How can we keep them safe in the middle of this war? We’re just a handful of men. My father and his men were just a handful, and they died fighting the Comanche.
He thought of Carissa and her desire to learn to shoot in case she had to defend her family. She wasn’t at all proficient with the rifle or revolver. Hannah was a good shot, but knowing her, she’d probably just walk out to meet the Comanche as she had done so long ago when Night Bear was injured. This actually brought a smile to Tyler’s face, as he imagined her offering them cinnamon sweet rolls and coffee.
“You look happier than I’d figured,” William commented.
“Not for the right reasons,” Tyler countered, sobering quickly. “I keep thinkin’ this might not be our best plan—that gettin’ home and seein’ if they’re safe is more important.”
“And that made you smile?”
“No, it was the thought of a Comanche standoff with Hannah meetin’ ’em all with sweet rolls and coffee.”
William grunted. “And she would. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind more than once.”
Tyler noted a group of black soldiers drilling on the far side of the grounds. He wondered if these men had faced the Indians in battle. Did they know there were women and children—men too—dependent upon them to keep the peace? Did they care?
Lord, I don’t have a good feelin’ about this, he prayed, following William across the fort grounds. The hewn log buildings were arranged with barracks on opposing sides. There were numerous other buildings, as well as a sutler’s store about a hundred yards north of the commissary. Some of the men headed into the store, but Tyler accompanied William to the stockade to hear what was going on with the captured Indians.
“Sergeant,” William said, climbing down from his horse.
The man in blue glanced up and eyed William suspiciously. “What do you want, mister?”
“I’m here seeking information. I’d like to see your commanding officer.”
The sergeant eyed him a moment longer, then nodded. “Come inside.”
Tyler looked at William and nodded. “I’ll just wait for you here.”
William said nothing but followed the soldier into the small building. Tyler leaned up against the wall and tried to ignore the foul smells around the stockade. The prisoners were treated little better than the cattle he and William had penned in Abilene. There were a great many men inside the fenced area, and all were Indians. No doubt this space served as their living quarters, latrine, and infirmary.
Tyler tried not to think for long on the matter. He heard Osage pass by, talking with Andy and Newt. The boys were commenting on their fascination with the buffalo soldiers. Tyler watched them cross the grounds with Osage, and he suddenly felt very old. Had he ever been that young and carefree? He thought again of Carissa and how much she had changed in the short time he’d known her. She used to be just as happy as Gloria, enjoying life and living for the moment. But Malcolm Lowe had changed all of that for her. She had lost her girlish innocence in the face of his treacherous dealings.
Pa’s death took the last of my innocence, Tyler thought. For many a man it might have been the war that did such a thing, but for him the death of his father served that purpose.
Try as he might, Tyler couldn’t put aside the conflict in his heart. He felt the presence of the Indians, and with that his anger grew. He tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. Closing his eyes, he longed for peace.
God, I don’t want to be this hate-filled man. I want to let this anger go. I want to start a new life and take Carissa as my wife. I want to be a father to little Gloria.
But could he be either of those things when he had no home? No land? No place in which to bring a family? Maybe it was God’s way of telling him to leave Texas. But why? Would a different place be any better?
“They’ve got ’em, Tyler.”
Tyler opened his eyes and found a stunned-faced Osage standing in front of him. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“The army caught the warrior that killed your pa. He’s here. Here at Fort Arbuckle. They brought him in this morning just afore we got here. He was in that bunch we saw rounded up last night.”
A tightness formed in Tyler’s chest and spread throughout his body. “Are you sure?”
“I saw him myself. He ain’t that much older. He’s in there, all right.”
Tyler kicked off the wall. “Show me.”
Osage nodded and walked toward the stockade fence. Tyler noted that Andy and Newt were nowhere in sight. He supposed he should have asked about them, but right now his mind was fixed on the man he’d hated for so many years.
“Right there,” Osage said, pointing to a fierce-looking warrior standing at the stockade gate. He stared hard at Tyler and Osage, unflinching, unconcerned with the hatred they bore him.
Tyler walked right up to the fence. “Who are you?”
The proud man sneered. He jutted his chin forward and muttered something to his companions. Tyler narrowed his eyes. “I asked you your name. Are you deaf?”
The man only stared. Another of the Indians came up alongside him just as William came to stand beside Tyler. “He hears the white man’s talk,” the Comanche replied, “but he will not speak your words.”
Tyler let his gaze travel to the man who answered. “Then you tell me. Who is he?”
The man nodded. “He is Runs With Buffalo, great war chief.”
Runs With Buffalo’s chest puffed out. He pounded his fist against his breast as if in greeting. He spoke in Comanche, but Tyler had never bothered to learn more than a few words.
“He says he has killed many white men and will kill again. The white man is his enemy, and he has a great hatred for them. He will not be caged as an animal. He will avenge his people.”
It was William who interpreted, much to Tyler’s surprise. He looked to his friend, then turned back to point a finger at Runs With Buffalo. “You tell him, I will avenge my people, too. Tell him he killed my father, and I will kill him in return.”
The chief smiled; clearly he already understood the words Tyler spoke. William didn’t bother to translate as Runs With Buffalo was already muttering to his companions.
“What’s he sayin’?” Tyler asked William.
“You don’t want to know.” William took hold of Tyler and pulled him away. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“No. I want to know,” Tyler said, yanking away from Will’s hold. He held his ground, waiting for William to speak.
By now Runs With Buffalo was speaking to them again. He was calling out in a loud, harsh manner as if taunting them for turning away.
“He said he was glad he killed your father—that it gives him great pleasure to meet the son of such a coward so that he might kill you, as well. He says we are both cowards because we stand so brave as long as there is a wall between us.”
Tyler balled his fist and headed back to the stockade. Coming within an inch or so of the fence and the chief, he let years of rage guide his thoughts.
“We’ll see who’s the coward. When I get my chance, you won’t even know death is coming, although I’d like to make you suffer. I’d like to see you tormented and tortured like you’ve done to so many. When the time comes—when I get my chance—I will kill you.”
By now the sergeant had joined them. “He’s an animal, but he’ll hang soon enough. He’s heading to trial for killing settlers up Kansas way. He was chased all the way down here and the men caught ’em last night.”
William tapped Tyler’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see where Andy got off to and then get on our way.”
Tyler nodded and drew a deep breath. He started after William, but the sergeant called him back. William paused, but Tyler motioned him on. “I’ll be right there. Go on.”
William didn’t seem too happy with this comment, but he nodded and headed toward the sutler’s without Tyler. Turning back to the sergeant, Tyler eyed him questioningly.
The man grinned
and came forward to speak in a hushed voice. “I heard what you said about that savage. You know, for a price I could see to it that he gets shot tryin’ to escape.”
Tyler felt a chill run down his spine. “A price? What kind of price?”
The man’s grin broadened. “Ten dollars a head. You tell me which ones you want dead, and I’ll see to it that it’s done.”
The very proposition fed Tyler’s anger. In that moment he held life and death in his hands. He had the power to finally end the life of the man who had killed his father. And why not? The government would no doubt end it soon enough. What did it matter if Tyler had a hand in seeing the deed done sooner? The man was a killer. He would go on killing, if allowed to.
Just then the sergeant stiffened. “Come back later and tell me your decision, but don’t say anything about it to anyone.”
Tyler noted that other soldiers were headed their way and nodded. The sergeant turned to address the other men, and Tyler glanced back at the stockade where Runs With Buffalo watched him with great intensity.
I could finally end it here and now. I could avenge Pa—avenge all the people that animal has killed. His rage grew to an inferno that threatened to burn away every peaceful, loving thought of Carissa and Gloria—of his family and friends—even of God.
Before they were able to leave the fort, word came that there was a major uprising of Indians in the vicinity. The commanding officer rallied his men and ordered William and the others to remain at the fort while the army dispersed to deal with the matter. Tyler could tell William was uneasy with the order, clearly wanting to continue heading for Texas but hesitant to put Andy and his crew in jeopardy.
“Let’s just sit tight,” Tyler said. “We won’t gain a thing if we get out there and get in the army’s way.”
William seemed relieved to hear Tyler’s words. He nodded. “Guess one night here is no different than one night on the range.” Of course, he said nothing about the loss of time and miles.
Brandon sat nearby, his posture radiating tension and frustration. But it was evident he had no desire to talk, and this suited Tyler just fine. Tyler was mulling over the idea of paying to have Runs With Buffalo killed, and he didn’t want to discuss much of anything. William left to inform the crew of the delay, and Tyler and Brandon sat in silence, each nursing a cup of coffee while the rest of the world seemed oblivious to their pain. After nearly an hour of this, Brandon finally spoke.
“I heard one of the Comanche here is the one that killed your father.”
Tyler met Brandon’s stern face. “Yes.”
“That must be hard.”
Tyler nodded. A part of him wanted to rant and rave about the hideous things done to his father and friends. He wanted to remember each and every detail of what he’d seen when he returned to the ranch with his grandfather. The Comanche had been cruel—not only killing but mutilating the men.
For several long minutes the silence held them. It was Tyler who broke it. He couldn’t bear the ugly images alone. He had to talk. “That man was responsible for killing my father and the men who worked alongside him. They were good men, just like my father.”
“I am sorry.”
Looking at Brandon, Tyler could see the sincerity in his eyes. “The Comanche slaughtered them. They tortured them. It wasn’t enough to just kill them—they wanted to see them suffer.”
“And now you want to see them suffer?”
Tyler didn’t bother to deny it. “I do. God help me, but I do.” He studied the man next to him. Brandon had seen war up close. He knew the anger and frustration of being held here rather than allowed to get back to the wife he loved—a wife who might already be dead. Tyler decided he had to tell it all.
“One of the sergeants offered to kill him for me. Said it would cost me just ten dollars a head.” He returned his gaze to Brandon’s face, certain he would find condemnation. Instead, the man held an expression of understanding.
“What did you decide?”
“I want Runs With Buffalo dead. I want him to suffer like he made my family suffer.”
“And can you live with the guilt of ordering a man’s death?” Brandon asked, and still there was no disapproval in his voice. It was a simple question, nothing more.
“I killed a lot of men during the war. This is just a war of a different kind.”
“But those men were trying to kill you,” Brandon countered.
“Runs With Buffalo wants to kill me, too. He would kill all of us if given the chance.”
Brandon leaned back and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I don’t doubt that. What I doubt is that you could live with hiring a man’s death. For the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you as a cold-blooded killer.”
“There’s nothing cold-blooded about killing an animal. Runs With Buffalo is here because he and his men murdered families in Kansas. The government plans to hang him and the others.”
“So why not let that be enough?”
Tyler felt some of his rage fade in that simple question. Why couldn’t that be enough? It should be. Dead was dead, after all. Did it really matter that he have a hand in the killing of Runs With Buffalo? It wouldn’t bring his father and friends back. It wouldn’t give him back the ranch or ensure that Carissa and the others were safe from harm.
Shaking his head, Tyler tried to sort through his thoughts. “I don’t know if anything will ever be enough. I have so much hate inside me.”
“I can imagine. It seems justified to feel the way you do. You and your family were definitely wronged.”
“We wanted to live in peace with the Indians,” Tyler said, remembering his father’s plan. “Pa always said we would be a friend to those who befriended us. We would live at peace with all folks, just like the Bible encouraged.”
“But the Comanche weren’t following the same rules.”
The statement was matter-of-fact, and Tyler felt as if it were a knife to the heart. “As far as I can tell, they don’t have any rules but to kill.”
Brandon nodded. “And now you’re taking up their ways?”
Tyler felt his anger return. “I didn’t say that.” He glowered at his friend. “I’m not sayin’ that at all.” But the words sounded false even to his own ears.
19
Tyler spent the day trying his best not to think about his surroundings and the Comanche warrior just yards away. He had tried to sleep at one point that afternoon, hoping that he might be able to find peace for even a few hours, but it wasn’t to be.
“God, what do I do? I need some direction here,” Tyler murmured.
You have to forgive him, Tyler heard deep in his heart. Whether it was God’s voice or his own conscience, he didn’t know.
Forgive? Forgive that savage and his men for what they took from me? How can forgiving solve anything here, Lord? Tyler’s silent prayer continued. That man killed innocent people and he laughs about it. He’s glad to be a killer. Glad to cause pain. He’s neither asking for forgiveness, nor would he respect it.
The heat of the humid evening caused perspiration to run down the sides of Tyler’s face. With very little trouble he could have mingled it with tears.
I want you to forgive him.
The voice was nearly audible, and Tyler found himself looking around the room to see who had spoken. There was no one. Despite the heat, he felt a chill run through his body. Was God actually speaking to him?
Tyler looked toward the ceiling. “Lord, if you’re talkin’ to me, I’m listenin’. But I don’t pretend to understand any of this. This man killed my father and his friends—my friends. This man is heartless and cares nothing about the pain he’s caused. He would willingly kill again and said as much. How can I forgive him such a sin?”
The silence was nearly deafening. Tyler longed for God’s voice, yet there was nothing but the stillness of the room and the beating of Tyler’s own heart. He shook his head. “I don’t know how to forgive this, Lord. I don’t.”
What he did know beyond a
ny doubt was that if he couldn’t forgive Runs With Buffalo and let go of the past, he couldn’t have a future with Carissa or anyone else. He feared the hatred and rage that filled him would destroy any relationship he might otherwise attempt to have. Unless he could put this aside, he was destined to spend his life alone. That would be the simple price.
The room felt as if it were closing in on him, so Tyler got up and went outside. The sun was sinking toward the west, but there was still plenty of light. He walked to the stockade and found that Runs With Buffalo was still standing at the gate. The man looked as though he’d not moved from that position all day. He still wore the same fierce scowl, and his eyes burned with bitter hate.
Tyler stood in front of the man and just stared at him for several minutes. He couldn’t help but wonder at the life this man had known, and for the first time, Tyler actually felt something akin to guilt. Had the whites taken this man’s home from him? Had they killed his father and friends? Was he no more than a victim of this vicious circle of hate—just as Tyler was?
Tyler turned away and stalked off across the parade grounds. He walked from one end of the grounds to the other, his heart in turmoil over what he needed to do. Could he forgive Runs With Buffalo? Could he let go of the pain and bitterness that had held him captive for so many years?
He glanced toward the skies and shook his head. “Pa, if you can hear me, tell me what I need to do.”
A slight breeze blew and the sounds of fort life carried on the air, but he heard nothing more. No words of wisdom or directions. No comfort. For so long Tyler had imagined the moment when he would come face-to-face with the man who’d murdered his father. He’d imagined putting an end to that man’s life and seeing his father’s untimely death avenged. But then what? What would come after that?
Nearly two hours later with only a hint of light left in the sky, Tyler made his way back to the stockade. Runs With Buffalo remained at his post, as if he expected Tyler to return.
Tracie Peterson - [Land of the Lone Star 03] Page 17
