“Isaac, get her ready to travel,” Hatcher requested in a whisper. “Pull some rope off one of them dead horses.”
As Rowland sat sobbing between Bass and Hatcher, Simms prepared the body for their journey back to Taos. Lashing the rope around and around the blanket-wrapped shroud, Isaac tied his last knot just as one of the soldiers strode up to Kinkead. The Mexican spoke in the clipped tones of a man who clearly thought he was talking to someone occupying a lower station in life.
Caleb hobbled up, a leg bleeding, to ask, “Who the shit is this nigger?”
“Sergeant of this here outfit,” Kinkead grumbled. “Name of Ramirez. Sergeant Jorge Ramirez.”
“What’s he saying to you, Matthew?”
“Says it’s time for him to take the women and the girl back to the gov’nor in Taos.”
“Take ’em back?” Elbridge Gray echoed. “Why, them damned
Hatcher nodded, giving his order: “Tell him that, Matthew.”
Behind the sergeant, what others weren’t tending to their own wounded or their dead continued to mutilate and dismember the enemy dead. Matthew brought himself up to his full height, casting a shadow over Ramirez as he repeated the declaration.
Then Kinkead told the other Americans, “Says he demands the women—’specially the woman and her daughter—so he can turn ’em over to the gov’nor when they get back to Taos.”
Hatcher stood. “Didn’t ye tell him we figger these soldiers didn’t save the womenfolk, so we don’t figger they got any right takin’ the womenfolk back?”
“Just what I told him.”
“Tell the sumbitch again,” Jack growled. “Then tell him we’re taking the women back on our own. They can come along, or they can stay here and tear these here bodies apart like they was the ones what won the fight.”
When Matthew’s words struck the Mexican’s ears, more of the soldiers stopped their butchery and moved over to join the sergeant arguing with Kinkead.
“He says they have more guns than we do.”
“This bastard brung it right down to the nut-cutting, didn’t he, boys?” Jack snorted. “Awright, Matthew, tell him he sure ’nough does have him more guns right now … but we got more balls, and these yellow-backed greasers ain’t going to back down no American!”
With that answer to his bold demands, the sergeant’s eyes darkened in fury. Suddenly he shouted at the other Mexicans—silencing their angry murmurs. In the uneasy quiet Ramirez glared at Kinkead as he spoke.
“This one says he’s asking us one last time to turn over the women afore he orders the men to kill … kill us all.”
At that challenge several of the Americans pulled back the hammers on their firearms as they stepped backward around Rowland and his wife, slowly ringing the three freed captives. Those who did not have loaded weapons pulled knives or reached down and scooped a tomahawk or club from the ground. In a moment all eight had their backs together, the women and Rowland at the center of that tiny circle.
Close to shaking with rage, Hatcher growled, “Matthew, ye tell this sick-dog, sad-assed, whimpering greaser that I wanna know what right they got to take the women back for themselves … when these here yellow-livered cowards wasn’t even brave enough to jump footfirst into the fight to save these here women!”
As Kinkead translated, the eyes of nearly all the Mexicans glowed with even more hatred—but not a one of them dared initiate an assault on the trappers. Their spokesman trembled with rage as he spat out his words.
Matthew said, “He says they’re not cowards—”
“Like hell they ain’t!” Bass interrupted with a snort of derision.
Sputtering in anger one moment, Ramirez fell to wheedling the next, attempting to explain the lack of action and courage of his men during the fight.
Kinkead translated, “Says he wasn’t able to get the rest to keep fighting after Guerrero was killed. The rest were … were—but I don’t think he can find a nice word for them being scared.”
Hatcher shook his head in disgust. “Then tell that sumbitch to have his men either start this fight right now —or get back outta our way, and make it quick!”
With that said to the Mexican, he waved his men back a few yards, then turned once more to growl at Kinkead.
“Just who the hell is this greaser to take on these high airs?” Bass inquired.
Matthew explained, “Now that Guerrero’s dead—this one takes over, I s’pose.”
Watching the soldiers inch back a short distance, Hatcher repeated, “That give this Ramirez nigger the due to rub up against us the way he is?”
As the soldiers closed in around their leader once more, Matthew said, “They don’t figger these here women any safer with us than they was with the Comanche.”
Most of the Americans laughed at that declaration, a few even jabbing one another with elbows, some wagging their heads in amused disbelief.
But while the others guffawed, Caleb Wood stepped up to demand, “Merciful heavens! Why the hell aren’t these here women safe with the men who saved ’em?”
“Because he don’t figger us for Christians,” Kinkead said. “Leastwise, none of the rest of you.”
“How you so special?” Simms grumbled, pulling at a blond ringlet in his beard with a grubby finger.
“Remember how I got myself baptized in the Mexican church some time back,” Kinkead explained.
“Don’t mean to stomp on yer Rosa’s church, Matthew,” Hatcher began, “but the way we see it, ye tell this son of a lily-livered bitch that I don’t give a damn if he’s Christian or not…. Tell him his bunch wasn’t in this fight enough for me to call ’em brave men.”
When Kinkead turned back to Hatcher after delivering those inflammatory words, he said, “Seems you’re dishonoring not just him but the other soldiers who died here this morning if you don’t let ’em take the prisoners back to their families in Taos.”
“Eegod! Honor? That what this is all about?” Hatcher spat. “How the hell can this here greaser talk to me about honor when he and his men didn’t have the honor to fight like men? To fight like their dead leader fought? Maybeso to die like a man, instead of standing right here in front of real men and whining like alley cats about their goddamned honor!”
It was plain to see how those words slapped the sergeant across the face like a sudden, unexpected challenge. His eyes glared like black coals; his lips curled, stretching taut over his front teeth as he struggled for words.
“When we get back to Taos, he says he’ll let you tell the gov’nor what all we done to help his men in this fight.”
Jack whirled on Kinkead in utter disbelief. “That what he said, Matthew? That we … only
“Yep—says we just helped his men.”
Flecks of spittle crusted the corners of Hatcher’s lips as he sputtered, “Tell that sumbitch Ramirez to step out of my way or I’m going to cut him up into pieces small enough that the jays can eat what’s left of ’im!”
“Jack,” Kinkead said with a soothing tone, his words almost whispered. “Maybe you ought’n figger us a way to do this ’thout anyone else getting killed. They got us near surrounded now.”
“I’ll gut my share of ’em afore—”
“Lookee there, Jack,” Caleb interrupted Hatcher as his eyes flicked about of a sudden. “The greasers sure as Katie do got us circled.”
“Goddamned Mex,” Isaac growled. “Only time they figger to fight is when they got the enemy outnumbered.”
Scratch added, “And when they got the drop on us!”
“Listen up,” Jack told them. “What say we leave it up to the women here?”
“You mean let the women decide who they ride back to Taos with?” Elbridge asked.
“That’s right,” Jack replied. “Matthew, tell this greaser we’re going to let the women decide.”
After a minute of coaxing from Kinkead, the sergeant nodded in agreement, a smug look of victory already apparent on his face.
