Comanche Rose (32 page)

After what had happened to Ethan and Jody, she didn't deserve such happiness, but she was getting that chance to start over with a man who loved her. And she felt a pang of conscience for what she was asking of him. Yet she couldn't give up her daughter. All she could do was pray to God that all three of them came back together.

CHAPTER 22

The trail was hot and dusty and dangerous in places, but they'd made remarkable time in the last several days, coming up from San Angelo, following the North Concho toward the Big Spring, then skirting the east side of the mountains, crossing a number of rivers and streams on their way north to the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River. Their ultimate goal was to reach the eastern side of the Llano Estacado, the heart of the Comancheria. Those high grasslands where the buffalo grew fat, and those deep, winding canyons with Comanche villages stretching along streams for miles. A no-man's land for an Anglo.

He'd been seeing signs of Indians ever since the Big Spring, and for all he knew they were being shadowed by them now. That was the thing about the damned Comanches—they could follow a man for days before they struck, playing a game with him, sometimes even creeping almost to his campfire without his knowing it. He'd once had a horse stolen while he'd had it tethered to his foot, and still he'd woke up with his hair. On foot, but alive. Knowing they were just waiting like vultures over a dying animal, he'd turned the tables, creeping to the edge of the Comanche camp to steal back his own horse. By some miracle he'd gotten away with it.

He was so hot that his shirt clung wetly to his skin while his buckskin pants stuck to the sides of Old Red. He cast a sidewise glance at Annie, but she was riding as stoicly as an Indian. He'd give her that—her three years with them had been hell, but she'd sure learned how to travel like them, without complaint. It was almost like tracking across the desert with Clay. Almost, but not quite.

After more than two weeks of marriage, Annie held him more in thrall now than ever. When the going was roughest, he found himself thinking ahead to when they'd be stopping, how much water he could afford to use to make himself acceptable, how good it would feel to roll up in his bedroll with her in his arms. Even at night, when the lovemaking was over, he'd lay there, looking up at the stars, listening to the not so distant howls of the coyotes, thinking how lucky he'd been when he'd stumbled onto Bull Calf's camp in that blizzard. If he never came back from the Llano, he knew he'd die feeling that way.

Seeing the cat panting pathetically, he reached for his canteen, unscrewed the lid, and poured a little water on its head. Then he cupped his hand, making a place for it to drink. It had to be hell being a long-haired black cat in the desert. As hot as it was, it crept back to drape itself behind his saddle horn, positioning itself against his inner thigh.

The damned thing had adopted him, and there hadn't been much he could do about it. When he'd left it at the Willetts', it had tried to follow him. Finally, he'd turned back, handed it to Mary, then ridden on over to the stagecoach way station to buy the two mules. Hot and thirsty, he'd come back by Buell's Crossing, where a downright civil Lake had sold him a beer and apologized about Annie. By the time Hap got home that night, a tired Spider was waiting to get into the house. It had walked more than five miles just to come back. The other one, the cat Annie'd missed so much, hadn't been nearly as adventurous. It was still at the Willetts'.

Finally, rather than make another trip, and faced with an adamant Annie, Hap had spent hours cutting and braiding a rawhide lead and a collar for the little critter. Now he'd been out in the sun himself so long that he was beginning to like it. When they stopped, while Annie fixed food, Hap found himself watching Spider attack anything that dared to move.

"Do you want me to take him?" Annie asked.

"No, he's all right. It's just too damned hot out here, that's all."

"I couldn't leave him to starve, Hap."

"You've got a soft heart, Annie."

"I'm not the one holding him."

"Hell, I haven't even had a dog since I was a kid," he protested. He looked down at the hairy ball cuddled against him. "Cat's not much of a man's animal, you know," he muttered.

"Whether I know it or not doesn't seem to matter," she countered. "He apparently doesn't."

"Yeah, well, when we get back, I don't want you telling everybody I rode one of the old war trails with a damned cat in my lap the whole way."

"I won't. It was good of you to let me bring him."

He squinted, scanning the horizon intently for a moment. "Yeah, I just hope he doesn't wind up in a cooking pot somewhere."

"They never ate any cats I knew of, Hap—and no dogs, either. Just about everything else but not that. You must be thinking of the Arapahos or the Cheyenne."

"Uh-huh."

"See anything?" she asked suddenly.

"No, and that worries me," he admitted. "I know they're out there, and sometime tomorrow we'll be cutting west, hitting the damned canyons."

What he wasn't saying was that Clay'd told him there were narrows scarcely fifteen feet wide in places, and with high walls squeezing in on the arroyos, and caves and overhangs above them, there were plenty of places for an ambush. Places worse than along the main war trail coming across Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos. But she probably knew. She'd been up there, and she'd seen the place, while he'd only heard about it.

Thinking Hap regretted coming, she sought to reassure him. "I can speak to them—I can tell them why we're here."

"Yeah, if you get the chance. Pretty hard to say much if you've already got a bullet in you."

"With just the two of us, they'll come for a closer look."

"Yeah, they don't want to miss out on the fun."

"No."

"You've got a lot of guts, Annie—you know that, don't you?"

"And you don't?" she countered.

"I'm a man. And I've never been through anything like what happened to you. I don't know how you can stand to go back."

"They have Susannah," she said simply.

"They're not going to give us any help, you know. It'll be hit-or-miss finding her."

"I know." She was silent for several seconds, then sighed. "You don't think we can do it, do you?"

"Annie, if I didn't think there was a chance, I wouldn't be here," he lied. "I just hope you can take it if we don't. I don't want this to destroy you."

"I don't know. I just have to believe it's going to happen, Hap."

"Annie..." He hesitated, then changed his mind. He wasn't going to say anything to disappoint her. It'd happen soon enough, anyway, and then he'd be trying to comfort her. "You look hot enough to faint," he muttered instead. "Maybe if we stopped a few minutes in the shade of those mesquites, you'd feel better."

"I'm all right."

She was driving herself too hard in her eagerness to reach the hunting grounds. Finally, he looked down at Spider. "The cat's not going to make it if we don't cool him off," he said, hoping to persuade her. "He's panting pretty hard with all this hair on him."

"All right."

"We'll rest the animals and give 'em a drink, then we'll go on," he promised. "I don't want to be trying to cross the river at night, anyway. I'd rather have full light."

"I brought my mending kit. Maybe if I cut some of the fur off, he'd be cooler," she murmured, considering the nearly prostrate cat.

"Yeah."

He reined in and swung out of his saddle to walk wide-legged toward the low-branched trees. His buckskin pants were stuck to his skin, glued there by Old Red's sweat. Quickly tying the big black pack mule's lead to a limb, he took down the packs to cool it off. Then he turned his attention to the cat. Unscrewing the lid off his last full canteen, he wet its head again, rubbing the water into its skin.

"Better, fella?" But even as he asked it, he could see it wasn't. "I don't know, Annie. I think he'd have been better off fending for himself."

She brought her sewing box over, then knelt beside the panting animal. Taking out her scissors, she looked up at Hap. "Can you hold him down? He might not like this."

"Yeah."

The result was almost comical. Bereft of great wads of black hair, Spider turned out to be a lot smaller than Hap had expected. By the time Annie finally gave up and put away the scissors, the irregularly chopped fur made the cat look like a miniature black owl with badly ruffled feathers. Still trying to cool him, Hap washed him down from head to tail, so that the uneven edges stood in little wet spikes. When finally turned loose, the indignant Spider climbed the tree, tangling his braided lead in the branches, nearly hanging himself. Balefully eyeing his human tormentors, he clung upside down to a branch, howling.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, you know that, don't you?" Hap said, trying to free him. "She should've named you Trouble." Behind him, Annie giggled. Then he froze, the hairs on his neck standing on end. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"Company. Don't move. Just keep looking at the cat," he ordered, easing his hand toward his holster. "And keep talking like everything's all right."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see two mounted warriors coming toward them; and for a moment she froze also. Both had their faces painted black, marking them as part of a war party, possibly the advance scouts for it. And the old terror washed over her, making her heart pound, taking her breath away. Then she saw the glint of the sun on the Peacemaker.

"No!" she screamed, lunging for his arm. "Don't shoot!"

As the bullet went wide, both Indians bore down on them, one with his feathered lance lowered. Before Hap knew what she was doing, Annie was racing toward them, waving her hands, shouting in Comanche. Hap broke into a dead run after her, trying to catch her before they killed her.

"Get down, Annie!" he yelled, his heart in his throat. "For God's sake, get out of the way!"

He raised his gun again, then held his fire as the lead rider lifted the war lance. The other warrior circled her, then came to a halt. She stood there, holding her ground, gesturing as she spoke. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the Comanche with the lance rode toward him, both hands up in a gesture of peace. Pointing at Hap, he asked, "Tondehwahkah?"

Hap looked at Annie. "What did you tell him?"

"That Many Bullets has brought Woman Who Walks Far to visit her adopted people."

He looked up at the Indian, forcing a smile. "Yeah." Carefully sheathing the Colt, he kept his eye on the other one. He'd trust the biggest rattlesnake on earth over a Comanche. "What did he say to that?"

"That there are more warriors coming, and they're on their way to Mexico to steal horses."

"They're lying. They're going down to raid the ranches."

"They outnumber us, Hap."

The Indian nearest her spoke up then, telling her something. She nodded before turning back to Hap. "He says there's no good water right now," she translated for him. "Even the Red's bad in places, with too much sand and gypsum in it. And the ponds and pools in the gaps are so bad the horses won't drink from them."

"Full of good news, isn't he?" he muttered.

"They'd give us water, but they're not sure about what they'll find at the Brazos, so they don't want to spare any. I told him it was drinkable, but I'm not sure he believes me."

As they stood there, talking to the two Comanches, the rest of the war party caught up. Seeing the mules tied up, they took the place for a camp, and to Hap's chagrin, all ten of them dismounted to make themselves at home. One noticed Spider and advanced curiously on the little cat. Having never seen an Indian in full war paint with his face zigzagged in red and black, his hair part marked with a yellow line, Spider took exception to the inspection. Arching his back, he hissed and spat, then snarled, giving a full view of his fangs. Startled, the Comanche drew back, and his companions roared with laughter.

Within minutes, the Indians had a small mesquite fire going and were spitting hackberry balls on sticks. One of the Indians approached Hap, gesturing to his packs.

"They want to know if you'll make some coffee for them," Annie explained. "I told them I'd do it. They want to share their food with us."

"Mighty nice of em," he observed sarcastically.

They said it was an honor to eat with Tondehwahkah. But they're traveling light—it'll just be pemmican and hackberry balls. If you've never tried them—well, they're not too bad."

"Yeah, Clay used to make 'em. Tallow and berry paste. I guess it's all in what a body gets used to. Me, I could've gone a lifetime without eating any, but he'd get a real hankering for 'em.'

"At least they're better than a lot of things they could be offering us," she pointed out. They could be killing a horse and handing it out in raw pieces, you know."

"I've seen Clay eat that, too, but that doesn't mean I'd want any."

"I expect they'll be moving on as soon as they eat."

"Learn anything else? Like where they're from, or where they're going?"

"They're Noconis—from Ketanah's band. They don't know where the Quahadis are, only that Quanah's somewhere up on the Llano. There are a number of bands camped along the Great Canyon, but they can only say that most are Comanche with a few Kiowa mixed in."

"Reckon maybe that'd be the Palo Duro," he decided.

"I don't know. There are a lot of deep holes up there. Anyway, we'll have to find out for ourselves. They're going on.

"Where?"

She turned to speak to the war chief, then shook her head. "They'll be going down by Fort Davis, as near as I can tell. Usually that means they're after Mexican slaves and horses."

It didn't take long for the smell of burning mesquite and tallow to fill the air. Retrieving one of the sticks from the fire, an Indian buck blew the ashes off the burnt mess on the end, then held it out to Hap. As they all sat in a circle around the smoking campfire, sharing food and coffee, the conversation was animated, with the war chief directing a continuous stream of questions at Annie for Hap. Had Tondehwahkah come to smoke peace after years of making war? Where was Nahahkoah? Why did they no longer see Nahahkoah riding in the desert? In turn, she asked them if they knew anything about any white children held by the Quahadis. But after much shrugging and conferring, they assured her they didn't.