The Shadow Man (9 page)

Dexter's attention focused on Tamarron. “How do you know all this?”

“I saw the rider come in on a horse that'd been ridden nearly to death. Before the man delivered the message, he stopped off and had a beer in one of the cantinas. I followed him when he left. He went to the governor's home in the palace.”

“So you spied on the governor?”

“I surely did,” Jacob said with a wry grin. “I've been out of touch with what's going on for months. I want to fix that situation fast.”

Dexter looked through the open door and out over the plaza. The palace, the quarters of the army garrison, and the prison could be seen plainly.

“So you came to get your gold in case Mexico is at war with the United States, eh, Jacob? Well, that's not such a bad plan. If war does come, the governor will surely confiscate all the possessions of the Americans in Santa Fe. That would include the money you trappers have deposited with me.”

Dexter swung his view to Tamarron. “However, I don't think the governor will take my personal goods. I'm a Mexican citizen and married to a Mexican woman, the daughter of an important family in Santa Fe. But Armijo will spy on me, so I'll have to be careful in my actions. Thanks for telling me about the dispatch.”

Jacob had been closely watching the American trader. Dexter hadn't mentioned Indians as a possible source of any trouble but rather had spoken only of the possibility of war with the States. “Dexter, you knew of the dispatch before I told you,” Jacob said.

The businessman did not respond to Jacob's claim; instead he thoughtfully rubbed his chin and stared with a troubled face out over the plaza.

“Tell me what you know,” Jacob said, pressing Dexter.

“You were willing to share your news with me, so I can do no less. Already several Mexicans and Americans are aware of the contents of that dispatch pouch. Soon the whole town will know. The messenger brought information that General Zachary Taylor has three thousand American soldiers in winter camp at Corpus Christi. He's been ordered to march the whole army, cavalry, artillery, and infantry to the Rio Grande opposite Matamoros.”

“Mexico claims all that land between Corpus Christi and the Rio Grande,” Tamarron said.

“So does Texas, and now it's one of the States of the Union. Therefore the United States must take a stand. Apparently they've decided to back the Texas claim to the region. I strongly believe President Polk wants more than just that area along the Rio Grande. He's land-hungry and is after all of New Mexico and California. There will be a war because Mexico can't allow an American army to remain there.

“Santa Fe is Mexico's northernmost city, It'll surely come under attack if war begins. A large American force could be coming down the Santa Fe Trail right now.”

“What do you plan to do?” asked Jacob.

“This is my home,” Dexter replied. “All I possess is locked up in this store, and the money I have is loaned out. If there is a war, I'll see it through right here in Santa Fe.”

“Who do you think would win the war?”

“The Mexican soldiers here number about two hundred. Even with the three to four thousand volunteers Armijo could muster up from the region, they could never hold New Mexico against a determined American army. What are your plans?”

“For now I'm going to remain here. I want to see what the next few days brings. And, anyway, I can be gone in ten minutes after I make up my mind to leave. If I don't see you again, best of luck to you.”

Tamarron went directly to the livery and saddled his horse. He rode east into the hills. He did not return for better than two hours.

* * *

Petra danced with her father in the large ballroom of the Palace of the Governors. The musicians, two violinists, two guitarists, and a flutist, played a lively tune for the forty or more dancing couples. The women, in long, full gowns of silk or satin decorated with ribbons and bows, swung elegantly on the arms of their partners. She thought the men in their heeled boots and embroidered, tight-fitting trousers and jackets were splendid and courtly.

Petra smiled at her father. He was an excellent dancer, always knowing exactly the next movement, always in perfect rhythm to the music. He danced with her twice.

Conrado came to her and whirled her about the floor in a gay dance to a spritely piece of music. He knew how much Petra enjoyed the music and dancing. She loved him for his kindness. Then the music ended and he was gone. A few moments later, with a new melody filling the ballroom, Conrado was spinning his pretty, laughing wife through a lively series of dance steps.

An elderly friend of Petra's father danced with her. She knew the man did so in politeness to the Solis family. Still, it was a kind gesture and she had accepted the invitation to dance.

The musical instruments finished their lovely melody and the man left Petra. She took her cape and went outside to the lantern-lit walkway leading to the plaza. She breathed deeply of the crisp March air and brushed the hair from her warm brow. The
baile
was over for her. She would leave the Palace of the Governors and return home, to sit in the seclusion of the patio and listen to the distant music late into the night.

* * *

Ten lanterns hung from the rafters to illuminate the fandango in the big cantina on the plaza. The cantina floor was strewn with clean straw to keep down the dust and to smooth and enhance the spin and whirl of the dancers' feet. Jacob swung a dusky-skinned woman in a fast, floor-stomping dance that heated his blood. A throng of other dancers swirled and promenaded with him around the dance floor.

A wizened little Mexican played a fiddle with a swift, bobbing saw of his bow. A handsome man with a face showing intense concentration skillfully played a guitar. A little Indian drum with a mellow, pleasant tone was being thumped in perfect rhythm by a fat man with a never-ending smile.

The tables of the cantina had been moved back against the wall to provide room for the dance. Spectators and couples waiting for space on the floor stood jammed in the corners and doorways. Men waiting to buy drinks for their women and themselves crowded two deep at the bar.

The tune ended. The fast step of the dancers came to a halt. The wide, happy smiles of the dancers dimmed a little as the intoxication of the music faded.

The woman with Jacob rolled her eyes coquettishly at him, and her teeth flashed white in a face powdered pale lavender. She pressed willingly against him.

A few more dances and a drink or two and she would be Jacob's for the taking. He winked at the wench, pulled her to him, and kissed her on the cheek. He smelled the pleasant aroma of her scented powder.

Tamarron backed away a step and wiped the moisture on his forehead. The wool suit and the dancing had made him hot.

The woman removed a corn husk from a small pouch fastened to her waist. Into the husk she poured finely ground tobacco. With a deft twist of her fingers she rolled wrapper and tobacco into a
seegarito
. Laughing, she leaned over and placed the end of the
seegarito
against the glowing end of a man's cigar. She puffed the tobacco into fire and inhaled a deep breath of the smoke. She smiled prettily at the man in thanks for the light.

The woman's action sent a tinge of distaste through Jacob. He was wasting his time with such a woman. He turned away and wound a path toward the door. Behind him the woman called out, but he did not look back or slow.

Tamarron walked out into the darkness. Behind him, the music began again. He moved farther away in the deep murk that lay thick on the plaza.

The faint strains of music came drifting across from the opposite side of the plaza. The governor was holding the spring
baile,
the last party before the rich caballeros and their families left Santa Fe to return to their distant ranchos located along the Rio Grande and across the mountains in the far-flung valley of the Rio Pecos.

Tamarron's head lifted. Would the brave woman with the knife be there? She would fit into that class of people, for she'd been well dressed and obviously educated. He moved in the direction of the distant music.

A woman came from the Palace of the Governors as Jacob drew close. Her yellow dress, wide-skirted and billowing with her step, shone dark gold in the glow of the lanterns lighting the walkway. Her long black hair, loosely pulled back, hung down her back in a flowing stream of midnight. She was the very woman he had hoped to see.

Jacob hastened forward, wanting to reach her before she left the light. To approach her in the dark might frighten her. Then he grinned; she did not frighten easily.

* * *

Petra stopped quickly as a man came hurrying out of the night and halted in front of her.

He was dressed in a gray suit and was bareheaded. He smiled at her. His face appeared somehow strange in the lantern light. Then she realized it was the color of his skin that made his appearance odd. His forehead and the skin around his eyes were dark and weathered, while his cheeks, chin, and neck were very white. That complexion would result from a man removing a beard after many years. He was almost handsome.

The man came closer, and the flames of the lanterns shined fully into his eyes. Petra saw the gray-white eyes of the trapper who had come to her aid when she'd been insulted in the street. He stopped barely an arm's length away.

Petra felt a sudden flush warm her body. He had come to find her. She knew it with certainty. By habit, her hand rose to hide the scar on her face. Even though she deliberately had shown her mutilated cheek before, now, for some unexplainable reason, she felt a great desire to present only the most perfect view possible to him.

Jacob reached out quickly and caught her hand. He pulled it gently down. The fiber of her beauty was not marred by the scar.

“You never have to do that for me,” Jacob said.

Petra remained perfectly still, the man called Jacob Tamarron continuing to hold her hand and staring at her, not saying a word.

Never had a man touched her in that fashion and with such a look in his eyes. His masculinity delighted and frightened her.

“Would you dance with me?” asked Jacob.

There was a tremulous, joyous light in Petra's face as she glanced around. “Yes, but it is impossible to dance here,” she said.

“I didn't mean out here, but in there.” Jacob gestured at the ballroom. “I want to hear the music plainly.”

Petra hesitated. What would her mother and father think of her dancing with an unknown man, a gringo? And the other women, how they would shake their heads and talk behind their fans!

“Do you really want to?” she asked.

“Certainly.”

“Then we shall.” Petra was no longer a girl who had to have a chaperon and ask permission to speak to a man. She led the way back along the walk and in through the door.

She looked around and saw her parents talking at Governor Armijo's table. She would introduce Jacob before the music began.

Jacob followed closely behind Petra. The room was large and almost square. The earthen floor was covered with a tightly woven wool carpet. The doors and part of the walls were paneled in buffalo hides painted to resemble wood. Small tables and many straight-backed chairs were spaced along one end of the room. To the rear of that was a table full of bottles of wine and brandy from Pecos, and whiskey from Taos. Some of the bottles of wine were chilling in a wooden tub of ice.

The clothing of the many guests appeared expensive and in nearly all cases was of bright colors. Like the women at the fandango in the cantinas, these women painted their faces with powder of Mexican white lead, turning their skin an ashen violet, in which their eyes were dark caves of emotion. Only Petra wore none. All the women were bedecked in jewelry of some sort. Many had several large pieces on.

Petra and Jacob had almost crossed the floor when the violinist made a sweep with his bow across the strings of his instrument and a loud note sounded to call the dancers to the floor. Immediately all three musicians joined into the tune.

Jacob caught Petra by the arm and turned her to him. The music was a waltz, and he swung her into position.

Petra glanced over her shoulder at her parents. They had seen her with Jacob. Her father was pulling at his beard, and her mother's face was glacial and disapproving. She smiled at their bleak countenances and looked away. She began to move to the man's lead, picking up the tempo of the music, her step in synchrony with the beat of the melody.

By the time they had half circled the dance floor, Jacob and Petra were caught up in the music and the nearness of the other. He felt her soft breath, light as the fluff of milkweed on his cheek. He smelled her sweet women's perfume. She smiled at him, and the beauty of her smile caused him to smile happily in return.

The musicians played many tunes, barely halting one before starting another. The last was the melody for the
cuna,
the dance of the cradle. Jacob pulled Petra in close, and they circled each others' waists with their arms, making the top of the cradle. They began to swing around and around, leaning back to form the top of the cradle, their lower bodies moving inward to close the bottom.

The dance ended. The musicians laid down their instruments and went to have a cold drink.

“Come with me,” Petra said. “You must meet my parents.” Her father had been watching his daughter and the American. He stood up as Petra and Jacob came close.

“Father, this is Jacob Tamarron. He assisted me when a man insulted me on the street. Mr. Tamarron, my father, Emmanuel Solis.”

“Señor Solis,” Jacob said, and offered his hand.

“Señor Tamarron, I wish to thank you for aiding my daughter. That was most kind of you. May I introduce my wife, Señora Solis.”

“Señora,” Jacob said, and bowed to the woman.

“Hello, Señor Tamarron. I understand you are a trapper, one of the men of the mountains.” Her tone was cold.