Ralph Compton Comanche Trail (12 page)

The sun was already high in the sky as Joy Chadway stepped out onto the porch of the Reynolds cabin to greet Taylor. “I see you're a late sleeper,” she said. “Good thing there was no need for a marshal while you were getting your beauty rest.”

Taylor's face reddened. “How's the Barstow woman?”

“July Barstow seems much better. Still got a fever and needs a great deal of rest, but she regained consciousness early this morning and even took a bit of nourishment. It's a good thing you and your friend did.”

“July, you say?”

“You didn't even know the Christian name of the woman you rescued?”

Taylor shook his head. “Just her last name. Her boy's kind of a friend of mine.”

She stepped toward him and touched his arm. “I must say I'm proud to know you, Marshal Taylor. And I'm sure July will be wanting to thank you personally as soon as she's feeling a bit better. In the meantime, my father is planning a special prayer service for her this evening and I hope you'll make it a plan to be present. The children will be singing.”

She walked down the steps into the street, then stopped and turned. “You should also know that there's a dog inside that could use a trip down to the creek for bathing. He won't leave her bed and I understand he was another poor soul you chose to rescue. Has he got a name?”

Taylor rubbed his chin. “I reckon I could call him Dawg,” he said, “unless you've got a more proper idea.”

“I think Dawg would do just fine,” she said.

•   •   •

More than a hundred miles to the southwest, Fourth Cavalry Lieutenant Charles Hudson led a company of troopers toward Dawson's Ridge.

He had never even heard of the town before a courier arrived from Fort Sill with orders from Colonel Mackenzie. Hudson and his company, which had spent months chasing and rarely catching small bands of renegade Comanches wandering the Texas plains, were to travel there immediately and check on the status of Sergeant Murphy and his men. Weeks had passed since he sent word they were investigating the possibility of Comanches in the region, and the silence had become a cause for concern. Hudson led his twenty-five men eastward with only a general idea of where the new settlement was or what they might expect once they arrived.

It did seem odd to Lieutenant Hudson, a seasoned Indian fighter, that there would be serious activity so far to the northeast, well removed from what remained of the buffalo herds and in a region so sparsely inhabited by white settlers.

On the third day of their march, they saw an ashen haze in the distance long before arriving to find the burned-out remains of a small way station. The cedar log building was gone, outlined only by its limestone foundation. The fences
of a corral had been torn down and the blackened shell of a single wagon sat nearby. One dead mule lay beside it, covered by a thick coat of flies. The soldiers counted the eight bodies—travelers and the operators of the station—all scalped and skinned. Two had been tied to what remained of one of the wagon's wheels.

Old Dan, a Kiowa scout who rode with Hudson's company, walked the grounds in silence, observing the mutilated bodies, the arrows that had been shot into them, and the tracks left behind. “Comanche war party,” he finally said, pointing toward a distant range of hills. “That way.”

“How many?” Hudson asked.

“Maybe ten, no more.”

The lieutenant had viewed such scenes before, yet each time he looked upon the savagery visited on innocent people, his anger grew stronger. As his eyes wandered over the remains of the small outpost, familiar thoughts rushed to mind. There had been little of value here for the renegades to take away. A few horses, perhaps, maybe a couple of weapons. It was unlikely that the travelers had arrived with much of worth. Once again he was reminded that the enemy he and his men had been assigned to hunt down were murderers without cause. “We will capture none of these red devils,” he shouted to his men. “They will be shot dead when we find them and left for the coyotes and buzzards.”

Then he ordered a detail to dig graves before they took their leave with a new quickness and purpose.

•   •   •

Kate Two's mood, already soured by the small bounty that had resulted from the raid on the way station, turned even darker upon her arrival back at the canyon. Greeted by
somber-faced women, she and her men were told of the attack by the two men who had taken the white hostage away.

As her weary followers led the horses to the stream for water and spread the sack of stolen oats for them to eat, their leader paced the encampment, angrily kicking at one of the smoldering campfires with a booted foot. Sparks flew into the night air, reflecting in her blue eyes.

The time, she knew, had come for her getaway. “Tomorrow, when a new day dawns, I will ride onto the cliffs and summon back Hawk on the Hill,” she announced. “The gods have told me that he will be followed by a hundred brave warriors who will avenge the loss of your brothers.”

•   •   •

The voices of children drifted into the evening air, singing praise to another form of god. Aside from a couple of women who stayed to watch over July Barstow, the entire community of Dawson's Ridge had turned out for Jerusalem Chadway's prayer meeting. “It is with a joyful heart that we accept this troubled woman into our hands,” he said. “You—and two brave souls in our midst—have delivered her into the care of Christian folks who will see that her health is restored and Your will is done.” He lifted his Bible high into the air. “Praise the Lord.”

A short distance away, Tater Barclay leaned against the doorway of the livery. He placed his hat back on his head as the prayer finally ended. “Reckon I'll drink to that,” he said.

“I think I'll join you,” Taylor said. A day of hearty handshakes, slaps on the back, and even delivery of a fresh-baked cake from some of the women in town had made him ill at ease.

“A right smart idea if you ask me. This business of bein'
a hero can make a man mighty thirsty. Particularly if there're others eager to do the payin'.”

•   •   •

Lieutenant Hudson sat in the glow of a flickering lantern, holding the crude map that had been delivered by Mackenzie's courier. The trail of the Comanches continued north, toward the Red River. The community of Dawson's Ridge, however, was in a more southerly direction. Since his orders were to go there, he reluctantly opted to discontinue pursuit of the Indians and first learn the whereabouts of his fellow soldiers.

“We'll obey our command,” he told his top sergeant, holding the lantern. “But neither will we forget the savages. See that the men are ready to head out by six. No bugle calls.”

As the sergeant walked away, a trooper, still in his teens, brought the lieutenant a hot cup of coffee. He had delivered the orders and map and been instructed to remain with the company and serve as an aide to the lieutenant until their return to Fort Sill.

Hudson took the cup, warming his hands against its rim. He invited the trooper to take a seat. “You're going to have to remind me of your name.”

The young man was briefly speechless, aware that enlisted men rarely spoke directly to officers. “Benjamin Lee, sir. Everybody calls me Ben.”

Lieutenant Hudson looked across at the young man, trying to recall himself at that age, a newly enlisted cavalryman. “So, how are you taking to life on the plains?”

“I 'spect it's something that takes a bit of gettin' used to.”

“That it does. When I signed up to soldier, no older than you, it never occurred to me my duty would one day be to chase renegade Indians all over a godforsaken place called Texas.”

“Would you mind my asking a question, sir?”

“What might that be?”

“Does there come a time when you get to where you can put things like we seen back at that way station out of mind?”

Hudson sipped at his coffee. “The honest truth is the kind of evil you were exposed to today is likely gonna haunt you for a lifetime.”

The young soldier nodded. “That's what I feared.”

Kate Two wished for a mirror, not to admire her beauty but to make certain that she looked the part of a woman who had long been held against her will. Late into the night she sat in her teepee, cutting away her long black hair, then rubbing sand into her scalp and against her face. She pulled the stolen rings from her fingers and placed them in the small chest along with the money and other pieces of jewelry taken during the recent raids. Gazing into the box, she knew it was far less than she had hoped for, but it would have to do. She removed her buckskins and slipped into a plain cotton dress sewn by some now-dead settler's wife.

Talks With Spirits, once so proud, self-assured, and commanding, was no more. In her place would be a ravaged and helpless woman lucky to be alive. When the camp was silent and the fires had burned down, she would take a mount from the corral at the end of the canyon and disappear. If anyone noticed, she would explain that her leave-taking was to go into the nearby hills to summon Hawk back to his role as leader of the remaining warriors. In truth, she planned to
hide the treasure box away in a cave she'd located, then travel west. With luck she would eventually encounter someone who would believe her story of being abducted and held by the renegade band of Comanches, listen in amazement as she told of her escape, and recognize her desperate need for help.

Her plan was vague and might undergo change, but it was the only one she had been able to come up with. Somehow she hoped to eventually make it to Mexico, there to begin a new life, free from pursuit of the law and away from the Indians she had come to so despise. They were filthy and stupid. Even she was amazed at their acceptance of the notion that she had mystical powers and the ability to communicate with their ancestors. They were savages in every sense of the word. It had not been their willingness to roam and live like animals or even the cruel desecration of bodies of their victims that caused her to count the days before she could flee. When she first saw the renegades eagerly drink the warm blood and eat the stomach contents from a freshly killed buffalo, she had determined they were inhuman.

The only thing that masked her disgust was the recurring dream she had of being in a cantina, dancing and laughing as men looked at her with adoration. They bought her drinks and paid her money for brief moments of privacy and pleasure. In her imagination Kate Two was without a history, young, free, and happy again.

•   •   •

Lieutenant Hudson rode point, his men following behind in columns of twos. There was a welcome cool in the early-morning air, a signal that the oppressive heat of the Texas
summer had finally come to an end. Soon, he knew, the weather would bring another kind of discomfort, cold winds that would feel like icy pinpricks against the face and sudden snowstorms that would make travel increasingly difficult. Having ridden the plains long enough to see the seasons change, he dreaded what was to come and longed for the comforts of his home and family.

“By late in the day,” he said to his sergeant, “we should arrive at Dawson's Ridge. With good fortune we'll not only meet up with our comrades but also find that the settlement has proper food and drink.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he caught a glimpse of a lone rider far ahead, moving slowly along a rise. He peered through his field glasses. It was a woman.

As the soldiers approached, she seemed not to even notice them. Her head was down, nodding gently with the plodding pace of her horse. She rode bareback and wore no hat.

“Ma'am, can we be of help?” Lieutenant Hudson asked as he rode up beside her. He needed only to see her physical condition for an answer. She was dirty, seemingly exhausted, and near faint as he helped her down from her horse. “Where is it you've come from?”

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Indians . . . They killed my family and took me away. I've been their prisoner for so long . . . don't know where I am . . . Help me, please.”

While a soldier sheltered her with his hat, Hudson put a canteen to her lips and watched as she drank greedily. Then her knees buckled.

“Place her in the supply wagon,” the lieutenant ordered, “and have Corporal Braun—isn't he the one who does some doctoring?—ride with her and see to her comfort. We'll
continue on to our destination and hope we can find her additional help there.”

As the wagon swayed, following along behind the soldiers, Kate Two lay beneath a blanket, her head propped against a sack of flour. She kept her eyes closed and said nothing.

Up ahead, Lieutenant Hudson was quiet for a while. Then he turned to Ben Lee. “Even being aware that this is a hard land,” he said, “it seems there is always some new encounter that causes one to wonder at the infinite amount of suffering and pain it has to offer. God only knows the torment that poor woman's been put through. I'm eager to learn how she came to escape those who took her from her family and have no doubt treated her most unkindly.”

•   •   •

It was nearing dust when the company crested a hill and could look down on the small settlement. Hudson scanned the village with his field glasses, looking for bluecoats, and felt his heart sink when he saw none. In the distance he could hear the voices of two young boys as they ran toward the center of the town. “More soldiers coming,” they shouted. “They's more soldiers coming. . . .”

Taylor walked out to meet the visitors as townspeople gathered in the street.

“This is Dawson's Ridge,” Lieutenant Hudson said. “Would that be correct?”

“It is.”

“We're here in search of a detail of soldiers last seen in these parts.”

Taylor pointed in the direction of the Social Center. “Best we go inside so we can discuss the matter. There're tents already set up where your men can settle and tend their horses.”

“I take it the news you have for me is not good.”

“'Fraid not,” Taylor said.

Mayor Dawson and Tater Barclay were already inside when the lieutenant entered to hear the story of the brutal canyon ambush. He listened in silence as Taylor described what had occurred.

“How many Indians are there? And we'll need a map to the campsite of the renegades.” Hudson slammed his fist onto the table. “A few days back we happened onto a way station that had been raided. It seems likely that it was the same bunch of savages who did the killings there. It was our plan to go in search of them once we learned the fate of our fellow soldiers. Now, it seems, there is an even greater urgency.”

Barclay spoke. “Unless they've been recently joined by others,” he said, “there ain't that many of 'em. Not more'n a dozen or so braves. You and your men should have no difficulty overpowerin' 'em—if you handle it right. Murphy, bless his soul, didn't. And we'll gladly lead you to where they're camped . . . if you'll make me one promise.”

“And what might that be?”

“That every last one of 'em will be left dead.”

Hudson nodded. “We will leave at daybreak.”

As he left to join his men, Barclay and Taylor walked onto the porch of the Social Center. Thad called out to the lieutenant as he wearily made his way down the street, “We're sorry for the loss of your fellow soldiers,” he said.

Hudson, lost in thought, gave no response.

A half-moon was peeking over the ridge, and the night air had cooled. “For all the good they're doing,” Taylor said, “it
seems to me these Indian fighters have been assigned a mighty undesirable task. I reckon there are times when they wonder if it will ever end and they can go back to living normal lives.”

Barclay grunted. “Without them doin' what it is they do, this frontier ain't never gonna be worth the time it takes to get here. I say God bless 'em and give 'em all the ammunition they need. As far as livin' a normal life goes, I could use a bit of it myself.”

They headed toward the livery. They would go to bed early, though neither anticipated getting much sleep.

•   •   •

When they talked with Hudson, there had been no mention of the rescued woman. Members of the community, however, had quickly been made aware of the civilian traveler. As the soldiers settled into their bivouac, the women of Dawson's Ridge were showering her with attention.

“An army tent is hardly a proper place for her to rest,” Sloan Reynolds suggested to the medical officer. “She will come to our cabin where she can get cleaned up a bit, have some food, and begin regaining her strength. You can look in on her as often as you feel necessary. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you could pay a visit to another survivor of an Indian kidnapping who is already being cared for. Her condition, I'm afraid, was far more serious when she came to us.”

Reynolds smiled as he looked at Kate Two, who sat resting beneath the tree where just hours earlier the town's children had gathered for their singing. “You'll be welcome to our home. My wife and her friends will watch over you with great care. I'll take my leave and spend a few nights down by
the livery with Brother Jerusalem so you ladies can enjoy your nighttime privacy.”

Kate Two, still feigning exhaustion and bewilderment, had briefly stiffened at the mention of another woman who was being cared for. She moved a hand to her inner thigh, making sure the knife she'd strapped there was still in place beneath her dress.

•   •   •

Reynolds's wife insisted that she take their bed, then bathed her face with a cool rag while others were warming broth and biscuits in the kitchen. When it was suggested that she might like to change into a nightgown, Kate Two begged off, insisting that she was too tired and only wished to sleep.

“You mentioned that another woman is being cared for,” she said.

“She was rescued from the Comanches several days ago by our town marshal and Mr. Barclay. It was quite heroic, from the story I've heard. The poor thing is suffering from a threatening cough and is still quite weak. She sleeps most of the time, but my husband says she's showing improvement. Perhaps tomorrow you will meet her.”

“Only if she's feeling up to it.”

It was late into the night, after all lamps had been doused and everyone else was sleeping, when Kate Two quietly made her way along the hallway and into the cabin's other bedroom. She bent close to the bed and saw by the moonlight that it was, in fact, the woman who had been taken from her camp.

Placing her lips close to the pillow, she whispered, “Wake up, my friend. I've come to see you.”

July Barstow opened her eyes and felt the cold blade of a
knife pressed against her throat. Was this another of her fevered dreams? She began to shiver uncontrollably.

“If you say one word that might indicate you know me,” Kate Two said, “I will cut out your eyes.”

At the foot of the bed, Dawg growled and bared his teeth as the intruder slipped out of the room.