by M L Dunn
“You saw Mattie?”
“Not me, but the sheriff did,” Sam explained.
“Was she harmed?”
“No. She was fine. They hadn’t harmed her. Sheriff made that very clear to me,” Sam explained. “I’m sure the sheriff has found Caleb by now and maybe Mattie too. There’s no reason to think anything’s happened to Caleb. The Comanche got lucky getting away, but their luck will run out sooner or later.”
“Why wouldn’t they trade Mattie?”
“They were going to I guess, but then one of them started after Tom, struck him for no reason. The sheriff just winged one of them to stop it, but then the rest of them turned on him.
“When was this?”
“Early yesterday,” Sam said, “It’s possible they caught up to them and took Mattie back,” Sam offered. “Mr. Schott had all his men out there.”
“Do you think they could have found Mattie afterwards?”
“It’s possible,” Sam said, thinking he had probably held out too much hope towards Mrs. Evans. “If they caught up to them.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing really. I’m sure they’ll return soon or send word. I’m sorry to leave you in such a state.”
“How far away is the Cimarron?”
“Two, three day’s ride I guess.” Sam said. “I’ve never been all the way there.”
“If they didn’t find her what will they do next?”
“They’ll keep after her. They won’t quit,” Sam said.
“I did not know Tom well,” Allison said after a minute, looking at Tom Durrant’s body slung over the horse.
“He was a fine boy,” Sam Bartlett replied, thankful the conversation had turned. He had an overwhelming desire to be gone. He would have liked to given Mrs. Evans more hope, but didn’t know how and he didn’t want to be asked any more questions about Caleb or Mattie, figuring if he were, he might let the truth slip - that he didn’t like the odds of her getting her child back. “I gotta get word to . . .” Sam started to say, but Allison nodded and he quietly slipped away.
Allison had tried to ease her mind with work, but found she couldn’t keep at any task that required any concentration. It took much effort, and seemingly much from her, just to feed the animals or milk the cow. When she tried to concentrate on every day matters, her thoughts scattered as if the wind had gotten hold of them. She had managed for a while to remain hopeful. She had for a long time convinced herself that requiring Caleb to find Mattie at any risk was the right thing – the kind of faith a merciful God would reward. Some part of her believed Mattie’s and Caleb’s return depended not so much on Mattie’s or Caleb’s or even the sheriff’s determination, but solely upon her faith. Despite all attempts to barricade any doubt, such thoughts laid siege to her and increasingly had to be thrown back. The thought that Caleb might never return, seemed much more possible now.
She found looking out over the swaying fields helped her to think on more pleasant times; the girls in their Sunday best, attending the county fair, cradling Mattie asleep in her arms. But as yet another day passed and Caleb and Mattie had not returned she became less hopeful. That evening as the light withdrew and night fell, lesser thoughts sprang up like weeds crowding out all others but those that made her fearful or worried. Allison began to fear not only for Mattie and Caleb, but also for herself and Abby. The thought that the Comanche might return and snatch Abby from her also seemed a likely enough that she took precautions against it. Her imagination was nocturnal and it caused her to sit up most of the night listening to the creaking of the house and the squeals and comings and goings of animals outside.
She wondered how long Mattie could hold out. While Mattie being only seven worked in their favor now - the Comanche would treat her better at this age – Mattie’s young age though, would begin to work against them soon. Time was slowly scraping away all her memories and replacing them, and at some point, unless new ones were made with her, Allison would be wiped clean from Mattie’s memories and life.
Allison’s only recourse was to pray Caleb would not fail, but her mind was not satisfied with only that charge, so it tortured for letting Mattie be taken. During the heat of the day she was reduced to sitting in back of the house, imaging what was happening to Mattie and Caleb, watching the shadow of the barn extend toward her like a slow-moving blade of a guillotine.
Chapter 14
Caleb he found he did care much for Fort Dodge. It was much less than he had expected. The fort consisted of a limestone and frame buildings. They were few in number and not even much in proximity. There were not even many soldiers milling about. In fact it was a shock to Caleb to find there were more Indians around than soldiers; remnants of Cheyenne and other peaceful bands were camped alongside the Arkansas River. The whole place seemed overwhelmed by the vast plain that it no more than dotted.
Camped out away from the fort in all directions were a good number of Prairie Schooners and smaller wagons, many under repair, whose owners were preparing to push on to the other side of the Continental Divide headed for the likes of California or Oregon. It seemed only the children and but few among the adults offered any kind of greeting as they passed by, even though Steam Carter smiled or spoke to most of them. The faces and stares of the men and women huddled around campfires or peering out of the back of wagons, Caleb thought, spoke more of flight away from some failure or disappointment than towards a bright future awaiting them.
Closer towards the fort were merchants; blacksmiths, men selling camping supplies or limited amounts and selections of foodstuff out of the backs of wagons, a canvas tent whose sign advertised dentistry services, an Indian selling leather goods spread out on nothing more than a blanket. It reminded Caleb of the midway of a carnival in that it all appeared like it could be packed up and vanished overnight. To him everything seemed to have taken on some transitory element to itself.
The sergeant they made their report to was a slight man who looked out the window as they gave an account of what had befallen their town and young Mattie Evans. The sergeant listened and occasionally complained of the audacity of the Indians, but he let his gaze be drawn to anything that passed by the door or window. From out the bottom drawer of his desk he took out a form and asked Mattie’s age and height and for a brief description of her. Caleb answered his few questions thoroughly, but it seemed the sergeant found very little important enough to write down. The sergeant said he had what he needed and he promised the report would be dispatched promptly.
“Can I see that?” Caleb asked.
“What for?”
“I like to see what you wrote.”
The sergeant seemed reluctant to slide the form across the desk, but he did and after looking at it a moment, Caleb asked to borrow his pencil too. The sergeant handed him it and Caleb spent some time adding to what little the sergeant had written down.
“When can we see the colonel?” July asked.
“I’ll see if he can see ya now,” the sergeant said rising from his chair.
Colonel Campbell was tall and trim and his uniform was tailored and clean. His beard and mustache were well trimmed and Caleb guessed he was about fifty. His left arm was missing below the elbow, his uniform was pinned there, and Caleb knew he’d lost his arm during the war.
After greeting them, the colonel packed his pipe, holding it in the crook of his arm before asking if they had made a report with the sergeant outside and Caleb said they had. The colonel shouted for the sergeant to bring him it.
The colonel spent the next couple of minutes looking over the document while Caleb stared at him and July paced in front of the window. Finally July could not take the silence any longer and bluntly asked if a unit of cavalry could be sent to try and pick up the trail of the Comanche.
“All of my companies are in the field,” the colonel answered.
“There must be something you could do for this man,” July said.
“What you need is someone who has deal
t with them before,” the colonel said, wanting to be helpful, but just not able to.
“You got anyone like that?” Caleb asked.
“Maybe one of these Cheyenne would accompany you into Indian Territory. Unfortunately many of them are away hunting this time of year and most of them would rather avoid the Comanche than have anything to do with them.” The colonel stood and walked across the room to the window. “Why don’t you ask around,” he said pointing out the window, “see if you can find someone, but come see me again before you head into Comanche territory.”
“We’ll do that,” July said.
“I’ll see that word of your daughter being taken captive is sent out to my companies in the field,” the colonel said. “Good luck gentlemen.”
Steam Carter was waiting outside with the horses. There was not really an outside of the fort, not any imposing walls clearly marking its perimeter, but he stood where he thought there should have been. “Any help?” he asked when the sheriff and Caleb returned.
“Not much,” July said, “told us to ask around.”
“Where do we start?” Caleb asked.
“There,” July said pointing at a planked building that lay close to the river, thinking they might at least find a drink there.
The place reminded July of a cantina he’d frequented for a time in South Texas while it made Caleb think of a catacomb or crypt because most of the structure was dug into a small hill. Presently, the block of light that fell near the entranceway was the foremost source of illumination, but there was a lit fireplace inside and a hissing lantern hung from the ceiling. The chairs, tables and interior walls had all been constructed from wood planks stripped off army wagons and their construction and design had been meant to be temporary, but that was a long time ago.
They paused near the doorway letting their eyes adjust to the lesser amount of light before going in. Caleb was happy to enter the place so that he could escape the harsh sunlight that was bothering his eyes. There were six tables, all but one vacant, the one occupied by an old woman sitting by the fire thumbing peas out of their shells into a bowl. They surrounded a table in the center of the room. The chairs sagged some when they sat down and their legs were slightly uneven, so each of them was careful not to cross their legs or lean too far back so as to end up crashing onto the dirt floor. The sheriff asked for a bottle and the owner, who had been leaning on the counter; came around and offered them an unlabeled, tinted one. Most likely the contents of which had been distilled down by the river. The sheriff uncorked the bottle, poured some into the shot glass he’d been handed, swished it around and then drank. He offered a glass to Caleb, but Caleb declined and asked for coffee instead. The owner went to get a pot. July and Steam Carter decided they wanted coffee too and when the owner returned with cups for them, they mixed the bottle’s contents with their coffee.
“How’s the shoulder?” July asked watching Caleb trying to loosen it up some.
“It’s coming along.”
“You sure this is what you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Go looking for Mattie yourself,” July explained, “into Indian territory.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well first off it could get you killed,” he said plainly. “Second, you have a wife and another child you need to think about, and a crop that needs harvesting. Even if you find someone here who could help you, someone who could reason with them savages, you could be months out there looking for them. A year even and no guarantee you’ll find her. They ain’t likely to be friendly either,” July said. “Have you got a mortgage on your farm?”
“Yeah, but I’ll sell it before I quit on Mattie. I made a promise to my wife.”
“I’m not saying give up,” July said. “There’s another way.”
“How?”
“The report you made will be sent out to every fort in the territory. The Comanche might bring Mattie to a post and turn her in for the reward. An Army Company might come across her in the field and take her back,” July explained. “You could ride to Fort Sill in Indian Territory and talk to the Indian agent there. Print up a flyer with her likeness on it and offer a reward. The county will pledge some money, I’ll see to that,” July promised. “We’ll see it’s posted throughout Texas and New Mexico. Anyone who deals with the Comanche will learn she’s with them and there’s a reward for her return.”
“That could take years.”
“You won’t find her yourself,” July said bluntly. “There’s a hundred thousand square miles of broken land out there for them to disappear into, some that no white man’s ever seen,” he said. “You won’t be the first to go there and fail to reclaim their child. I’ve gone with men trying.”
“Have you gone with them when they went to tell their wife they was giving up?”
“Your wife will understand.”
“She might pretend she does.”
July took swallowed a drink then. “Well if you decide to head to Fort Sill I’ll go with you, best if you sell your crop first. But from here,” July said tapping the table with his finger, “I’m headed back to York County.”
Steam Carter sipped his coffee, sitting uncomfortable between the two men.
“They might bring her in,” the old woman sitting by the fire spoke without warning. All of them turned towards her. “But I’d bet on the other,” she added. “I might be able to help you some though.”
“How?” Caleb asked quickly.
“It’ll cost you a pouch of tobacco and two bottles,” the woman said. “That’s what it cost me. Bring me the tobacco and pay my son for the bottles,” she said flicking her wrist towards the owner. “If you’re interested.”
Caleb looked at the sheriff who shrugged his uncertainness. Caleb approached the owner who picked up a lantern and gestured for Caleb to follow him down a hallway dug into the hillside, just wide enough for one person to negotiate at a time.
July studied the woman. She looked tired, but not the way a long night’s sleep could fix. Her gray hair was long, unkempt, in need of washing and asking her to comment on any anticipated venture seemed foolish – for she looked bound to determine that all were doomed to failure. In this particular circumstance she probably was right, but despite them being of a like mind the woman still struck him as peculiar. July thought the information she was readying to share was likely just some advice he’d already learned in life. He glanced at Steam Carter, who seemed to want the woman not to take any notice or interest in him. July turned back to the woman and asked if she knew someone who was friendly with the Comanche.
“There’s not many white men that venture out to meet the Comanche anymore.”
“Don’t have to be white,” July said. “Anyone who could help us locate the Comanche would do.”
“Locating them ain’t the problem,” she said, “it’s reasoning with them afterwards and I ain’t known but a few who had any luck at that. Nobody much trades with the Comanche now days. There’s no logic to them anymore, no sense of what they abide by,” she said before pausing at her task of thumbing peas into her bowl. “It’s their lack of knowledge of their Creator that makes them that way.”
Caleb returned with tobacco and the woman’s pipe. He walked up to her and handed her the items and waited for her to speak, but when she said nothing right way he became impatient and asked her what she had planned to tell him.
“Black Horse took your child,” she said aiming the narrow end of her pipe at him. “I’m sorry for you,” she continued. “Truly I am. I lost one of my own to them. I think about her every day. The thought that I should have not failed to find her gnaws away at my mind the moment I wake until I can force myself to think about something else. That’s why God gives us a multitude of tasks to accomplish each day, to keep us from living in the past. That thought - that I failed her - is as bad as any mental disease,” she said packing her pipe. “My child’s name was Laura. She was eleven last time I saw her.”
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p; The woman reached in the pocket of her dress and pulled out a match. She struck it on the table and lit her pipe. “I wish I could hook you up with someone, but successful traders with the Comanche are rare these days. The Army’s run the better ones out of the business and the remainder ain’t worth socializing with. Sometimes the Comanche will bring captives to Fort Sill,” she said pointing the thin end of her pipe at July to indicate she agreed with him, “but the young ones - like yours,” she said bringing her pipe around to bear on Caleb then, “they’re likely to keep.”
“Who is Black Horse?”
“He’s liable to be your undertaker if you go looking for him.”
“Who is he?” Caleb asked impatiently.
“A Comanche - one of Big Bear’s warriors I’ve been told, but they’re a renegade bunch that wanders the area between the Canadian rivers. They ain’t tied to any one place and that’s partly why they are the way they are. God intended for man to settle down in one spot and remain there. That’s why he gave Adam the Garden of Eden and then sent him packing when he transgressed. A man that wanders from place to place ain’t likely to hold with His commandment to love thy neighbor when he ain’t got any,” the woman taught them. “I can’t pronounce the name of that band, but I been told it means to wander. They are the wanderers. You’ll have to become one yourself if you plan on finding your child with them.
The woman puffed on her pipe a moment. “The way I hear it those Comanche don’t have much to do with other tribes, not even other Comanche. That group won’t head for the reservation come winter. They’ve been there and didn’t care for it I’ve been told.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I don’t. I just happen to know something you don’t.”
“How do you know though?”
“The Kickapoos,” the woman said as though that would clarify things more than it did.
“What Kickapoos?”
“The ones that was here just this morning,” she said waving a hand in front of her at the pipe smoke. “They came in here hoping to barter that information for some tobacco and drink. They figured whoever’s child they saw them Comanche with, would show up here to make a report and damn if they weren’t right. That’s why I had you pay for the bottles and tobacco. I’ll not profit one cent for passing it on to you,” she told Caleb.
