NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 29

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 29

But the glow of Gerald’s welcome doesn’t last more than an hour. Ewing Young and James Pattie also show up at the Peabody casa that afternoon. Pattie has brought his father’s sorrel mare to show off and they all troop into the courtyard to admire the beast. It shows little sign of its ordeal among the Apache and then the canyon wilderness, and nickers politely at the strangers it’s introduced to, especially after Suzanna produces a small handful of carrots from her winter cache.

The mare delicately takes a single carrot and Suzanna gives Pattie a delighted smile. “She’s remarkably polite!” the girl says.

Pattie runs a hand through his blond curls and smiles into Suzanna’s face. Gerald’s stomach clenches. She smiles that way at everyone. There’s no special welcome here for him. He’s just one of many. Just any man.

Still, he finds himself returning with the others to the parlor and taking tea and sandwiches from her hands. Ewing Young ensconces himself in the window seat. Then Richard Campbell and George Yount show up. The Pattie mare is still in the courtyard, and there’s general talk of the sorrel, horses in general, and Pattie’s father at the Santa Rita mines in particular, and how glad he’ll be to see his Kentucky riding horse again.

Suzanna’s eyes meet Gerald’s more than once as the talk flows around the room and he begins to relax a little. Perhaps there’s something here for him, after all. Something just for him.

But there’s still the matter of Jones. Gerald’s stomach tightens as he waits for the talk to turn to the trapper who was part of the party that found the horse, the man who didn’t return with them.

But the conversation hasn’t arrived anywhere near that subject when Milton Sublette bursts into the parlor. “That damn Armijo!” he says as he enters abruptly, his hat still on his head.

Jeremiah Peabody’s eyes move from Sublette to Suzanna.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Sublette says. He snatches his hat from his head and nods to her father. “Jeremiah.” Then he turns to Ewing Young. “I just got in from Santa Fe. Your man in Peña Blanca’s been shot!”

Young lifts his chin. “I don’t have a man in Peña Blanca.”

Sublette makes an impatient gesture. “De Baca, the one who was storin’ our furs. I guess he was serious about protectin’ those plews as if they was his own, because he put up a fuss when the Santa Fe alcalde showed up with his soldiers, and they killed him.”

“Damnation!” James Pattie says. He turns toward Suzanna. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”

Suzanna nods at him abstractedly, her eyes on Milton Sublette.

Sublette thumps his hat against his leg and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have left my pack there. I should of just taken them in and paid the full duty on ’em. It would’ve been easier all round.”

“What’s done is done,” Ewing Young says. He glances at James Pattie. “We’ll get them back.”

Jeremiah Peabody leans forward. “Who is it that’s been killed?”

Ewing Young turns his head. “Luis Maria Cabeza de Baca,” he says evenly. “Of Peña Blanca. He was storing some furs for Sublette, Pattie, and me until we could take them into the customs house.” He nods toward Sublette, who’s moved toward the table and is taking a teacup from Suzanna’s hands. “Apparently, the Santa Fe alcalde decided to bring them in sooner.”

Sublette jerks around, his teacup rattling in its saucer. “It’s Governor Narbona that ordered it. Alcalde Duran was just doin’ his job. But who did it don’t matter to de Baca or his family. He’s dead!”

“I heard you. And the furs?”

Sublette grips the teacup so hard Gerald thinks it might snap in two. Sublette stares at Young, his jaw clenched. “All thirteen packs were taken into custody and moved to Santa Fe.” He sits down at the table, opposite Suzanna and as far away from Young as he can get. He carefully places the cup and saucer on the table, then turns in his chair to face the room.

He puts a hand on each knee. “De Baca was tryin’ to protect the furs. He started waving a gun around and one of Duran’s soldiers got excited and shot him.” Sublette shakes his head in disgust and looks at Jeremiah Peabody. “Narbona seems to have forgotten all about the fact that he issued us licenses last spring.”

Young stands in one fluid motion. He looks around the room at the men who’ve been with him all winter. “I haven’t paid you all yet,” he says. “If you want to see your money, you’d best come with me to Santa Fe.” He nods to Sublette. “We don’t need everyone, but see if you can at least round up Michel and LeCompte. Tell ’em to catch us up on the road.” Sublette nods abruptly and disappears into the hallway. Young turns to Jeremiah Peabody, then Suzanna. “Ma’am,” he says as he puts on his hat.

The trappers gather themselves together, nod politely, and move out of the room door. Gerald is the last to stand. “I’d best go with him,” he says apologetically. “Or I’m likely to not see any of the wages I’m due.”

Suzanna nods reluctantly. Her father’s thin face darkens. “I’ll be glad when you’re out of it,” he says.

And what will Peabody say when he learns that these same men left Jones in the wilderness to die? Gerald wonders uneasily. But he only says, “I look forward to being done with it,” and lifts his hat from the peg by the door. He looks for a long moment into Suzanna Peabody’s anxious eyes, then turns silently to let himself out.

It’s a hard and silent ride to Santa Fe, dust thick in the air as the cantering horses throw a haze over the road across the Taos plain and along the ridges above the Rio del Norte. Young stops fifteen miles south to grab a cold meal and let the horses blow.

There’s no time even for brewing coffee, but no one grumbles. Young’s grim face stops complaints before they can become thoughts. The trappers move out again, at a steady trot, conserving their mounts.

They canter into the Santa Fe Plaza early the afternoon of the third day with dusty clothes and sleep-deprived faces, and rein in at the door of the long low adobe building that houses the Governor’s offices and living quarters and forms the north side of the plaza.

Ewing Young stalks through the palace’s massive wooden doors and the trappers sit their horses and gaze at the goods for sale under the building’s portal. Early squash, peas, and last summer’s corn compete for attention with Pueblo pottery and Navajo blankets. But none of Young’s men have money to spend. Not until the confiscated furs are released.

The winter’s catch is still confiscated when Young strides angrily out of the building and mounts his horse. The trappers follow him to a campsite beside the Santa Fe River, just outside of town in a spot that’s easily located. By noon the next day, a small group of American merchants has found them and they’ve all hunkered down to consider what’s to be done. If the furs aren’t returned, if trapping isn’t going to be allowed, there’ll be little reason for any of them to continue on in New Mexico. They all might as well head back to the States.

But a new Governor’s about to be sworn in and nothing’s likely to happen until he’s in office. They can only hope that the rumors about Manuel Armijo’s attitude toward the Americans aren’t true. Especially his reported attitude about American trappers.

“There’s no real law sayin’ foreigners can’t trap,” one of the merchants observes as they sit around the campfire. “This so-called proclamation is just hearsay.”

 “Well, somebody’s seen something written down or Narbona wouldn’t be carrying on like this.” Milton Sublette shifts his position on a large sandstone rock and adjusts his wounded leg. “His attitude is quite a change from how friendly he was just last fall.”

“Has anybody seen this so-called proclamation?” Ewing Young asks.

The merchants shake their heads. “Cristobel Torres told me he was shown something, but then the man who showed it to him whisked it away,” one of them says. “Chris says it looked more like a letter than a formal proclamation. But he didn’t get a good look at it.”

James Pattie runs his hand through his hair. “They must have somethin’ to go on,” he says.

“This Armijo sure don’t like Americans much,” the merchant says.

“Like we’re all the same,” Milton Sublette says bitterly.

“I’m thinkin’ we should ask to see this here proclamation they keep talkin’ about and get someone to translate it for us,” the merchant says. “Someone like Torres, who we can trust to say it straight.”

“Isn’t Torres the one with the house opposite the Governor’s so-called palace?” Young asks.

“The one with the big wooden gates? That’s Cristobel’s cousin, I think. Agustín Torres.”

Young nods. “Do you think he’d be willing to give us room and board on credit until this thing is settled?”

The merchant shrugs. “He’s generally friendly toward Americanos,” he says. “He might take you all in, depending on how long it takes to get this mess dealt with and how much you’ll pay him once it’s over with.”

Milton Sublette scowls. “Some of us have families to feed and plans to make. We can’t be waitin’ around all summer for governors to change in the hope that Armijo’ll be more sensible than Narbona.”

Young turns his head. “You’ll get what’s yours.”

Sublette hoists himself awkwardly to his feet. “Everything I’ve got is bound up in those furs.” He scowls at Young. “I don’t know why I didn’t just take what was mine and go on by myself.”

“But you didn’t,” Young says coolly. “You decided throwin’ in with me made more sense.”

“Shouldn’t have.” Sublette kicks at a piece of firewood with his injured leg, sending up a shower of sparks. “And it’s the last time I do.” He turns away. “I’m goin’ to town. Anyone coming with me?”

George Yount stands and looks at Gerald questioningly, but Gerald gestures at the fire, indicating that he’s staying where he is.

“Oh, I forget. Your gal is in Taos, is she not?” Yount grins at Gerald companionably and turns to follow Sublette.

Gerald shakes his head and notices Jim Pattie watching him. He turns his attention to Ewing Young.

“I need to lay low, or whoever is governor will try to arrest me,” Young is telling the merchant. “If that happens, someone else is likely to die.”

The other man nods. “I’m goin’ to ask the alcalde about that there piece of paper and see if he can produce somethin’.”

“How’d he find out about the furs, anyway?”

The other man shifts uneasily. “One of your men reported you to Governor Narbona,” he says reluctantly. “That Mexican Sandoval.”

Young nods grimly. “His Daddy told him to.”

“It’s likely he did. They say Felipe Sandoval is worse than Armijo when it comes to his feelings about Americans.”

Young looks across the fire at Gerald. “This is what happens when you take them in, try to teach them a trade,” he says bitterly. “They’d just as soon turn on you as thank you for your help.”

Gerald looks back at him, recalling Ignacio’s frustrated desire to trap and his anger when he realized that Young planned to circumvent the law. There are two sides to this question, but now doesn’t seem a good time for that discussion. Gerald shrugs noncommittally and looks into the fire.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

Thank you for your interest in Not Just Any Man. You can access other free chapters here. Want to get future chapters in your in-box? Sign up to follow me via email.

If you would like an ebook or print copy of this novel, it is available from your favorite brick and mortar store as well as Bookshop.org, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or your favorite ebook retailer.