“Oh, I’m Captain Luke Dunn, Texas Rangers. Let me help you with your horse. Don’t pay Three Toes no never-mind.” He ignored her cleavage.
Three Toes was fast asleep as Scarlett entered the camp. She’d had the forethought to grab a blanket and her satchel before Luke hobbled her horse for the night.
Luke returned soon enough. He whispered, “Rest easy. I’ll keep watch.”
Scarlett wasn’t used to traveling any distance on horseback and, combined with the emotion of having had to deal with Perez, she was dead tired and went to sleep quickly.
Luke stared at her. Pretty girl to be so messed up, was his thinking. Why did so many young girls find their way to the whoring life? Was it the same reason that young men turned bad? He thought back to his days as a teen in Ireland. He recalled that Dublin had its share of prostitutes. At least, that was how his father described them. Like these ladies of the frontier, their desperation drove them to selling their bodies to men who should have known better.
Luke saw the evil and destructiveness inherent in the wasted lives. Most men and women who chose these paths died very young, or at least younger than those with productive, seemingly righteous lives and families. Luke recalled being told by his father about a Bible story in which Jesus forgave a prostitute. Maybe, Luke thought, he should be more understanding of this woman who was seeking the protection of his company. At least, he felt empowered to protect her, though he had no way of knowing that his prey was her passion.
Just as the sun was about to break over the eastern prairielands, Three Toes awoke to see the interloper in their camp. Luke was asleep, though he was sitting upright and apparently had tried to be a sentry. He nudged Luke and whispered, “Ghost-Who-Rides, who is this?”
At the sound of Three Toes’ voice, Scarlett awakened. She was momentarily horrified to see a Comanche standing in the camp at first light, much less one that was heating coffee, cooking venison, and speaking English.
Three Toes smiled. “No fear, red-haired one. I’m not interested in your scalp.” He laughed at his own early morning humor.
Luke was awake by now. Sleeping in a sitting position did him no favors, and he stood with stretching and groaning appropriate to such an undesirable slumber position. “Good morning, Miss Scarlett. I hope you slept well.”
“Excuse Texas Ranger manners, miss. I am Three Toes, war chief of the Comanche.”
Scarlett was befuddled. She wondered what on earth a Comanche chief was doing sharing camp with a Texas Ranger? “Um…pleased to meet you.”
“Ghost-Who-Rides, I must head north. I hope your new companion is no trouble in your hunting.”
Luke understood Three Toes’ need to get back to his people. “Don’t worry about me, my friend. Let your people know they have a friend in Luke Dunn.”
“What is it with you two? How come you’re not trying to kill each other?” Scarlett was dumbfounded by the friendship between Luke and the Comanche chief. It seemed civil enough, but was counter to what she’d been led to believe about the white man and the savages.
Luke finished his coffee and helped himself to the last of Three Toes’ venison. “Let’s just say we have mutual respect, Miss Scarlett.”
Soon enough, they had broken camp and were saddled and on their way. Three Toes headed north with his string of ponies, while Luke and Scarlett headed east.
***
Cav was well along, likely at least a days’ ride ahead of Luke and Scarlett. Thus far, he hadn’t encountered anything that might slow him down. As the temperatures warmed, he was pleased that he’d decided to not wear the black shirt and trousers. He noted how the black seemed to absorb heat. It hadn’t been a problem in cooler, higher-elevation climates. It didn’t hurt that not wearing it would also make it harder for bounty hunters and lawmen to identify him.
He still had his sisters on his mind. That little red-haired whore back in Laredo preyed on his mind, especially the resemblance to his sister Belle.
He was still a couple of days of steady riding from Corpus Christi. He hoped that his posters hadn’t found their way to the sheriff there. He wanted to start over, build a new life. With any luck, he might even be able to lure Cora and Belle to Corpus Christi.
***
Perez was beside himself when he awakened alone in the room in Laredo. He stormed down to the bar at Texas Jack’s Saloon and demanded to know where the red-haired whore had gone. “Dónde está la puta pelirroja?”
“Sorry, Carlos. The bitch headed out at first light. Hell, and she owes me money.”
Perez grabbed the shot glass on the bar and threw it across the room, narrowly missing one of his gang members as it shattered against the wall. “La mierda!” Death and vengeance constantly preyed on his mind.
There was stunned silence in the bar. Apparently, everyone had gotten their satisfaction with the whores of Laredo, except for Perez. This was not good. A raven-haired Mexican prostitute stepped forward seductively. Perez slapped her across the face and then sent her tumbling. He wanted the red-haired one. Only she would do. Now his price of vengeance had doubled to include Scarlett. He did not take kindly to being embarrassed, especially as it involved his manhood.
Perez grabbed the barkeeper by his shirt. “Adónde iba?”
“Corpus Christi, I think. She’s following after some gambler in a black hat.”
Perez released the barkeeper. Had he known that Luke had been there mere hours before, he’d have been boiling mad.
“Vámonos, hombres!” Perez headed out the door. His gang followed reluctantly, as they looked longingly at the easy women they were suddenly leaving behind. Such was the fate of those who chose to ride with Carlos Perez. It appeared to them that they were headed into a period of forced celibacy.
Soon enough, they were saddled, provisioned, and heading east toward Corpus Christi. Perez almost wished he was traveling alone. He could make better time. On the other hand, dealing with marauding Comanche, rival gangs, or even soldiers might require numerical superiority. They slowed him down, but the gang would likely be more beneficial than not.
Perez rode silently in the lead. There was an aura of evil, a darkness, that now surrounded him. His men were even fearful of talking among themselves.
Ironically, all the travelers, Cav, Luke, and Perez, kept pretty much the same pace. It was as though some pre-destiny on the trail would keep them from overrunning each other.
FOURTEEN
Comanche
It was close to dusk when Cav first saw them. Looked to be about eight or ten. They were all mounted, and he guessed them to be maybe half a mile away and upwind. From what had been described to him, and despite the ever-dimmer daylight, they appeared to be Comanche. He’d never dealt with Comanche. Cav had fought some Arapahoe once, and Sioux. The Sioux were nasty, but he understood they were as nothing compared to the Comanche. Even their name portended what they existed for. In the Ute language, kimantsi meant enemy. Comanche were everyone’s enemy.
Cav couldn’t know that these warriors were those of Long Feathers.
***
With the death of his son Bear Slayer and his growing impatience waiting for Three Toes’ return, Long Feathers had decided to take matters into his own hands. He had headed southwest from the encampment toward where they thought Three Toes had gone. Along the way, he was on the lookout for enemy.
Long Feathers had struck the Smiley ranch just that morning. He and his warriors rode their ponies hard into the clearing in front of the cabin, whooping and hollering as they attacked. Jason Smiley was tending the field not far from his wife and children. He watched in horror as Long Feathers descended on his home. The children, a boy and a girl of no more than ages six or seven, were killed immediately by Comanche lances.
Smiley grabbed his rifle and ran as fast as he could toward his family. Long Feathers’ warriors had bound his wife to a corral post. By the time Smiley reached the clearing perhaps a hundred yards from the house, the Comanche already had her stripp
ed naked and were raping and cutting her. She screamed, so they cut out her tongue.
Smiley caught his breath long enough for one shot. The bullet ripped through his wife’s bloody chest, wounding a Comanche warrior on its way out. The wounded warrior turned toward the sound of the rifle.
Long Feathers was on Smiley almost immediately, delivering a mortal wound with his lance and scalping the farmer while he was dying. As Smiley lay on the ground, another warrior pulled off Smiley’s trousers, cut off his privates, and stuffed them in his mouth. The poor man suffocated to death before he bled out. It was the Comanche way.
The Comanche set the house afire and stole the family’s two horses.
***
Cav had no idea that he was facing a war party flush with the pride and invincibility that comes with victory. He dismounted to create a lower profile and made both of his horses lie down, kneeling beside the nervous beasts, and keeping his head just high enough to see what the Comanche were up to. If all went well and they continued on their chosen course, they should pass him at a safe distance.
Now, he found himself confronted with a new problem. About a dozen feet away, he spied a coiled rattlesnake. Beads of sweat formed on Cav’s forehead and trickled down his face. He tried not to move a muscle. He dared not risk a gunshot. He drew one of his knives. He could throw a knife with great accuracy, but a striking snake could be a challenging target.
He saw the snake bring back its head as it prepared to strike. At that instant, a rabbit walked between them. The rattler had his dinner a split second later. Cav breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the Comanche. They were still about the same distance from him.
He started to look over at where the rattlesnake had been when he heard a noise from the direction of the Comanche. He strained his eyes to make out what was happening. The setting sun wasn’t any help toward figuring what was going on. Best Cav could tell, someone had joined the Comanche war party.
It sounded like some sort of reunion, as there was much chatter in a language he couldn’t make out. In any case, they seemed happy and distracted.
***
Three Toes was overjoyed to have chanced upon Long Feathers and his warriors out in the middle of the Texas prairie. He showed off the string of ponies he had captured, while Long Feathers boasted of counting coup and fresh scalps. The two nags he’d captured from the Smiley place didn’t compare to the ponies Three Toes’ had stolen from the Apache.
They moved off toward the northeast in the direction of the Comanche village. Three Toes kept quiet about his adventure, letting Long Feathers’ warriors boast of their exploits. There would be many stories to tell the next night at the council campfire.
***
Cav waited until he felt they were a safe distance off before letting his mounts stand. He decided to take a more southeasterly direction to be certain he kept a safe distance from the Comanche.
***
After a long day’s ride in the hot sun, Luke and Scarlett decided to rest in the evening and cool off for a few hours. She still was oblivious to Luke’s mission, seeing him strictly as a means of safe passage. He obviously had no interest in her, at least none of a sexual nature.
Luke hobbled their horses, removing the saddles to let them breathe. “Here’s a blanket, Miss Scarlett. Grab some shut-eye while you can. I’ll keep watch.”
A chill had begun in stark contrast to the heat of the day. “Can we build a fire?”
“Well, I expect we’re not the only ones out here, Miss Scarlett. Best I can do is share my spare blanket.”
“Do we have anything to eat?”
Luke handed her a canteen and a piece of smoked venison.
Scarlett felt like pouting, but realized that tactic would not likely have much of an impression on this Texas Ranger. She decided to be uncharacteristically gracious. “Thank you, Captain Dunn.”
At what was likely near midnight, Luke finally crawled over near Scarlett, rested his head on his saddle, and fell asleep. During the night, she cuddled closer to him for warmth.
Luke awakened at first light, startled by a distant sound. The ground vibrated a little. He made it out to be horses and longhorns, likely a cattle drive. He nudged Scarlett. “We’d best get up and get going unless you’re up for company.”
He saddled the big grey stallion, then Scarlett’s horse, and got her seated. Once he was mounted, he could see off in the distance that he’d been right in judging the noise to be from cattle being driven to market. It appeared to be a fairly large herd so it was unlikely that they were stolen cattle.
Luke turned their horses eastward, making a perfunctory friendly wave of his hat at the drovers not more than a quarter mile off. He could just about hear them yelling at the herd. Their voices were the expected mix of English and Spanish typical to Nueces Strip ranches.
He and Scarlett headed their mounts off at a brisk walk, trying to put distance between them and the herd.
“Thank you for the extra blanket last night, Captain Dunn.” She smiled as she looked in his direction. “I appreciated your warm body, too.”
Luke blushed and strove to make light of it. “It’s part of a Ranger’s job to make citizens feel safe, Miss Scarlett.”
They relaxed and enjoyed a bit of a laugh.
“Maybe we can make a small fire and heat some coffee soon.”
***
Carlos Perez had left Laredo with three missions. The first two involved that damnable red-haired woman and the man she was chasing after. Perez was trying hard to control his anger at her affront, lest it affect his judgment. The rival for her affections was peripheral damage so far as Perez was concerned. The leader of the Caballeros Negros also hadn’t forgotten about that Texas Ranger that had embarrassed him near Corpus Christi and cost him an eye.
It could be said that he had a full platter of revenge in mind. No matter that revenge could be said to be feasting on a very sparse meal for the one doing the revenging. There was generally no satisfaction to be found in these sorts of endeavors. As Perez saw it, though, both his livelihood and his manhood had been threatened. It was an intolerable truth to his way of thinking.
The woman would be no problem, but neither of the men could be taken lightly, even though Perez had them outnumbered. He gazed off into the horizon with his good eye. The damned woman had laughed at his temporary impotence. This was a killing offense, but only after he’d proven her wrong.
Perez no longer thought of his days growing up in Matamoros. His father and two older brothers had died twenty years ago fighting for Santa Anna at Goliad and San Jacinto. As a teenager, he wound up caring for his mother, who took to plying the streets of Matamoros to whore away her grief. His bitterness had generated deep hatred of the Tejanos. His mother soon died of complications from some venereal disease, likely syphilis.
While fueling his hatred, Perez also began to build friendships with like-minded fellow disenfranchised Mexicans. He emerged as their leader if for no other reason than his passionate hate for the Tejanos transcended that of his compadres. He led them on regular forays into the Nueces Strip to rustle cattle, skin them for their hides, and leave the carcasses to rot in the sweltering heat of the prairie. He even set up a sort of outpost, a cluster of small homes for the families of hiders that were loosely referred to as ranches. They’d sell the hides in Matamoros to buyers from Brownsville, who would in turn sell them to meet needs for cheap leather goods in eastern U.S. cities.
Perez’s Caballeros Negros became a steady nuisance on the Nueces Strip. They stole just enough cattle from enough different ranches to be annoying, while not causing any initiatives to be mounted to stop them. The northern limit of their range was the road that ran between Corpus Christi and Laredo. They weren’t like the Lipan Apache that stole larger herds and ran them south into Mexico, grabbing the attention of the leaders in Austin who eventually sent the Texas Rangers after them.
His run-in with Luke had been a fluke. He only had thr
ee of his Caballeros Negros with him that day, and had swiped a mere handful of cattle. His encounter was pure chance, pure fate. The deputy sheriff was not hunting them that day; he simply came upon them. Every time Perez thought about it, he regretted his carelessness, and that would make him remember the loss of his precious eye.
In the subsequent time, he’d discovered a perverse pleasure in striking fear in the minds of the Tejanos. The gang had killed a couple of people in Nuevo Laredo, and word got out about their deed. He was a wanted man for murder in Mexico and for cattle rustling in Texas.
If sheer numbers mattered, traveling with his eight Caballeros Negros at least gave him a sense of confidence.
***
Three Toes, Long Feathers, and their band were drawing ever closer to the Comanche village. They’d ridden all night.
It was simply fate that the mail rider crossed their path. One of Long Feathers’ sons shouted the alarm, and the chase was on. This was easy prey. The warriors mounted fresh ponies from Three Toes’ string. It had almost become a sport. In any case, it was a contest to see which Comanche would count coup and then bring down the mail rider.
Panic born of the Comanche reputation drove the rider to whip his horse. Inevitably, the horse broke down, hurling rider and mail satchel to the ground. The Comanche were on him in a heartbeat.
The mail rider stood shakily, firing wildly with his pistol. Three warriors disarmed him, pinned him to the earth, and bound his hands behind him. The sheer panic in the man’s eyes told of such extreme fear that his heart was in danger of exploding from his body. Two other warriors began to dig a hole. Soon, it was deep enough and they slid the mail rider’s upright body into it. They filled the hole such that only his head was sticking above the ground. They scalped him, then waited to be certain the ants had found him and his bleeding open wound. The crushing weight of soil on his chest prevented him from screaming loudly enough to be heard by anyone close enough to help. The Comanche left him to die.
Long Feathers’ son brandished the scalp and led the mail rider’s hard-ridden but serviceable horse. Three Toes complimented the young warrior on his bravery and resourcefulness. It almost was enough to forget about the loss of Bear Slayer.
Nueces Justice Page 11