Mandy had long harbored a fear of hostiles. So did most everyone who lived on the frontier. Since coming to Texas, and thanks to all the horrible stories she’d heard, the mere mention of Comanches was worrisome. They were the terrors of the territory, the bogeymen who came in the dead of night to massacre and mutilate.
And now a war party of those bogeymen had their house surrounded and were fixing to wipe them out.
Mandy was trying to be brave but it was hard. Fear clawed at her insides, much as the Comanches’ knives would. Unless a warrior took her for his wife. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. Sometimes the women were returned in trades for Comanche prisoners. One woman, Mandy had heard tell, refused; she preferred to stay with the Indians. To Mandy, that was beyond the pale of reason. Only a lunatic would do such a thing.
Ebidiah Troutman picked that moment to fling the wet blanket onto the burning pile. He covered them entirely, extinguishing the flames and causing a copious amount of smoke to rise.
Mandy coughed.
Darting around the blankets, the old trapper worked the bolt and opened the front door. As if pulled by invisible hands, the smoke streamed out and up in a thick column, spreading rapidly.
“Quick, now,” Ebidiah urged, and raced down the hall.
Outside there were yells. The Comanches had seen the smoke. They sounded surprised. Mandy prayed all of them would go to see.
She let her ma and sister go ahead of her and watched over her shoulder, half-expecting Comanches to come bursting in.
Ebidiah reached the kitchen and raced to the back door. He threw the bolt and pulled the door open just wide enough to poke his head out.
“What do you see?” her mother whispered.
“Shhhh,” Ebidiah said.
“Don’t shush me. Are they there or are they not?”
“Please, ma’am,” Ebidiah whispered, and went on looking.
Mandy nervously fidgeted. Her sister had both hands around Blue’s muzzle and was saying something softly in his ear to calm him.
“The coast looks clear,” Ebidiah said, pulling his head in. “I think they’ve all gone around front like we wanted.”
“They better have,” her mother said.
Ebidiah opened the door wide, and moved aside. “After you, ladies. Be quick. Stay close to the house and go to the right, clear to the corner. Stay low and try not to make much noise.”
Her mother didn’t argue. “Estelle, you first, with Blue. Mandy, right after her. Hurry now.” She had a grim look on her face, the likes of which Mandy had never seen before.
Estelle nodded and went out without any hesitation.
Mandy stepped to the doorway, then had to force her legs to keep moving. The cool air, or her fear, made her break out in gooseflesh. Tucking at the knees, she followed her sister and stopped when Estelle did.
Her mother was close behind, gripping her shotgun in both hands.
Mandy searched the night for Comanches. The old trapper’s ruse appeared to have worked, and none were near. But they were masters at hiding, and one could spring up at any second.
She suddenly realized she had broken out in a sweat and was perspiring from every pore.
With an alacrity his years belied, Ebidiah Troutman glided past them to the corner, his Sharps leveled. “Stay close,” he whispered. “Move when I move, stop when I stop. If I say to flatten, you drop fast. If I give a holler, run like hell.”
“Mr. Troutman, your language,” Philomena said.
Mandy swore she heard the old man sigh. Any other time, it would have been funny.
“There’s more important things to worry about,” Ebidiah said. He nodded toward their barn. “We’ll head there first.” He glanced at Estelle. “Hold on to that dog of yours, young miss. One bark, and our goose is cooked.”
Mandy was worried about that, too. When Ebidiah whispered “Now!” they broke into motion.
Blue tried to twist toward the front of the house but Estelle held firm, propelling him along. Blue struggled. To help Estelle, Mandy darted up and slipped her fingers under the collar.
No war cries rang out. No arrows whizzed out of the dark.
To Mandy’s amazement, they reached the barn safely and ducked inside. Blue growled and Estelle whispered, quieting him.
Mandy peered out.
A lot of shadowy shapes were at the front of the house, watching the smoke that still poured from the doorway.
“My trick worked, by heaven,” Ebidiah said, sounding proud of himself.
“Why haven’t they rushed in?” Mandy wondered.
“They’re not stupid,” Ebidiah said. “They suspect it’s a trick, and they’ll be shot if they do.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Philomena said.
“Speaking of which,” the old trapper replied, and moved toward the rear of the barn. “Come on, ladies.”
Mandy considered suggesting they hide up in the loft, but that would be folly. Sooner or later the Comanches would get around to searching the barn from top to bottom, and they’d be caught.
“I wish Pa and Luke and Sam were here,” Estelle whispered.
“Makes two of us,” Mandy said.
“We get out of this, I’m never complaining about Pa’s and Ma’s rules ever again.”
Mandy either. When they first settled there, her parents had laid down certain rules. They were never to go anywhere alone. They were always to be in the house by dark. They were never to ride anywhere without letting their folks know where they were going. And more. All to keep them from being waylaid by Comanches. At the time, she’d thought some of the rules were silly. Not anymore.
The rear door opened into the corral. To their left was a gate. Their mother opened it, shooed them through, and closed it again.
Ebidiah stopped and motioned for them to do the same. Hunkered down, he stared hard into the night.
“What are we waiting for?” Philomena said. “Where’s that horse and mule of yours?”
“Off a ways.”
“Let’s go, then.”
They ran, just as Comanche war whoops shattered the air, followed by the crash of breaking glass.
“They’re breaking in,” Ebidiah said over his shoulder. “It won’t take them long to discover we’re not there.”
Mandy pumped her legs, pacing her sister. Estelle had let go of Blue and the dog loped between them. The ground was uneven, with clumps of weeds, and ruts. She prayed she wouldn’t trip. A sprained ankle, or worse, would be a calamity.
She hadn’t let go of her rifle all evening. Her hands were sore from holding it so tight, and the stock brushed her leg with every stride. She wondered if she would be able to shoot it if she had to. She’d never killed before. Not a human being.
A black wall of vegetation loomed. They were almost to the woods.
Ebidiah reached the trees and plunged right in. “We’ll be there soon,” he said.
Mandy was glad. She was growing winded. “I can’t believe we got away.”
She spoke too soon.
Behind them, fierce howls rose and feet drummed the earth. The Comanches were in pursuit.
Chapter 49
“You’re the luckiest gent alive,” Reuben Weaver said, and chuckled. “I’d give anything to be in your boots.”
Sam Burnett didn’t feel lucky. He felt confused. He summed up his feelings with, “Why did she pick me?”
They were riding night herd. They were each supposed to take one side of the herd and ride back and forth until they were relieved. But they liked to ride together so they could talk.
As two of the youngest, they had a lot in common. Iden Kurst was about their age but he was standoffish, like all the Kurst boys, and wanted nothing to do with either of them.
“She has to have a reason?” Reuben said.
&nb
sp; Sam had made the mistake of mentioning that Lorette Kurst was dropping hints about the two of them getting hitched, which had shocked him considerably. “I’m young yet. I’m in no hurry to tie the knot.”
“Seems to me you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth,” Reuben said. “Besides, I know of some who have done it a lot younger. I have a cousin who married at thirteen. In some parts of the country, that’s considered an old maid.”
Sam had a cousin of his own who had married at fourteen and been a pa by fifteen. “Even so,” he said.
“A girl as pretty as Lorette,” Reuben said. “If she showed any interest in me, I’d eat it up with a spoon.”
“You wouldn’t wonder why?”
Overhead, a host of stars sparkled. Far off in the hills a coyote keened and was answered by another. There was little wind, and the longhorns were quiet.
“I’m not much for wondering,” Reuben said. “When things happen, they happen. What’s the use of complicating things?”
“This isn’t just any old thing,” Sam said. “Marriage is forever. I say ‘I do,’ I’ll be with her the rest of my life.”
“And that’s bad?”
Sam hesitated. Just the other day, Lorette had come up to him when no one was around, pressed herself against him, and kissed him full on the mouth. He’d just stood there and let her run the tip of her tongue over his lips and her hands over his chest. His body had grown so hot, it was a wonder he hadn’t caught on fire. And he’d liked that she’d done that. What came next, though, rekindled his worries. She’d stood back, cocked her head, and said, “I am tired of waiting. Admit you’re as fond of me as I am of you and I will do for you as Eve did for Adam.” With that, she had smiled, touched the tip of a finger to his chin, and strolled off.
Reuben brought him back to the here and now with, “You reckon she’s playing some kind of female game?”
No, Sam didn’t, but he said, “You must have heard the stories about her. She’s a tease and a flirt and has no shame.”
“I don’t claim to know a lot about women,” Reuben said. “But you’ve held her off for weeks now, and she keeps it up. Seems to me that if she were only teasing, she’d have tired of the game.”
Sam had come to the same conclusion. Lorette was sincere. Which scared him worse than her flirting. He’d come out to Comanche Creek with his pa to round up cattle, not find himself a wife.
“You have a heap more willpower than I do,” Reuben was saying. “If it was me, I’d let her sweep me off my feet.”
Sam decided to change the subject. All this talk about Lorette was making him uncomfortably warm, like her kisses. “What do you make of those moccasin tracks Silsby found?”
Just that morning, Silsby Kurst had discovered footprints in the soft earth along the creek. Only a few, and only partials, but enough to tell they were made by moccasins. Gareth Kurst said they were made within the last few days, and he should know, all the tracking and hunting he did.
“The truth?” Reuben said. “We’re asking for trouble if we stay here much longer. Mr. Kurst told my pa that there must be Comanches about, spying on us. That maybe they’ve been spying on us for a while now.”
“If that’s so,” Sam said, “why don’t they attack?”
“Who knows? Could be it’s just a few, and we have too many guns. Could be they’re waiting for more to show up. Or it could be a lot are out there, and they’ll strike when they’re good and ready.”
“Lord, I hope not,” Sam said. The only thing that scared him worse than Comanches was Lorette.
“Pa says maybe they’re puzzled by what we’re up to. By why we’re rounding up so many cattle, and what we plan to do with them.”
“I doubt that matters much to Comanches.”
“Who knows with Injuns? I’m just glad the roundup is over and the drive will commence soon.”
Sam was glad, too. They had more than enough cattle, and the herd-tending had grown tedious. The plan was for each of the married men to pay a last visit to their wives, and then the trek to Kansas would get under way. The men were to take turns, and had drawn straws to see who went first. Jasper Weaver had won the honor, and would leave in the morning for his farm. When he got back, Sam’s pa would go see his ma. Last to have a turn would be Gareth Kurst.
Apparently Reuben was thinking about the same thing because he said, “I might ask pa if I can go with him. He wants me to stay, but I’d like to see Ma one more time before we head out.”
“I’d like to see my ma, too,” Sam said. He’d like to see his sisters even more. They were close, Mandy and Estelle and he.
He glanced at the longhorns and saw that a score were up and staring intently at a wooded hill to the north. They didn’t normally do that, and he drew rein. “Look there.”
“At what?” Reuben said. He stopped and shifted in his saddle. “They must smell something. My pa says they have real good noses.”
More than a few had their ears pricked.
Sam listened, but all he heard was the distant hoot of an owl.
“It’s not anything to worry about,” Reuben said. “They don’t act agitated or anything.”
“Still,” Sam said. Combined with the moccasin tracks, it filled him with unease. A feeling that something terrible was about to crash down over them with all the violence of a thunderstorm. “Maybe we should tell someone.”
“What for?” Reuben said, and nodded at the herd. “A lot of them are lying back down.”
Whatever had caused the stir, most of the longhorns had lost interest and were settling in again.
“I guess it was nothing,” Sam conceded.
“Good,” Reuben said, and grinned. “Now, then, about Lorette . . .”
Sam groaned.
Chapter 50
Ebidiah Troutman wasn’t half the man he’d once taken such pride in being. Hardship used to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Wading in ice-cold streams and ponds to set beaver traps? No problem. Toting those heavy bodies back to camp to skin them? No strain at all. Endless hours spent hiking over some of the most rugged country on the continent? He took it all in stride.
Nowadays, Ebidiah’s body objected when he pushed too hard. His joints creaked. His muscles ached. His stamina wasn’t what it used to be, as his pounding heart and aching legs now reminded him.
They had been running for minutes, Ebidiah and the Burnett women, plunging pell-mell through the forest. Mired in shadow, with only patches of starlight to relieve the blackness, the woods presented almost as much danger as their pursuers. A misstep could bring them down, or they might collide with a tree. It took all of Ebidiah’s concentration to avoid disaster.
They wouldn’t be running if the horse and Sarabell had been where Ebidiah left them. But when they got to the spot, he’d been horrified to find the animals were gone. Either they had pulled loose and wandered, which was unlikely, or the Comanches had found them.
Now Ebidiah and the women were flying for their lives, the women at his heels. So far they were holding up well.
Ebidiah was surprised the Comanches hadn’t caught them yet. He figured the warriors were hanging back, waiting for him and the ladies to tire and slow. Then the Comanches would swoop in and overwhelm them.
The women were breathing heavily. Especially Philomena, who wasn’t accustomed to so much exercise.
Ebidiah encouraged her with a smile. “You’re doing fine, missus,” he puffed.
“See to yourself, old man.”
The dog was the only one not showing the strain. He loped between the girls, almost invisible thanks to his dark coat.
Ebidiah’s knees were hurting something awful. The left was the worst. It had been giving him fits for years, ever since he broke it when he slipped on some talus and tumbled into a boulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he did his best to ignore it.
His Sharps seemed to weigh ten pounds more than usual, but he would be damned if he’d let go of it. When the Comanches came in for the kill, it would buy them precious moments of life. That, and his bowie.
More than ever, Ebidiah regretted killing that warrior on the hill by the cattle camp. Maybe he was just curious. By sneaking up on him, Ebidiah had set this whole mess in motion. Wilda Weaver, dead. Ariel Kurst, dead. And now Mrs. Burnett and her daughters might suffer the same fate. All because he didn’t leave well enough alone.
A stump appeared out of nowhere. Ebidiah tried to avoid it but he was moving too fast. He slammed into it hard. Upended, he spilled head over heels. Pain flooded through him. He came to rest on his back, the stars spinning as if caught in a whirlwind, and was vaguely aware of a hand plucking at his buckskin shirt.
“Mr. Troutman?” Mandy Burnett said. “Are you all right?’
“Fine, girl,” Ebidiah gasped, when the truth was that he hurt all over.
Mandy pulled on his shirt. “You’ve got to get up. We have to keep going. They’re not far behind.”
“Sure, girl, sure.” Ebidiah made it to his feet, and swayed. His legs felt like butter. He took a step and would have fallen if not for Mandy’s support. “I need a second to clear my head.”
“We don’t have a second,” Mandy said.
Ebidiah realized the mother and the other daughter had stopped and were waiting for him. “Go on, all of you.”
“Not without you,” Philomena said, taking deep breaths.
Ebidiah forced his legs to work. He refused to be to blamed for them being caught. Gaining strength, he shrugged free of Mandy. “I’m all right. Get up there with your ma and your sis.”
The sounds behind them had momentarily faded. The warriors had stopped when they did.
Ebidiah had been right about the Comanches waiting for them to tire. “Go, ladies, go!” he urged.
Grimly, they raced on.
Ebidiah was in agony. His shins, from striking the stump, were welters of pain. But that was good, in a way. The pain kept him alert.
Ralph Compton Texas Hills Page 19
