Chapter Seventeen, Part One

Half an hour later they saw a smudge of low adobe buildings on the horizon.

“Are we going to go around, like we did the last town?” Sophie asked nervously.

Robert hesitated. He wanted very much to skirt the town and pueblo, but they were still a couple days away from Castaño. They could continue on and hope for the best, but there was no guarantee they would find anyplace else where they could supplement their supplies. This might be a good place to top off their packs. He glanced over his shoulder at Sophie, who followed trustingly. He could risk going without, but the child couldn’t.

“It will be fine,” he said. “Most of the Taos Indians aren’t Nativists. I know a little of their language and I’ve negotiated with tribal people before. Just remember to stay quiet unless you’re spoken to.”

As they followed the dirt road past the first buildings, Robert felt himself tense, but tried to keep his expression neutral as he glanced around for signs of welcome or hostility. When a brown-skinned man in faded jeans and a loose velvet shirt came around the corner, Robert found himself feeling acutely aware that this was the first time he had ever negotiated anything with a native without a band of armed Unitas followers behind him. He racked his brain for the right words as the man approached. Libby, one of the Unitas language experts, had coached him in several native languages back in the day, but that was more than fifteen years ago. He dismounted and offered a diplomatic smile. “Jăŭ. ’A k’u wa ma.” He hoped wasn’t completely slaughtering the pronunciation.

The man paused and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “’A k’u wa ma. Hăĭ?”

The conversation had already reached the limit of Robert’s memory of Libby’s language lessons. There had been a time long ago when he knew how to ask for food or water, or to ask to be taken to a tribal leader, but too much time had passed. “Pŭĭ’u,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. Friend. “I would like to trade for food and water. Quisiero trocar—”

“I speak English,” the man said. He glanced from Robert to Sophie, who sat her horse, watching with wide eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Castaño. There has been a death in the family.” This was technically true, even though his brother had been gone for more than six months. “We need to top off our food supply before we head into the mountains. I don’t mind going hungry myself, but my daughter is a little young for such things. I can pay in dollars or southwesterns.”

The man looked at Sophie again, and Robert thought he saw him stifle a sigh of annoyance. “Come,” he finally said. “My aunt has been making bread.”

Robert motioned for Sophie to dismount and they both fell in behind the Indian. “My name is Robert, by the way. And this is Sophie.”

The Indian didn’t turn around but told them his name was “Tùxwána. But I’m sure you can’t pronounce it correctly, so please call me Tom.”

Tom’s aunt didn’t live in the ancient pueblo, but in a plastered adobe house in town. They smelled a wonderful aroma as they drew near and it was all Sophie could do to obey her father’s instructions and not ask a thousand eager questions. Tom gestured toward a rail where they could tie their horses and then tapped on the half-open door.

“Kàyúna!” he called. When a voice from deep within the shadows answered, he went in. After a few minutes he emerged from the dark coolness of the house. “You can go in. She will only take gold, silver, or United States dollars, though. No southwesterns.”

Robert was disappointed but not surprised. Miguel and Amalia had told him about the problems the USS government was having getting their currency a place in the world market. They had little of value to back up the nominal value of their southwesterns, with the inevitable result that their country’s currency was worth little more than the paper it was printed on.

He ducked inside the mud brick home, with Sophie close at his heels. Inside was cool and dim, with light spilling in from another doorway just ahead. They walked through the front room and down a narrow hall, emerging into a courtyard with a large brick oven in one corner and beside it, a table full of fresh round flatbreads. On the beams all around them hung ristras of corn and chilies.