[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (26 page)

Badger Boy wondered if this might be the same man. Of the Texans he had observed since his capture, this was the only one who fit the description.

Often when one or more of the Texans came to look at him, he feigned sleep. Not when they brought him food, however. Once the pain diminished, his appetite returned with a vengeance. He did not recognize much of what they brought him to eat, but he found it mostly flavorful.

When Tanner told him, "You're startin' to fatten up, boy," Badger Boy understood. He was beginning to understand more words every day. He reasoned that they had been buried somewhere in his memory. Hearing them now was bringing them back into his consciousness. He began speaking some of the words, like
dinner, supper, water, meat
. After a few efforts he was able to say them easily.

One day Rusty, Tanner, and the black man Shanty brought him a pair of long sticks carved from limbs of an oak tree. Each had cloth wrapped as padding around a fork at its tops. Rusty placed the sticks beneath his own arms, demonstrating their use. He said, "These are crutches, so you can start gettin' around a little."

Badger Boy did not know the word
crutch
, but he realized the purpose of the sticks.

Len Tanner declared, "It ain't good to lay on your back too long. You'll petrify."

The old black man carefully lifted Badger Boy to a sitting position. Rusty and Tanner then positioned themselves on either side of him and brought him to his feet. Badger Boy felt weak, the room swaying around him, his leg hurting. But the two men's strength gave him confidence to remain on his feet and place the crutches beneath his armpits.

Rusty said, "Now take ahold," showing him how to grip the handles firmly attached by rawhide at arm's length. "All right, now, walk. We'll hold on to you. We won't let you fall."

Badger Boy understood the meaning and most of the words. "I walk," he said. He took a step and would have fallen had the two men not had a firm grip.

Rusty said, "Try again. You'll get the hang of it."

This time Badger Boy took a step without feeling that he was about to fall. Gaining confidence, he took another and another. The two men relaxed their holds, though they did not relinquish them altogether.

Shanty declared enthusiastically, "You're doin' fine, boy. The Lord is lookin' down and smilin' on you."

Badger Boy reasoned that the Lord must be one of the Texans' gods. He had heard Preacher Webb talking to Him from time to time, though he had never heard a reply. The Comanches' spirits often spoke to them in the voices of birds and animals. He reasoned that the Texans' gods must dwell farther away, though if that were the case he did not understand how they could hear Webb speak.

They were a strange lot, these Texans.

After a few steps the men released their hold entirely, though Rusty remained near enough to catch him if he fell. Badger Boy ventured out onto the dog run and felt the coolness of the breeze. The bright sun made his eyes pinch at first, though he found the light pleasant once they had accommodated to it. He had spent too many days in the room's close confinement.

Tanner said, "Beats hell out of stayin' indoors, don't it?"

Not sure of the proper reply, Badger Boy said, "Beats hell."

Rusty grinned at Tanner. "Good thing Preacher Webb has gone away to sermonize. He'd scorch you good for corruptin' an innocent boy."

Tanner said, "First things I ever learned as a young'un was the cusswords. A few damns here and there don't hurt anything. Sometimes they're like a tonic."

Badger Boy understood only the general meaning of what they were saying, but he sensed that it was in good humor. He allowed himself a faint smile. It had been awhile since he had felt like smiling about anything.

Tanner noticed. "He's tryin' to grin. Some people don't think Indians have got any humor at all."

Rusty said, "They just don't know."

"The trouble is, what an Indian is most apt to grin about don't bode no good for a white man."

Shanty was not smiling. "Preacher Webb wouldn't like to come back and hear this boy usin' mean language. We need to teach him proper so he'll find favor in the eyes of the Lord."

There was the Lord again, Badger Boy thought. If these Texans put so much store in Him, perhaps he should learn a little about Him, too. He needed all the gods and beneficent spirits he could summon, for he would require help to get away from here and return north where he belonged.

In time he more or less had the run of the place, within the limits imposed by his broken leg. He was able to get out of bed by himself, tuck the crutches beneath his arms, and go as far as the barn and livestock pens. He stayed away from the hog pen, for the mud-loving hogs had a smell like something four days dead. He saw that Rusty owned cattle, but those did not interest him. They were smaller and appeared more vulnerable than the buffalo. He found their meat less flavorful. Perhaps worst of all, they seemed dependent upon the Texans' care. Buffalo did not depend upon anybody. They ranged proud and free. They were brother to The People, like the wolves and the other wild animals of the plains.

The horses interested him a great deal more, partly because he loved horses in general, but more importantly because they were his hope of getting away from here as soon as he healed enough to ride. He noted that Rusty's favorite was a large black horse he called Alamo. He was not young, but he appeared sound, and strong enough to carry a rider all the way to Comancheria without stopping often for rest. Then there was the long-legged bay of Tanner's. From conversation he had been able to understand, he gathered that Tanner had stolen it somehow from the blue-coated soldiers. That elevated Tanner's standing in his eyes. A good horse thief was to be admired.

It pleased him to think how proud Steals the Ponies would be if Badger Boy came riding into camp on a fine Texan horse after having escaped from captivity. His brother might even stop calling him Badger Boy and give him a name befitting a man.

He leaned against the fence, staring northwestward, trying to visualize the way he and the other warriors had come. He had noted landmarks along the way, though a lot of the country had a monotonous sameness that led to confusion. He wondered if he could find his way home without getting lost.

A big worry would be the possibility of recapture, or even of being killed by the first whites who saw him. He had heard reports among The People that the white men had ended their long war against one another. He had understood enough talk by Rusty and the others to know it was true. He gathered that the warrior society known as rangers had been disbanded, which he considered especially fortunate. The People had always respected them more than the soldiers because when they engaged in a battle they clung like wildcats, with tooth and claw. The tall man Tanner talked about damnyankee soldiers, expected to arrive at any time. Badger Boy understood the word
soldiers
, but he was unsure about
damnyankee
. Tanner used the word as if it were an obscenity.

One afternoon while Badger Boy sunned himself in front of the cabin, Preacher Webb rode in. He had been absent for several days. He tied his horse and walked directly to Badger Boy, smiling. "Sunshine is the Lord's great healer, son. You're lookin' better every day." He leaned over close, reaching out as if to touch Badger Boy's long braids. He had tried more than once to persuade the lad to cut his hair white-man style. Badger Boy had resisted firmly each time, fighting off the scissors. The Texans had taken everything else that marked him as Comanche. He did not intend to let them cut his hair.

Webb said, "You need a good washin'. You've got company comin' tomorrow."

Washing
, Badger Boy understood.
Company
, he did not.

"Somebody comes?"

"Kin of yours. I located your uncle down by San Felipe."

"Uncle?" Badger Boy did not understand.

"Your father's brother. His name is Pickard, like yours. Jim Pickard."

Badger Boy spoke the name. He had easily become used to being called Andy, for he dimly remembered having been called that before. He was less sure about the name Pickard. "Jim Pickard," he said, trying to find something familiar in it.

"Maybe you called him Uncle Jim."

"Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim." Nothing aroused any memories.

"Maybe when you see him. He's your family."

"Not my family. My family Comanche!"

"Well, we'll get you cleaned up in the mornin'. We don't want him to see you lookin' like a wild ..."

Webb broke off, and Badger Boy had no idea what he had been about to say.

"Where this San Felipe?"

Webb pointed to the east. "Yonderway."

"Far?"

"Pretty far. Took me most of two days to get back."

"My uncle, he takes me?"

"I expect he will. We all figure the best place for you is with your own kin."

Rusty came in from the field. Badger Boy heard Webb tell him, "The boy's uncle stopped off at Tom Blessing's to rest his team tonight. I thought I'd better come ahead and let you know he's on his way."

Rusty stared at Badger Boy, his thoughts unreadable.

Webb went on, "Tom's not the sheriff anymore. The Federals turned him out. Appointed one of their own."

"Then they're takin' over lock, stock, and barrel."

"There are soldiers everywhere east of here, settin' up provisional local governments. They've appointed their own man governor in Austin."

"If Tom's not the sheriff anymore, then I reckon I'm not a deputy. Never saw a dime anyway, so it's no big loss." He turned back to Badger Boy. "First thing in the mornin' we'll get you shined up for your uncle."

Badger Boy bordered on panic but tried to keep from showing it. He was already a long way from The People. A trip to this place San Felipe would take him even farther and vastly increase the odds against his reaching home without being caught.

He had not intended to make the break quite this soon. His bad leg needed more healing time. But a change in circumstances was forcing his hand.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow I get clean."

He lied. By tomorrow he intended to be a long way from here.

B
adger Boy ate hardly any supper. His stomach was in a turmoil. He watched the evening shadows lengthen and wished darkness would hurry.

Tanner noticed, for he could put away a prodigious amount of food himself. "You ain't eatin', boy. Sick?"

Preacher Webb said, "Probably excited. He seemed awful surprised when I told him about his uncle."

Rusty had said little. Mostly he had stared at his plate, picking at his food. "I know it's the right thing, sendin' him back amongst his own. But I'd like to know they'll take good care of him. What did you think of his uncle, Preacher?"

"It's hard to tell about a man the first time you see him. I noticed a family Bible on the table, and it was not dusty. That speaks well for him, I think."

Tanner declared, "I've seen some Bible thumpers you couldn't turn your back on. Present company not included, Preacher."

Rusty said, "I've gotten used to havin' Andy here. Place'll seem different when he leaves."

Badger Boy wished they would quit talking and go to bed.

They did, eventually. Badger Boy made all the motions of bedding down, but when the room was dark he sat on the edge of the bunk, staring into darkness. He listened for snoring. It seemed forever in coming. When it came he recognized it as Tanner's.

He knew he should wait a little longer, to be safe, but anxiety gnawed at him like a wolf gnawing a bone. Before dark he tried to find his breechcloth and moccasins without arousing suspicion, but Rusty had put them away too well, or perhaps had even destroyed them. He had to content himself with wearing the long shirt. He was used to riding almost naked anyway. The question was whether he could ride, or even mount, with the splints on his leg. He knew he must try.

He moved slowly lest the crutches make a noise and awaken someone. He moved out of the room and onto the dog run, stopping often to listen. He could still hear Tanner's snoring. Shanty had been sleeping in the dog run, and Badger Boy circled around him carefully. He reached the barn, wondering which horse had been kept penned for the night. It was Rusty's habit to keep one up so he would not be afoot the first thing in the morning. Badger Boy hoped it would be Alamo.

He was disappointed. He found Tanner's long-legged bay instead. Well, the bay would have to do. At least those legs ought to carry him a good distance in a hurry. The main problem would be getting on him, for his back was a long way from the ground.

Badger Boy did not bother with a saddle. He was used to riding bareback, tucking his knees under a rope tied loosely around the horse's chest. He had a little trouble with the bridle, for he was not accustomed to dealing with the steel bits. Their sound, grating against the horse's teeth, was disconcerting.

Ordinarily he would grab a handful of mane and spring up onto the back, but the splints kept one leg immobilized. He tried a couple of times but could not achieve enough height. He led the horse close to the fence and attempted to climb far enough up the rails that he could slide over onto the back. That too, proved futile.

He saw but one alternative, and it was risky. He had to remove the splints. He hoped the bone had knitted enough to handle the strain. Leaning against the fence, he untied the wrapping Webb had put around his leg. The pine slats fell to the ground.

Gingerly he tested his weight. The leg felt as if someone had driven a spear though the bone. Cold sweat broke out on his face, and he found his palms were wet as well. He dried them on the long shirt and pulled the horse up close to him. Taking a deep breath, then gritting his teeth, he tried to spring up onto the bay's back.

He did not make it. He felt himself sliding down but was unable to stop. He intended to let the good leg take the impact as he struck the ground, but the broken leg caught much of it. It collapsed, and he fell on his stomach. The sudden movement spooked the horse. It jerked away from him and ran halfway across the pen before stopping to look back, snorting in its excitement.