Authors: Kerry Newcomb
Rafe (40 page)
Steve watched as the two disappeared behind the barricade. She looked ragged but unharmed. Damn!
“What you figger we oughta do, Captain?”
“Wait, Sergeant. Just wait.”
“Sir, supposin' they cross the river to Tejas an' take her with 'em? They'll be in Mexico where we can't foller.”
Steve closed the spyglass, slamming it back into the case. “Sergeant, if they take that girl with them we'll follow them straight to hell if need be.”
Jomo watched and waited. He'd regrouped the remaining few behind the barricade and seen to the loading of the guns. Certain his friend would show up sooner or later, he was determined to wait however long it took. But the soldiers worried him. With only Dingo and two others beside himself he felt less than confident of their ability to survive another attack. Seeing Rafe come from the brush cheered him considerably. The white girl he wasn't sure about. White women were trouble. Still, they could trade her for their freedom. He shrugged his shoulders mentally, knowing there would be no trade. Rafe was Rafe. If he wanted the girl he'd have her, even if she did cause trouble, even if the rest of them had to fight because of her.
Rafe darted behind the wagons, squatted at Jomo's side. The giant grinned happily, swatted Jomo on the shoulder. “N'gata Jomo.”
Jomo lifted the bloody axe. “A good fight, N'gata Rafe.” He grinned back. Jomo would back his friend no matter what.
Rafe helped Crissa as she slumped down to rest, her back against the bed of the wagon. She closed her eyes. He thought of the corpses littering the path. Trinidad ⦠Bess ⦠so many more. “A hard fight, N'gata Jomo. So many dead. Trinidad and Bess?”
Jomo nodded his head in affirmation. “Dey ohoose to die. Dey choose. It make a difference, N'gata. Dey die free.”
Rafe nodded. His friend was right. Dingo and the others were staring at him, waiting for instructions, looking apprehensively from him to the river and the field slaves gathered on the opposite shore. Rafe stood and stared down the path. The soldiers would not wait long. They'd have to come on foot if they didn't want to trample their wounded. Or through the brush.â¦
“Stay here,” he told them, then turned and walked the twenty yards to the river's edge, took up the rope and began pulling the raft across to him, muscles bunching along his shoulders and back. Hand over hand he drew the raft closer and closer. On the other side Chulem instructed several of the men to handle the opposite line and help Rafe, then stand by to either cut the line or pull the raft back across.
“Rafe,” Jomo called. “Dey must've see yo'. Dey comin' down de path. Dey holdin' a white flag.”
Rafe left the line, let the raft drift in by itself as he hurried back to the wagons and climbed aboard one. “That's far enough!” His voice rang clearly, stopping the soldiers in their tracks. “What you want?”
“Talk,” Steve called back. “We want to talk and we want the girl.”
Rafe glanced down at Crissa, gestured for her to stay hidden. “What you gonna do if we give her to you?”
There was a pause. “Let you go.”
Rafe laughed. “I tell you what, Mistah Captain. You pick up your wounded an' carry them back up the path to where you was campin'. Then we'll come out an' pick up our wounded, bringin' the girl with us in case you try anything. Then when we get back behind the wagons here, we'll let you know. But you gotta put down your guns an' walk slow.”
There was silence from the soldiers. Steve recognized the bind he was in. There didn't seem to be much else to do except what Rafe had suggested. “We'll do it,” he called.
“We know how many of you there are. We'll be watch-in' an' countin' if you plannin' on leavin' a sleeper behind.”
“I want the girl unharmed. We won't try anything.” Steve laid down his musket and pistols, indicated the others should do likewise. When all the weapons were on the ground the men advanced slowly and picked up their wounded. Within moments they were back to their guns. They picked them up and headed back up the road.
Rafe laughed behind the barricade. “C'mon. Let's go. Crissa, you got to remember you a hostage now, an' act scared.” The six came around the wagons and headed up the road, Crissa walking boldly in front, glancing back from time to time as if in fear for her life.
Only two were alive. A relative newcomer, a squat, burly man by the name of Jason had been knocked out by a musket ball which had grazed his skull. They pulled him to his feet and headed him back for the wagons. Driver, a youth with some seven fights behind him had been cut cruelly on the arm and leg and had lost a lot of blood. They tied rags around his wounds and dragged him back with them. Silence hung over the path. They were back where they started ten minutes earlier.
“Mistah Captain?” Rafe shouted.
Steve took a few paces forward. “I hear you.”
“We goin' cross the river. I ain't sayin' you gonna get her back an' I ain't sayin' you ain't, but we gonna take the girl with us. You want her hurt an' you shoot into us, you hear?”
“We won't shoot. But if you take her with you, I'll follow you until I see you dead.”
“That be a long time, Mistah Captain,” Rafe called, dropping down to the ground. “C'mon.⦔ He gestured with his hand and started for the river. Crissa dutifully stood and followed the others to the raft, waded through the shallows and clambered aboard. Dingo and Jomo grabbed the rope and started hauling, getting help from the slaves on the other side. The raft shot into the river. The soldiers were already on the move but Rafe could only hope they would hold their fire rather than endanger Crissa by shooting indiscriminately at the little party clustered so tightly together.
Steve and the soldiers rushed past the barricade and swarmed down to the beach. Two of the dragoons raised their pistols to fire but another soldier harshly ordered them to lower their guns. Rafe recognized Steve. He was glad he'd lowered his shot during the attack. Had the captain been killed the soldiers might have risked a volley and probably killed them all.
Steve watched helplessly as the raft was drawn up on the shore of Tejas. The freed slaves cheered wildly as the pitbucks disembarked and Rafe walked to the rope and cut it with his cutlass. The current slowly swung the raft downstream where it would soon be out of sight.
The raucous cheers stopped when someone pointed out Crissa. Rafe ordered the free men back into the trees, not wishing to waste another precious moment with their enemies just across the river. Soon the shoreline was nearly empty, only Jomo, Rafe and Crissa remaining, hidden from the prying eyes of the soldiers by a line of bushes. Crissa seemed reluctant to go. “We best join the others, Crissa.”
Crissa looked instead at Jomo. “Jomo?” she asked. “May I talk to Rafe alone?”
Jomo shrugged. “I be waitin' in de trees,” he said, drifting back from their hiding place at the water's edge.
Rafe knew what she was going to say before she said it. The knowledge didn't make the listening any easier.
“I'm not going, Rafe.”
“You got to.”
“You know what I have to do. And so do I.”
“Stay with me. That's what you have to do.”
“He'd follow. I know Steve. You heard him. As long as I'm with you he'll follow. The minute they think they can get away with it, they'll swim their horses across the river and be after us, treaty or no.”
“We'll fight them,” Rafe replied firmly.
“Yes. And more will be killed. Maybe Jomo. Maybe you. And how many others? Just so you could have your white woman.”
“Don't say that.”
“Rafe.⦠I love you, Rafe. I've been taught all my life how wrong it is and yet I love you. But we can't sacrifice everything else, all you've fought for, their freedom, so we can be together. It wouldn't be right. There's been enough death. Now is the time for life. If I stay behind Steve will turn back and let you go.”
Rafe tried to interrupt but Crissa continued doggedly. “And what of the field slaves? Julie was only saying what they all feel. They'd never trust me. Their resentment would grow and grow until they'd no longer follow you, even if you are the only one who can lead them. They need you, Rafe.”
Rafe stared at the sky. So now he would lose her. She was right, but for a few seconds he allowed himself the luxury of not believing her. His battle-scarred hands rose to cup her face as if seeking to remember the touch of her flesh. He brought his lips to her forehead. What had his father said? Nothing. There were no stories for the hurt that wrenched at his heart.
Suddenly he stood and faced the river. “White man! You come get your woman. A horse for you, a horse for her. No more.”
He looked once into her eyes, then turned and walked up the hill to the bluff overlooking the river. Jomo was waiting for him. Rafe squatted among the brush and watched a lone rider with an extra mount swim his animals across the river toward the woman who waited alone on the shore.
The sun was settling into the western sky, bathing the scene in a reddish-gold light and adding a touch of crimson to the hair of the woman who waited. Rafe kept his vigil until the two were safely returned to the Louisiana shore. Then he turned away and without looking back, walked toward the western forest where there was freedom, real freedom to be fought for and won.
⦠and his people waited.
About the Authors
Kerry Newcomb was born in Milford, Connecticut, but had the good fortune to be raised in Texas. He has served in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and taught at the St. Labre Mission School on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Montana, and holds a master's of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University. Newcomb has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and liturgical dramas, and is the author of over thirty novels. He lives with his family in Fort Worth, Texas.
Frank Schaefer was reared in upstate New York but has lived in Texas for many years. He was a hospital corpsman in the navy and served in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. He holds a master of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas. Schaefer has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and some twenty novels. He lives in Austin, Texas.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1976 by Kerry Newcomb and Frank Schaefer
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0223-3
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
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