She’d show him, she was a better tracker then all of them put together. When the chief had told her about the promise of land, Callie had known then what she had to do. She would volunteer and help the Army in its war with the Comanche.
She yearned, no lusted for that forty acres more than most of the people in the village did. Her mama could have a beautiful garden. And Callie would build a good, sturdy house to keep them warm and dry. With Rafael gone, the future of her family rested on her shoulders even if she was just a woman.
Land ownership meant safety and stability. No government agent could force her to ever again live in the worst of situations. Callie’s parents had refused to be herded onto reservations like the rest of the tribes in the East. They had journeyed to Mexico in the hope of freedom. But Chief Nightowl didn’t know if the Mexican government would always allow them live here. Her Seminole family had lost most of their tribal lands to the white man, because they could prove no legal claim. Owning the land, with a deed that said so, meant no government could ever force them to leave again. Callie stamped across the dusty square to her mother’s house. The more she thought about Lieutenant Delacroix and his condescending attitude, the angrier she became. He had flashed his white teeth at her like she was just a kid and told her to run home to her mama. With hands clenched and mouth set in a grim line, her blood boiled. No man ever told her what to do. Not even a handsome white man.
She forgot to wipe her feet on the woven mat by the front door, and dragged desert sand across her mother’s spotless wood plank floor. Callie tossed her hat on the small table between the two chairs in front of the fireplace, and walked through the tiny house searching for her mother.
The kitchen was also empty and the rear door hung open. Outside, she found her mother on her knees in her garden, pulling weeds from around the shoots of her young tomato plants and singing to her beans.
Callie plopped down to sit cross-legged next to her mother. Her mother was tall and graceful with black hair quickly turning silver. She wore her long hair braided and then looped into a figure eight at the nape of her neck. She had an oval face with serene brown eyes and a gentle mouth. In Callie’s mind, she was the most beautiful woman in the village despite the network of wrinkles radiating outward from her mouth and the corners of her eyes.
“I told you he wouldn’t take you.” Bessie Payne’s dark eyes filled with
maternal understanding. She smiled and patted Callie on the knee with a long, slender hand. Callie couldn’t help the pout that pulled her lips downward. “He told me I was too young.” “And how old did you tell him you were?” Bessie picked a green worm off a plant. “Fourteen.” Her mama sat back on her heels and chuckled. “Callie, you have courage, but knocking five years off your age ain’t going to make that man change his mind. There are some things in this world even you can’t change.”
Callie brushed at the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes and bit her lips to control her temper. When she was back in control, she said, “We need that land. They said forty acres. Think of the garden you could have.”
“Ha! Where is this land?” Bessie eyed her dubiously. “I’ve heard that promise before.”
Callie hadn’t thought to ask. “He didn’t say.”
Bessie eased a worm off the branch of one of the tomatoes. “For all you know, this land could be right, smack dab in the middle of a desert and good for nothing but coyotes and rattlesnakes.”
The American government couldn’t be that cruel. Someplace along the chain of command, someone had to remember that people needed to live, had to remember their responsibilities. Callie knew she was being naive, but she had so dreamed of taking her mother away from this god-forsaken place. “Does it matter? The land would be ours. Mexico is not our home.” She knew her mama longed for the tranquil beauty of the swamps where she had been born. She told Callie stories of her home, but Callie was desert-born and had no idea what her mama had been talking about.
Bessie shook her head. “Maybe not, but it’s a place to stay. I’ve lost my husband and my son. I’m not going to lose you, too.”
Callie hugged her mother. “You won’t lose me. All I have to do is serve two years, Mama. And we can have everything we ever dreamed of. The Army is paying thirteen dollars a month. That’s a fortune! At the end of the year, we’d have land and money. Enough to make a good start.”
Bessie kissed Callie’s cheek. “I’ve made my home here. I’m content.”
“You only stay because you hope Rafe will return.”
Bessie eased a weed out of the ground. “He’s coming back. I know it. I can feel him.”
Callie bit her lips. “He’s dead, Ma. He’s never coming back. He died the same way Daddy did.” She jumped to her feet, angry at her mother’s blindness.
“Callie, you can track rustlers and dress like a man, but everyone knows you’re a grown woman. How can you hide what you are among strangers?”
Callie lifted her chin. “I can do it. Half the time, no one here even remembers I’m a woman.”
Her mama looked her up and down. “Only because you insist on wearing trousers and acting like a man.” Her voice turned wistful. “If you put on a skirt and blouse like the other young women, you would find a good man to marry you and care for you. Mr. Hernandez in Calimesa would marry you in a minute.”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life serving a man all his meals. And Mr. Hernandez just wants a maid to help him in the store, and take care of all his kids. I want to be free.” Her lips trembled. “Please understand, Mama.”
Bessie sighed. “If you want to go, I can’t stop you.” Tears slid down her round cheek. “I’ll never forgive you if you die. I couldn’t bear it, Callisto Payne.”
That was her mother’s way of saying “go.” Callie smiled. She would get her land and show Mama she could do it. “I won’t die, Mama. I promise.” Callie ran into the house to pack. Elated that her dream had finally had come within reach.
* * *
Rafael Payne, watching the herd of Army horses moving sluggishlyalong the trail, fingered the alligator tooth threaded onto a leather thong and tied about his neck. His mother had long ago given it to him, a reminder not only of their home in the damp swamps of Florida, but a reminder that the Seminole were unbowed and still fierce. Rafe used the tooth as his totem, as his reminder of what he wanted.
The herd of horses raised a huge cloud of dust. A hundred horses and only four men to guard them. Rafe watched them in disgust. In all their arrogance, the army thought the horses safe because the distance between Fort Clark and Fort Duncan was so short, but a Comanche scout had seen the herd leaving and raced to inform Rafe and the other warriors.
Rafe glanced at his brother-in-law, Three Wolves. Three Wolves gestured to the others in the war party and they began to spread out, lust for the horses and the wealth they would bring plain on their faces. Wealth that Rafe lusted for as well. The wealth that he had once promised his mother.
Beyond Three Wolves, Night Feather, the tribe’s war chief, watched the horses, a measuring look on his face. Though their band was small, only seven warriors with their families, they were brave.
“Black Fox.” Wild Willow Woman’s voice broke into his thoughts. When he had become a member of the small band of Comanche, he had taken the name Black Fox.
He smiled at his wife. “Willow, are you ready?” His wife was a beautiful woman with sharply chiseled features, dark eyes, and a generous mouth. In all his life, he would never have thought such a proud woman would take him, a half-breed, as a husband. She was the reason he had become a warrior with her clan. He had fallen in love with her the first time he’d seen her with her shy expression and beautiful face.
“I’m ready, husband.” Willow’s voice was soft and husky. “Are you thinking of your family again?”
“I think of you and our son, and the money Juan Valenzuela will pay for the horses that we can use to buy more ammunition.” And information, Rafe thought. Inf
ormation was what was truly important.
He wasn’t quite certain how he’d made the transition from soldier to honorary Comanche war chief, but here he was preying on the white people who had once called him a dog and whipped him. He would never forget the whipping, nor the anger that still beat inside him at the humiliation. He had deserted that night, never to return.
Wild Willow Woman touched his arm. “We will have many fine horses by nightfall. Our son will be proud. But only if you come back to the present.” Her smile was indulgent, though her feral eyes gleamed with a ferocious light. Willow, like most Comanche, relished warring with the white men.
“Are you ready?” He watched the army horses clomping along the trail, their heads drooping in the heat, their tails thick with dust. Their handlers were even less alert. This was almost too easy.
Willow nodded. She leaped onto her paint pony and grinned savagely, gripping her brand-new Winchester rifle with strong brown hands. Rafe had stolen it for her as a wedding gift. If not for her, Rafe would be dead. She had found him half-dead in the desert.
Night Feather gave the signal. Everyone jumped on their own ponies, and with blood-curdling whoops, they descended on the unsuspecting soldiers.
The herd of horses broke into a sudden run, charging forward with a surge of energy. A huge cloud of dust rose billowed to the blue sky. The soldiers fired their pistols, the popping sounds of the discharges speeding past Rafe’s head.
Three Wolves raised his rifle and fired. With a scream, one of the soldiers fell off his horse. Willow let out a war cry and charged from Rafe’s side, aiming her rifle. Coal black hair flew behind her as she bent low over the thick neck of her horse. Pride flashed through Rafe as she raced toward the soldiers. The sensation kept him from stopping her. She would be safe on her own. She’d already made many kills before he’d married her. Comanche women were as fierce as their men. He concentrated on the leader, lifting his rifle and squeezing the trigger. His target slumped over his horse, then tumbled to the ground, the horse racing away reins flapping.
The raiding party spread out, two raiders taking control of the horses, leaving the two remaining soldiers exposed.
Willow chased one of the soldiers. The man wheeled his horse in an attempt to evade her. Her horse veered, mirroring his maneuver. With one quick pass, she shot him. Even from the back of a horse, Willow could be unerringly accurate. The soldier shrieked and plunged to the ground. Willow’s horse spun, sliding to a stop. She jumped down, taunting the soldier, sheathing her rifle and reaching for her lance. Her arm rose to spear the man. He pushed himself to his feet and tried to run. Willow caught him, plunging her lance into his back. He fell with a cry, his legs twitching before he lay still. She raised her bloody lance and screamed in victory. Rafe’s admiration soared. Today she’d counted coup twice. Yes, their son have more than one reason to be proud even though he was barely two years old.
Rafe turned his attention to the last fleeing soldier. He signaled Kicking Moon, a boy barely sixteen, who heaved forward, chasing the last soldier. The soldier dragged his animal to a stop and dismounted. He knelt on the ground and raised his rifle. As Kicking Moon drew closer, the soldier fired. Kicking Moon jerked backward, but retained his seat. He bore down on the soldier. The soldier’s rifle fired again, but he missed. Kicking Moon’s horse slid to a stop. Then the young brave leaped on the soldier. A knife flashed. Kicking Moon stood, blood dripping from a wound in his leg. He raised his blade and cried out in triumph. “Black Fox, today I am a man.”
Rafe laughed. He knew the feeling, the exhilaration of victory. The battle had ended leaving Rafe to gaze at the dead bodies of his enemies. He said a short prayer for their souls. Even though they had fought as best they could, they had been out-matched by the seven warriors of the Comanche war party.
Willow thundered up. Blood dripped along the edge of her lance, spattering her face. She reminded him of an avenging angel. “We have horses.” She raised her lance to the sky and whooped.
Rafe could only gaze at her, admiring her beauty, her wildness and her strength. He loved her to the depths of his soul. Of all the young men who had vied for her hand in marriage, she’d accepted Rafe.
The raiding party herded the horses south toward the river to meet the men who would trade them for money, guns and more cartridges.
Thoughts of home consumed Rafe. He would pass near his village. Though he never regretted his choice, nostalgia for his mother and sister filled him with an aching pain. He worried that if he tried to see them, the Army would find out. He couldn’t endanger his family.
The last time he’d seen Callie, she’d been a long-legged, gangly twelve-year-old, just coming into the first bloom of womanhood. What hadshe become in his absence? Was she married? Did she have children? Was she well? Was she happy? She must be sad at his absence, but he had no way of letting her or his mother know he was alive.
Shaking off his morbid thoughts, he turned back to Willow. Battle always left him with excess energy.
She leaned over to caress his cheek. “I am proud of you, Black Fox. When we return to the village, we will have a feast that will be remembered for many a season.” The look on her face promised him more once the fires had dimmed and everyone had returned to their dwellings.
Rafe touched her black hair, braided with colorful beads and leather strings, wondering how he could have been so lucky as to win the heart of this fierce, proud woman.
* * *
Luc stood in the shade of an overhang, wiping his forehead. Fort Duncan, a combination of stone and adobe buildings, sprawled in the fertile valley below flanked by the Rio Grande and the town of Eagle Pass. Texas was a desolate land good only for the wild cattle that lived there. Yet Luc liked Texas despite a barrenness that was so different from the excesses of Paris and London.
A ribbon of sweat trickled down his cheek into the trimmed edge of his beard. After a week in the saddle chasing Comanche, he couldn’t wait to get out of his heavy wool uniform and into a cool bath. At moments like this, he missed Paris, but not enough to abandon the military life he’d come to enjoy so much.
Dog-tired, he turned and led his horse, Liberty, into the stable. The stable smelled of manure, wet hay, and horses. As he passed down the long row, a chicken fluttered in front of him and raced away.
The Comanches had stolen a hundred army horses and killed four soldiers. He sorrowed for their loss. Good soldiers, all of them. When he had come to Texas he had thought war with the Comanches would be like war with the south. But he had learned quickly that the Comanche followed no rules and their guerilla style of war made the army look like idiots.
The deaths weighed him down. No matter what he did, the endless war continued. He traded war in the East for war in the West. Only the bloodstained landscape changed.
He led Liberty into a stall, then loosened the cinch.
“Lieutenant Delacroix!” A voice called, hesitant and almost shy.
He turned around and saw a boy dressed in baggy trousers and a loose plaid shirt. A wide-brimmed hat protected his thin, youthful face from the harsh sun. For a moment, his heart raced.
The boy straightened his narrow shoulders and stared straight in Luc’s eyes. “You told me I could sign up when I was older. I’m older, sir.”
Luc almost laughed. “That was two weeks ago.”
“You didn’t say how much older.” The boy grinned, showing a small dimple in one cheek and even white teeth.
Luc narrowed his eyes, ignoring about the strange feeling whirling in his gut. He had to admire the lad. “You are persistent.”
The kid smiled. He had a sweet smile. “I followed you all the way here and you didn’t know.”
“That wouldn’t be hard. You knew which direction I was going. We didn’t try to hide our tracks.”
The boy studied him. “I know something you don’t.”
“Boy, I don’t have time to play games.” Too tired and too irritated to make sport, Luc’s amusement turned
to annoyance.
The boy’s brown eyes danced. “Know why Army horses are prized by the Comanches?”
“Why?” Luc patted Liberty’s rump.
“Because you have the best horses in the world. The Comanches can trade them for weapons, ammunition, and food.”
Intrigued, Luc leaned forward. “Explain yourself.”
“I know where your horses are.” The brat sounded smug, even cocky.
The little scamp. “Where?”
The boy grinned. “I’m not tellin’.”
Luc raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to tell me now.”
The boy grinned. “You want your horses back?”
“Of course.”
“Let me join the Scouts and I’ll take you.”
Luc shook his head. “You’re too young. The army isn’t a nursemaid.” Though he doubted this boy would ever need a nursemaid, his eyes told of experiences even Luc wouldn’t understand.
“I saw them. Passed right by me while I was following you.” He put his small hands on his narrow hips. “In fact, the whole herd passed right by you, too, and you didn’t see a thing.”
Luc stared hard at the boy, his anger growing. “Tell me where they went.” He could get a fresh patrol on the trail first thing in the morning.
The boy shook his head. “Not until you sign me up.”
Luc wanted to shake him. “You don’t even shave yet.”
The boy touched his smooth chin. “Indians don’t shave. No facial hair. I inherited that from my mama.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Cal. Cal Payne, sir.”
Luc pulled the saddle off his horse and tossed it at the boy. The kid caught it and tumbled on his butt.
“Take care of my horse.” Luc grinned. “Then come by my office when you’re done and sign your papers. We leave in the morning.”
Luc walked away. He had to admire Cal. That boy had refused to give up. The army needed men like that. Halfway down the feed aisle, he turned around to look at Cal struggling to his feet with the saddle. His smile broadened. The army wasn’t the place for a kid, but he’d grow up knowing how to be a soldier. Luc would make a man out of him.
After The Lies Page 3