[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (23 page)

From far behind, Badger Boy heard a few shots, followed by silence.

Steals the Ponies ordered the horses slowed so they would not exhaust themselves and be unable to make the long trip to Comancheria. After a time the rear guard caught up.

Tonkawa Killer was disappointed. "They turned back when they saw us. They never gave us a chance to kill them."

Steals the Ponies replied, "There will be others. They are like flies on the buffalo."

The night yielded a dozen more horses from a field. Two men on horseback stood guard, but they fled toward a cabin when the Comanches charged at them. Tonkawa Killer and two of his friends managed to overtake one and knock him from his horse. Once he was on the ground, the struggle lasted but a moment. The man's scalp and his horse were taken as prizes.

* * *

In the false dawn that preceded sunrise, the raiders came upon another cabin. There appeared to be only two horses both in a corral. Steals the Ponies ordered Badger Boy to remain with the main group and help hold the horses already taken. Badger Boy itched to follow his brother, but he had disobeyed once. He would not do so again.

Tonkawa Killer and two friends crept to the cabin. Light showed from inside. Badger Boy heard a desperate shout then a woman's scream. It began in fright and escalated into agony.

He felt cold inside. As had happened the time he heard a captive woman's cry, he trembled for a reason he could not quite fathom. The scream aroused a memory, a clutch of long-subdued fear. He had heard such a scream before but did not know when or where. He remembered a feeling of panic, and some of that gripped him now. It was like trying to recall a dream after morning's sunlight has driven it deeply into the shadows. He found his hands shaking and puzzled over the source of his fear. It was not for himself, and it was not for the white woman dying in that cabin. But he could not remember who it was for.

He must not let anyone know. He must conquer this weakness lest it diminish him in the eyes of the others.

Steals the Ponies brought the two horses to add to those already taken. Tonkawa Killer caught up shortly, showing off two fresh scalps. One had hair long as his arm.

Steals the Ponies asked, "Do you feel better now?"

Tonkawa Killer grunted. "She was young. I wanted to bring her with me, but she got a rifle. I had to kill her." He held the weapon in front of him. "The rifle will be of more use."

* * *

Surprise was the Comanche's favorite tactic of war. But now and then the white man applied it against the Comanche with equal success. Badger Boy had heard old men tell of a great raid that took a huge war party all the way to the big water and left a coastal town in flames, yet was smashed by a smaller Texan force that caught the retreating column by surprise.

He was unprepared for the sudden
teibo
attack upon the stolen horse herd. Steals the Ponies had taken most of the raiding party to sweep a couple of farms a little ways off the line of march. He had left Badger Boy and half a dozen warriors to continue driving the horses so no time would be lost. It was obvious that the countryside had been aroused, for some farms had been found suddenly deserted and others too heavily defended to risk frontal attack.

Tonkawa Killer was in charge of the horse guard. Badger Boy wished it had been somebody else-anybody else-for he was convinced that Tonkawa Killer meant him harm.

The horses moved along in a steady trot, and all seemed to be well with the world. Even so, Badger Boy was vaguely uneasy. His instincts were trying to tell him something, but he could not analyze what it was. He tried to put his fears behind him by imagining how it would be when they reached the encampment. Though he was yet a boy and had joined the raid against orders, surely he would be allowed to share in whatever honors the village might bestow upon the party. He had proven himself worthy to ride with men.

In a heartbeat the world turned upside down. He did not see where the Texans came from. Suddenly they were there, shouting, shooting, racing at him. The loose horses panicked and turned back, breaking into a hard run. Instead of being behind them, gently pushing, he was in front of their wild stampede, in some danger of being knocked down and trampled. He waved his arms and shouted, trying desperately to turn them, but he made no more impression than did the quail which flushed from tall grass before the pounding hooves.

He gave way to panic, as on the day the white man fired at him from the wagon. This time there were many white men, more than he had time to count, and it seemed they were all firing at him.

The roan horse did not wait for Badger Boy to decide what to do. It turned and broke into a hard run away from the shooting, away from the stampede. Badger Boy pressed hard with his knees and clung to the mane to keep from falling off. He knew he should stand his ground and fight. That was what Steals the Ponies would do. But he had no control over the horse. He freed his grip on the mane and brought his bow down from his shoulder, drawing an arrow from the quiver and fitting it to the string. He found a white-man target coming up swiftly beside him. The roan jumped a small hush just as the arrow flew. Badger Boy knew he had missed.

He saw a flash from the white man's pistol and braced himself for a bullet that did not come. The Texan missed, too. While Badger Boy struggled to fit another arrow, Tonkawa Killer raced alongside the Texan and dealt him a strong blow with his war club. The Texan fell and rolled. Looking back, Badger Boy saw him jump to his feet and begin dodging the oncoming horses. Then he was lost in the dust.

Because he was watching behind him, Badger Boy did not see the fallen tree ahead. The roan horse attempted to leap over it but struck a hind foot on the dead trunk. He went down headfirst and rolled over. Badger Boy cried out involuntarily as the horse's weight slammed upon his leg. He heard the bone snap and felt a stab of pain more terrible than anything he had ever known. The roan stepped on Badger Boy's stomach as it staggered to its feet. The air went out of his lungs. He gasped for breath.

For a moment, through the dust, he saw a dark figure looming over him and thought it must be a Texan come to finish him. He was too numb for fear.

The face was Tonkawa Killer's, and it was malevolent. "You have spoiled our medicine, white boy. Now die!" Tonkawa Killer swung his club. Badger Boy turned quickly aside so that the blow missed his head but struck his shoulder. Then Tonkawa Killer was gone.

Badger Boy heard the horses race by on either side of him, going around the downed tree that had caused the roan to fall. Hooves kicked dirt in his face and barely missed him. He tried to crawl farther under the tree but could not move. He felt paralyzed, his lungs burning in a desperate search for air, his broken leg ablaze with pain.

Then he saw another horseman, this time not a Comanche. He looked up at the Texan, at the rifle in the man's hand, and he closed his eyes, waiting to die.

* * *

Preacher Webb was among a dozen men who rode with Blessing. He looked tired and old.

The black man Shanty had been staying at Rusty's, sleeping on the open dog run so long as the weather was favorable, working his own farm only when Rusty could be with him. He said, "I'll fetch our horses, Mr. Rusty." He turned toward the corral.

Blessing raised a hand to stop him. "Catch your horse, Shanty, but you won't be goin' with us. The women and children are gatherin' at my place. They'll need every man we can spare to protect them."

Shanty was too old and stove up to be out chasing Indians on horseback, though he could fire a rifle and take up a defensive position as well as anyone. "Yes sir, Mr. Tom, if that's what you'd rather I do."

"I'd be much obliged."

Rusty appreciated that Blessing was protecting Shanty's feelings, first by telling him he was needed and second by not making a point of the old fellow's age and limitations. Blessing's large frame and commanding presence masked a benevolent spirit.

Jed Hoskins rode with the group. Rusty remembered him from the aborted raid on Shanty's place. Hoskins grumbled, "Damned darkey won't be any help. They could scalp every last woman and child before he'd come out from under the bed."

Shanty gave no sign that he had heard, though Rusty knew he must have. A life in slavery had taught him to endure indignity without protest lest indignity turn to physical violence.

Rusty knew nothing he might say would alter Hoskins's opinion. He asked simply, "Your ear still sore?" That was a reference to his having jabbed the muzzle of his pistol against Hoskins's ear at Shanty's place.

Hoskins did not answer.

Rusty wished Preacher Webb would stay with the women and children too, for he was looking none too strong. But Webb's medical experience would be needed if anyone was wounded on this mission.

A milk-pen calf was kept confined so its mother would come to the barn twice a day to be milked and to let the calf suck. Rusty turned the calf out to find her so it would not starve in case he was gone for several days. It stared in bovine confusion at the unaccustomed freedom and nosed at the closed gate, trying to get back in.

Shanty observed, "Freedom can be a hard thing to get used to. But it's harder yet to give up, once you've had it."

As he rode, Blessing explained that a farmer farther west had come upon an Indian and fired at him with a shotgun. He was too excited to aim straight.

Rusty asked, "Was he sure it was an Indian?"

"Said he wasn't wearin' much but breechcloth and moccasins, and he had a bow slung across his shoulder. Afterward some of the neighbors went scoutin' and found tracks. Looked like there might've been twenty or thirty passed by, goin' east."

"Goin' for where they expect to find the most horses," Rusty guessed. The invaders might be disappointed, for the war had taken away large numbers. Years would pass before they could be bred back up to earlier levels. "Any notion where the Indians have got to?"

"Somewhere east. We'll keep ridin' 'til we run into them."

That happened sooner than Rusty expected. A farmer came toward them, vigorously kicking a saddle mule's ribs, pushing for all the speed the animal could muster. The man waved his hat and shouted. Foam formed around the bridle bits, and the brown hide glistened with sweat.

"Comanches! Must be a hundred of them!" The farmer's eyes seemed to bulge. He turned halfway around in the saddle, pointing behind him. "Drivin' a bunch of horses. Must be a hundred of those, too."

From past experience Rusty suspected that the man's excitement caused gross exaggeration in the numbers, both of Indians and of horses. The earlier report had indicated there might be twenty or thirty Indians.

Blessing wasted no time on foolish questions. "How far?"

"Two, maybe three miles behind me. They been killin' folks right and left. Must've killed a hundred by now."

Blessing's expression indicated that he too, suspected the account was exaggerated. "We'll see if we can head them off. You want to go with us?"

The farmer looked over the group. Blessing had picked up several men, bringing the number to eighteen. "There ain't near enough of you. There's a hundred of them, maybe two hundred."

Blessing nodded as if he believed. "Tell you what do: you keep ridin', spread the word so nobody gets caught unawares."

The farmer needed no further encouragement to set the mule into a run again. He was quickly gone, dust rising behind him. Blessing turned to the men. "You heard what he said. I don't think there's near as many Indians as he claimed, but anybody who wants to turn back is free to do it."

Rusty looked at Preacher Webb, hoping he might, for the minister was obviously weary. But neither Webb nor anyone else showed an inclination to leave.

Blessing was pleased. "Then let's go find us some Comanches."

They were easily found. Rusty saw the horse herd first. A rough count showed him about twenty head, a fraction of the farmer's wild estimate. For the Comanches, this raid had been slim pickings. Moreover, only half a dozen Indians rode with the horses. Rusty suspected the raiding party consisted of considerably more, but the others were probably away looking for additional horses.

Blessing said, "I don't believe they've seen us yet. Let's don't give them time to think about it." With a wave of his hand, he led the charge.

Rusty took a quick look around to locate Preacher Webb. He wanted to keep the minister in sight, lest he get off to himself and end up in trouble.

The Indian horse guards were taken by surprise. They tried to come together, but the Texans were among them too quickly. To one side a small rider on a roan horse tried to join his companions. He was cut off by Jed Hoskins, who gave chase. The rider loosed an arrow at Hoskins but missed. Hoskins in turn fired his rifle but without effect. A second Indian cut in from behind, swinging a war club. Rusty gave chase, hoping to ward off the warrior, but he was too late. The club struck the farmer and knocked him off his horse. The Indian whirled about to finish the job but saw Rusty coming and changed his course.

The fallen Hoskins pushed shakily to his feet.

Rusty shouted, "You all right?"

Hoskins waved Rusty on. "Go get them!"

The farmer might have lacked tolerance, but he had nerve. Rusty continued the pursuit. The smaller Indian, out in front, turned to loose another arrow. His horse tried to jump a fallen tree but did not quite clear it. The roan went down, tumbling over its rider. It got up, shook itself and ran on, limping a little.

The second Indian paused a moment, leaning toward the one who had fallen. Rusty thought for a moment that he tried to strike the one who had fallen, but that made no sense. The warrior rode away, abandoning his companion.

Hell of a friend, Rusty thought. Usually Comanches did everything they could to rescue their own.

The downed Indian tried to crawl away, dragging a broken leg. A quiver had spilled most of its arrows in the fall, but the Indian grabbed at one, then felt around desperately for his how. Not finding it, he flopped over on his back, grasping a knife in one hand and an arrow in the other. He jabbed them threateningly at Rusty.