by Tony Masero
‘These folks here have lost their children,’ Colonel Dewilde continued, raising an encompassing hand. ‘The families were forced from Mexico by the recent uprising down there and separated from their children in the process. The party of five youngsters ranges in age from seven to fifteen years; they crossed the border and were carried under military escort to be brought up here to us. It would seem they have come under attack by Indians and been carried off.’
‘Damnable!’ snarled the general alongside him and the menfolk all twittered simultaneously in agreement.
‘You must understand,’ perked up a severe looking matron who turned her pale features in Britt’s direction and spoke haughtily. ‘These beasts have taken our dear children and you will do your very best to return them to us.’
This was followed by a general babble of noise, with one family member speaking above the other and Britt held up his gloved hand for silence.
‘How do we know this, sir?’ he asked, directing his question at Dewilde.
‘A fast courier bearing dispatches from Fort Fillimore passed the site of the ambush on his way here. We know there is a raiding party of Comanche hereabouts and believe it is these Indians that carried out the raid.’
‘Comanche,’ frowned Britt.
‘You know these scoundrels?’ asked a thin, well-heeled gentleman with a flamboyant necktie and diamond stickpin sitting to Britt’s right.
‘Not specific, sir. But I know of them, of course.’
‘Can you track them down?’
‘That I don’t know.’
‘I think the question is,’ interrupted Dewilde. ‘Will, Mister Marley track them down. Mister Marley is a long serving scout with this mission and is recently retired, therefore he is now an independent and private person and we hold no military command over him.’
‘But you must,’ gasped an elegant female seated half way along the table. ‘How can you not?’
‘Very easily, ma’am,’ replied Britt, not liking the woman’s expectations.
‘Look here,’ burst out a bombastic red-faced gentleman, in a high collar and decorative silk waistcoat. ‘If cash is your problem then money’s no object, name your price.’
Britt looked down his nose in distain at the suggestion, ‘T’ain’t that,’ he said.
‘But what then?’ they cried in unison.
One woman bleated above the others, ‘My baby is gone. Oh, how can it be? The dear sweet child would harm nobody. How can these wretched people do this to us?’ She sobbed into a handkerchief and the man next to her patted her on the shoulder, his gaze fixed on Britt in a vacant, staring manner.
‘You folks,’ Britt said patiently. ‘You obviously ain’t aware of the nature of these particular red men. These are Comanche we are talking about here and they are a breed apart.’
‘But they’re just ignorant Indians aren’t they?’ butted in the bombastic man. ‘Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, I would have thought.’
‘No, sir. They ain’t at all ignorant, as you would have it. For sure, there’s no understanding the Comanche, they ain’t like your Apache. For a start it’s real hard to pin one band down above another, the suckers are always changing the names around, so there’s no kind of central focus and they move independently. They are the best horsemen you will ever see, what they can do with a pony is hard to believe. But their cruelty is unmentionable and their women are the worst in that area, there is no doubt they are the most vicious and absolutely downright callous of all the Indian tribes on this continent.’
There was a collective stunned silence at his words and many of the women began to sniffle.
‘You ever hear of the San Antonio truce attack? Twenty-seven years since, I think it must be now.’
‘Erm, do you think that is necessary, Mister Marley?’ interrupted Dewilde, with a doubtful glance at the worried women.
‘No, Colonel, let him tell it. I want to hear this,’ ordered General Boise sitting next to him.
Dewilde raised an uneasy eyebrow but said nothing and Britt went on.
‘Concerns a sixteen year old child, Matilda Lockhart. A party of Comanche brought her in as part of a truce agreement with the locals over in Texas. Her parents wouldn’t have recognized her, they’d done burnt her nose off right down to the bone. She been raped and mutilated, covered with burns, bruises and sores.’
There was a collective wail at this and the male members shouted out in anger and distress.
‘Silence!’ bellowed the General. ‘Will you be quiet? Let the man continue, go ahead, Mister Marley. Let us know what we face here.’
‘Well, when all them lawmen and officials in the courthouse heard from Miss Lockhart that there was more captives being treated in similar fashion back at the camp they said they would hold back all the Comanche that were there present as prisoner until they got returned the lost. Like as not, the Comanche is a fearsome warrior and they took to fighting their way out of there but them Texican soldiers, why they shot them down and killed a whole parcel of Indians. Thirty some Comanche they killed that day and the same number again they took prisoner.’
‘Damned well done,’ burst out the General.
‘You think so, sir?’ asked Britt calmly. ‘When the Texans suggested an exchange between their prisoners and the captured whites, why, all hell was let loose. The Comanche paid it no heed, they was fired up with anger and full of resentment and revenge at what they considered a broken truce. They took every white captive they held and pegged them out naked as the day they was born. The Comanche women sliced, diced and then burned them all alive and these was all young women and children as they rarely take any men alive but normally slay them on the spot.’
‘Oh, my God!’ breathed the General.
One woman jabbered plaintively and fainted, the rest stared at Britt with pale and anguished faces their horror plainly written there.
‘My daughter,’ pleaded one desperate woman. ‘She’s only fifteen, you don’t think they would harm her, do you?’
‘This is Mrs. Bayerling, her daughter Elizabeth is one of the children taken,’ Dewilde introduced.
Britt dropped his eyes, ‘Sorry to say, ma’am. By now they will have had their way with her at the very least.’
‘Dear heavens!’ wailed Mrs. Bayerling, throwing herself down on her crossed arms on the table and sobbing loudly.
‘See,’ said Britt. ‘It’s best you know what’s in store. I wouldn’t want you getting up your hopes too much. If your youngers have survived then it’s still going to be danged hard to find them. And it might take a long while to do that. The thing you have to prepare yourself for, is that when you see them again, if you ever do, it may be that you will not want to know them or they you.’
‘Don’t say that,’ wailed a woman. ‘My baby, she’s only seven years old.’
‘Mrs. Childs,’ Dewilde introduced quickly. ‘Mother of Samantha.’
‘It don’t matter none to the Comanche what age they is,’ said Britt. ‘It’s all ready workers to them. She gets old enough they’ll use her as slave and for breeding and that’s it.’
‘Animals!’ breathed the General. ‘Pure bestial animals.’
Britt knew he was being harsh but going by the look of these people he could see he was dealing with fancy folk, rich beyond measure and with absolutely no idea of the travails faced in this country. It was best they understood at the start what they were in for and if they had the stomach for it.
He realized even as he thought it that he had accepted the mantle, in his heart he was already committed.
‘I’ll do my damndest,’ he said. ‘That I can promise you. Can’t do no more than that.’
‘What will you need?’ asked the bombastic man, somewhat more moderate in his tone now.
‘I’ll need my Navajo scouts; they’re the best you’ll see for tracking. Maybe a small troop of cavalry might be a good idea. A lot of the boys stationed here know the country and what to expect. I’ll not take many though
, we’ll need to travel fast.’
‘Take what you need,’ ordered the General. ‘I’m sure that it will be all right,’ he turned questioningly to Dewilde.
‘Of course, sir. I should tell you all, although you have heard a most shocking and forthright description of the hostiles, it may sound unthinkable but Mister Marley does not exaggerate. I would trust my life to Mister Marley. He is a most able scout and frontiersman and warrants your full support.’
‘And he’ll get it,’ spoke up the bombast. ‘Whatever you want, fellow, you just ask. The Royce Ranch is behind you one hundred percent. Horses, wagons, men, you just say the word. I want my boy back.’
‘Appreciate that,’ answered Britt. ‘I think we have all we need right here.’
‘Very well,’ said Dewilde, with an air of finality. ‘I think that is all for now as speed is of the essence. Mister Marley, perhaps a word or two to iron out the final details.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Sorry to throw you in at the deep end, Britt,’ apologized Dewilde when they were ensconced in the Colonel’s quarters. ‘It’s a hell of a thing.’
‘I understand, sir.’
Britt took out his pipe and sucked on the empty bowl a moment as he gazed around the well-appointed parlor. ‘Looking good in here, Colonel,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Dewilde okay?’
‘She is quite well, thank you,’ said the Colonel, giving him a brisk warning look.
Britt was teasing him, he knew how Adele Dewilde could not abide the stink of stale tobacco smoke in her house and that she would give the Colonel merry hell if he deigned to light up his pipe.
The General had joined them, and sat, an obviously shaken man in an armchair beside the empty open fireplace.
‘My boy Nathan, Mister Marley. He’s fourteen years old, how will these savages treat him, do you think?’
‘He a fit young man?’
‘Indeed, I kept him at it in the best military tradition.’
‘Well, regular soldiering ain’t going to stand him in much stead out there now. Depends if he’s got the wit and spunk to cut it. If he ain’t the giving-up sort, then they’ll want him kept alive as at that age he’s ready to become a warrior and might be useful to them. If he can take it, he stands a good chance of getting through.’
‘Dear God, I hope so,’ breathed the General, rubbing his brow. ‘He’s all I’ve got since his mother passed.’
‘All right, Britt,’ said Dewilde. ‘We’ll take you on as a temporary attachment, just to keep it legal. You’ll draw the same pay as before with all your keep and necessaries taken care of. You’ll need Kilchii from the Navajo detachment, I take it, anybody else?’
‘I’d like Niyol as well, he’s young but well named.’ Britt circled his pipe vaguely in the air and translated in answer to the unasked question. ‘They call him ‘Wind’, he’s fast and smart.’
‘And men?’
‘Yes, maybe a seven man patrol. They’ll be no more than a backup force as the Navajo’s and I will have to travel fast ahead and the troop can guard our supply wagon and bring it up behind. Depending on the size of the band we’re dealing with that’s where the count will tell.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘Sergeant O’Brien and that corporal of his, Shane. The rest I’ll leave O’Brien to pick, he’ll know what I want.’
‘Very well, they’re yours. Go see the quartermaster and have him supply you, any questions refer them to me.’
‘Are you sure this is enough men?’ asked the General.
‘It ain’t numbers we need, sir, it’s speed. We have to get after these fellows before they disappear into the mountains or across the border. Likely they’ll do some more raiding and that might give us the opportunity to catch up.’
‘Hell’s teeth! I wish I was young enough to travel with you.’
‘A bold thought, sir, but you’d only slow us down.’
‘I’m trusting my boy’s life in your hands, Mister Marley.’
‘They couldn’t be in better hands, General,’ butted in Dewilde.
‘I surely hope so.’
‘If he’s alive, General, we’ll do our best to get him back in one piece,’ Britt promised.
‘Yes, yes, I know you will. Forgive my concern, it’s just that….’
‘I understand, General.’
‘Well, the very best of luck to you, sir. You should know that my profoundest prayers will travel with you,’ said the General, who was also a man of a religious frame of mind.
‘And I say amen to that,’ Dewilde added with feeling.
Chapter Five
As they continued their journey over the next few days things altered slightly in the group.
They still marched in single file at a walking pace and scouts were sent out from the war band frequently, the Comanche ever conscious and ready it seemed for danger.
Nathan noted that they were taking a northwesterly heading and that the Indians appeared to have a definite direction in mind. Although he beat at his mind to remember any map he might have seen of the area he had no real idea of where they were, the desert around them seemed never to change in appearance and remained the same bleak dustbowl in every direction.
There were other more subtle changes taking place around him. He noticed it first with the eight-year-old Butler.
Amongst the Comanche were two young boys about Nathan’s own age who appeared to fulfill a role of service. They carried water, guarded and saw to the ponies and prepared food for the older men. Nathan took it to be a kind of apprenticeship in preparation for their days as a warrior.
The two had taken an interest in Butler’s spinning top that he still held clutched tight in his sticky hand as the last vestige of his past. Once camped and their duties done, one of the Indian boys would find a flat rock, blow dust off the surface and Butler would attempt to show them how to spin the top. Before long and in a very natural way, Butler was taken into the lap of one of the boys as they played with the toy. There was even laughter on occasion between them and Nathan could see that the young Butler, with all the innocent flexibility of his years, was beginning to integrate into the new situation. It was only the sharp word from one of the older warriors that brought the Indian boys to their feet and then they instantly set aside these moments of play to obediently carry out their instructions.
The following day when he went to pick Butler up and carry him on his shoulder again, Esacona, the chief, came to him and waved a hand up and down, indicating that he should let the little boy walk now. Esacona stood a moment studying Nathan as he set the child down, then with a sharp decisive nod of the head he turned and walked away without explanation.
Before long, one of the young warriors came by and lifted Butler from the ground and placed him happily before him on the pony’s back.
As they marched it seemed to Nathan that they were all gradually emerging from their initial daze and except for Elizabeth they were each becoming more aware.
Kowa was the most unpleasant of the fiery war band and he was the one who had originally taken Nathan’s jacket and he still wore the torn thing. He would come early and ensure that Elizabeth held a small hand mirror whilst he spread the black grease he favored across his face, renewing the war paint marks across brow and chin. His orders were always given with a slap or a kick and he often dragged Elizabeth around by her hair that had now deteriorated into a wild bush full of dust and dirt.
He would come for her particularly at night and on the first occasion Nathan had attempted some complaint. But Kowa, who was as lithe and wiry as a panther, had back heeled him away easily and beaten him a few hard cracks before catching Elizabeth by her hair and pulling her off so he might take his pleasure with her. The sounds of their fornication could be heard throughout the whole camp and whilst many of the Comanche grinned openly at the sounds, it sickened Nathan to hear all the panting and squeals.
The next night he tried to object again but Kowa beat him to the ground and react
ed so violently that only the intervention of Esacona, saved Nathan from worse. In the morning, Esacona came and stood again before him. Stone-faced he studied Nathan, before taking a band of beads from around his neck and reaching out a hand he offered the young man the necklace. Not knowing what else to do, Nathan accepted the offering and put on the beads, completely bemused by this unexpected act of kindness. Esacona did his nodding act again as if he were reassuring himself in some interior way before he strode off. It left Nathan in a state of confusion as to how these people could change so rapidly from fierce killers to playing with children and offering gifts.
In the brief conversations Nathan managed to hold secretly with Oban Reese he discovered the boy did not feel at all uncomfortable with their situation.
‘You are all right?’ Nathan asked.
‘Never better,’ said the boy confidently.
‘You are not troubled?’
‘No, I like it here.’
‘How can that be, Oban?’
The boy looked out over the war band scattered around the campfire and readying themselves for the night.
‘I am free now.’
‘Free! You call this freedom?’
‘Yes, it is free after where I came from.’
‘You mean things were not so good at home, is that it?’
Oban nodded agreement, ‘I am glad to be away. It was oppressive back there, my father was a unconscionable tyrant and I am happy to be rid of him.’
Nathan was sorry to see the young boy in such a state of denial of his roots; ‘It must have been truly terrible for you back there to like this better.’
‘It was, I can tell you I was beaten regularly, I mean horsewhipped and locked away in a cupboard, I could have no friends other than those I made when boarded out at school, and that was another awful place. Here, it seems, anything goes and I can breathe at last.’
‘And your mother?’ Nathan asked hoping to evoke some sympathetic reaction from the eleven-year-old.
Oban looked away into the shadows a moment, ‘She is as badly treated as I and does nothing about it. You see, Nathan, this is no better or worse than all I have already known.’
