“I expect you’re right,” Gavin said. “We’ll have to find the Indian camp, figure out where they’re holding Nell and Bonita, and discover how many Comanches we’re facing. That’s the easy part. It gets a mite complicated when we have to devise a plan to get us all out of there alive.”
“If we had a dead wolf or cougar,” said Rusty, “we could pull the same trick on them that they pulled on us. We could stampede their horses all over hell and half of Texas.”
“If we had some ham,” Gavin said, “we could have ham and eggs, if we just had some eggs.”
Despite the seriousness of their mission, they laughed at that. Then it was time to mount up and ride on, for they and their horses desperately needed water.
Suddenly the teepee flap was drawn aside. A squaw left a large pot and a bowl, and the flap was closed.
“If there’s water in just one of those,” Nell said, “I don’t care about the other.”
The clay pot—an olla—contained water, and they shared it gratefully. Bonita poked a finger into the murky contents of the bowl and tasted it.
“What is it?” Nell asked.
“It tastes like corn mush,” said Bonita. “With no salt, no sweetener, it’s just a little better than nothing.”
“It’s been a long time since supper last night,” Nell said. “Are we supposed to eat it with our hands?”
“I suppose,” said Bonita.
“We could wash our hands in what’s left of the water,” Nell suggested.
“No,” said Bonita. “We may have to drink that water. We don’t know when they’ll bring us more, or if they will. Tilt the bowl and swallow some of the mush. It’s not all that thick.”
Nell did, wiping her lips on the back of her hand. “I left you half.”
“You can have it all,” Bonita said. “I grew up on the stuff.”
Time lagged, and with a July sun overhead, the teepee grew unbearably hot. Bonita and Nell were unable to sit or lie down, lest their sweaty bodies bathe them in mud.
“Perhaps that’s why they stripped us, because of the heat,” said Nell.
“I don’t think so,” Bonita replied. “It’s getting noisy out there, like they’re preparing for a celebration. I have this cold feeling down in my belly that tells me we may be part of it.”
“I’m going to open that flap and see what they’re doing,” said Nell.
“That’s not as important to us as the time of day,” Bonita said. “If I can, let me poke my head out and see where the sun is.”
Bonita was able to get her head out the open flap for only a few seconds before one of the squaws caught her. She was beaten over the head repeatedly with a heavy stick until she withdrew and closed the flap.
“What are they doing?” Nell asked.
“I don’t know,” said Bonita. “One of the female varmints was bashing me on the head with a stick, and I didn’t have much time. By the sun, it must be some time in the afternoon. There’s maybe four or five more hours of daylight.”
“Oh, God,” Nell moaned, “I’m afraid we can’t hold out that long. They’re preparing to do something with us, if all the shouting and laughter means anything. Why do you think these Indian women hate us?”
“They don’t like the way their men are attracted to us,” said Bonita. “They’re jealous of us.”
“If only we could talk to them and tell them we have men of our own,” Nell said. “It might be enough for them to set us free.”
“That’s the last thing they have in mind for us,” said Bonita. “We must buy ourselves some time. Whatever they do—or try to do—to you, don’t take it without a fight. Some of the men will try to take us, if we’re here long enough. Use your hands, your feet, your teeth. Remember, a foot in the right place can make any man think of other things.”
“Like killing us,” Nell said gloomily.
Bonita and Nell had been spared the unwelcome attention of the Indian men because of discontent among some of the squaws. Buffalo Nose, who had taken Bonita, already had a pair of wives. Wolf Tail—son of a chief—had claimed Nell, although he had three wives. The discontented wives, united in their fury, had succeeded only in getting themselves disciplined by the old ones within the tribe. By right of having stolen these white squaws, Buffalo Nose and Wolf Tail would be allowed to take them as wives. Triumphant, they made their way to the teepee where the captives were held. The vigilant squaw with her stick stepped aside, allowing Buffalo Nose to draw the flap to one side. He stepped into the dim interior of the teepee, followed by Wolf Tail.
“Esposa,”* said Buffalo Nose, pointing to Bonita.
“Esposa,” Wolf Tail repeated, pointing to Nell.
Bonita and Nell had retreated as far as they could their bare backs against the skin of the teepee Bonita tried to kick Buffalo Nose in the groin but he was cat quick. Seizing her foot he twisted it until she cried out in pain Nell swung her small fists as hard as she could aiming for Wolf Tail’s face Laughing the Comanche caught both her wrists in his powerful hands When she tried to knee him in the groin he released one of her wrists and slammed a fist into the side of her head He then slung the unconscious Nell over his shoulder headdown and stepped out of the teepee Buffalo Nose had shouldered Bonita in similar fashion ignoring her as she pounded his broad back with her fists The two stalked through the Comanche village to the laughter of the braves and the story silence of the squaws Two teepees had been prepared for the occasion: one for Buffalo Nose and Bonita the other for Wolf Tail and Nell Each man bearing his new wife drew aside the flap and after stepping into the teepee closed it behind him
That’s got to be the Cimarron up yonder Vic said
I’m sure it is said Gavin It’s the first hint of green since before we entered the Jornada It’s time we rode a couple of miles west and then south to the river
‘The sun’s still three hours high Rusty said We’ll have to hole up somewhere until dark
Not until we’ve had a shot at finding that Indian camp said Gavin According to Pit’s map, we’ll likely be in Indian Territory’s panhandle after we cross the river If there’s any cover at all I want to at least find the camp If we can get close enough to see it in daylight we’ll be better able to plan our moves after dark
Nearing the water the horses wanted to run and it was necessary to restrain them When they reached the Cimarron roughly two miles west of where the trio of Indians had likely crossed they found it flowing shallow over a sandy bottom When the horses had rested, they led the animals to water and allowed them to drink Only then did they slake their own thirst
“My God,” Vic said, “if the Cimarron’s this shallow, that blasted desert may swallow it before our outfit can get there.”
“I don’t think so,” said Gavin. “The fact that there’s water here at all is proof enough that it’s flowing from a source that’s kept it from drying up. I’d say that distant storm that stampeded the herd has helped. Let’s find a place to hide the horses, and then make our way upstream as far as the cover will allow.”
They secreted the horses in a thicket through which the river flowed. The banks were low enough for the animals to reach the water, and there was even a little graze. The trio took their Winchesters, and following the south bank of the river, headed downstream. To their surprise, the brush along the river—combined with the undergrowth—afforded more cover than they had expected. A portion of the river bed was dry, allowing them to walk upright, peering through the brush. Suddenly a dog barked, a host of others joining in, and the three Texans paused.
“Let’s get a little closer, if we can,” Gavin said. “It’s not much help, knowing where the camp is, if we can’t see it.”
They crept closer, and suddenly where the Cimarron took a sudden southward turn, they could see many Indian teepees in the bend of the river.
“God,” Vic groaned, “with that many teepees, there must be a hundred warriors.”
Before Gavin or Rusty could respond to that, Buffalo Nose and W
olf Tail exited the teepee with their naked captives. They could see Bonita’s small fists pounding the broad back of the Indian who had her slung over his shoulder. When the shock wore off, Vic leaped to his feet.
“Them sons a bitches,” he snarled.
He was just seconds shy of leaping out of the brush with his Winchester, when Gavin caught the back of his pistol belt and dragged him to his knees.
“Damn it,” Gavin hissed, “you want to get all of us killed?”
“But they got Bonita,” said Vic, with a moan, “and you know what they aim to do to her…”
“The three of us being shot full of arrows won’t change that,” Gavin said. “They’ve got Nell too. You think I want to have to tell Woody…”
“Tarnation,” said Rusty, “all hell’s busted loose in them two teepees. Look!”
17
The moment Buffalo Nose set Bonita on her feet, she threw herself against the inside of the teepee. Her weight was enough to crack one of the lodge poles, and when Buffalo Nose lunged for her, she seized his arm. Off balance, he fell against her, and they both smashed into the side of the already weakened teepee. Their combined weight was too much. Several more lodge poles snapped and the entire teepee began to sag. Buffalo Nose began shouting words Bonita didn’t understand, but the Indians observing the spectacle seemed to. There was much laughter, as the teepee collapsed. Bonita managed to sink her teeth into the Indian’s thigh. Buffalo Nose bellowed like a bull and intensified his efforts to get his hands on her.
In the other teepee, Nell Pitkin had tried a different approach. On her feet, she had lunged for Wolf Tail. While she hadn’t caught him entirely off guard, her weight caused him to stumble, and the two of them went down in a tangle. She managed to knee him in the groin, and momentarily free, she scrambled for the teepee’s open flap. She almost made it, but Wolf Tail caught her by an ankle. She seized one of the lodge poles, it broke, and using a length of it for a club, she began beating Wolf Tail over the head. Little by little, she inched her way out of the teepee, the stubborn Indian clinging to her ankle. All this, added to the spectacle of Bonita and Buffalo Nose struggling under the collapsed teepee was entertainment that staggered the imagination of the Comanche gathering. Dogs barked, men shouted, and women laughed.
Suddenly Bonita emerged from the collapsed teepee and made a run for it. Not one of the laughing squaws attempted to stop her, and one of the braves had to run her down. Eventually, Buffalo Nose crawled out from under the ruins of the teepee on hands and knees. He had a nasty cut above one eye, and blood dripped from his nose. The brave who had captured Bonita brought her, kicking and clawing, back to Buffalo Nose. He just looked at her without enthusiasm.
“Perro,” Buffalo Nose growled. “Diablo squaw. Malo medicina.”
But his companions would have none of it. The Indian who had seized Bonita held her at arm’s length to escape her kicking and clawing, clearly waiting for Buffalo Nose to claim his new wife. Buffalo Nose got up, and despite Bonita’s struggles, grabbed her and again flung her headdown over his shoulder. He then stalked back to the teepee from which he had taken her, drew aside the flap, and flung Bonita inside. It was an admission of failure, an invitation to the tribe to do with the captive what they would, and the squaws howled their delight. They now turned their attention to the other teepee, from which Nell Pitkin had emerged, Wolf Tail clinging to her ankle. Having witnessed Bonita’s victory, Nell took to beating Wolf Tail with new enthusiasm, swinging the broken lodge pole like a club. Wolf Tail wasn’t about to accept disgrace without a fight. Springing to his feet, he seized Nell’s weapon and flung it away. He then caught the girl’s flailing arms and began forcing her back into the teepee, but Nell went limp and slipped out of his grasp. Before he could get hold of her again, she grabbed a large stone and smashed it against his knee. She then drove her head into his groin. He stumbled into the side of the teepee, and it collapsed with him. The same Indian who had stopped Bonita from running away now caught Nell, and stood there grinning. Wolf Tail crawled out of the ruins of the teepee, limping because of his injured knee. The Indian holding Nell shoved her toward Wolf Tail, and he had to take her. She clawed his face, and while he fought to control her flailing arms, she drove a knee into his already aching groin. Wolf Tail fell on top of her, and lying there, tried to catch his wind. When he was able, he rolled over and slammed his fist into Nell’s jaw. He got to his feet, and ignoring the laughter of the squaws and the ridicule of the men, threw the unconscious Nell over his shoulder, facedown. Returning to the teepee from which he had taken her, he flung Nell inside, with Bonita. Yellow hair or not, the tribe could do with her what it wished. To a Comanche, ridicule was a fate worse than death.
“I never would’ve believed it, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Rusty said.
“Bonita and Nell done it just right,” said Vic, “but them Comanches ain’t done with ’em yet. Unless some of the other braves wants a chance at ’em, they’ll likely be turned over to the squaws.”
“Yes,” Gavin agreed, “and they won’t be long about it. Indians being superstitious, I’d say they’ve already decided their white squaws are bad medicine.”
“That means we can’t wait for dark,” said Rusty.
“No,” Gavin said. “We’ll have to see what kind of sport the Comanches have in mind, and go from there. Count on the squaws to come up with somethin’ that will inflict the most pain and sufferin’.”
“The gauntlet,” said Vic. “That’ll be hell.”
“It won’t be easy, savin’ ’em from that,” Rusty said.
“We can try,” said Gavin. “If it’s the gauntlet, there’s a play Woody and me pulled off once, in Texas.”
They watched the Indians, and it soon became evident the gauntlet was indeed what they had in mind for Bonita and Nell. Beyond the village was a path along the south bank of the river, and the squaws began clamoring for position. Many had knives, some stones, some clubs. It would be a formidable run, for there were many squaws who would be lined up along each side of the path, each striving to hurt or kill the desperate captives as they ran for their very lives.
“The supper fires are goin’,” Vic said. “Is the runnin’ of the gauntlet to come before supper or after?”
“Generally after,” said Gavin. “Comanches like to prolong the agony of it as much as they can. If either or both the captives get through alive, they’re taken back to the start of it and forced to run again.”
“If I got anything to say about it, they won’t be runnin’ it even once,” Vic said.
“We sure won’t be takin’ Nell back to Woody in very good shape,” said Rusty.
“Vic,” Gavin said, “I want you to ease on back to the horses. Take yours and the two we brought for Nell and Bonita. I want you to take a round-about way downriver, so you are as close as possible to where that gauntlet’s goin’ to end. Rusty and me will be takin’ the minds of those Comanches off the gauntlet. It’ll be up to you to get the girls on their horses and out of there. With any luck, the Comanches won’t have any horses to go after you.”
“From this end,” said Rusty, “it sounds like a sure thing. I can’t wait to hear what you and me are goin’ to contribute to make it possible.”
“Then I won’t keep you in suspense any longer,” Gavin replied. “You and me will bring our horses up here. Once the Comanches have gathered to witness the runnin’ of the gauntlet, you and me are goin’ to get busy with our Winchesters. We’re within range from here. I’m gamblin’ that Indian wearin’ the buffalo horns is a medicine man. I aim to cut him down first, and we’ll plug as many more as we can without reloading. Mounting our horses, we’re goin’ through that Comanche camp like retribution with the fuse lit. I aim to scatter those Indian horses from hell to breakfast.”
“I can follow it from there,” said Rusty. “If we’re still alive, we ride north, catchin’ up to Vic, Nell, and Bonita.”
“That’s how it should turn out,” Gavin rep
lied, “but like every plan where Comanches are involved, we can’t be sure they’ll do what we’re expectin’ of ’em.”
“That ain’t the only problem,” said Vic. “When that gauntlet falls apart, we don’t have any way of knowin’ Nell and Bonita won’t run like hell in the other direction.”
“No,” Gavin agreed, “but those squaws won’t be armed with bows and arrows. Once Rusty and me start gunnin’ down the braves, they’ll be devotin’ all their attention to us. If Nell and Bonita run upstream, go poundin’ after them. Rusty and me, when we stop shootin’, will have those Indian horses on the run. Comanches are horse Indians, and I’m gamblin’ that when they’re about to lose their horses, they’ll forget everything else.”
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “Everything except killin’ you and me graveyard dead.”
“I’m countin’ on total surprise,” said Gavin. “Remember, our shootin’ will have to be rapid and dead-center. We must gun down enough of them to draw their attention to us, and then stampede their horses before they can get to them. If too many of them are able to reach their horses, they’ll ride us down.”
“Then don’t try to gun down too many,” Vic cautioned. “You’re right about scatterin’ the squaws from the gauntlet. It’ll be strung out along the river, and with three horses, I’ll ride some of them squaws right into the water. You’re lettin’ me out of this too easy. ’Stead of me gettin’ the girls mounted and ridin’ downstream, I oughta be doin’ just the opposite. Let me come bustin’ through the bunch of squaws, and they’ll scatter like quail.”
“That kind of makes sense,” said Rusty. “With Vic roarin’ through from the far end, Bonita and Nell can see him comin’, and all they’ll have to do is wait.”
The Santa Fe Trail Page 25
