by Ron Schwab
"I'm doubtful Josh has that kind of money readily available."
"His father is a well-to-do rancher, and he has a brother who is a Denver banker. I have made it my business to learn about this family, and I suspect the child's life and future are priceless."
"Alright, I'll speak to Josh. Where can you be found?"
"I'll find you folks. You'll hear from me within a few days after Mr. Rivers returns to Santa Fe. I will know, and I will allow sufficient time for you to speak with him."
4
After Clayborne Pierce departed, Danna left the office and strolled to the Exchange Hotel where she had promised to meet Tabitha Rivers for lunch. She waited for Tabby at a small table in the hotel's dining room. A special assignments reporter for The Santa Fe New Mexican, Tabby, the youngest and only female of the five Rivers siblings, shared a small home with Danna, although she stayed there so infrequently the lawyer and their black cat, Midnight, saw her only occasionally.
She did not know when Josh would return. He had said he was headed for West Texas, where he had arranged a rendezvous with Quanah's representatives. Several months ago Josh had met secretly with the Indian agent at Fort Sill, Oklahoma about terms under which Quanah would be willing to sign a peace treaty. These would include land and cattle for the Comanche and a promise of non-incarceration for the leaders. The agent thought such a plan might be achievable since Quanah and his followers were virtually the last Comanche holdouts and an embarrassment to the U.S. Army and the Grant administration. He had promised to pass word through the bureaucracy. That word would creep slowly, she knew, but Josh thought a breakthrough was near.
Danna had decided she would tell Tabby about her conversation with Pierce. She did not see an issue of confidentiality. Pierce was not a client, and she was a mere messenger. Tabby seemed to know everybody who ever passed through Santa Fe, and she might have heard of Pierce.
"You're someplace else."
Danna started. It was Tabitha, who was already slipping into the chair on the opposite side of the table, bearing her seemingly ever-present mischievous smile. Chestnut-colored hair, olive-skinned and petite, perhaps an inch or two short of five and a half feet, she turned the head of every male in Santa Fe. Danna didn't know anything about Tabby's mother, who had been murdered along with Josh's wife in the Comanche raid that had resulted in the abduction of the infant Michael, but from the looks of her daughter, the woman must have been of Spanish or Mexican descent.
"Sorry, I guess I was preoccupied."
"Is Josh back yet?" Before Danna could reply, the young Mexican waiter appeared, and they both ordered coffee and a plate of enchiladas.
"To answer your question," Danna said, "no, I'm not expecting him for at least three or four days."
"Another of his mystery trips . . . something you don't want to share with an up and coming journalist?"
"It's not a matter of 'want.' I can't . . . the attorney-client issue. A very important client."
"Somehow, I suspect there's a story there. You'll give me the scoop?"
"I can't promise, but I'll see what I can do."
"Well, I was hoping to see Josh before I leave, but it sounds like I may miss him. I'll be leaving for an extended time in a matter of a few days."
"You wasted your money on your half share of our home. You're never there."
"But I need a place to bunk when I'm in town . . . and somewhere to leave my things. And I think it's a good investment. Santa Fe will do nothing but grow in the years ahead."
"I'm not complaining. Midnight and I love the place, and I couldn't have purchased it on my own. So you're heading out on a new adventure? Secret destination?"
"Somewhat unknown. I'll be leaving with a cavalry detachment from Fort Union to join up with Colonel Ranald Mackenzie's forces out on the Staked Plains. Mackenzie's calling this the final campaign to either destroy or bring in Quanah and the remaining bands of Comanche and Kiowa that are still terrorizing western Texas."
The waiter returned with their meals, and by this time Danna was ravenous and turned her attention to her plate of enchiladas. The two women ate in silence for some moments before she spoke. "You're the only woman traveling with all those men. How'd you wangle that?"
"I took the idea to my editor and convinced him that I could use my gender to sell newspapers. He knows I can write better than any man on his staff. And a woman reporting from the battlefields is a novel idea, don't you think?"
"Yes, but it is a dangerous idea, also. You'll not only have to watch out for Comanche but your own traveling companions, as well. You'll have some who resent a woman's presence . . . and others who might seek to exploit the opportunities they envision with a beautiful woman in camp."
"I can handle it. I can ride better than most soldiers . . . and shoot better, too. Plus, I guarantee you I won't be wearing a frilly dress out there on the plains. Buckskins are more my style anyway."
Danna could see Tabby's dark eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she spoke. The woman seemed not acquainted with fear. As to marksmanship, Danna's competitive spirit pushed her to challenge Tabitha to a match. Perhaps, when she returned from her assignment, Danna would do just that.
"I've even conjured up a name for the campaign," Tabby said. "In my first dispatch, I'm going to call it the 'Red River War.' Just wait, you'll see that term in the headlines."
"You're planning to make your career with this, aren't you?"
"Damn right. I'm the prototype for 'conniving bitch,' don't you think?"
They both laughed. Then Danna turned serious. "There's something you should be aware of."
"What?"
Danna told her about Clayborne Pierce and the proposed ransom and recovery of Michael Rivers. "Have you ever heard of this man?" Danna asked.
"I've not only heard of him, I've interviewed him."
"You're serious?"
"I guess it was about six months ago. He had ransomed ten-year-old twin boys who had been abducted during a raid on Don Miguel Estrada's estate. Pierce evidently has very good contacts within the Comanche bands. He had located these boys as their band was preparing to go to the reservation, so they were more dispensable to the Comanche at that point. They probably figured the boys would be found on the reservation anyway and decided to cash in, although it would not have been an easy decision, because after five years the boys would have been family by that time. Anyway, since the Estradas were prominent New Mexicans, my editor asked me to do a feature on the rescue . . . which incidentally turned out to be a second abduction."
"What do you mean?"
"The twins did not want to be rescued. They were now Comanche and wanted no part of a new family they barely remembered. The boys had to be bound and carefully guarded on the journey back to their parents' hacienda. After they were delivered to their natural parents they fought fiercely against the embrace of their parents and tried to escape. They finally had to be kept under lock and key . . . caged so to speak . . . until they could be tamed. I would like to write a follow-up story sometime, if the Estradas would permit it, to report on the twins' adjustment."
"It must have been a huge disappointment to the parents."
"Of course. And I couldn't help but think about little Michael. It's been four years. He would be nearly five years old now. He's Comanche, not Rivers. It's not going to be a happy reunion if Josh ransoms him."
"I'd never thought about that. What about Pierce? What did you think of him?"
"A little full of himself. Perhaps it's just confidence. He's a businessman, pure and simple. His work is not some altruistic crusade he's on. It's his path to a fortune. He's also smart enough, I'm sure, to see that his career is about burnt out. Within five years, the Comanche will all be on reservations. There will be no more need for his services. As to his character? He seemed to take pride in his work. I think his word is good. He comes off cold as stone. But I wouldn't expect him to be running a fraud. He must be pretty damn certain he's located Michael."
&n
bsp; "What's Josh going to do when Pierce makes his proposal?"
"I hope he doesn't kill the man."
5
Josh awoke to the sight of two glowering Comanche faces, watching him like wolves with a cornered fawn. The soft glow of the sun was slipping over the canyon's rim, and it would be dark soon. A small fire crackled between him and the warriors, and the warriors squatted in front of it as they roasted some kind of meat on sticks. He noticed that both men wore only breechclouts with deerskin shirts. One had two blood-crusted scalps tucked in the rawhide strip that supported his breechclout, and the other displayed a hunk of flesh that showed more skin than hair. Josh decided that scalp must have belonged to a nearly bald man.
Then he caught sight of someone else walking quietly toward him from off to his left. The figure was slender and clad in buckskins and knelt by his side. He lifted himself up on his elbows and scooted back, resting against what he suddenly realized was Buck's saddle. Nothing was making any sense.
"How are you feeling?" It was a woman's voice. A familiar one.
"Confused."
"Are you hurting?"
He remembered his shoulder wound. "Not much, actually." He turned his head toward the voice and recognized her. "She Who Speaks?"
"Yes, of course. Quanah sent me to meet with you at Little Buffalo Canyon. That's where we're at. There is water and grass here . . . even a few trees. Plenty of deer and rabbit."
"How did I get here?"
"Scratching Turkey and Growling Bear brought you to the canyon. I waited here and set up camp and sent them up the trail to watch for you and to verify you were not being followed."
"Don't trust me?"
"There are others we do not trust who might suspect you are communicating with Quanah. Did you recognize any of the men?"
"I had only seconds to get a look. The one I shot . . . or thought I shot . . . looked familiar. I thought he might have been a man who worked for Oliver McKenna. I saw him near the courthouse when we were handling Erin McKenna's case."
"Be assured you did not shoot anyone. Neither of my companions would have taken the scalp of a man he had not killed. They carry three scalps."
He shifted his weight and winced when he felt the stab of pain in his neck and shoulder. It was nothing, though, compared to the agony he had endured before he blacked out. He ran his fingers over the tender flesh around his wounds. He found surprisingly little swelling beneath a layer of some kind of crusty substance that caked the skin.
"I treated it with a poultice I made from 'white man's foot' and other healing plants. The bleeding has been staunched. I will wrap it before you get up, but it is best to keep the wound uncovered as much as possible. The paste will do its job more effectively."
"Don't tell me you're some kind of medicine woman, too?"
"I have acquired some knowledge in the ministering of medicines during my time with the Comanche, but many of my band have greater faith in the ceremonies and chants of the traditional shamans. I am available to help, but I know my place in the order of things and assist only when someone comes to me and asks."
Suddenly he was aware of the dryness in his mouth and of an overwhelming thirst. As though reading his mind, She Who Speaks produced his canteen. "You need to drink," she said. "And then you will eat and sleep some more."
He raised himself up some. "The canteen was with my horse."
"Growling Bear recovered your horse and pack mule. They are staked in the grass near the stream."
"That was kind of him."
"Actually, he had hoped to claim the beasts, if you did not survive."
"Then I probably disappointed him."
"Probably. The buckskin is a fine animal."
He lifted the canteen to his lips and drank greedily until she plucked it from his hands. "Slowly," she admonished, placing the canteen at his side. "I will roast some venison over the fire and return shortly."
Later, the woman gave him a potion to drink. Whatever it was quickly made him drowsy. She assured him she would remain nearby in case he needed assistance. Nights were still cool on the Staked Plains, and she tucked one end of a buffalo robe under his body and then draped the remainder of it over his blanket, and he could not remember when he had last felt so comfortable and cozy. It was not difficult to handle this type of coddling.
She Who Speaks left for a spell and returned with her own buffalo robe and rolled it out next to him. "In the morning I will dress your wounds. Then you will get up and tend to your animals and prepare your own breakfast. After that, we will talk. My friends and I depart after one more night."
She Who Speaks rolled up in her robe and apparently dropped off to sleep instantly. Josh could feel the drug subduing him, and as he waited for it to take him into slumber, he thought of the woman who slept a few feet from his side. They had first met when he had journeyed into the Staked Plains to find and ransom Erin McKenna. He had been captured by Quanah and a Kwahadi war party and taken to their encampment in Palo Duro Canyon, and She Who Speaks had been sent to his tipi to discuss his fate.
She had been taken captive at age fourteen and adopted by the tribe. When Josh encountered her some six years later, She Who Speaks would have passed for full-blood Comanche. Other than being taller than most Comanche women, she had many Comanche features. She wore her sable hair long and braided. Her nose and facial features were softly aquiline and her flawless skin was no lighter than that of the many half-bloods found in Comanche camps. Slender and willowy, the woman was several steps above attractive, he thought.
At their first meeting, Josh had learned nothing about She Who Speaks's life before it began with the Comanche. He knew only that she had a small son and a husband, the latter of whom was killed during a cavalry attack that occurred while Josh was held prisoner. Unlike most Comanche women, She Who Speaks had carved out a position of some influence in Kwahadi hierarchy, apparently because of her skill as an interpreter and translator. She had informed Josh that his name and quest were known to the village elders and that Quanah had a mission for him also. She had sat in council with Josh and the Kwahadi leaders and acted as interpreter as they discussed the possible ransom of Erin McKenna. Quanah, during that time, denied knowledge about the young woman's whereabouts. Later, she had met with Josh and Quanah when the war chief proposed to retain Josh to negotiate acceptable terms of peace with the "white eyes."
Gold nuggets talked, and Josh had taken on the task subject to the condition that Erin McKenna be found and delivered to him for an agreed ransom. He had met She Who Speaks briefly again at the exchange several weeks later. It was then he had learned of the death of her husband. Lengths of her hair had been sliced away as a part of her mourning ritual. Understandably, their conversation had been brief and perfunctory.
Yes, this is an interesting woman, he thought, as he drifted off.
6
When Josh awakened, the sun had not quite crawled over the canyon walls. He turned to see if She Who Speaks was still asleep. Her robe had disappeared, and there was no sign she had spent the night beside him. Her companions were still squatting by the fire, but he assumed they had abandoned their positions sometime during the night to catch some sleep, perhaps in shifts.
Josh rolled over and carefully raised himself up first on his knees, testing his strength. He found the pain in his shoulder surprisingly tolerable, just a residue of soreness and stiffness, so he awkwardly clambered to his feet. A wave of dizziness struck him but passed quickly. He noticed that the warriors were watching him with some interest, but their faces remained impassive. He caught sight of his gear and supplies stacked against a small cottonwood tree some ten paces away, near the bank of a narrow stream that split the canyon floor and snaked its way over a rocky bed that angled from north to south. He ambled over to the stream and knelt down and splashed water on his face. This woke him with a start. It was cold as ice, so it must be spring-fed from some source in the canyon, he figured.
Looking downstream he could
see that the stream widened noticeably as it twisted southward. Then he spotted someone sitting on a ragged stone outcropping above the water, perhaps thirty yards away. As he focused, he realized it was She Who Speaks, her naked back turned his way. She had evidently been bathing in the frigid water and was now drying in the morning breeze that was plenty cool, too, he thought. He shook his head in disbelief and turned away and began fishing out his supplies.
He returned to the fire with a black, cast-iron skillet, a slab of bacon and a canvas bag of hardtack biscuits. He cut the bacon into thick strips, dropping the slices in the skillet, as the Indians watched curiously. Growling Bear's eyes widened, as the bacon started sizzling and crackling and the tantalizing scent drifted his way. Josh pulled the skillet back from the hot coals and stabbed one of the strips with his knife and held it out to the Comanche, signing with his free hand "to eat." Hesitantly, the Comanche took the bacon and studied it a few moments before taking a test bite. Meanwhile, Josh offered a slice to Scratching Turkey who, after watching Growling Bear's reaction, stuffed it into his mouth. Both of the warriors grunted with satisfaction and smiled agreeably. Josh offered hardtack to both, which they accepted with less suspicion. Soon they were all sharing bacon and biscuits like old comrades, and Josh trimmed more slices from the slab while his new friends waited.
"Smells good." The soft voice came from behind him.
Josh turned and looked up at She Who Speaks, who looked radiant in her buckskins this morning. "I have plenty," he said. "Sit down and join us."
