Where They Bury You Read online

  Where They Bury You

  A Novel

  Steven W. Kohlhagen

  SANTA FE

  © 2013 by Steven W. Kohlhagen

  All Rights Reserved.

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  Book design › Vicki Ahl

  Cover design › Veronica Zhu

  Map › Lori Johnson

  Body typeface › Perpetua

  Printed on acid-free paper

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kohlhagen, Steven W.

  Where they bury you : a novel / by Steven W. Kohlhagen.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-0-86534-936-0 (softcover : alk. paper)

  ISBN 978-0-86534-939-1 (hardcover : alk paper)

  1. Murder--Investigation--New Mexico--Santa Fe--Fiction. 2. New Mexico--History

  --Civil War, 1861-1865--Fiction. 3. Arizona--History--Civil War, 1861-1865--Fiction.

  4. Historical fiction. 5. Western stories. 6. Mystery fiction. I. Title.

  PS3611.O3676W48 2013

  813’.6--dc23

  2013000183

  www.sunstonepress.com

  SUNSTONE PRESS / Post Office Box 2321 / Santa Fe, NM 87504-2321 /USA

  (505) 988-4418 / orders only (800) 243-5644 / FAX (505) 988-1025

  To Gale

  And to Tassie, Cheyenne, and Whiskey

  PREFACE

  Cowboys and Indians and the West have long captured people’s imaginations and formed an important part of their impressions of America. In July 1861, the Civil War interjected itself into that Cowboy and Indian dynamic for nine long months in the New Mexico and Arizona Territories.

  Hampton Sides has written by far the best, and most entertaining, non-fiction narrative of this period of history in his excellent book, Blood and Thunder. While reading Sides’ book, a curious incident jumped out at me that inspired my own research. My search through the National Archives led me to find letters from Kit Carson that confirmed that on August 18, 1863, during the Navajo campaign “…(I heard of) the death of the brave and lamented Major Joseph Cummings who fell shot thro’ the abdomen by a concealed Indian.”

  Cummings’ Military Records report that, on his death, he had $4,205.78 in cash and $826 worth of other items that the Army auctioned off. Depending on how you calculate it, $5,032 in 1863 is the equivalent of $700,000 to $1,000,000 today. In the belongings of a just-murdered U.S. Army Major? Who was this fellow?

  My research through the National Archives and, ultimately, through dozens of published histories about the times, including an important book by Jacqueline Dorgan Meketa, Legacy of Honor: The Life of Rafael Chacon, A Nineteenth-Century New Mexican, drawn from Chacon’s memoirs, led me to learn a great deal about Cummings. And, of equal importance, led me to learn of Augustyn P. Damours and Rafael Chacon.

  I came to the conclusion that Kit Carson must have been mistaken. Carson, the U.S. Army, the Franciscan Church, and the Department of New Mexico were all duped by both Damours and Cummings. Cummings, who I believe was not killed by “a concealed Indian,” among other activities, was actually sent by the Army to track down Damours and find the missing funds.

  And therein lies a tale.

  This book is a novel. It is a fictionalized version of factual, historical events. To the extent possible, I have kept true to the history of the actual Apaches, Navajos, Civil War soldiers, and New Mexicans living in the Territories from early 1861 to Cummings death on August 18, 1863. Many of those historical characters lived on after Cummings’ murder, and I have added their brief biographies in the additional Author’s Notes at the end of this book. The Civil War battles, the wars with the Apaches and the Navajo, the heinous crimes committed by many of these historical figures are as true to life as I could make them within the bounds of a novel.

  I do not believe for a minute that Joseph Cummings was killed by a concealed Indian in an arroyo near what is now the Hubbell Trading Post in Ganado, Arizona. The activities and motives of the characters leading up to Cummings’ death in this novel are, necessarily, speculative and fictionalized. But they are written in the context of what was actually happening to the people in that place and at that time. Any errors on my part, changes to scenes and characters’ names to make the narrative more efficient, and interactions between fictionalized and historical figures, should be viewed by Civil War buffs and scholars of “Cowboys and Indians” as part of the fiction. As an example, the July 15–16 battle in Apache Pass between Cochise and the California Volunteers is compressed into one battle in one day.

  I would like to thank my two editors, Jennifer Fisher and Marjorie Braman, for their welcome editorial contributions that have made, despite my innate stubbornness, this work, happily, much better, and, sadly, much shorter. I would also like to thank Barry Goldman for his base ball suggestion and Ron Star for keeping me out of the dark grey area. My wife Gale’s patience, “sightseeing” research in New Mexico and Arizona, and helpful comments made this book possible.

  “You can fool all the people some of the time

  and some of the people all the time, but you

  cannot fool all the people all the time.”

  —Abraham Lincoln, Augustyn P. Damours,

  P.T. Barnum, et. al.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  (In Order of Appearance)

  HISTORICAL

  Cochise: Chief of the Chiricahua Apaches.

  Dos-teh-seh: Cochise’s wife.

  Naiche: Cochise and Dos-teh-seh’s 4-year old son.

  Mangas Coloradas: Chief of the Mimbres clan of the Chiricahua Apaches. Dos-teh-seh’s father, and, thus, Cochise’s father-in-law.

  Augustyn P. Damours: Gambler, con artist in the New Mexico Territory.

  Joseph Cummings: Gambler, womanizer throughout the West.

  George Bascom: U.S. Army Lieutenant serving in Arizona Territory for first tour of duty after graduation from West Point.

  John Ward: Arizona rancher.

  Coyuntura: Chiricahua Apache, Cochise’s brother.

  Geronimo: Chiricahua Apache, Bedonkohe clan.

  Sylvester Mowry: Arizona businessman, mine owner in the Tucson, Patagonia, Tupac area.

  Nahilzay: Chiricahua Apache.

  Loco: Chiricahua Apache.

  Kit Carson: Mountain man, explorer, trapper, adventurer, Indian fighter, U.S. Army officer and scout, Indian Agent. One of the American frontier’s greatest legends.

  Josefa Carson: Kit Carson’s wife in Taos, New Mexico.

  Kaniache: Chief of the Mouhache, Muache, Utes.

  Tom Jeffords: Mail runner, Butterfield mail; scout.

  Edward S. Canby: Major, U.S. Army, New Mexico Territory.

  Rafael Chacon: Captain, New Mexico Volunteers.

  John Baylor: Colonel, Confederate Army; head of the advanced force of Texas Volunteers.

  Father Ussel: Catholic Priest in Taos, New Mexico.

  Moses Carson: Scout, half brother of Kit Carson.

  Felix Ake: Arizona rancher.

  Henry H. Sibley: General, Con
federate Army; head of the Texas Volunteers, Confederate Army of New Mexico.

  Thomas Green: Colonel, Confederate Army; second in command of the Texas Volunteers.

  John Chivington: Major, Colorado Volunteers.

  Ferdinand “Lon” Ickis: Private, Second Colorado Volunteers.

  James H. Carleton: Colonel, Commander of California Volunteers.

  Joseph West: Colonel, second in command of the California Volunteers.

  Jack Swilling: Arizona businessman, officer in the Arizona Guard.

  John Slough: Major, Colorado Volunteers.

  Ben Wingate: Captain, U.S. Army.

  Charles Pyron: Major, Texas Volunteers.

  William Scurry: Colonel, Texas Volunteers.

  Tom Roberts: Captain, California Volunteers.

  John Cremony: Captain, California Volunteers.

  Victorio: Chiricahua Apache.

  Padre Guerrero: Catholic Priest at San Miguel.

  Albert Pfeiffer: Captain, New Mexican Volunteers; sub-agent for Utes.

  Cadete: Chief, Mescalero Apaches.

  Delgadito: Navajo Chief.

  Barboncito: Navajo Chief.

  FICTIONAL

  John Arnold: U.S. Army Captain serving in the Territories

  Lily Smoot: Santa Fe Poker dealer, among other things.

  Jim Danson: Gambler, con man, ex-California gold miner.

  Sergeant Wilson: Sergeant, U.S. Army in Arizona Territory.

  Yellow Horse: Chief of the Jicarilla Apaches

  Red Cloud: A Chief of the Mouhache, Muache, Utes.

  David Zapico: Santa Fe store owner, businessman.

  Pepper: Prostitute, bank robber in Santa Fe.

  Angela: Bank robber in Santa Fe.

  Sarah Zapico: Wife of David Zapico.

  PART I

  THE TERRITORIES

  1

  January 3, 1861

  “I’ll be damned. She’s on time,” Captain John Arnold said, looking at his watch.

  He and everybody else watched the Butterfield Stage Coach race into Apache Pass from the west and pull up at the station. The dust from the drought that had been hanging over the Arizona and New Mexico Territories for a decade covered the coach, the horses, and the passengers, and also swirled behind and above them. The Butterfield Overland Mail Coach, run by Wells Fargo, carried passengers and mail between San Francisco and St. Louis. Apache Pass and Apache Springs was a standard stopping point between Tucson and El Paso.

  It was customary for anybody in the Pass to offer help to the drivers and passengers, mostly to catch up on any news and gossip. And, in this particular case, to look at the beautiful young woman who stepped out of the coach.

  She was petite, but attractive. Jet black hair up in a bun under her blue bonnet, full figured. In her mid-twenties. Nobody around the station took any notice of the three men who got out after Arnold lifted her to the ground.

  She looked around. Noticed the six Indians standing by the wood pile, including a woman and a little boy, and turned to Arnold.

  “Captain, do you know how long we stay here? And, I guess, can you tell me where exactly we are?”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him more carefully. He was six feet, maybe a little bigger, army fit, a veteran, grey beard and grey hair sticking out from his cap.

  “Well, Miss. I’m not exactly in charge around here, but I think the stage from Tucson usually sits for a half hour or so. And this is Apache Pass.”

  She took in the scene. A large meadow leading over to some Willows and a stand of trees to the east. Horses grazing and drinking by the trees. Probably a spring over there, since there was no evidence of any vegetation away from that spot. High mountains in the distance to the south, forbidding cactus cluttered hills to both the left and right, with the road meandering off to the left around that hill. Everybody staring at her except the Indians, who had resumed chopping wood. Two of the men teaching the little boy something.

  “What are you in charge of then, Captain?” She said, deciding to at least have a little fun in this godforsaken place.

  He smiled. “Name’s Arnold, Miss. Captain John Arnold, U.S. Army. I’m in charge of these soldiers. Normal reconnaissance from Fort Buchanan. About a week’s ride over that way,” he said, pointing over the hill to the right of the big mountain. To the south and west.

  She looked in that direction, to a spot directly over the Indians.

  “And who are they?” Nodding her head at the Indians. “They don’t seem very alarmed by you, Captain.”

  He laughed. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you. They’re Chiricahua Apaches. The big one is Cochise, their chief. The woman is his wife and that’s his little boy there. Playing with the hatchet.”

  She looked thoughtful. She was used to seeing essentially naked Indians, but this big Apache was, well he was big. She hadn’t thought Indians came in that size. He was bigger even than Arnold.

  Then she noticed that Arnold had stopped and was facing her. “Pardon me, Miss.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “I can’t introduce you to Cochise and his wife until you tell me your name.”

  “Good point, Captain. Let’s go.”

  She walked straight up to Cochise, and, without hesitation, held her hand out to the impassive Chiricahua chief.

  “My name’s Lily Smoot. What’s a famous, treacherous, blood thirsty Apache doing chopping wood for the stage line?”

  Cochise cocked his head to the side and bowed as his wife laughed good naturedly. “Do you believe things men say about me?” he said.

  “Actually,” she said, “I don’t believe anything men say to me.”

  This brought a laugh from the soldiers as Arnold looked on with amusement.

  Lily then walked over to Cochise’s wife. “I’m Lily Smoot. How old is your little boy?”

  “His name is Naiche and he is four.” She took Lily’s proffered hand. “My name is Dos-teh-seh. My husband chops wood for the stage station both as a gesture of our peaceful intentions and in exchange for food for our people.”

  “Is he too shy to tell me this himself?”

  “No, I am not,” Cochise said. “But I do not have much experience with white women coming directly to me with questions.”

  “Do I have your permission, Cochise, to walk over to the Springs with Dos-teh-seh and Naiche?”

  “They do not need my permission. I’m sure they will be happy to show you Apache Springs.”

  Lily took Naiche’s hand and walked him over to the stage coach. She had him climb up into the coach with her. When they came down, the little boy was carrying a small replica of a wooden dog in both hands. He carried it with him as he walked between the two talking women all the way to the Springs and back again.

  When they arrived back at the station, Lily walked over to Cochise.

  “Thank you for allowing that to happen Cochise. You have a wonderful family.”

  He shrugged and said, “I did nothing Miss Smoot. It was you who made the gesture. I should thank you for making Dos-teh-seh feel so welcome.”

  “How long have you and your people been at peace here?”

  “Three winters.”

  She shook his hand, nodded to the other Apaches, and walked over to Arnold.

  “I don’t think my friends in Virginia City or Tucson would believe me if I told them what just happened.”

  “I watched and I don’t believe it. You just might be the first white woman he ever talked to. What were you doing in Virginia City, if I may ask, Miss Smoot?”

  She immediately realized her mistake and decided there was no point in befriending this soldier. “Nothing special, Captain. I worked in some of the saloons. Dealt some poker. Mostly I was just passing through.”

  “To where?”

  “You ask
a lot of questions of a lady, Captain. Didn’t they teach you manners at West Point?”

  “I’m not a West Pointer Miss Smoot, and I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. The Territories aren’t a good place for a lady to be wandering through. But I’m impressed how you handle yourself. Dealing cards and serving drinks to gunslingers must be good training.”

  She laughed as he tipped his cap to her. “You haven’t offended me, Captain Arnold. And I’m not exactly wandering. It was a pleasure meeting you. But you’re going that way.” And she pointed to where he had indicated Fort Buchanan was, to the southwest. “And, in about five minutes, I’m going that way,” pointing in precisely the opposite direction. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  As she turned to return to the coach, she had second thoughts about her treatment of this old officer. He had meant her no harm.

  “Tell me, Captain, is Cochise really at peace with us?”

  “It’s complicated. Cochise is the chief of the Chiricahua Apaches. His people live over there,” pointing at the mountain to the south. “In the Chiricahua mountains. And in the Dragoon Stronghold due west about forty miles.”

  He paused to make sure the Apaches weren’t listening.

  “They generally have made a living, as they call it, raiding in Mexico and trading what they steal down there for supplies up here. The guns and ammunition they keep and then trade for more from the gun runners in both Mexico and here. They used to raid up here, too, but the Army made it too costly. The Apaches hate all Mexicans with an irrational passion. Fifteen years ago an American bounty hunter killed Cochise’s father in Mexico, but he seems to have let that go for reasons of practicality.”

  “Then why do people think the Apaches are still at war with us?”

  “These are just the Chiricahua Apaches. The Mescaleros east of here and the Mimbres, the Gilas, to the north are different clans of Apaches. In fact, Dos-teh-seh’s father, Cochise’s father-in-law, is Mangas Coloradas, the chief of the Mimbres. He is still warring with the miners at Tucson and Pinos Altos north of here.”