Heaven Is a Long Way Off (19 page)

D
ON
E
MILIO DID
not cooperate. He neither lived nor died—he lingered. Though his servants listened carefully and the police asked often, nothing came from his delirium but babblings. Sam knew, because Grumble had a friend in the
comisaria de policia
and kept close touch. The police, naturally, were properly concerned about an outrageous attack on a prominent citizen. Such behavior could not go unpunished. But they had no suspects, not even a hint of who the culprit was. Nothing had been stolen, though the house was full of valuables, especially the chapel. Don Emilio was a widower, he lived alone with his herds and crops—why would anyone want to kill such a man?

After a week, Sam decided he had to speak up to Paloma. “We need to get started.”

They were getting undressed for bed.

She looked at him, and he couldn't name all he saw in her eyes. Recognition, sadness, a sense of rightness.

She slipped into bed in her nightgown and patted the pillow next to her. “I know today is the first of May,” she said. “Leave the candles on.”

Sam slid in next to her naked. He didn't own enough clothes to have nightwear.

“How soon?” she said.

“A week maybe.”

“All right. Today is Thursday. We have our horse sale next Monday. I will send a man to let everyone know. It's going to be quite a show, and you, sir, will make some money. Then you will be able to buy supplies to take to your important rendezvous and make a good profit.”

That much was true, but it wasn't what Sam wanted to talk about. “It's going to be hard to say good-bye.”

He saw warmth in her eyes as well. Maybe she felt comfortable with good-bye—he didn't. “What do you want me to say, Sam? That you must sell your horses to the other beaver men and make your bonanza? That you need to get back to the business of hunting beaver? That you must take your daughter to her grandparents, to the Crow village where she belongs?” She waited. They both knew all that.

Finally, Sam said, “I want you to tell me why we're inappropriate.”

She just looked at him. “I've thought and thought about that. When I said it, my big thought was, I'm ten years older. Or it's because I'm Mexican and you're American. Or because we are from different class backgrounds, different education. I was raised to love things cultivated for beauty, you to love nature in the raw. And all of that is true.”

She hesitated.

“But…”

“You tell me why we should be appropriate.”

He tapped his chest with his fist. “I have a fire in here for you.”

She just looked at him.

“When I look into your eyes, I see that you have fire for me.”

She smiled. “That's just candlelight, sir.”

“Talk true,” he said.

After a long moment she said, “I think you've touched directly on it. Each of us has a fire in the heart. Mine is the fire of the hearth. I love my home, I love making a nest, I love creating a beautiful place to live.

“You, though, your fire is for adventure. It takes you hither and yon. You've been from the Atlantic to the Pacific. One day, when I see you again, I'll bet you've looked upon the Arctic Ocean.”

Actually, Sam knew there was fur-trapping even up there—by the Russians.

She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You,
mi amante,
are a true adventurer, an explorer. You may dally with a nurturer like me. You even find peace and love at my hearth. But one day before long, your nature will require you to go wandering.”

He was stuck for words.

“Husband? Not yet. Father? Maybe not yet either.”

Now he was truly stuck.

She put both arms around him, buried her head in his chest, and said, “Don't go into that head of yours. Make love to me.”

G
ETTING READY FOR
the sale was a furious time. Over the three days Sam, Flat Dog, and Hannibal put Paloma's horses through their paces again, getting them all sharp. Sam found only one he wouldn't want himself, a gelding that was a knothead. “One in every crowd,” he told Flat Dog.

They also checked out the mounts of their own they'd trained for sale. Hannibal had made a list of Santa Fe prices of the most important supplies—powder, lead, coffee, blankets, traps, knives, foofa-raw, brandy—and figured out they could turn a nice dollar on trade goods. If they could sell some of their horses at a good price here, they'd use others to pack goods to rendezvous and earn more money.

“I'm for it,” said Sam.

“You're becoming a trader,” Hannibal told him.

“Indians can't run off supplies like they can horses,” said Flat Dog. Both Sam and Hannibal looked at him funny for saying “Indians.”

Flat Dog chuckled. “Indians,” he said, “means every tribe but Crows.”

The good news about getting ready was that Tomás worked hard at helping. While Pedro went to town and stayed with Sumner and Grumble—“No doubt learning card tricks,” said Sam—Tomás worked with the horses. He'd ridden his father's mule a lot, always bareback, because the family didn't own a saddle. As a result he had good balance on a horse. Sam told Flat Dog, “I think he's a natural rider.”

“Natural athlete,” said Hannibal.

Tomás would be able to demonstrate, during the sale, how well trained the mounts were, so gentle that even a boy could handle them. He also showed a willingness to work at learning English. When Sam and Hannibal spoke English among themselves, he asked what certain words meant, and they explained.

The fun was getting ready for the showy part. Sam, Hannibal, and Flat Dog knew that if they could get the buyers and watchers excited and inspired, the bidding would spiral higher and higher. So they rehearsed all their routines—Paladin and Brownie showed off their liberty training. Coy did his stuff. Sam and Hannibal did all their tricks on both of them. Flat Dog demonstrated a stunt he'd developed on his own. The riders could tell what an impression their show would make—Tomás and Paloma gasped and applauded.

At the end of the first day, over supper, Tomás said, “I don't want to stay here with Paloma. I want to go with you.”

Everyone noticed that he said it to Sam, not to the three men, Julia, and the children. Sam thought,
Well, I paid for him.

“You're in trouble. You may not have much choice about where you go,” said Hannibal.

“But I want you to know you're welcome here,” said Paloma.

“If the police aren't chasing your tail,” said Flat Dog.

Everyone grinned, but no one thought it was funny.

“I want to go with you,” Tomás repeated. “I want to be a mountain man.”

Sam wondered what Tomás thought that meant—trick riding?—but he didn't answer.

All day Saturday and Sunday they worked on combining their various stunts with music. Antonio, one of the ranch's field hands, accompanied them on guitar, and Sam sang while he rode. In the evenings Sam and Hannibal taught Antonio the songs the horses knew. While Paloma went to Santa Fe on Sunday, to go to mass and remind everyone about the sale, they fine-tuned everything.

Tomás brought it up again that night—“I want to go with you.”

“You're still a kid.”

Tomás made a face.

From the size of the crowd that showed up Monday at noon, they knew that the word had spread far and wide: Something special was about to happen at Rancho de las Palomas. Gobernador Armijo came and announced that he was looking for fine stallions. Don Gilberto and Don Carlos presented themselves with eager faces. The other great families of the region—Chavez, Otero, Perea, and Yrizar—sent representatives to buy good breeding stock. Merchants of Santa Fe appeared, perhaps to buy well-trained saddle mounts, perhaps just to watch the show. It seemed that every Santa Fean who loved horses came out for the event. Paloma sent Rosalita and Lupe through the crowd to pour brandy liberally.

At last Grumble called for silence. He was splendidly American in a plum morning coat and fawn beaver hat, which Paloma had ornamented with a wide, sky-blue ribbon to mark him as master of ceremonies. “Antonio,” he declared, “give us a fanfare.”

To Antonio's music Sam and Hannibal dashed into the improvised forty-two-foot ring, followed by Paladin and Brownie. Coy pranced at their heels, excited. Paloma had festooned the horses' manes and tails with streamers of bright cloth. The riders were beautifully decked out as well, in big sombreros, short jackets, and beautifully quilled moccasins. “Make the best show you can,” Paloma had urged them.

Antonio quickly launched into a fast sea shanty, a jig the horses knew. Grumble sang the words in English in a fine, round basso:

Hannibal and Sam signaled, and the horses faced each other in the center of the circle, trembling with anticipation. Hannibal lowered his hand in a wide sweep and called, “Dance!”

Antonio strummed and Grumble sang.

On the first line the horses pranced sideways in the same direction in rhythm to the music. On the second they stomped and shook their heads.

At Sam's and Hannibal's hand signals, for the German girl line they pranced the other direction. For the French girl's craziness, they reared and pawed the air.

Now the audience cheered.

To “cut and fancy” they made curvets forward, passed each other, turned, and faced one another from the opposite sides. Sam could almost hear the awe among the Nuevo Mexicans.

Here the mounts reared again, and whinnied—

And finally Paladin and Brownie bowed to one another.

Everyone burst into applause.

As Paladin's head was down, Coy sprinted toward Paladin and jumped onto her back and stood on his hind legs. Paladin cantered around the ring, Coy's paws waving at the audience.

The clapping doubled.

Coy barked three times, as though celebrating himself, and jumped down.

Flat Dog raced into the ring on his own horse for his moment of display. As the pony circled, Flat Dog swung down to one side, reached under the horse, and shot an arrow into the sky. When the crowd saw that the arrow displayed the Mexican flag, they whistled and stomped. Then Flat Dog passed all the way under the galloping legs and rose back into the saddle. Sam figured that was the first applause of the Crow's life.

Sam and Hannibal vaulted onto their mounts' backs and stood up. At first they just waved to the audience. Then, simultaneously, they somersaulted into the air and landed sitting down. Women in the crowd shrieked. Again and again they did it—stand, somersault, and land in riding position. When they did a leaping dismount together, the crowd went wild.

“That was fun,” Hannibal said quietly to Sam.

Grumble now stepped forward with a showman's command of his audience. “And now,” he said, “we begin the business of the day.”

Tomás rode one of Paloma's geldings into the ring and did a figure eight, showing how nicely it reined. On command the gelding stopped and backed up.

“What are we offered,” cried Grumble, “for this fine two-year-old? I call for five hundred pesos.”

“Three hundred fifty,” shouted Armijo.

Sam stopped listening and smiled to himself. Paloma's horses were going to sell for much more than she thought. He and Flat Dog would do well. And then they got to sell horses from their own herd. Flat Dog said softly, “We're gonna strike it rich today.”

“Half rich,” Sam agreed.

 

D
INNER WAS A
celebration. At Paloma's instruction Juanita cooked the most sumptuous meal she could manage, and the wine flowed freely. Everyone ate heartily and told jokes. Even Tomás, for the first time, seemed to relax and enjoy himself.

After dessert Paloma said, “Thank you all,” she said, “today was so very good. Thank you, Mr. Grumble.” Here she gave him the amount agreed on—“Plus,” she said, “a bonus for cajoling my rich customers into such good prices.”

Grumble looked at the coins and said, “Generous. Thank you.”

She handed Sam and Flat Dog a stack of coins for their work on the seven saddle mounts she'd sold.

Flat Dog looked at the money and said, “We didn't even get starved or shot at.”

“And for putting on such a grand display,” she said, “something extra for each of you.” Another stack of coins. The friends winked at each other.

“Last,” she said, “something for Tomás, and a bit for Juanita, Rosalita, and Lupe for our fine meal, and one coin for Pedro so he can buy himself a treat.”

Sam, Hannibal, and Flat Dog also shared a bit of their wealth with everyone. They looked at each other like conspirators. They couldn't get their minds off how much they would buy at the trading posts in town tomorrow.

Then Sumner walked in.

Everyone looked at the expression on his face.

“Don Emilio is awake and talking,” he said. “In fact, shouting. He has told the police that the older of the two slave boys bought by me and Sam assaulted him. He demands justice. The police are on their way here now. I rode fast to get here first. They won't have any trouble picking you out, Tomás.”

Everyone sat stunned.

Sam thought,
Damn, when we're all a little drunk.

Grumble cocked his head, waited a moment, and said, “I have an idea.”

“What?” said Paloma. This was her home.

“Better you don't know,” said Grumble. “Sam, Tomás, let's confer.”