by Caryl McAdoo
Charles Nathaniel Nightengale, neither a horseman or a hunter, would never come for her there. Even if he wanted to, his wagon and mules couldn’t make it over the trail her captors traveled, through dense woods and across more creeks than she could remember.
Maybe she should have counted them.
After way too long, Sore Jaw stopped and slid off his mount. He walked ahead. On his return, he untied her feet completely then released her hands, still tied together. He pulled her off, looped a long piece of leather, and lowered it around her neck. Nodding, he motioned for her to mount.
She climbed into the saddle, thankful to be allowed to ride erect; more than she’d hoped. How she appreciated any small favor. Maybe her head wouldn’t throb so bad.
Sore Jaw, definitely nicer of the two, secured her hands to the horn then her feet to the stirrups and each other again, the strap crossing under Bliss’s belly.
Oh, how she wished she’d obeyed her husband and stayed home and cleaned house and weeded the garden and fixed his dinner. What would she give to start the day over?
Her poor mother would never even know if she was dead or alive. She wondered how long Charles would wait before he even went over there to collect her.
That’s when they’d all know, and surely way too much time would’ve passed to pick up any trail. Doomed. Her happy life over.
Sore Jaw slid one of his open palms fast across the other. His gesture told her, ‘If you try to escape’. He tugged a bit on the leather thong. She got the message. Shortly, they broke out of the woods and walked straight across the river’s bank into the water.
Now, she really got the message. If she tried anything here, she’d be drowned.
Oh, Lord. Once across the Red… Comanche territory.
In the moonlight, with Little Coward riding in front of her and Sore Jaw behind, a single tear ran down her cheek.
How could she ever be saved?
No one was coming for her.
Chapter
Two
The morning grew hotter in the early October sun. The Tehuacana Creek trickled softly behind him as Levi stood at the ready with his Ranger Division. Lined with his brothers-in-arms, he studied the Comanche chiefs who sat cross-legged in front of the politicians and agents beneath the big tent.
None seemed too pleased with the trinkets the government men had spread out on two blankets. He scanned the forty or so warriors who milled about the Comanche side of the big pow-wow.
They seemed at ease, jested with one another; he didn’t detect any agitation or anxiousness. Finally, one of the chiefs stood.
Wallace nudged him. “Hey, Baylor, isn’t that Old Owl, the peace chief?”
Levi nodded. “Ignore him. Keep an eye on Buffalo Hump. He’s the key.”
“Think he’ll go for it?”
Levi exhaled. “Yeah. I figure he’s probably as sick of this war as we are.”
Old Owl finished talking then walked to the table the white men sat behind. The grizzled chief bent over and made his mark. One by one, the others rose and added their mark to the treaty.
Buffalo Hump waited until all the rest had signed before he got to his feet. Levi held his breath. Then it was over; a success. President Houston had done it.
No more war with the Comanche.
That afternoon, Levi rode west with five of his men and two Indian agents. One of the lesser chiefs, Bold Eagle, and three of his braves accompanied him as well. He wouldn’t relax until this detail was over.
With the wagon the going was slow, but it shouldn’t take more than a week. Maybe then he could get some leave. Lord knew he needed it.
Hadn’t been home forever. Aunt Sue and Uncle Henry probably already had another kid while he wasn’t looking. He smiled thinking of the closest woman to a mother he’d ever had.
He and Major Williamson had warned the men to be on their best behavior. Though it was hard for Levi to believe, he’d heard that some of the women may not be too keen on leaving; especially if children were involved.
Comanche prized their sons and whether the male children were allowed to leave seemed to go on a case by case situation.
That evening after too much food, he fished out the tattered, treasured letter from his cousin; well, Bitty Beck – his nickname for her – was more a sister. He smiled when the image of her telling him that she wanted him to be her real brother sashayed across his mind’s eye.
She’d been nine then, him fourteen, if memory served. Right before his Aunt Sue married Henry Buckmeyer. He took the frayed and stained parchment from the envelope and unfolded it for the hundredth time.
August 3, 1839
Dearest Brother,
I pray this missive finds its way into your hands, and that you are well. Mama and Daddy and all the little ones are grand, much more than fine. The family is steadily growing.
Daddy is all fired up to move south. Prices on bois d’arc seed have steadily declined, and he’s tired of the process as well. He wants to move the beeves to that land you and he discovered down on the Llano.
Says there’s more range there, and he’s given Mama his word to finally start that mansion he promised Granddaddy to build for her. They are still so cute together as always.
Do you remember the Fogelsongs? They live a little north of Clarksville. Five brothers followed with a spoiled red-headed little sister, Rosaleen was her name, but everyone called her Sassy.
Levi, with no word, she’s turned up missing. Disappeared about a week ago, maybe ten days best as can be calculated.
Her husband of only a few months, a Charles Nightengale – I don’t know if you’ve met him – reported she ran off, as her horse and tack were also gone. I personally do not care for the man. Her mother refuses to accept that she would have left of her own volition. I side with Mis’ess Fogelsong and believe Sassy was stolen.
Inquiring on her behalf, Rose’s mother and I discovered that several neighbors spotted two red men in the area of Kickapoo Creek around the time Rose vanished.
Of what tribe, we have no idea. We think she might have been on her way to her mama’s because Mister Nightengale said they’d argued. He’d told her she couldn’t go.
Anyway, I promised the dear woman that I’d ask you to please keep an eye out for my friend. Sassy is her mother’s beloved, her only daughter who may be forced now to live among the Indians.
If in your duties as a Texas Ranger, you happen to spot a red-haired, white captive, please rescue her and return her to her mother – and her husband, I suppose. It would be a miracle, but we both know God does answer prayers!
He skipped the rest of the letter; almost knew it by heart he’d read it so many times in the last five years.
Something was afoot; Sassy could feel it in her bones.
Bold Eagle and Swift Arrow left three days ago with two yaps from another band. They wore bright face paints, no black, so it wasn’t a raiding party. Plus the two from the other band had brought four white women whom they left behind.
Strangest of all was how the old squaws of her band treated those new white women. They hadn’t beat them or spit on them at all. Even put them in a teepee all their own, like they were guests or something.
Peculiar goings on, indeed.
Sitting in front of the teepee she shared with all of Bold Eagle’s wives, Sassy chewed a nice deer hide into soft leather. She considered where the chief might have gone, but before coming up with anything plausible, her Charley burst forth from a small group of boys his age, whooping with his miniature bow and arrow raised high in the air.
Her son ran toward her with a dead mockingbird in his other hand then skidded to a stop and slapped his chest, much like Bold Eagle often did. In Comanche, he proclaimed, “Me great hunter.” He smiled. “Cook it, me hungry!”
She set the hide down and smiled at her son. He grew so fast she could barely keep up. She raised her eyebrows. “Say please in English, and I will.”
“No, cook it.”
S
he leaned in close and whispered in English. “I don’t care what the others do, Charley Nightengale. You will not be rude and boss your mother around! I’ll take you inside and bust your behind. Now I want a please—in English.”
His bottom lip pouted. He leaned in close to her ear. “Please and thank you, Mama.”
She hated it that he only spoke English when she made him, and that he counted himself Comanche, no matter how many times she told him he was not. Even though the boy’s eyes sparkled light blue and his fair skin clearly defined his race, Bold Eagle had claimed him as his own from the day of his birth.
Bless the Lord that she’d managed to keep from getting pregnant by the man. His oldest Comanche wife would make a special morning tea for her each time she’d been called to Bold Eagle’s teepee.
Even though she figured the older woman did it out of jealously, the tea served Sassy’s purpose as well.
She took the bird from Charley, and in no time, dressed it and had it roasting on a little spit. Maybe only two bites of meat, but that’s what the little boys did. Soon her son would want to venture farther and stay gone longer.
Before the bird finished roasting, the dogs took to barking. A few of the men grabbed their weapons and headed out toward the east. Bold Eagle rode in with the other warriors following him.
Behind them, six white men on horseback entered camp. Two more in a wagon drawn by four mules followed behind.
“Oh, Glorious Lord!” She grabbed Charley up and ran toward the whites.
Bold Eagle slid off his mount and blocked her way. He held his hand up. “No. You go to wives’ teepee. Stay inside.”
She clutched her baby tight, but balled her fist. He’d beat most of the fight out of her over the years, but seeing these men renewed a hope long since deferred. She could feel her fight returning, and obeying his order, with all the whites suddenly in camp, seemed nothing but wrong.
“Who are these men?”
“Rain-gers.” He butchered one of the few English words he knew then spoke to her in the people’s tongue. “Go inside now with my other wives. Keep your place.”
She wanted to resist, even smack him in his big mouth, but holding Charley kept her from it. She slowly turned and took baby steps toward the wives’ teepee.
Bold Eagle shoved her shoulder blade and sent her flying forward. She almost dropped the boy. She spun and glared at him then walked on to the teepee.
At the door flap, she looked over her shoulder. Her heart leapt. She gasped. How could it be? Levi Baylor! Her childhood friend’s cousin! Levi rode with the rangers.
He would never leave without her if she could only tell him she wanted to go. She had to get his attention, let him know. She’d almost given up on going home; all but quit asking even the Lord, but God sent Levi Baylor.
His coming was her sign.
This was the time. She would be rescued, or she would be dead.
She lifted a prayer of thanksgiving and asked for mercy and favor. Please protect me, Lord, and my son. He would keep her; like He had kept her these five years. At only twenty-one, she was much too young to die. Besides, she had a son to raise.
Charley needed her; he had to go back and live the life he was meant to have with his own people. He needed to meet his father and his grandparents. Her chest expanded when she thought of her mama and daddy.
Her breath caught with even the thought she might really see them again. And uncles! Charley had five uncles to roughhouse with; probably plenty of cousins, too. She smiled. It would be wonderful!
She undid her braid and ran her fingers through her hair, combing it out. She shook it loose around her face. All the better for him to see, to notice her. If she could get to Honey Badger, she could tell him.
All evening, she peeked out. Bold Eagle and the two yaps bargained with the wagon men over the four white women. She caught sight of Levi a couple of times, and pulled the flap more open—as far as she dared.
But he never looked her way. Had he not seen her?
Was this just some bad nightmare? Would she and Charlie wind up forsaken, be Bold Eagle’s property for the rest of her life? No! No! No! Whatever it took, she could not miss this chance.
She would not be left behind. She peeked and watched as she could until the white men were bedded, and she knew they would be there in the morning.
Maybe after the other women slept, she could sneak out and find Levi, or at least her friend. She had to!
That night when it came the wives’ time to lie down, wait to see who Bold Eagle would call, she replayed each moment from when the rangers and other men came into the camp.
She couldn’t remember Levi ever looking her way or meeting her eye. Surely if he saw her, he would recognize her. He’d watched her ever since way back when she used to play with Becky.
But there’d been no hint. Did he know she’d been stolen? That she’d been living with the Indians five long years and at this very moment breathed the same air he breathed? She had to let him know.
He would save her. God had sent him.
The leather strap attached to her big toe jerked. “Oh, Lord, no.
Not this night.” It jerked again. She followed it from the wives’ buffalo hide wall into Bold Eagle’s teepee.
“You did well today, Red Rose.”
She nodded once. “I wanted to kill you and eat your liver.”
He laughed. “Swift Arrow told me after the trade, that you would do that exact thing one day.” He studied her. “Your hair free, why?”
“As I long to be.” She kneeled but stayed out of arm’s reach. “Will tomorrow hold life and freedom or death?”
He pondered her words. “In the morning, I will act like I could not part with my beloved third wife.” He sat straighter. “But I will let them persuade me to trade you.”
“And my son? I will not leave him.”
He patted the furs. “Tonight you are still mine. Tomorrow you and your son may leave my teepee in peace.”
She bowed her head and silently thanked the Lord then took Bold Eagle’s hand. “Thank you.”
Levi tossed a handful of buffalo chips onto the fire and studied the smoke as it rose in the slight night breeze. Bitty Beck was right, God did answer prayers. What were the odds?
He had seen her, Sassy Fogelsong or rather Nightengale, right there in the flesh, clutching a white boy. Would Bold Eagle let them go? What would he do if the chief refused to trade her?
Had he brought anything with him that might sweeten any offer the agents made? He carried so little. Maybe his horse? The Comanche leader already rode one of the nicest stallions Levi had ever seen.
Once his watch ended and he finally allowed himself to lie down for a few hours, he hunted sleep with a question he’d asked himself a hundred times over the years.
What would Uncle Henry do?
But unlike most times, no answer came.
After a few fitful hours, he woke with a jerk. Realization flashed, and he knew exactly what he would do. Hopefully, it would never come to such drastic actions.
Chapter
Three
The morning broke clear and crisp with a hint of the cooler weather to come. Levi loved the autumn best, and hated the winters worst. Shame one came on the heels of the other.
The more he thought about what he knew he needed to do, the more his heart confirmed it the right course to take.
She’d been stolen. Unless she told him otherwise, Sassy and her son would leave with him this morning. He could hardly believe he’d found her. How could it be?
After coffee and a couple of burned biscuits, he pulled Wallace aside. “Partner, keep your wits about you; I’ve got a bad feeling about Sassy and her son.”
“Sassy? Which one is Sassy? And where’s her son?”
“That redhead Bold Eagle sent to his teepee when we rode in yesterday.”
“Oh, I must not have seen her; I had my eye on that little Comanche boy with the big gun right about then.” Wallace glan
ced around. “Sarge, you know this woman? What kind of bad feeling? Like the one you got last year at Dripping Springs? Or the one at that Dallas saloon when you folded those four nines?”
“Does it matter? I was right both times. And yeah, I do know her.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing particular, but we’re not leaving without her.”
Wallace studied him for a moment. “How is it you know this lady?”
“Her family’s from back home, Clarksville area.”
“I see.”
“The girl was Bitty Beck’s friend; her brothers and I hunted together some.” He glanced toward the cluster of teepees. A few older women scurried about. “I didn’t know for sure she was stolen, until yesterday.”
“And how do you know it’s her?”
“Has to be. I’ve never seen another woman with hair as bright a red as Sassy’s.”
Wallace smiled at him. “You sweet on her?”
“No, she’s married. Don’t you remember that letter Rebecca wrote me back when she first disappeared?”
“Maybe. Wasn’t that the first one she didn’t beg you to come home every other sentence? But fine then, I’ll keep my wits about me; I didn’t need that morning nap I had planned anyway.”
Levi appreciated his friend. For the years that he and Wallace Rusk had rangered together, he’d never known the man not to be ready, regardless of his sarcasm. It gave him peace that his friend would be on the alert ahead of time in case a fight erupted.
Sassy made herself concentrate on her morning duties. She carried water and wood and did everything expected of her; hopefully, for the last time as the third wife of Bold Eagle.
He called her that, but she knew whose wife she really was.
She tried to bring an image of Charles Nightengale, but his face hung off in the shadows of her mind’s eye, just out of reach.
