by F. M. Parker
Nathan realized the Indian had tapped him on the head with the end of the rod. No, not just a rod, but a treasured coup stick. A warrior could show his great courage by creeping upon a foe while he slept, to count coup by touching him with the special stick. Then he would leave, taking one of the sleeping man’s possessions to prove to his comrades what he had done.
Nathan thought the trick was to count coup stealthily, without waking the enemy. Why had the Comanche tapped him awake?
“You sleep like the possum and hear nothing,” said the Indian in a coarse, rumbly voice. His English was passably spoken.
A half-amused expression was on the face of the Comanche as he stared at Nathan with piercing black eyes. He was old and wrinkled, yet the leanly sinewed body appeared strong. He was still a formidable warrior and could have killed Nathan with the powerful war bow that lay at his feet, or the knife in his belt. A U.S. Army carbine was in a scabbard on the Comanche’s mustang. To Nathan’s surprise a calf was tied across the back of the mount.
Nathan sat upright on his bedroll. He was returning to his home on the bank of the Red River. He had been gone seven days. When the morning daylight had overtaken him, he had halted in a small meadow surrounded by woods and staked out his six horses, and the five calves he had stolen. Weary from the long travel, he had slept. At noon he had moved the animals to fresh grass and then slept again. Until the Comanche had awakened him.
Nathan glanced down at his rifle and pistol, both still lying where he had placed them within easy reach. The Comanche had not taken them.
“You could have killed me while I slept but you didn’t. What do you want?”
“You have built yourself a stone tepee by the spring on the land above the Red River.” The Indian pointed west, directly at Nathan’s house.
“How do you know that?”
“I often visit that place. I have watched you there. I first saw you in the season of the last great heat. Another man was with you, one who looked very much as you do. I sometimes thought of slaying both of you but decided not to and always went on my way, leaving you unharmed.”
The Comanche looked closely at Nathan. “During the last months of cold and snow I lived with my people in a place far away, toward the place where the sun comes up. It is a great canyon slashed into the plains, a beautiful place of sweet springs, streams, and waterfalls, the willows and buffalo grass tall and good for the horses. It is all sunken below the flat plains and hidden from the frigid winds that blow down from the north. The place is called Palo Duro Canyon.”
The old Comanche was silent, his thoughts turned inward and far away. Then his eyes fastened back on Nathan.
“I had a woman to keep me warm, but still I became very ill. I was long in recovering my strength, so that once again I could draw my strong bow. I knew that my days among the living were growing short. Though that wintering place is grand, I do not want to die there.”
“Where do you want to die?” asked Nathan, caught up in the old Comanche’s tale.
“I once had a tepee by the spring near your stone house. My first woman and I built it there more than half a hundred winters ago. She first spread her legs for me there and we made our man-woman pleasure act on the new grass by the spring. I can still feel the warmth and softness of her flesh.” The Indian’s eyes half closed and he smiled to himself as he recalled the long-ago lovemaking of two young people.
“I have had many other women but none as beautiful and pleasing as she.”
“She’s no longer with you?”
“I had her only a year. The Kiowa found our tepee by the spring. They killed her while I was gone and not there to protect her. For that I killed fifty Kiowa and made that a sad day for them also. Even now I go north and slay one Kiowa each year. For as long as I live, they shall not live in peace. And I have killed many white men. No enemy has ever heard me when I steal upon him with my bow or knife.”
“You did not kill me,” said Nathan.
“You are a brave warrior. I saw three men hang the man who looked like you. And then you came and fought them. When you returned back across the snow after the storm with the extra horse, I knew the last man was dead. I thought much about you and me. I believe you and other white men will soon have all the land along the Red River and the Comanche will be driven away. I want to live the last few days of my life there by the spring. To do that you and I must make a treaty.”
“Make a treaty?” Nathan said in surprise, staring through the growing darkness at the old Comanche.
The man nodded. “That is a dangerous place for an Indian. Also, it is a dangerous place for a white man because the Comanche come there, as I came. Our treaty would be that I keep you safe from the Comanche and you keep me safe from the white men. I will not be a trouble to you, for I will build my own tepee. Perhaps when it is so very cold that the hearts of the trees freeze and burst open, you might let me come inside and sleep by the fire in your stone tepee. I want nothing else except to be buried in a place where I can see the water of the spring.”
The Indian gestured at the five stolen calves. “You are a good thief. But you do not have to journey so long a distance to find something to steal. Look, I have brought you one as a gift, and from just the other side of the river.” His hand swung to point at the calf tied across the back of his mustang.
“That’s a Satterlee calf,” Nathan said. “You’ll have to take it back.”
“This Satterlee is a friend?”
“Something like that. I don’t steal from him.”
“I shall take it back where I found it.”
“Good.”
The Indian fastened his penetrating, black-eyed stare on Nathan again. “Then you and I have a treaty and you will let me build my tepee near the spring?”
“Yes. I hope you live for many years.”
“I feel it will not be long.”
“What is your name?”
“Crow.”
“Mine is Nathan Tolliver.”
“That is a good name,” Crow said.
“How did you come to be able to speak English?” asked Nathan.
“When one has lived as many years as I have, he can learn many useful things if he tries. I once guided your white soldiers. At another time, the soldiers of the Spanish. I listen and learn both languages.”
The Comanche climbed to his feet and walked to his horse. Lithely, like a young warrior, he leapt astride.
You shall live forever, thought Nathan.
“I will catch you by the time you reach the stone tepee,” Crow said.
***
In the deepening night Nathan fastened the packsaddles upon the backs of the horses. The feet of the calves were bound and the heavy animals hoisted up with a back straining lift and secured to the packsaddles. He mounted his riding horse and headed into the darkness.
He halted hours later in the cold predawn light. He had passed the border of his land many miles ago. He was now in the north portion of his land. He built a fire and shoved his branding iron into the center of the bright flames.
One calf after another was marked on the flank with his hot TT branding iron. The hurt and bawling animals vanished at a run into the darkness as Nathan jerked the tie ropes loose.
He traveled south. By the time he had reached the woods surrounding the meadow and his house, a drop of dawn had made a hole in the dark eastern horizon.
He dumped the specially designed packsaddles in a pile and covered them with brush. A man with a keen eye might interpret the use of the gear. He released the packhorses and slapped them away to graze.
Nathan left the woods and crossed the meadow to the house. The saddle was removed from the back of the horse and the animal turned loose to forage where it willed. It would not wander from the meadow.
He tripped the latch of the door and, leaving the portal open to let in the growing daylight, entered the house. His pistol was tossed on a bunk. He stripped off his clothing. This was the first time he had removed th
e garments for many days. Now for a bath and a long sleep.
“Leave your gun on the cot and turn around.” The voice of a man came from the doorway behind Nathan. “Make no sudden moves and you won’t get shot,” continued the man.
Nathan pivoted slowly. A ruggedly built man with a ruddy face was in the doorway. His hand rested lightly on the butt of his pistol.
“My name is Hartzell. I’m a Texas Ranger. Are you Nathan Tolliver?”
“I’m Tolliver.”
“Then I want to ask you some questions.”
“Is this the way a Ranger asks questions? Waits until a man is naked?”
“It was your idea to take off your clothes. I just want to talk.”
“Then I can put my clothes back on?”
“Sure,” said Hartzell. “But first, step away from your gun. I don’t want to tempt you and then have to kill you. After we’re done talking, then I might let you have the gun back.”
“What’ve I done that the law would want me for?” Nathan asked as he moved to the center of the room with his clothes.
“Perhaps nothing,” said Hartzell, stepping inside the house. “Dress if you want,” he said.
Nathan slid into his pants and shirt. “What’re your questions?”
“How long have you lived here on the Red River?” The Ranger’s hand remained resting on his revolver as he talked.
“Almost two years.”
“How many of you live here?”
“Just my brother and me, until the last few days. He’s dead now.”
“You got a big herd of cattle?”
“No. Actually it’s quite small. But I’m getting started.”
“Uh-huh. I saw some of your stock. Lot of young animals.”
Nathan remained quiet. The Ranger stood ready to fight. What did he want? Was it the stolen calves? Or the dead outlaws?
“The body of a dead man was found in the yard of Satterlee’s line shack on the Pease River. Outside of Satterlee and his men, you live the closest. I’ve talked to all of them and they know nothing of the dead man. Do you know anything?”
“I killed a man there about three weeks ago,” Nathan said. “But it was a fair fight.”
The Ranger’s eyes hardened. “How do you figure that?”
“Three men hung my brother Jason out there on the oak tree. His grave is close to there. The rope is still tied to the tree. When I came to cut him down and bury him, they tried to shoot me. But they failed to get the job done. I killed two of them by the edge of the bluff. The other fellow ran. I caught him at Satterlee’s place.”
“Why’d they hang your brother and try to shoot you?”
“That last man told me they planned to lay claim to my ranch after Jason and I were dead.”
“So you killed three men. Where are the other two?”
“Out there in the meadow. I dug a hole and threw them in. I can show you.”
“Why didn’t you report what had happened?”
“I saw no reason to tell anybody. They deserved to die. My brother never hurt anybody in his life, yet they hung him. Those guns and saddles belonged to the three of them. And that gold and silver was theirs.” Nathan pointed at the coins on the floor. “I found papers on the men that told who they were. They’re in that saddlebag.” His finger swung to indicate the correct one. “You can take everything. I don’t want it.”
The Ranger’s sight stayed locked on the young man. His story of how he came into possession of the money would explain why it was thrown on the floor. “I’ll take the papers and coins. And I am going to take you to Austin for a hearing. Maybe you’ll have to stand trial, or the judge might believe what you say and turn you loose. That’s for him to decide, not me.”
Nathan shook his head, all desire to be agreeable gone. “I’m not riding three hundred miles to stand trial for killing men who murdered Jason and tried to shoot me. I told you the truth. With their deaths all is now even, or as even as anything can be in this world. Surely you can see that. Make your report that it was a justified killing.”
Crow came stealthily in the door. Nathan saw the Comanche pull his knife.
“I could do that,” Hartzell said. “But for one man to kill three looks odd. It’s better for me to take you to Austin.” He took a grip on his pistol and started to draw it from the holster.
“Don’t pull your gun on me,” Nathan said quickly. “Crow! No! Don’t kill him. He’s a lawman.”
Hartzell hesitated, focusing his senses behind him. Tricks had been tried on him before. He heard nothing. Again he started to lift his weapon.
The sharp point of a knife pricked his back. It stung, and he knew it had drawn blood. A hand wrenched the pistol from his grip.
“You lied to me about there being only you and your brother here,” Hartzell said angrily.
“I just met Crow a few hours ago. He and I have made a treaty of peace between us.”
“Once I knew a Comanche named Crow,” said the Ranger. He pivoted to look behind him. “Yes, you are the same man.”
Crow’s face was like stone. His black eyes glittered. “You and I, with our comrades, fought the big battle on the Canadian River.”
“We defeated you,” Hartzell said.
“No,” Crow said, shaking his head. “You killed many of my people, but you did not defeat us.”
“Have it your way.” Hartzell shrugged his shoulders.
“Now I have you to kill,” Crow said, sounding pleased.
“There’ll be no killing,” said Nathan.
“Why not?” asked Crow. “He is your enemy, as he is mine. We can bury his body and no one will ever find him.”
“I think you want to live here without war. I know that I do. We must let him go safely back to Austin.”
Crow held the knife and pistol and stared at Hartzell. His muscles were tensed, ready to launch him upon the Ranger. “Are you very sure, Nathan? I would like very much to slay this white man.”
“I’m certain, Crow.”
The Comanche remained taut, poised, the desire to strike with the knife burning within him. His voice came like rocks hitting rocks.
“Hartzell, you owe Nathan your life. He is a peaceful man and I’ll do as he asks. But I’ll tell you, if it was not for him, I would surely kill you at this moment.”
Nathan stepped to Crow and took the pistol from his hand. He gave the weapon to the Ranger. “Crow and I will obey the law. But we’ll always defend ourselves. Go to Austin and tell the officials that Nathan Tolliver killed in self-defense.”
Hartzell held his revolver and looked from the white man to the Comanche’s bitter countenance. He thought Tolliver told the truth. If, on the other hand, he took Tolliver and started for Austin, the Comanche would pursue him. Someplace during those many days, Hartzell would have to sleep. Crow would kill him.
“Perhaps it is best that way,” Hartzell said. “I’ll do what I can to convince the judge that the killing was justified. That you freely admitted to doing it and told why. I’ll say I believe you.” He looked at Nathan. “Their horses, saddles, and guns must be turned over to the Rangers. You killed the men, so you bring their belongings to Austin.”
“I’ll do that in the summer,” said Nathan. “That’s the soonest I plan to go there.”
The Ranger scooped up the saddlebags containing the dead men’s identification, and the coins from the floor. He moved to the door, then turned back to face Nathan. “When I come this way again, I’ll ask to see a bill of sale for all the calves that ain’t trailing a cow. I’ll surely take you to Austin if things ain’t right.” He stepped through the door and was gone.
Crow and Nathan followed outside. They watched the Ranger walk to the woods and, a short moment later, reappear on his horse. He headed across the meadow. Not once did he look back.
“Crow, we shall never steal another calf,” Nathan said.
“That is a very great sorrow to me,” Crow said.
11
The steamship Afri
can Blackbird plowed westward across the Atlantic. Thirteen days had passed since the ship had pulled away from the rocky bone of the English coast at Liverpool. She was making eight knots and bound for New York.
Deep within the bowls of the rusty hulk, the steam engines hissed and grumbled as they strained to spin the screw that drove the ship. A school of several hundred mullet, frightened by the unnatural noise, scooted away through the green, rolling waves. A shark that had been on the verge of striking the mullet leisurely followed their smell and noise in the water.
On the fantail of the steamship, Mathias Rowley led the evening service for the Mormon converts. His face held a smile as he described the land of Zion in the mountain heartland of America. He focused his attention for a second on one of his followers after another, assuring that person with his eyes that he spoke the total truth.
Caroline sensed the magic of the Mormon missionary, for she too, was caught up in his words. However, there was more to his power over the people, especially the women, than his words. He was very handsome, tall and fair. His manly appearance, as well as his complete conviction of the rightness of the faith of the Latter-day Saints, drew and held the converts. Caroline turned to study the spellbound congregation around her.
The people sat on blankets brought from their beds below deck. The fifteen men with their wives and children were on the edge of the gathering. The single women occupied the rest of the ship’s stern. Caroline saw the people’s rapt concentration, their eyes never straying from the face of Mathias. She judged that nearly every unmarried woman was in love with the man. He had said that he intended to marry when he returned home. Each woman hoped that he would choose her as his wife.
Caroline wondered what her answer would be if Mathias should ask her to marry him. She glanced back to the front. Mathias was looking straight at her. Her cheeks reddened with a blush, even though she knew he could not read her thoughts.
