When the Splendor Falls Read Free

was opening up a valuable trading route between the New Mexico Territory and the ever-expanding American nation, Texas had declared and won its independence from Mexico and was anxious to establish its authority over the lands and people east of the Rio Grande, its western boundary. Mexico was becoming increasingly nervous about the influx of American citizens into its territory, and when the United States accepted Texas, their former territory, into the Union as a state, hostility between the two nations increased. Soon, with boundaries being disputed and blood shed on both sides of the Rio Grande, war was declared by the United States.
    Mexico was defeated and her territories north of the Rio Grande were annexed by the United States. The trail that had been opened between Santa Fe and this emerging nation by the early traders became a busy highway between the two cultures as more Americans braved the dangerous crossing and dreamed of making their fortunes in this wild land west of the plains.
    Despoblado .
    Sangre de Cristo . Blood of Christ.
    The mountain range was bathed in an unearthly glow from the bloodred of the sunset. Above, the sky was molten copper. The burning sun sank lower behind the mesa, sending a shaft of golden light across the red-streaked rock of the deepest canyon and gilding into gold the yellow of a sagebrush-covered plain. The bluish-green slopes of the mountain range darkened into purple as dusk fell across the eastern horizon.
    A lone rider made his way down from the high grassy plateau, the big bay he rode picking its way carefully along the loose shale of the narrow trail, but the horse’s hooves slipped precariously close to the edge of the cliff, sending a shower of rocks tumbling into the canyon far below.
    Cañon del Malhadado . Canyon of the Unfortunate.
    The scent of pine and spruce lent a sweet pungency to the air. Below, on the lower slopes, the aspens were like brightly burning flames among the thick stand of evergreen. The rider tracked the mountain stream winding through the forested valley, his searching gaze catching the silvered glint of water through the cottonwoods bordering the ravine. He followed its meandering path until it disappeared into a narrow canyon; when it reappeared it would be no more than a trickle through the mesquite of a dusty arroyo in the scrubland of the foothills.
    A distant rumble of thunder disturbed the silence. Glancing back at the ragged peaks of the mountains towering behind him, the rider knew that by sundown the storm rolling in from the High Plains would bring rain or even the first snowfall of the season.
    The rider’s gloved hands tightened on the reins as he caught the sudden movement of a shadow traveling swiftly across the land. He glanced upward, his eyes narrowed against the blinding brilliance of the sun as he watched the soaring, gliding flight of a hawk on the wing. Silently it dropped from the sky, diving down into the thicket of piñon and juniper on the lower slopes, striking like a dagger from the sun. A moment later the hawk was climbing high into the sky, its hapless prey caught in its talons. The hawk, its great golden-tipped wings outspread, flew back into the sun it had been spawned from, toward the high rocks of the mesa where it had made its nest among the ancient ruins.
    The rider’s buckskin-clad knees touched the bay’s flanks with gentle pressure and they continued down the trail. Suddenly he pulled sharply on the reins. He waited, his narrowed gaze searching for something that eluded him. Then he urged his mount forward again.
    It had been only the lonely echoing of the wind through the canyon.
    There was no one. Not even ghosts. Dust rising beneath the bay’s hooves, the rider rode toward the darkening skies, feeling the despoblado surrounding him.

Part One
    Virginia—Summertime 1860
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
    George Gordon, Lord Byron

One
Olympus, where they say there is an