When the Splendor Falls (32 page)

“Why did he do that? Why didn’t he kill you?”

“’Cause I figure this Comanche wasn’t stupid. He knew the difference between a Virginian and a Texan, and as soon as he caught sight of that poor feller from the Brazos, he decided which of us he was goin’ to scalp. Speared him with his lance. Got him right through the heart, stickin’ him to the ground, then with a yippee yowlin’, he scalps him and hightails it into the rocks faster ’n a fox raidin’ the hen coop, and with both our horses in tow and wavin’ that lance he’d pulled back out of that feller, who was still squirmin’. Never seen anything happen so fast in my life. Just like lightning that Comanche rode in, took aim on us, jumped off his horse, scalped that feller, then was back up on his horse and ridin’ away and his moccasins had hardly touched ground once. Got off a couple of shots myself, but he’d dropped low on the other side of his horse, and I couldn’t even see him. Besides, don’t like shootin’ horses. And he was ridin’ a real purty lil’ pony.”

Someone coughed politely, as if doubtful of such a tall tale.

“Don’t believe me, eh?”

“I do,” Palmer said. “I’ve heard some hair-raising tales from Justin Braedon. He’s from the territories.”

“Ought to ask him, he’d know,” someone suggested, gesturing across the room.

“Him? He wasn’t there,” the storyteller said, eyeing with some disgust a tall man dressed in a black frock coat and trousers, the broadcloth of the finest quality, the cut and fit without fault, his waistcoat of black satin, the finely pleated linen of his shirt front and neat neckcloth of the purest white, the bow tied to perfection. “
That
fancy gent! He’d run scared if he caught sight of an Injun! Though they’d have been after him fast enough with that purty golden hair of his,” he chuckled.

“Could well have been him doing the scalping, sir. That’s Neil Braedon, Adam Braedon’s cousin and Justin’s half brother. You remember Nathaniel Braedon? That’s his eldest son. Nathaniel Braedon was the one who left Royal Bay and went out to the territories,” Palmer explained. “A number of years ago Neil Braedon was visiting here, stayed at Royal Bay and traveled up North to school. He and Nathan are still good friends.”

“Remember him, I do. Hmmm, got the look of his pa about him,” he said grudgingly as he looked closer at the man who could have been any well-dressed gentleman of fashion enjoying a party.

“Neil and his sister were kidnapped by the Comanche. He was raised as a Comanche brave until his father rescued him. His sister died in captivity. He spent half his life with the savages.”

“Sure he isn’t the one who scalped that Texan?”

“Why’d that Comanche kill the Texan and not you?”

“’Cause, I reckon a Comanche hates a Texan almost as much as he does an Apache.”

“Why is that? I thought the Indian just fought the white man.”

“Figure they got their likes and dislikes same as us. The Comanche, now, they’re real friendly like with the Kiowa, and the Kiowa, they used to hate the Cheyenne and the Arapaho, leastways till they came to an understanding. A real pity, that, ’cause even though they still don’t like each other much, they ain’t fightin’ anymore, just causin’ trouble for the white man. Would have killed each other off, otherwise. But with the Apache, now, that’s an old enemy of the Comanche and they’re still fightin’. Lords of the plains, that’s what them Comanche think of themselves. Long time ago, the Comanche fought the Mexicans and the French, but they didn’t give them much trouble, and ended up tradin’ together in liquor, guns, and slaves. But now in come these pale faces, pushing their settlements into Comanche territory. These Texans, lovingly called
soldados god dammes
by their good neighbors south of the border, can be just as mean and ornery, and now they’re moving west across the Staked Plain, buffalo lands, where the most feared of the Comanche live. The Kwahadies. Best raiders you’ve ever seen. Once they get on a horse, no one can ride like them, or shoot as sharp. Can’t kill what you can’t catch hold of. And the Texans are finding that out. Surprise attacks, that’s the way of the Comanche. Them Comanche come striking into camp, stealing your horses, and your women, torturin’, mutilatin’, and murderin’ others that ain’t worth stealin’, burning you out, then just like that they’ve disappeared across them treeless plains and back into the mountains. Can’t catch them, I tell you. Like scorpions, they crawl around that terrain. They think ahead too. Set up another camp nearby, stocked with fast horses, then, after they’ve raided, they hop on their fresh mounts and ride for hundreds of miles without stopping for nothin’. Don’t leave no tracks neither. Some folk say that’s because they ride faster than the wind. But the Texans, now that they got themselves a state, they ain’t plannin’ on leavin’, especially seein’ how they won it from the Mexicans. So the fightin’ is gettin’ purty fierce. Don’t know how much longer them Rangers can handle things, and so far they only got infantrymen at them forts out on the frontier. Goin’ to need the cavalry if they’re goin’ to win.”

“You think this Neil Braedon would give us a demonstration of how a Comanche brave rides and shoots?” someone asked.

“I know he could demonstrate the war cry,” Palmer said, glancing around at the assembled guests and wondering how fast he could clear the room if he cut loose with the bloodcurdling cry he’d heard Nathan and Adam scream on many an occasion. He, and many a confused and cursing cadet, had been brought up out of bed like a bolt of lightning the first night he had been at school, when Justin, laughing himself off his bed at the reaction of his classmate, had given vent to his war hoop.

“How about a contest? One of our best, like Guy Travers, going against Braedon?” came the suggestion.

“No contest. Guy can ride better and shoot sharper than anyone in Virginia. He’s a Virginian.”

“Well, boys, now I know Guy is mighty fine, none better in the state, however, if this Neil Braedon really was raised by the Comanche, then I’d have to bet on him.”

“He’s also half-Virginian,” someone remembered.

“Sir! You can’t be serious!”

“So serious, young’un, that here’s my money. Are you that certain?”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“And I’ll double it!”

“We’ve got to get the participants first,” someone reminded them.

“What do you think, Palmer? Do you think Guy would race against Neil Braedon?”

Palmer rubbed his jaw, a thoughtful look in his soft blue eyes as he remembered his older brother’s angry, insulting remarks about Neil Braedon. He also knew his brother had lost a lot of money to the other man and would be more than anxious to win it back and even the score. For some reason, he had taken an intense dislike to Neil Braedon.

“What do you think, Justin?” Palmer asked as his friend rejoined him, his fair-haired partner not straying too far from his side.

“About what?”

“About a race between brothers. Mine and yours. Guy and Neil. To see which is the fastest?”

“We were talking about the Comanche, and Major Smythe, who saw action down in Texas, said that a Comanche was the best rider he’d ever seen, and if there were a race then the Comanche would be sure to win. Well, since the closest thing we got to a Comanche is Neil, and the best rider Virginia has to offer is Guy, we thought we could put it to the test.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll get Neil to race.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t he good enough?”

“Maybe not.” Guy Travers spoke, having come up to join them and overhearing the last of the conversation. “I’m willing to put my reputation on the line, but it seems to me all I’ve heard this week is how fine a rider Neil Braedon is, how accurate he is with a rifle, and how he can even throw a knife faster than another man can shoot. I feel like I should be down on bended knee before him,” Guy said, snorting slightly as he glanced around. “Well, seems to me that’s all it has been, talk. I haven’t seen any of this great skill we’ve heard so much about,” he challenged.

Justin frowned, wondering what had gotten into Guy, he’d never seen him so argumentative. He was usually a splendid fellow. A gentleman born and bred, charming and amusing, and always a pleasure to be around.

“In fact, seems to me, that all I’ve ever heard about, for years and years now, is the legendary Neil Braedon, Comanche brave. I’ve never seen proof of it. Have any of you?”

“I’d let it drop, Guy,” Justin said softly. “He is my brother. And although a Braedon, he is also Comanche in spirit, if not in blood. And if he ever agreed to a race, then I would bet on him, because I am afraid you would lose.”

Guy glanced at the younger man who had surprised him by his quick defense of his brother, for he had not thought they were especially close. Then he glanced at his own brother, ignoring the warning in Justin’s words. “How about you, Palmer? Would you be as stouthearted in support of your brother’s abilities?”

Palmer took his elder brother’s arm, and leaning close, and smelling the brandy on his breath, said, “This really isn’t necessary. You do not have to prove anything to anybody, Guy. Everyone knows how fine a rider you are. And no one can shoot better.”

“I think we do have something to prove, and I’m proposing a little cross-country race, which should test each man’s mettle,” Guy said. “So, how would you bet, little brother?”

“On you, of course. As I’ve said, I’ve never seen anyone ride as well, except, perhaps, Leigh,” he added, hoping to add humor to the situation, but he had miscalculated badly, because the laughter that followed his remark seemed to mock Guy’s abilities even more.

“Would the gentlemen have to ride sidesaddle or the lady, clad in breeches, astride?” someone joked.

“Now, that would be a race,” someone suggested. “Leigh Travers against this Neil Braedon. Would still bet on a Travers, though,” he admitted, because everyone knew Leigh Travers, even if just a female, could ride as well, if not better, than her brother Guy.

“The stakes could prove interesting in that race, especially if Neil Braedon won. I wonder what he would demand of the lady,” an uncouth individual remarked, his voice trailing away when he caught the glares sent his way by the Travers brothers and their friends.

“Guy, you already owe Neil more than you can pay now. I don’t care how good you are, if luck isn’t riding with you, then you’ll lose. And your luck has been bad all week. Besides, what could you wager?” Palmer tried to talk sense to his older brother.

“And even more to the point,” Adam said, having joined the group, but having remained quiet as he listened to the talk, “what would you ride? Rambler came up lame, didn’t he?”

“He’s almost mended, but I’ll ride Apothecary Rose,” Guy surprised them by stating, not seeing the look of surprise Palmer gave him.

“Apothecary! Lord, what a race that’d be. He’s Travers Hill’s best hunter. I thought only your father rode him?”

“I’ve ridden him before,” Guy said.

“Braedon rides one of Royal Bay’s bloods doesn’t he, Adam?”

“One of our best-bred quarter horses. That’s why Neil is here, to purchase more for his ranch, Riovado, and for Royal Rivers, my uncle’s spread. They’re the best mount you can ride in that rough country. He’s already bought up most of our stock. Won’t have much money to spend tomorrow at the auction. And Capitaine’s the only one he’s interested in.”

“And we all know he’s not for sale. Maybe your father would let him ride Crimson Royal. I’d bet handsomely to see that race. Head-to-head, two men, two horses, and the roughest terrain around. Better than the one on Sunday, I’ll wager. When the field gets too crowded, and you’re just racing around a track, the fastest will win, if he can break out of the pack, but this, now this riding cross-country takes skill, speed, and cunning.”

“How about you, Adam? Who’ll you bet on?”

Adam sighed, not liking what was happening, for he was well aware of the enmity between Guy and Neil, although it seemed mostly on Guy’s part.

“Well?” Guy demanded, a truculent look on his handsome face, his heavy-lidded, bleary eyes full of defiance, his hand slightly unsteady as he lifted his glass, and more often than he should have that evening.

“
If
there were a race, which I seriously doubt, then I would have to bet on Neil. You’re a damned fine rider, Guy, but Neil, well…”

“Neil is better? Is that what you think?” Guy answered for him, his temper flaring, for when it came to riding he’d never been second to anyone, and now this Neil Braedon was being touted above him. And never before had his luck been so bad. He’d always been lucky before Neil Braedon came to Travers Hill. And he’d always had his pick of the ladies. And yet, even Sarette Canby, who’d made it very clear she would accept his proposal of marriage should he have asked, could scarcely keep her admiring gaze from Neil Braedon’s tall figure. “Are you certain you still want to back me since you believe my luck is so bad?” he demanded of his brother. “You can always change your mind if you’ve lost your nerve.”

Palmer and Adam exchanged glances, for when Guy Travers set his jaw at that stubborn angle, there was no changing his mind either. “Of course I believe you’ll win. And I’ll bet on it. But are you certain you’ll be able to ride Apothecary? Father loves him like he was his own flesh and blood. Treats him like a child. I don’t know what he’ll say, or Sweet John,” Palmer advised his brother. “And if anything were to happen to him, I don’t know what he’d do. Take his whip to you, probably.”

“He will say yes. Have you ever known him to let a challenge go unmet? The Travers name is at stake. We can’t have our pride ridden into the dust beneath Crimson Royal’s hooves, now can we?” he said, grinning, his good humor restored as he thought of Neil Braedon riding in his dust and choking on it as he recouped his losses from the man. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to ask him, Justin? Or you, Adam?” Guy asked, glancing between the two Braedon cousins. “Or would you prefer that I do it?”

“I would prefer no one having to, and certainly not you in this mood. However, I will, although I don’t have any influence,” Adam said with a grimace as he sought Neil’s figure across the room. “Neil does as he wants, and he could care less what someone thinks of him.”