Paloma and the Horse Traders (22 page)

“
What makes
you
so wise?”
Marco asked. “You, a mere
soldado
?”

“
It’s not wisdom, señor,” he
replied, still calm, still unfazed. “It’s logical common
sense.”

“
We’ll take this one,” Toshua
said.

“
You can’t just take …. I have
to give permission and I won’t,” the sergeant said, in his first
show of strength in the whole dreary interview. “Private Gasca,
leave now! I will deal with you later, you rascal!”

Toshua turned to face the sergeant. He stared
at him like a rattlesnake would watch a pack rat, and then walked
closer, never taking his eyes from the sergeant’s face. Slowly,
slowly, Toshua took out his knife. His eyes wide and staring,
Sergeant Lopez watched the knife. He closed his eyes in what Marco
interpreted as a close approximation of mortal terror.

“
We want him,” was all Toshua
said.

The room suddenly filled with a fierce odor
that made the sergeant bury his face in his hands. “Take him! Only
leave!” the sergeant said, unable to raise his face to the other
men, humiliated.

Toshua nodded. “I think this one is truly ill.
He reeks of something, but it is not—what is that you call it?—ah,
he is probably not contagious.”

“
Sergeant Lopez, I will take very
good care of my army,” Marco said. “Go change your
pantalones
.”

The four men walked from the room and out into
the clean air of the courtyard. “Toshua, you have a disturbing
effect on this garrison,” Marco said, which made Private Gasca tug
on his upper lip, his eyes merry. “And you,
soldado
, do
enlighten us as to just who you are.
Soldado
seems to be a
misleading rank.”

Private Gasca drew himself up and saluted.
“
Soldado
Joaquim Gasca, formerly
Teniente
Gasca of
the Royal Engineers.” He grinned. “I build things.”

Wonder of wonders
, Marco thought. “And
you somehow got in trouble, lost your commission, and ended up in
my backwater district?”

Private Gasca nodded, his expression dreamy.
“She was a lovely woman, so willing in bed, or on table tops, or
rugs, but,
ay de mí
, the wife of my
coronel
.”

Toshua shook his head. “If you had been one of
The People, you would be minus those parts that make you a man. And
the colonel’s wife would have no nose anymore.”

Marco looked at his brother-in-law, whose mouth
was open in amazement. “Will he prove useful, Claudio?” he
asked.

Claudio shrugged. “Who can tell?”

“
I can tell,” Marco replied,
suddenly hopeful that this visit to Santa Maria’s garrison had not
been in vain. “You’re bored, aren’t you, Private?”

“
To pieces,” Gasca said. “You’ll
promise me adventure?”

“
We’re on the prowl for a Comanche,
who now that I think of it has some money of mine. I overpaid him
for a slave. We’ll tell you more as we ride.”

“
And this gentleman?” Gasca asked,
indicating Toshua.

“
I’d rather lose you than him,”
Marco said frankly. “In or out?”

“
In. This garrison is far too
slow.”

It came as no surprise to Marco that the
corporal in charge of all matters equine issued
Soldado
Joaquim Gasca—a Catalonian from his name, and they were always
trouble—a nag that looked like it would be walking on its knees
soon.

Private Gasca gave the animal a sorrowful pat
when he returned from gathering together his few possessions.
“Could one of you take my bedroll and someone else my gun and
clothes?” he asked. “If I climb on Old Ancient of Days here with
anything more than my own weight, he’ll drop dead.”

Claudio obliged, and Marco took the gun. “We’ll
go slow,” Marco said. He stopped their peculiar expedition with a
motion of his hand.

“
One thing more, Joaquim,” he said,
“and make no mistake about this: I have a lovely wife and she
adores me. If you even look at her funny, I will gut you myself
from throat to genitals and blame Great Owl’s warriors.”

“
Only if you get to him before I
do,” Toshua said. “I have better methods to make him suffer. He’ll
plead to die before I am done.”

“
And imagine what
I
have
learned, riding with horse traders for twelve years,” Claudio said.
He shook his head. “Not pretty.”

Gasca looked from one man to the other. “It
appears to be unanimous that I must behave myself. Very well,
señores, if that is the price of adventure ….”

In
which Paloma becomes the perfect hostess to more smelly
men

“
S
eñora,
Emilio does not know who these riders are.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Paloma looked up
from her contemplation of the basin, her great companion these
days, where she had discarded a wonderful noon meal of turkey and
posole
. She wondered why there had to be trouble, when she
was feeling aggravated that Marco the
juez
had so
thoughtlessly got her with child again.

“
Sancha, all I want to do is die,
and we have visitors?”

“
I am not certain what they are, but
Emilio is worried.”

Paloma put aside the basin. “I had better check
then,” she said. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her lips. Deciding
it was uncharitable to blame Marco entirely for the state she was
in, she went outside. After all, no one had forced her to take off
her clothes and cavort naked.

Emilio motioned her to the parapet. She felt
some small appreciation for that same rascal husband, who had
insisted that the ladder be replaced with a shallow staircase, just
for her, since as he put it, “You like to know what is going on.”
She climbed the steps, grateful for the handrail.

“
You’re pale,
dama
,” Emilio
said. “I would not have bothered you, but look.”

He pointed to the west and handed her his
telescope. Paloma propped her elbows on the ledge and looked. First
she saw only a cloud of dust and felt the familiar tightening in
her belly that meant Comanches.

“
You have called everyone in from
the fields, have you not?”

“
Ah, yes. Can you tell …. My
eyes are old, señora.”

She handed back the telescope. “Just keep the
gates closed. We’ll know more when they get closer, although I do
not think they are Comanches. The People never create clouds of
dust.”

“
No, they do not,” Emilio
agreed.

She stayed where she was, and looked into the
courtyard below, where the field servants had gathered. Graciela
sat close to Claudio and Soledad as they played with blocks on the
porch. They were building walls, which touched her heart. Someday,
if Marco continued working his quiet diplomacy with the Comanche
through Kwihnai, perhaps there would be no need for
walls.

She rested her arms on the parapet, watching
the approaching men. In another minute she sighed with relief.
“These must be the horse traders, Emilio, probably looking for
Claudio. We will open the gates to them.”

And so it was that Paloma was standing in the
courtyard when the gates opened and the rough men rode inside. She
stood there, her hands folded in front of her, watching
them.

“
Do get down, señores,” she said
with a gesture.

They remained in the saddle, looking around at
the guards on the parapet. “Where is Diego?” the older man
asked.

At least she thought he was older, but who
could tell with all the hair and beard? She remembered his
broken-down sombrero and the red bandanna pulled tight around his
hair, which spilled out anyway, from her last look at them in the
cemetery at Santa Maria, where they buried the one killed by
Comanches. Her stomach began to churn because she could smell them
from where she stood.
What have you horse traders against a good
wash, now and then?
she thought.

“
He is not here.”

The traders looked at each other. “I told you,”
the younger man said to Red Bandanna. “He’s taken the money and
run.”

“
He has not,” Paloma said. “And he
is not who you think he is.”

“
How do you know so much?” Red
Bandanna asked, his voice rising, belligerent in tone. He edged his
horse closer to Paloma but she stood her ground. “
You
, just
a woman.”

All it took was a glance at the guards on the
parapet, who to a man nocked arrows in their bows and aimed them at
the horse traders.

“
I have a lot of friends here,”
Paloma said calmly. “Back up now, señor, before you get at least
one arrow through your throat.”

After a glance around, he did as she
said.

“
Much better. Please dismount. My
servants will care for your horses in the barn.”

With another look at each other, not so
aggressive this time, the traders did as she said.

“
I can tell you everything you need
to know about Diego Diaz. Wasn’t that what you called
him?”

“
What are you saying?” Red Bandanna
asked.

“
I know he is not Diego Diaz, and so
must you. It could be that I wish to know more,” Paloma said,
curious what they could tell her about their discovery of Claudio,
found bleeding in a ditch.

“
You assume a lot,” Red Bandanna
said. “Perhaps we will not tell you anything.”

“
Suit yourselves,” she replied. “Do
you know whose hacienda’s this is?”

“
A
cabr
ó
n
who
leaves a pretty wife alone?”

Paloma raised her eyes to the parapet again,
with the same results as before. Almost. One of the archers let
loose an arrow that landed right in front of Red
Bandanna.

The trader froze. “Beg pardon,” the archer
called down from his vantage point. “Careless of me.”

Oh, you men
, Paloma thought, grateful
beyond words for Marco’s guards, who suffered fools no more gladly
than did their employer. “Mind your tongue, señor! You are the
guests of this district’s
juez de campo
, Marco Mondragón.”
She wondered how such news would affect men who dallied on both
sides of the law.

She had her answer in the more tentative looks
the men exchanged. “We can leave right now,” Red Bandanna said.
“We’ll wait for Diego somewhere else.”

“
You’ll wait right here, and while
you wait, my housekeeper will supply you with towels and soap.” She
pointed to the
acequia
, wondering where all her bravado was
coming from. “When you are washed and clean, I will serve you wine
and
biscoches
in the
sala
, and you will learn what I
know about Diego Diaz.”

Both traders gasped and stared at the
irrigation ditch as though it had suddenly turned red, like the
Nile of Moises’ tale in Exodus. Red Bandanna glared at Paloma,
which meant that another archer had to apologize for accidentally
letting loose his arrow, this one coming so close to grazing the
man’s hair that he turned pale under all his dirt.

“
So careless,” the archer murmured,
shaking his head. “What will Señor Mondragón say?”

“
Gentlemen? The water isn’t too
cold. Possibly there will be more than just wine and
biscoches
waiting for you in the kitchen when you are clean.
Oh, thank you, Sancha.”

Paloma took the towels and bowl of soft soap
made from yucca and set them by the
acequia
. She turned, all
serenity, and went into the house, taking her children and Graciela
with her. Sancha and Perla giggled by the kitchen
window.

“
Señora, you are a brave lady!”
Graciela said.

“
Not really. I cannot abide strong
odors right now, but I want to be a good hostess. Their clothes
will still stink, but at least the smell of piñon in the kitchen
will mask some of that.”

While the horse traders bathed in the
acequia
—Sancha laughed so hard she had to turn away from the
window and sit down—Paloma fed her little ones, sang to them, and
left Graciela to lay them down for a nap. She wondered where her
courage was coming from and hoped Marco would hurry home; then she
prepared a meal that would take some of the sting out of her
treatment of rough men unused to civilization.

The traders must have found clean shirts from
somewhere deep in their horse packs, and even a comb. When they
came through the kitchen door an hour later, the results were
evident, right down to their slicked back hair, still damp and now
restrained with rawhide thongs.

“
Please be seated,” Paloma said.
“Here we have turkey mole,
posole
, tortillas, and Anasazi
beans, the best I know.” She gestured to the table and they sat.
“One moment before you begin.” Paloma made the sign of the cross
and asked a quiet blessing on the food. “And keep these sons of
thine safe on their journeys,” she concluded. “There now. Take
whatever you would like.”

Red Bandanna looked a little shy, now that he
was clean. “We didn’t … didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said
in a voice as soft as hers. “We’re not used to this.”