However, as secretive as Kevin and Curt tried to be, more than one sharp-eyed dragoon noticed Kevin and Curt's very differently shaped canteens, their unique canteen covers, and the unique manner with which the canteens were attached to equally unique belts.
No dragoon said anything to either Kevin or Curt, but it was obvious the two were a topic of hushed conversation and many a sideways glance — and not just because of their canteens.
Kevin and Curt led their Morgans to a spot of grass where the horses could feed and where Kevin and Curt could rest their aching, unaccustomed-to-hours-in-the-saddle bodies when a dragoon leading his horse approached them.
"Hello, fellas. I'm Corporal Yates. Is there anything I can do for you?"
~~~
Corporal Billy Yates had a shock of red hair sticking out from under his regulation narrow-brimmed black hat. His face seemed to have perpetual sunburn with scattered freckles blooming through the redness.
The corporal was the same height as Kevin — five feet, nine inches tall — but rail-thin in weight at maybe one-hundred and thirty pounds.
What immediately struck Kevin and Curt was that Corporal Yates was not much older than they were, yet his bearing and demeanor made him seem much older, a characteristic that Kevin realized accounted, at least in part, for or was the result of his rank of corporal.
The three shook hands.
"Looks like you got a good spot here. Let's sit and get acquainted."
Somewhat apprehensively, Kevin and Curt sat down in the grass and Corporal Yates joined them.
"Let me tell you about myself. First, you can call me 'Billy' when it's just the three of us and no one else is around. Call me 'Corporal Yates' when we're with the others. I have to maintain appearances in keeping with my rank," he grinned. "You understand?"
Kevin and Curt said, "Yes," in unison.
"Good. First Sergeant O'Malley wants me to kind of look after you two and teach you the ropes. Not soldiering, but making yourselves useful to us. How does that suit you?"
Kevin looked to Curt, and Curt nodded. Kevin said, "No problem."
"Now, about me. I've been with the dragoons since I was fifteen years old. Joined up with them four years ago in San Antonio after I wandered for a year after my pa had a tree fall on him and got killed. Then Ma died of consumption six months later. Ain't got no brothers or sisters — well, had twin brothers but they died as toddlers — died with the fever.
"Anyhow, we had a farm on some nice bottom land in Ohio — on Sciodoe Creek — but I never did take much to farming, so after Ma died I just saddled up ole Rusty — Rusty was our old plow horse — and up and rode off. Headed west. Ended up in Texas after 'bout a year. Was in San Antonio where the Army was doing some recruiting, saying they were heading west to New Mexico Territory and then Cali-for-ni-a, and, well, that sounded like adventure and suited me just fine, so I signed up, and here I am pouring out my life's story to you fellas.
"Now it's your turn. Tell me about yourselves."
And, with a disarming smile, Corporal Yates pointed at Kevin's head and asked, "Where did you get that strange green cap, and is that John Deere thing on it the same John Deere what made that steel plow like my pa used?"
~~~
Oh-oh, here it comes. The interrogation. The lieutenant has sent a surrogate our own age — thinking we'd be more open to someone our age — to wheedle information out of us to explain our strange clothes and stuff. We got to be careful and dance around the trap questions. The opening soft question is about my cap, but I know it won't end there; it'll quickly get impossible to skirt evermore-direct questions. Oh, boy!
With that panicky thought, Kevin knew he had to deflect a direct answer. He needed time to get his thoughts in order and his rapidly beating heart under control.
"You're well-spoken, Corp… er… Billy. You must have had some good schooling?" inquired Kevin.
"Ma was a school teacher before she met Pa. She taught me my ciphers and reading pretty good. One of the reasons I made rank quick. And you…?"
The corporal's smart. He's playing the game, and he's quickly put the ball back in my court.
"Well, Curt and I have been going to school in Albuquerque. I know we must seem old to you to still be going to school but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps and be a preacher — a minister — and he says I need a good education to do that."
"Hmm. Didn't know there was any school in Albuquerque. Is that what you want to do? I mean, be a preacher man?"
"Well, it is… or was. Being up in these mountains for a few days helped me make up my mind. Now, of course, things have changed — looks like we've been recruited by the US Army."
"I think the lieutenant had you 'recruited' for your own good and safety. You know what happened to McGinnis and O'Donnell, right?"
Kevin and Curt nodded.
"Well, I think the lieutenant recruited you to save your scalps — and his. I think the lieutenant figures keeping you with us is the best decision."
"So, there's more to it than just saving our scalps? His, too? How can that be?" ventured Kevin.
"Yep. The lieutenant would have a lot of explaining to do if you'd been killed and scalped."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, the lieutenant covets captain's bars; in fact, he would covet highly a promotion to major or lieutenant colonel by doing something heroic. That being said, if he left two civilians in the Jemez and the Apaches got to them and word got back to the garrison in Albuquerque — and word would get back 'cause your folks or somebody would have raised the alarm about you being missing — and all thirty of us would testify to having seen you in these here mountains — well, the lieutenant's goatee and mustache would be white before he saw captain's bars, if even then, much more seeing major or light colonel. Understand?"
"So, we've been recruited for our safety and the lieutenant's career. Is that right?" asked Kevin.
"Precisely," answered Billy with a grin.
The ridiculous thought flashed through Kevin's mind, How can I tell Billy that my dad was going to pick us up in an old Ford truck, and we would have been as safe as safe could be?
"Well, we can understand that. Right, Curt?"
Curt nodded, having the good sense to keep his mouth shut. He was more than content to let Kevin maneuver them out of Billy's low-keyed, probing, and subtle interrogation.
~~~
Before Billy could ask any more questions, Red Hawk got everyone's attention when he rode hard into camp and, slid off his pinto next to a group that included Kit Carson.
Carson disengaged from the group, and he and Red Hawk walked off a few paces and squatted down, Indian style, facing each other.
Red Hawk began to earnestly gesture and converse with Carson.
In less than a minute, the lieutenant strolled over, but instead of squatting with Red Hawk and Carson, he stood silently with arms crossed, the front of his hat raised, exposing his white, untanned forehead. His chin was lifted also, giving him an air of aristocratic superiority.
After a minute or so, the lieutenant spoke, his words unintelligible except to Red Hawk and Carson. An animated conversation broke out between the three of them. Carson translated Red Hawk's message to the lieutenant and translated the lieutenant's questions and comments back to Red Hawk.
After a couple of minutes of back and forth, the conversation between the three paused. A few seconds later, the lieutenant unfolded his arms, made a small circular motion with his right arm, and said something that apparently did not set well with Carson who stood up abruptly, immediately followed by Red Hawk standing up.
Red Hawk and Carson stood in silence staring at the lieutenant who was also silent, all three exchanging standoff stares. Several long seconds passed in silence. The lieutenant's face became noticeably flushed, the red creeping from his neck into his face. A few more seconds passed and then the lieutenant seemed to come to a decision. He spoke to
Carson and made a gesture as if to poke Carson in the chest with the index finger of his right hand when he noted the look in Carson's eyes and apparently thought better of a poke and instead slowly lowered his arm and rested his right hand on the hilt of his scabbard saber, which, in turn, caused Carson to place his hand on the handle of his sheathed twelve-inch Bowie knife.
Carson then appeared to respond calmly to whatever the lieutenant had said. None of the nearby observers could make out Carson's words, but, at the conclusion of whatever Carson said, the lieutenant simply stood there in apparent incredulity at either what Carson said or with Carson, himself.
The atmosphere around the three continued pregnant with tension. Carson's body language was equivalent to a cougar ready to spring upon prey. The lieutenant's body language was one of that assertiveness common to a certain class of well-born military officers when dealing with supposed inferiors. Red Hawk simply stood motionless much like a coiled and silent rattlesnake watching a pending supper of field mouse.
The lieutenant looked skyward for a moment, his lips moving with what appeared to be a single expletive. He took a small step backward, pulled his hat down to regulation position, shook his head from side-to-side, white feather fluttering, either in disagreement or to reinforce a negative answer, then glared at the diminutive Carson, and said no more than a half-dozen words to him — no one watching could tell what was said.
The lieutenant then abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, calling for the first sergeant.
Carson stared long and hard at the lieutenant's back as the lieutenant walked away. Carson then turned toward Red Hawk, spoke to him in Apache, and made a sweeping gesture with his right arm. Red Hawk nodded once and began to mount his pinto while Carson walked to fetch his pinto.
By some sixth sense, the dragoons already knew what was coming next and were already mounting up.
Sure enough, the first sergeant hollered, "Mount up!"
Billy swung into his saddle and said, "John Deere will have to wait. Secure your lead ropes, mount up, and follow me. Your training is about to begin. Let's go meet Jenny and Jericho."
~~~
Neither Kevin nor Curt had any clue what information Red Hawk brought into camp or why the sense of urgency, but they figured it was not good news given what appeared to be the apparent negative and strained conversation between Carson and the lieutenant.
The dragoons, however, seemed to take the observed confrontation between Carson and the lieutenant and the abruptness from rest to going back on the trail in stride, although there seemed to be a heightened alertness as several scanned the nearby trees and brush and double-checked the readiness of their rifles and pistols.
Kevin and Curt were sore and aching in areas of their respective bodies that each thought would not be able to endure another hour on horseback; nevertheless, they secured their lead ropes, mounted up with barely suppressed groans, and followed Billy to the rear of the dragoons now forming up by twos.
Billy wheeled in the saddle and with an arm gesture said over his shoulder, "Boys, meet Jenny and Jericho…"
To the amazement of Kevin and Curt, there stood two grey-brown pack mules, laden with so much gear that they thought it a wonder the mules could stand — they looked like they would topple over any second and would have difficulty keeping up with the mounted dragoons and their sturdy mounts, but, obviously, that had not been the case.
Billy instructed the dragoon mule handler to hand Jenny's lead rope to Kevin and Jericho's lead rope to Curt.
The private grinned as he did as directed by the corporal.
Kevin wondered, Is that a grin of relief or a grin of amusement?
Billy, with a grin himself, said, "I'll ride back here with you boys to make sure you got the hang of it and what to do when either mule — especially, Jericho — gets a bit reluctant on the trail."
Curt said, "Oh, great!" His inflection was not one of enthusiasm but one of mock despair.
Kevin thought, Uh-huh. Just as I thought: That private's grin was a grin of relief.
Chapter Eleven
White Wolf, the Apache
The column began winding its way in a north-northeast direction, following Redondo Creek for about six miles as it meandered and skirted eleven-thousand foot Redondo Peak.
Shortly before noon, the column entered the mouth of a narrow canyon than ran west-to-east, downwind of a sulfurous-smelling trickle-stream of water flowing through it, a reminder that the ancient volcanic activity that had formed the Jemez was anything but dormant.
A further five miles, much of it through another narrow valley between two one-thousand foot higher hills and the column came upon San Antonio Creek.
The dragoons followed San Antonio Creek for about a mile through a widening valley surrounded by lower hills until they crossed what was called the Rita de los Indios Creek.
Once across the Rita de los Indios, the column headed due east and began the long descent to the Rio Chama river valley some eleven miles distant, arriving at the Rio Chama in early afternoon at a point about a mile and one-half southwest of the San Juan Pueblo, which was on the opposite side of the Rio Chama.
~~~
In a sweet-smelling stand of giant cottonwood trees, the ground covered with fluffs of cotton as if it had snowed, the weary dragoons dismounted and removed the saddles from their mounts. Two horsehandlers moved the dragoons' horses into a makeshift rope corral and hobbled each horse.
The first sergeant posted four guards around the perimeter of the camp. He posted two additional guards at the makeshift horse and pack mule corral downwind of the main camping area.
Several dragoons busied themselves starting three campfires, each some twenty feet from the other.
Less than an hour after the dragoons had arrived in the cottonwood grove, Red Hawk came into camp trailing a makeshift travois on which was an already dressed, large mule deer. A half-dozen dragoons ran to relieve the travois of its burden and the mood of the dragoons took a decided uptick at the prospect of venison for early supper.
A private whom Kevin had heard others call "Cookie" rummaged in one of Jenny's packs and found a pot and apparently some beans to add to the pending feast.
Soon the aroma of roasting venison and boiling beans permeated the camp. The smoke from the three fires hung heavy in the upper branches of the cottonwoods.
Curt, saliva glands watering, complained to Kevin as they sat with their backs against a giant cottonwood trunk, "I thought we'd never eat. These dudes don't eat. We never had breakfast and we never had lunch. What gives with these people?"
Kevin thought a moment and said, "I think we missed something. I think the dragoons must kind of snack on jerky while on the trail. Let's find Billy and ask him."
Corporal Yates was standing with a group of four other non-commissioned officers at one of the campfires. A member of the group was slowly turning a spit containing a decent-sized chunk of venison rump. The roast was browning nicely as fat and juices dropped, sizzled, and flared in the fire.
Billy noticed Kevin and Curt standing several feet away and said, "Gentlemen, won't you please join us for supper?"
Billy did not have to ask Curt twice. Curt, with a big grin, literally bounded over and stood next to Billy.
"Thank you, Corporal. Thank you!" said the famished Curt, eying the roasting venison.
Easing to the other side of Billy, Kevin said, "Yes, thank you, Corporal."
"Allow me to introduce this distinguished group," said Corporal Yates, and he commenced doing so. Two of the non-commissioned officers shook hands with Kevin and Curt, but the other two were more reserved and simply nodded when their name was said.
Kevin and Curt squatted down by the fire and on either side of Billy as he, too, squatted.
One of the two friendlier non-commissioned officers named Charlie, asked, "Where y'all from?" The question obviously directed to Kevin and Curt.
Kevin said, "Albuquerque."
/> Charlie said, "Hmmm," and turned his head and let loose with a stream of brown tobacco juice into the bushes behind him and to his side, "Y'all don't say," his tone conveying more than a hint of disbelief.
"That's right," chimed in Curt. "Albuquerque. Been there my whole life."
Kevin immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say.
"What Curt's trying to say is that we've been in Albuquerque for… for, well, for a long time. Our kin came from back east. Mine's from Ohio. Curt, don't your roots go back to Pennsylvania…?"
"Ah, yeah. Yes. Yes, they sure do," replied Curt, picking up on the danger in the original question because, although he did not know it for a fact but could sense it, the population of Albuquerque in the 1850s, less the military garrison, was probably not more than a thousand, meaning to be a teenage non-Hispanic in a small, largely Spanish population, and, at the same time, having lived in Albuquerque one's "whole life," although not impossible, was improbable.
Kevin's heart was pounding. There's going to come a point — a question — that we can't avoid and the truth's going to come out, one way or the other, that we're from the future.
Billy, seeming to sense the potential for a confrontation that he felt was neither the time nor the place for one, said, "That venison looks mighty fine. I suggest we begin." Whereupon, Billy took out his Sheffield Bowie knife and, while Charlie held the spit motionless, Billy carved a nice chunk of meat onto one of three tin plates he had. He handed the first plate to Curt. Billy then picked up a second plate and repeated the carving, handing the plate to Kevin. He then carved a chunk of meat for himself on a third plate as the other non-commissioned officers began to fill their plates.
Kevin was impressed with Billy's initiative in bringing two extra tin plates in anticipation that Kevin and Curt would not have plates of their own; Billy had apparently intended to invite Kevin and Curt to his supper group all along.
Seemingly on cue, Cookie entered the group caring a steaming pot of beans. Cookie heaped ladles of beans swimming in thick, brown, aromatic juices onto each plate to the delight and whoops of the men.