CHAPTER ONE

Dust swirled in the distance against the bright blue sky. Behind the cloud, blue coated soldiers carried a flag. They led a column of Navajos and animals. The teamsters halted work to watch the prisoners headed for the reservation.

“Back to work, men!” the wagon master bellowed.

Steve resumed stacking his crates on the loading dock.

Beside them an officer rode up. Someone whispered, “Colonel Chaves!”

Steve stepped aside and glanced upward. The man held himself proudly. His boots and spurs glistened in the December morning’s hard light. His regulation hat sat at a jaunty angle, his eyes shadowed. He wore a trim dark beard and mustache. He circled the teamsters, inspecting the cargo.

The military regiment leading the caravan approached and halted briefly before the colonel.

“Ten-hut!” a lieutenant sang out. The captain and his men saluted Chaves and continued.

The Navajo passed next. The men rode first. Turbans held their flowing hair. Their ponies were saddled with blankets, and double apron-coats were belted over their buckskin breeches. Their faces were solemn and impassive. The women followed, their hair flowing or in braids. They rode in carts and wrapped themselves in blankets against the cold morning air. Behind the women were carts filled with children carrying family belongings.

The Navajo would not stop in Santa Fe, but would go to Pecos. They would spend the night there before taking the road to the reservation.

The last cart came up near the teamsters’ train. A doll flew into the dust beside Steve.

A little girl slid from her place, reaching for the doll. As her hand closed over it, a soldier laughed and kicked it away. The child howled. The colonel’s sorrel horse, frightened at the noise, whinnied and reared, nearly unseating Chaves.

“God-damned infidel!” he screamed. “Get out of the way!” He raised his riding crop to strike the child, but Steve reached out to catch her. The whip grazed his back, but he was already running. A Navajo swept the girl up in his arms as Steve retrieved the doll and handed it to him.

The colonel brought his horse between Steve and the wagons. “Your name!” he demanded.

“Steve Elkins.”

“This is war. Don’t interfere in business not your own!” Chaves roared.

“Not my war, sir,” Steve said, meeting the man’s gaze.

“Pig!” the officer answered.

The officer turned and lashed out at the foot soldier. “Stay out of the way, imbecile!” he ordered.

Bystanders frowned and looked away, fearing the colonel’s further reprisal.

When the wagons were unloaded, Steve left for the town plaza.

The Arizona officials were being entertained by members of the New Mexico legislature. Mary and Epifanio were included in the welcoming celebration. Mary signaled Steve to join her.

Passersby stared at the tall, fair complexioned young white man, his clean-shaven and comely appearance unusual for a teamster. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low on his forehead in response.

“Steve, you can come to the fandango this evening,” Mary suggested. “There will be speeches from the hosts and guests. You can become familiar with the administrations of both territories,” she told him.

“Of course, I’d like to come, but I’ve arrived as a teamster. I prefer to keep my identity this way until we go to Arizona,” he answered. “I don’t know yet whether I’ll decide to stay.”

“All right . . . . What did you think of the Navajo caravan?” she asked.

“It was sad to see. We’ve encroached on their way of life. It doesn’t help that we’re convinced our way is better. They’re a vanquished people.”

“They’ll begin to adapt once they’re on the reservation.”

“I doubt they’ll fare well at the Bosque Redondo.”

“Why?”

“Because the Army will soon tire of them and take advantage of their helplessness.”

“But they’ll learn to plant and produce crops,” she countered.

“On land they don’t own. By the time they get out, very little will be offered them.”

“There’s no use worrying about it, the military has charge of them now,” she answered,

resigned.

“When do we leave for Albuquerque?” he asked.

“We’ll go tomorrow. Colonel Chaves is leading our train south and then will cross the

Rio Grande at Albuquerque. We’ve heard from Michael Steck, Papa’s partner. He wants to meet you before you leave for Arizona.”

“Where will Steck meet us?”

“We’ll camp at the Abo ruins, Epifianio told me,” she explained. “It’s just north of Albuquerque.”

Mexicans, Indians, and Anglos crowded the narrow streets. The braves, most Pueblos from a nearby village, wore headbands and feathers, loincloths and moccasins. The women braided a single strand of ebony hair down their backs or wore it loose over their shoulders, and many draped themselves in long hand-woven skirts with brilliantly colored waistbands. They carried tall clay jugs on their heads. Parrots squawked and jabbered from doorways. Mexican men urged along burros, laden with firewood for heating and cooking everything in commercial buildings, homes, and jacales, or adobe sod huts.

That evening, Steve joined other teamsters to eavesdrop on the fandango from the open doorway of the town’s central bar, the Fonda. Inside, a boisterous crowd cheered several señoritas who danced the flamenco on a low stage. Lively music and appreciative guests made for a traditional welcoming event.

The men outside listened while the dignitaries spoke. Civil governor Henry Connelly and military governor General James Carleton were both absent. The territorial secretary, William Arny, served in their place.

“You’ll find the warmth and graciousness of our citizens extended to you in every way,” Secretary Arny told the visitors. “We intend to support you and the government you plan to establish. As a neighbor, you may call on us at any time. Your welfare and success is our fondest wish.”

Other officials were introduced, and likewise offered their welcome and support before the Arizonans expressed gratitude.

“Tomorrow’s a long day,” Steve said to his companions. “I think I’ll turn in.” He was tired and the Navajo’s banishment haunted him. He left for the tents where the teamsters slept, on the nearby Fort Marcy parade ground.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The following day, they rose before light. The wagon train of Arizonans joined the Aguirre’s for the trip to Albuquerque. The second day of traveling, they camped at the Abo church ruins. That night, Steve was taken to an isolated area to meet with Michael Steck. Mary took him aside before the meeting.

“Michael wants to talk to you about the Santa Rita and Pinos Altos mines near Mesilla,” she explained. “He wants to see you privately because he’s continuously suspected of subverting General Carleton’s interests. The two of them are not agreeable about the reservation arrangements, and he doesn’t want to start you off on the wrong foot. He’s friends with the local judge, Joseph Knapp, who believes the Army is destroying the area’s food supply. Local people are starving.”

Epifanio led him to a cottonwood grove near a crumbled stone building, where a light

floated in the dusk. The man who waited for him was slight and several inches shorter than Steve. Raven-black hair contrasted with blue eyes. His dark beard was as trim as his suit.

Steck touched Steve’s sleeve reassuringly. They sat on a low wall beside a ring of dead ashes, the place where passing caravans built their campfires. The cold desert night chilled them,

but their conversation quickly grew lively and warm.

“My quarrel with the general would antagonize him toward you. If you stay, and seek work at the fort while you prepare for the local bar exam, you must keep our friendship to yourself,” Michael told him. “I’ll write Joab and tell him why it’s not advisable to send you to take our mine’s dimensions and so on, at least for the present. We must first learn how much Carleton’s siphoning for himself and the Army.”

Steve nodded.

“The general oversees the government’s mining operations. The ore is needed to repay the cost of war. I’ll want you to learn how much money the general has for the mining operation he and Quartermaster Rynerson are conducting,” he explained. “They’re paying themselves a great deal besides what it costs to manage the equipment. They’re using money meant for the Indians as well. As Indian Superintendent, I must keep tabs on the situation. Would you be willing?”

“What specifically does the general have against Judge Knapp?”

“Knapp doesn’t approve of the property confiscations or burning the fields at El Paso. The general treats the citizens as an enemy because they tolerated the Confederate invasion.”

“I understand the Union troops at Fort Fillmore abandoned the town to the Rebels,” Steve said.

“That’s correct,” Steck affirmed. “However, the local people are more tolerant of Rebels than elsewhere in the territory because they are so close to the affairs of the people of El Paso, and also the Texans.”

“Most of the food came from El Paso?” Steve asked.

“Yes. He sent General West and his men to guard the flour mill there and occupy Fort Bliss.”

“Meaning soldiers control the local food supply?”

“Yes. He’s short of food. I obtained the Bosque Redondo site on the Pecos for the Apaches only. When I had to be in Washington for confirmation of my office, Carleton set up the raid on the Navajo and began to march them there.”

“And it happens the reservation isn’t adequate for over eight thousand Indians.”

“The two tribes are enemies as well. He’s made me look like a liar to the Apaches. I’ve taken two years to cultivate their friendship.” Steck’s gaze burned with anger.

“Why is Carleton in control anyway?” Steve asked. “He’s had nothing but destructive comments about the Mexican people. I heard it before I left the university over a year ago. He’s quoted to that effect in a letter contained in the senate documents.”

“Because the last Indian Superintendent, James Collins, depleted the agency’s funds. Only the Army has enough money to handle Indian affairs. I can barely pay my agents.”

“The war should be over soon and he’ll be gone. At least that’s something.”

“No,” Steck told him. “He’s John Watts’ puppet. Watts intends to run Carleton for Congress. Beware of Watts. He’s held all the major offices in the territory, and he’s a close friend of President Lincoln. He’s also in league with Frank Chaves, leader of the legislature’s council. Chaves hates Carleton because Carleton made Kit Carson a general instead of Chaves.”

“I’ve already made an enemy of Chaves. But Carleton’s a Democrat. I thought Watts was a Republican like Lincoln.”

“No. Watts pledged Lincoln his support for Carleton, and he’s come out as a Democrat. Also, Chaves’ step-father is the Democrat civil governor in league with Carleton. They’re all in favor of harsh treatment for the Indians. I guess you know Carleton sold two black slaves to former Governor Lane when he was assigned here after the Mexican War.”

“I’d heard of it,” Steve acknowledged.

“We have to make these mines work,” Steck said. “It’s the only way the Union can survive. We have no one here capable of registering our mining claims. I hope you’ll stay.”

Steve nodded. “The claims are the only way New Mexico can survive. The territory has to become a state. Mining and railroads will bring corporations to New Mexico. They’ll break up the land grants, free the Indians from peonage, and bring in industry.”

“New Mexico needs settlers,” Steck noted. “Its population doesn’t meet the standards for statehood. While the Mexican ricos hold their huge unsurveyed land grants, settlers can’t count on establishing homesteads here.”

“The ricos can’t begin to use so much land, and they’ll be taxed on it soon enough. There’s certainly a challenge here. I don’t know if I’m up to it. I have a family and a fiancée at home. But we’ll see. I’ve put myself over as a teamster to avoid Quantrill’s men, who’ve been searching for me. I was told they would follow all suspect wagon trains. I’ll have to find a way to explain that to any locals who’ll see me working at the fort, and maybe later as an attorney.”

“Several men want to open a mine at Pinos Altos,” Steck told him, “but they’re up against the general to do it. Also, a mine I have an interest in at Bernalillo needs a lawyer to examine its title. Members of the legislature have interests there and trespassers continue to mine the land’s surface. We’re uncertain of our right to force them off. John Watts is the company attorney and he can’t be trusted.”

“I’ll try for the job at the fort and see how it goes. Then I’ll make my final determination, whether to stay or go home.”

“If you’ll go to Mesilla with Epifanio and Mary, rather than to Arizona, you can go there later in the safety of the Paymaster General’s company. The mine can wait. The Arizonans are

going north to a new location. The mines Joab and I have interests in are to the south.”

“All right,” Steve agreed.

“Epifiano will act as messenger between us. Good luck!” Steck shook his hand and mounted a horse, riding into the night.

Back in camp, Steve learned that the Arizonans were being entertained in Albuquerque, but the Aguirres would leave the following day for Mesilla. He told them he’d come along, and stay for a while.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The trip to Mesilla took them along a narrow, winding road through eerie basalt spires. A kind of canyon followed the river, and the path became a dangerous passageway. The wagons skirted huge boulders by mere inches, to keep from tumbling into the chasm on the other side. The animals choked on the billowing dust as they approached the desert, so casks were refilled at every waterhole. Once in the open, they found themselves at the dreaded Jornado del Muerto, a ninety-mile desert.

Finally, they reached Las Cruces, just east of the Rio Grande. Mesilla started at the river’s far shore. In Las Cruces, Epifanio’s family invited them to Christmas dinner, honoring Mary with the American tradition. They also announced that a Mexican christening would be held for Pedro several days later.

Steve left the wagon train and made arrangements for temporary lodgings at a boarding house. He returned the following day to help unload the wagons.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The day of the christening, people arrived from towns as far away as El Paso. A parade of guests walked to the church, where the tall man who’d led the march opened the gate. His strides were long, and his hands like those of a falconer, strong and supple. Steve recalled the time he’d seen another such man at a fort in Missouri, releasing a falcon from an iron cage.

The man who opened the gate at the christening was seven feet tall, and would have hit his head on the top of the church doorway if he hadn’t ducked on the way in. His rough beard hung below his waist, and his deep-set eyes took in the crowd at a glance. Someone said his name was Captain Rynerson, and he was Fort Fillmore’s quartermaster.
Passion, power, politics & intrigue on the frontier.

A young attorney with a secret leaves the Civil War for the territories and is threatened by a bitter rivalry. His mission is to write a contract on a gold mine. At stake are the fortunes of land grant settlement and the destiny of New Mexico.

An abolitionist in a slave state, Steve Elkins’ principle puts him at odds with local authority and general practice. Steve’s vision of what a territory must be to attain statehood sets a pattern for his personal goals. Patience, diplomacy, and skillful use of his legal expertise guide him. As the war ends, party identities reform and tensions increase. Steve faces vicious attacks in his aggressive moves against slavery, robbery, assassination, murder, and cattle rustling. When Steve is faced with a personal crisis and a crucial election at once, can he strike a bargain with his wife, Sallie and his best friend, Tom? He struggles for a private life while the exertions of his public role erode his quest to achieve a business environment for New Mexico.

Can Steve escape the clash between his allies for a railroad and the traditional fears, loyalties, and envy of native New Mexicans?