Marco and the Devil's Bargain (34 page)

“
You called him Cuerno Verde. We had another name for him.” Toshua said. “I will not speak it. Strange, no? We cannot agree even on names, your people and The People.”

The warrior with the torch spoke no Spanish, so he questioned Toshua in a low voice, his eyes on Marco. Toshua replied and the man nodded. He spoke to Toshua again then put his hand on Marco's bare knee, giving it a shake. He spoke again.

“
Tell me what he said,
pabi
.”

Toshua stood up, and the other two rose. “He said he will
not
go ahead. He said let us all ride in together as brothers. We will speak for you and your woman, even for the little man with the cutting knife who frowns all the time.”

Marco felt relief settle around his shoulders. He signed “thank you.”

The warrior spoke, and it looked to Marco like Toshua's turn to dig deep. So much for white men who thought Indians showed no emotion.

“
He wants to say, ‘You have all saved us from the Dark Wind. We do not forget.' ”

They started back toward the cave mouth in the distance. The warrior with the torch spoke to Toshua, who nodded, then turned and went deeper in the cave. Marco watched, a question in his eyes.

“
My brother, he said that when he went farther back yesterday to see if there were any more sleeping bears, he found something that you might want to see.”

Marco heard the sound of metal on metal, then saw the bobbing torch. He gasped to see what the Kwahadi carried.

“
Dios mio
, they are branding irons!” Marco exclaimed. “What in God's name …?”

But he knew. Some raiding party—last week or fifty years ago—had used this cave to secrete branding irons. Why hide them, he could not imagine, knowing how Indians prized anything made of metal. Had the raiders thought to return later and make a bargain with some
juez de campo
in another district to the east? Death must have come for them, and no one else knew.

The warrior dropped the irons with a clatter because they were heavy Spanish brands, some so elaborate that they required more than one iron spoke. His heart sick, Marco knew what he would find.

There it was, the brand with the star and the
vega
, the star in the meadow. For years, Paloma's brand, wrenched from her family, had lain through heat and cold in a cave in the secret canyon of the Kwahadi. As he stood there in a Comanche breechcloth, he hoped they were dead, maybe even eaten by Tonkawas.

“
You could leave it here,” Toshua suggested. “We would never speak of it.”

Marco picked up the brand. “I cannot do that.”

They let him walk ahead of them to the cave mouth, his eyes alert for his wife, the treasure of his heart. When she saw him coming, she waved, the baby against her breast. He kept walking, doing nothing to hide the branding iron in his hand. What would be the point?

He knew the moment when she realized what he carried, because she set the baby down with great care and smoothed her deerskin dress—her habit back at the Double Cross. So fastidious, Paloma always made certain she was tidy when she waited in the door as he returned from a trip, or even from his office next to the horse barn.

He kept walking, but slower now, uncertain. Her hands went to her throat and then carefully in front of her. She took a step toward him, then could not move toward what he carried. With a cry of anguish, she turned and ran from the cave, ran and ran. His heart pounding, he stopped and watched as she leaped over the small stream, picked up speed and ran to the canyon wall opposite where he stood.

His heart broke as he saw her pound on the canyon wall as though she wanted to be away from everyone in it. “Please, not me, too,” he said, as he crossed the stream, unsure of himself.

He stopped when she began to moan, doubled over now in great pain. He knew that pain. In his mind's eye, he knew he would always see himself lying prostrate on the graves of his wife and twins, moaning his sorrow.

“
Go, and hurry.”

He turned around, startled, because Eckapeta had followed him. She took the branding iron from him and walked back to the cave, her stride purposeful. He did as she said, running now to Paloma. He grabbed her and held her so tight that he feared for her ribs. With a sob, she wrapped her legs around him and wept.

He knew the world was a harsh home, but his heart told him that on that particular day—whatever day it was, because he had lost count—there were more tears shed in that spot than in any place on earth.

Marco Mondragón sat with Paloma Vega as the afternoon turned to dusk, and the cold came on. She said nothing for a long time, then she began to speak of her family. Hesitant at first, she told him of Claudio and Rafael and her parents. She had mentioned them before, but this time she told the tiny details of their life together, much like his life on the Double Cross.

“
It's hard,” she said finally, and leaned against him.

He debated a long moment, wondering whether to add to her pain, then realized she already knew.

“
You are going to have to do another hard thing very soon,” he said. “We are nearly at the great gathering, and Kahúu's brother-in-law will be there.”

She nodded. “I know. Don't speak of it. I will be as brave as I can, but I cannot guarantee what I will do.”

“
Agreed. I will be with you.”

“
I know.” She did something she had done once before, in the kitchen at the monastery of San Pedro, where the Chama meets the Rio Bravo. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it formally. He did the same thing with her hand.

He pulled her to her feet. Arms around each other's waists, they walked back to The People. Eckapeta met them at the cave mouth, her eyes so kind. She put her arms around them both, murmuring words neither of them understood—except that they did. As they approached the fire, where the fragrance of bear meat rose to greet them, she pointed down.

The star and meadow brand lay in the coals. She pointed to the ground next to the fire, where someone had stretched out a buffalo robe, the tanned side so smooth, a blank canvas.

“
Do it for them, and they will be at peace.”

Paloma stared into the flames for a long moment. Eckapeta handed her a leather square, which she wrapped around the iron handle. With great concentration, Paloma lifted her family's brand from the fire, looking over her shoulder for him to help, because he knew it was heavy. Together they branded the robe, then Marco leaned the brand against the cave wall, where it could cool. Tomorrow, Paloma could decide what to do with it. He hoped she would not object if, when they returned to the Double Cross, they stamped his brand on the robe, too, and hung it in the
sala
.

“
It's a fine brand,” she said. She looked around, her eyes defiant, her chin up. “It is
my
brand! Never my cousin's!
Mine
.”

He tried to take her hand, but Eckapeta stopped him. She put her hands on Paloma's shoulders. “I asked Toshua. He said I could name you. It is my right because you have become a daughter to The People.” The woman with the pox-ravaged face looked around at The People, who had gathered to watch.

“
Tatzinupi. Star.”

Paloma nodded, serious. She looked at the buffalo robe. “Probably we should hang it in the
sala
. Husband, I am tired. Let us go to bed.”

T
he brand and the robe rode with them in the morning, tied behind Paloma's saddle. With it, a change seemed to come to the travelers. The more superstitious among them—Marco was not in that number—wanted to give the brand all credit. After all, Eckapeta was convinced that Paloma's brand on the buffalo robe had freed her family—not to put too fine a point on it—from a problem caused by The People in the first place. It struck Marco as strange reasoning, but they were obviously outnumbered. More than likely, it was just time for spring and everyone felt it.

He had noticed a change of another kind during his early morning watch. He sat at the cave mouth, leaning on his lance, wondering if his wife would object to the lance in their
sala
. Maybe Toshua could teach him how to throw it properly. That thought proved unproductive; after all, why would Toshua return to the Double Cross to teach him
anything
, once The People were inoculated and Antonio Gil had his daughter back? It was obvious to everyone that Toshua and Eckapeta were making the most of what randy old Buffalo Rut called tipi time. There was no reason for Toshua to return to the colony of New Mexico that had enslaved him. He had a wife again, and Marco understood what that meant better than most.

I'll miss you, brother
, he thought, as he stared out into the canyon that had been his home for at least a month now. As he sat there, feeling more than melancholy, Marco suddenly realized that he was not cold. Granted, he had wrapped himself in his cloak, plus the trade blanket, but there was more in the air than chill. He heard water dripping. Faintly, from the soaring heights above, he thought he heard small birds, the kind that move farther south when October winds blow. They were back; spring had come to the Texas plains.

He glanced into the cave, wanting to share the observation with the dearest person in his world. She had fallen asleep in his arms as usual, but this time she had also cuddled the baby, who Kahúu had assured her would sleep all night, now that her belly was full. And that had meant he had cuddled the child, too, hand on her little head as he reached over Paloma for his share of the pleasure.

“
We need to be home, my dove,” he said softly to no one in particular as he sat there in the cave mouth. “Lambs and calves are coming now, and there are fields to plant. I'll be busy; you'll be busy.” Would it be enough? He doubted it.

He had talked to her about the matter yesterday, as they had walked to the horses, walked anywhere just to be together. She had nodded, her face serious. He knew she understood that there was no way in the universe that the Kwahadi would ever relinquish one child. If they tried to escape with it, they would die, and not in easy ways. “I know,” she had said, her voice so sorrowful.

She knew, but there would be that moment when the child's father claimed his daughter and Paloma had to actually let go of the baby she had tended so well, easing Kahúu's burden.

Why does it have to be this way?
Marco asked himself. He had spent a lifetime bending to the will of God, but he thought it hard.

He stood up, shaking his head against his unproductive thoughts. And all because spring was coming.

They left at daybreak, full of bear meat. Yesterday, the women had roasted long strips of it over the fire, so there was enough to get them to the gathering. Marco thought they would ride in their usual order, but he noticed a subtle difference, one that gave him hope.

While Paloma waited to join the women and children in the marching order, Toshua gestured her forward, and Eckapeta, too, until they rode directly behind him and Marco. Old Buffalo Rut followed them with Antonio, and the young warriors rode around them all, cocooning them against whatever lay ahead, when they reached the Kwahadi gathering place.

Before they started, Ayasha joined them, her head held high. Skillfully she angled her horse next to Antonio's, which meant that Buffalo Rut fell back, a smile on his face.

Paloma noticed right away what their friends had done, and she crossed herself and closed her eyes, her lips moving. He saw no fear on her face. This was not the woman who had begun this journey with a massive grievance, well-earned, against the lords of the southern plains.

He slowed his horse and rode beside Paloma for a moment. He meant to reassure her, he told himself, but mostly to reassure himself, if he were honest. “
Oye
, Paloma, if we succeed in any measure, I might ask Governor de Anza for a small raise. What do you think?”

“
I think you have noodles for brains,” she replied. They laughed.

No matter their fears, Marco knew he could live another forty years and never see anything as magnificent as the canyon of the Kwahadi. The walls seemed to rise higher and higher until he couldn't look up, because it made him dizzy. Hawks circled overhead on the air currents, making little wing adjustments, gliding, gliding. Grass already grew here. The place of buttes, mesas and canyons within canyons seemed touched by magic. Maybe winter never came long to this place. He looked around with a rancher's eye, thinking what a land grant this would have been.
Noodle brains, you'd have lasted here only long enough for some irate Kwahadi to roast you over a slow fire
, he reminded himself.

He also noticed new Kwahadi warriors not of their ragged band, all on horseback, watching. “Have they been tailing us long?” he whispered to Toshua.

“
Maybe since the cave.”

That was not the answer Marco wanted. “Why didn't they make themselves known?” he had to ask.

Toshua leaned toward him. “Do you see the warriors with the left side of their hair cropped? That is how warriors mourn deaths. We leave it to the women to cut themselves. They have suffered from
la viruela
, as your little doctor thought. If we have
la viruela
among us, they'll see it and maybe stop us.”