And, if the truth be told—and Smoke was a truthful man—there was yet another reason for his challenging the seemingly impossible. He wanted to do it.
He followed an old Indian trail that cut between Cordova Pass to the east and Cucharas Pass to the west. He found what he hoped was White Wolf’s Ute camp and approached it cautiously. They seemed curious about this big strong-looking white man who dressed and behaved like a fool.
Smoke asked them if they would like to share his food in return for his spending the night. They agreed, and over the meal, he explained where he was going but not why.
The Ute chief, White Wolf, told him he was a silly man to even consider going into the outlaw town.
And Smoke could not understand the twinkle in the chief’s eyes.
He asked them what they could tell him about the town called Dead River.
Smoke was stunned when White Wolf said, “What does the adopted son of my brother Preacher wish to know about that evil place?”
When he again found his voice, Smoke said, “For one thing, how did you know I was not who I claimed to be, White Wolf?”
Dark eyes twinkling, the chief of the small band of Utes said, “Many things give you away, to us, but probably not to the white man. The white man looks at many things but sees little. Your hands are as hard as stones. And while you draw well, that is not what you are.”
Smoke did not offer to sketch the Indians, for many tribes believe it is not good medicine to have their pictures taken or their images recreated.
Smoke told them of his true plans.
They told him he was a very brave man, like Preacher.
“Few are as brave and noble as Preacher.”
“That is true,” White Wolf agreed. “And is my brother well?”
“Slim Dugas just told me that Preacher and a few other mountain men are well and living up near Montana.”
“Thank you. That is also truth. Preacher is living with the children of my sister, Woman-Who-Speaks-With-Soft-Voice. Because she married Preacher, the children are recognized as pure and are not called Apples.”
Red on the outside, white on the inside. Indians practiced their own form of discrimination.
“It is good to know they are true Human Beings.”
“As you are, Smoke Jensen.”
“Thank you. I have a joke for you.”
“A good laugh makes a good meal even better.”
“I was told that most people believe there is but one way in and one way out of Dead River.”
The Indians, including the squaws, all found that richly amusing. After the laughter, White Wolf said, “There are many ways in and out of that evil place. There are ways in and out that the white man have not now and never will know, not in our lifetime.”
Smoke agreed and finished his meal, belching loudly and patting his full belly. The Indians all belched loudly and smiled, the sign of a good meal. And the squaws were very pleased.
Smoke passed around several tobacco sacks, and the Indians packed small clay pipes and smoked in contentment. Smoke rolled a cigarette and joined them.
“You still have not told me how you knew I was the adopted son of Preacher, White Wolf.”
The chief thought on that for a moment. “If I told you that, Smoke, then you would know as much as I know, and I think that would not be a good thing for one as young as you.”
“It is true that too much knowledge, learned before one is ready, is not a good thing.”
White Wolf smiled and agreed.
Smoke waited. The chief would get to the matter of Dead River when he was damn good and ready.
White Wolf smoked his pipe down to coals and carefully tapped out the ashes, then handed the pipe to his woman. “It has been a fine game for us to slip up on the outlaw town and watch them. All without their knowing, of course,” he added proudly.
“Of course,” Smoke agreed. “Anyone who does not know the Ute is as brave as the bear, cunning as the wolf, and sharp-eyed as the eagle is ignorant.”
The braves all nodded their heads in agreement. This white man was no fool. But they all wished he would do something about his manner of dress.
“A plan has come to me, White Wolf. But it is a very dangerous plan, if you and your braves agree to it.”
“I am listening, Smoke.”
“I met with a man in Trinidad. I believe he can be trusted. He is a government man. His name is Jim Wilde.”
“I know this man Wilde,” White Wolf said. “He carries Indian blood in his veins. Co-manche from Texas place. He is to be trusted.”
“I think so, too. Could you get a message to him?”
“Does the wind sigh?”
Smoke smiled. Getting his sketch pad, he sketched the campfire scene, leaving the faces of the Utes blank but drawing himself whole. On the bottom of the sketch, he wrote a note to Wilde.
“If you agree to my plan, have this delivered to Wilde, White Wolf.”
“If we agree, it will be done. What is this thing that you have planned?”
“Times have not been good for you and your people.”
“They have been both good and bad.”
“Winter is not that far away.”
“It is closer tonight than it was last night, but not as close as it will be in the morning.”
“There are guns and much food and clothing and warm blankets in the outlaw town.”
“But not as many as in the town of Trinidad.”
“But the people of Trinidad are better than the people in Dead River.”
“A matter of opinion. But I see your point. I think that I also see what you have in mind.”
“If you agree, some of your people will surely die, White Wolf.”
“Far better to die fighting like a man than to grovel and beg for scraps of food from a nonperson.”
Only the Indians felt they were real people. Most whites had no soul. That is the best way they could find to explain it.
“I know some of how you feel. I do not think you want the buildings of the town.”
White Wolf made an obscene gesture. “I spit on the buildings of the outlaw town.”
“When the battle is over, you may do with them as you see fit.”
“Wait by the fire,” Smoke was told. “I will talk this over with my people.”
Smoke sat alone for more than an hour. Then White Wolf returned with his braves and they took their places.
“We have agreed to your plan, Smoke.”
They shook hands solemnly.
“Now it depends on the government man, Jim Wilde.”
“I will send a brave to see him at first light. Once he has agreed, then we will make our final plans.”
“Agreed.”
They once more stuffed their pipes and smoked, with no one talking.
White Wolf finally said, “There is a young squaw, Rising Star. She does not have a man. She is very hard to please. I have thought of beating her for her stubbornness. Do you want her to share your robes this night?”
“I am honored, White Wolf, but I have a woman and I am faithful to her only.”
“That is good. You are an honorable man.”
“I’ll pull out at first light. I’ll be camped at the head of Sangre de Cristo creek, waiting to hear from you.”
White Wolf smiled. “It will be interesting to see if the white men at the outlaw town die well.”
“I think they will not.”
“I think you are right,” White Wolf agreed.
8
Smoke angled down the slopes and onto the flats, then cut northwest, reaching his campsite by late afternoon. He made his camp and waited.
And waited.
It was three full days before a brave from White Wolf’s band made an appearance.
He handed Smoke a note, on U.S. Marshal’s stationery. Jim Wilde had agreed to the plan and complimented Smoke on enlisting the Utes.
He told the brave what the scratchings on the paper meant.
“Yes,” the brave said. “The Co-manche lawman told me the same thing. All the rest of your plan is to remain the same. Now I must return and tell him when you plan to enter the outlaw town.”