Comanche Sunset

by Rosanne Bittner

  Buck’s face darkened. “You saying I’m ignorant, Indian?”

  “I have a name. It’s Wade Morrow. And as far as you being ignorant, I don’t have to say it. You do a good enough job showing it all by yourself.”

  “Why, you—” Buck raised a fist, but before he could swing it, Wade had hold of his wrist. In a flash Wade’s big fist was in Buck’s stomach with a thud. The man grunted and bent over, and Wade’s fist came up into his face. The man sprawled onto his back, his lips and nose bloodied. Jennifer felt sick at the sight, but at the same time she felt like cheering.

  Lou had just watched in surprise. He looked ready to defend his friend, but fear was evident in his eyes as he summed up Wade’s size and realized Wade was ready and almost anxious for a fight. “I normally have a lot of patience,” Wade told the man, his voice a near growl. “I know my place, mister, or at least what others think my place should be. But even I have a breaking point. We aren’t in any town now. We’re on our own out here, and I don’t have to listen to your insults. I’ve paid my way and I’ll be riding up top, helping protect your worthless hides. You’ve got no cause to give me trouble.”

  Lou swallowed, and the others watched in confusion, most of them agreeing inwardly that Wade Morrow had every right to hit Buck; but also seeing through their eyes a “savage Indian” whom they did not want to cross. Lou stepped back, leaning down to help his friend, while Wade turned to remount the coach.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he heard Nick saying. “You’d never come out of it alive.”

  Wade turned to see Buck’s pistol pulled from its holster. The others stepped even farther back, and Jennifer watched in wide-eyed terror. Wade slowly stepped to the ground again. “Cock it, and a knife will be in your heart before you can pull the trigger,” he told the man. “You want to see the Indian in me, this is a good way to find out, but you’ll never live to tell about it.”

  “Leave it be, Buck,” Lou told the man. “He’s travelin’ up top and gettin’ off in a couple of days. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Listen to your friend, Buck,” Wade told the man, his hand on the handle of a huge knife at his waist.

  Buck slowly put back the gun. Wade glanced at Jennifer before turning to climb back up to the top of the coach.

  “It ain’t right,” Buck complained, getting to his knees and spitting blood. “Lettin’ a Comanche ride a coach.”

  “I told you that’s up to me,” Nick told him. “These other men don’t seem to mind that much.” He looked at Jennifer. “What about you, ma’am? Does it upset you to have Mr. Morrow along?”

  Their eyes held, and Jennifer swallowed. She wanted to shout that she thought Wade Morrow a better man than all of them. “No,” she answered. “As long as he stays up top.” How she hated saying it. She felt like a traitor, but she knew she must lie, not just for her sake, but for Wade’s. “I don’t believe a man should be punished for the color of his skin. He’s done nothing wrong. I think we should all get inside and be on our way. We’re wasting time. I’m anxious to get to Fort Stockton.”

  With that she climbed into the coach, taking her same position as the day before.

  “The lady is right. Now all of you board up and let’s get going,” Nick told them.

  The men climbed inside. Buck plunked down, holding a handkerchief to his mouth and nose. “Damn savage,” he muttered. “I won’t forget this.”

  “I suggest you do,” Adam Hughes told him, brushing some dust from his suit. “You pushed the man too far, and for no good reason. He seems well spoken and intelligent to me, and I personally don’t blame him for hitting you. Any man would have.”

  Jennifer felt like thanking the man for his remark.

  “Who asked you,” Buck grumbled, rubbing at his stomach.

  “I agree with Hughes,” Sid Menden put in. “You had no call to insult him that way.”

  “He was looking at Miss Andrews,” Buck argued, his voice muffled by the handkerchief.

  “For God’s sake he was only taking her bag,” Hank Griffith put in. “You weren’t upset, were you, Miss Andrews?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “There, you see? We need the man, Buck. Anyone can see he knows how to handle himself. Leave him alone and he’ll leave you alone.”

  “If his father owns Morrow Freighting Services, Mr. Morrow is actually rather wealthy,” Hughes said. “Or at least he will be some day when his father passes on.”

  “It ain’t right, an Indian bein’ rich,” Lou said. “It ain’t fair.”

  “A lot of things in life aren’t fair,” Hughes replied.

  Jennifer thought how true the statement was. She should herself be wealthy, but it had all been stolen from her by Uncle John.

  The coach lurched forward as the horses got underway. Jennifer turned her attention out the window again, looking out at the desolate land ahead. Today she felt no fear. She knew these men better now, and her belly was full with the biscuits they had so kindly given her; but that was not the reason she felt better today. The real reason was that Wade Morrow was along. She touched her cheek, her skin feeling better after the long ride the day before in the hot, dusty air. The salve had helped it, just like Wade said it would. She glanced around at the men, seeing mosquito bites on all their faces, and she smiled to herself.

  Chapter Eight

  The coach clattered on, swaying relentlessly as the rutted road caused wheels to move over ridges and bounce through holes. Before the day was over a violent thunderstorm hit. Jennifer was forced to close the leather window shield, but rain still dripped inside onto her dress. Will Perry, who again sat beside her, offered to change places with her for the time being so that she wouldn’t have to sit with rain blowing in on her. They shifted seats, but not without embarrassment to Jennifer and pleasure for the men, who had to hang on to her to keep her from falling into laps as she tried to move around while the coach bounced and swayed.

  Jennifer settled in between Will Perry, the scout, and Hank Griffith, the man who was going to El Paso to open a tavern. Buck still sat dabbing at his nose and mouth. The bleeding had stopped, but his upper lip was badly swollen and scabbed, and a purple bruise was forming at the side of his nose, down over his mouth. He had not failed to curse Wade Morrow throughout the day, until Adam Hughes finally told him to shut up or he’d give the young man another bruise, even if it meant ruining his fancy suit. When two more of the men agreed that they were tired of hearing Buck complain, the man finally quieted, but sat in a sulk.

  To her irritation, Jennifer noticed Buck seemed to stare at her even more today than he had yesterday. She thought how strange it was that this young man who had warned Wade Morrow not to even look at her was now staring at her himself, in a way that made her much more uncomfortable than Wade Morrow ever had.

  She felt sorry for Wade, who had to stay up top through the storm. She knew it must be miserable up there, as the rain came down in a torrent. Again, the stamina of men like Wade, and Nick Elliott, who continued to drive the horses through the awful downpour, amazed her.

  The coach splattered through mud holes, the mud sometimes getting flung right into the coach, peppering the men who sat by the two rear windows. The coach finally slowed, but the rain continued to come down. Then the vehicle stopped, and Ernie Peters opened one of the doors. He stood there in a poncho, rain pouring off his leather hat.

  “Watch your feet,” he shouted above the storm. “Swollen stream up ahead. We’re gonna try to get through it, then up to higher ground. The Indian is gonna help lead the team through the stream. There’s an old, abandoned farm up ahead where Nick says he thinks he can get the whole team inside the barn. The roof probably leaks by now, but it will be better than bein’ out in this. Nick can’t hardly see where he’s goin’—says he’ll have to stop till the rain lets up.”

  The man closed the door without waiting for a reply from anyone. Jennifer felt a growing apprehension as the coach moved forward again. If Ernie had s
aid to watch their feet, that must mean the stream was so deep that water could come into the coach. She wondered if they could be swept away.

  “That’s the trouble out here,” Will spoke up. “It gets so dry your own bones feel brittle; then when the rain comes, it comes all at once, so fast that the ground can’t soak it up fast enough. Just once I’d like to see a gentle rainfall in these parts.” He pulled back the leather window cover and grunted. “Brace yourselves, folks.”

  The stream was so swollen that Jennifer could hear its swiftly moving waters above the sound of the pouring rain.

  “I’ll bet this is normally just a shallow creek, maybe completely dried up most of the time,” Lou said. He leaned around Sid Menden to look out Sid’s window. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  It seemed the coach suddenly dropped, and immediately water began pouring under the doors. Jennifer tried to pull up her dress and her feet, but the hem of her dress was already soaked. She felt sorry for Wade, who must be standing in the swirling cold waters. What he was doing had to be dangerous. Not only could he be swept away by the waters, but he was trying to lead a team of six powerful horses, who could trample him under the water if he wasn’t careful.

  She realized then that ever since first meeting Wade Morrow, her thoughts had been mostly of him. She had hardly thought about Sergeant Enders at all, and the trip had become so unusual and full of so many surprises that at times she almost forgot her real purpose for being here. Whenever she reminded herself of it, her heart raced and her stomach ached.

  The coach creaked and shifted, feeling for a moment as though it might be swept downstream. Will and Hank each grabbed one of Jennifer’s arms, and for the moment she didn’t mind, sure she would be washed out of the coach any moment if not for their grasp. The water swirled nearly to the seats before they felt the coach rising again. The brown, muddy water began to drain from the carriage, and again it was moving. Adam Hughes pulled aside the leather curtain at his window to see Wade Morrow just then climbing aboard while the coach was already in motion. Jennifer could see his buckskin clothing was drenched. A moccasined foot disappeared above, and Adam leaned out the window.

  “We’re in the clear,” he said, “and from the looks of that stream, we’re damn lucky.” He closed the leather curtain. “Well, we can thank the Indian for that one. I don’t think Nick could have managed the team through that alone. I’ve always heard the Indians have a way with horses.”

  “They’ve got their own way about a lot of things,” Buck answered, “and they ain’t all good.”

  “Well, right now you owe your hide to this Indian, cowboy,” Larry Buchanan told him. “Mr. Hughes is right. I’m a horse trader, and I’ve seen first hand the special way Indians have with them.”

  The coach rattled and splattered its way for another mile before slowing again. Will looked out, muttering that a barn was just ahead. Moments later everything darkened as the coach was drawn inside the deserted building.

  “Let’s get out and stretch our legs,” Sid Menden said. He opened the door and climbed out, followed by Will, who then helped Jennifer climb down. Her dress and petticoats, drenched by muddy water, suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds, and the damp conditions gave her a chill.

  “You best put on somethin’ drier, Miss Andrews,” Nick told her. “You can change on the other side of the coach. Me and the others will stay on this side.” He looked up as Jennifer reddened at the suggestion. “Throw down her bags, Wade.”

  Jennifer looked up to see a soaked Wade Morrow remove some canvas from the baggage. “You’ve got two bags, ma’am,” Wade called down. “Which one do you want?”

  “The blue flowered one,” Jennifer answered, while Buck watched with a scowl. Jennifer looked at Nick. “What about you and Ernie and Mr. Morrow?”

  “No sense us changin’ right now. Soon as the rain lets up a little we’ll be leavin’ out and get wet all over again.”

  Wade handed down the bag, and Jennifer was careful not to look up at him. She let Nick take the bag. She walked around the other side of the coach.

  “You better come down, Indian,” Buck called out then, “unless you plan to be lookin’ over the side.”

  “Shut up, cowboy,” Will Perry told him. “I wasn’t much for havin’ the man along myself, but he got us across that stream and he seems pretty decent to me. We might be stuck here a while, and I don’t feel like listenin’ to your insults the whole time.”

  Wade climbed down, and Buck sat down on a small stack of hay.

  “You men feed a little of that hay to the horses, will you,” Nick asked the others. “Me and Wade and Ernie need a smoke. Just make sure you feed the animals from this side till Miss Andrews is finished.”

  The passengers obeyed, and on the other side of the coach Jennifer quickly changed. Some of the men watched her dress and petticoats fall to the ground beneath the coach, but Wade made a point not to even look in that direction. He laid back and quietly smoked a cigarette, feeling cold and uncomfortable, wondering if he was being a fool to try this late in life to find remnants of a family. Since his birth the Comanche had been decimated by white encroachment, famine, and white man’s diseases. It was highly unlikely anyone who might know anything about him was even still alive. Yet this strange hunger to know for certain still clawed at him.

  Jennifer appeared then, holding her wet clothes over one arm, wearing a soft green, cotton dress and a paisley shawl. “What should I do with these,” she asked Nick, indicating her wet clothes. “I can’t put them into my bag this way.”

  “We’ll just roll them up and tie them on. At the next home station you can wash them and hang them out to dry overnight.” He rose and took them from her, and Jennifer thanked him. Ernie climbed up top and tied everything back on, and Adam Hughes walked over to Wade to thank him for helping with the horses.

  “We could have all been washed away back there,” he told the man.

  “I just want to do my share,” Wade answered. “I’ve done that more than once, driving teams for my father’s freighting business. Had a brother get stepped on and pulled under once, but he lived.”

  “Brother? You mean a son of the white man who adopted you, don’t you,” Lou Huston said with a note of sarcasm. “Your pa let you call him brother?”

  “What’s the story, anyway,” Buck spoke up, lighting a pipe. “Your white pa your real pa? He have himself a good time with some Comanche squaw and then feel guilty about it?” He snickered after saying the words, and Lou joined him.

  Wade cast a look at them that wiped the smiles from their faces. “My white parents found me as an abandoned newborn twenty-six years ago,” he answered calmly, realizing the others were also wondering. “Since they weren’t prejudiced ignorants like the two of you, they kept me, realizing all life is worth something. Being the good, Christian people they are, they raised me like their own, and when they had their own children, their sons were taught to consider me just as much a brother as a blood brother; I feel the same way about them. I have two brothers—Henry and Billy. When my father is gone we’ll all share an equal partnership in the business.”

  “Your pa must be crazy to let an Indian in on all that wealth,” Buck sneered. “I ain’t never heard of an Indian who knew what to do with money except to spend it on guns to kill whites, and on whiskey to get him all tanked up for a raid.”

  Wade slowly stood up, while everyone watched with apprehension. He took a long drag on his cigarette, then took it from his mouth as he stepped closer to Buck. “I told you I had a breaking point, mister. What I did earlier was nothing. Insult my father again, and you’ll not be able to walk the next time I light into you. There’s no law in these parts. You remember that.”

  Buck moved his eyes to Jennifer, giving her a chill with the way he looked at her. “I’ll remember it,” he answered, looking back at Wade. “Same goes for you.”

  “Then we might as well finish it right now.”

  Buck just stared at him,
then grinned, trying to look unafraid but fooling no one. “There will be a better time,” he answered.

  “Sure there will—when you’ve got about six more men behind you. That’s the way cowards operate,” Wade answered. “It’s happened to me before. I’ve seen it all, cowboy, and I can handle anything you want to throw at me, which I know would be anything you can think of except to fight like a man.”

  Buck’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not fighting you in this condition.”

  “You won’t fight me at all. You’re all mouth, cowboy. Shooting a man down when he’s not looking is more your style. You just remember I have eyes in the back of my head.”

  Buck rose, his face dark with anger. “My ma was killed by Comanche! You want to know what they did to her?”

  “You don’t have to tell me, especially not in front of the lady over there. But I didn’t have anything to do with that, mister. I’ve never even lived among them!”

  “An Indian is an Indian,” Buck sneered. He sat back down, turning away.

  “Let it go, Wade,” Nick said then. “There’s some folks that ain’t ever gonna change their minds about some things. I expect you’ve learned that.”

  Wade turned and left, walking to the entrance to the barn and smoking while he watched the rain quietly. The men looked at each other, some of them feeling sorry for the man, others figuring harsh words were probably common to him and that since he was half Indian, and therefore only half human, it probably didn’t bother him all that much.