TOM RENEGES

As the days passed while waiting for the return of the caravan to Missouri, Patience rode abroad with either her uncle or her father, sometimes in the Dearborn, but more often in the saddle. She explored the ruins of the old church at Pecos, where the Texan prisoners had spent a miserable night; the squalid hamlets of San Miguel, which she had passed through on her way to Santa Fe, and Anton Chico had been visited; the miserable little sheep ranchos had been investigated and other rides had taken her to other outlying districts; but the one she loved best was the trail up over the mountain behind Santa Fe. The almost hidden pack mules and their towering loads of faggots, hoja, hay and other commodities were sights she never tired of, although the scars on some of the meek beasts once in awhile brought tears to her eyes. The muleteers, beneficiaries of her generosity, smiled when they saw her and touched their forelocks in friendly salutation.

On the mountain there was one spot of which she was especially fond. It was a little gully-like depression more than halfway up that seemed to be much greener than the rest of the mountain side, and always moist. The trees were taller and more heavily leafed And threw a shade which, with the coolness of the moist little nook, was most pleasant. It lay not far from the rutted, rough and busy trail over the mountain, which turned and passed below it, the atejos and occasional picturesque caballeros on their caparisoned horses, passing in review before her and close enough to be distinctly seen, yet far enough away to hide disillusioning details. The mud houses of the town at the foot of the long slope, with their flat roofs, looked much better at this distance and awakened trains of thought which nearness would have forbidden. It was also an ideal place to eat a lunch and she and Uncle Joe or her father made it their turning point.

Her daily rides had given her confidence, and the stares which first had followed her soon changed to glances of idle curiosity. Of Armijo she neither had seen nor heard anything more and scarcely gave him a thought, and the Mexican officers she met saluted politely or ignored her altogether. Her uncle still harped about Santa Fe being no place for her, but, having the assurance that she would return to St. Louis with the caravan, was too wise to press the matter. His efforts were more strongly bent to get his brother to sell out and he had sounded Woodson to see if that trader would take over the merchandise. Adam Cooper seemed to consider closing out his business and returning to Missouri, but he would not sacrifice it, and there the matter hung, swaying first to one side and then to the other. By this time Santa Fe had palled on the American merchant and he had laid by sufficient capital to start in business in St. Louis or one of the frontier towns, and his brother was confident that if the stock could be disposed of for a reasonable sum that Adam would join the returning caravan.

It was in the storehouse of Webb and Birdsall one night, about a week before the wagons were being put in shape for the return trip that the matter was settled. Disturbing rumors were floating up from the south about a possible closing of the ports of entry of the Department of New Mexico, due to the dangers to Mexican traders on the long trail because of the presence of Texan raiding parties. The Texans had embittered the feelings of the Mexicans against the Americans, whom they knew to be universally in favor of the Lone Star Republic, and the Texan raids of this summer were taken as a forecast of greater and more determined raids for the following year.

When Adam and Joe Cooper joined the little group in the warehouse on this night, they met two Missourians who had just returned from Chihuahua with a train of eleven wagons. These traders, finding business so good in the far southern market, and having made arrangements with some Englishmen there, who were high in favor with the Federal authorities, were anxious to make another trip if they could load their wagons at a price that would make the journey worth while. They were certain that the next year would find the Mexican ports closed against the overland traffic, eager to clean up what they could before winter set in and to sell their outfits and return by water. They further declared that a tenseness was developing between the Federal government and the United States, carefully hidden at the present, which would make war between the two countries a matter of a short time. Texas was full of people who were urging annexation to the United States, and their numbers were rapidly growing; and when the Lone Star republic became a state in the American federation, war would inevitably follow. Some in the circle dissented wholly or in part, but all admitted that daily Mexico was growing more hostile to Americans.

"Wall, we ain't forcin' our opinions on nobody," said one of the Chihuahua traders. "We believe 'em ourselves, an' we want ter make another trip south. Adam, we've heard ye ain't settled in yer mind about stayin' through another winter hyar. We'll give ye a chanct ter clear out; what ye got in goods, an' what ye want fer'em lock, stock an' bar'l?"

"What they cost us here in Santa Fe," said Uncle Joe quickly, determined to force the issue. "We just brought in more'n two wagon loads, an' what we had on hand will go a long way toward helpin' you fill your wagons. Come around tomorrow, look th' goods over, an' if they suit you, we'll add twelve cents a pound for th' freight charge across th' prairies an' close 'em out to you. Ain't that right, Adam?" he demanded so sharply and truculently that his brother almost surrendered at once. Seeing that they had an ally in Uncle Joe the traders pushed the matter and after a long, haggling discussion, they offered an additional five per cent of the purchase price for a quick decision.

Uncle Joe accepted it on the spot and nudged his brother, who grudgingly accepted the terms if the traders would buy the two great wagons and their teams. This they promised to do if they could find enough extra goods to fill them, and they soon left the warehouse for fear of showing their elation. They knew where they could sell the wagons at a profit with a little manipulation on the part of their English friend.

Elated by the outcome of his protracted arguments, Uncle Joe hurried around to Armstrong's store and told the news to Tom and his three friends.

"We can get them goods off our hands in two days," he exulted; "an' th' caravan will be ready to leave inside a week. Don't say a word to nobody, boys. We'll try to sneak Adam and Patience out of town so Armijo won't miss 'em till they're on th' trail. Them Chihuahua traders won't disturb th' goods before we start for home because they got to get a lot more to fill their wagons, an' th' merchandise is safer in th' store than it will be under canvas. I wish th' next week was past!"

To wish the transaction kept a secret and to keep it a secret were two different things. The Chihuahua traders found more merchants who felt that they would be much safer in Missouri than in Santa Fe, and the south-bound wagon train was stocked three days before time for the Missouri caravan to leave. There were certain customs regulations relating to goods going through to El Paso and beyond, certain involved and exacting forms to be obtained and filled out, much red tape to be cut with golden shears and many palms to be crossed with specie. Uncle Joe and his brother found that the matter of transferring their goods to the traders took longer than they expected and were busy in the store for several days, leaving Patience to make the most of the short time remaining of her stay in the capital of the Department of New Mexico.

At last came the day when the eastbound caravan was all but ready to start, certain last minute needs arising that kept it in the camp outside the city until the following morning. Busily engaged in its organizing and in numerous personal matters, they told her to stay in the city. Uncle Joe and his brother could not accompany Patience on another ride up the mountain and they understood that she would not attempt one; but she changed her mind and left the town in the care and guidance of a Mexican employee of her father, in whom full trust was reposed. She rode out an hour earlier than was her wont, and when a Delaware Indian called at the house to beg alms from the generous seÑorita he found the building open and empty. Knowing that the last night was to be spent in the encampment and thinking that she had gone there, as he understood was the plan, he gave little thought to this and wandered back to the Plaza Publica to look for his companions. They were not in sight and he went over to the barracks to seek them there.

Don Jesu swaggered along the side of the building, caught sight of the disreputable Delaware and contemptuously waved him away. "Out of my sight, you drunken beggar and son of a beggar! If I catch you here once more I'll hang you by your thumbs! Vamoose!"

The Delaware stiffened a little and seemed reluctant to obey the command. "I seek my friends," he replied in a guttural polyglot. "I do no harm."

Don Jesu's face flamed and he drew his sword and brought the flat of the blade smartly across the Indian's shoulder. "But once more I tell you to vamoose! Pronto!" He drew back swiftly and threw the weapon into position for a thrust, for he had seen a look flare up in the Indian's eyes that warned him.

The Delaware cringed, muttered something and slunk back along the wall and as he reached the corner of the building he bumped solidly into Robideau, who at that moment turned it. The foot of the second officer could not travel far enough to deliver the full weight of the kick, but the impact was enough to send the Indian sprawling. As he clawed to hands and knees, Robideau stood over him, sword in hand, threats and curses pouring from him in a burning stream. The Indian paused a moment, got control over his rage, ran off a short distance on hands and knees and, leaping to his feet, dashed around the corner of the building to the hilarious and exultant jeers of the sycophantic soldiers. He barely escaped bumping into a huge, screeching and ungainly carreta being driven by a soldier and escorted by a squad of his fellows under the personal command of Salezar. The lash of a whip fell across his shoulders and cut through blanket and shirt. The second blow was short and before another could be aimed at him, the Delaware had darted into a passage-way between two buildings.

The officer laughed loudly, nodded at the scowling driver and again felt of the canvas cover of the cart: "The city is full of vermin," he chuckled. "There's not much difference between Texans and Americans, and these sotted Indians. Tomorrow we will be well rid of many of the gringo dogs and we will attend to these strange Indians when this present business has been taken care of. But there is one gringo who will remain with us!" He laughed until he shook. "Captain Salezar today; Colonel, tomorrow; quien sabe?"

He looked at two of his soldiers, squat, powerful half-breeds, and laughed again. "Jose is a strong man. Manuel is a strong man. Perhaps tomorrow we will give each one of them two Indians and see which can flog the longest and the hardest; but," he warned, his face growing hard and cruel, "the man who bungles his work today will have no ears tomorrow!"

The Delaware, his right hand thrust into his shirt under the dirty blanket, crouched in the doorway and was making the fight of his life against the murderous rage surging through him. The words of the officer reached him well enough, but in his fury were unintelligible. Wild, mad plans for revenge were crowding through his mind, mixed and jumbled until they were nothing more than a mental kaleidoscope, and constantly thrown back by the frantic struggles of reason. He had nursed the thought of revenge, mile after mile, day after day, across the prairies and the desert; but for the last half month he had fought it back for the safety his freedom might give to the woman he loved.

The grotesque, ungainly cart rumbled and bumped, clacked and screeched down the street, farther and farther away and still he crouched in the doorway. The sounds died out, but still he remained in the sheltering niche. Finally his hand emerged from under the blanket and fell to his side, and a wretched Indian slouched down the street toward the Plaza Publica. In command of himself once more he shuffled over to the guard house in the palacio and leaned against the wall, the welt on his back burning him to the soul, as Armijo's herald stepped from the main door, blew his trumpet and announced the coming of the governor. Pedestrians stopped short and bowed as the swarthy tyrant stalked out to his horse, mounted and rode away, his small body-guard clattering after him. The Delaware, to hide the expression on his face, bowed lower and longer than anyone and then slyly produced a plug of smuggled Kentucky tobacco and slipped it to the sergeant of the guard.

"They'll catch you yet, you thief of the North," warned the sergeant, shaking a finger at the stolid Indian. "And when they do you'll hang by the thumbs, or lose your ears." He grinned and shoved the plug into his pocket, not seeming to be frightened by becoming an accessory after the fact. "Our governor is in high spirits today, and our captain's face is like the mid-day sun. He is a devil with the women, is Armijo and his seÑora doesn't care a snap. Lucky man, the governor." He laughed and then looked curiously at his silent companion. "Where do you come from, and where do you go?"

The Delaware waved lazily toward the North. "SeÑor Bent. I return soon."

"Look to it that you do, or the calabozo will swallow you up in one mouthful. I hear much about the palacio." He shook his finger and his head, both earnestly.

The Delaware drew back slightly and glanced around. Drawing his blanket about him he turned and slouched away, leaving the plaza by the first street, and made his slinking and apologetic way to Armstrong's, there to wait until dark. His three friends were there already and were rubbing their pistols and rifles, elated that the morrow would find them on the trail again. The two Arapahoes planned to accompany the caravan as far as the Crossing of the Arkansas and there turn back toward Bent's Fort, following the northern branch of the trail along the north bank of the river.

"Better jine us, Tom," urged Jim Ogden. "You an' Hank an' us will stay at th' fort till frost comes, an' then outfit thar an' spend th' winter up in Middle Park."

"Or we kin work up 'long Green River an' winter in Hank's old place," suggested Zeb Houghton, rubbing his hands. "Thar'll be good company in Brown's Hole; an' mebby a scrimmage with th' thievin' Crows if we go up that way. Yer nose will be outer jint in th' Missouri settlements. I know a couple o' beaver streams that ain't been teched yit." He glanced shrewdly at the young man. "It's good otter an' mink country, too. We'll build a good home camp an' put up some lean-tos at th' fur end o' th' furtherest trap lines. Th' slopes o' th' little divides air thick with timber fer our marten traps, an' th' tops air bare. Fox sets up thar will git plenty o' pelts. I passed through it two year ago an' can't hardly wait ter git back ag'in. It's big enough fer th' hull four o' us."

"Thar's no money in beaver at a dollar a plew," commented Hank, watching his partner out of the corner of his eye. "Time war when it war worth somethin', I tell ye; but them days air past—an' th' beaver, too, purty nigh. I remember one spring when I got five dollars a pound fer beaver from ol' Whiskey Larkin. Met him on th' headwaters o' th' Platte. He paid me that then an' thar, an' then had ter pack it all th' way ter Independence. But it's different with th' other skins, an' us four shore could have a fine winter together."

"It's allus excitin' ter me ter wait till th' pelts prime, settin' in a good camp with th' traps strung out, smokin' good terbaker an' eatin' good grub," said Ogden, reminiscently. "Then th' frosts set in, snow falls an' th' cold comes ter stay; an' we web it along th' lines settin' traps fer th' winter's work. By gosh! What ye say, Tom?"

Tom was studying the floor, vainly trying to find a way to please his friends and to follow the commands of an urging he could not resist. For him the mating call had come, and his whole nature responded to it with a power which would not be denied. On one hand called the old life, the old friends to whom he owed so much; a winter season with them in a good fur country, with perfect companionship and the work he loved so dearly; on the other the low, sweet voice of love, calling him to the One Woman and to trails untrod. The past was dead, living only in memory; the future stirred with life and was rich in promise. He sighed, slowly shook his head and looked up with moist eyes, glancing from one eager face to another.

"I'm goin' back ter Missoury," he said in a low voice. "Thar's a question I got ter ask, back thar, when th' danger's all behind an' it kin be asked fair. If th' answer is 'no' I promise ter jine ye at Bent's or foller after. Leave word fer me if ye go afore I git thar. But trappin' is on its last legs, an' th' money's slippin' out o' it, like fur from a pelt in th' spring; 'though I won't care a dang about that if I has ter turn my back on th' settlements." His eyes narrowed and his face grew hard. "Jest now I'm worryin' about somethin' else. Here I am in Santer Fe, passin' Armijo an' Salezar every day, an' have ter turn my back on one of th' big reasons fer comin' hyar. Thar's a new welt acrost my back that burns through th' flesh inter my soul like a livin' fire. Thar's an oath I swore on th' memory of a close friend who war beaten an' starved an' murdered; an' now I'm a lyin' dog, an' my spirit's turned ter water!" He leaped up and paced back and forth across the little room like a caged panther.

Hank cleared his throat, his painted face terrible to look upon. "Hell!" he growled, squirming on his box. "Them as know ye, Tom Boyd, know ye ain't neither dog ner liar! Takes a good man ter stand what ye have, day arter day, feelin' like you do, an' keep from chokin' th' life outer him. We've all took his insults, swallered 'em whole without no salt; ye wouldn't say all o' us war dogs an' liars, would ye? Tell ye what; we've been purty clost, you an' me—suppose I slip back from th' Canadian an' git his ears fer ye? 'Twon't be no trouble, an' I won't be gone long. Reckon ye'd feel airy better then?"

Zeb moved forward on his cask. "That's you, Hank Marshall!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I'm with ye! He spit in my face two days ago, an' I want his ha'r. Good fer you, ol' beaver!"

For the next hour the argument waxed hot, one against three, and Armstrong had to come in and caution them twice. It was Jim Ogden who finally changed sides and settled the matter in Tom's favor.

"Hyar! We're nigh fightin' over a dog that ain't worth a cuss!" he exclaimed. "Mebby Tom will be comin' back ter Bent's afore winter sets in. Then we kin go ter Green River by th' way o' this town, stoppin' hyar a day ter git Salezar's ears. Won't do Tom no good if us boys git th' skunk. If ye don't close yer traps, cussed if I won't go out an' git him now, an' then hell shore will pop afore th' caravan gits away. Ain't ye got no sense, ye bloodthirsty Injuns?"