Marco and the Devil's Bargain (32 page)

At last The People were ready to travel. Unsure of his place in the greater scheme of Comanche logistics, Marco sat on his horse beside Antonio, who had located himself close to the two travois. An ancient elder—the Old One Ayasha tended, who would probably not see too many more sunsets—lay on one of them, with soft packs all around her and a child perched next to her. An uncomfortably pregnant woman sat on the other travois, hugging another child to her. Her already short hair had been chopped even shorter, and her cheeks showed the tracks of recent scarring. Her warrior-husband had been one of the poor souls who died of
la viruela
on the Staked Plains, leaving her to an uncertain future.

The old man who had finished the travois lacing rode next to the woman so big with child, obviously keeping an eye on her. Antonio rode by the travois, too, his beaded medicine bag on proud display, his eyes on the potential patients. Ayasha rode beside him.

Paloma had fallen in line with Eckapeta, who carried a child in front of her, both parents dead of the Dark Wind. They rode behind Kahúu and her warrior, who rode his own horse which had been packed and padded until he couldn't fall off, if the strain of travel proved too great.

Marco counted thirty people, including babies, everyone shabby and makeshift-looking, with too much chopped hair and scarred arms and faces. The People had been mauled and bludgeoned, but they were riding at last to a safer place deep in the canyon. His pride at the sight would have astounded him a month ago, when the very last thing he wanted to do was Antonio's selfish bidding. As Paloma had said only this morning, “Stranger things have probably happened, but I can't imagine when or where.”

Still Marco waited; they all waited, horses laden with people, tipis and poles, but little food. That bald fact gnawed at him, because he was used to providing for his own. At some point, The People had become his own people, and he chafed because he had not done better. Maybe he was their
juez
, and they just didn't know it.

As he sat musing over such a strange notion, Toshua rode toward him, two lances in his hand. The Comanche regarded Marco a long moment, then extended one of the lances. Marco took it, scarcely breathing.

“
I should have told you last night. The elders in our band have named me war chief. They named you our peace chief, in charge of the camp and food. Let us ride.”

Marco knew it wouldn't do for the newly appointed peace chief to weep, so he swallowed his tears with a mighty effort and watched how Toshua carried his lance, aiming for even a pale imitation. He glanced at Paloma, whose eyes were wide, her hand to her throat.

“
Te deum laudamus
,” he said to her, raising his voice over the noise of animals and people he had come to know in good ways.

“
Is that your peace song?” Toshua asked.

“
Hers and mine. Lead on, brother. We follow.”

They rode all day, but slowly, following one stream and then another. The canyon was crisscrossed with streams breaking free from winter. Paloma thought they might stop to nurse the babies, but The People were far more economical. Kahúa simply opened her dress, pulled up the cradleboard and nursed her daughter as they rode along. When she finished, she handed the cradleboard to Paloma and lifted her niece from Paloma's pommel, the children trading places. When the baby had been fed, she switched them again. Paloma knew the babies were probably wet and messy, but they made no complaint, because that was the journey. When they stopped at night there would be time to take proper care of them.

She knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget the thrill of riding with people so at one with their horses. In the last month, she had become familiar with The People on land. They were not really tall—Marco towered over most of them—and not nearly as graceful as the Tewa and Navajo on the Double Cross. On horseback, they were transformed.

She vaguely remembered a book of Greek mythology that her father owned, and sitting on his lap and staring at pictures of centaurs—half man, half horse. Paloma was a skilled rider, but The People were centaurs. She rode now with the lords of the plains, and the knowledge made her sit taller.

As the day wore on, she observed that even lords had needs to meet. The men relieved themselves on horseback, except for Marco, who still wore his breeches. With a red face, the peace chief turned his horse aside and dismounted to take care of business. The People passed him with no comment, beyond a quick glance and a smile to see his bare rump as he pulled down his smallclothes.

With genuine amusement, Paloma noticed how some of the women craned their necks to look at that part of her man that Eckapeta had praised weeks ago. Paloma blushed when they regarded her with something close to respect. She would have to ask Marco if his jewels were something special. After all, she had no point of reference.

The day had begun cloudy, but the sun burned away the mists. Paloma stared upward at the height of the canyon walls, wondering if her fascination with this place would ever wane. The deeper they rode north—Antonio said it was north—the higher the walls. She stared upward, gawking at the sight, until the walls seemed to lean toward her, making her dizzy. She noticed Marco stared, too, open-mouthed and amazed.

“
This is a wound in the earth. The People come here for protection,” Toshua said, as he rode back down the line to assure himself there were no stragglers. “We will probably sleep in the caves tonight.”

Caves came to Paloma's attention sooner than nightfall, when Antonio rode forward to Toshua and started gesturing, his eyes full of concern. Toshua indicated Marco, the peace chief, because he must have divined this was not a matter of war.

By now, several of the women had begun to keen, a low sound that sent ripples down Paloma's back. She turned around to see Ayasha leaning out of her saddle toward the old woman on the travois. Toshua halted the column and Marco, his face serious with responsibility, rode to the travois. He dismounted with Antonio and nodded as the doctor gestured.

“
The old dear is gone,” Antonio said. “I did my best ….” His voice trailed away.

“
What do we do?” Marco asked Toshua, when he joined them. The others drew closer until they had formed a circle.

Toshua stood looking down at the woman who had slumped sideways, her features peaceful on her last ride with The People. Paloma's magic beads were entwined in her deeply veined fingers. Toshua called another warrior over and they discussed the matter, pointing to the canyon wall, now a greater distance from them as the wound in the earth had widened. The warrior nodded and rode along the wall some distance as they watched, then stopped and swung his blanket.

Toshua turned to Marco. Paloma and others had gathered closer, their faces solemn. “Marco, you will carry this Old One to that warrior, who has found a good cave. Place her inside and cover her with stones.”

This was the impressive man she had married. Her heart full, Paloma watched as Marco did as Toshua said, gently unstrapping the Elder from the travois, then wrapping her in a trade blanket someone handed to him. He mounted, then held out his arms for the light bundle, a woman of the high plains and grasslands who had survived her entire family.

“
There is no ceremony?” Paloma whispered to Eckapeta, who shook her head, then took Paloma's hand in hers.

“
No, but we never leave the Old Ones to die alone as some tribes do.”

Paloma looked around at the serious faces, people who knew this woman well. “Did you know she gave me a carved bird for Kahúu's niece?” she told Eckapeta. “I will give the little toy to her when she is older.”

“
She told me she liked you,” Eckapeta said. “I cannot say her name now, because she is beyond our reach and we don't want to call her back.”

Paloma bowed her head and let her tears flow. When her vision cleared, she watched her husband carry the Old One toward the warrior waving the blanket. Toshua gestured for them to fall into line again, and the orderly march continued. She watched as they passed the men, stooping now inside one of the smaller caves. The travelers kept going; Paloma looked back until the men finished their work and rejoined The People.

Marco rode beside her, so serious now. “It is a good place. We covered her with stones.”

“
Will it keep out wolves and coyotes?”

“
We'll let the canyon do its work, my dear.”

They found a much larger cave as the sun's rule finished earlier than anyone wanted and was replaced by clouds. Wind began to blow and Paloma looked up anxiously, remembering the deep blue of the clouds, the Apaches, and their desperate ride to the canyon's rim. She wanted to leave her place and ride beside Marco, but did not know if there was some bit of Comanche etiquette she would be trampling on.

The column slowed, and she saw pleased looks on the faces around her. The women began to talk and joke together. They evidently knew this area, which took some of the tension from her shoulders. Maybe Marco would have time tonight to crack her neck and rub her back.

There it was, a cave that would hold them all, and maybe even the horses, too, if the wind proved too strong. Paloma watched as Toshua called for the flame bearer, an old fellow who kept the fire burning in some way like a slow match. Two of the warriors lit rush bundles the women had quickly gathered and tied together. They carried them into the cave, calling and holding their torches high, their lances at shoulder height, ready.

The women dismounted and Paloma followed, stifling a groan that would only have led to good-natured teasing. The little baby—oh, why quibble?
Her
baby—gazed at her out of bright eyes. Paloma smiled and made a face, and the little one chortled.

She was reaching up to lift the cradleboard loop off the pommel when her horse stiffened and started to dance. She grabbed the cradleboard and yanked it away, the child tight in her arms, when she heard a roar from the cave and watched The People scatter.

Terrified, but silent this time, Paloma flattened herself against the canyon wall beside the cave mouth. Kahúu stood beside her, clutching her baby and looking at her husband, who was trying to dismount. She thrust her cradleboard at Paloma and grabbed for his bridle, leading his plunging horse off the trail and against the canyon wall, too. Paloma stared in amazement at her skill.

“
Paloma, put the babies behind you!” Marco yelled as he rode his equally skittish horse to the cave mouth and dismounted as it still moved. He took a firm grip on his lance, looking down as if wondering how to use it to best effect.

“
Please don't go in there,” she whispered.

Another roar, closer now, the sound reverberating against the cave's walls. She did as Marco ordered, and propped the cradleboards into a crevice, steadying them. Kahúu had calmed her husband's horse and was helping him dismount, her eyes wild with worry for the babies and her man.

The babies were crying now, terrified as the roars grew louder. Paloma's horse was a distant memory, racing up the canyon. Her hands shook but she yanked off her cloak and threw it over the babies' cradleboards, mashing the fabric into the crevice, hoping that would quiet them.

As she did that, her hand brushed against the knife in its sheath on the back of her dress. She pulled it out, pledging in her mind to protect the babies. As she watched the cave, a bear cub ran out, and another. Her jumbled brain told her that The People probably only used this cave in the summer, when bears in hibernation were not in residence.

The cubs paused at the entrance, looking around, bawling in their terror, sounding disturbingly like human infants. She heard deeper roars and then anguished cries, and then the scream of a man.

“
Please no, God,” she said, ready to walk into the cave, her mind and heart on her husband.

She was shouldered aside by Kahúu's husband. He held his lance easily in his hand, steadied himself and started into the cave. He glanced back at her, made a chopping motion with his hand, and pointed to the cubs. He made the sign for food with his fingers, and gave her a fierce look she had no trouble interpreting.

She understood. No matter the outcome in the cave—this primitive contest between bear and men armed only with lances—The People needed food. The cubs bawled, the babies cried, and Paloma grabbed the cub by the scruff of the neck, hanging on with determination as the terrified animal flailed and scratched her. She plunged the knife into the animal's neck, striking over and over until it was still. Another woman killed the second cub after Ayasha tackled it.

The babies continued to wail, stopping only when Kahúu flung off Paloma's cloak and pulled their cradleboards from their stony niche. As calmly as a woman could—one whose man had just staggered into a dark cave—she opened the front of her deerskin dress and nursed them both.

Carrying the old man's lance, Eckapeta ran into the cave. Paloma wiped off her knife and followed her. The cave smelled of death and blood and animal droppings. They stood together, and waited, because all was silent.

Paloma dropped to her knees in relief when Marco and Toshua came out, carrying another warrior between them, his head drooping. The bear's claw had ripped into his thigh, but at least the blood did not spurt. His woman ran to him as Antonio ran, too, intent upon the wounded man, his beaded medical bag on his shoulder.