Dream Helper,
A Novel of Early California

Sample Chapter

(Chapter 11)

Demetrio de Alba strode across the parade grounds to Josefa after Cayatu and the mayordomo disappeared out the gate.

"No sign of your husband," he said. "Lo Siento."

Josefa looked up at him with sad, dark eyes. She swept back the nest of dark curls the wind had blown about her face with her hand and gathered her rebozo tightly about her. "He's dead, Lieutenant." she said.

"I believe so. Lo siento, por Dios. I can't continue the search. Accept my sympathy."

"We've searched everywhere without a sign, Josefa," the sergeant of the guard added. "If Guillermo were alive, we'd've found him."

"So… I'm alone…" she said, pausing for a moment to look around at the familiar Presidio grounds. "This is a harsh land… May the Virgin protect me."

"Hard on us all," de Alba said, offering her a sympathetic smile. He used it as an excuse to look her over. Sturdily built, not fat, but soft and round. A welcoming body that fit well with her full face, always smiling, even in the depth of her sadness. Her face reminded him of the sultry governess he'd had growing into adolescence in Spain, another dark woman he could never forget even though there had been dozens of other women since her.

He reached out a consoling hand to touch Josefa's shoulder. He let it rest there. "Look at me-alone like you," he said. "No one to comfort me. The wind blows right through my walls. And the winter coming on… I envy my men who have women to care for them. I envied your husband because he had such a beautiful woman to hold him at night."

Josefa's face warmed to his compliment. "Perhaps you should take a woman," she said.

"A wife?"

"A woman to comfort and care for you. This is a hard land in which to be alone. The padres smile on holy marriages."

"Yes, the padres… Tell me Josefa, what will you do now, if-"

"-Stay here. There's nothing for me in Guanajuato, where I was born. The Virgin will watch over me and the Franciscans will help. I'll be all right."

"I'm at your service." De Alba kept his hand on her shoulder, giving it just the faintest pressure. "Call on me whenever you have a need."

"We can help too," the sergeant spoke up, trying to be helpful. "You could petition the king for the land Guillermo was promised."

De Alba shot the sergeant a look that quickly shut him up.

"What would I do? Become a farmer?" Josefa came close to laughter then hesitated. "…I'll think about this land you talk of."

De Alba's eyes shifted to two horsemen coming through the gate. One was Father Fermin Ortiz, riding a chestnut mare, accompanied by Jimeno, the guard of the vaqueros.

"Buenos Días, Padre," he called out as they rode up. Josefa and the sergeant nodded to the priest.

"A blustery day, Comandante. We'll have a storm before nightfall." He bent down from the saddle to put his hand on Josefa. "May the Holy Mother be with you," Ortiz told her. "We pray your husband's soul is safe with the Lord. Brother Esteben will say a Mass for Guillermo. We'll help any way we can."

"Gracias, Padre." Josefa bowed to Ortiz and de Alba, then, tears filling her eyes, she turned and walked away toward the cluster of mud houses outside the fort. The old Chumash man still followed behind her.

"What brings you here?" de Alba questioned the priest when Josefa had disappeared out the gate.

"Jimeno and I ride out to the cattle. It's the day for Matanza so we ride out to see the steers slaughtered and make sure the correct tallies are kept. I invite you to ride along with me so we can talk and you can-"

"-On such a day?"

"Especially today! You'll see, Lieutenant."

De Alba heard the intensity in Ortiz's voice and it took him by surprise.

"It will be worth your time, Lieutenant" the priest promised, "well worth your time. The weather should hold off until we're done. We'll only have to ride a few leagues west of the pueblo. You should ride with us."

"Very well. Jimeno, go to the corral and see my horse is saddled," de Alba ordered. "Bring my sword and pistol, too."

"No need," Ortiz said.

"Get them, Jimeno," de Alba repeated.

* * * * *

The trio rode along a well-worn path west of the Presidio and small settlement that clung to it for protection, winding through stands of live oaks and around grass-covered hillocks. Emerging on the headlands west of the pueblo, they rode along bluffs overlooking the beach. Offshore, the gray was thickening.

"Padre, you sit a horse like a man who rides well," de Alba commented as they reached open ground and picked up their pace. "A rare gift for a man of the cloth."

"I rode as a boy in Spain. My family raised cattle in Cantabria. The Padre Presidente prefers us to walk, more humble, you know, but this land is so vast. Without horses it would be a chore."

"Without a horse a man is nothing," de Alba said with a grin softening his face as he sized up the priest. "Perhaps a race?"

Ortiz chuckled. "Comandante, I hardly think I could keep pace with the magnificent stallion you ride."

"No wager," de Alba said. "Just a friendly race to the matanza where your vaqueros work." He threw down the challenge with a condescending smile but didn't wait for a response. "Vamanos!" he shouted, and dug his spurs deep into Esperanza's flanks.

The gray Arabian responded instantly, bolting ahead, dark mane and tail streaming behind him. Esperanza stood fourteen hands, short, like most of his breed, but with a full barrel chest built to run long distances at full gallop. His finely formed head held eyes that burned, challenging eyes that kept other horses at a distance.

Jimeno and Father Ortiz were left far behind, although they also kicked their horses into a gallop. De Alba guided his mount effortlessly, jumping small bushes for the pure joy of it. He ran the gray stallion full speed far ahead of the others. When he arrived at the milling herd of cattle, he reined the horse up so short it reared on hind legs, pawing the air with his front hooves, snorting triumphantly. While still in the air, de Alba pivoted him around so that he came back to earth facing the other riders who were just approaching.

"It's well we didn't wager," he laughed. "No one can match me on Esperanza. We are superb."

"Indeed you are, Lieutenant," the priest answered him. "But our vaqueros have become fine horsemen, too. They might give you a good race."

De Alba wheeled Esperanza around to study the men working the cattle. "This is a joke you make, Padre, no?" he said turning back to the priest. "You must be making sport with me if you say these Indians could match me."

"Perhaps, Lieutenant, but watch awhile." Then Ortiz turned to Jimeno, "How many to slaughter today?"

"Thirty, perhaps forty, Padre. The slaughter grows each week now to feed your neophytes." Jimeno called out to two of the vaqueros-Tomas and Vicente-asking them for the tally. Tomas rode over and handed Jimeno a short oak branch with notches cut in it. Turning back to the priest, Jimeno said, "They've already killed thirteen."

Astride Esperanza, de Alba watched the slaughter. Tomas, Vicente, or one of the other vaqueros in turn rode toward the cluster of cattle, milling about, snorting, bellowing, kicking up clouds of dust with their hooves. The rider shouted and spurred his horse into a full gallop, charging into the bunched up steers. Coming as close alongside as many of them as he could during the charge, the horseman reached far out over his saddle to plunge a long knife-almost a short spear-into the hump of each animal just behind its head. The steer staggered to the ground, dead. The rider pulled the killing knife out and went on to stab the next, and again the next steer, plunging the long blade into each panicking animal he passed. The horsemen made quick work of the killing. De Alba was startled at the way Indian and horse seemed to flow together, merging so that each was the mind of the other as they cut sharply left or right pursuing a steer.

Other Indian men and women followed the vaqueros, skinning the downed animals and butchering them. But while he took in all the activity, de Alba's eyes never strayed from the horsemen charging through the herd. Abruptly, he shouted to Jimeno over the din of the slaughter, "Stop the vaqueros! Gather them by that oak tree and wait for me."

Both Jimeno and Ortiz shot him questioning stares.

De Alba rode to Jimeno's side. "The Chumash ride well," he said.

"Sí, Comandante, as if they were born to be horsemen. They learn quickly. They live for their time in the saddle. Sometimes they ride just for the joy of riding."

"So I'm told," de Alba said. "Let's see how good they really are." De Alba pointed into the distance. "Tell them to race their horses as fast as they can to that far tree to the east and back."

De Alba watched Jimeno instruct the other riders, feeling the thrill of competition rising in his chest. When all the riders burst into motion, almost as one man and kicking up dust behind them, de Alba dug his spurs into Esperanza.

The far tree they raced to was half a league away. It sat silhouetted against the sky on the bluff overlooking the beach. The plain sloped toward the ocean over rough ground of small hillocks and hidden depressions, but it was familiar ground for the Chumash men working the cattle. Excited by the thrill of the race they urged their horses on. First one, then another of them took the lead, but they all stayed tightly bunched as they sped over the ground, shouting friendly taunts to each other as they raced.

De Alba held Esperanza in check, riding confidently with the pack until they approached the tree. Mayhem broke out as all eight riders tried to round it as tightly as they could for the return gallop. Horses snorted and whinnied, hooves a blur, coming in contact with each other as their riders maneuvered them for advantage. One vaquero got too close to another. Their horses bumped, throwing each off stride. Their riders clung to their saddles.

De Alba approached the turn alongside Vincente. He swung Esperanza wide and then reined the stallion hard to the right, aiming the horse as close to the tree as he could. Esperanza protested with a shrill whine. The Lieutenant's gambit trapped Vicente between Esperanza and the tree trunk, forcing him to pull up sharply. Vicente's mount bellowed fear as Vicente tried to avoid the tree. The horse reared. Vicente fought for balance. The horse veered off to the left, tripping on his own legs, and stumbled to the ground on top of its rider.

De Alba didn't look back. He spurred Esperanza to greater speed. He caught up with the pack and raced past three of the riders, including Tomas. There were still three riders ahead. He urged Esperanza to greater effort. The stallion forced his way into the pack of leaders. Now they all ran together, hooves flashing and slashing the ground, coming dangerously close to each other. The staccato of sixteen hooves pounding the earth together sent a flush of excitement coursing through the Spaniard.

In response to de Alba's leg pressure, Esperanza veered right then left, forcing the horses next to him to give ground. The aggressive gray bullied his way through the pack. Only one vaquero was still running with him.

The two horses were closing fast on the finish line, running side by side as one horse. Esperanza was blowing blood-flecked foam from his mouth. The look in his eyes was fire. De Alba drove his spurs deeper into his flanks where drops of blood already oozed from his withers. With only a slight head movement Esperanza bared his teeth. The other horse lurched out of reach. It was enough for Esperanza. He flew by Jimeno a full length in the lead.

As horse and rider recovered their wind, de Alba pulled up alongside Jimeno. "These riders could be a threat to us if they chose to rebel," he shouted, short of breath. "We'd best be careful. If I weren't such a fine horseman-"

"-Why would they rebel?" Ortiz interrupted, turning in his saddle to give de Alba a questioning look. "They are peace loving. We give them all their wants. …And we keep a strict hand on them. We're alert to danger but we're always in control."

"Still," de Alba said, "they could be a threat if many of them rode against our small garrison. Take their horses back to the Presidio, Jimeno. Get the Indians lesser mounts."