Colt (2 page)
Authors: Georgina Gentry
“That's a big order,” Colt drawled. “These Comanche live in small bands and can move fast. By the time you get word of an attack, they're already finished and a hundred miles away.”
“Well, that's what we're going to try to change.” The major sipped his drink. “We're modeled after the French Foreign Legion forces, ready to ride fast and attack, not just sit at forts and wait for the enemy to come to us.”
“That might work, sir.”
The major ran his hand through his gray hair. “Damned dangerous place, Texas. I really didn't want Olivia to come along, but she's stubborn and willful.”
“She's also beautiful.” Colt had a sudden vision of the Comanche attacking the camp and what would happen to the petite beauty if Spider or some of his warriors got hold of her. He grimaced.
“What's wrong, Lieutenant?”
“Nothin', sir.” He didn't want to share that image with her father. “Miss Olivia is talkin' about going ridin'.”
The major snorted. “She doesn't realize how dangerous it is out here, and there's not a man I'd trust to ride with her and protect her. Well, maybe you, Lieutenant.”
Colt flushed. “Thank you for your confidence, sir.”
“Speaking of women, I know several have been taken captive over the years, that Cynthia Ann Parker and a Mrs. Hannah Brownley about four years ago. What are the chances we'll find them? The back-East newspapers would love that.”
Colt shook his head. “Not much, sir. The life in an Indian camp is very rough. They may not even be alive anymore.”
“Well, it was just a thought. I keep thinking of anxious loved ones who are almost certainly hoping for a miracle.” The major puffed his pipe thoughtfully. “I'll introduce you to Captain Van Smyth and let him take you around and show you the ropes and introduce you to the enlisted men.”
“I met Captain Van Smyth at breakfast this mornin'.” Colt hadn't liked the captain much; he was too much of a spit-and-polish West Pointer from Boston who didn't seem to know a damned thing about Texas or Indians. His curly yellow hair had been too carefully combed, his mustache was wispy, and his new boots looked polished enough to see your face in them.
“Fine.” The major stood up. “Olivia informs me that Captain Van Smyth is an excellent dancer, won the Cotillion trophy back in Boston, I understand. He's younger than you, of course, and hasn't seen any action.”
Colt winced. A young, inexperienced officer leading charges against bloodthirsty warriors. But Olivia said he was an excellent dancer. Colt wondered suddenly if he was jealous.
He left most of his whiskey in his tumbler as he walked out of the office. Too much whiskey could destroy a man. Wasn't his own father a prime example of that?
Colt reported to young Captain Van Smyth, who returned his salute. “Glad to have you aboard, Prescott. We'll watch some of the men drilling on the parade ground, and I'll show you our barns and our camp.” His clipped, Boston accent grated on Colt, who was used to the soft drawl of Texans.
“Beggin' your pardon, sir, the camp doesn't seem very well protected.”
The young captain gave him a sardonic smile and raised one aristocratic eyebrow. “Oh, now, surely, Lieutenant, you don't think a handful of savages is a threat to an army outpost?”
“You never know what the Comanche will do,” Colt snapped. “But one thing I've learned is never to underestimate them.”
The pink-faced captain chuckled. “I've yet to see a Comanche, just the few Tonks that hang around camp and beg for scraps or scout for us.”
“Don't judge Comanches by Tonkawas,” Colt said. “Totally different type of Indian.”
They were walking across the parade grounds, and he realized the slight Easterner's uniform had been tailored to fit his trim form. Colt tried not to smirk as they paused to watch the troops drilling.
The captain said, “You sound as if you admire those red savages.”
“I respect them.” Colt didn't smile. “Best light cavalry in the world.”
The captain fingered his mustache and laughed. “We'll see about that. I'm hoping to see some action soon and win some medals. Most of the time, it's just dull and dusty around here, although I've been hoping to take Miss Olivia riding. Let me introduce you to our first sergeant.” He turned toward the marching troops and called, “Mulvaney! Front and center!”
“Mulvaney?” Colt watched the wizened old sergeant striding toward them. “Why, I believe I know him.”
Mulvaney came to attention and saluted, sporting a big grin.
Colt grinned back as the captain said, “At ease, Sergeant.”
“I'll be a sonovagun!” Colt threw his arms around the old Irishman and hugged him. “Long time no see, amigo.”
The sergeant grinned up at him. “Haven't seen you, boy, since we left Mexico and we went separate ways.”
Colt nodded. “Those were the days. Glad to see our paths have crossed again.” He turned to the coldly stern captain. “Mulvaney and I served together back in forty-six in the Mexican War.”
“Is that a fact?” The captain looked down his nose at the sergeant. “I don't think it wise to get too familiar with the noncommissioned officers.” He turned to go. “Well, good luck and I'll see you at dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” Colt and the older man saluted, and the captain walked away, leaving the two old friends to visit and remember old times. Finally they broke up. Sarge returned to the troops he was drilling, and Colt, greatly heartened to find an old friend, walked back to his quarters.
The Second Cavalry might be America's pride, Colt thought, but they had a lot of raw recruits led by officers fresh out of West Point. Their first run-in with the battle-hardened plains warriors certainly would be an eye-opening experience for them.
That evening, he sauntered over to the barn to pet Rascal and make sure the orderly was taking good care of the little mustang. “You're gettin' spoiled,” he murmured to the scraggly bay horse and scratched its ears. “You're not used to a fine barn, lots of corn, and highfalutin pedigreed stablemates.”
Rascal snorted.
Colt laughed. “I don't think much of 'em either, but the major does. We'll have to prove to him that thoroughbreds can't hold a candle to mustangs.”
He sauntered slowly back over to his quarters, enjoying the warm night air. Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush were in bloom in the grass on the outskirts of the camp. It was dusk now and as he rolled a cigarette, he saw a rider coming at full gallop into the camp, rein up before the major's quarters, and jump down, bang on the door, and run inside.
Indian scout
, Colt thought with interest.
Something's up.
Indian scout
, Colt thought with interest.
Something's up.
He hadn't had time to finish his smoke before the scout ran out again and the major came outside, shouting orders. The camp began to come alive. Captain Van Smyth ran out of his quarters and hurried over to the major. The two talked, and now the captain looked agitated and excited. He motioned a sentry, and in moments a bugle sounded.
Colt threw away his smoke and stood up. Something interesting was going to happen. Captain Van Smyth strode back to him. “Lieutenant, get Sergeant Mulvaney and form a patrol. The Tonk's spotted a Comanche camp a few miles out. We're finally going to see some action.”
Colt's pulse speeded up. “Yes, sir.” He took off at a run with mixed feelings. He had many friends among the Comanche, but he and his blood brother Spider were bitter enemies. Colt had not seen him in many years since he'd been banished from the clan for daring to question the young chieftain's brutality toward prisoners.
The night was as black as the devil's heart as the patrol formed out on the parade ground, and the women and the few Tonks came out to watch the Cavalry leave. Olivia waved a hankie, and Colt started to nod to her, then realized the elegant captain from Boston was nodding and smiling at the beauty.
Oh, so that's the way it is
, Colt thought. It was not smart to take a shine to the captain's sweetheart.
, Colt thought. It was not smart to take a shine to the captain's sweetheart.
But it was Colt she ran up to. “Here, Lieutenant. Here's my hankie. Tuck it in your sleeve like a favor to a knight of old.”
Colt took the bit of perfumed lace, aware that now Captain Van Smyth was scowling at him. Just what Colt needed, a superior officer who disliked him intensely, but Colt was so smitten with Miss Olivia, he didn't care. He smiled and nodded to the lady and tucked the hankie in his belt.
The major had come out and was conferring with both the Tonk scout and the snooty captain. Colt was close enough to overhear what was being said and frowned. None of these soldiers knew a damned thing about Indians. That was stuff you learned by hard, brutal experience, things they didn't teach you at West Point.
The captain passed the order to Colt, and he turned to his sergeant, the gruff old soldier, Mulvaney. “Have the men mount, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Mulvaney saluted and turned to the troops. “Prepare to mount. Mount and look smart about it, lads.”
Colt had already swung up on Rascal. He noted the sideways stares of the troops and the captain smirked. “Lieutenant Prescott, surely you aren't serious.”
“Sir?”
“I mean, with all the fine mounts the Second Cav owns, you're riding to battle on thatâthat donkey?”
Colt heard muted laughter from the men. “Rascal is a mustang, sir. I broke him myself and he'll still be goin' when these fancy thoroughbreds drop.”
More muted laughter.
The captain gave Colt a superior snort. “All right, Lieutenant. It's your choice. Give the order to move out.”
Colt gave the order to Mulvaney, and the small force started from the parade ground and out the front gate. In the darkness, Colt heard the cicadas beginning their rhythmic chirp and listened to the night birds call. He was always alert to night birds because sometimes they weren't birds at all, but warriors out in the brush passing signals for an ambush.
He rode up next to the captain and the Tonk scout. The Tonk said something in broken English.
“I can't understand half of what he says,” Van Smyth complained. “You see if you can understand his gibberish.”
Colt addressed the scout in a respectful tone, speaking the scout's own language.
The man looked at him a long moment, respect in his dark eyes, before answering.
The captain snapped, “So you understand their gibberish? I don't know why they don't learn to speak decent English.”
“He says the camp is a couple of hours' ride away. We ought to get there when the Comanche are getting ready to bed down.”
“Good,” the captain grunted. “Then we'll give them a real surprise, split up and surround them.”
“Uh, Captain, I'm not sure splittin' up is a good idea. We don't know how many of them there are yet.”
“That's what we were taught at the Point.” The captain glared at Colt in the moonlight and fingered his wispy light mustache. By the way, Lieutenant, what year did you graduate?”
Colt shook his head. “I've never been out of Texas, sir. Mine is a field commission for service in the Mexican War.”
“Humph.” Scorn played across the captain's handsome face. “Then let me make the decisions about battle plans, understand?”
Colt took a deep, determined breath. It wasn't wise to conflict with his superior officer, but for the safety of this patrol, he had to try. “Beggin' your pardon, sir, but it was my understandin' that Major Murphy requested me because I had experience against the Comanche.”
“I'll have you know I had high marks at the Point, so I doubt he really needed you. By the way, I notice you've already met Miss Olivia Murphy.” His tone was seething.
“Just barely,” Colt said, then added, “But I intend to deepen my acquaintance.”
He heard the captain blow out an angry breath and chided himself.
Don't you have enough conflict with this dandy without goading him? The enemy is the Comanche.
Don't you have enough conflict with this dandy without goading him? The enemy is the Comanche.
The captain seemed to get control of himself. “So you know a lot about fighting Indians, do you?”
“Yes, sir. Actually, I wish we didn't have to fight them. They've roamed these plains for hundreds of years, and they aren't gonna give up without a long, bitter struggle.”
“They're just savages after all,” the captain snapped. “You sound as if you respect them.”
“I do,” Colt admitted. “After all, it's their land and we're tryin' to push them off of it, send them to reservations to do nothin' but sit around and eat government rations. No real man would do that without a fight.”
“But we're going to win,” the captain said.
“Eventually, yes.” Colt nodded. “In the end, they can't win and maybe they know it, but they won't surrender and give up their way of life without a battle. I wish there was room enough for white ranchers and the Comanches in Texas, but their ways of life collide, so I'll help put them on reservations. It's my job as an officer in the United States Army, but I regret havin' to do it.”
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