Sidewinder (12 page)

‘That I will do,’ promised War Club.

Turning on his heel, Dusty walked back to the Fort. All too well he knew that the fate of the council — if not the peace between the white men and Comanche Nation — hung precariously in the balance. On reaching Handiman’s office, Dusty found a heated meeting in progress, Looking flushed and furious, Waterhouse stalked up and down the office and his Republican companion stood glowering to where Handiman sat behind his desk, The two Democrat senators and Mark Counter were also present, although the blond giant stood apart from the politicians.

‘What I want to know is why my daughter was allowed to go into danger!’ Waterhouse was shouting as Dusty entered,

‘Your daughter shouldn’t have been out of the Fort without an escort,’ Handiman replied. ‘Did she try to raise one?’

‘I understood that all members of the Senatorial Committee could come and go as they pleased,’ Waterhouse snorted, ‘We were assured many times that there would be no danger.’

‘There wouldn’t have been,’ Dusty put in, ‘if your daughter did as we suggested and confined her visits to the
Pehnane
.’

‘May I ask what your interest is in this affair, Captain Fog?’ growled Waterhouse’s companion, a die-hard Radical Republican who hated Southerners on principle.

‘The same as yours, I’d say,’ Dusty answered. ‘To make an acceptable peace with the Comanche.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve seen Indian wars and know what they mean in suffering and human lives wasted, I’m not just doing it to score off on a political rival.’

‘Are you implying that I am?’ bellowed the senator.

‘Now ease off, senator,’ ordered Handiman. ‘Arguing among ourselves won’t make matters any better. And I would point out that Miss Waterhouse owes her life to Captain Fog and Mr. Counter.

‘I — I haven’t thanked you gentlemen for saving Cornelia,’ Waterhouse put in, looking embarrassed. Yet, despite his political beliefs, he did feel extremely grateful to the two Texans for their part in saving his daughter. Cornelia had recovered enough to tell him what had happened and he knew that Dusty and Mark’s intervention saved her from a hideous fate.

‘There’s no call to thank us,’ Dusty drawled. ‘I’d’ve given anything to avoid the whole damned business, but it’s too late for that now.’

‘It’s lucky, in one way, that Miss Waterhouse went out there,’ Mark went on. ‘If she hadn’t, the first sign we’d’ve had of those whiskey pedlars would’ve been when we got stirrup deep in drunken Indians.’

That aspect of the affair had not struck Waterhouse and his anger at Cornelia being allowed into danger became tempered with the feeling that his daughter took a major part in preventing an even larger sale of liquor to the Comanche.

‘There’s some would say that the Comanche don’t take this council seriously,’ Democrat Senator Houghton said. ‘Their braves get drunk—’

‘Getting drunk’s not confined to Indians, Senator,’ Dusty reminded him. ‘The one we want to blame is that jasper who brought the whiskey here.’

‘Did you see Long Walker, Dustine?’ Handiman asked, hoping to divert the other men and prevent friction.

‘No.’

‘So our friendly chief wouldn’t see you,’ sniffed Houghton.

‘He’s talking with the other chiefs, senator,’ Dusty replied, ‘When Long Walker’s something to tell us, he’ll come and do it.’

Not until shortly before sundown did Long Walker make an appearance. Dusty had seen and interviewed Bristow, using more formal methods than on the previous occasion. While sure that the man had been brought in as part of a plan to disrupt the council, Dusty could gain no proof. Clearly Bristow felt he had no great cause for alarm, which led Dusty to believe the man expected to be either released or in some other way saved from meeting the well-deserved fate of any whiskey pedlar who made Indians his customers. Still unable to learn anything from Bristow, Dusty accompanied General Handiman to the main gates where Long Walker waited.

‘Well, chief?’ asked Handiman, tossing aside any diplomatic advantage he might have gained by waiting for Long Walker to speak first.

‘It is bad and becomes worse,’ Long Walker admitted frankly. ‘Many voices spoke to leave this place.’

‘And will you?’

‘Not yet, General. We read the tracks and know that Magic Hands spoke true words for why the three men died. So we will wait to see what you do to the one who sold the whiskey before we decide.’

‘Does that mean all the bands?’ Dusty asked,

‘All but the
Kweharehnuh
are agreed,’ Long Walker replied. ‘Their old man chiefs have gone back to speak with the braves and then they will decide.’

‘Then we can only wait.’

‘Wait, but hope that nothing else happens, Magic Hands,’ Long Walker said. ‘It will take only a small thing to cause the other bands to leave without signing the treaty.’

After Long Walker had turned to walk back to his village, Handiman looked at Dusty and gave a long sigh.

‘Let’s hope that Mr. Manners and the Kid reached the Lancers in time. If Przewlocki jumps that
Waw’ai
village, this council’s wrecked for sure.’

Dusty nodded, but his concern was less for the
Waw’ai
than the Lancers.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NIGHT came and a very sober party gathered in the officers’ club. Little conversation passed among the members of the Committee and the officers seemed affected by the general air of tension. So far, however, the officers showed little outward interest in the treaty council. Most of them knew enough about Indian warfare to want peace and the general opinion around the Fort laid the blame for the trouble with the
Kweharehnuh
at the right source, upon the whiskey pedlar. Only a very few people knew of Colonel Huckfield’s death, for Handiman sent word to the colonel’s escort to return with his body to his command, Nor had news of the killing of the Reverend Boardwell leaked out.

For all that Dusty knew they balanced on a knife’s edge. After a desultory game of poker with Mark, Goodnight and Houston, Dusty decided to go to bed. Even the officers appeared to be affected by the general feeling and soon everybody turned in.

Dusty was woken by a knock at the door, then the entrance of a soldier carrying a lantern.

‘General Handiman’s compliments, Cap’n Fog,’ the soldier said, ‘Will you go to the main gate with him?’

‘What’s up?’ Dusty asked, swinging his legs from the bed and reaching for his clothes. A glance out of the window showed him that dawn had not yet broken, although it would soon.

‘That Comanche chief come and asked to see the General’s all I know,’ the soldier answered.

Swiftly Dusty and Mark dressed and pulled on their boots. Swinging their gunbelts on, they followed the soldier and joined Handiman outside the building. The General could not make a guess at what brought Long Walker to see him at that hour; and he wasted no time trying.

On reaching the gate, they found Long Walker standing waiting. Despite the early hour, the chief still wore his war bonnet and a blanket trailed around his shoulders.

‘You said for us to send for you any time the chief here wanted to see you, General, sir,’ the sergeant of the guard reminded Handiman.

‘You did the right thing, sergeant,’ the General replied. ‘Greetings, Long Walker. I hope you bring good news.’

‘The
Kweharehnuh
have decided,’ Long Walker answered. ‘They are leaving.’

‘You mean at dawn?’ Handiman asked.

‘They are going now.’

‘But the treaty—?’

‘They decided not to stay and said there is bad medicine here for them.’

‘Because of the men we had to kill?’ said Dusty bitterly.

‘The dead must be mourned, Magic Hands,’ Long Walker replied. ‘Yet it is in my mind that the
Kweharehnuh
would have found some other reason to leave.’

‘They didn’t want peace?’ Handiman inquired, sounding startled.

‘They did not care whether it was made or not,’ admitted Long Walker.

‘Then why did they come here?’ the General demanded.

‘To see what the white man had to offer and learn how the other bands felt. I have known for many days that the
Kweharehnuh
thought of going back to the Palo Duro country and hoped to change their minds. The death of the three
tehnap
gave them their chance to leave.’

‘How will the rest of the chiefs act now?’ Handiman wanted to know.

‘They are still willing to listen to your words. I pointed out that none of our bands lived in the Palo Duro country with the
Kweharehnuh
.’

A grin came to Dusty’s lips, although he never could remember feeling less like grinning. Of all the Comanche bands, the
Kweharehnuh
lived in the most inaccessible area and the one which the Army would find hardest to operate in. Reminding the other chiefs of that point had been a stroke worthy of a trained diplomat, More than ever Dusty found himself respecting the Kid’s grandfather.

‘Is all well then?’ asked Handiman, having also taken the point.

‘Not yet. I learned this evening that some of the
Waw’ai
old ones have been saying there would be a fight between their braves and the white lance-carriers.’

‘What’s that?’ barked the General.

‘They said one of their
tsukups
had a dream and saw it. Some of the
tuivitsi
from the different bands rode out last night to see if the dream was true or false.’

‘Didn’t you know about it before?’

‘No General, they did not come to the
Pehnane
,’ answered the chief then looked off into the darkness. ‘Riders are coming.’

Not for several seconds could any white men hear the sound of approaching hooves, Two shapes loomed up, coming out of the growing light and a chill of apprehension ran through Dusty as he recognized one of them.

‘It’s Lon,’ he said. ‘And Manners,’

‘They could have come back ahead of the Lancers,’ Handiman answered, trying to sound convincing.

‘See the
Kweharehnuh’re
pulling out,’ the Kid said as he halted his lathered and leg-weary horse.

‘Three of their bucks took on a load of whiskey,’ Dusty explained, ‘Mark and I had to kill them.’

‘Is that all?’ drawled the Kid, sounding relieved. ‘I thought that they’d already heard about the Lancers.’

‘What about the Lancers?’ demanded Handiman, glaring first at the Kid then towards Manners.

‘They were wiped out, sir,’ Manners replied, stiffening his tired frame into a brace. ‘We failed to reach them in time.’

‘Which same wasn’t Jeff’s fault,’ the Kid stated calmly. ‘The Lancers’d got too much of a start on us. Sure we could’ve rode all night, but they’d still have pulled out of their camp afore we reached them in the morning and our hosses’d’ve been too tired to catch up. And those Lancers hadn’t reached the
Waw’ai
camp when Sidewinder jumped them.’

‘You’d best tell me all about it,’ Handiman said.

‘Not here, General,’ Dusty put in, nodding to where the sentry stood by the gate and the sergeant of the guard hovered in the background. ‘The less who know about it the better for all concerned.’

‘If I could offer my tipi, General,’ Long Walker suggested. ‘There will be none to hear your words there.’

‘It could be for the best,’ Dusty drawled.

‘I’ll accept your offer then, chief,’ Handiman replied. ‘And my thanks.’

After telling the sergeant of the guard that he would be accompanying the chief, Handiman walked with the other men to the
Pehnane
village. Before leaving the gates, Manners handed his horse over to the sergeant and asked for it to be cared for. On reaching the tipi, Long Walker told his
pairaivo
that they would be busy and must not be disturbed, then gave some other instructions. Already dressed, the woman nodded and left, crossing to the fire and building it up.

‘What happened, Mr. Manners?’ asked Handiman, squatting on his heels in an effort to be as comfortable as the Texans and lieutenant.

Manners told his story, speaking slowly and obviously marshalling every fact before passing it on. Clearly he did not want to miss out any detail which might be of use and gave a graphic description of the fight, expressing his wonder again at the Comanches’ obvious mastery of the ‘Caracole’. Yet all the time he spoke, Manners felt conscious that some officer might claim he had acted wrongly in not going to help the Lancers.

‘I came straight back with the news, sir,’ he finished, not mentioning a chase by the Kiowa which only ended when the Kid’s deadly Winchester cut down the two leaders after almost a mile. After that, the remainder of the party turned their horses and rode back to join the
Waw’ai
in Wide Valley.

‘Which same, we figured that you’d sooner have the news from us than let Sidewinder come whooping in with it,’ drawled the Kid. ‘And we couldn’t’ve done more than got killed off happen we’d tried to help the Lancers.’

‘You acted correctly, Mr. Manners,’ Handiman judged. ‘And I’ll enter it in your record to that effect.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Manners replied, sounding relieved.

‘What’re you aiming to do about the
Waw’ai
, General?’ Dusty asked. ‘You’ll for sure have to do something.’

‘Happen you want to keep the peace, you’ll have to whale the tar out of those damned
Waw’ai
, General,’ Mark went on, ‘And do it fast.’

‘I know,’ Handiman answered. ‘What force did Sidewinder have along?’

‘A hundred men at least, sir. Maybe a hundred and twenty.’

‘That’s close enough,’ confirmed the Kid,

‘How few men can I risk sending?’ Handiman mused, speaking half to himself. ‘If I send too few, it’ll be murder. But if I send out too many I give Sidewinder a boost, make him important. A battalion would be about right.’

‘Thirty men could handle it,’ said the Kid. ‘Happen they took repeaters along and handled things right.’

‘Explain that a bit further, Kid,’ requested Handiman.

‘Fight ‘em Comanche style. Lick them at their own game,’ the Kid replied. ‘You’ll need your best horsemen, fellers who can live and ride like Indians. And a man who thinks Comanche to ride scout for them.’

‘Who have you in mind?’ Handiman asked.

‘Jeff Manners here to lead the soldiers,’ said the Kid. ‘I’ll tend to the rest of it.’

‘Thirty men?’

‘Enough for the way I aim to handle things, General.’

‘With the Gatling gun, or cannon?’

‘They’d slow us up. General, we’ll have to ride fifty to a hundred miles a day, live off what we can hunt and if we don’t have any luck go it on berries, roots, leaves. That’s the only way we can lick Sidewinder without using so many troops you’ll set him up as the big hero of the
Nemenuh
.’

‘And you think you can bring the
Waw’ai
in?’ asked Handiman.

‘Some of ‘em, likely,’ answered the Kid, ‘Not Sidewinder, though. When me and him meet, it can have only one end. I crippled him, General, when we was kids. I should’ve killed him then. If I had, this whole stinking mess’d’ve never come off. So when I meet up with him, I don’t aim to make the same mistake again.’

Silence dropped on the tipi and the men looked with interest at the Indian-dark, cowhand-dressed Texan before them. Only they did not see the Ysabel Kid; instead, they faced a full-blooded Comanche warrior, the most dangerous fighting man ever to draw breath.

‘I’ll see Colonel Sutter and make the arrangements,’ Handiman told the others. ‘Thirty men—?’

‘With repeating rifles,’ agreed the Kid. ‘The best hosses the Fort can give them. Even if that means taking some officer’s pet buffalo-running mount.’

‘Why not take along two horses each, ride relay?’ asked Manners.

‘If you’ve got men who can do it,’ agreed the Kid.

‘You could use one of the horses to carry food and grain for the other,’ Handiman went on.

‘You’re still fighting white men, General,’ the Kid told him. ‘Those
Waw’ai
might go for marrying their sisters, and aren’t the best fighting men you’ll ever meet. But they’re
Nemenuh
, and you’ll never lick a Comanche unless you fight him like one.’

‘All right, Kid,’ Handiman said, ‘Play it your way, Mr. Manners, do you know the men you want?’

‘I reckon so, sir,’ Manners replied. ‘My own troop. I know them and they know me. If I have to, sir, I’ll take others. But I’d rather have my own men.’

‘The choice’s yours, mister,’ Handiman stated. ‘Now to see the Colonel.’

‘My wife has brought food for
Cuchilo
and the soldier,’ Long Walker put in, nodding to the tipi’s door. ‘They have ridden hard all day and need a meal.’

‘Have it, Mr. Manners,’ ordered the General.

Any doubts that Manners might have felt at eating with Indians died away when Long Walker’s
pairaivo
carried in dishes of steaming stew. He did not care to inquire too closely into the contents of the stew, but had no cause for alarm. The Kid’s grandmother knew how to cook white man’s fashion and also to add such Indian ingredients as would improve the taste without offending a white’s stomach.

With a good meal inside him, Manners threw off his tiredness and accompanied Handiman to the Fort. Colonel Sutter moved fast on hearing the news. Beyond a few comments on the stupidity of reviving Lancers, he ignored the fate of Przewlocki’s command. Quickly he set about organizing the gathering of the Kid’s requirements. Without disclosing the reason, Sutter arranged for the pick of the Fort’s remounts to be put at Manners’ disposal and gathered his Regiment’s Spencer carbines in. Although the Spencer had proved its worth during the War, much high-level opposition prevented it from replacing the single-shot Springfield as a general issue cavalry arm. In times of peace Congress objected to spending money on the more costly repeating arms when the Springfield served the same purpose; and willingly accepted the theory put out by conservative staff officers — secure in desk jobs far from the reach of hostile Indians — that such new-fangled weapons only encouraged the soldier to waste ammunition. However, every regiment held a few Spencers on charge for special duties. By calling in all his command’s stock, including three privately owned guns, Sutter equipped twenty-five of Manners’ party with firearms vastly superior to the one-shot carbines.

At the Pehnane camp, the Kid and Long Walker interviewed one of the
Waw’ai
old men. At first the
trukup
tended to be arrogant and unco-operative but Raccoon Talker, called from her bed, changed all that. Once assured of Raccoon Talker’s medicine protection, and having been made aware of the consequences of refusal, the
tsukup
talked with some considerable willingness on a number of subjects.

Dusty and Mark had been sent from the tipi before the interview began for no white man could be present when a medicine woman of the
Nemenuh
exercised her
puha
. Once the old man had hobbled away, to be kept a well cared for prisoner until he could do no harm, the two Texans were allowed back into the tipi. On entering, they found the Kid stripping off his white man’s clothing.

‘That damned Fire Dancer’s behind this, working hand-in-glove with those white jaspers who’re trying to bust up the treaty,’ the Kid told his friends as he dropped his clothing on to the bed, ‘She put the death curse on every
tsukup
and
pu’ste
who wanted to make peace and they all died of it. Got the rest so damned scared they don’t make a move against her.’

‘Did you learn who the white men are?’ asked Dusty.

‘He only knows one. A half-breed scout from the Fort here. I’m going to have me a talk with him. The
tsukup
described him, Fact being, I may not be able to. The feller he described’d be awful like that scout with the Lancers. Only Sidewinder killed him.’

‘Why’d he kill off a man who worked with him?’ Mark put in.

‘You’ve got me there,’ drawled the Kid. ‘Just pure ornery meanness, maybe.’

‘Or maybe Sidewinder knew he didn’t need the scout any more,’ guessed Dusty. ‘What’re you doing, Lon?’

Dusty had a good reason for asking the question. Stripped of every item of white man’s clothing, the Kid cinched a belt around his naked middle. Several items of Comanche dress lay on the bed and the Kid reached for one before replying:

‘Sidewinder knows me and how I dress. Happen he gets word that I’m with the soldiers who’re after him, he’ll be a damned sight harder to handle than if he reckons it’s just another Army scout on his trail.’

Some time had elapsed since the Kid last wore a breech-clout, but he still retained the knack of donning one. Taking the long, broad strip of traditional blue cloth, he stepped astride it and drew it up between his legs, tucking one end through the belt at the front and the other at the rear so as to leave flaps which trailed almost to his knees. Next came the buckskin leggings, secured to the belt, followed by a pair of moccasins and then a plain buckskin shirt. Strapping on his gunbelt, he looked at his friends and grinned at their expressions. Apart from his white-man’s short hair, he looked every inch a Comanche warrior. However Mark had thought up a snag to the deception.

‘There aren’t many scouts who ride white horses and damn few have one the size of Nigger,’ the blond giant pointed out.

‘I can’t make him smaller,’ admitted the Kid, ‘but Grandpappy Long Walker and me can do something about his colour. That’s why I asked you to fetch ole Nigger along while we talked to the
tsukup
.’

Watched by the two Texans, Long Walker and the Kid used a powder which stained the big white’s coat and turned it into a dark bay. While Dusty and Mark had seen the Kid use much the same method to disguise his horse before, he had always been satisfied to make Nigger look like a paint instead of making an over-all covering. Knowing that he operated against a Comanche, the Kid did not take that kind of chance. He left off his bedroll, retaining only a couple of blankets fastened Indian style, and discarded his rope; but he kept the saddleboot in which to carry his rifle. Nor did the Texas range saddle strike a false note. Except when hunting buffalo, the Comanche always used a saddle and many obtained Texas rigs through trading or as loot in a raid.

By noon everything had been made ready. Manners’ troop, conscious that something out of the ordinary must be afoot, sat their horses and glanced to where the lieutenant stood at General Handiman’s side.

‘Good luck, Manners,’ Handiman said, ‘We can only give you a week at the outside, If you haven’t caught up with and licked Sidewinder by then, it will be too late.’

‘We’ll make a try at it, sir,’ Manners promised.

‘I know that,’ Handiman assured him.

‘How about burying the Lancers, sir?’

‘I’ll attend to that. Your business is to nail Sidewinder’s hide to the wall as quickly as you can.’

On leaving the Fort, Manners found the Kid waiting and needed to look twice before he recognized the other. In addition to the normal armament, the Kid held a bow on his saddle and a quiver of arrows swung from the horn close to his hand. The bow was typical Comanche construction; three feet in length made of a compound of
bois d’arc
, or Osage orange wood, and elkhorn, That bow had cost twenty ponies from a
tsukup
famous for his work. With a string made from the sinews of a grizzly bear, the bow could hurl a well-made arrow over fifty yards with target-rifle accuracy, or at close range sink the shaft feather-deep into the body of a buffalo bull. It possessed another virtue, as the Kid pointed out when Manners commented on the unusual nature of his armament.

‘It makes a whole heap less noise than a gun and can reach out further than a knife. Let’s go.’

Not until they had started did Manners ask the question which interested him. ‘Where’re we going?’

‘To the
Waw’ai
camp,’ the Kid replied. ‘Do the men know what we’re on?’