Eben thought back to Joe Newell, dying alone on the Humboldt, surrounded by Digger Indians. Had Newell died with a satisfied smile on his face or with one last terrified scream stillborn on his tongue? Of one thing Eben was certain. He did not want to die right now. Not until he knew what the future held for him and Sombra. Of course, he mused, a man could always find some reason not to die.
A little while later Don Carlos emerged from the governor-general's house—without Falconer. That gave Eben a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, until Chagres informed them that all was well.
"Don Luis has generously granted Señor Falconer an audience," said the haciendero.
Eben thought he detected a trace of sarcasm in the man's tone of voice, but he couldn't be sure.
"I have done all that I can do," continued Chagres. "Now I must go and attend to my own business. Vaya con Dios, my friends."
He mounted Remo's horse and rode away, with Gaviota trotting alongside.
"I don't like that chap," muttered Maguire.
"Neither do I," said Eben.
"He reminds me of all those high and mighty English noblemen, looking down their long noses at you."
You don't know the half of it, thought Eben. But he wasn't about to share Sombra's terrible secret with anyone else.
A half hour crawled by before Falconer came out of the governor-general's house.
"Well," he said, "as long as we mind our manners and obey their laws we're welcome to come and go as we please. Doc, ride back to the brigade and tell Gus Jenkins he can send half the brigade into town today. The other half will wait until tomorrow. I want every man who visits Monterey to be back in camp by midnight."
Maguire was clearly dismayed by this condition. "What's wrong, Hugh? Don't you trust us?"
Eben thought he saw a strange and unfathomable expression skim across Hugh Falconer's chiseled features.
"In some things, yes. In others, no."
Maguire turned to his horse.
"Doc."
"Yeah?"
"The man who gets out of hand and puts the brigade at risk will pay a steep price."
Maguire nodded solemnly, mounted up, and left them.
"Well, then, Eben," said Falconer. "You still bound and determined?"
"Yes, sir. More than ever."
Falconer nodded, slowly scanned the plaza. Eben thought, This is it. The parting of the ways. He is going to cut me loose now. Eben suddenly realized, now that the time had come to go on alone, how much the brigade meant to him.
"I spoke to Don Luis about our little problem," said Falconer.
Eben's jaw dropped. He had not thought Falconer capable of such a colossal blunder, such a monumental error in judgment. Falconer accurately read his expression and smiled.
"Don't worry. May not look like it, but I know what I'm doing. I could tell right away that Chagres and the governor-general aren't exactly friends. Oh, they're civil enough to each other, when they have to be. But they are both very powerful and ambitious men. I have a hunch Don Carlos is to the governor-general what Brutus was to Caesar."
"I don't think I . . ."
"You'd know what I mean, had you been in there. I think Don Carlos wants to live in that big yellow house."
"Chagres said he had powerful enemies."
"Ambitious men do. Don Carlos had to step on a lot of people to climb as high as he has. But he's not quite king of the mountain yet. So, when he left, I stuck both our necks out and told Don Luis about Sombra."
"What did he say? Did he believe you?"
"He was shocked. But not too surprised. He's a decent enough fellow, but very willing to believe the worst about Don Carlos."
"Can he help us?"
"No."
Eben's hopes had been soaring high; now they were dashed to pieces on the hard and bitter rock of disappointment.
"But he gave me the names of two people who might be able to help," continued Falconer. "One's a Connecticut sea captain named Shagrue. His ship, the Halcyon, is anchored in the bay. It's a merchantman. Don Luis says Shagrue is about as close to being a pirate as you can get without hanging for it. He might be willing to take you and Sombra around the Cape and back to the United States. For a price."
"I have no means to pay passage," said Eben, glancing disconsolately at the Appaloosa mare. "I was thinking I might sell the mare . . ."
"We'll worry about that when the time comes. First, let's find Shagrue and palaver."
"Who is the second person the governor-general spoke of?"
"A priest. He lives in a mission down the coast. Don Luis seemed to think the padre has good reason to dislike Chagres. He didn't tell me why, though."
"I don't honestly see what good a priest would do us," confessed Eben.
"You might be surprised. But we'll look up Captain Shagrue first. Don Luis says he spends a lot of time at a cantina not far from here."
"We?"
Falconer nodded. "Thought I'd give you a hand."
"Too big a risk. I can't ask you to get involved."
"You didn't ask. I volunteered."
"But why? What about the brigade?"
"When it comes to taking Sombra you'll be on your own. Until then, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
In Eben's opinion, Falconer was breaking his own law and putting the brigade in jeopardy. But he didn't argue.
They mounted up and left the plaza, riding down a street lined with businesses. It was obvious to Eben that the governor-general had given Falconer detailed directions, as Falconer led the way down a narrow side street flanked by adobe walls. This brought them to the cantina. The interior of the place was dark and cool and had a stale smell. The floor was hard-packed dirt. The walls were peeling and fly-specked. Clearly this was an establishment that did not try to cater to Monterey's upper class.
The appearance of the current patrons bore this out. Several Californios with the look of laborers played coon can at one of the rickety tables. A pair of Russian sailors were drinking aguardiente at the bar and seemed to be well on the way to inebriation. A woman sat at a table in the corner, drinking straight out of a wicker-encased jug. She was barefoot and wore a plain brown dress and sweat-stained camisa. When she saw Eben and Falconer she got up and walked over to them. Slipping an arm around Eben, she rubbed against him, and he felt her soft, unfettered breasts through the thin blouse, and she said something with a salacious smile that Eben figured would have made him blush had he understood even a word of it.
"Thanks anyway," he said, "but no."
The man behind the bar spoke sharply to the woman, who shrugged her indifference and returned to the table and the jug.
"My friends," said the man, smiling broadly beneath the black sweep of his long mustache. "American, no? What can I do for you?"
"We're looking for Captain Shagrue," said Falconer. "We were told he often comes here."
"Nothing to drink?"
Falconer glanced over at the Russian sailors. "Two of whatever they're drinking."
The man behind the bar beamed, produced two glasses, poured the aguardiente. Falconer downed his in one gulp. It seemed to have no more effect on him than plain water. Encouraged, Eben tried his—and nearly choked to death as the liquor seared the lining of his throat.
Removing a small leather pouch from his belt, Falconer opened it and took out a twenty-dollar gold piece. "Take American money, don't you?"
"I take any kind of money," assured the man. "Captain Shagrue, yes, I know of him."
Falconer handed him the coin. "Is he here?"
The man called across the room to the woman. All Eben could get out of what he said was that the woman's name was Maria. She rose and went out the back door. With the door open, Eben could hear a commotion, the sound of many excited voices shouting all at once.
"A cockfight," explained the man behind the bar. "Feel free to try your luck."
"I'm not a gambling man," said Falconer.
The man pocketed the gold piece and mo
ved away.
"Pretty expensive drinks," murmured Eben. "Especially since they taste like coal oil."
"I had to pay for cooperation too."
"How am I ever going to repay you?"
Falconer didn't answer, turning as Maria reappeared with a man they assumed was the sea captain they had come to see.
Shagrue was a tall man, paunchy in the middle, his lantern-jawed face framed by bushy side-whiskers linked by a wiry mustache that partially concealed his thin-lipped mouth. Tiny red veins stood out on his cheeks and on the tip of a nose that had been broken at least once. His small gray eyes were narrowed into a perpetual squint. He had an arm draped over Maria's shoulder, which put his hand near her breast—an opportunity that Shagrue did not squander. Maria didn't seem to mind. She steered Shagrue toward the bar and went back to her table in the shadows.
"You looking for me?" Shagrue asked Falconer.
"We were told you might be able to help us."
"Might be. Who told you that?"
"The governor-general."
"Help you how?"
"Where are you bound when you sail from here, Captain?"
"Bound for home, New Haven."
"Can you take on two passengers?"
"The two of you?"
Falconer gestured at Eben. "Him. And a young woman."
"Young woman? I don't abide women aboard my ship. They make trouble with a crew on a long voyage."
"You would be well paid."
"Who is this young woman?" asked Shagrue. He could sense there was a catch.
"The daughter of Don Carlos Chagres."
Shagrue tried to blink the surprise out of his eyes. Then he chuckled. "You say the governor-general sent you to me?"
Falconer nodded.
"And Chagres? I'll wager he doesn't know his daughter plans to take a little trip, does he?"
"No."
"And if he does find out, you won't be going anywhere," said Shagrue, jabbing a finger in Eben's direction. "Except six feet under. Am I right?"
"You're right," said Eben.
"Well, well, well." Shagrue leaned against the bar. "This is a dangerous little piece of commerce you're talking about, gentlemen."
"But at least it's commerce," said Falconer.
Shagrue grinned, displaying crooked yellow teeth. "True. And I never let danger interfere with business."
"So you'll do it?"
"It will cost you."
"How much?"
"How much do you have?"
Falconer opened the pouch and poured its contents on the bar. When he saw the gold pieces Shagrue's eyes gleamed with avarice.
"That will do nicely," he said and reached for the gold.
Falconer's hand clamped down on the sea captain's arm, stopping the grab just shy of the money.
"Half now," said Falconer. "Half when you take on your two passengers."
"Fair enough."
Falconer put half of the gold pieces back in the pouch, leaving the rest on the bar. "When can you sail?"
"I'm refitting the Halcyon and awaiting cargo due in from San Joaquin tomorrow or the next day. Let's say five days. Maybe six. But I won't have them board in the harbor. Too many eyes, if you get my meaning."
"What do you suggest?"
"I'll pick them up down the coast a ways. Find a place to your liking and then come back here and let me know."
Falconer put out a hand. Shagrue shook it. Surprise registered on his face when Falconer tightened his grip instead of releasing the captain's hand.
"This young man is a good friend of mine, Captain Shagrue," said Falconer. "I want him to reach New Haven safe and sound. I'll have your word that he will."
"You have my word," said Shagrue. His expression made it manifest that he understood the consequences of breaking his promise and that he took those consequences seriously.
Falconer let go. "Good. We'll be seeing you. Come on, Eben."
Out in the narrow street, Eben shook his head dubiously. "I don't know about this."
Falconer swung aboard his mountain mustang. "It's your best bet to get away from Don Carlos. Once he finds out Sombra is gone, there will be no place in California where you could hide for long."
"I don't think I trust Shagrue. And if his crew is anything like him . . ."
"Don't sell yourself short. You can handle Shagrue. I know it, and so should you."
Eben climbed into his saddle. "I'll want you to have the Appaloosa, Mr. Falconer. In fact, I wouldn't want anyone else to have her, except maybe Rube."
"Done. And I'd say I've got the better of the bargain. Now I think we should take a ride down the coast and find a good place for your rendezvous with the Halcyon."
Chapter 25
FROM THE JOURNAL OF EBEN NALL
November 11, 1837. Tonight is the night. I am going to try to rescue Sombra Chagres from her father.
What are the odds of success? I do not even want to think about them. Any number of things could go wrong. It is quite possible that I will die in the attempt. If I fail and fall into the hands of Don Carlos and his vaqueros, my death is certain. In the event of my death, to anyone who may read this journal I state that if I do perish it is with but one regret, that Sombra will remain the unwilling subject of her father's perverted attentions. This endeavor must be undertaken, regardless of the risks.
After meeting with Captain Shagrue, Falconer and I traveled down the coast, looking for a suitable place for the rendezvous with the New Haven brigantine Halcyon. The road took us past the Carmel Mission, where we met Padre Pico, the priest who the governor-general thought would be willing to help me.
The priest greeted us warmly. He is a plump, middle-aged man whose warm heart and pleasant disposition are mirrored in a round, smiling face and twinkling eyes. He is of the Order of the Jesuits and has dedicated his entire life to the service of the people of California. When I told him what Don Carlos Chagres was doing to his daughter, he was shocked but not surprised. "Don Carlos is the most Godless man I have ever had the misfortune to meet," declared the priest.
He knew Sombra and her father well, for before acquiring the old mission that was transformed into Hacienda Gavilan, Don Carlos resided in Monterey. Padre Pico told us that Sombra's mother was a pious and gentle woman, adored by all who were acquainted with her. She died of a disease contracted while ministering to the poor. Padre Pico says he loved her dearly and feels likewise about her daughter. While he was not aware of what Don Carlos was doing to Sombra, he knows the man well enough to assert that he is capable of such depravity. His rise to a position of wealth and influence in California has been accomplished through the ruination of many lives. Don Carlos has also been instrumental in undermining the power of the Church. He is, says Padre Pico, an enemy of God.
The story of the California missions is one of amazing courage and perseverance. A handful of priests braved untold dangers to bring civilization and Christ to the Indian tribes of the region. Many paid with their lives. According to Padre Pico, the most heroic of them all was Junipero Serra, who founded the Mission of San Diego in 1769 and, in the thirteen years that followed, established nine more. These missions accumulated considerable wealth and held sway over thousands of natives.
Their power eventually excited the jealousy of the government. During the years of the Spanish possession, the padres had been granted unlimited privileges by the viceroys. Each mission came to own hundreds of thousands of acres, with tens of thousands head of livestock, and the Indians were their loyal subjects. Nearly all the commerce of this bountiful land rested, therefore, in the hands of the priests. They became adept at managing the economy.
The situation changed once Mexico threw off the yoke of Spain and established itself as an independent republic. The missions of California became public property, and the padres, once sovereigns of their own domains, were left with only spiritual power over the Indians. The government appropriated the lands and herds of the missions. Some of the land was parceled out
to the Indians, four hundred varas square per family, in return for which they were expected to pay revenues to the government.
Without the guidance and encouragement of the priests, says Padre Pico, few of the Indians flourished as farmers. Many returned to their nomadic lifestyles. When soldiers tried to force them back to their abandoned farms, bloodshed was often the result. Several missions were closed, including the one that has become the private kingdom of Don Carlos Chagres.
Apparently, Don Carlos wants to do away with the missions altogether. Padre Pico is certain that if Chagres becomes governor-general, which is his greatest ambition, he would almost certainly decree that all the remaining missions be sold at auction. The proceeds of these sales would go in large measure directly into the coffers of the government. No doubt the missions would be converted into more haciendas, more feudal domains like Gavilan, and Padre Pico is firmly convinced that the people fared better when they were "ruled" by the priests. Personally, I think they would fare better without any rulers at all, but of course I did not voice my opinion on that score.
Padre Pico gave me his blessing upon hearing of my plan to help Sombra escape. He told of a secluded cabin a half mile down the coast from the mission. Overlooking the ocean, it would be as good a place as any for the rendezvous with Captain Shagrue. It is abandoned, and few know of it. Padre Pico said he would make certain it was stocked with provisions, in case Sombra and I had to remain there for any length of time. He offered to be of service in any other way I saw fit.
That night I returned with Hugh Falconer to the brigade's camp, on the outskirts of Monterey. Half the company had spent the evening carousing in town, and they were coming back in twos and threes. I told Rube Holly all about Sombra and what I intended to do. I expected him to lecture me on the subject of women and what men should and should not do with regard to them—something to the effect that women were nice, but they damned sure weren't worth getting killed over. He often says such things, even though I believe he would give his life for Luck's benefit. But he said nothing of the kind. I suppose he must have seen the look of determination on my face. And he actually offered to assist me in the venture. I declined the offer. I am unwilling to put anyone else's life on the line.
Falconer's Law Page 16
