Briggs saw the assurance in Juan’s eyes. He doesn’t believe he can beat me does he?
Juan knew his thoughts and his smile grew.
Part of Briggs would have liked to back down at that smile but he knew that was foolish thinking: the thinking of a coward. Instead, he ordered Juan’s death.
The fighting was over quickly. As the soldiers approached, Juan touched the soldiers and they fell dead. Their bullets and swords passed through him harmlessly and he was unscathed.
He saved Briggs for last and the arrogance died in his eyes as he left the world to the afterlife.
After the battle, Juan was remorseful it had come to death but he had protected the fountain. He looked around at the scattered bodies of soldiers. Taking it all in, he closed his eyes and upon opening them, the bodies of the soldiers and their horses were gone.
The years passed and the valley became part of Tennessee. Tennessee then became part of the new nation that was called America.
Men settled nearer to the village and the community grew until his village became encompassed. The earthen wall around the village was removed and the village became a central part of the town now called Chattanooga. All the while, the fountain was hidden in plain sight.
Juan told them it was a gift from the French.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
During those years of relative solitude, Juan wandered the lands that had become a united nation. The city had grown around the fountain and there was little threat to a fountain that hid in plain sight, used by children to cool themselves in the summer heat.
He exploring the young nation that continued to expand. On one occasion, he made his way west to New Mexico, charmed by the mountains and their barren quality.
Feeling drawn but not able to explain the sensation, he entered the small town of Cimarron, New Mexico at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He had seen for himself the mountains turning red in the sunset, resembling the flowing blood of Christ.
Cimarron was rumored to harbor outlaws. There were stories of shootouts in the saloon of the local hotel but Juan found the stories were told mostly to draw notoriety; the town itself was actually peaceful.
He checked into the town’s hotel, his first real bed in some time and slept well.
Rising before dawn, he found the hotel restaurant had a decent cup of coffee. As he sipped, he glanced up at the ceiling. It wasn’t quite riddled but there were certainly several bullet holes; perhaps some of the stories were founded.
He questioned a man at a neighboring table and the man explained that occasionally, shots were fired at the ceiling by someone who had exceeded his alcohol limit, hoping to unnerve those sleeping upstairs. “Don’t worry though, the ceiling has a double layer of hardwood that keeps bullets from making their way through.”
He sipped his third cup of coffee and picked up a discarded local newspaper. He read until he drained the last bit of his coffee and then set the paper back down for the next patron. Feeling invigorated, he walked out into the morning sun.
Outside of the hotel was his first encounter with the Taos Pueblo. “You should get yourself a gun,” the Taos Pueblo offered unprovoked.
“How’s that?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, amigo,” the Taos Pueblo said with his hands raised to show he meant no harm. “I’m only speaking out of concern for your safety. All seems calm but there is violence in this town.”
Juan studied the man. They were similar: same size, same dark hair, dark eyes and dark complexion. But that’s not where the similarities ended: Juan knew there was something inimitable about the man.
“What is it you want?” Juan asked.
“People around here laugh and say: Who was killed at the hotel last night? I don’t see the humor but some do. It’s also said that the hotel is inhabited by spirits.”
“Ghosts?”
“Call them what you will but people claim to have seen them. I don’t suppose a bullet would work against them.”
“What is it you want from me?” Juan repeated.
“You’re new in town and I figured you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need a friend.”
“Everyone needs a friend. Especially when you’re new in town. I would think a friend of the Cherokee would know that.”
Juan turned and faced the man fully, “How do you know I’m a friend of the Cherokee?”
“You were followed west and the one that followed you came to us last night after you arrived. He said you could use a friend; and here I am.”
“Who would have followed…?” Juan closed his mouth. He knew. “Is he still with you?”
“No, he left this morning back to his people. He said his journey was complete.”
Juan nodded. “So, you know who I am. And who are you, amigo?”
“I am Jose. You will come with me. You are a brother to the Cherokee and so you will be a brother to my people.”
Juan accepted.
The miles of desert between Cimarron and Jose’s village reminded him of Kansas. Kansas was barren. It was a desolate place of sod homes and scrub brush.
But while this land was equally forsaken, it also had an enchanted splendor about it.
They reached the Taos Pueblo village just before the sun dipped below the horizon. The people of the village were setting their evening meal and even though food was no longer necessary for him, the aroma made Juan’s stomach growl.
Jose took care of the horses while Juan washed his hands and face for dinner. When he was done, he entered the courtyard of Jose’s home where he was
