Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (62 page)

While a couple of men cooked up the meat, Micah set about cleaning his rifle, wondering if he was ever going to get the chance to use it. The last thing he expected as he began taking apart the weapon was to look up and see a woman standing like an apparition in the late afternoon light. He blinked once, but when she was still standing there, he laid aside his gun and jumped up.

“Hello, ma’am,” he said softly. He noted now that she was ragged and battered and looked as skittish as a colt eyeing a rattler.

“It . . . can’t be . . .” she rasped.

Seeing that she was about to collapse, Micah rushed forward, catching her as she crumpled. “Tom! Come quick!” Micah yelled to his friend, who happened to be nearby.

Tom came running as Micah was laying the woman down on the grass. Several others joined him.

“What you got there, Micah?” Tom asked.

“She just appeared out of the brush . . . just like that.”

“She looks half dead,” Bill McBroome said.

“Jed, get some water,” Micah ordered. Then he said to the woman, “Ma’am, what’s happened to you?”

“Indians!” she said. “They have my baby—“ Her voice rose shrilly, then disintegrated into a wracking cough.

Just then Jed returned with a canteen, and Micah set it to her swollen and parched lips. As the water touched them, her tongue flicked out, catching some of the drips. Micah let a bit more drip from the canteen, and she lapped this up eagerly.

“Easy now,” Micah said.

The water seemed to revive her a bit, at least giving her strength to speak again, though still with great difficulty. “I thought if I could escape, I could get help. Please . . . save my baby!”

She poured out her story in fits and starts, often incoherently. Micah tried to get her to stop and rest, but she seemed to have a need to tell it. Her name was Martha Hornsby. Apparently she, her husband, her ten-year-old son, and her infant son were traveling by wagon to their new homestead south of Austin when they were attacked. The husband and ten-year-old were killed, and she and the baby were taken captive. That had been, by her best guess, some four days ago, though she had been unconscious some of that time, so her estimation of time passage was not completely reliable.

She was in bad shape. Dehydration and malnutrition were the least of her problems. The worst was a wound in her head and one in her leg from which she had lost much blood.

As one of the men who had some skill with doctoring tried to clean her up and tend her wounds, Micah tried to get details from her that would aid them in tracking the Indians. Yet it seemed it might be a hopeless pursuit. The woman had managed to escape from her captors two days ago, giving the Indians a good head start.

“Find my baby!” Martha Hornsby gasped again, nearly spent now. “They had him wrapped in hides and tied to a gray mule. That’s . . . what you . . . should look for. . . .”

“We’ll find him, Mrs. Hornsby,” Micah said with confidence. Only a quick glance at Tom indicated he wasn’t as confident as his words sounded.

Leaving four men behind to stay with the woman and guard the camp, the rest, eight in all, departed without waiting for supper. They didn’t want to waste the daylight left to them. Jed was told to stay behind, and Micah was certain he also would be one of the unlucky ones to be stuck in camp. But the others felt that since he had found the woman, so to speak, he should have the privilege of joining the search for the child. He was thrilled and excited as he hurriedly put his rifle back together, loaded it and his brace of pistols, and mounted the buckskin.

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that they located fresh tracks. Apparently the Indians had spent some time trying to find their missing captive. They also did not appear to be in a great hurry, nor were they exercising much caution, which no doubt explained how the woman had escaped. Perhaps they felt enough time had passed that they were safe from pursuit. Or they might simply feel confident in their numbers, which Big Foot estimated at about twenty. Nevertheless, Micah was frustrated when the rangers had to halt for the night so as not to destroy the signs in the darkness.

Two hours after sunrise the next morning, the rangers located the Comanche camp on the edge of a dense cedar break. The Indians were only beginning to break camp. Indeed, they seemed as relaxed and unconcerned as if they were on a Sunday picnic. Only when they heard the approach of the rangers did they spring into action, grabbing weapons and horses, leaving all else behind, and dashing for the cedar. The Comanches weren’t about to make a stand against the obviously better armed and better mounted rangers.

Micah dug his heels into the buckskin’s flanks. They would lose their prey if they reached the trees. Before realizing it, he was several lengths ahead of his comrades. In another minute, he was in the midst of the Comanche camp where the braves were still running helter-skelter in a frenzied escape attempt. Several had already reached the trees. They were on foot, since horses would be of little use in the dense wood. One Indian paused and fired at Micah. The ball from the Indian’s ancient musket tore Micah’s hat from his head. Micah jumped from his mount and fired back but only grazed a tree as the Indian took off running.

Micah fired again at the retreating Comanche with his second pistol, bringing him down. He quickly reloaded and was about to continue pursuit when someone yelled his name.

“Micah!”

He spun around in time to see a warrior bearing down on him with a drawn knife. Micah pulled the trigger, but his pistol jammed. The Comanche leaped for a final attack, but a shot from behind stopped him. Micah saw it was Bill McBroome who had come to his aid. He didn’t have time for more than a nod of thanks because the Comanche Bill shot was only wounded and was now dashing for cover. Micah also raced toward the trees.

But he was too late. The Comanches were quickly disappearing into the cover of the break. It would be useless to attempt to engage them in the thick woods, but it was a hard reality to accept. Only one dead Indian for the rangers’ efforts. And no baby. Discouraged, Micah joined the others in search for booty, mostly horses that the retreating Indians had not had a chance to take. Four horses and two mules.

“A gray mule!” Micah yelled.

He found his reward carefully wrapped in several layers of hides.

The squirming, wailing baby was definitely white and seemed no worse for his ordeal.

A few minutes later Big Foot Wallace came up to Micah with another unexpected reward. “Reckon you got the only kill of the day, so you earned this.” He held out a bloody swath of black hair.

It wasn’t the first scalp Micah had ever seen and would surely not be his last, but he’d never get used to them, to the blood, the gore, and the gruesome kind of victory they represented. He only took the thing and tied it to his saddle because he thought it might give Mrs. Hornsby some comfort knowing at least a small price had been exacted for her loss.

But the screaming child made him quickly forget all this. Tom was holding the baby, but completely bewildered, he handed it off to Bill, who grimaced as if he’d just been handed a rattler. He held the child out at arm’s length, looking desperately around for rescue.

Micah took the baby almost instinctively, though it had been years since he’d been around children. “He’s wet,” Micah announced. “Anyone got a spare shirt in their saddlebag? I don’t have a spare, or I’d use it.”

Tom found a shirt and gave it to Micah. “What’d you need that for?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, someone get a fire going and boil up some water with a couple pieces of jerky in it.” Almost in spite of him self, Micah began warming to the task. It brought back many memories. Most were unwelcome, but not everything about his growing up had been unpleasant. Like any normal boy, he hadn’t liked helping his mother care for his siblings, yet there had been something nice about the companionship of his mother and sisters. These tasks had formed a bond among them. A bond that had excluded his father.

Micah stripped off the baby’s diaper, a mere rag that looked as if it hadn’t been changed for days. The smell caused tears to sting his eyes. The other men stepped back with various noises of disgust. Micah cleaned the boy, who appeared to be about eight months old, with the damp ends of the old diaper, which he then laid aside.

As he positioned Tom’s shirt under the squirming child who was fully exercising his healthy lungs, Tom leaned in closer to see what was to become of his shirt. At just that moment, the baby decided to release more than tears. A stream of urine struck poor Tom right between the eyes.

“What the—” he sputtered, then jumped away, looking like he’d have rather been shot.

The other men howled.

Bill was nearly doubled over with laughter. “That kid’s got a better aim than Micah!”

Then, as if Tom’s humiliation wasn’t complete, he began to perceive exactly to what use his shirt was being put when Micah wrapped the main part of the shirt around the baby’s bottom, circling the sleeves around his middle to fasten it all together.

“That’s my best shirt!” Tom protested.

“It’ll wash up fine,” Micah assured him.

“I ain’t wearin’ no shirt that’s been fouled by a kid’s innards!”

“You’ll smell better’n ya do now,” taunted Bill.

Tom was sputtering, trying to think of a retort, when Micah picked up the old diaper and thrust it out. “Here, Bill, go wash this out in the stream.”

Bill jumped back, hands raised, obviously appalled. “I ain’t touching that!”

Micah marveled that men who thought nothing of lifting a human scalp were so repulsed at a little child’s mess.

“Do I gotta do everything?” he railed. “This baby has to eat. Now one of you sorry varmints take care of this rag. We’ll need a spare, unless someone has another shirt . . .”

With a curse, Bill picked up the offensive item and marched off to the stream. Micah lifted the child against his shoulder, and at last the baby’s wails began to subside a little. He walked around the camp patting the boy’s back and cooing softly. Soon the broth was ready. After it had cooled some, he took off his bandanna, loosely knotting one end, and dipped it into the broth. He brought the sodden knot to the infant’s lips and the baby sucked hungrily at it.

“Well, I’ll be!” said Big Foot. “Looks like our horse-thieving ranger is also a baby’s nurse. Wonders will never cease!”

“Where’d you learn all this stuff?” one of the other men asked.

“I was the oldest of four,” Micah replied casually. “I’ve changed my share of diapers and such.”

“Well, I was from a big family, too,” said one of the men, “and I never learned all that. My pa made sure women’s work was done by the women.”

My pa didn’t give a hang, Micah thought but said nothing out loud because he didn’t care to open his personal life to everyone. He did allow himself a private grin when he remembered those days his father had suffered so, right after his mother had died. Benjamin had been in way over his head trying to care for the newborn, in addition to the other children. Micah had taken special pleasure in making the task as hard on his father as he could, never volunteering information and helping only when it seemed that to do otherwise might be harmful to the children.

“Well, Micah,” said Big Foot, “I’d start to wonder about you if ’n you wasn’t so good with a gun.”

Micah responded with a disgruntled snort, then gave the baby another taste of broth.

When they returned to the camp where they had left the child’s mother, they learned that Mrs. Hornsby had died hours earlier.

“Well, boy,” Micah said gently to his little charge, “I’m sorry for you. You poor kid.” He ran a finger over the child’s downy soft yellow curls. “You don’t even have a name,” he murmured. “Ain’t right that you have no family and no name either.” He smiled into the limpid brown eyes. “When my brother was born, I wanted to name him for my uncle, but my pa would have none of that. I think I’ll call you Haden . . . just so I don’t have to keep calling you kid.”

He held the child a little closer, rocking him gently. He’d had sole responsibility for the baby on the ride back, and now it looked as if he’d have to continue to do so until they got to San Antonio. He’d gotten a couple of the others, Tom included, to help some, but it seemed the baby was most content when Micah had him. Sometimes as he rocked the baby, humming little snippets of tunes he remembered from his childhood, he’d find his thoughts wandering to Lucie Maccallum. That amazed him more than anything. It gave him a kind of warmth all over, a sensation he hadn’t felt in many years. But he knew it was a dangerous sensation to feel, much less enjoy.

They arrived in San Antonio four days later on a Sunday afternoon. As the rangers rode past the new Protestant church, Micah decided the service must have just recently concluded because the members were still milling around outside visiting. He saw the big redheaded figure of Reid Maccallum, then quickly jerked his head away before his eyes made contact with Lucie, who he knew would be somewhere near her father. He wanted to see her, to talk to her again. But he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.

He and Tom took the baby to the constable’s office so they could discuss what was to be done about the boy. Once apprised of the situation, the constable sent his deputy over to the church to see if any of the women could help out. In the meantime one of the other men found some milk to feed the child. Micah warmed the milk and fed the boy while the child’s future was being decided.

“I’m pretty sure Martha and Ned Hornsby had family up around Austin,” the constable said.

“Then they’ll take him,” Micah said hopefully. He himself was growing much too attached to this kid. The sooner he was rid of him, the sooner he could get back to an existence he understood.

“It’ll take time to reach them, of course.”

“Well, surely one of the women here will take him until then.”

“No doubt.”

About fifteen minutes later, a woman did come to the constable’s office. Lucie Maccallum. Micah was alone with the baby. Tom and the constable had gone to see how the deputy was doing finding a temporary home for the child.