The Rise of a Warrior

by Harvey Stanbrough

  Stanton said, “I can ride, Captain, and I’m handy with a gun, short, long or scatter. I can read too. And I can read sign as good as the next guy and better’n a lot of ‘em.” He paused. “I need to join up with the Rangers.”

  “Son, I’m sorry for your loss, but the Rangers aren’t here for revenge.”

  The young man’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no sir. That’s not why I want to join. Really. I mean, I admit that was it at first. Soon as I got my folks buried, I grabbed my carbine here and all the ammo I could carry and went after ‘em.”

  He traced his fingers along the forestock of the carbine as he looked at it. “My pa gave me this for my birthday, two days before they came in on him. I took it out to get us some venison. I was only gone three days.”

  He shook his head and moved his hand back to clasp fingers with his other hand. He looked at the captain. “Good as I can track, it wasn’t good enough. I still lost ‘em, but not ‘til I’d been on the trail for almost two weeks. Then they just vanished.”

  He shook his head again and his voice grew softer. “That’s when I realized revenge ain’t no good. I guess bein’ on their trail that long drained all the mad out of me.” He shrugged. “Now I just want to help make it stop. If I can keep someone else from goin’ through this, that’s good enough.”

  The captain nodded. “Sounds like you’ve thought it through. What if I said you have to go to Austin to sign up?”

  Stanton looked at him. “Really?” He looked away for a moment, then back at the captain. “Guess I’ll overnight here and head out in the mornin’.”

  The captain frowned. “You sure? You don’t want to just head that way right now?”

  “Oh, no sir. I gotta get a little sleep first. One night ain’t gonna make no difference. I-I been losin’ some sleep lately, you can prob’ly tell, but I’m gettin’ better. No, I’ll have to get some rest. I’ll head out tomorrow.”

  Flowers nodded, got up and moved around his desk. “Good enough. I just had to be sure.” He opened his desk drawer and passed the young man a five-dollar gold piece. “That’s for necessaries. You can board your horse down at Sanchez Livery Stable, back down the road. No charge to Rangers.

  “Then go across the street, Amarillo Inn. Tell ‘em I sent you, that you’re gonna take your oath as a Ranger. They have rooms reserved for us. Pick yourself out a room. You don’t pay for that either. Stow your gear, then get something to eat, get some rest, and be back in here tomorrow morning after breakfast. I’ll administer your oath then.”

  Stanton looked at the coin in his palm. “So I don’t have to go to Austin?”

  Flowers smiled. “No. I’ll swear you in right here. I just had to be sure you weren’t out for vengeance.”

  Stanton nodded. “I understand.” He closed his fist around the coin. “This comes outta my pay though, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “A’right then. See you in the mornin’, Captain. And thanks.” He stood, picked up his Henry and headed for the door.

  When the door closed behind him, Captain Flowers said quietly, “You’re welcome.” He’d seen too many come through that door only to be put into a narrow box far too early.

  The following morning, the captain administered the oath for Blake Stanton. Over the next several days, he had one or more of the senior rangers take Stanton out into the prairie to test his ability at riding, tracking from horseback and on the ground, and shooting. He proved more than efficient at all three.

  When word came in that Iron Bear was raiding west and north of Amarillo, the captain assigned Corporal Connolly, along with Court Edwards, to see whether they could intercept him and bring him to justice. He also thought it would be a good way to immerse young Stanton in the Ranger experience.

  So far, the young Ranger had held his own.

  *

  Court said, “Jim, I figured you were gonna check the map. Blake here’s interested in readin’ maps. He knows the country north and east of here as well as we do too, so I thought I’d bring him along.”

  The corporal nodded. “Sounds good.” He looked at Stanton. “How you likin’ the job so far?”

  Blake took off his hat and wiped the brim with his bandanna, then put it back on his head. “I could’a gone awhile longer without seein’ what we found over west of Watson.”

  Jim nodded. “I reckon we could all do with less of that.”

  “But all things considered, I’d still rather be doin’ this than anything else I can think of. I just hope I can make a hand for you, Corporal Connolly.”

  “You already have. You’ve been right there with the rest of us through the whole thing. Can’t make a much better hand than that.” He unrolled his map on the fallen cottonwood. “Here, let’s take a look at this.”

  More for Stanton’s sake than anything else, he tapped his index finger on the map. “See right here to the right of where this creek comes down off the hill? That’s where we were yesterday. That’s where they hit last.” He looked up at Stanton. “Okay?”

  Stanton nodded. “Got it.”

  “All right. Now,” he said, and he drew a line with his finger from the previous location through Watson, then northeast a ways and stopped. He tapped the map again. “We’re right here. See how these little lines seem to pinch together on both sides? That’s a draw just below this spring, about a quarter-mile that way.” He pointed.

  Stanton nodded. “A’right.”

  Connolly put his finger back on the original location and followed an arcing line of loosely connected arroyos northeast, then more easterly. “Now after the Comanches hit that place, they didn’t head out straight the way we did. They headed up through this series of arroyos.

  “See how it runs generally in a broad arc? Iron Bear’s been pulling this trick for a long time. He gets us following this arc, and then he either stops and sets up an ambush or he circles back and hits another place while we’re still up on the arc.

  “Now, he’s been out awhile on this little raiding trip. His men need rest but he still has us to contend with. So he has to rest his men, but he also has to get rid of us. Now think about that, and then look at the map. If it was you out there, where would you want to rest your men if you also had an enemy coming after you?”

  Stanton frowned. “Place where there’s water, maybe some shade. But also a place where I could set up an ambush. Preferably with as few men as possible.” He looked around, then grinned. “So a place like this.”

  “Yeah, but this ain’t it. Remember, he thinks we’re tracking along behind him. But I showed you how this place looks on the map. See anyplace else that looks similar?”

  Stanton moved sideways a half-step so he could get a better view of the map. He leaned forward slightly and frowned again, then put his index finger on the map. “Right there. Is there a spring there?”

  Connolly and Edwards grinned at each other. “Wouldn’t surprise me if there was. And it’s only barely south of his arc, see?”

  After Stanton had a moment to look, Connolly straightened. He started rolling up the map. “For my money, that’s where he’s headed. Good news is, that’s probably around four to six hours from where he is right now, depending on whether he’s saving his horses.

  “The other good news is that it’s only two and a half hours from where we’re standin’. I intend for us to be waitin’ for him.”

  * * *

  As Corporal Connolly was rolling up his map, just over twelve miles to the northwest a group of nineteen Comanche Indians on horseback were walking along the sandy bottom of a dry wash. The horses were fairly plodding.

  Intentionally, Iron Bear had left a trail that would be easy enough to follow for an accomplished tracker—even a white man like the Ranger, Connolly—but not so easy that those following would suspect a trap.

  He and his men would reach the location—a spring-fed well about five hours away—just after dark. There they would settle in for some much-needed rest. They would have at
least overnight, and perhaps almost a full day, to rest before the Rangers rode into the trap. Afterward he and his braves would remain there and rest for another day before heading south to raid again.

  Iron Bear twisted around on his stallion and looked at his men.

  They were doing well, especially for very tired men. A few were slumping a bit—that was to be expected—but all of them were riding as if they were an extension of their horse. He was especially pleased with the youngest member of the party, Four Crows. The boy was only recently turned fourteen, but Iron Bear had seen something special back in camp.

  Four Crows trained like any other Comanche boy, but when the others knocked off to go fishing or hunting, he continued. He was in training from the time he rose from his mat until he went to sleep. Iron Bear mumbled, “In fact, I’d be very careful about slipping up on him even when he is asleep.”

  He smiled as a memory crossed his mind.

  Iron Bear was sitting in the woods one early morning, practicing being still and enjoying the silence.

  Four Crows passed within a few yards of him on his way to the creek. He moved along the path as silently as Iron Bear was sitting in the brush near it. A light breeze made more noise in its passing.

  Dangling by a leather thong from Four Crows’ left hand was a gourd.

  Probably fetching water for his mother, Iron Bear thought. Good for him, to still think of his mother when he was focusing more and more on growing into a warrior.

  At the edge of the creek, the boy knelt to dip the gourd beneath the surface, so the water itself would push away any of the impurities. When the gourd was filled, just as he stood and turned, three men leapt from the thick brush near the creek. All three had thick sticks, which they were brandishing as clubs, and they all attacked at once.

  Four Crows moved so quickly, so effortlessly, it was difficult for Iron Bear to follow the action in the dim light. Seemingly without thought, Four Crows dropped the gourd and ducked, then straightened, flipping the center attacker over his head and into the creek.

  By the time he hit the water, flailing and trying to regain his footing as he floated downstream, Four Crows had already locked his left elbow around the second attacker’s throat. He collapsed to his left, taking that one to the ground and landing on him as he kicked the legs out from under the third attacker.

  Before the third attacker hit the ground, Four Crows was on his feet again, his elbow still locked around the second man’s neck. He simultaneously twisted his entire body hard to one side and jerked his elbow, flipping the second attacker over his hip. The man rolled with mind-numbing speed across the leaves and mulch and small brush for nearly ten yards before coming to rest hard, his back against the trunk of a scrub oak tree. Before the second assailant had rolled twice on the ground, Four Crows had leapt high in the air and come down with his heel on the third attacker’s solar plexus.

  The sound of air rushing out of the man brought a hint of a smile to Iron Bear’s face. Then he frowned. The boy had defended himself successfully, but he had not killed his adversaries. Despite opportunities, he had not pulled the knife he was wearing on his hip.

  He was too compassionate.

  He would not make a good warrior.

  Then, Four Crows stepped purposefully down off the second assailant and assumed a defensive posture, crouching, his feet widespread, his knees bent.

  The second assailant lay at his feet to the right, still gasping for breath.

  The one he’d flipped across the ground lay straight ahead of him about ten yards, only beginning to pry himself away from the base of the scrub oak.

  And the one Four Crows had flipped into the creek at the beginning was to his left front, slowly making his way out of the water.

  So Four Crows could see all three of them. Perhaps he was more aware than Iron Bear had first thought.

  Suddenly the first assailant, still standing in the stream, put his hands on his hips and started laughing. He bent over, cupped his hands and splashed his face with water, then flopped his head backward, flinging water off his hair.

  Iron Bear frowned. There was something familiar about the man in the stream.

  He looked at the other men. They were familiar to him too.

  The third assailant, having finally got to his feet, was still standing near the scrub oak. He looked at the ground for a moment, shook his head, then laughed as well, though more sheepishly. He looked at Four Crows with admiration.

  The second assailant finally got up, albeit gingerly, holding his stomach. He wasn’t laughing at all, but then he had only barely reclaimed his breath.

  The first assailant came splashing out of the creek, still wiping water from his face and hair. “I don’t know that I want to play this game anymore. You play rough, Four Crows.”

  Four Crows looked at him. “It is a game, but it is also training. What better way to prepare for the unexpected than to have people you trust suddenly turn on you, and out of nowhere?”

  “Ah,” the second assailant said, “but then you will come to trust no one.”

  Four Crows put one hand on the man’s shoulder. “See? You have learned the lesson well.” He laughed.

  Iron Bear was impressed. The attack had seemed authentic. It had come and been repelled so suddenly and effortlessly that it had fooled even him. And he did know the attackers.

  The assailant from the stream was Twin Deer, his brother’s oldest son. At twenty years old, he had been participating in raids for the past three years. Another was Twin Deer’s younger brother, Young Elk. He was eighteen and had been going on raiding parties for the past several months. The third was a friend of the family, Takes Leaves, seventeen. He too had been on raiding parties.

  Iron Bear realized he had been wrong. Four Crows already was a warrior, and a good one. He needed only to see the reality of battle. There he would test himself.

  The next time Iron Bear went south, he took Four Crows with him. No matter what Iron Bear told the boy to do, he hadn’t flinched.

  Except once.

  When Iron Bear ordered him to fire an arrow into the girl at the farm they had raided, Four Crows had hesitated. He looked at the girl’s eyes and saw something there he liked. Over his shoulder, in an almost dismissive tone, he told Iron Bear, “I have decided I will not kill this one. I will keep her for myself. She will be my wife.”

  A strong will is necessary in a warrior, but discipline is the fire that tempers it. Iron Bear could not allow the disobedience. “No. Someday you will make such decisions, but today is not that day. You do not yet require a wife, and you will not have this one. Kill her now!”

  Any other warrior who had ever served with Iron Bear would have obeyed immediately. But Four Crows approached the girl. He looked at her. As he reached to take her hand, he parted his lips to reject Iron Bear’s order and—

  The girl spat in his face.

  He stopped, his lips pressed into a tight line as he stared at her. A frown formed on his brow. Did she not know he was trying to save her life or did she simply not care?

  In that moment he drew a parallel between her contempt of him and his insolence toward Iron Bear.

  His deep-set dark-brown eyes smoldered.

  She peered into those eyes, and she was paralyzed with the terror of what she had just brought upon herself. Unable to look away from his eyes, she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

  He flashed his left hand forward, grasped the top of her dress and jerked her toward him as he dug his knife deep up under her ribcage. He held her there for a moment as he wiped her spittle from his nose onto her cheek. Then he twisted the knife blade hard in a circle.

  She choked, then choked again, then sighed.

  He shoved her away.

  The front of her dress flooded with red as she landed on her back, dust billowing up around her, settling on her skin and dress, mixing with the blood. She gasped for another breath, another, her eyes wide but staring at nothing, her heels
moving against the earth in an attempt to back away.

  Four Crows followed her through the dust. He knelt hard over her, shoved his hand through the hole under her rib cage and pulled out the part of her heart he’d cut off.

  He stood, turned to look at Iron Bear, and held it aloft. Then he dropped it over his shoulder. It landed on the girl’s dress.

  Four Crows walked past Iron Bear toward his horse. As he passed another brave, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, “She is my first. Shoot her with fourteen arrows.”

  The act would mark Four Crows’ years on the earth and set firmly in his mind his sole purpose in his life: to drive the invaders—all invaders—from the Comanche homeland.

  Iron Bear shook his head at the young warrior’s resolve. What was even more impressive was that the older brave had obeyed Four Crows’ order without question.

  Four Crows never again disputed an order from Iron Bear.

  * * *

  Corporal Connolly led the Ranger troop around the point of a low-slung mud hill with a grey-clay cliff ringing the top. The nearly trackless plain, a place where weary, unwary travelers would most likely expect to die of thirst, also looked like the last place anyone would think they could find water. Still, there it was.

  Like an emerald gleaming on a bed of ash, at the base of a slope was a stand of ancient cottonwoods. Within it was a spring, almost identical to the one they had left only a little over two hours earlier. Only this one was larger, with a pond that covered a quarter-acre.

  He glanced back. “Dismount and take a rest. We’ve got maybe an hour. Then I’m gonna put everyone in position. You won’t be able to move again until it’s over.”

  The men stepped down from their horses.

  Stanton started to remove his saddle.

  On his way by, Connolly shook his head. “Leave it on him. We have to ride to the ambush site.”

  “It won’t be here?”

  Connolly stopped and grinned. “Naw. Remember on the map, that pinch in the rocks? That’s where it’ll be, right close to there.” He moved away.

  *

  Not quite an hour later, as they rode to the ambush site, Connolly gestured, inviting Stanton to move up alongside him. When he did, Connolly said, “Next time we have the map out, take a look at it and compare it to what I’m doin’ here.”

  He gestured up the trail. “Now when you’re settin’ this kind of trap, you’re takin’ advantage of the enemy’s state of mind. When the enemy’s goal is close, especially after a long road, they’ll be tired and anxious. That means they won’t be quite as careful until they get right up to the goal.