Comanche Moon Falling

by Drew McGunn

  Crockett finally smiled, “It appears you’ve been thinking about this for a while, Buck.”

  “Congress keeps you up at night. This is the kind of thing which keeps me up,” Will said with a weary smile.

  Zavala said, “It looks to me, David, like we’re going to have to grow the army if we want to pull this off.”

  Crockett looked over at Will, “Is there anything else we should consider?”

  Will hated to deliver unwelcome news, but he had just detailed the easy part. “Unfortunately, getting to El Paso is just the first part. A few hundred mounted troops may not be enough to pacify Santa Fe and Albuquerque. While my information is a few years old, as I understand it, the governor of Nuevo Mexico has several hundred regulars and more than a thousand militia. As far from Mexico City as they are, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s been operating his own little kingdom these days and I doubt he would willingly give up the taxes he collects from the Santa Fe Trail trade. To crack that nut, I think we should use a battalion of infantry, Seguin’s regular cavalry and a battery of field artillery.”

  Crockett looked up from the map with concern in his eyes, “We’re going to need more men.”

  Will produced a neatly folded sheet of paper from his vest pocket and gave it to the president. “Yes, sir. To bring all of this together, we’re going to need a total of four more infantry companies, and another of cavalry. It would be a good idea if we can talk congress into another artillery battery as well.”

  Crockett studied the prepared numbers on the page and asked, “How long will this take you, Buck?”

  Will leaned against the table and thought about it. “I think we can start by sending a company of infantry to the first of the depot locations within the next couple of weeks. We have a couple of dozen engineers in the army, and I’d like for them to go along with the infantry and lay out the road between the Alamo and the first depot. I’ll prepare orders for Colonel Caldwell as soon as I return to San Antonio. He’s going to need a couple of months’ time to reorganize Rangers along the Red River and to send his three companies down to us. Also, I believe Captain Hays’ men need at least another month’s training before they’ll be ready. Juan is going to need two months to recruit and train another company of cavalry, too.”

  McCulloch spoke up. “General, if I may, why don’t we mobilize one of our cavalry companies from our reserves? We’ve got six companies of cavalry which are equipped to the same standards as our regulars. If you give them two months’ training, you’ll save both time and money and won’t need to recruit a new company from scratch.”

  Will agreed and asked McColloch to select and mobilize the unit. Then he turned to Crockett and said, “Liberating El Paso will primarily be a mounted operation. I’ve decided Juan will command the cavalry campaign. Before I head back to San Antonio, I’ll draft a request for his promotion to Lt. Colonel. I’ll leave it to you to push it through Congress.”

  Crockett walked over to the lone window in his office and looked outside. From the Capitol’s second floor, he could see Congress Avenue running straight as an arrow to the south, where it ended on the north bank of the Colorado River. His eyes looked beyond the town’s checkerboard pattern, past the languidly flowing river, to the rolling prairie beyond. Will and the others in the room watched him as minutes ticked by. After an interminable amount of time, Crockett turned back to the men in the room, and said, “When I think about what we’re about to do, gentlemen, I am in awe at the risks we’re taking. If we fail, I fear the forces of annexation will triumph in next year’s election. I know I’m putting a heap of responsibility on your, Buck, but if there is one man I trust to make Texas secure within our borders, it’s you.”

  With that, Crockett opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a glass bottle, full of an amber colored liquor, and then produced five glasses from the same drawer.

  As he poured the liquor into the glasses, he said, “It’s only fitting, with so much at stake, that we raise high a glass to our success.”

  He raised his own glass before the others and said, “To our continued success!”

  The glasses clinked. Zavala chimed in, “To Santa Fe!”

  After the liquor burned his throat, Will upended the glass and slammed it on the desk. “To Texas!”

  Epilogue

  The cameraman leaned away from the television camera which rested on a heavy-duty tripod, and pointed toward Douglas Earl King, counting down the seconds until the show was live. As the technician’s fingers reached zero, King heard audio in his earpiece, as introductory music played. A producer stood at a small table behind the camera, where he watched the introduction play on a monitor.

  The flag of the Republic of Texas briskly waved on the screen. A gargantuan diamond spun from the bottom of the screen and the words, Happy 175th anniversary scrolled from above, until they were superimposed over the spinning diamond, which was in front of the rippling flag. The producer heard the national anthem playing in his ear, as the scene on the monitor faded, replaced by a sweeping panoramic view of a prairiescape. Villages zoomed into focus before slipping away, as the helicopter which was filming the vista flew overhead.

  As the last notes of the anthem sounded, the screen was filled with a gleaming skyscraper, standing five hundred feet above the green prairie. Atop the building two flags waved in the lively wind. One was the lone star flag, the other was a blue and red flag, with a gold Comanche warrior emblazoned in the center.

  The image in the monitor faded, as the light over the camera flashed red. Each of the men in the spacious room heard the announcer’s voice in their earpieces. “Retrospectives in History is Texas Cable News’ special one hundred seventy fifth anniversary series, that looks back at significant milestones since the founding of the Republic of Texas in March of 1836. This evening’s show is brought to you by the good folks at First Comanche National Credit Corporation and the Texas National Chapter of Habitat for Humanity, restoring homes and hopes across the Republic for the past thirty years.”

  The producer watched Douglas Earl King appear on the monitor, as the camera in the room centered on the special news anchor. He was sitting on a tall, highbacked chair, his feet rested on a metal bar several inches above the floor.

  The anchor looked directly into the camera and with a characteristically folksy charm said, “Welcome to this evening’s presentation of TCN’s one hundred seventy fifth anniversary retrospective. Tonight’s guest is Elijah Walker, Chairman-emeritus of one of Texas’ oldest continuously chartered corporations, First Comanche National Credit Corporation. Elijah, thank you for joining us this evening.”

  As King announced his guest, the camera panned out, allowing the viewers to see an older gentleman, with dark complexion. His high cheekbones belied his Amerindian derivation. His once raven hair had long given way to silver. It was cut short, and sharply parted down the middle.

  The older man nodded and smiled at the camera. “Thank you for having me on your show this evening, Douglas Earl. It is a real pleasure to represent one of the views of Texas’ first peoples and share it with your viewers.”

  The camera panned out and framed both men in the center of the screen. Beyond the two, a floor to ceiling window ran the entire length of the large executive suite, providing a stunning view of the prairie forty floors below.

  King smoothed his tie and flashed a smile perfected by thousands of dollars of orthodontics. “Last week, we visited with Jason Ross, of the Cherokee Land Corporation. Do you take exception to any of his statements regarding the Cherokee’s early contributions to our nation?”

  With a grandfatherly twinkle in his eye, Walker crossed his legs before replying. “No, of course not. In the early days of the republic, obviously we all know that the Comanche and Cherokee took very different paths to adding the ingredients of our cultures into the melting pot that defines Texas today. But allow me to remind your viewers that neither were the Cherokee native to Texas. They arrived around the same
time as the white man. We Comanche were here before hem or your own ancestors.”

  Douglas Earl King’s folksy charm hid a highly skilled touch at asking questions designed to elicit controversial reactions from his guests, and the old Comanche, veteran of many boardroom battles, was no stranger to subtle biting questions, riposted and put the anchor in his place.

  With a placid smile, King moved the interview along. “Tell me, Elijah, in your opinion, what was the greatest challenge your ancestors faced in the early days of the republic.”

  Walker’s eyes grew thoughtful, as he considered the question. “I think the first mistake my ancestors made was to underestimate the resolve of the early Texas settlers. Back in the first half of the nineteenth century my people were nomadic. In those days, we followed the buffalo and fought with anyone who approached the land we claimed. If I had to pick a point at which things started to change, it was a few months after Texas won independence. My people were afraid that if we didn’t try to stop the encroachment of the white settlers, we would be driven from the land. So, more than five hundred Comanche warriors rode out of the Comancheria and attached a settlement, Fort Parker.

  “Among my people, we have never forgotten the response by General Travis. In your current history books, it gets downplayed, but the response by Travis was disproportionate. He tore through our land with his invading army, determined to force us to the peace table, no matter the cost to my people.”

  King leaned in, “You said the first mistake the Comanche made was underestimating the resolve of the early settlers. A first mistake implies a second. Please elaborate.”

  Walker smiled in the same grandfatherly way as earlier. “I believe it was Euripides who said that those who the gods would destroy they first make mad. It was utter folly to attack San Antonio. It’s hard to think about it now, with the city having several million people, but even back in the earliest days of the republic were there still a few thousand people living there, and most of the Texas army was there, too. My ancestors rode right into General Travis’ trap. The next twenty years were very hard on my people. Exiled off the plains south of here, we were forced to make our home here on the Red River.”

  King plastered an inquisitive smile on his telegenic face. “I recall learning how hard life was for the Comanche in the years following the Comanche war. What do you consider to be the turning point for the Comanche’s fortunes?”

  Walker’s eyes swept around the opulently decorated executive suite before focusing on the camera. “Ask any ten of us and you’ll get eleven answers. I’ll tell you my own thoughts, Douglas Earl. But keep in mind, I have my own biases. I think things started turning around when President Seguin offered to pay for what was then the panhandle of the Indian territory. You can be forgiven for wondering how an event that nearly caused a civil war between the northern and southern bands of the Comanche could be a turning point, but the decision by a handful of tribal leaders to take the money from the land sale and use it to found the First Comanche National Credit Corporation in 1858 was really genius.

  At the time, poverty was a serious problem. The buffalo herds were fewer in number and there was growing pressure to our north from the northern plains tribes. Something had to change. My ancestors used no-interest loans from the corporation to found the first permanent Comanche towns on the banks of the Red River. Time, I think, has proven them right.”

  The camera panned toward the floor to ceiling window, showing the viewer a picturesque view of the prairie in the distance. When King spoke, the camera refocused on the anchor. “How long did it take for rapprochement between the northern and southern bands?

  Walker leaned back on the stool, and thought for a moment. “It must have been twenty years. Down here on the Red River, our towns were growing, and the railroads had connected them with other cities in Texas and back east. But our northern brethren clung bitterly to our old ways. I think it was their defeat at the hands of the United State cavalry in 1878 that ended their nomadic ways.

  “Here in Texas we talk about the flood of immigrants that came to the Republic during the middle of the 19th century, but Douglas Earl, that flood was but a trickle compared to the number of white Europeans racing across the Great Plains in the United States. My own great-grandfather went to Austin, after our northern tribesmen were defeated by the US troops and lobbied for Congress to set aside reservations on the Texas side of the border. I wonder if that reservation saved them from extermination. That was a dark time in the relationship between the Yankee government in Washington and the native tribes across the Great Plains.”

  King nodded, as if remembering the events himself. “Truly a terrible time, Elijah. Tell me, how much aid did the first Comanche National Credit Corporation provide to the northern bands of the Comanche after that?”

  Walker’s eyes drifted toward an elegantly engraved map, on a panel of one of the walls. It showed a few counties, square in shape, that were formed around the towns of the southern Comanche. Between those counties and the northern bands were a row of counties formed out of the land bought by the Seguin administration. Largely populated by the descendants of people who fled the disastrous liberal revolutions of the 19th century, they separated the Comanche dominated counties along the Red River from the counties carved from the old Northern reservation.

  Walker drawled, “Quite a bit. The land that the Seguin administration set aside was small and arid. The FCNCC bought land around the reservation that was more suitable for farmland and towns and helped our northern kinsmen build several towns and develop some ranches and farms.”

  King placed a hand gently on the former chairman’s arm and confided, “Our one hundred seventy fifth anniversary series has celebrated that which makes us Texans. That which unites us, but Elijah, if I may, what are the differences that separate the Southern bands from the Northern bands of the Comanche?”

  The producer, standing behind the table, watched in the monitor as Walker look askance at Douglas Earl. This was not on the script. The producer swore under his breath as the cameraman quietly chuckled. “Douglas Earl has gone off the reservation again.”

  As though he had heard the cameraman’s soft words, Walker’s eyes crinkled as his lips hinted a smile. “Well, Douglas Earl, while none of us like focusing on our differences, I believe your own cable channel recently finished a series of programs on, what was it called? Blights across the Republic, if I recall correctly, where TCN chose to focus on the endemic poverty that persists in some pockets of the Northern bands. I wish TCN had taken the time to showcase how many in our Northern bands have done well, and have escaped from poverty that is the legacy of the reservation system in North America.”

  For the briefest of moments King looked like he had bitten down on a lemon, but he flashed his charming smile at the camera and then looked back at his guest. “Crime and poverty does seem to be pervasive in those counties inhabited by the Northern band, Elijah. Many of our viewers are curious about your bands managed to avoid a similar fate.”

  Walker uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward, lightly touching King’s arm, as he replied with a folksy drawl, “Why, we adapted to the White man’s ways. Had we not, would you be interviewing me in a half-billion dollar high-rise office building on the banks of the Red River?” He didn’t allow King time to respond. “First Comanche National Credit Corporation is one of the largest financial companies in the western hemisphere. It is one of the five largest closely held corporations in Texas, worth more than fifteen billion dollars in assets. To get to that point, every Southern Comanche who could pull together a few friends and a halfway decent business idea tried their hands at the White man’s commerce. Most of it funded by the FCNCC.”

  Walker slid off the tall stool and walked over to an old black and white photograph hanging on a marble wall. The camera followed him, and zoomed in to show a Comanche, with his hair braided back, hawking silver jewelry on the dockside in Kyoto. In the background were several sailing ships with tall ma
sts. The old Comanche turned back to King. “My great-grandfather and a few other young bucks set up shop in Meiji Japan around 1870, selling Comanche jewelry and trinkets. It may have been glossed over in the standard Texas history books, but it’s no exaggeration to say that in the last few decades of the nineteenth century, wherever you found the flag of Texas commerce flying, you’d find a Comanche hawking our wares too.”

  He returned to the stool and as he sat he said, “I don’t really understand why the same entrepreneurial spirt hasn’t been as pronounced among the Northern bands. Even so, I would like to remind your viewers, no other financial institution has made as large a commitment to the Northern bands as FCNCC. I’d like to think the First Comanche National Credit Corporation is the lender of choice there.”

  King had recovered his telegenic charm by that time. “Thank you, Elijah. We have time for one final question on this evening’s show. Given that our series focuses on a retrospective of the past one hundred seventy-five years, what would you say is one of the proudest moments for the Comanche as part of the mosaic of the people of Texas?

  “One moment to define our relationship with the rest of Texas? That’s a tall order, Douglas Earl.” Walker drawled, “Naturally, we’re proud of the Comanche regiment that served during the dark days of the War of Liberation. Knowing that our people made a substantial contribution to the freeing of the slaves is something we’ll always be proud of. I’m mindful that as the world prepares to commemorate the centennial of the Great War, Texas’ role has always been controversial, especially as we never ratified, let alone even participated in the Treat of Oslo. But that aside, if you study any significant battle between Texas and the Ottoman Empire, like the battle of Riyadh or the Siege of Baghdad, among the very first soldiers across the trench lines were the Comanche.