Land of the Free (17 page)

McGregor gave up on the map,
rolled it, stuffed it into the map case then turned toward the
west, shielding his eyes. “Well, I canno’ see ‘em.”

“They’re covered with snow
and they blend with the clouds,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Yank asked.
He opened the telescope.

“Yes. I saw them when the
sun was just rising.”

“I canno’ see ‘em,” McGregor
repeated.

“I’ve been here before,” she
said. “This isn’t the kind of place that one ever
forgets.”

“I see something just on the
horizon,” Yank said as he focused the telescope. “It must be a
mountain range. But they don’t seem high enough to be snow capped
this early.”

“We’ve been climbing slowly
for days now and are already quite high,” Mariana said.

“Climbin’?” McGregor
scoffed, “This here country’s the flattest I ever saw. Flat as a
billiard table.” He turned his back to the wind and wiped tears
from his eyes.

“
The rise is so gradual
and so steady that it looks flat,” Marina agreed. “But we’re very
high and by the time we get close to those peaks we’ll be very,
very high.”

“How high is very, very
high?” Yank asked.

“I was told that the peaks
are over two miles high, but I cannot say if that’s
accurate.”

“We’re not equipped for the
kind of snow and cold we’d find at ten or twelve thousand feet,”
Yank said, in obvious alarm. “We’d freeze to death.”

“We are already very high,”
she argued. “That’s why it’s so cold at night and why everyone
tires so quickly. The air is thin.”

“You may have a point,
there.” Yank turned around in a circle then looked back toward the
west. “You say there’s a pass through the mountains,
Marina?”

“Yes. You can see it from
here. It’s between two ranges.”

“What’s it like?”

“It is a bad place but this
is a worse place. No one lives here. The Indians avoid
it.”

“I know what’s here, I want
to hear more about the pass before I consider it,” Yank
insisted.

She gave him a look that was
pregnant with displeasure. “The trail winds through a canyon of
huge rocks, often along the face of sheer cliffs. The drop is
sometimes hundreds of feet.”

“How wide is the
trail?”

“In some places as wide as a
modern road but in others it is very narrow.”

“Define very
narrow.”

“Perhaps two or three feet
wide. But, as I said, only in some places.”

“Two or three feet wide,”
Yank muttered. “That’s not wide enough for the cattle.”

“Not for horses neither,”
McGregor added.

She nodded her head. “The
mules might manage it, but I think horses would have to be
blindfolded and then be led, one-at-a-time.”

“There would be no choice
but to leave the cattle behind,” Yank said, looking at the herd.
“The goats might follow us.”

“I’ve seen wild goats in
these very mountains,” Marina replied. “They would be quite at home
but, I fear, impossible to herd. The good news is that there are
trees and brush for fires.”

“Was it snowing when you
came through?” Yank asked. “Was there ice on the trail?”

“No,” she said. “I came
through in the summer and it was terrifying. I don’t even like to
think of what it might be like in the snow.”

“Volunteers could clear the
snow in advance of the main body.” McGregor was looking
west.

Yank sighed. “The Spanish
garrison in Albuquerque could be a serious problem. What about
Santa Fe?”

Marina shook her head. “The
only trail to Santa Fe that I know of begins in those same
mountains and crosses the highest crest. The snow will be ten feet
deep by now. Besides, the Spaniards are in Santa Fe too. Possibly
in larger numbers.”

“What if we just turn
north?” Yank asked, looking in that direction. “If we keep the
mountains in sight on our left we’ll eventually reach Yellow
Stone.”

“The animals can’t survive
much longer on this grass,” McGregor said. He looked at Marina.
“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Until I woke up this
morning and saw the mountains I thought we were further north, half
way to Yellow Stone,” she said defensively. “Game is plentiful
there, even in winter, and we would have had fodder for the
animals, trees to build cabins and to burn.”

“Well I never seen a place
so bare as this.” McGregor shook his head. “Nary a tree anywhere
and only clumps of poor grass.” He looked at Yank. “If it’s like
this north, it don’t seem like a good plan.”

Marina pointed west. “It’s
like this north and south, until we reach those
mountains.”

“How in God’s name did this
happen?” McGregor asked.

Marina waved her hand at
Yank. “Ask Colonel Van Buskirk. He’s the navigator.”

“False horizon perhaps,”
Yank said shaking his head. “The compass or sextant may have been
damaged. I just don’t know.”

“You did it on purpose,”
Marina accused. “You wanted to come this way.”

“I assure you that I did
not.” He looked at the cold, miserable men and animals of his
expedition. “I should have turned back days ago. The Comancheros’
camp was defensible; it had good water and enough vegetation to
keep a fire burning.”

“Well it’s too late now,”
Marina said. “We must continue west to Albuquerque or freeze to
death.”

“I’d rather take my chances
goin’ back,” McGregor grumbled.

Yank shook his head.
“Marina’s right. It’s too late to turn back now. The Comanchero
camp is too far and for all we know, it’s been reoccupied by a new
band. Our only choice is to make for the pass at all possible
speed.”

McGregor was unconvinced.
“We got a better chance against them bandits then we does against
the Spanish army.”

“Perhaps we don’t have to go
all the way through the pass to Albuquerque,” Yank suggested.
“Would it be possible to winter in the canyon, Marina?”

“I remember seeing a small
pueblo on this side of the canyon,” Marina replied. “We might be
able to trade horses and cattle for shelter.”

Yank looked up at the
clouds. “Whatever we do we better do it fast. It’s beginning to
snow.”

“Fast ain’t likely,”
McGregor said, looking at the rest of their party. “The animals
ain’t fed proper in weeks and the men ain’t ate or slept in near
three days.”

“What would you have us do,
Mr. McGregor?” Yank had obviously lost patience.

McGregor looked surprised.
“I was just sayin’, Colonel. I know we ain’t got no
choice.”

“Then let us get the men up
and moving.”

By the time the company had
been organized, the west wind had reached near gale force and the
snow was horizontal.

December 14,
1804

Tijeras Pueblo, Spanish New
Mexico Territory

The pueblo was set back
against a sheer cliff, partially protected from above and on both
sides by towering rock formations. The main building was five
stories high with each floor set back from the one below, giving
the structure from the front an appearance similar to that of a
stepped pyramid. In this manner, the flat roof of each level
doubled as a terrace for the level above. Each terrace was edged
with a low parapet to provide protection for defending warriors
from an attacker’s arrows and spears. Access to the various levels
was accomplished via strategically placed wooden ladders that could
be pulled up in the event of an attack. The lowest level had no
doors and the rooms within it, accessible by hatches from the roof,
were primarily used by the Indians for storage. It was here, in
several of these ground-floor rooms, that the eighteen survivors of
the Van Buskirk party had been given shelter.

Marina sat up in the dark
space of their small apartment and shook Yank. “Wake up. You’re
having a nightmare.”

His eyes popped open and he
blinked at her for several seconds as the dream was replaced by
reality. “I saw them fall,” he mumbled.

She pulled the buffalo robe
up over them and snuggled back into her previous position with her
bare back against his naked chest.

Yank squinted toward the
trapdoor in the ceiling. “I see daylight.”

“Yes. I think it must be
nearly noon.”

“The snow must have
stopped.”

“I heard someone pushing
snow off the roof, so perhaps it has.”

He threw off the heavy robe
and stood up with a groan, then groped in the darkness. “Where’s
the lamp?”

“In the left, outside corner
of the room,” she said from under the robe. “Just where you told me
to put it.”

“I am standing in that
particular corner and there is no lamp.”

“Then the other front
corner. I may have gotten confused after I blew it out.”

He followed the wall,
trailing his fingers along the rough adobes. “Ah. Here it
is.”

“Good. Now be quiet. I’m
going to sleep until spring.”

“But no
tinderbox.”

She didn’t
answer.

“Marina!”

“You had it
last.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“The lamp was burning when I
came down yesterday.”

“Well, it must be in one of
the other corners then.”

“Why do you find putting
things in their proper places so difficult?”

“I cannot understand what
difference it makes. This room is no more than three paces wide, it
has no doors or windows, it contains only four corners and we have
no schedule to keep.”

“Ah, I have it.” He struck
the flint and then used the tinderbox to light a pottery oil
lamp.

Marina uncovered her face to
watch him dress.

“What?” he asked.

“I like looking at you when
you’re naked.”

“Why?”

“Do you like looking at
me?”

“Of course I do, but I’m a
man.”

“So I see.” She kicked off
the buffalo skin and held out her arms. “Come back here and let us
explore the wonders of man and woman.”

He smiled. “If you really
want to.”

She considered the idea for
a few seconds then sat up. “I really want to but I have an urgent
need to relieve myself which means getting dressed and going
outside.”

“Why don’t these people use
chamber pots?”

“They do.”

“Then why don’t we have
one?”

“Everything they’ve given us
has been grudgingly.” She stood up and began dressing. “They really
don’t want us here.”

“They took our livestock
happily enough.”

“I spoke with that Sioux
woman yesterday. Do you know who I mean? The woman that’s married
to the son of the chief’s brother.”

“Why don’t these people have
names?”

“They have names but using
them is impolite if you’re not a family member or close
friend.”

“As far as I can tell, all
the people in the pueblo are related by blood or
marriage.”

“Yes, but we’re
not.”

“Go on. What about the Sioux
woman?”

“She knows of a trail to the
settlement of San Carlos on the eastern slope.”

“What good is
that?”

“We could avoid the Spanish
garrison at both Albuquerque and Santa Fe.”

“And what makes the garrison
at San Carlos more attractive?”

“The Spanish abandoned San
Carlos and there are no Spanish settlements between there and the
Yellow Stone any more.”

“Is the trail she mentioned
passable now?”

“No. We would still have to
wait for the spring thaw.”

“The Spanish patrols will be
moving with the thaw.”

“Yes, but the council thinks
that we could reach the trail before the pass from Albuquerque is
open.”

“The council? You spoke with
the tribal council about this?”

“No. They spoke of it and
sent word to me through the Sioux woman. As I said, they’re anxious
to see us go and they don’t want the Spanish to know that we were
ever here.”

“Do you know the Sioux
woman’s name?”

“Yes.” She giggled. “It’s
Sioux Woman.”

“Her name is Sioux
Woman?”

“Yes.”

“Was that her name when she
was with the Sioux?”

“Of course not.”

“You say that as if the
question is illogical.”

“It is illogical. When she
was with the Sioux, she was one of many Sioux women. Here she’s the
only one.”

He decided not to reply and
instead climbed the ladder then bumped the trapdoor repeatedly with
his shoulder and the heel of his hand until the ice
broke.