Western - 7

Posted by AlOmega on July 25, 2004 at 08:10:58:

I’ve said before, Cap’n Tatum might be hard but he was fair. And after Martha died, I had nothing to live for, I thought. Still I lived and time does pass and so when I turned twenty-one, I decided to sell the ranch and travel to parts unknown. Cap’n Tatum was willing to purchase the ranch even though I didn’t really expect to get much for it. He and I and some of his hands rode the property line counting cattle and horses and what Martha and I’d put into it. It wasn’t much I figured but he gave me more then I expected - probably because Ma had thought of Martha as being her own daughter since they was about the same age. Gathering a few belongings (which didn’t amount to much), two horses and a pack mule, I started north.

Nothing much happened on the trail. Oh there was the normal problems ya sometimes has like rain and hail and the occasional Comanch looking for whatever. You avoided what you could and endured the rest. Frankly I hadn’t much considered what or where I’d want to go. I remember Lady Barbara talk about Australia and something called a ‘walkabout’. Guess that’s what I was doin’. I’d ride fast some days and lope along on others. Texas is pretty big after all. But more or less I traveled north. I only stopped in a town to get some tobacco, ammunition, flower, and beans. Didn’t need much more on the trail. When ya wanted to eat, you shot a deer or rabbit and cooked what you wanted and jerked the rest. I did stop in San Antonio for a bit and deposited some of my holdings in a bank there. Probably the best thing. Not that anyone would rob me while I was awake but maybe when I slept... Well I slept kinda light ‘cause ya had to in Comanch territory which was pretty much where the Comanch wanted it to be.

One day I found myself in Waco. Decided to drop in a visit Sheriff Ric and his wife, Lisa. They’d had a youngin but what surprised me more was that kid that’d stopped Hardin from plugging the Sheriff in the head. They’d taken him in and figured on raising the tike. Guessed him to be about seven but wasn’t sure. Still he seemed happy joking around and acting like kids always do. Brought a tear to my eye because I thought of Martha again and what we coulda had and hadn’t. Lisa commented again on the Europeans and their visit last year. Found out that she had been raised in England which told me how she’d gotten that accent, slight though it was. I mean we had lots of foreigners in Texas. Bunch of Germans had settled north of San Antonio. Heard a few Chinese were in that swamp known as Houston. And a bunch of Georgians had settled in the western end of Texas. Gonna raise cotton though where they’d get the water from was anybody’s guess. Hey, anyone not from Texas is a foreigner except for the Mexicans. And most of them’s us anyway.

After a week I figured out I’d about overstayed my welcome even though Ric and Lisa both wanted me to stay. Lisa especially wanted to help me get over Martha but nothing could do that. Still she had reminded me of Lady Petra and Barbara. Barbara’d gotten into some argument with Lady Petra over some stupid thing that women can sometimes do. Don’t know much about it but it was still bothering her. Ric was rather quiet about it but I could see he was concerned. But Ric’s the quiet type anyway. Comes with being sheriff I guess. But I knew he’d do anything for Lisa just like I’d done for Martha. That was why I’d figured I’d overstayed my welcome. I just couldn’t stand the devotion, the love they showed for one another, no more. I just couldn’t. So early one day, I got my stuff together. But as I started to leave out, Scott rode up. I looked at Ric and almost read in his face that he’d sent for Scott. So even though I was ready to go, I stayed for supper. Now Lisa’s one damn fine cook but this meal was extra special. I shoulda figured something was up. Lisa put the kids to bed while the rest of us went outside. Ric pulled on a jug which I hadn’t seen him do the whole time I’d been there. Scott and I took a drink and sat a bit letting the fire settle into our innards. I got out my pipe and lit up. But when Lisa came out, I started to put it out. She stopped me and stared at me hard. Then she lit into me as if I’d done her wrong somehow. She might be small but I knew she meant business. Told me about how I should stop moping around and get busy with livin’ again. I needed to find an anchor to my life and all. Ric and Scott were attentive as well. Then she quieted down and Ric took over.

Seems that they had been talkin’ to Cap’n Tatum and Ma; and, since I was acting like some shiftless kid what needed a good whallopin’, they were going to do it and start me off right. Much of it was Lisa’s idea but all - even Scott - was in on it. What it boiled down to was that Lisa had noticed something between Barbara and I. What with being married, nothing coulda been done. But now perhaps there could. She’d gotten some information from Petra and some from her husband before they’d headed back to England last month on ‘bout how Barbara thought of me and what her life had been like before they’d met her. After our ‘adventure’, Barbara had changed a great deal. They hadn’t figured out what caused the change until she’d returned from Amarillo. She’d found out about Martha and waited a while figurin’ that I might care for her. When I hadn’t shown up, she’d left for San Francisco one day rather suddenly. I figured her to be heading home to that island-country of hers. Of course they had figured out the whole thing. With a bit of help – initially from Scott - I was expected to catch her, woo her, and bring her back. Scott would ride with me a bit until we got to Amarillo. There we’d part company cause he had his sights on a gal in Ft. Worth.

You might ask if I coulda caught her in three weeks, why’d they wait to tell me now. First of all, Scott had been lookin’ for me the whole while and they thought they needed him to watch and see that I didn’t do something foolish – like getting myself killed. Second was, Texas is rather big ya know. Even then with three weeks head start, I might not make it to San Francisco before she left. But steamers to Australia don’t come in every day. About twice a month they had been told. Actually the whole thing made me excited although I wasn’t sure if Barbara would have me even if we found her. I was ready to start that night but Scott slowed me down. He wanted to show me something. We headed to the barn where I’d been bedding down. Lighting a lantern, he showed me a long box. I kinda figured what it was before he’d opened it. And I was right. Dam if’n it weren’t one of them “long rifles”, I’d heard about. OK, I’d fired a buffalo gun a few times and was pretty good. This one took regular 44 shells which had to be inserted one at a time. But the gun in the hands of a capable marksman could put the eye out of a humming bird at half a mile (course there might not be much left of the humming bird). Then he showed me one of those new fangled rapid fire Winchesters. Cap’n Tatum had sent East for ‘em, he told me. Kinda figured I might need them where we was goin’. Figured right I guess. Those with a pair of forty-fours would put the hurts to anything or anyone we had a problem with. That said, we retired to get some much needed sleep - easy enough since I didn’t drink much anyway.

The next day we rose pretty early. Lisa cooked us up a nice breakfast of steak and biscuits and eggs and lots of coffee. Sorta wanted to stay around and talk a bit before hitting the trail again but she looked at me with eyes that would have shoved nails through my head. If I’d so much as said a word against leaving, she woulda been on me like cow pies on grass. Shuttin’ up like those eyes told me, we mounted and headed west. First decisions first my dad had always said. Which way? Scott and I discussed this as we road. Barbara had headed south though New Mexico and Arizona territory before turning north. Would be a bit safer this time of year although it would take longer. Scott was gonna go with me part ways. We’d go to Amarillo and there he’d head for Ft. Worth and a girl named, Martha he’d met up with. After leaving Scott in Amarillo, I could take the north route through Raton Pass and Pueblo and make for Casper before heading west. The train would shorten the trip but the danger would be greater.

Weren’t that long ago that I read a railroad poster saying, “Millions of Acres” and “Iowa and Nebraska Land’s for sale on ten years credit by the Burlington and Missouri River Railroad Company at six percent interest.” Yep. Bad sign if ya asked me. Farmers shouldn’t move that far. Don’t see how they could ever stop the buffalo from stomping their crops to dust nor stop the local savages from taking what they wanted. It’s also difficult to cut that sod they call prairie.

Anyway it was Indians and dam fool whites was what the rifles were for. We were both good with them but when it come to drawin’, I was a bit faster. Not that I was as good as Bill Hickco*k or even Hardin but I’d learned that fast is better then slow. Still Scott put me straight on one thing. It ain’t how fast you draw or how good your aim. Its the will to do both and the willingness to kill. He’d seen fast guns who couldn’t hit the inside of a barn and even if they was good, they’d hesitate and get killed. Didn’t need to mention that the dime novels comin’ out ‘bout then weren’t correct in sayin’ that two guys walked out onto a street and had it out like two of them New Orleans dudes doin’ the dueling thang. When you draw, you shoot; and, you’d better make sure the other feller was dead or you soon would be. Fast ain’t got nothin’ to do about it.

I’d been to Amarillo a long time ago and probably no one remembered me cause I’d growed some since. Maybe an oldster might remember a ranger that had ridden through. Wasn’t that I was so much of anything – well other than a ranger when I was younger. Just that people lived their lives and couldn’t take time out to think on the occasional drifter even if he were a ranger. And maybe there were coach lines going north by now. One could never tell. Progress was making its foot felt even in Texas.

Did I mention that Texas is big? Well I aint doin no braggin there. Problems came up same’s always. Ya handles ‘em or not. And ifn ya don’t, generally ya dies. And that’s easy enough here anyways. After leaving Waco a mite, the trail sorta faded out. Not surprising since there t’weren’t much of a trail to begin with. With cattle, its one thing to break a trail. Even a wagon group’ll leave traces for a while - mostly stuff they shouldn’ta packed for the long haul no how. But people leaving everything for some place new, wants the ‘familiar’ about them. Farmers mostly, though. Ranchers know that lots of things’ll get in the road of making a go of it. Indians are only one of them. Farmers don’t think like that. Years back - not too many - I think I’da been a Mountain Man. Not like Liver-Eatin Johnson though cause I had no cause. Remembered tales of that one. Had some problems with Blackfeet in the High Reaches and further North from where I was gonna go. Wiped out his family from what I heard tell. Probably nothin much woulda come of it but stories had it that he’d killed a bunch of Blackfeet and eaten their livers. ‘Course I aint sure of that. Ya hears lots of strange things and braggins anywhere west of the Mississip. Fact is, I’ve done some myself – bragging that is.

Anyway ‘bout four days out of Waco, we comes across some Comanch sign. From the looks of it, they weren’t too far from us. But Scott and I figured they wouldn’t never knowed we was about if we headed north a bit. But something about the track bothered me. I looked back a bit and then it hit. This weren’t no ordinary Comanch. That was Kwahadi Band sign if I ever saw it.

Gotta stay watchful when ya sees Comanch sign. I remembered this bunch anyways cause I’d lived with em for a while – a reason I’d never scouted for the army. There was a family called the Parkers who lived not all that far from a small settlement on the Navasota River in East Texas. The Comanch attacked the settlement called Parker’s Fort in the summer of 1835. They carried off two children and some horses of Parker himself. One of the kids was Cynthia Ann Parker who I think was about twelve years old. She later became the wife of Nokoni (Wonderer), then the chief of the Kwahadi tribe. Quana was born around 1845.

Anyway, they’d been several Comanch raiding partys in the area and so they shouldn’ta been surprised to get an unannounced visitation from ‘em. But they were and a few of em got themselves killed. Comanch being what they are, took a couple of the youngsters and some horses and left. Don’t know why anyone was surprised since the Comanch had been doing this for as long as whites tried settling the area. Was one of the reasons that the rangers got started rangering – that and Mexican banditos that roamed across the Rio Grande thinking Texas was still part of Mexico. Cynthia Ann, with another youngun in tow, was rescued by troopers and brought back to Texas But she never could go back to being white and when the baby died, she gave up and died too.

It’s been my thinking over the years that the only reason Mexico asked for settlers in the area was to act as a buffer between the Comanch and their settlements. I mean it was common knowledge that the only reason towns like San Antonio weren’t burned to the ground was that they were a source of horses, food, and women. Only reason rangers put some kinda stop to the raidings was that we had four pistols apiece. We’d keep two in holsters and two in our belts. Ya see, rifles took so darn long to load that a raiding party would ride close and let people fire at em and while they was reloading, the Comanch would come with bows and arrows and do lotsa damage – specially if they was raiding a smaller group of whites or Mexicans. Remember hearing of four or five rangers getting jumped once and it threw the Comanch in a major fit when the rangers fired rifles waiting for them to ride up and then opened up with pistols. And then they charged the Comanch! Killed nineteen of twenty-two from what I heard.

Anyway I was thinking back on that time of the long-ago when the Parker place got raided. Shoulda paid more attention cause that’s when we got jumped.

Broken Nose was a bit older than me when we met. I was maybe eleven and he was - well, maybe he was eighteen or nineteen or something. I never found out. But one thing I done was spoil his hunt by shooting his chosen deer before him. Not only did he miss but he missed by more than twice as long as the deer were. If I’da shot the buck with a rifle, maybe that wouldn’ta been so bad. But I was pretty good with a bow and could place a shot pretty good for a kid. Broken Nose would have killed me on the spot if it hadn’t been that I was with the Kwahadi band. They cheering me on didn’t help none either. That’s about the time that Quana and I became blood brothers. And that’s what saved us this day.

Quana was half white which didn’t mean nothing’ to him but a great deal to his Comanch brethren. Most of the older chiefs disliked him probably cause of that. . His mother was pure white but she was so young when she got captured that she never could go back to being anything other than Comanch.

The last time I’d encountered the Kwahadi band was before they refused to enter into the Medicine Lodge Treaty of 1867. That was when the Comanch, Kiowa, Apache, Cheyenne, and Arapaho were assigned to reservations. Bad thing I‘d thought at the time. ‘Course no one said anything against what happened and I didn‘t either. I was about fifteen then and no one was gonna listen to no kid no how.

Anyway many of those who were suppose to go ‘reservation‘ didn‘t. And some, including Quana, continued to be a disturbance even now. Part of it was due to what white buffalo hunters were a-doin’ to the buffalo. By now they’d gotten to be bunches of em - enough that even the locals knew the buffalo weren’t long for this world.

I knowed this so I wasn’t surprised to see some of the warriors were Cheyenne and Kiowa. Figured Quana was up to something. Although I wasn’t sure it was right, I kinda agreed - just so long as he didn’t mess with white settlers. If he did, that would bring out the army and probably more Rangers. I was glad I was leaving Texas for a bit.

Surrounded by all them Comanch, Scott and I were taken to a temporary camp. Now you knows when you get near a camp. There’s the smell mostly. Meat’s being jerked and skins being cleaned by the women. Life’s hard for Comanch. But a woman’s life is even harder. There aint no time off for church for one. And cooking is something women do for fun. Not as bad as an Apache camp probably but I’d never been in one of them either and didn’t wanna go.

Anyway, we went into Quana’s lodge - a skin-covered tipi - or teepee I suppose you’da called it. We smoked a bit. I’ve always called it a peace pipe (there’s one for war also) cause it means you’re not gonna get killed. I’ve also called the peace pipe a chanupa rather than a calumet although the first word is more Lakota than Comanch. Calumet is what Frenchies in Louisiana calls em. I think that means reed but aint sure. Anyway havin’ a smoke meant we wasn’t gonna be staked out.

When it came down to it, though, Quana was only wanting to know what I’d been doing since last we met. He wasn’t so sure about Scott but since he was with me, he would be permitted to pass through Comanch lands - unless he was with any of them Buffalo Hunters. To kill buffalo, the hunters had been using them new Sharps rifles. To the Comanch, the senseless killing of buffalo for just their hides was considered as an abomination, and so I figured they’d kill all the buffalo hunters they could find. I could tell right off that Scott weren’t gonna hunt no buffalo anyhow. He was just that scared although he didn’t show it.

We spent the evening at the camp waking just as the camp was being struck. Asked Quana about what he was up to but he didn’t say nothing which meant he was gonna be visiting some whites soon. Could tell that cause they was putting on the paint for war. The rest of the camp would probably head well away from where they’d been, I expected.

I found out later that Quana led the band - along with some Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Kiowa - in an attack on some buffalo hunters. He had maybe seven hundred warriors but the whites were dug in at a fort known as Adobe Walls on the South Canadian in the Texas panhandle. Lucky for me I wasn’t around.

After we rode away - loping initially and adding some speed when we got outta sight - Scott relaxed a mite. That is until I told him we was being trailed a bit. No breakfast or lunch for us until we were well away from em. Only drank a little water even then. Was that afternoon before they let us be. And then we could stop and cook up supper.

It was while we was resting and grazing the horses that Scott told me about Martha. So, she wasn’t like my Martha but she was beautiful to Scott’s eyes and that’s what mattered. I suppose my Martha wasn’t all that beautiful to Easterner eyes either. But then ya gotta think on the times and dirt and sweat and stuff that makes ya old before your time. Ranching does that. Farming’s worse though. After a few hours sleep, we headed out again afore sunrise. Easier traveling that way.

Cuttin trail aint so bad. Time is all it takes and we got plenty of that. Sometimes we’d see someone. More’n likely as now, days would go by before any sign of human crossed our path. Time means nothing when traveling. I suppose it’s those Easterners that got the hankering for faster travel. Take that train race that happened ‘tween them two railroads to make tracks across these United States. Think it mighta been ‘tween the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific, I think. I talked with Scott about that and he said if I got to Denver to check it out. It would be faster than waiting for the snows to hit the high lonesome. He’d been there so knew the territory. Not that I couldn’t take crossing the Rockies, he said. Just that they were a mite high was all.

What could be higher or tougher than those mountains in West Texas that some called the Davis. Nope, he said. The Davis Mountains were sorta scraggy foothills to the side of the Rockies. And since he’d been in both, I weren’t gonna argue nohow.

We was a bit south of Amarillo when we ran across a young ranger doing his duty. Now rangers is more or less alone when they travels. Mostly they goes in pairs nowadays. When I was roaming, we mostly travels with God and if we ran afoul of something bad, we’d be meetin’ God as well. That’s what I thought of this country. It were God’s Country when ya come right down to it. Yep, God mighta visited lotsa places all over the world but He come to Texas to live, I thought back then.

Anyways we came across this ranger feller who went by the name of Walker. He was a shrub of a boy – well most rangers are just that – boys. But he was even smaller than most. I figured he were a bit over fourteen. Probably his first trip into the wilds. When we asked, he said he was headin’ fer Dallas to set up another ranger station there. Scott said that after we got to Amarillo, he’d be heading to Ft. Worth and that weren’t hardly a day away so why not tag along until Amarillo and the two of em would head back there. Didn’t much bother me. I did look at the kid though and thought, ‘here’s one kid on his way through something he’ll remember for the rest of his life – if he lives through it all.’ So I asks him about his background and gave him a few pointers on trackin’ and such. Kinda figure Scott would be doin’ more of this as they headed East. Scott’s like that. Willin’ to help, that is. And we also gave him a bit of warning about the dangers of the Comanch. From his attitude, I figured he knew next to nothing about Comanch and if he didn’t watch carefully, he could become one dead ranger. Lucky for him that Scott would be around to baby him through.

Couple of days later we was in Amarillo. Hadn’t changed all that much except for a building or two and the sheriff had got hisself killed. Happens when you takes chances which was what he’d done. Lucky for my mind, no one associated me with another ranger that had passed this way several years before. However, there was someone who DID know me. And when we’d met, it hadn’t been on friendly terms.

I knew who it was immediately. He considered himself a caballero. However, the last I’d seen of him, he’d been little more than a bandito, rustler, and murderer. If he drew first, I was gonna be dead.