NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 15

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 15

The ground is dry and the going easy, and two days bring the trappers to the Chavez rancho, which is sprawled along the river. As Wolfskill’s party moves toward it across the llano, they pass shepherds grazing mixed flocks of goats and sheep. There’s no apparent move to get word to the Los Chavez padrón and former nuevomexico governor Franscisco Javier Chavez that the trappers are coming, but by mid-day a man on horseback has appeared to welcome them and lead them politely to a campsite under the massive cottonwoods beside the river.

Once the animals are unpacked, the men disperse to make themselves presentable to the Don and his daughters. The river is too shallow for proper bathing, but its waters are warmer and wider than the mountain streams in the highlands. Gerald finds a depression near the bank where he can shed his layers of clothing and weigh them down with some rocks, then lower himself into the water and let the river wash away at least some of the stink.

As he’s climbing back into his clothes, Ignacio appears, waving at him. “Come,” he says. “El señor prepares for us a feast.”

Don Chavez’s women have roasted two lambs and cooked several kilos of tortillas, as well as a tender cheese, or queso. Though there is no opportunity for interaction with the Chavez daughters, the food is a welcome change from camp fare. The trappers are in a mellow mood when they head back to the campsite. But their faces darken when William Wolfskill announces that they’re heading up to Taos the next day.

“We don’t all need to go,” he adds. “In fact, it’ll be quicker if most of you stay here.” He grins. “Especially those of you with Taos sweethearts. There just won’t be time for all that. We need to get there, consult with Ewing, and then hightail it back here and decide how to proceed.”

 “Decide?” Thomas Smith growls. “What’s t’ decide? We’re gonna go back in there and teach those mothersuckin’ Apaches a lesson they ain’t gonna forget! Damn Indians!”

“We’ll need more men to do that,” Wolfskill points out. “And more supplies. Since Ewing has the biggest share in this outfit, it’s going to depend on what he wants to do and how much more money he wants to lay out.”

Smith scowls. “It’s my mule that got killed. I’ve got a right to a voice in this.”

“I know it,” Wolfskill says. “And that’ll be part of the considerations. But my partner and I need to confer. And if the decision goes the way I think it might, we’ll need more men.” He shakes his head. “There’s not likely to be many left in Taos this time of year. We’ll be scraping the barrel.” He looks around the circle. “Now, I need a few to go with me. Enough that we can fend off anyone layin’ in wait and get through t’ Taos in good time.” His eyes rest on Gerald, then pass over him. “Sublette, you’ll be wantin’ to stay and rest up that wound.”

Milt Sublette stretches his leg slightly and grimaces. “I’d just slow you down,” he agrees.

Wolfskill’s eyes move on. “I’m thinking Stone and Branch and Dutch George.” He grins. “As far as I know, none of you have sweethearts to distract you.” He nods to Ignacio. “And Sandoval to do the cooking.” He chuckles. “You can check in with your teacher, so he can send news to your pa that you’re workin’ hard.”

Ignacio grins sheepishly and Gerald feels a pang of something almost like jealousy. Had Ignacio been studying with Jeremiah Peabody before he joined Wolfskill’s trapping group? Would he see Peabody’s daughter? It’s more likely that he was working under Taos’ new Catholic priest, Padre Martinez. But there’s still a chance that the boy’s path will cross the Peabodys’ while he’s in Taos, and Gerald feels a twinge of envy. It would be good to see Suzanna again.

But he has no rights to such thoughts. He considers the fact that William Wolfskill didn’t name him as a man with no Taos sweetheart to distract him. He has to admit that Suzanna Peabody would be a distraction, but Gerald isn’t sure whether he’s pleased or annoyed by Wolfskill’s silence. Are others besides Old Bill aware of the pull the Peabody casa has for him? He feels a glimmer of amusement, then discomfort, and remains in the background the next morning, lest someone should decide to ask him what message he wants delivered to the Peabody parlor.

While the Taos party is gone, Gerald devotes himself to grazing his mule along the river in locations that won’t interfere with the Chavez stock and getting his gear back into shape. He also studies the way the Chavez acequia system channels water to the hacienda’s fields, and the primitive but effective wooden gates the laborers use to send it where it’s most needed.

The soil is sandy here, but rich wherever the river has flooded, and he’s told that it produces bountiful crops of chili and corn. The fields are barren now. Brown leaves rattle in the cottonwoods along the river. But Gerald can see that it’s a good land, and fertile wherever the irrigation system’s channels have been extended.

His mind strays to the girl in Taos who’s growing potatoes beside a similar water course, but he forces himself back to the ditch at hand. He has no right to think of her long-limbed stride, her black eyes gazing into his face. He has no right.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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