The Outlaw Josey Wales (17 page)

Ten Bears had hated and despised the Tonkaways. It had been rumored throughout the Comanche Nation, as well as the Kiowa and Apache, that the Tonkaways were human flesh eaters. Ten Bears knew that they were. As a young warrior, having just passed his test of manhood and inexperienced in the ways of the trail, he had been captured by them; he and Spotted Horse, another youthful brave.

They had been bound, and that night, as the Tonkaways sat around their fire, one of them rose and came to them. He had a long knife in his hand, and he had sliced a piece of flesh from Spotted Horse’s thigh and carried it back and roasted it over the flames. Others had come with their knives and sliced the flesh from Spotted Horse; his legs and his groin, and in the friendliest manner had complimented him over the taste of his own flesh.

When they had hit the fountains of blood, they had brought firebrands to stop the flow … so to keep Spotted Horse alive longer. Ten Bears and Spotted Horse had cursed them … but Spotted Horse had not cried out in fear or pain, and as he grew weaker, he began his death song.

When the Tonkaways slept, Ten Bears had slipped his bonds, but instead of running he had used their own weapons to kill them. With the captured horses bearing the stripped skeleton of Spotted Horse and a dozen scalps, he had ridden, splattered with the blood of his enemies, back to the Comanche. He had not washed the blood from his body for a week, and the story chant of Spotted Horse and the courage of Ten Bears was sung in all the lodges of the Comanche. It had been the beginning of Ten Bears’ rise to power and the beginning of the end for the Tonkaways.

Now, in the gathering dusk of evening, the subchiefs had their squaws set their separate fires along the cool creek. Their tepees blocked any entrance or escape … from the valley…

Ten Bears knew of the white man’s lodge at the end of the valley, where the canyon walls came together. He had settled there during the period of peace, after a meeting of Comanche and bluecoat, and more promises that would be broken. Ten Bears once had come to kill him and to kill his Mexicano riders … but when he and his warriors had ridden to the house, they had found no one.

Everything was still in order in the white man’s lodge; the hard leaves from which the white man ate were set on his ceremonial table; the food was in the lodge, as were his blankets. True, the horses of the man and his Mexicano riders were gone, but the Co-manches knew that no man would leave without his blankets and his food … and so they knew as certainly that the man and his riders had been snatched from the earth because of Ten Bears’ displeasure. They had not disturbed the white man’s lodge … it would be bad medicine.

Later, in the settlements, Ten Bears had learned that the man had gone to join the Gray Riders, who were fighting the bluecoats … but he had not told his warriors; they would have listened and accepted his words … but they had seen with their own eyes the evidence of mysterious disappearance. Besides … it added to the stature of Ten Bears’ legend. Let them believe as they wished.

Ten Bears stood alone before his tepees as his women made food. He looked contemptuously at the medicine men as they began their chant. He had stopped the medicine dances when he found that the medicine men were accepting bribes of horses from braves who did not want to dance in the exhausting routine, the test of stamina that would decide if medicine was good or bad. Like religious leaders everywhere, they sought power and wealth, and so had become double-tongues, like the politicians. Ten Bears looked on them with the inborn disgust of the warrior.

He allowed them their chants and their prattlings of omen and signs, pomp, and ceremony … but he paid no attention to their advice nor their superstitions.

Now, with a few words and a wave of his arm, he sent riders along the rim of the canyon to station themselves and watch the lodge of the white men. There would be no escape in the morning.

Josey slept lightly in his bedroom across the hall from Laura Lee. He had not yet accustomed himself to the walls and roof … nor the silence away from the night sounds of the trails. Each night Laura Lee had heard him rise several times and walk softly down the stone-floored hall and then return.

She knew it was late when the low whistle wakened her. It had come from the thin, rifle-slot window of Josey’s room, and she heard his walk, quick and soft, down the hall. She followed him on bare feet, a blanket wrapped around her nightgown, and stood in the shadows, out of the square of moon that shone on the kitchen floor. It was Lone who met Josey on the back porch …. and she heard them talk.

“Comanches,” Lone said, “all around us on the rims.” His clothes were wet, and water dripped into little puddles on the rough boards.

“Where ye been?” Josey asked quietly.

“Down the creek, all the way. There’s an army of ’em down there … maybe two, three hunnerd warriors … lot of squaws. It ain’t no little war party. They’re makin’ medicine … so I stayed in the creek and got close to read sign. And listen to this …” Lone paused to give emphasis to his news … “ye know the sign on the Chief’s tepee? … It’s Ten Bears! Ten Bears, by God! The meanest hunk o’ walkin’ mad south of Red Cloud.”

Laura Lee shivered in the darkness. She heard Josey ask,

“Why ain’t they done hit us?”

“Well,” Lone said, “thet moon is a Comanche moon all right… meanin’ it’s plenty light enough to raid … with plenty light fer the Happy Huntin’ grounds if one of ’em died … but they’re makin’ medicine fer big things, probably ridin’ north. They’ll hit us in the mornin’ … and that’ll be it. There’s too many of ’em.”

There was a long pause before Josey asked, “Any way out?”

“No way …” Lone said, “sayin’ we could slip by them that’s on the rim … we’d have to go afoot up them walls, and they’d track us down in the momin’, out in the open, with no horses.”

Again, a long period of silence. Laura Lee thought they had walked away and was about to peer around the door when she heard Josey.

“No way,” he said.

“Git Little Moonlight,” Josey ordered harshly and came back into the kitchen. He bumped full into Laura Lee standing there, and she impulsively threw her arms around his neck.

Slowly he embraced her, feeling the eagerness of her body against him. She trembled, and easily, naturally. their lips came together. Lone and Little Moonlight found them this way when they returned, standing in soft beams of the moon that filtered through the kitchen door. Josey’s hat had fallen to the floor, and it was Little Moonlight who retrieved it and handed it to him.

“Git Grandma,” he said to Laura Lee.

In the half-light of the kitchen Josey spoke in the cold, flat tone of the guerrilla chieftain. The blood drained from Grandma Sarah’s face as their situation became clear, but she was tight-lipped and silent. Lit-de Moonlight, holding a rifle in one hand, a knife in the other, stood by the kitchen door, looking toward the canyon rim.

“Iff’n I was lookin’ fer a place fer a hole-up fight,” he said, “I’d pick this ’un. Walls and roof is over two foot thick, all mud, and nothin’ to burn. Jest two doors, front and back, and in sight of each other. These narrer crosses we call winders is fer rifle fire … up and down … and side to side, and cain’t nobody come through ’em. The feller … Tom … thet built the house, ye’ll notice, put these crossed winders all around, no blind spots; we got ’em right by each door. Little Moonlight will fire through that’n …” he pointed toward the heavy door that opened into the front of the house, “and Laura Lee will fire through this’n, by the back door.”

Josey took a long step to stand in the wide space of floor that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Grandma will set here,” he said, “with the buckets of powder, ball, and caps, and do the loadin’ … can ye handle thet, Grandma?”

“I kin handle it,” Grandma Sarah said tersely.

“Now Lone,” Josey continued, “he’ll fill in firing where at the rush is, and on towards the end, he’ll be facin’ thet hallway runs down by the bedrooms and keepin’fire directed thataway.”

“Why?” Laura Lee asked quickly, “why would Lone be firing down the hall?”

“ ’Cause,” Josey said, “onliest blind spot is the roof. They’ll finally git around to it. We cain’t fire through the roof. Too thick. They’ll dig a dozen holes to drop through back there in the bedrooms. That’s why we’re goin’ to stack logs here at the door to the hall. All we’re defendin’ is these here two doors and space ’twixt ’em. When we git to thet part,” he added grimly, “the fight will be ’bout over, one way or t’other’n. It’ll be a last drive they’ll make. Remember this … when things git plumb wuss … where it’s liken to be ye cain’t make it… thet means it’s all goin’ to be decided right quick … cain’t last long. Then ye got to git mean … dirty mean … ye got to git plumb mad-dog mean … like a heller … and ye’ll come through. Iff’n ye lose yore head and give up … ye’re finished and ye ain’t deservin’ of winnin’ ner livin’. Thet’s the way it is.”

Now he turned to Lone, who was leaning against the kitchen wall. “Use pistols short range … less reloadin’, more firepower. We’ll start a fire ’bout dawn in the fireplace and put iron on it … keep the iron red hot. Anybody gits hit … sing out … Lone’ll slap the iron to it … ain’t got time to stop blood no other way.”

Josey looked at their faces. Tense, strained … but not a tear nor a whimper in the whole lot. Solid stuff, clear to the marrow.

They worked in the dark, bringing water to fill the bins and piling the pistols and rifles of the Comancheros on the kitchen table. There were twenty-two Colts’ .44’s and fourteen rifles. Lone checked the loads of the guns. They placed the kegs of powder, ball, and caps in the middle of the floor and stacked heavy logs, head high, with only room for a pistol barrel between them, at the door to the hall.

It was still dark when they rested … but the early morning twittering of birds had already begun. Grandma Sarah brought out cold biscuits and beef, and they ate in silence. When they had finished, Josey pulled off his buckskin jacket. The butternut-colored guerrilla shirt was loose fitting, almost like a woman’s blouse. The .36 Navy Colt protruded from beneath his left shoulder.

He handed the jacket to Laura Lee, “Reckin I won’t be needin’ this,” he said, “ ’preciate it, iff’n ye’ll keep it fer me.” She took the jacket and nodded dumbly. Josey had turned to Lone and drawled, “Reckin I’ll be saddlin’ up now.”

Lone nodded, and Josey was through the door and walking to the corral before Laura Lee and Grandma Sarah recovered the sense of what he had said.

“What…?” Grandma Sarah said, startled. “Whar’s he a-goin’?”

Laura Lee raced for the door, but Lone grabbed her by the shoulders and held her in a firm grip.

“Woman talk is no good fer him now,” Lone said.

“Where’s he goin’ … what’s happening?” she said frantically.

Lone pushed her back from the door and faced the women. “He knows he can do the best fer us on the back of a hoss. He’s a guerrilla … they always figger to carry the fight to the enemy, and now he goes to do so again.” Lone spoke slowly and carefully, “He is goin’ into the valley to kill Ten Bears and many of his chiefs and warriors. When the Comanche comes to us… the head of the Comanche will be crushed … and his back broken. Josey Wales will do this, so thet… if we do as he has said we should do … we will live.”

“Lord God Almighty!” Grandma Sarah said in hushed tones.

Laura Lee whispered, “He is goin’ to the valley … to die.”

Lone’s teeth flashed in a grim smile, “He is goin’ to the valley to fight. Death has been with him many years. He does not think of it.” Lone’s firm voice broke and shook with emotion, “Ten Bears is a great warrior.

He knows no fear. But today he will meet another great warrior, a privilege that comes to few men. They will know … when they face each other, Ten Bears and Josey Wales … and they will know their hatreds and their loves …. but they will also know their brotherhood of courage, that the man of littleness will never know.” Lone’s voice had risen in an exultant thrill that was primitive and savage despite his carefully chosen words.

A thin hint of light touched the rim of the eastern canyon and silhouetted the Comanche warriors, slumped on their horses, dotting the light’s edge above the ranch house. It was in this light that Josey Wales brought the big roan, frisking and prancing, to the rear of the house.

A sob tore from the throat of Laura Lee, and she rushed to the door. Lone caught and held her briefly. “He’ll not like it, if ye cry,” he whispered. She wiped her eyes and only stumbled once as she walked to the horse. She placed her hand on his leg, not trusting herself to speak, and looked up at him there in the saddle.

Slowly he placed his hand over hers, and the merest gleam of humor softened the hard black eyes. “Yore’er the purtiest gal in Texas, Laura Lee,” he said softly, “iff’n Texas gits a queen, ye’ll be it … fer ye fit the land … liken a good gun handle to a hand … ’er a hoss that’s bred right. Ye re’clect what I’m sayin’ now and mind it… fer it’s true.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she could not speak, and so she turned away, stumbling to the porch. Lone stood by the saddle and stretched his hand up to grasp Josey’s. The grip was hard … the grip of brothers. He was stripped to the waist, and the wrinkled, bronze face had two streaks of white ’dobe across the cheeks and another on his forehead. It was the death face of the Cherokee … neither giving nor asking quarter of the enemy.

“We’ll make it,” Lone said to Josey, “but iff’n … it’s otherwise … no women will live.”

Josey nodded but didn’t speak. He turned his horse away, toward the trail. As he passed, Little Moonlight touched his booted foot with the scalping knife … the tribute of the Cheyenne squaw, paid only to the mightiest warriors who go to their death.

As he passed from the yard, Grandma Sarah shouted … and her voice was clear and ringing, “Lord’ll ride with ye, Josey Wales!” But if he heard, he didn’t acknowledge the call … for he neither turned his head nor lifted his hand in farewell. The tears coursed unmindful down the withered face of Grandma Sarah, “I don’t keer what they say ’bout ’em … reckin to me, he’s twelve foot tall.” She threw her apron over her face and turned back into the kitchen.