Commanche Vengeance Page 11

  Duke turned his back on her and walked back to his horse.

  He climbed into the saddle and walked the pony back to the roan. “Git right on your horse,” he said firmly.

  She stared at him.

  “Miss Sarah, I’ll go along with you on just about anything you say. I think I’ve proved that already. But there comes a time when common sense has to be used.”

  She did not move.

  “Miss Sarah, either you git on your horse or I’ll tie you on. Were going to Little Ben and wait out this storm. When the weather breaks, we’ll go back after him. But if we don’t get into cover soon, we’ll be done for. Now, I’m asking you for the last time, git on your goddam pony.”

  Sarah wavered. She took a deep breath. Her chin dropped and she climbed back into the saddle. Duke rode up beside her and slipped the carbine back into the boot and handed her the Colt. He nudged the black and rode ahead of her to break the trail.

  The snow swirled around them. Sarah could see hardly ten feet in front of her and could barely make out the outlines of Duke’s back. She nudged the roar and followed, getting closer, bringing Duke’s back into sharper view.

  They rode all day, with the snow drifting higher and higher as they moved. It grew dark early, and soon they rode with a rope strung between them. They did not dare stop. Even if they killed the horses, they could not stop. Sarah was completely lost She held her face buried deeply in the fleece of her jacket with her hat pulled down tightly.

  She did not think. She rode with her eyes closed. Over and over she recounted the vision of One Nest riding up the slope and the moment she pulled the trigger—but she could not say where she had hit him, only that he fell.

  She felt a tug of the rope and pulled the roan to the left

  It seemed to Sarah they rode endlessly, slipping and sliding, and once they walked right into a drift that was higher than the heads of their horses, but they kept moving. The snow was thickening and it was impossible to see anything at all.

  Some time later, Sarah did not know how much later, she saw a light. Was it a light? She wasn’t sure. She opened her mouth to call out to Duke, but no sound came. She tried again.

  “Take it easy, Miss Sarah. You’re going to be all right.”

  Sarah opened her eyes then. She saw faces staring at her. She tried to find Duke. There he was, standing ever her.

  “You been sleeping—” Duke stopped. “Anyway, you’re all right now. Mrs. Boyd will take good care of you, and I’m here.”

  “I got some clear broth here for you, Miss Sarah—” a soothing voice said. “Now just raise your head a little.”

  “Have I been here very long?” Sarah asked, looking around the small, roughhewn, neat cabin.

  “Pete pulled you two out of the storm three days ago. We didn’t think you was going to make it, but praise the Lord, you’re going to be all right.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mr. and Mrs. Boyd had heard about the Indian fight from Ryan’s hands as they passed on their way back to Little Ben. And when the blizzard hit, Pete Boyd had gone out in search of them in the hopes that they had turned back.

  The blizzard blew for ten days, and for ten days Duke and Mrs. Boyd watched Sarah every minute, taking shifts, while Mr. Boyd took care of the chores. Sarah would slip into a deep sleep and remain that way for forty-eight hours at a time, then come out of it ravishingly hungry, eat everything Mrs. Boyd would give her, and then go back to sleep.

  “She’s worn out,” Mrs. Boyd told Duke. “I never seen a more wore-out creature in my life. And I don’t wonder, after your telling me you rode all the way down from Cheyenne since December!”

  It took Sarah four weeks before she could sit up without help and it was toward the first of March, with the snows gone and the beginnings of the thaw coming on, that she was allowed out of bed. They had gotten a doctor in from Little Ben and he swore it was nothing but sheer guts and gall, staring death straight in the eye and spitting to boot that kept Sarah alive. Double pneumonia with complications of poor physical condition, the doctor had said flatly, on taking his first look at her.

  During the first hot days of late March, Mrs. Boyd and Duke would wrap her up in warm wool blankets and carry Sarah out into the protected yard away from the wind, and let her sleep in the sun. She grew stronger with each day and Duke spent all his time away from her helping Pete Boyd with his hundred-head herd, hunting for fresh game and wild spring roots, onions, and once in a while a late flying duck as it winged its way back to the Canadian line.

  The roan and the black fattened up on the steady oats and hay diet and little activity, and Duke brushed the animals until their coats were sleek and bright. The day Sarah saw the roan she cried, and pressed Duke’s hand tightly.

  They made friends in Little Ben. Friends and neighbors of the Boyds and the families of those that had survived the Comanche raid, and even the relations of those that had died, all came to pay their respects for the efforts Sarah and Duke had made in warning them of the Indian raid.

  Duke knew Sarah was getting stronger when she began to question everyone that came out to the Boyds’ about One Nest. Patiently and carefully she asked if any Comanches had been in to trade with the townsfolk and if any riders had gone through that reported anything unusual about the Comanches and their movements. She got out a piece of paper and made a crude map of Texas, particularly the Pecos River area, and began to make little X’s on the places where Comanche villages had been reported, tried to get the names of the chiefs and the number in the village. But none of it, that Duke could see, helped her. No one knew anything about One Nest, and the only Comanches any of the Little Ben citizens knew about was old Kaygeesee, and he had made peace with the settlers long ago.

  The red-and-gray plains gave over to the sage finally, and one morning when Sarah got up and walked to the window there was a blanket of purple as far as the eye could see.

  She started to cry. She turned back to the bed and cried the rest of the afternoon. No one went near her. Duke had long ago told the Boyds about Sarah’s search, and they recognized that Sarah’s crying was part of her tragedy.

  She came out for supper, her eyes swollen and face streaked even though she had rinsed it off with cold water. “It was a year ago,” she explained, “exactly a year that I lost my family.”

  After they had eaten, she helped Mrs. Boyd with the dishes. The elderly woman had become more than fond of Sarah and Duke, not having any children of her own. She waited until Duke and Pete had gone out to bed down the stock and check the horses before speaking.

  “Sarah, I’ve come to feel like you were my own daughter.”

  Sarah nodded. She too had grown fond of the woman who had saved her life and had been so patient with her. “I know.”

  “It’s plain that you ain’t no ordinary woman and that that Duke of yours ain’t just any hand, either. You two done a lot. Only half of what you said you did this past year would fill the pages of a book.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry, and please don’t say it—because I would hate to say no.” She hung up the dishcloth and walked to the window and looked out. She took a deep breath of the warm spring air. “You’re a kind, patient woman, Mrs. Boyd—but I guess it’s time for me to be leaving.”

  “Why? Would you just tell me why?”

  “I’m going to have that Injun’s hair,” Sarah said in a voice so hard that the kindly Mrs. Boyd was shocked. “I’m going to cut that Injun in two with these hands.” She held out her arms, browned from the spring sun.

  “And what then?”

  “If you still want me,” she said, going to the elderly woman and kissing her gently on the cheek, “I’ll be back.”

  Somehow the word got around Little Ben that Sarah and Duke were leaving in the morning and more than half the townspeople came to see them off.

  “Where do we begin, Miss Sarah?” Duke asked.

  They rode south and toward the west. “Since old Kaygeesee is peaceable
these days, we might be able to trade with him a little bit and find out about the other one.”

  “He’s on the Pecos, about a week’s ride south of here,” Duke said.

  “That’s where we’ll go then, Mr. Duke.”

  The sleek, winter-fattened roan and black stepped lightly and with spirit in the bright spring air and the warm sun beat down on the riders and the land and seemed to be giving its blessing to the earth for shucking off the winter and surviving once more.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They stood on the top of a sandy hillock and stared down into the quiet village of Kaygeesee and studied the movements of the place before showing themselves and moving down the grassy slope.

  The land seemed to burst forth into life during the ride down the Pecos. Everywhere they looked was soft, shiny green and the warmth of color that is so striking in the arid lands of the big dry country of southwest Texas.

  They were spotted immediately as they worked their way into the Indian village. The squaws stopped their work and watched with black, expressionless eyes. The children ran into the tipis and stared at the whites as they moved down the village street and came to a stop before a group of braves that barred their way from any further penetration into their village.

  Duke made the peace sign and spoke in Comanche. “We come to trade.” He turned and slapped a duffel bag strapped on the back of the black.

  The braves remained motionless. Duke turned to Sarah. “They’re waiting for the old boy to come out and see if it’s all right.”

  “How do we find out about the other one?” Sarah asked.

  “Leave that to me,” Duke replied quietly.

  From inside a tent an old Indian dressed in snow-white buckskin with intricate, beautiful beadwork on his headband and a full bonnet of feathers, walked out and stood before the braves. “You come trade with Comanche?”

  “These eyes have not seen the great Comanche chief Kaygeesee in many summers,” Duke said.

  The old chief nodded and Duke motioned for Sarah to get down. The old man turned and walked with stately grace through the braves and stopped before his tipi. He turned and stared at Sarah and Duke, then sank into a cross-legged sitting position. Several of the older braves joined him in a circle. Duke and Sarah sat down opposite the chief, flanked on either side by very old men.

  “Kaygeesee’s eyes are old, but they are still sharp as the eagles. They do not remember seeing the white.”

  He said something inaudible to someone standing in back of him and the man disappeared.

  “Many summers and many moons, Kaygeesee traded furs and fine skins with me.”

  The old chief examined him closely. “Many summers ago,” he said with cold eyes on Duke, “Kaygeesee did not trade with the white!”

  Duke passed it off as balm for the others sitting around the circle, The old man, Duke reasoned, had probably had a hard time getting his braves to agree to a peace agreement.

  “It is told in many lodges,” Duke said, “of the courageous fights Kaygeesee and his Comanche braves made with the white. There are many coups for the chief of the Comanche to talk of around the fires.”

  The others agreed, and the old man nodded that it was so.

  Duke glanced at the others. They agreed easily, even though one Indian did not hastily call another one on his right of a coup, or the retelling of it. If there was one thing Duke admired in the Indian character it was the reluctance to brag when he recited his coups before the elders of the village. The elders were probably eager to support the old chief. If another chief took over they might be pushed out of the honored position around the fire in talks and decisions for the village.

  The pipe was brought to them and one by one they smoked and passed it along. Sarah’s face was immobile throughout the proceedings. Since they were not a large trading outfit, Duke asked, the old chief to forego any greetings of offering of food, claiming they were not worthy of such an honor. But the old chief was not going to let an opportunity to have a party pass by so easily.

  For the next three hours Sarah and Duke sat around the circle and ate and drank and watched the dances of the braves, until the sun was nearly down. The old man indicated that he was tired and did not want to trade until the next day.

  Sarah and Duke were shown to a tipi and left alone.

  “You think he’s here?” Sarah demanded the moment they were alone together.

  “No, I don’t,” Duke said. “And I’ll tell you why. This old heathen is too old to fight and afraid of losing his place as chief, so he’s bamboozled his braves into making peace—a sort of peace, anyway—with the local settlers around here. The army could probably wipe ’em out if they tried anything, and the old man probably wants to live and enjoy that fat young squaw I saw go into his tipi with him.”

  Duke got up and stretched and looked out the flap. No one was there. He turned back to Sarah. “It’s my guess that One Nest broke away from Kaygeesee a while back and took along some of the tough young bucks that didn’t like the way the old chief was running things. I looked around at their coup sticks and didn’t see one new-looking scalp, that means they ain’t been out on a party in some time. And One Nest was the one that made the raid against Ryan’s cattle. One more thing makes me sure I’m right. That was a pretty desperate move One Nest made against Ryan and the cattle. A hell of a lot of things could have happened. The army could have clamped down on them, and they did lose a lot of braves and horses. But he tried it anyway, so that means his people were hungry and probably bellyaching about it and talking about how good it was back with the old chief. One Nest had to do something; and he did, he raided Ryan’s cattle.”

  Sarah listened, and it made sense. But where was One Nest now?

  “I'll find out about things tomorrow,” Duke said confidently. “We’ll give ’em good trades and let them think they’re getting the better of us—and they’ll be easier to talk to.”

  Sarah agreed. They settled down on the furs to try and sleep but Sarah could not close her eyes. She could not overcome the tight feeling in her stomach.

  Duke traded with the Indians for more than four hours the next morning, making sure that the old chief got the best of what he had to offer and watching the old man carefully to see if his mood would change and he could engage him in conversation.

  Duke had brought along a brand-new Colt with a gleaming pearl-handled butt and consistently refused high and profitable offers in furs for the gun. He saw the chief examine it with his eyes, averting them when Duke looked up, feigning indifference and aloofness with the haggle and trade.

  Sarah remained in the background, stacking the furs and listening to Duke argue and haggle with the braves and watching the old man stare at the Colt. When the trading was over, the braves wandered away and left Duke to wrap up the untraded goods and store them away. The old chief's eyes hung on the pearl-handled Colt as Duke picked it up and handled it, and twirled it around his finger. He glanced up at Kaygeesee and held the gun out. “Good weapon,” he said.

  The old chief grunted and looked away.

  Duke walked over and offered it to Kaygeesee. “See how it feels in the hand.”

  The old man took the gun gingerly and could not contain his enthusiasm as he examined the pistol and studied every line and mark. His eyes shone brightly.

  Duke spoke softly and with feeling. “It is a gift for Kaygeesee.”

  The old chief looked up, stunned. “Kaygeesee could not take such a gift without equal gift in return.”

  Duke shook his head. “Kaygeesee does not have the eye of the eagle if he does not see the goodness in this white’s heart.’

  The old chief wanted the gun, but he was wise enough to know that white men did not offer such a gift unless there was a motive behind it. He handed the gun back to Duke. “What does the white man want?” His voice was hard and abrupt. He settled his gaze on the middle distance and did not look at Duke again.

  Duke offered the gun again. “The white does not o
ffer false gifts.”

  “What does the white want?” the old chief demanded again. He did not take the gun.

  Duke knew that the third time he would have to either ask the old chief the truth about One Nest’s whereabouts or make up a damned good lie. “The white is looking for the outlaw Comanche One Nest,” he said, and watched the old man’s face.

  They stared at each other a long time. “The white speaks the truth.” Kaygeesee said finally, and reached over and took the gun. “The one who calls himself chief and does not listen to Kaygeesee is in the south— there.” He pointed toward the Rio Grande. “He hides from the wrath of Kaygeesee.”

  Duke turned away and looked at Sarah. “Ready?” he asked.

  Sarah nodded and they packed their furs onto the horses and climbed into the saddles. As they rode out of the village Duke glanced back to look at the old chief. Twenty-five years before he would have killed Duke and Sarah on the spot should they interfere with his hunting down and disciplining One Nest. But now the old man played with the pearl-handled gun and did not look at the white man and the woman as they rode south out of the village and a little east to pick up the Rio Grande.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They picked up the Rio in five days and then began following the big river, pressing hard with long rides that lasted well into the night They made cold camps and did not take noon breaks and they avoided contact with any of the riders they frequently saw working cattle. They skirted the big ranges that bordered on the river and worked out from the spring roundups that were taking place all over the southwest corner of Texas. Some days they rode for miles past drifting, newborn calves that stayed close to their mothers as they swung by, moving hard and fast. Not once in the whole trek down from the Pecos did they see an Indian.