Chapter 4
"It is impossible!" De Vaca bellowed at Mingo. "Relampago Blanco is my horse. I bought him before I left Spain. He has been trained for a man such as myself. One who can make use of his special talents. You have no training in using a horse in battle. Why should I wager him and chance losing him to you?"
"Because, commander, you have every confidence that El Toro will humiliate me in front of the whole garrison. Is it not your belief that a Spaniard can easily conquer any Indian? And also because El Toro seeks revenge against me for so poorly losing our last contest. Is this not so?" Mingo's words were calculated to prick the commander's vanity.
"Not that I am considering your proposal, but what are you willing to wager?"
"My entire catch of this winter's furs."
"And what guarantee do I have that you will work to fulfill your agreement?"
Mingo clenched his jaw at this insult and his dark eyes flamed. He relaxed his face with effort. "I will sign a contract. Give me a pen and paper and I will write it now."
The two men stood facing each other suspiciously. After several seconds, Mingo shook his head and began to turn away toward the door. He spoke as he turned. "I thought that you were a bold and decisive man. I thought that honor was important to you. I thought that you sought revenge for my part in helping Gabriel escape from this garrison. Apparently I was mistaken."
The Spanish commander sucked in his breath at the insults. His anger took hold of him as MIngo hoped that it would, and he thrust paper and quill at the Cherokee. "I will dictate the terms. You will write as I speak. Then we will see who is honorable!"
The contest was to be early the next morning. All afternoon Mingo practiced with his whip, Daniel assisting him every way that he could. The two men set up targets of varying sizes at various distances. Mingo's accuracy was tested in as many ways as they could devise. When it was no longer light enough to see clearly, Mingo sat and manipulated his whip to make it as supple as possible while Daniel cooked the evening meal of rabbits snared in their sets. They retired early.
At dawn the next morning Mingo and Daniel presented themselves at the Spanish fort. They were allowed inside by a grinning soldier. The entire garrison was turned out to watch the contest. Across the compound El Toro stood confidently, his heavy face set in a sneer of contempt. Mingo nodded to his opponent and uncoiled his whip. Targets had been created against the stockade walls. Inside circles of various sizes were small bits of colored cloth. These were loosely tacked in place. Lines had been drawn on the ground at graduated distances from the circles.
The commander strode haughtily from his quarters. At the edge of the stable the little red-haired groom stood with Pago beside him. The other soldiers stood on the parapet and parade ground, wagering pay not yet earned. Daniel nodded confidently to Mingo. The Cherokee strode to the closest line opposite the targets and waited for De Vaca to start the contest.
The commander motioned El Toro to his position on Mingo's left. Without saying a word, the commander beckoned El Toro to begin the contest. The large Spaniard flipped his whip and took off the piece of cloth in the circle's outer ring. Mingo did the same from his target. The contest continued until both men had cleaned the targets of their cloth pieces. Then soldiers tacked more cloth to the circles as the two men stepped back to the line several paces behind the first. Once again the cloth pieces were torn away by the lashing whips.
Minutes passed as the two men backed to the next line and continued the contest. At the last line, both men completely cleaned the targets of the cloth pieces. Then they faced each other and shrugged. The commander strode to the two and pushed them several feet apart. He called to his aide to bring more pieces of cloth which he affixed to each man's clothing. His meaning was plain. Mingo and El Toro would now be whipping bits of cloth off of each other's bodies. A miss could inflict a very painful injury. As the commander turned Daniel noticed the malicious eyes and expression of brutality. He said a silent prayer that Mingo would be able to free the Spanish horse from such a man. He also added that his friend not be badly injured by El Toro's flashing whip.
The new contest began. Mingo sliced a red piece of cloth off of El Toro's upper arm. El Toro did the same to Mingo. The two men continued for several more minutes until El Toro misjudged the position of a yellow bit of cloth attached to Mingo's leg. The whip stung painfully as a gash opened in the Indian's upper thigh. Blood seeped onto the blue cloth. Mingo ignored the wound and aimed for the same bit of cloth on El Toro's leg. Everyone in the stockade held his breath as the whip in Mingo's hand struck like a serpent at the huge Spaniard's leg. The bit of yellow cloth spun in the air and floated to the ground. Daniel and the groom grinned in delight. The soldiers of the garrison stood stunned. The commander spun on his heel and slammed the door to his quarters once again. El Toro stood dumbfounded in the center of the compound, then approached Mingo with his hand outstretched. He placed his own whip in the Cherokee's left hand and walked wordlessly to his own quarters.
Daniel stepped to Mingo's side. "How bad is it?" he asked. Mingo shook his head and limped to the stable. The groom stood with a cloth bandage in his hand with which he bound the Indian's leg. Relampago Blanco affectionately rubbed his head against Mingo's shoulder. Raising his long-fingered hand, the man stroked the horse's beautiful face. The groom noticed the exchange. Sorrowfully, he turned to Mingo.
"You have fairly won this horse, Senor. You are very skilled. I know also that you will be good to him. He will be safe with you, I know it."
"You misunderstand, sir. I won Rocinante for you, not for me. I have little need for a horse, and one such as he should be with someone who understands just how special he is. It is my sincere wish that the two of you enjoy many happy years together."
The little groom stood open-mouthed beside the Spanish horse. As Mingo's words sank into his mind, he held out his hand. When Mingo took the hand, the little Spaniard squeezed hard and pumped for several seconds. His grin was wide and his blue eyes sparkled with happiness. Mingo smiled in return.
"I will resign today. And then I will leave."
"Where will you go?" Daniel asked. Ever alert for tough new settlers, Daniel saw the potential in the little Spaniard.
"To the sea, maybe. Maybe back to Spain, or into Mexico. Maybe I will join a traveling band of show people. What do you call them?"
"A circus?" Mingo ventured.
"Si, a circus. Pago would be very good in a circus I think. And someday we may come to your town and you can see us again. You would like that, hey Senor?"
Mingo nodded and smiled. "I would like that very much." He raised both hands and ran them down Rocinante's smooth neck one last time. The horse laid his grey muzzle on the Cherokee's shoulder, his warm cheek resting against Mingo's. They stood for the span of several second. Then Mingo pulled away from the horse and walked decisively out of the stable toward the stockade gate. Daniel nodded to the smiling little groom and followed his friend.
They walked for several hours, traveling east. As the sun began to sink beyond the edge of the earth Daniel suggested that they stop for the night beside a little creek of clear running water. Mingo did not answer but carefully leaned his lower body against a boulder. The leg wound had crusted shut and was throbbing, the muscle twitching with the strain. Daniel went to the creek and soaked his handkerchief. He handed it to Mingo and then gathered wood for a fire. After nearly an hour was past, the coffee brewed and the jerky eaten, Daniel asked Mingo the question that he had been puzzling over for most of the day.
"MIngo, what did you call that horse? Rosy-somethin'? That's an odd name for so large and powerful a horse. That Spanish name seemed to suit him better, whatever it meant."
" 'Relampago Blanco' means 'white lightning'." Mingo gazed at the stars that littered the sky. "I called him Rocinante, Daniel. It is also Spanish. It's from a novel by Miguel de Cervantes." Mingo explained the story as he had weeks ago for Israel, adding information suited to an adult's perspective. When he finished, he sighed and closed his eyes. Beside him Daniel stared into the fire. Several minutes passed in silence.
"Seems to me, Mingo, you're a lot like that Don Quixote fella."
"How's that, Daniel?" Mingo asked, his voice low and quiet in the deepening darkness.
"You see the value in other people that they don't always see themselves. And sometimes you see things in 'em that aren't really there, but because you see 'em that way, they ARE that way. Just don't start fightin' windmills or I'll have to rethink my opinion o' you!" Daniel's voice was light and jesting.
"Good night, Daniel," Mingo said softly. "And thank you."
"Good night, Mingo of La Mancha," Daniel teased. The tree frogs hummed and the crickets chirped. Mingo sighed deeply. He drifted off to sleep smiling as he wove a wisp of silvery mane through his long slender fingers.
CC March 22, 2008