by Mike Kearby
Free stared at Horse. “But that means he’s going to have to fight and defeat the dominant stallion.”
“Unless you have a better idea, that’s all I can come up with.” Parks leaned over and whispered in Horse’s ear for several minutes.
When Parks had finished, Horse bounced his head up and down several times and then trotted onto the prairie toward the wild mustangs.
Even upwind, the dominant stallion, a short brutish buckskin, seemed to sense the intruder. The nervous ly agitated stallion snorted and lifted his nose high into the wind to survey the surrounding prairie. When he spotted Horse’s approach, he squealed several times to announce his territory boundary.
Horse, undeterred by the stallion’s show, continued toward the mares at a steady gait. The anxious stallion, uneasy at an intruder’s presence, lowered his head and began pawing clumps of prairie dirt over his back. Not to be outdone, Horse snorted back at the buckskin and bounced his head from side to side. The stallion, clearly riled by the upstart’s refusal to stop, extended his neck forward, pulled his upper lip back and screamed loudly.
Horse understood the stallion’s message of stay away, but he raced forward with his head held erect. Several yards from the stallion, he stopped short and sent a spray of prairie dust at his opponent. Horse stomped at the ground, and then proceeded to stand nose to nose with the stallion. He pulled his ears back and opened his mouth wide to display his own aggression.
The stallion, vexed by the interloper, tossed his head from side to side, snorted, pawed the ground, and pushed against Horse’s head. Horse refused to be intimidated and arched his head as high as possible in an attempt to look larger than the stallion.
After several minutes of smelling the air, the stallion turned and kicked angrily at Horse. Horse instinctively dodged the thrust, circled and then landed a well-placed kick to the stallion’s side. Caught off guard, the stallion stumbled forward and toppled to his knees. As he struggled to regain his legs, Horse whirled and bit deeply into the stallion’s cheek. Blood rushed from the bite and streamed down the stallion’s jaw. The vicious bite exposed nerve endings to the air and caused the stallion to falter in his attempt to stand. Horse recognized the hesitation and burst forward, butting his foe to the ground.
Caught by surprise at his rival’s strength, the stallion rolled awkwardly onto his back and thrashed at the air with flailing legs. In unbridled fury, he turned his head to the left, rolled back to his feet and blew hot steam from his nostrils. Upright, he regained his composure and exploded toward Horse.
Horse met the charge head-on in a fit of rage. Both animals reared, biting and screaming at each other. The grace of their movements belied the viciousness of their head-to-head battle. Horse lunged at the stallion’s head with his front legs and then fell back on all fours. The stallion followed and dropped to the ground only to rear again in a wild display of aggression. The stallion’s uncontrolled threshing forced Horse to whip his head sideways to avoid a lethal kick. The stallion attacked with a sudden surge of confidence and bit into Horse’s neck. Horse squealed in pain and a spray of red colored the air. Horse spun right, burning with rage, and delivered a series of rapid kicks at the air.
The stallion thinking his well-placed bite had defeated his challenger, rushed in. He charged with an open mouth just in time to receive a violent kick to the face. The crack of hooves on bone shattered the silence of the Comancheria and the stallion dropped to his knees. Horse, still angered over his bleeding neck, rammed the stallion with the top of his head. The violent impact once again rolled the stallion to his side.
Unsettled, the stallion tried to regain his feet by twisting his body frantically against the ground. Each time he would rise to his knees, Horse would rush forward and knock him down again. This went on for several minutes until the stallion simply rested on his belly, unwilling to try to rise anymore. Horse stared at the defeated stallion and backed several feet away.
The stallion surrendered, rose ungraciously and retreated slowly from the herd circle.
Victorious, but not yet finished, Horse rushed at and chased the once dominant stallion to the far edge of the herd’s territory.
The herd broke its circle, and the lead mare moved out to greet Horse.
Parks lowered the field glasses and handed them to Free. “Appears Horse is the new stallion for that herd.” Parks spat the chaw from his mouth, rolled over to his back and pulled his hat over his eyes.
Free looked over to Parks, “What are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.
“Might as well get some shut-eye, Free. There’s not much more we can do until those two get through honeymooning.”
Chapter 28
The Comancheria, Texas January 1869
Five days later, Parks and Free hid in a stand of mesquite and scrub oak trees. The dog sat fifty yards away and guarded the string of wild mustangs tied to the base of a large mesquite tree.
Parks issued a low warble-like whistle from the cover. Horse heard the unmistakable call from thirty yards away and headed toward the brush at a trot. The mare running close to his hip, slowed at the sound of the whistle and then stopped altogether. Horse looked back, nickered and bounced his head up and down as reassurance that it was safe to proceed. The mare lifted her ears, sniffed the air and then continued cautiously into the mesquites.
As the pair trotted into the scrub, Horse stopped and searched the low-lying mesquite branches for bean pods. The mare, still cautious, placed her nose to the ground and sniffed intently. From above, a shadow crossed her eyes and as she whirled to run, two loops of rope settled around her neck.
Free rode from his cover, jerked tight on his rope and then wrapped the lariat twice around his saddle horn. He clicked his tongue, pulled back hard on Spirit’s reins and tightened the rope securely around the mare’s neck. “Easy now, girl!” he hollered.
Parks jumped from behind a scrub oak and settled his rope just as the mare reared. Two turns of the rope bit deep into the palm of his hand. He pulled tight to sink the noose around the mare’s neck and then hurriedly wrapped the rope around the oak’s trunk. With the rope secure, Parks walked down the line toward the frightened mare. “Easy, girl,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact.
Free continued to ease Spirit away from the mare. “You OK, Parks?” he shouted.
“I’m OK, just keep your line tight and we’ll let her kick herself out. By my counting that gives us nineteen.”
Free laughed, “I gotta hand it to you, Parks. I never thought we would be able to capture that herd in a week’s time.”
Parks fought to keep his hold on the rope line, “Don’t thank me; thank Romeo over there.”
An hour later, the mare had gentled and stood tied to a stringer with the rest of her herd. During the last week, Horse had managed to cut a lone mare from the herd and lead her into the brush where Parks and Free waited. The lead mare, the first to fall for the ruse, snickered continuously at Horse, obviously upset at his trickery.
Free laughed aloud and looked at Parks. “She appears to be giving Horse a piece of her mind.”
“Looks like his honeymoon days are over.”
Free smiled, nodded and then set his eyes intently on the horizon. “How far do you reckon it is to the Apache camp?”
Parks looked west. “I figure it’s a two day ride to the Ghost Mountains. But a half-day’s ride from here is the mail station at Barilla Springs. We can water there and maybe get some good information on where our Apache band is wintering.”
Free clicked his tongue twice and spurred Spirit forward. “Let’s get this herd moving then. Somewhere out there Clara’s waiting for me.”
The mail station at Barilla Springs lay twenty-eight miles northeast of Fort Davis. The flat land around the station was devoid of any brush or trees. Free and Parks arrived late in the afternoon, and each carried with them a fair portion of West Texas dust. The Kiowa dog cut a wide path to the north, preferring to keep a good distance from the station.
&nb
sp; “A hot bath would sure feel good right now,” Free remarked.
“I can tell you what little water they have in this country isn’t ever used for bathing.”
“Sounds uncivilized.”
Parks chuckled, “I think the folks here consider that a compliment.”
Three soldiers sat lazily outside the station but rose at the sight of the two cowboys leading a string of mustangs.
Parks rode up to the troopers and leaned forward in the saddle. “How are you gentlemen today?”
“Afternoon, sir,”
“Ninth Cavalry?” Free asked.
“Yes sir, Company E, sir. I’m Sergeant Jones.”
Parks dismounted and looped Horse’s reins over the makeshift hitching post. “Just you three here, Sergeant?”
“Yes sir. We’re to meet up with more troopers tomorrow morning.”
“Have you heard of any Apache causing trouble around here, Sergeant Jones?” Free stepped down from Spirit and tied his reins.
All three soldiers laughed aloud. “Only everyday, sir,” the sergeant replied, “Our new commander has an expedition chasing the renegades in the Guadalupes right now.”
Parks glanced over to Free. “In the Guadalupes?” he asked the soldier.
“Yes sir, Mescalero, sir.”
Free dipped his bandana in a wooden water barrel and placed the rag against his face. “What about in the Ghost Mountains?”
“Oh, you won’t find Apache there, sir. They believe spirits wander that mountain. The Apache call it, chisos ni’.”
“What’s that mean?” Free asked.
“The ghost ground. When the western wind whips through those mountain canyons it makes a whistling sound. The Indians say it is the cry of an Apache maiden. The legend is she jumped from the mountain rather then be abused by her white captors. The Apache believe she wanders the mountain calling to her village.”
“And what do you think?” Parks asked.
“Me, sir? Well, let’s just say I believe a man alone in that country at night can imagine and see lots of strange things.”
Parks nodded and extended his hand to the sergeant, “I’m Parks Scott, and this here is Free Anderson.”
“Sirs,” the sergeant tipped his hat. “What brings you two to Barilla Springs?”
“My wife has been taken by Apache,” Free said, sternly.
Chapter 29
Barilla Springs Country, Texas January 1869
Later, sitting next to a fire, surrounded by the desert darkness, Free relayed his story about Clara to the troopers.
Sergeant Jones shook his head. “We would gladly ride with you both, but we would need permission from our commander”
“That’s not necessary, Sergeant. You have your own jobs to attend to. But we would be most appreciative to any information you can give us about where the Apache are wintering.”
The sergeant scratched his head and stared into the glowing embers of the fire. “The band you’re hunting may be Lipan or Mescalero or both. I can’t say for sure, but if they’re wintering down there, it would be south of the Ghost Mountains. There are a number of long, deep canyons in that country. You can spot them from a bend in the Rio Grande the Apache called tuzigoot.”
“Tuzigoot?” Free asked.
“Yes sir, it means, crooked water, and if it were my wife, sir, that’s where I would head.”
The next day, a hundred miles out of Barilla Springs, the mustang herd pounded the dried chalk crust of the high desert into a fine powder. The prevailing southwest wind gusted across their faces and pushed the rising dust rapidly toward the northeast. The hostile land, sparsely dotted with white thorn and tarbush, seemed to be the perfect sanctuary for outcasts and hostiles.
In the late afternoon, Parks and Free stopped near a large dryfall of boulders along the base of the Ghost Mountains. The large, egg shaped rocks leaned against each other and formed a natural enclosure. The dog, not seen for much of the day, awaited the men on the northeast side of the dryfall where a small seep of water bubbled through a stand of winter grass.
Parks looked at the dog and grinned, “Did you find us some water, Dog?” He dismounted, dipped a handful of water from the seep and drank. “There’s good water here, Free.” He splashed water on his face, and then surveyed the surrounding country. “If we can find enough dead timber, we might be able to make a corral out of this dryfall stack.”
Free stepped down from Spirit and touched one of the boulders. “These rocks are as big as this land,” he said in awe.
“A man can’t help but believe in someone larger than himself when he sees this land for the first time,” Parks stated.
“Kind of peaceful out here.” Free inhaled deeply and gazed at the mountains, “Once I get Clara back, this is the sort of land I could settle in.”
“You aren’t the first to make that statement.” Parks grabbed the mustang string and led the ponies toward the seep. “After a month in this country though, they all run back to civilization.”
Free looked puzzled. “Because of the Apache?” he asked.
“Because of the desolation. Loneliness will eat a man alive out here. Much as people hate to admit it, we humans seem to be herd animals too.”
Before nightfall, the men built a gate of fir and pine deadfall hauled from the slopes of the Ghost Mountains. The nineteen mustangs, secured in the rock corral, fidgeted anxiously, stirred up by the small space. Spirit and Horse grazed in the shadows of the corral. Both lazily pulled up tender shoots of winter grasses near the water hole and nickered softly at the sounds of the mountain.
Parks leaned back against his saddle and held his bootless feet up to the fire. “Those mustangs should stay good for two or three days. They’ve had a long drink and seem to have eaten their fill in that winter grass stand. If our luck holds, I figure we ought to locate that Apache camp by tomorrow evening.”
Free rubbed his hands over the fire and looked toward the darkness of the mountain. A ghostly cry drifted on the night breeze. “You hear that?” he shivered, suddenly chilled.
The dog raised his head and howled back at the ghostly sound.
“I think that sergeant knew what he was talking about, because that certainly sounds like a woman calling.”
“Maybe, I’ll reconsider settling in this country.” Free scooted closer to the fire.
Parks pulled his feet away from the fire. “Free, there’s a couple of things you need to know before we ride into that camp tomorrow.”
Free sat upright. “What’s that?”
“A man never knows the reception he will receive when riding into an Indian camp. You can bet they will see us long before we see them, and they will take special notice of Spirit’s ear marking. If they are friendly with the Kiowa, we might be allowed into the camp unharmed…”
“And if they’re not friendly with the Kiowa?”
“Then we best be ready to fight.”
“I understand.”
“And one more thing….”
Free sensed something was troubling Parks. “What is it?”
“The Apache believe different than you or I. They think stealing is part of being a man. If you can’t protect your property, an Apache sees no problem with taking it.”
“What are you getting at, Parks?”
“Just make sure you understand that in the Apache way of thinking, Clara belongs to them.”
Free laid his hands on his thighs and pushed hard against his pants. “Well, that’s crazy thinking. Clara doesn’t belong to them! How could they believe such a thing!” he said angrily.
“We may all carry the look of men, Free, but it’s our raising that sets us apart from one another. I’m telling you straight out that is what the Apache think. And if they see any sign of weakness from you, then our trading might go bad. Their culture doesn’t respect a man who doesn’t act like a warrior.”
“That’s my pregnant wife, Parks! I haven’t seen her in almost a month, and now you’re telling me i
f we do find her tomorrow, I need to look past her?”
“What I’m saying, Free, is we both want Clara back. But, if you ride into their camp at full chisel, it might cost both of us our lives. And getting ourselves killed isn’t going to help Clara.”
Free held his thoughts for several seconds and then looked up with an exacting steadiness. “I understand, Parks. I’ll do what you say. But I won’t be so obliged if any harm has been done to Clara or my child.”
Parks saw something in his friend’s face that went far beyond anger. He saw the look of a desperately reckless man who would fight for his family’s safe return as long as he held breath in his lungs, no matter the price to be paid.
Suddenly, he dreaded the coming day and he hoped the Apache kept Clara hidden from Free.
Chapter 30
The Apache Winter Camp, Texas January 1869
Clara worked a flesher made from the lower leg of a buffalo across the back of a hide. Next to her, Dayden worked feverishly rubbing brains into a freshly scraped pelt to keep the skin soft. It had been six days since she and the children arrived in the winter camp and the chores assigned her by the Apache squaws were now a part of her daily routine.
Her eyes darted around the camp surveying her canyon fortress. In spite of the realization that escape seemed hopeless, she nevertheless searched at every opportunity.
The older squaws kept a constant watch on her during the day. The same squaws berated Delshay with curses and hand gestures whenever he walked through the camp. Dayden said Delshay had broken with tradition by taking a captive over the age of twelve years, and he would endure such rebukes until Clara proved her value.
As she tirelessly scratched up the remaining tissue from the hide, she glanced toward the communal cooking pit. The five captured Mexican girls sat in a semi-circle around the fire mashing roasted sotol bulbs into a paste. Near the shallow water of the river, several Apache warriors patiently taught the two Mexican boys the art of shooting an Apache short bow.
