "I'll do what you ask. You can rely on me."

  "Why, I've always known as much."

  Falconer walked away into the night shadows, silent as he had come, leaving Eben Nall with a heart full of pride.

  Chapter 23

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF EBEN NALL

  November 1, 1837. Yesterday we left Hacienda Gavilan, bound for the town of Monterey, which is located on the coast. I understand it will take us six or seven days to reach our destination.

  We must be the most unusual caravan ever to have passed this way. Don Carlos and Sombra travel in a well-appointed coach with Consuela, the serving woman. The coach is pulled by a handsome team of four matching grays. It is driven by a taciturn man named Gaviota. He is a most strange-looking fellow, tall, cadaverous, pale, lantern-jawed. He wears the plain white shirt and trousers of the California field worker, the peon. On his person, according to Don Carlos, he carries three throwing knives, in the use of which he has no peer, or so says the patrón. His sole purpose in life is to protect Don Carlos. Odd, that I did not see him before, at the hacienda. No doubt he was always lurking in the shadows, near at hand.

  Gaviota's renown with the knives prompted Doc Maguire to challenge him to a contest at our first night camp. The Irishman prides himself on his handling of those pearl-handled daggers he carries, and he cannot bear the thought that there is someone who might be better with the blade than he. I have seen him beat almost every man in the brigade during this expedition. All of us were eagerly anticipating the match he guaranteed he could arrange with Gaviota. But Gaviota would have nothing to do with him. In fact, he said not a word to Maguire, simply turning his back to the Irishman and walking away. That ignited Maguire's notorious temper. It is one thing to decline a friendly contest, quite another to do it in such a rude manner. But Don Carlos forestalled violence by explaining that Gaviota cannot speak. He has no tongue. Don Carlos says that once there were some very dangerous and desperate men who were trying to kill him. They captured Gaviota and tried by brutal means to make him divulge his master's whereabouts. Since Gaviota refused to tell them what they wanted to know, they cut out his tongue. They would have done worse, except that Gaviota managed somehow to free himself, and proceeded to kill all of his tormentors. Hearing this story, Doc Maguire found his temper quickly cooled.

  In addition to Gaviota, Don Carlos travels with eight of his vaqueros. Remo is one of them. It was Gus Jenkins who asked Chagres if he always traveled with such a well-armed escort. Don Carlos said that he did, that in addition to a pestilence of highwaymen in California, he has a number of very powerful enemies who would like nothing better than to see him dead. He would not elaborate further. I wonder who these powerful men are. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  The brigade completed our strange caravan. In contrast to the elegant coach and the flamboyantly clad vaqueros, we looked like a scruffy band of bearded scoundrels indeed in our old buckskins and homespun.

  I had given my word to Hugh Falconer that I would treat Sombra as though she did not exist until we arrived in Monterey. This was an awfully hard promise to keep. So far I have succeeded. I owe Falconer, and the rest of the brigade, that much. It occurs to me that Falconer has depended on me a lot since we left the Green River. He depended on me when he sent Sixkiller and me to search for the missing Joe Newell. And he did so again when we were seeking a way through the Sierras. Now a third time. I cannot let him down.

  The brigade rode behind the vaqueros and the coach bearing Don Carlos and Sombra, so I did not often have occasion to even see her, except for a brief glimpse when we stopped at midday and in the evening. The first time, yesterday noon, as she stepped out of the coach to stretch cramped limbs, she looked back toward the brigade and began to search every face. I knew she was looking for me. I quickly looked away, feigning intense interest in the far horizon.

  Last night I could not escape so easily. The brigade camped apart from the Californios, but she came strolling past our fires, exchanging pleasantries with a man here and another there. Remo followed in her wake, watching my companions like a hawk for any sign of disrespect, I suppose. But my companions were quite respectful, demonstrating that years in the mountains had not tr
ansformed them into the complete barbarians Remo clearly expected them to be.

  I was petrified when I saw her coming toward me, and as she drew closer I launched into an impromptu discussion with Rube Holly, who, fortunately for me, was sitting right beside me. I babbled about the likelihood of our finding beaver in California. Rube was caught off guard, but, sensing my desperation, and deducing its cause, he played along, for which I am eternally grateful. Of course later he gave me a few good-natured prods. "I kin see you ain't learnt nothin' at all," he said, with a smirk. "Any wet-behind-the-ears greenhorn fresh off the farm could take one look at this hyar country and know there ain't no beaver to speak of, leastways not around these parts." I saw Sombra out of the corner of my eye but pretended to be completely unaware of her presence, and she walked on. I felt perfectly wretched then and looked after her. It was then that I noticed Hugh Falconer. He was watching me and gave a curt nod, and, if I am not mistaken, there was sympathy for my plight in his eyes.

  Today we made good progress, more than thirty miles by my reckoning, and pitched camp early on the banks of a broad, yet shallow, river. I went off down the bank a ways, to be alone with my misery, which is always the best course for a miserable man. Sitting by the river, skimming rocks in the soft golden glow of a California twilight, I heard something rustling in the shinnery and reached for my rifle, thinking it must be either a bandit or a deer. In either case, I was resolved to shoot. But it was Consuela. Thinking she must be wanting her own privacy, I prepared to take my leave. But she caught my arm and stopped me.

  "Señor Nall," she said, "I have a message for you."

  "You speak English!" I exclaimed, delighted and relieved. "Thank the good Lord."

  "Yes. I speak it, a little."

  "Did you tell Sombra what I said when I left the hacienda?"

  "Yes. She want me to say to you . . ."

  I grimaced. "I know, I've been unforgivably rude. But I had no choice. Falconer asked me . . ."

  "She knows."

  I gaped at her, slow to comprehend. "She knows what? That I had no choice? But, how could she know that?"

  "Señor Falconer, he tell her. There was a moment today, when we stopped to eat, that the patrón was away from the coach, talking to the vaqueros. That is when Señor Falconer spoke to her."

  My relief was so great I could not say a word. Consuela squeezed my arm.

  "Do not worry. She has faith in you." Then, with a sly wink, she added, "And I think she like you, Señor Nall."

  She likes me! Those magic words are still ringing in my ears even as I write this, by the flickering light of a dying campfire.

  On my way back to camp I was all set to find Falconer and kiss his feet, so great was my gratitude. But the moment I laid eyes on him I knew that any show of emotion from me was the last thing he wanted. So I said nothing to him, though I know I owe him a debt I may never be able to repay.

  Seven days after leaving Hacienda Gavilan, they reached their destination. Coming in on a road that passed through sand hills covered with scrub and then down to the coast between a pair of ridges thick with pine, they saw the town, nestled between the slopes and the blue waters of a deep harbor where a few sailing ships lay calmly at anchor, all canvas furled. The flag of the Republic of Mexico fluttered in the constant sea breeze above a fort on the bluff commanding the entrance to the harbor.

  The houses of Monterey were built on a gentle slope of land two miles from the southern extremity of the bay. The northern shore of the bay, twenty miles distant at its farthest point, described a great arc to the west, so that from nowhere in the immediate vicinity of the town could the Pacific Ocean be seen. Another bay lay beyond piney hills to the west of town. This was a less protected anchorage than the harbor the mountain men could see as they approached the town.

  A road circled the western bay from the south, passing the Carmel Mission and Point Lobos, a promontory much favored by seals and sea lions. It continued northward to Monterey and then made its way around the eastern edge of Monterey Bay to San Francisco, two days' ride to the north.

  Monterey was the seat of the provincial government of California, and the governor-general resided in a mansion of yellow sandstone in the center of town, across a large plaza from the customs house, presidio, and a church. Nearby was a hotel and several restaurants, and the streets radiating out from the plaza like spokes on a wheel were lined with shops where, thanks to the merchant ships that regularly dropped their anchors in the bay after sailing the seven seas, an astonishingly wide variety of goods from all over the world could be had.

  At the edge of town a halt was called to allow Falconer and Chagres to confer. Falconer then returned to the brigade and gathered the men around.

  "I'm riding in with Don Carlos," he announced. "With any luck, I'll be able to see the governor-general today. Eben Nall and Doc Maguire will come with me. The rest of you will camp here for the night."

  The mountain men weren't shy about letting their disappointment at this arrangement be known. They'd been looking forward to exploring the town and seeing what delights it held in store for them—especially in the way of good whiskey and young señoritas.

  "It's best this way," said Falconer. "Everyone who wants to will have a chance to visit Monterey. But we won't ride in all at once. Don't want to make these folks nervous. Gus Jenkins will be in charge until I get back."

  Accompanying Chagres and his entourage took Falconer, Eben, and Maguire through a residential area where small, neat adobe and sandstone houses, most of them whitewashed, sheltered behind high walls with wooden or wrought iron gates. Flocks of blackbirds perched on the tile roofs or wheeled en masse in the azure sky. Cobblestone sidewalks hugged the walls on either side of wide streets of yellow dust. Eben marveled at how clean and tranquil the sleepy little town seemed to be.

  The business district, however, bustled with activity. Wagons, carts, horsemen, and pedestrians clogged the streets and the great plaza. The shops were doing a brisk trade. Sailors and traders—English, Russian, and American—mingled with the Californios in their colorful serapes and sombreros. A squadron of lancers in green-and-black uniforms clattered by. Eben was glad to see that he and his two companions did not elicit an inordinate amount of curiosity. He figured the residents of such a thriving port and center of commerce had to be accustomed to the presence of foreigners.

  Chagres ordered Gaviota to stop the coach in the plaza, near the governor-general's mansion. Don Carlos emerged from the coach to stand alongside Falconer's horse. Falconer's half-wild mountain mustang gave the haciendero the evil eye, and Eben wondered, with some relish, if it was going to take a chunk out of the man's hide, but Falconer kept the beast in check.

  "I will go with you to seek an audience with Don Luis," said Chagres. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance in that regard, Señor Falconer."

  "You're very kind, Don Carlos."

  Chagres made a dismissive gesture. "It is nothing." He turned to Remo and spoke to the vaquero in Spanish. Remo nodded and, dismounting, took Gaviota's place atop the coach, while Gaviota took charge of Remo's horse.

  "I maintain a residence here in town," Don Carlos explained to Falconer, "so I am sending my daughter on ahead. It has been a long journey for her, and she is weary."

  Remo stirred up the grays, and the coach rocked on its broad leather thoroughbraces as it began to roll, flanked by the other vaqueros. Eben watched it go with a heavy heart, hoping for one last glimpse of Sombra, but he was disappointed.

  Dismounting, Falconer handed his reins to Eben. "The two of you stick close," he said, "while I find out what kind of reception we're going to get."

  He and Chagres started for a gate in the wall surrounding the governor-general's house. A solitary Mexican soldier stood at attention beside the gate. Don Carlos spoke to the soldier, and they were allowed to pass through, leaving Eben, Maguire, and Gaviota to stand in the warm California sunshine bathing the plaza.

  "I think I'm going to like this pl
ace," said Maguire, watching a pair of señoritas sashay by. They wore lace-frilled dresses and flower-bedecked bonnets and twirled gaily colored parasols. Eben thought they would have looked right at home in any sizable American town. The latest fashions apparently knew no boundaries, other than class.

  "Yes, indeed," continued the Irishman, smiling broadly. "A man can get into all sorts of trouble in this little hamlet."

  "It's trouble we're trying to steer clear of," reminded Eben, and then it struck him that he was certainly one to talk. After all, wasn't he planning to help the daughter of Don Carlos Chagres run away from home?

  "Oh, I don't mean bad trouble, lad," said Maguire. "I mean the good kind of trouble."

  Eben shrugged. He wasn't really listening. Sombra Chagres monopolized his thoughts.

  In time, though, he would have cause to think back on Maguire's words that day and wish he had paid closer attention.

  Chapter 24

  Hugh Falconer remained inside the governor-general's house for such a long time that Eben began to fret. What if the whole brigade was rounded up and locked away in the local jail? He would have a hard time helping Sombra if he was behind bars. Turning to Maguire, he asked the Irishman what he thought might happen.

  Maguire's shrug was indifferent. "Whatever a whimsical Fate decrees, I am ready. I learned long ago to expect the unexpected."

  "If they try to arrest us, will Falconer fight?"

  "Will he fight?" Maguire chuckled. "When you push Hugh Falconer too far you learn the true meaning of the word 'trouble.' He is the fightingest fool I've ever had the pleasure of seeing in action."

  "Those Mexican lancers look pretty tough."

  "True, lad. Worthy opponents for a mountain man. We'd give them a reason to remember us. Of course, we'd lose the fight. They have the advantage of numbers. But the longer the odds, the better. All a mountain man asks for is to die game."