by J. T. Edson
‘Why’d he kill off a man who worked with him?’ Mark put in.
‘You’ve got me there,’ drawled the Kid. ‘Just pure ornery meanness, maybe.’
‘Or maybe Sidewinder knew he didn’t need the scout anymore,’ guessed Dusty. ‘What’re you doing, Lon?’
Dusty had a good reason for asking the question. Stripped of every item of white man’s clothing, the Kid cinched a belt around his naked middle. Several items of Comanche dress lay on the bed and the Kid reached for one before replying:
‘Sidewinder knows me and how I dress. Happen he gets word that I’m with the soldiers who’re after him, he’ll be a damned sight harder to handle than if he reckons it’s just another Army scout on his trail.’
Some time had elapsed since the Kid last wore a breech-clout, but he still retained the knack of donning one. Taking the long, broad strip of traditional blue cloth, he stepped astride it and drew it up between his legs, tucking one end through the belt at the front and the other at the rear so as to leave flaps which trailed almost to his knees. Next came the buckskin leggings, secured to the belt, followed by a pair of moccasins and then a plain buckskin shirt. Strapping on his gunbelt, he looked at his friends and grinned at their expressions. Apart from his white-man’s short hair, he looked every inch a Comanche warrior. However Mark had thought up a snag to the deception.
‘There aren’t many scouts who ride white horses and damn few have one the size of Thunder,’ the blond giant pointed out.
‘I can’t make him smaller,’ admitted the Kid, ‘but Grandpappy Long Walker and me can do something about his color. That’s why I asked you to fetch ole Thunder along while we talked to the tsukup.’
Watched by the two Texans, Long Walker and the Kid used a powder which stained the big white’s coat and turned it into a dark bay. While Dusty and Mark had seen the Kid use much the same method to disguise his horse before, he had always been satisfied to make Thunder look like a paint instead of making an over-all covering. Knowing that he operated against a Comanche, the Kid did not take that kind of chance. He left off his bedroll, retaining only a couple of blankets fastened Indian style, and discarded his rope; but he kept the saddle boot in which to carry his rifle. Nor did the Texas range saddle strike a false note. Except when hunting buffalo, the Comanche always used a saddle and many obtained Texas rigs through trading or as loot in a raid.
By noon everything had been made ready. Manners’ troop, conscious that something out of the ordinary must be afoot, sat their horses and glanced to where the lieutenant stood at General Handiman’s side.
‘Good luck, Manners,’ Handiman said, ‘We can only give you a week at the outside, If you haven’t caught up with and licked Sidewinder by then, it will be too late.’
‘We’ll make a try at it, sir,’ Manners promised.
‘I know that,’ Handiman assured him.
‘How about burying the Lancers, sir?’
‘I’ll attend to that. Your business is to nail Sidewinder’s hide to the wall as quickly as you can.’
On leaving the Fort, Manners found the Kid waiting and needed to look twice before he recognized the other. In addition to the normal armament, the Kid held a bow on his saddle and a quiver of arrows swung from the horn close to his hand. The bow was typical Comanche construction; three feet in length made of a compound of bois d’arc, or Osage orange wood, and elkhorn, That bow had cost twenty ponies from a tsukup famous for his work. With a string made from the sinews of a grizzly bear, the bow could hurl a well-made arrow over fifty yards with target-rifle accuracy, or at close range sink the shaft feather-deep into the body of a buffalo bull. It possessed another virtue, as the Kid pointed out when Manners commented on the unusual nature of his armament.
‘It makes a whole heap less noise than a gun and can reach out further than a knife. Let’s go.’
Not until they had started did Manners ask the question which interested him. ‘Where’re we going?’
‘To the Waw’ai camp,’ the Kid replied. ‘Do the men know what we’re on?’
‘I’ll tell them when we take our first rest halt.’
‘It’d be best.’
After an hour of hard riding, Manners brought his troop to a halt and allowed the men to loosen their saddle girths and cool the horses’ backs. Then he gathered the soldiers around him and told them the nature of their mission. A few low growls of anger came when the men heard of the defeat of the Lancers, but Manners made sure that they knew the Comanches at the peace council knew nothing of Sidewinder’s activities. He did not need to stress to his men the importance of making peace with the Comanches, for all were veterans and knew what war with such highly skilled fighters meant. A soldier stood a better chance of coming through his hitch in the Army alive if he did not have to fight Comanches.
Not even a meeting with a group of Lancers altered the soldiers’ feelings. The Lancers had made good their escape, leaving their weapons on the field of battle, out-run pursuit and gathered on the way back to the Fort. None knew if any more of their battalion still lived, but the Kid and Manners guessed that other demoralized Lancers must be scattered across the range country. Telling the Lancers to return to the Fort, Manners gave the order to march.
‘We’ll have to nail Sidewinder’s hide to the wall real fast,’ drawled the Kid as they left the Lancers. ‘There’ll be more of them scattered and I can’t see them telling the truth about how they got licked. It’ll sure rouse up folks against the peace council. That damned Sidewinder, he knew what’d happen, him and his maw, when they jumped the Lancers.’
‘I’d like to get the white men backing them,’ Manners replied.
‘And me. But maybe Dusty and Mark’ll have some luck at the Fort. We can’t worry about that until after Sidewinder’s dead and his bunch scattered. Give us a bit of luck, and we might even do that tonight.’
Chapter Thirteen – A Debt Repaid
‘I’m going ahead to scout the camp,’ the Kid told Manners as they halted in the darkness. ‘Hold your boys here and keep ’em quiet.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Real quiet,’ the Kid emphasized. ‘If they want to talk, cough, spit or smoke, stop them. One sound, or a smell of tobacco, and the Waw’ai’ll be up and running.’
‘They’ll keep quiet,’ promised Manners’ sergeant, a grizzled veteran called O’Neil. ‘If they need to.’
Something in O’Neil’s voice drew the Kid’s eyes to him, Suddenly the Kid realized that apart from himself none of the party even knew where the camp was located. If it came to a point, the men did not know the Kid’s identity or how come a stranger rode as their scout.
‘You’d best come with me, sergeant,’ suggested the Kid.
‘Go ahead, sergeant,’ confirmed Manners, knowing what prompted the Kid’s request. ‘I’ll hold the men here.’
‘Watch Thunder,’ drawled the Kid as he slipped from the saddle and made his preparations. ‘Happen he starts moving, follow him and he’ll bring you to me.’
Taking a strip of meat from the small bundle he carried, the Kid shoved it under his gunbelt so that it hung suspended. Then he slung the quiver of arrows across his back, picked up the bow and nodded to O’Neil. Followed by the sergeant the Kid faded into the darkness.
Before they had covered many yards, the Kid knew he could rely on O’Neil and that the sergeant could move in sufficient silence for their purpose. Side by side they passed over the bush-dotted range. A quarter of a mile fell behind them and the Kid could sense O’Neil’s uneasiness growing. Then, as they moved up a slope, both heard a low clatter as if somebody had dropped a cooking pot. Instantly they froze and waited for a time before the Kid gave the order to move on; which he did with a signal.
Flattening to the ground, they cautiously peered over the rim and O’Neil expended a considerable amount of will-power in not allowing his surprise to show. At the foot of the slope stood the Waw’ai village, its fires so masked by the tipis that no sign of them had showe
d to expose their presence. By the central fire a number of young women stood or sat listening to a well-dressed female talking.
‘Not many men around,’ whispered O’Neil.
‘Hoss herd and camp guard at most,’ the Kid agreed. ‘I’m going down to take a closer look and listen to what that old witch’s saying.’
‘I’d best stay here and cover you.’
‘Don’t start shooting unless you’ve no other choice,’ warned the Kid and drifted over the rim with all the fluid, soundless ease of a stalking cougar.
Making hardly more noise than a shadow, the Kid moved down towards the village. His eyes went to Sidewinder’s tipi, recognizing it by its central position and from the glow of a lantern inside. None of the other tipis possessed such a sign of affluence and the Kid doubted if Sidewinder would permit any of his braves to outstrip him in such a manner.
A low growl came to the Kid’s ears and he saw one of the large, half-starved cur dogs to be found around any Indian village studying him. Ignoring the bow and arrows, the Kid slid the meat from under his belt. He did not wish to kill the dog for that would mean removing its body, even if he ended its life in silence. While alert, the dog held its warning down to a growl. It caught a mingled smell which confused it; that of Comanche mixed with white man. Before the dog reached any conclusion, the Kid tossed his chunk of meat between its jaws. Instantly the growl died away. Living a scavenger’s existence, the dog did not aim to pass up good food and it withdrew without further noise.
Moving on, the Kid reached the rear of Sidewinder’s tipi and stood in the darkness. Fire Dancer held out on the subject of good times ahead when the men returned from their raiding mission. Already the Waw’ai brave-hearts defeated the white lance-carriers and without loss to themselves although many coups had been counted. Further success awaited them and the women must wait until the victorious warriors returned.
Just as the Kid thought of withdrawing, he changed his mind. Maybe he could find some evidence to lead to the white men backing Fire Dancer if he entered the tipi. Not very likely, but worth a try. Quickly he laid aside the bow and quiver, then drew his knife. He did not slash down the side of the tipi, for that would warn Fire Dancer of his visit. Instead he cut across parallel to the ground and eased his way underneath, raising the inner ‘dew cloth’ (the lining of skins which hung down inside the support poles and could be tucked under the beds to prevent any draughts getting in to the sleepers).
The interior of the tipi looked little different to any ordinary dwelling, apart from the hanging lantern. On one bed a nat’sakena and tunawaws, both empty, along with the lack of weapons, told that the man of the tipi rode on a war trail or attended to some other business which called for armament and his best clothing including the war bonnet. As the Kid looked around, he saw a half-consumed awyaw't of pemmican hanging suspended from the poles and a stone jug of honey on the floor. He had paid no attention to them, going instead to the buckskin-decorated medicine bag which rested on the second bed. If the tipi held anything incriminating, that bag would be its hiding-place. No Comanche would dare touch a medicine-woman as potent as Fire Dancer’s property unless possessed of exceptionally strong puha. The Kid did not share the general fear and opened the bag. Inside he found the usual items, with one exception; powders, herbs, divining bones, the normal property of a medicine woman—except for the awyaw’t of pemmican. Prized item of food that pemmican might be, no woman would think of hiding it in the sacred confines of her medicine bag.
Unless— Memory stirred and the Kid recalled an almost forgotten incident of his childhood. It stuck out in his mind because on the night in question he killed his first enemy. There had been a victory dance to celebrate the return of a successful raiding party and Fire Dancer was just back from her stay among the Kweharehnuh. One of the Antelope braves who escorted the woman back to the Pehnane died mysteriously that night and his brother blamed the Kid’s father. Waiting for Ysabel in a tipi, the brother met the Kid instead and only luck saved the boy. Sam Ysabel always claimed that Fire Dancer tried to poison him; which had been true although he never proved his suspicions. Looking at the awyaw’t, the Kid could guess what had happened. In some way Fire Dancer persuaded the Antelope brave to take a gift of pemmican to Ysabel, but the buck sampled it and for some reason did not deliver the rest. The Kid would never know that the brave had delivered the awyaw’t, throwing it into the empty tipi from where a dog stole it.
Cold anger filled the Kid as he thought of the number of people Fire Dancer caused to die. The two Antelope braves; the Kid’s two boyhood friends and her helpers in the attempt at stealing his horse; four husbands most likely went under the same way; not to mention the opposition among the Waw’ai, old men and women who wanted to make peace and found death instead.
Hefting the awyaw’t, the Kid looked around until his eyes came to rest on the pemmican hanging from the tipi pole. A thought ran through his head and he moved forward to put it into operation. This was not the Ysabel Kid who laughed, joked and lived as a white man. Instead he had become Cuchilo, grandson of Long Walker, a Pehnane tehnap pure and simple.
Taking down the pemmican, the Kid carved the second awyaw’t until it matched the first. Then he hung up the one from the medicine bag and looked about him to make sure he had left no sign of his presence. With the medicine bag closed and the first awyaw’t in his hands, the Kid carefully eased himself over the dew cloth, replaced it and slid through the slit. More of the curs hovered around and he tossed slices of pemmican to them. Then he took up the bow and quiver, moving off through the darkness in the way he came.
Although Sergeant O’Neil remained alert, the Kid handed him a shock by materializing at his side.
‘The men’re all off on a raid,’ the Kid said. ‘Only women and a small guard there. We’d best get back to the troop.’
‘You took a fair time to learn that,’ O’Neil answered.
‘Sure,’ agreed the Kid. ‘I stopped off to pay an old debt.’
After spending a time calming the fears of the other women, Fire Dancer returned to her tipi. She was about to go to bed when pangs of hunger bit at her and she rose. Taking down the awyaw’t of pemmican, she carved off a slice and smeared it with honey. Not a single suspicion entered her head as she sat on the bed and began to eat. To the best of her knowledge, nobody knew about the poisoned awyaw’t in her medicine bag and she knew that no member of the Waw’ai band dare interfere with her property. With honey masking it, not even the slightest trace of the poisonous additions to the pemmican came through to give a warning. After eating well, Fire Dancer settled down and went to sleep.
‘Well?’ asked Manners as the Kid and O’Neil returned.
‘There’re only a handful of braves taking care of things,’ the Kid replied. ‘Sidewinder’s took the rest out on a raid.’
‘We can go in and—’ O’Neil began.
‘Catch us a few gals, maybe Fire Dancer,’ the Kid finished for him. ‘And somebody’d be sure to get away then Sidewinder’ll know we’re after him already.’
‘What do we do then?’ Manners said.
‘Pull off and go right ‘round the village. We want braves, not gals. I’d bet that Sidewinder’s taken the men off in the opposite direction to Wide Valley. He’ll know that by now word’s reached the Fort about the Lancers and’ll expect that Wide Valley range to be swarming with soldiers.’
‘But he’s gone out to fight,’ Manners pointed out.
‘To raid, not to fight,’ corrected the Kid. ‘Sidewinder’s no fool. He knows that when he jumps his next bunch of soldiers, they’ll be a whole heap harder to handle than the Lancers. So he’ll steer clear of them and look for some easier way to count coup.
‘The soldiers will find his village,’ O’Neil said.
‘They’ll try,’ admitted the Kid. ‘Comes daylight there’ll be scouts out all ’round the village so that no bunch of soldiers can get near without being seen. Once they’re seen, that village can be down a
nd moving faster than any man can trail it. Where’d Sidewinder find the easiest pickings, do you reckon?’
‘Something he can hit at without too much risk?’ asked Manners.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Anywhere around here, there’re small ranches dotted about everywhere.’
‘With the lieutenant’s permission,’ O’Neil put in. ‘I’d suggest down to the South. There’re more spreads that way and the stage trail runs through.’
‘And it’s in almost the opposite direction to Wide Valley,’ agreed Manners. ‘That’s the way we’ll go then.’
When safely clear of the circle of Waw’ai village guards, the troop halted for the night. Instead of following normal soldier practice, making fires and cooking up food, they ate hard-tack and jerked meat in the darkness and slept wrapped in blankets, huddled together for added warmth. At dawn they moved on, going South with every eye raking the country ahead for the first sign of the enemy’s tracks.
‘Nothing!’ said the Kid disgustedly.
‘This’s a big country,’ Manners answered. ‘Their tracks could be running parallel to our line over the next rim.’
‘Only they don’t!’ the Kid growled and pointed.
A column of smoke rose into the air on the horizon, growing larger by the second. One thought came to each man’s mind as he recalled other times he had seen similar smoke. Only blazing hay built up such a volume of smoke so quickly and hay meant a ranch. Manners did not waste time in idle chatter.
‘Troop forward by twos!’ he barked. ‘Yo!’
Despite his eagerness to reach the column of smoke, Manners held the pace of his troop down to a level which wasted no time but still retained a reserve of speed should it prove necessary. Allowing for the uneven nature of the range, two hours almost elapsed before the men came into sight of the fire. By that time it had burned itself out, the barn being only smoking ruins although the small house still stood untouched. No horses remained in the corral and two men’s scalped, mutilated bodies lay by its ruined fence. As the soldiers rode up, a yell greeted them and a scared-looking cowhand limped from the house. While wounded in the leg, he was still alive; a fact which appeared to be as surprising to him as to the newcomers.
