Mary's plain, round face showed her surprise, not only at the profanity but the familiarity it betrayed, and she shot Beth a curious look. By sheer willpower Beth managed to keep her features smooth and polite despite the strong urge to shout back at him. Smiling coolly, she said, "Mr. Maverick wanted to show Nathan a horse that he owns and thinks is especially suitable for breeding. I believe that they will return in just a -moment."
He hadn't meant to snap at her like that, and certainly not in front of someone else. Recovering himself, he said in a quieter tone, "Forgive me! I am not, I fear, particularly amiable at this time and spoke without thought."
It was on the tip of Beth's tongue to reply smartly, "As usual!" but in front of Mary Maverick she held back the words, graciously bowing her blond-braided head in acknowledgment of his apology.
Mary spoke up almost immediately, banishing whatever silence might have fallen. Anxiously she asked, "Your meeting did not go well?"
"No. I think I just wasted my time and everybody else's. The only thing I can hope is that I am being unduly pessimistic."
Sam Maverick and Nathan returned just then and the conversation once again focused on Rafael's meet-
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ihg with the Commissioners. Rafael gave the two men a brief accounting and ended by saying reluctantly, "If you're ready, Ridge way, I suggest that we start toward the courthouse—there is bound to be a crowd, and if you want a good view we had better be there early. Are you coming, Sam?"
Sam Maverick shook his head. "No, I have other things to attend to. I expect Mary will fill my ears with all the points of interest."
Mary smiled at her husband and, after giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she said to Beth, "Well, my dear, I think we, too, should be off to join the other women."
Painfully conscious of Rafael standing stiffly by her husband, Beth crossed over to Nathan and, gently touching one of his hands, murmured, "You will be safe? If there is any trouble, as Senor Santana fears, you will leave at the first sign?"
Nathan looked fondly down at her. "But of course, my dear. I think you refine too much on any danger. Now run along with Mrs. Maverick, I'll see you later."
She sent him a strained smile and, suddenly moved by something she didn't understand, Beth leaned up and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. Not even glancing at Rafael, who had gone curiously still, she hurried away with Mary Maverick.
Meeting two other ladies who were also on their way to offer their services, Mary and Beth discovered that one of the houses near the courthouse had been settled upon as the place where the returned captives would be taken. It was on her way there that Beth noticed Lorenzo Mendoza standing near one of the buildings next to the courthouse. Her step faltered, but she swiftly quickened her step, and to Lorenzo's greeting of ""Bue-nos dias, Senora Ridgeway," she merely inclined her head and kept right on walking beside Mary.
Once they had passed him, Mary muttered, "I am glad he did not choose to acknowledge my presence! I know he is related by marriage to the Santanas, but I cannot like him. You were wise not to tarry in conversation with him—he does not have a pleasant reputation for all his grand airs and connections."
Not thinking, Beth blurted out, "But I thought it was Rafael who was held in low esteem. Isn't he called ^Renegade?"
"Oh, yes, there are those who dislike him intensely and who view his Comanche blood and continued association with the Comanches with the deepest suspicion. My husband and I, however, are not among them, nor are many others in San Antonio. Texas has a good friend in Rafael Santana, and while not everyone feels that way, there are many of us who see, possibly more clearly into his character." Her face hardening just a little, Mary added, "Those who think Rafael a villain would do better to look at his gr^dfather, Don Felipe."
Beth remained silent, not wishing to become involved in any conversation about Rafael Santana. She knew all she needed to know about him!
There were at least a half a dozen other women at the house when Beth and Mary arrived. Conversation between them all was concerned and speculative, no one quite certain what they could expect—how many returned captives there would be, nor in what condition they would be.
As Rafael had surmised, the Pehnahterkuh brought only two captives—a Mexican boy who meant nothing to Texans and a sixteen-year-old girl, Matilda Lock-hart, who had been captured with her three-year-old sister in 1838. The Comanches had chosen unwisely in Matilda Lockhart; it would have been far better if they had brought in no captives.
Beth's first sight of the girl almost made her scream in horror, for the child had been savagely and hideously abused. Swallowing her revulsion, she forced a friendly smile for the girl and gently helped Mary and some of the other women bathe and dress her.
Matilda's appearance was, as Rafael had tried to warn her, enough to make even the stoutest stomach quail, and two of the women present had to leave the room. Beth wasn't one of them. As she helped wash away years of filth and dirt from the thin, scarred body, her tender heart bled for the plight of the poor girl, and she experienced a deep and bitter fury against the creatures that had done this to a mere child.
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Matilda's head, arms and face were horribly scarred and full of bruises and ugly sores. Her nose had been burnt off to the bone, both nostrils being wide open and completely denuded of flesh. Matilda Lockhart was a fitting example of the horror of Indian captivity, and there wasn't a woman there that didn't thank God that she had been spared... for the moment.
The girl was aware of the revolting sight she must present and she begged piteously to be hidden away from curious eyes. Mary, Beth, and a few of the other ladies attempted vainly to soothe her, but looking at them through tear-drenched eyes, Matilda cried emotionally, "You do not understand! You can never understand! Yes, they held torches to my face to make me scream—look at me, my whole body bears scars from fire! But there is more—I am utterly degraded! The warriors shared me as if I were no better than a whore." Sobbing now almost uncontrollably, she turned her ruined face away, "I shall never be able to hold my head up again—my shame is complete."
Beth felt frozen inside, wondering how the girl had even managed to survive as she told of the further horrors she had been forced to endure, how the squaws had beaten her and how they would awaken her from sleep by sticking a chunk of fire to her flesh, especially her nose, and how they would laugh and shout when she screamed and writhed in agony. She could not bring herself to speak further of her sexual humiliations, and by the time she was fully dressed, every woman there was torn between pity and outrage.
Unfortunately for the Comanches, Matilda Lockhart was an extremely intelligent girl, and during her years of captivity she had learned the Comanche tongue. She actually overheard some of the warriors discussing their strategy for the release of the other captives. Mary instantly sent for Colonel Fisher, and with obviously growing fury he listened intently to Mary's account of the tortures the girl had suffered before he spoke quietly with Matilda. From her he learned that there were at least fifteen other white captives she knew of, and that the Comanches intended to strike expensive bargains for them. His face set and grim, Colonel Fisher
thanked Matilda for her information and praised her for being a brave girl. Then, pivoting smartly on his heel, he marched out of the house. Watching him go, Beth suddenly wished that Nathan hadn't wanted to attend this wretched meeting. If the colonel's expression was anything to go by, violence was in the wind.
The council opened in the one-story limestone building adjacent to the San Antonio jail on the main plaza. It was a small building—and the courtroom itself had a packed earth floor, certainly it was not a pretentious place—but a building that from this day forth would always be known as the "Council House."
Rafael and Nathan were standing near the door when the twelve war chiefs, led by the bald, old head man, Mook-war-ruh, the Spirit Talker, filed arrogantly past them in their finest attire, the copper fac
es painted brightly and garishly in honor of the ceremonial occasion, and Nathan stared goggle-eyed. As the door shut behind the last Indian, Rafael stirred restlessly—Co-manches did not like closed-in places, and it was a feeling he understood.
The chiefs squatted on the dirt floor and exchanged greetings with the Texan officials through an interpreter. Outside the courthouse all was apparently calm and relaxed—the Comanche women sat patiently by the building, the warriors staring aloofly into the distance, the young boys playing war games in the dusty streets. The onlookers, a mixed crowd of Texans and native San Antonio Mexicans, gathered to watch the proceedings. Beth and Mary, their help no longer needed with Matilda, were among them. Some of the men tossed coins in the air for the Comanche boys to use as marks for their miniature arrows, everyone expressing admiration at the boys' skill.
Curiosity seemed to be the mood of those outside, everyone wanting to see the peculiar and greatly feared Comanches. But Beth was not as curious as she once might have been; the sight of poor Matilda Lockhart's face and body would stay with her for a long time, and she was still incensed at what, perhaps, even some of these Indian women sitting in the hot sun in front of the courthouse had done to her. As for the sexual hu-
miliations inflicted by the warriors, she was almost physically ill thinking of what the young girl had been made to suffer. And, remembering the fierce, terrifying faces of the warriors, thinking of their short, squat bodies violating hers, Beth shuddered.
Inside the Council House, Colonel Fisher had quickly shared with the other two commissioners what the Lockhart girl had told him. He had spared no detail of her conditions and mistreatment at the hands of the Comanches, and as word spread, the temperament inside the room was one of seething wrath and outrage. Most Texans were from the southern states, and while they had all fought Indians at one time or another, most had never encountered the brutality and cruelty of the Comanches. The ''semicivilized'' tribes of the east and south, while capable of their own brand of savagery, had never in the past hundred years deliberately abducted, raped, and killed white women, and the Texans were aroused to an almost hysterical fury by these acts.
The Comanches themselves were completely unaware of the reactions of the Texans in the room—the treatment of the Lockhart girl had been no worse than that of any other captive. Every woman captured by the Comanches was automiatically raped by the entire raiding party once they had made camp for the night— it was a ritual they had found effective in bringing about utter and total obedience. As for passing her from man to man, they shared their wives with their brothers, so why shouldn't they also share a captive woman?
By the time the Indians were finally settled and all the customary greetings were exchanged, Colonel Fisher wasted little time in further formality. Standing in front of the impassive Comanches as they sat before him, some of them unconsciously caressing their favorite weapon, he demanded through the interpreter, ''Why were there only two captives returned? We know of at least fifteen other captives—where are they?"
Spirit Talker, the old civil chief, his black eyes un-blinkingly on Fisher, said through the interpreter, "It is true that there are many other captives—but these are in other camps of the Nermernuh, over which we have no control." He spoke a partial truth, although
none of the Texans believed him. The white man had always had trouble understanding the autonomous nature of the Comanches—each band was a law unto itself/
Spirit Talker spoke eloquently for some minutes, the interpreter, a Mexican youth who was a former Comanche captive, quickly translating the guttural language into English. Much of what Spirit Talker had to say was of no interest to the Texans in the room, but finally he said something that everyone had been waiting for. Glancing around the packed room, certain he had the full attention of all who were there, he said slowly, "But I believe that all the captives can be ransomed for a great price—for many goods and ammunition, for blankets and much vermilion.''
The Comanches had thought out their strategy well, but they had made a grave mistake in thinking the Texans, like the Mexicans, were willing to have peace with them, and their captives returned, at any price. Unfortunately too, the Comanches viewed the captives as simply the spoils of war, and it was incomprehensible to them that the Texans assumed any inherent right to the captives.
Certain the Texans would see the logic of their demands. Spirit Talker regarded the crowd confidently and ended his oration by questioning calmly, "How do you like that answer?"
There was a mutter of anger at the sheer arrogance of his reply, and Rafael tensed. Unobtrusively he judged the distance to the door, and somewhat ruthlessly began to maneuver Nathan toward it. Nathan, however, proved difficult and, attempting to shake his arm free of Rafael's guiding hand, he demanded in an angry undertone, "What the devil are you doing? I don't want to miss any of this, and I can't concentrate with you pushing and pulling at me."
Rafael gritted his teeth and, barely controlling his temper, he snapped in a low tone, "I'm trying to save your life! In this crowd, in the temper they're in, anything could happen, and you're leaving now whether you like it or not!"
But the delay had cost precious seconds. Colonel 308
Fisher's face stiffened at the blatant insolence and grimly he showed how he liked the answer by curtly ordering a file of Texan soldiers into the Council House. Quickly and efficiently the soldiers took up positions along the walls, one now guarding the door Rafael had been making for. Rafael's mouth tightened and, despite the crush and the crowd, inexorably he steered a resisting and contrary Nathan in that direction. They had just about reached the door and Rafael was on the point of breathing a sigh of relief when Nathan surprised both of them by deftly twitching his arm free and saying smugly, T am not leaving! You may do so, if you wish." And with that he turned back to watch the proceedings.
Momentarily, Rafael seriously considered deserting Nathan, but remembering the anxious look in a pair of lovely violet eyes, he cursed under his breath and stood resignedly behind the other man, the expression on his face murderous. There was going to be trouble, he could smell it, and any faint hope he had cherished that the meeting would be a success had died the instant Colonel Fisher had ordered the troops into the already packed room. The hatred and violence that each people felt for the other was almost tangible, and instinctively Rafael eased his Colt pistol from the holster strapped to his thigh.
As soon as the soldiers had marched into the room, the Comanche chiefs began to move restively, one or two even rising to their feet, others clasping their knives and bows and arrows more aggressively than before. Colonel Fisher, seeing that his men were in place, said tersely, "I do not like your answer at all! You were told not to come here for council unless you brought in all captives. Your women and children may depart in peace and your warriors may go so that they may tell your people to bring in the other captives. When all the captives are returned, then we will speak of presents and then you and the other chiefs here today can go free. Until then yon are our prisoners!"
The interpreter went white, his fright very obvious, and bluntly he refused to deliver such a message. His brown eyes dilating with fear, he said agitatedly, "The chiefs will fight to the death before they will allow
themselves to be taken captive! You cannot capture them without a fight—a bloody fight!"
Colonel Cooke, who was the senior officer, came over to stand near Colonel Fisher and, his face darkening with anger, he demanded furiously, "Do you dare to tell us how to conduct this affair? Repeat the message as stated, you insolent dog, and do it now!"
Rafael's blood ran cold and, forgetting Nathan, he surged violently through the crowd, determined to make one last attempt to avoid bloodshed, but he was too late. Even as Rafael fought his way toward the front of the room, the interpreter shrugged his shoulders fatalistically and hastily translated Colcmel Fisher's reply. Then, before anyone could stop him, he bolted from the room, his sudden and unexpected rush catching the guar
d in fi-ont of the door by surprise as he pushed him aside and ran out into the street.
The interpreter's words momentarily stunned the chiefs, but then, as their import sank in, almost as one they leaped to their feet, terrifying Comanche war whoops vibrating in the air. Thinking to follow the path of the interpreter, one chief lunged for the door and, meeting the soldier who guarded it more zealously this time, he plunged his knife into the guard, but the man, though badly wounded, fought back, his revolver effectively dispatching the Comanche.
Someone yelled for the troops to fire and the courtroom was instantly filled with gunsmoke and the shrieks and cries of the wounded. In the confined space there was no escaping for anyone, and both Comanches and Texans were hit by the fusillade. The room was in chaos, shouts and screams and the sound of musket fire shattering the air, the smell of smoke and hot blood quickly permeating every comer of the room.
It was a deadly melee and Rafael was caught in the middle, unable to fire on the Comanches and equally unwilling to shoot at the Texans. He fought a defensive action, using the butt end of his pistol to clear his way toward Nathan and the door. Like several others, Nathan was unarmed and totally unprepared, his gray eyes nearly starting from his head in fright as he stood fi-ozen where Rafael had left him.
Ranger Matthew Caldwell, also unarmed and only an onlooker, who was standing near Nathan, took a bullet in the leg, but with deadly promptness, he grabbed a musket from one of the chiefs and blew off the Indian's head with it. At the sight of all the blood Nathan nearly swooned, but there were more horrors happening right in front of his eyes and, like a rabbit staring into the hypnotic gaze of a rattlesnake, he couldn't look away.
Mook-war-ruh, shrieking his outrage and disdain, his knife glittering in the gloom of the room, tangled with a Ranger captain. In the vicious struggle the captain was stabbed in the side. His military sword proved ineffective in such close quarters, and, nearly fainting from the loss of blood, he captured Mook-war-ruh by the hand and shouted to one of the soldiers to fire at the Comanche. A second later the old civil chief lay dead upon the dirt floor.
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