“Now, now,” the major said, “don’t get hysterical, dear.”
“How can I not?” Olivia shrieked. “What—?”
“He came to kidnap Mrs. Brownley,” Colt said. “She’s gone.”
“Oh.” Now Olivia didn’t seem so concerned. “I mean, how terrible. Is there any chance she went with him willingly?”
Colt blinked, considering that possibility, then shook his head, decided not to mention the child. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, you might consider it,” Olivia said and brushed her hair back. She looked all askew this early in the morning. “After all, she’s been with the Comanches so long, she might be happier among them. Maybe she shouldn’t have been brought back after all.”
“Surely you can’t mean that,” Colt said.
“It’s gotten one of our soldiers killed, hasn’t it?”
Colt looked at Doc and sighed while the major patted his daughter’s shoulder. “Dear, you’re upset. Why don’t you go have Maria make us a pot of coffee while we decide what action to take?”
“Upset? I could have been murdered in my bed; of course I’m upset.” Olivia turned with a flip of her dressing gown and went back into her living quarters and slammed the door.
Colt was surprised at the beauty’s actions. She didn’t seem to have much sympathy for the missing woman, but then, she was probably upset and sad for the dead soldier.
The major gestured the two men to chairs while he finished buttoning his shirt.
It seemed to Colt they ought to be taking action right now, but after all, Major Murphy was the commanding officer. “The way I see it, sir, I think Spider decided he wanted her back, slipped into camp, killed the guard, and took her. We’ve got to mount an attack—”
“Lieutenant, we can’t do that today,” the major said. “Remember, we are awaiting fresh supplies.”
“Well, I could take a small patrol and—”
“Lieutenant, calm down.” The major walked over to his desk. “Now let’s think rationally. And while we’re waiting for Olivia to make us some coffee, let’s all have a drink.”
Doc smiled. “I’ll wait for the coffee. Remember I’m on the wagon, but thanks.”
Colt gritted his teeth in frustration. “How can we stand here talkin’ about coffee and whiskey when there’s no tellin’ what’s happenin’ to Hannah right now?”
Olivia entered just then, carrying a silver tray holding a pot of coffee and three cups, which she set on her father’s desk. “Colton, dear, it sounds as if your interest is personal.”
“Of course it’s personal. She’s helpless and I know how cruel and vengeful Spider can be.”
Olivia returned to her quarters, again slamming the door.
“Don’t mind Olivia. She’s upset,” the major apologized.
“Or jealous,” Doc suggested.
Colt hardly heard either of them. Of course she was upset. Probably every woman in the fort was, thinking about a savage invading the fort and no one sounding the alarm. Yet here they were standing around talking when every minute put more distance between Hannah and her rescuers.
“Let’s have some coffee,” the major said and poured three cups, adding a slug of whiskey to two of them.
Colt took his cup and drank it, but he hardly tasted the steaming brew as it went down. “If we have to wait for fresh supplies to mount an attack, there’s no tellin’ what might happen to her.” In his mind, he saw her being beaten by the cruel warrior, maybe raped repeatedly. He winced at the thought. He had become so protective of the tall, slender girl who had led such a terrible life.
The major didn’t say anything.
“Sir, I know the Comanche, I’ve lived with them for ten years. Maybe I could go alone and sneak into their camp, and—”
“By Saint Mary’s blood, absolutely not!” the major snapped. “That’s a suicide mission, Lieutenant. You’re letting your concern for Mrs. Brownley override your good judgment as a soldier.”
“But if we launch a full attack,” Colt protested, “there’ll be women and children killed, maybe including Hannah and her son.”
“She has a son?” The major looked up from lighting his pipe.
Colt nodded. “By Spider.”
“Hmm,” mused the major, the pleasant scent from his pipe drifting around the room. “That’s not going to sit well with her husband.”
“Her husband?” Colt had forgotten about him.
“Yes, the army’s managed to track him down.” The major blew smoke in the air and sipped his coffee. “He should be here in a couple of weeks. I don’t know how he’s going to feel about a half-breed child.”
Colt shook his head. “I’m certain she won’t go with him without her little boy.”
“Dag nab it, what a mess,” Doc said.
“Anyway, to protect the fort, I’ll issue an order to double the guards for the next several days,” the major said.
Colt slammed one fist into the other in sheer frustration. “It won’t matter. Spider’s got what he came after. He won’t be comin’ back to the fort.”
“Lieutenant, you just take a deep breath, stay calm, and when those supplies get in, we’ll go after Mrs. Brownley.” The major poured another cup of coffee, added more whiskey, and sipped it.
“Yes, sir. May I go now?” Colt saluted.
“Certainly.” The major returned his salute.
Doc said, “I believe I’ll stay for more coffee.”
To hell with coffee, Colt thought as he turned and left the office. He had been a soldier for more than ten years and he usually obeyed orders, but in his mind, he saw Hannah being beaten and raped by his cruel blood brother and it made him furious. He had been the one to rescue her, and now he felt responsible for the brave but unfortunate girl. He was sure he had a better chance of getting Hannah and her child out of that camp all by himself. The major was right, it was a suicide mission. But if he waited until the fresh supplies arrived, she might be dead or badly beaten, before the army mounted its campaign.
He decided then that he was going to disobey the major’s orders and slip out of the camp after dark. He would rescue Hannah or die trying.
Colt waited until the dead of night to sneak out of his quarters. Instead of boots, he put on his old Comanche moccasins so he could move as quiet as a cougar. He had his pistol, a rifle, and a big knife stuck in the top of his tall moccasins. For food, he took a little beef and hardtack. He could not be encumbered by a lot of heavy gear because he would have to travel fast.
He saddled Rascal and led him across the parade grounds, thanking God that the moon was down tonight so the darkness was as black as a tarantula’s back. He knew where there was a break in the stone wall, far from the sentry. He led his little mustang through that place and mounted up. His experience told him where the Comanches might be camped and he started off that direction in a ground-eating lope, stopping to rest his horse now and then.
He hated Spider for all the cruel things he had done, the murders of innocent women and children. That was why Colt had left the Comanche and returned to white civilization. Yet he knew he could not kill Spider. One blood brother must not kill another; it was taboo and would bring the wrath of the four winds and the other gods down upon him. Maybe he was more Comanche than he had thought.
As he rode, Colt wasn’t certain whether he should try to sneak into the camp and steal Hannah and her little son out or walk in boldly and announce that she was his woman and he wanted her back. The elders of the tribe would listen to that argument. He found to his surprise that he wished it were true; he wanted to have Hannah as his own, hold her, protect her, and make love to her.
Then he reminded himself that he was engaged to a classic beauty, much prettier than Hannah, wellborn and educated. He should consider himself lucky; there were others like Captain Van Smyth who would be thrilled to be engaged to the dark-haired beauty. And of course, Hannah had a husband who would be coming for her. He was saving the girl for Luther Brownley.
At the moment, that didn’t matter. He didn’t even want to think what Hannah must be going through tonight in Spider’s teepee.
It was almost dawn when he rode into the Comanche camp. Dogs began barking and people came running. A few young warriors who did not know him brandished spears.
“How dare a white man ride into our camp?”
Colt held up his hand in a peace sign and said in Comanche, “I am blood brother to Spider. I do not come to fight.”
Others were gathering now—old leaders, women, and curious children. Colt dismounted as he recognized some of the elderly warriors including Spider’s father, Many Scalps.
He held up his hands to show they held no weapons and said in the Comanche language, “Ho, Many Scalps, I come in peace.”
Many Scalps nodded and stepped forward to shake hands. “It has been a long time, Young Stallion. What brings you to our camp?” Then he frowned. “I see you wear the clothing of the yellow legs.”
“I am indeed a soldier now,” Colt acknowledged. “I would not fight my brother Comanches if they would but move farther west and stop attackin’ the white man’s ranches.”
The other old warriors frowned, and Many Scalps said, “We will eat and smoke a pipe and talk.”
Colt looked around. “Where is my brother Spider?”
Just as he asked, Spider came walking boldly from a teepee. “Why come you to this camp, white man?” He gave Colt a menacing look.
Many Scalps grabbed his son’s arm. “Young Stallion comes in peace.”
Spider glared at Colt and spat on the ground. “He comes for the woman.”
Colt took a deep breath, and then Hannah and a small half-breed boy emerged from the teepee. Hannah looked bruised and exhausted, standing there holding her child’s hand, but she did not speak and there were no tears in those big blue eyes.
“Come.” Many Scalps gestured. “We will eat and smoke and talk.”
“No, send him out of this camp,” Spider snarled.
His father glared at him. “We will eat and talk. I am still leader of this band.”
The other old men murmured agreement.
Colt knew Spider had always been rash and hotheaded. He nodded to the warriors, knowing most white men rushed to talk about why they had come while the Indians liked ceremony and a lot of discussion. White men lacked patience. Colt could wait, but he did not intend to leave without Hannah.
Soon the men had set up a big circle around a small fire, all sitting cross-legged and waiting solemnly while the women poured big tin cups of strong, sweet coffee and the pipe was brought out, filled, and solemnly passed from hand to hand.
Spider made a wry face. “I will not smoke the pipe with Young Stallion. I do not trust him.”
His father looked at him. “He is your blood brother, my son, and you will join in the ceremony as the other warriors do.”
There was going to be trouble before this was over, Colt thought as he accepted the pipe and took a deep puff of the fragrant tobacco. He could not fight his way out of this camp—there were too many warriors—but he had decided he would die fighting rather than leave Hannah here. She stood watching, holding onto her little son’s hand. Her eyes begged for help, but she did not weep.
“Now,” Many Scalps said as the pipe finished making the circle and the women started to serve food, “now we will talk.”
Hannah was dutifully serving stewed meat in gourds around the circle of men and Colt noted her hand trembled as she put meat into his dish.
“So,” asked Many Scalps, “what is happening at the fort?”
Colt took a deep breath. “It is hard for us to maintain peace with the Comanche when Spider slips in at night and cuts the throat of one of our soldiers.”
The other men turned to look at Spider.
His father glared at him. “I gave you no leave to sneak into the fort.”
Spider shrugged. “It was necessary; I wanted to get my woman back.”
“She is my woman,” Colt said before he thought. “She was my woman before she was yours and I want her back.”
“Never!” Spider put his hand on the knife in his belt. “My other woman gives me no sons. The white woman will give me many more like Grasshopper.”
“She is my woman and I want her back,” Colt said sternly.
Murmuring around the circle.
“I have lived too long when blood brothers quarrel over a mere woman.” Many Scalps sighed and abruptly looked very old. “When I was young, the buffalo were like grains of sand across the prairie and our women were fruitful. Life was good for the people and our allies.”
A murmur of wistful agreement from all the old men.
“Now,” Many Scalps continued, “the white men are killing all the game and plowing up Mother Earth to plant their crops.”
“And putting up fences to keep us from roaming,” Spider snarled.
“I know all this and it makes me sad for the people,” Colt agreed, “but it will not change. The white men are more numerous than raindrops in a spring storm and they will slowly spread out across this place they call Texas and push the Comanche and the other tribes farther west.”
“So how will it end?” another white-haired old warrior asked.
Colt hesitated. There was no answer that held any hope for the Comanche. They and the other plains tribes would be crowded farther and farther until there was no place for them at all and then they would be put on reservations and fed government rations. This would be a terrible end for the best horsemen of the plains, who had always roamed wild and free.
He cleared his throat. “There is no good answer except to try to make peace with the whites and stop attackin’ their ranches because the Big Chief in Washington has sent more soldiers and supplies. They will come after you every time you go on the warpath.”
“We have the best warriors and we will fight!” yelled a young brave and the other young ones took up the shout. “Fight! We will fight!”
Many Scalps held up his hand for silence. “What Young Stallion says is true, and I know that, finally, the white man must win.”
The young warriors set up a chorus of denial.
“Hear me!” Many Scalps thundered. “What he says is true, but we cannot accept being penned up like a herd of tame sheep, so we will fight on until we can fight no more.”
Colt sighed. “It is what I expected to hear, but I wanted to bring you the truth.” He looked around. Hannah and her little boy had disappeared into a teepee.
Many Scalps looked at the sky. Storm clouds were gathering on the far horizon and an occasional blade of lightning split the darkness. “So, my adopted son, my old eyes are happy to see you once more. Will you stay?”
Colt shook his head and glared into Spider’s dark eyes. “No, I have pledged my word to the leader of the white soldiers, but I mean the people no harm. I come only to get the white woman. My blood brother has had her warming his blankets for almost four years now and I want her back.”
Spider jumped to his feet. “I will kill Young Stallion before I let him take the yellow-haired captive. I want more sons from her.”
“You have a first wife,” Colt said. “And many Comanche maidens would be pleased to be your second woman.”
“She is a prize I took in a raid,” Spider snarled, “and I like showing the white girl off when other tribes gather.”
Many Scalps motioned his son to sit back down. “You know you may not kill your blood brother, especially not over something so unimportant as a woman. We all have captured women and used them as slaves and wives—”
“But not one with yellow hair,” Spider insisted.
“Does not Peta Nocona have one with yellow hair?” Many Scalps asked.
“Yes, but that is another band of our people. You know mine is the only white girl in our band.”
Colt shrugged. “I want the yellow-haired one returned. She has warmed my blood brother’s blankets long enough.”
One of the old men suggested, “As bl
ood brothers, you can share the woman.”
Colt winced at the thought of the slender Hannah under Spider’s hard-driving body. Colt knew he could be brutal. “That is true.” He nodded. “And if I were to stay in the camp, we could share her, but I must return to the white soldier fort, so I come for her.”
Spider again put his hand on his knife. “She gives me more pleasure than any woman I have ever lain with. I will not give her up.”
He would do anything to protect Hannah, but of course, he could not kill his blood brother. He looked toward Many Scalps. “I will stand by the wisdom of the Council of Warriors.”
Many Scalps’s shoulders sagged. “All over a mere woman. She is not worth trouble between blood brothers.”
Another old brave spoke up. “I have a beautiful daughter, Running Doe, who many young men have offered horses and gifts for. I say I will give her to either of these warriors if it will solve this conflict.”
A murmur went around the circle and there was much nodding of heads at the wisdom of this compromise. Obviously, Running Doe was a beauty, but Colt shook his head. “I want only the yellow-haired woman.”
“And I will not give her up!” Spider was on his feet, shouting and shaking his fist.
“Then there is only one way to settle this,” Many Scalps sighed. “The two will have a wrestling match and the winner will get the girl.”
“No!” shouted both Colt and Spider at once.
“Be silent!” Many Scalps thundered. “This is my decision: Spider and Young Stallion will wrestle for her this afternoon and neither will use a weapon.”
Thunder rumbled across the camp as the other warriors murmured that this was just. The winner of the match would get the white girl, and then the tribal elders could move on to more important things than women.
Colt stood up. “I will do this thing you ask, Many Scalps.” He began pulling off his shirt. “But it has been a long time since I have wrestled.”
Spider scoffed. “Living among the white men has made you soft, Young Stallion. I will beat you easily, and tonight, as you ride back to the soldiers, I will be lying between the warm thighs of the yellow-haired woman, pumping my seed into her.”
Colt Page 9
