NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 34

The following material is an extract from NOT JUST ANY MAN, A Novel of Old New Mexico, Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson. Published by Palo Flechado Press, Santa Fe, NM

A Note about Spanish Terms: This novel is set in northern New Mexico and reflects as much as possible the local dialect at that time. Even today, Northern New Mexico Spanish is a unique combination of late 1500s Spanish, indigenous words from the First Peoples of the region and of Mexico, and terms that filtered in with the French and American trappers and traders. I’ve tried to represent the resulting mixture as faithfully as possible. My primary source of information was Rubén Cobos’ excellent work, A Dictionary of New Mexico and Southern Colorado Spanish (University of New Mexico Press, 2003). Any errors in spelling, usage, or definition are solely my responsibility.

CHAPTER 34

In the morning, the men and mules move down the ravine, following the half-frozen water that trickles through it. The gulch runs straight south for a long while, then swings north until Gerald begins to wonder if they’re wise to follow it. After all, the valley lies to the south.

But they’re still headed downhill and the snow is still falling on the slopes behind them, so he doesn’t voice his concern. Though he does breath more easily when the stream turns again, twisting northeast and then south.

They camp that night at what appears to be the fullest part of a deep curve that bends north and east. The ravine has widened a little and its slopes are more broadly angled and lower than they’ve been.

Snow still threatens and there’s no sign of huntable wildlife. Even the birds are stilled by the heavy clouds. The two men are reduced to eating flour and water mashed into a paste, then spiraled around green sticks and cooked over the smoky fire.

At least there’s water. In the morning, Gerald breaks ice from the edge of the tiny stream and gingerly fills his canteen. With luck, the liquid will warm a little before his thirst compels him to try it. At the moment, it’s bound to be toothbreakingly cold.

When he returns to the fire, Ramón has his rifle in his lap, checking the load. “It may be that the elk have all moved into the valley,” he says. “Perhaps there will be meat to eat with our bread tonight.”

Gerald grins. “Oh, is that what you call what we’ve been eating?”

Ramón’s smile flashes. “It is not the bread of Encarnación,” he says. “But for that we must return to Don Fernando de Taos.”

Gerald looks at the pack on his mule’s back, ready for the day. “There aren’t enough furs in that pack to warrant a return just yet,” he says. “More’s the pity.”

Ramón grins. “But how delicioso that bread will be when we taste it again,” he says. “After my poor attempts.”

“I wasn’t criticizing your bread,” Gerald says apologetically. “I’d just like some meat to go with it.”

Ramón chuckles. “I also am weary of my so-called bread,” he says. “And I too wish for meat.” He turns his head and tilts it to look at the just-visible mountain peaks to the west. “Let us hope those clouds stay behind us and do not descend with us down the ravine.”

They kill the fire and head out, still following the stream, which is starting to actually look like it means to become a creek at some point. Gerald shakes his head ruefully. Back in Missouri, this trickle of moisture wouldn’t be given the honor of a name. But he’s willing to bet there’s a map somewhere where it’s drawn clearly and given a label. He chuckles. If its water runs all year, it’ll even be designated a river.

The sun is doing its best to make itself seen through the bank of clouds in the east. It isn’t producing much light or much warmth, but it seems to promise an end to the grayness and snow.

There’s a break in the trees ahead and Gerald’s heart lifts. The valley, at last. But when they reach the open space, he sees that the stream is merely curving south through a frozen meadow toward yet another mountain. Snow-bound grassy slopes block the view on either side.

Gerald suppresses a groan of frustration. The grass is a hopeful sign, but the mountain ahead is discouraging. Yet, the mules’ heads are up and Ramón is nodding in satisfaction. As they swing south alongside the rivulet of water, frozen grass crunching beneath their feet, Gerald sees why.

The narrow stretch of grass between them and the mountain ahead curves around its base and stretches beyond to form a peninsula of grass that reaches into the larger valley below. As Gerald pauses to take it in, the sun breaks through the clouds. The white snow gleams joyfully back at him.

He jiggles his mule’s lead rope and follows Ramón along the stream. The ground is slightly mushy underfoot now and the snow is already melting from the grass. The mules snatch mouthfuls as they pass, and the men slow a little to allow them to forage and to adjust their own eyes to the brightness.

Ahead of him, Ramón suddenly raises his arm and waves it toward the base of the mountain that had seemed so ominous. Gerald turns, narrowing his eyes against the glare. Elk scatter the lower slopes, browsing contentedly, apparently oblivious to the men and their mules. Ramón’s arm moves again, to the south, and Gerald sees another hillside with yet another herd. Ramón turns toward Gerald and grins. “Meat for our bread,” he calls.

Gerald chuckles and nods. What a valley it is. A snowy Garden of Eden. Water, browse, meat. What more could a man want? Suzanna Peabody’s bemused eyes rise before him. Well, that also. If that’s possible. But, for now, the meat and the beauty seems almost enough. He lifts his voice toward Ramón. “Shall we find a place to camp and then go hunting, or shoot first and camp later?”

~ ~ ~ ~

But of course, no section of real estate is truly a Garden of Eden unmarked by human activity. The report of Ramón and Gerald’s rifles and the subsequent elk stampede down the valley is bound to be noticed by other meat seekers.

Gerald and Ramón are hunkered over an afternoon fire at the base of one of the half-dozen long low rises that bisect the valley when the mules nicker anxiously. Immediately, the men are on their feet, rifles in hand, the fire between them as they stand back to back, eyes scanning the snow-spotted slopes.

An Indian man, in the long braids and beaded buckskins of the Utes, rises from the grass twenty yards out, palms up to show he comes without weapons. Ramón says “Heh!” and Gerald turns his head slightly.

“How many?” Gerald asks.

“Just one, I think. No, there’s another.”

Gerald nods, his eyes sweeping the grasses within his gaze. “I think— No, there’s another.” He frowns. “A youngsters,” he says in a relieved tone.

“Ute youngsters can also shoot.”

Gerald chuckles. “Very true.” He swings his head. “Just the three, then. All with hands open. Shall we call them in?”

Ramón shrugs. “If we don’t, they may shoot. If we do, they may shoot.”

Gerald laughs and raises his arm to beckon the Utes forward. As they come closer, he squints. “I think I may know the tall one.”

Ramón nods. “As do I. It is Stands Alone.” He looks carefully at the boy. “And his son Little Squirrel. They come to Taos sometimes, to trade. It is three years since I have seen them.” He lifts a hand in greeting as the tallest of the men reaches the campfire.

“My friend,” Stands Alone responds. He nods to Gerald. “You I have met before. With the Lone Elk of the red hair. Did you find the beaver you sought?”

Gerald nods. “You directed us well. We made a good catch.”

“And now you have returned.” It isn’t a question, but somehow it requires an answer.

“Yes.” Gerald turns. His eyes sweep the valley, then move to the Ute. “It is a good place.”

“It is.” Stands Alone turns and nods toward his companions. “This is my friend Many Eagles and my son Little Squirrel.” The men and boy nod to each other. “I see you have found meat,” Stands Alone says.

“But not beaver just yet, so we were forced to shoot elk,” Gerald says, remembering their previous conversation.

A smile glimmers across the Ute’s face. “So you have no fat.” He turns to his son and says something in Ute. The boy pulls a section of beaver tail from the pouch at his waist. “It is now we who have fat.”

“Perhaps we should combine them,” Ramón says. He turns to the boy. “Yours and mine together will make a fine meal. And we have flour for bread.”

~ ~ ~ ~

They eat until they are satiated, then Ramón places thin strips of the remaining meat on the rocks that fringe the fire. “The jerked meat will be good for your travels,” he tells Stands Alone.

“It is good,” the Ute says. “No waste.”

“It would be a shame to waste anything of this valley,” Gerald says. He looks out over the broad sweep of it. The snow is melting in earnest now. Elk and deer graze the hillsides, although well out of gunshot range. A business-like coyote trots across a boggy area below, nose straight before him. “The grasses indicate that the soil here is rich.”

Stands Alone looks at him. “The grass is good feed for the elk and deer. And sometimes the antelope and buffalo.”

Gerald adds a small piece of wood to the fire. “And would also do well for beef cattle.”

Stands Alone grimaces. “Sharp hoofed and stupid. Bad for the stream banks.” Then he grins mischievously. “But good for the wolves and the catamount.”

“If a man lived here and watched over them, cattle might do well.”

On the other side of the fire, Many Eagles moves impatiently.

“If a man lives here, the eagles might leave,” Stands Alone says.

“If a man who respects the eagles lives here, he will not encroach on their nests and they will not wish to leave.”

“The big eagles, the ones you call the golden, will eat small calves.”

Gerald shrugs. “If most of the calves survive, the ones that are taken will not be missed.”

“Rich man,” Stands Alone observes.

Gerald shakes his head. “No, not a rich man. Just a realistic one. We must all pay for what we use. A calf now and then to the eagles or the wolves is a fair trade for use of the land.”

Ramón glances at Stands Alone. “And to those who have used it before you?” he asks.

Gerald spreads his hands. “Surely there is room for all.”

“One American comes and others follow,” Many Eagles says grimly.

Ramón grins. “But not to last through a winter.”

Stands Alone chuckles. His eyes slide to Gerald, then back to Ramón. “The winter winds here will push them away,” he says. He and Ramón chuckle companionably.

Gerald raises an eyebrow. “I have encountered these winds,” he says mildly. “I was here last winter with Old Bill.”

“You would be without a woman.” Stands Alone grins at Many Eagles and says something in Ute. Many Eagles chuckles and shakes his head. “Women do not like the winters here,” Stands Alone says to Gerald. He gestures toward the Cimarron. “They stay below in the warm valley, the one of the Utes.”

“I don’t have a woman,” Gerald says.

“You never know what might transpire,” Ramón says.

Gerald glances at him, then returns his focus to Stands Alone. “A man who lives here will be rich enough to share with his friends,” he says. He glances at Many Eagles. “And their friends.”

Stands Alone nods, then shrugs. “It is not for me to say. Many bands of differing tribes travel these mountains to hunt and trade.”

Gerald nods. He looks up and his eyes touch the grassy swales, the marshy area where the Cimarron River heads, and the green-black mountain slopes on the valley’s eastern edge. “It’s only an idea,” he says. “Something to think on.” He glances at the other men. “There’s also the matter of money and cattle, which I don’t possess.” He shakes his head. “I may never have the means to do what I wish.”

“You never know what might transpire,” Ramón says again.

“The meat, it jerks?” Little Squirrel asks his father, and the men turn to teasing the boy about his two hollow legs.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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