by M L Dunn
“You were eager to have me along, well now you can come with me,” Sweet Time said.
“I’ll go,” Jonas said.
The next morning, they found a small ravine that would provide some respite from Indians or other unwelcome visitors dropping by while they waited for the wagon to return. Then Sweet Time, Joe and Jonas started off the direction Rachel had indicated the Comanche were camped.
The sheriff slept through most of that morning and Rachel stayed close to him. He’d told her his name was July, but no one called him that, electing instead to call him sheriff. Sweet Time had left her some soap and a bucket of water, bandages, a mixture of laudanum, and orders to keep the wound clean. The sheriff slept in spurts, was frequently awakened by pain, and looked around for her at those times.
He could see she was anxious to put her recent experience behind her and physical things like clothes were easiest to discard. She had borrowed a needle and thread and spent the morning altering some clothing meant for miners in Colorado and by noon, she was ready to change into them. The denim clothing was a poor fit, but she seemed happier in it than the deerskin dress she threw away. Mr. O’Hara had lent her a mirror also and July saw she was not comfortable at first to more than glance there before, finally, holding it up and coming to terms with the person greeting her there. Probably she’d not had a good look at herself in some time, but July saw no reason for her to be disappointed.
He figured she’d find the lines around her eyes and across her forehead being more in evidence than a half year ought to account for, but she’d find she was attractive still and no ways too late to make her life turn out to be a good one yet.
“I imagine you’re anxious to put some distance between you and this place,” July said startling Rachel into putting the mirror away.
“Some time too.”
“You seem to have come through this experience better than the other women I’ve seen come through it. Women who had a lot to return to,” he said. “I guess you ain’t got much to go back to.”
“You’re right I don’t,” she said reaching for the things Sweet Time had left her.
“I’ve seen woman blame themselves for a thing like this happening to them,” July said.
“I blame them.”
“I believe you’re gonna be alright. What will you do now?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Will you go back to Texas?”
“Not if I’m given a choice.”
“Have you any family?”
“My mother died when I was eleven. My husband died in the war, fell sick in Virginia, so I left his family to go home and my father died five weeks later. What about you?”
July figured she was asking if he was married. “I was married once,” he told her.
“What happened?”
“At the time I thought she would be better off without me and I left,” July said, failing to mention the child that had come from that marriage.
“Would you marry again?” Rachel asked.
“I can’t see circumstances ever coming together like that again,” July said looking over at Caleb who sat across the fire from him. Caleb was wearing Juan’s sombrero and occasionally checking the scar that was forming on his arm. July figured Caleb was somewhat enamored with the wound – something to show the wife when he got back. He was watching the smoke float off in various shapes that invited one to examine or interpret them - like a child does with passing clouds. Caleb saw faces mostly – incomplete ones, staring at him, briefly, before they dispersed or disappeared altogether. What they had in common was looking like they were about to speak – most likely some advice or warning if they had been capable, he thought, but their speech was only smoke and sparks that drifted off.
“How you feeling?” July asked.
“Pretty good, considering.”
“I knew an old woman in New Orleans who made her living telling their future by watching smoke rise off a fire,” July said, jokingly. “You see anything there?”
“No,” Caleb lied, “and I wouldn’t care to.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think the future likes being rushed. If you was to know your future, that might make it do things differently than if you just let it be. Seems to me it likes to spring things on a person. I wouldn’t want to get on its bad side.”
“No,” July agreed, “you wouldn’t want that. Sweet Time doesn’t rush things. He should be able to talk them into trading your child.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“I should have let him do the talking last night,” July said. “Maybe things would have gone better.”
“I doubt it.”
That afternoon, when Jonas and the others reached the top of a small hill, a large herd of ponies came into view a mile from them. Beyond there, they could see the Comanche encampment. When they did reach the edge of the herd, Comanche warriors appeared, riding out of the herd as though appearing out of a fog and Mr. O’Hara signaled to them like he had each time before they’d come across Indians. He held up a few of his wares from out of the back of the wagon and the warriors seemed prepared to accept them warmly. A few of the Comanche rode ahead towards the camp while others fell in behind them and Sweet Time tore off and handed wads of tobacco to the ones accompanying them. Still, Jonas saw him looking back over his shoulder nervously, like someone was tapping him with their finger there.
“I ain’t never approached the Comanche with less than a half-dozen men with me,” Mr. O’Hara informed Jonas.
“They could mow down even a half dozen men pretty quickly,” Jonas claimed.
“True,” Sweet Time agreed, “but not without some loss themselves, so usually both sides just keep to trading.”
When the big wagon rolled in among the teepees, the Chief, Big Bear, recognized it and was happy to see the white trader again. Sweet Time pulled the mules to a stop and quickly climbed down and greeted the Chief with the gift of a wool coat and hunting knife. Big Bear held them up to the others to see and spoke that they were welcome there. Sweet Time came back to the wagon with a group of Comanche warriors and smiling women and children following him.
The Comanche closed in around the lowered tailgate and Jonas stood watching Sweet Time and Joe commence trading. Both were cautious dealing with the Comanche at first, like beekeepers amongst an unsettled bee colony, but after a while they relaxed some and went about conducting their business with little concern for whom they were dealing with. Jonas stood by the mules, grooming them even though they did not seem interested in him doing so. He looked around and spotted a young white girl among the crowd of children. He tried not to stare, and did not say anything to her and she disappeared before long. After an hour, Jonas signaled Sweet Time that he should get started on the real reason they were there.
Big Bear was sitting on a blanket outside his teepee when Sweet Time approached him. Sweet Time brought with him a rifle, coat, and some other items in his pockets he hoped to exchange for Mattie Evans. Jonas moved closer to listen as Sweet Time broached the subject of trading for a white child the Comanche might have come across recently. His first words spoken in Comanche came out poorly, halting and broken, like a train beginning motion, but by the time he was finished, even Jonas could tell he had made it sound like just another transaction they might want to craft. Sweet Time explained the family of this child had offered a reward for her return and he convinced Big Bear both of them would profit if he was to take the child back with him.
Big Bear rose and indicated for Sweet Time to follow him. They made their way past a few lodges before Big Bear stopped and called into one. Jonas followed a little ways and saw a Black Horse painted on the teepee.
A Comanche warrior stepped out. He was tall for a Comanche and fair-sized, square in hip and shoulder, but not as muscular as Jonas. His black hair fell lank to his shoulders. He stood listening to Sweet Time’s offer while clenching and releasing his hand from a fist. Twice he looked back over hi
s shoulder inside his teepee. From there emerged the white child Jonas had seen earlier holding the hand of a squaw and Jonas knew they had found Mattie Evans, but what he’d figured would be an easy sell for Mr. O’Hara, did not appear to be turning out that way.
Jonas could see the brave’s decision was not an easy one for him to make. The Indian woman even seemed to be shaking her head. Big Bear encouraged the other way, but Jonas could not but help thinking the brave looked like a man suddenly discovering he has a fear of heights once brought to the edge of a cliff.
Sweet Time upped his offer, pulling out items from his sleeves and pockets like a magician; fabric and needles and a handful of sweets and even a kettle he had hidden under his coat, in addition to the rifle and clothing he’d already offered, but still the warrior declined to trade Mattie Evans. He shook his head and stepped back inside his teepee.
“You see her?” Jonas asked when Sweet Time came back to the wagon.
“She was right in front of me.”
“Why wouldn’t he trade her?”
“They’ve accepted that child. It’d be the same as if we asked for one of their own,” Mr. O’Hara said shaking his head. “We’d better stay awhile. Don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”
Mr. O’Hara went back to negotiating with the Comanche who approached the wagon carrying buffalo robes and pelts and such. Jonas went and stood by the mules again, patting them and checking things, generally trying to look engaged. He felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt and turned around to find a small Mexican boy looking up at him. Though small he was probably eight or nine years old. The boy was thin and his hair was as long as any girls and his clothes were but rags. Jonas thought the boy probably did not remember a time before living with the Comanche, but the boy did remember fondly.
“Llevarme con usted,” the boy said rapidly.
“Speak any English?”
The boy looked at him, blankly.
“Hola,” Jonas said.
“Hola,” the boy said. “Llevarme con usted,” the boy repeated, this time reaching up and clutching Jonas arm. “Llevarme con usted.”
Jonas did not understand, but he figured they’d work it out soon enough. But before they could even get started, a warrior called the boy over and sent him on an errand. Jonas saw the boy looking back at him as he departed.
Mr. O’Hara spent the rest of that day and well into the night dickering. A tactic that was employed repeatedly was for the Comanche to approach with some meager offer that would have to be waved off. Then the warrior would walk away only to return after an hour or so with a slightly better offer. Sometimes they would retreat only twenty feet and sit and stare at Sweet Time, a move that Jonas thought might unnerve many men, but Sweet Time had gotten used to it and it did not intimidate him. He waited for the brave to return with more or better quality furs and pelts. Usually it would take two or three full days to transact business like this, but none of them cared to stay that long, so Sweet Time ended up agreeing to most any worthwhile second or third proposal.
Twice Jonas saw Mattie Evans moving through the camp. Once she stood and stared at Mr. O’Hara for a long time, but she never approached any of them. Jonas thought about walking over to her, but after discussing it over with Mr. O’Hara - agreed he should not. They did not want to arouse the suspicion of the Comanche that they were anything but some traders with no real interest or ties to the girl.
Jonas never did see the Mexican boy again even though he remained awake all night in the back of the wagon. Sweet Time and Joe felt comfortable enough to lie down and fall asleep under the wagon; although during the night several Comanche woke them to make offers.
Early the next morning, while most of the camp was still asleep, they packed up and left. A few women and children followed after them begging for tobacco or sugary foods, but they drifted off after Sweet Time handed them some meager rations.
“You know any Spanish?” Jonas asked Sweet Time, watching the camp shrink behind him as the wagon rolled away.
“Yeah, some.”
“What does, llevarme con usted, mean?” Jonas asked, doing his best to repeat what the boy had said.
“It means take me with you,” Sweet Time said. “Why?”
“No reason,” Jonas said, thinking it wasn’t possible as the camp, herd, and Mattie Evans slowly faded from view behind them.
Chapter 24
Atop the ground, above the small arroyo where they waited for the wagon to return, Caleb paced back and forth like a man on a station platform waiting for an overdue train. When he wasn’t pacing he was scanning the plain with the field glasses Mr. O’Hara had left with him. The afternoon of the day after they’d departed, he spotted the wagon returning and quickly mounted his horse and rode out towards it. Riding quickly toward there he kept hoping to see Mattie onboard, but when he was within shouting distance – he learned she was not.
“She’s there,” Jonas yelled to Caleb. “Your child’s there, but they wouldn’t trade her, but she’s there, that’s the most important thing. She’s in the camp.”
“You saw her?” Caleb asked.
“Yes.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Why wouldn’t they trade her?”
“I don’t know. That don’t matter anymore,” Jonas said. “We’ll have to get her back another way.”
“How?”
“We’ll sneak back and wait for an opportunity to take her back. No one followed us. They might pick up and move, but we’ll follow them and sooner or later we’ll have a chance to take her back. ”
“You’ll go with me?”
“I will.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get her back, but we found her, she’s there,” Mr. O’Hara repeated.
“I’m grateful to you for trying,” Caleb said.
“She looked good.”
“Did she?”
Mr. O’Hara nodded.
“How’s the sheriff?” Jonas asked.
“His wound’s bothering him.”
“I’ll take a look,” Mr. O’Hara offered.
After changing the sheriff’s bandages, Mr. O’Hara removed the wagon’s cover, exposing a frame of bowed wood poles that looked something like a skeleton of whale bones. Without the cover the wagon wouldn’t be easily spotted as they journeyed back to Fort Dodge. July and Rachel climbed underneath the canopy’s frame and sat atop the pile of buffalo hides and furs Mr. O’Hara had traded for. The sheriff was calculating what his participation – now that it was ending - had accomplished. He figured he’d gotten Tom Durrant killed, and was somewhat culpable in Patrick O’Hara’s death, but had redeemed himself some by getting Rebecca Hilliard back and freeing Rachel from what was likely a hellish future, although no one was likely to make much about it. He might lose his own leg, but so far it seemed not to have moved towards rot. Plus they’d had found Mattie Evans.
“Anything you want me to tell your wife in case I see her first?” July asked.
“There’s only one thing she wants to hear,” Caleb said gripping the back of the wagon. “Tell her I haven’t given up.”
“She knows that, but I’ll tell her anyway,” July said. “What about you Jonas, any message you want me to take back?”
After thinking for a breath or two, Jonas said, “Tell the colonel you didn’t have to shoot me.”
“I could tell him I did,” July offered.
Jonas thought for a moment. “Nah, colonel showed faith in me. I’d like him to know I was out here still doing as I’d promised.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Mr. O’Hara climbed up on the wagon and took out of his pocket the watch Caleb had given him. “Here’s your watch back,” Sweet Time said handing him it. “I don’t care to have a watch. Keeping track of the time tends to put a man in a hurry and I don’t want that.”
“I figure I owe ya something,” Caleb said.
&nbs
p; “I plan on collecting that reward money,” Sweet Time said winking, “as soon as you show with your child.”
Caleb was glad to see Mr. O’Hara had forgiven him. He accepted his timepiece back and went and retrieved the field glasses and held them out towards Mr. O’Hara.
“You can keep them,” Mr. O’Hara said. “They might come in handy. Good luck.”
Mr. O’Hara urged his mules on and Jonas and Caleb began waiting for nightfall.
They set out just before dark and a couple of hours later they spotted the campfires burning in the Comanche camp and they began looking for somewhere where they could watch the camp and remain undetected. They happened upon a wide gully nearly a mile outside the camp and slipped into it. The draw was lined by dry grass and its sandy bottom was as deep down as a grave and they followed its winding course until they were satisfied they’d found its most favorable position. They settled in and Jonas took up watch while Caleb slept.
Early the next day, Caleb rose and went to the wall of the ravine and looked at the camp through the field glasses. Jonas had built up the spot by laying some brush along the edge of the ravine to conceal them further. He’d even coated their horses in a layer of dust so they’d blend in better with the surrounding terrain.
“Don’t wear that big hat when you’re over there,” Jonas told him. “Keep the horses away from that edge of the gully too.”
Caleb retrieved the pocket watch from out his saddlebag and wound the parts inside, starting them ticking and asked Jonas for his opinion of the time.
“Early,” Jonas replied laying down in the bottom of the ravine and Caleb set the watch accordingly.
Most of Caleb’s time that morning was spent listening to the watch tick and watching the camp. Sometime during that time he discovered the steady and precise workings of the watch’s gears could be depended upon. He began regularly taking the watch out of his pocket and holding it in the palm of his hand, letting it balance there much like the sheriff had with his revolver each day. The watch’s ability to measure; when an hour had passed or when night would fall, helped lend some order to what Caleb thought was an increasingly disordered world. He found that of value and something to keep near. On some level he even began to think the clicks of the timepiece’s parts falling into place were the workings of a device steadily and invariably indicating some event was drawing nearer and he reasoned it was Mattie’s return. He tried to remember how many days she’d been gone and tried to recall something from each day. In his mind he’d made a notch, like into a board, with the most important event from each day and he went over these things now, in order, like they were steps along a path he was following that would lead him to Mattie.
