Comanche (A J.T. Edson Western Book 1)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Then do it as I said, or you will fail through Ysabel’s medicine power. If you do as I told you, Ysabel will die and none know who killed him.’

  There might, Fire Dancer admitted to herself, be some suspicions when the villagers remembered how Ysabel killed her first husband. However she intended to spend the remainder of the night making medicine talk with Raccoon Talker and so be dissociated from the deed she planned.

  Dull-witted Raider might be, but he grasped the necessary points of the plan easily enough and needed no repetition as Fire Dancer led him in the direction of Ysabel’s tepee. Making sure the man knew exactly where to go, Fire Dancer parted company with him before coming too close to his destination and went to set about the business of establishing her alibi.

  Approaching the tepee, Raider saw Ysabel’s big grulla stallion standing picketed before its entrance. Had he been dealing with another Comanche, the sight would have worried him. Nothing Raider had seen in sporadic meetings with other white men led him to believe that they possessed any of the horse-training ability of the People. So he doubted if Ysabel would prove more adept, or that the grulla received the training instilled into a warrior’s favorite horse.

  With his tomahawk in hand, Raider glided silently up to the tepee. He paused in the shadows, keen ears listening for any sound to tell him that the tepee was occupied. Concentrating upon that, he completely failed to notice a change in the grulla’s attitude; one which, if observed, might have changed his thoughts on the subject of white man’s horse-training ability. Quickly he stepped into the tepee, raising the door flap only sufficiently to allow himself entrance room. The light of the big main fire, glowing in the background, momentarily lit up the tepee’s interior. A couple of saddles lay upon their sides on the left of the door, ready to be grabbed up when leaving. At the far side were two beds, both empty, with a pair of rifles, a bow and quiver of arrows close to them. All that Raider noticed as he entered. A feeling of disappointment hit him when he found that Ysabel’s son was not present. Two lives would have been better payment for his brother’s death.

  Stepping to one side, he crouched in the darkness with the tomahawk in his hand. He expected a long wait, accepting it as part-payment for being given an opportunity to avenge his brother’s murder. So it came as a pleasant surprise, an omen almost, to hear the sound of approaching feet and see the tepee’s door flap begin to lift.

  With his head full of thoughts about Ysabel’s medicine power, Raider decided not to take any chances. The moment that the person outside began to enter, he launched a savage chop designed to lay open the other’s throat and prevent any outcry.

  A day’s hard riding followed by a sufficiency of good food since his return to the village did much to damp Loncey’s usual enthusiasm for the game of stealing horses. Normally he would have spent most of the night with his friends, practicing how to rope a selected animal from a resting remuda and keep it silent while leading it away. After leaving the Victory Dance, he went with the other members of his band, but collected only one horse, galloping it around the village to test its mettle, then decided to go home. Dropping from the borrowed horse, he watched it rejoin the remuda and then walked back to the village.

  When approaching puberty, a Comanche boy had to stay clear of his sisters. In most cases, that meant living in a separate tepee from the remainder of the family. Having no wife, or daughters, Ysabel could allow Loncey to share the tepee with him, so it was to his father’s home that Loncey went on his return.

  As he neared the tepee, Loncey glanced instinctively in the direction of his father’s horse. What he saw brought him to a halt and caused the back hairs on his neck to rise in warning. Instead of resting, the stallion stood facing the tepee’s door, its head held high and ears pricked in an alert manner. For a moment the boy stood undecided as to his best course of action. He knew the horse, like any warrior’s favorite mount, had been trained to give warning of lurking danger. From the signs, something—or somebody—had recently entered the tepee and must still be inside.

  If a human being was in the tepee, it must be an enemy. While the Comanche did not hesitate to appropriate an outsider’s horse or property, they never stole from each other. Therefore the person in the tepee could not be a friend.

  Just as Loncey prepared to turn and fetch help, a thought struck him. What if nothing more than a prowling cur-dog, raccoon or porcupine should be the cause of the horse’s warning? Every brave act Loncey had performed would be forgotten and there were some who would be only too pleased to see him brought down to their level by making a foolish mistake. The thought of being a subject of mockery made up Loncey’s mind for him. It would be better to take a chance than run for help to deal with an inoffensive, non-dangerous animal.

  Sliding the knife from his sheath, he walked up to the tepee and raised the door flap. Only for a moment did he hesitate, then, sucking in a breath, he entered. A movement from the right caught his attention. He saw a human shape lunge in his direction, its arm lashing around towards him. Instantly he flung himself forward in a rolling dive and heard the hiss of a weapon passing harmlessly over his head.

  Three things saved the boy’s life: first, he expected danger and was ready for it; secondly, he moved with considerable speed; lastly, Raider assumed the one entering to be Sam Ysabel and aimed his tomahawk at a height to slash the white man’s throat open, preventing any outcry, so it passed over the level of the boy’s head.

  Snarling in rage, Raider caught his balance, whirled around and charged across the tepee in Loncey’s direction. At the end of his dive, Loncey came to his feet and twisted to face his assailant. Seeing the man approaching with a raised tomahawk, the boy acted without any conscious thought. Instinct fostered by generations of knife-fighting men caused him to whip back his arm and swing it forward, the knife leaving his hand as it had so many times in practice.

  Flying steel and charging man converged. An instant too late Raider realized what had happened. He felt the knife’s point prick his throat, then its blade sliced home. No child’s toy, but a razor-sharp and deadly efficient weapon, the knife sank in at an angle which cut the wind-pipe and severed both jugular vein and carotid artery. Dying on his feet, Raider still made another attempt to drive his tomahawk into the boy.

  Loncey flung himself aside, avoiding the downward swing of the tomahawk, and sprang to catch up his rifle. Even as he pivoted around, the rifle’s barrel in Raider’s direction, he saw the man let the tomahawk drop, claw weakly up to where the knife’s hilt rose from blood-spurting flesh and crash forward to the floor.

  Chapter Twelve – Sam Ysabel’s Decision

  Still unaware of his attacker’s identity, Loncey stood for a moment and looked down. Violent death was no stranger to him, and the darkness of the tepee prevented the full horror of his act from meeting his eyes. Varied emotions ran through the youngster, but panic was not one of them. He could still think and knew that he must act. While the raider might be a lone warrior seeking loot, he could also be one of a number taking advantage of the Victory Dance to plunder the empty tepees.

  Springing across the tepee, Loncey thrust through the axe-slashed door and into the open. He raised his rifle and fired a shot into the air, then threw back his head, letting out a shout in a voice cracked with excitement and emotion.

  ‘An attack!’ he yelled. ‘An attack!’

  While a Comanche boy might not be above playing practical jokes on the village, he knew better than raise a false alarm of that kind. The story of the boy who cried ‘Wolf’ did not belong exclusively to the white man and a version of it was early drummed into the Nemenuh children, to be taken to heart. So, on hearing the shot and Loncey’s yell, women fled to safety and the men dashed in the direction from which the alarm had been given.

  Among the first to arrive were Ysabel and Long Walker. They had recognized Loncey’s voice, which lent speed to their movements.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ Ysabel barked.

  ‘A ma
n,’ Loncey replied, pointing to the tepee. ‘Inside!’

  Without waiting to hear more, Ysabel leapt to the tepee and went through its door. He moved fast, his big Walker Colt held ready for use. Followed by Long Walker, he crossed the floor and halted by the huddled body. Hooking his toe under the body’s shoulder, Ysabel rolled it on to its back. In the faint, flickering light thrown by the big fire through the open door, he recognized the shape at his feet.

  ‘Now what the hell?’ Ysabel growled.

  ‘It’s one of the Antelope braves,’ Long Walker stated unnecessarily, looking down and sheathing his bowie knife.

  ‘Raider, the dead man’s brother,’ Ysabel confirmed. ‘But what’s he doing in my tepee?’

  ‘That we will learn!’ promised Long Walker grimly. ‘Is Burnt Grass outside?’

  One of the men by the door repeated his chief’s words and the leader of Fire Dancer’s escort entered the tepee. Before Burnt Grass could speak, Long Walker pointed down to the body.

  ‘Raider!’ gasped the Kweharehnuh, his voice showing baffled amazement and such surprise that the watching men doubted if he could be acting. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘We do not know, yet,’ replied Long Walker. ‘What do you say, Ysabel?’

  ‘Let’s have Loncey in and hear his story,’ suggested Ysabel, ‘that being his knife in the feller’s throat.’

  During one of his trading trips, Ysabel had picked up a small lantern and fuel oil for it. While Long Walker went to fetch Loncey, Ysabel produced and lit the lamp, using the extra illumination to make a search of the tepee. From what he could see, nothing had been touched or disturbed. That proved little, except that if the dead man planned to steal, he was interrupted before beginning.

  Showing no hesitation or concern at being in the tepee with the man he killed, Loncey came through the door. His eyes went first to his father, then in Burnt Grass’s direction and he could guess at why he had been called inside.

  ‘Tell it, boy,’ Ysabel ordered.

  ‘I think your companion should be here to hear, Burnt Grass,’ Long Walker suggested and the Antelope leader called in his last remaining brave.

  Quietly and soberly Loncey began to tell what had happened, starting with his noticing the horse’s warning behavior. He went through each part of the incident in order, trying to omit nothing, for he could guess at the gravity of the situation. Not that speaking calmly and plainly came easy, with his father, grandfather and the two Kweharehnuh standing in a loose half-circle and studying his face all the time. Then for the first time his eyes strayed to the body and he recognized it as one of the Antelope braves. It seemed that his original guess as to the reason for being called into the tepee was wrong. He had not been brought in to tell of his first coup to the visiting braves, but to explain how he came to kill one of their party.

  ‘I didn’t know it was him!’ the boy gasped, shocked at discovering he had killed a member of the Comanche Nation and a visitor to their camp. ‘But all I’ve told you is true.’

  ‘Say the oath, boy!’ commanded Long Walker sternly.

  Drawing himself erect and setting his face in grim lines, Loncey repeated the words he had learned and heard so often when warriors attested to the truth of their statements.

  ‘Earth, Father. You saw me do it. Sun, Mother. You saw me do it. Do not let me live another season if I speak with a forked tongue.’

  Burnt Grass nodded gravely as the boy finished the sacred oath. No member of the Pehnane, even one so young, ever spoke those words unless telling the truth; they believed implicitly that death would follow should they lie while under the oath’s bond of truth.

  ‘It would seem that the boy had no other choice but strike,’ Hawk Circling commented, examining the gash caused by Raider’s tomahawk in the door flap and comparing it with Loncey’s height.

  There had been little margin for error and the boy must have moved with exceptional speed to avoid the blow of a man like Raider, noted for his skilled use of the fighting axe. Looking across the tepee, Hawk Circling noted that Raider’s favorite weapon lay at the right side of the body. Turning his eyes back to Burnt Grass, he gave a satisfied nod.

  ‘We know your son speaks the truth, Ysabel,’ Burnt Grass declared.

  ‘My thanks,’ the white man answered formally. ‘What I want to know is, why did that one come to my tepee and try to kill Loncey.’

  ‘A man in grief does strange things,’ Long Walker pointed out.

  ‘His brother spoke your name in death, Ysabel,’ Hawk Circling pointed out. ‘Perhaps he thought that the dying one blamed you for killing him.’

  ‘Why?’ growled Ysabel. ‘I’d not spoken a dozen words to either of them, or done more than share food that morning with them. Why’d I want either of them dead?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Hawk Circling vaguely.

  ‘That’s an answer I don’t reckon helps much,’ Ysabel answered.

  ‘Hawk Circling and I don’t believe such things of you,’ Burnt Grass assured him and the other Kweharehnuh nodded agreement. ‘But that one—well, he did not think much. If he decided something, he would act, right or wrong.’

  ‘He was a brave warrior, though stupid,’ admitted Hawk Circling.

  ‘Did he say anything to either of you about thinking I poisoned his brother?’

  ‘We never saw him after he left us with his brother in the tepee,’ replied Burnt Grass. ‘Even if he believed it, what has happened shows that he was wrong.’

  ‘His medicine must have been bad for him to die at the hands of a boy,’ agreed the other Antelope brave.

  Although the Comanche did not go for anything as formal as trial by combat, they firmly believed in the guiding hand of Ka-Dih favoring the one in the right of a dispute. That a name-warrior of Raider’s caliber not only failed to kill, but fell to a boy’s knife meant Ka-Dih knew he acted wrongly. The fact gave the Kweharehnuh final, definite proof that Raider’s suspicions had no basis of truth.

  ‘We do not blame your son for acting as he did, Ysabel,’ Burnt Grass stated. ‘He would make a poor brave-heart if he did not defend his tepee.’

  ‘He will be a name-warrior in his time,’ Hawk Circling went on.

  Having seen his son proven innocent of any offence—defending one’s tepee, even at the cost of the intruder’s life, being regarded as a virtue—Ysabel turned to the boy.

  ‘Go sleep in Loud Voice’s tepee for the night, son,’ he ordered.

  Obediently the youngster turned and walked from the tepee. With Loncey out of the way, Ysabel continued to try to find a solution to the mystery. He recalled a point which had been puzzling him ever since meeting the Kweharehnuh party.

  ‘Why did Fire Dancer decide to come back to the Pehnane?’ he asked.

  ‘She told us that she made medicine and dreamed that she must come back to her people to find happiness, having seen much sorrow with losing four husbands.’

  Except for one fact, the explanation might have satisfied Ysabel. All too well he knew the store set by the Comanches in their medicine-inspired dreams. As he looked at Raider’s body Ysabel remembered the killing of Bitter Root so many years back. Of all the dead man’s wives, only Fire Dancer showed real grief. Maybe the woman returned to seek revenge on her first husband’s killer. An unlikely happening for a Comanche woman; but Fire Dancer had been born a Mexican and the Latin races possessed a capacity for retaining hatreds and seeking vengeance.

  However, Ysabel decided to keep his thoughts and suspicions to himself. If the woman had planned to kill him, she took a mighty roundabout way of doing it. Should she be after his scalp to avenge Bitter Root, Ysabel figured he stood a better chance of stopping her while she believed he was in ignorance of her intentions. And in the event of her being innocent, with only coincidence to connect her to the braves’ deaths, Ysabel did not wish to spoil her chances of making a new life among the Pehnane.

  ‘Did she ask for the brothers to come along?’ he asked.

  ‘No. She had t
he camp cried asking for men to guide her here and we said we would come. Life had been slow in our village for many days.’

  ‘Raider’s pairaivo has an evil tongue, he came to get away from her,’ Hawk Circling supplemented to his leader’s reply.

  ‘Aiee!’ said Burnt Grass. ‘This is a bad medicine trip for me. On no more than a visit I lose two men.’

  ‘I think this is a bad place, Ysabel,’ Long Walker put in. ‘We will leave tomorrow.’

  ‘It’d be as well,’ Ysabel agreed.

  ‘Hawk Circling and I will ride back to our people,’ Burnt Grass announced. ‘Have no fears, Ysabel, we will see that no blame is put upon your son.’

  ‘Again you have my thanks, amigo,’ Ysabel replied. ‘Now let’s see to this body. There is much to do before we break camp tomorrow.’

  Even the leader of the successful raiding party admitted the wisdom of moving the camp when Long Walker spoke with him. Two such mysterious deaths boded little good for anyone foolish enough to stay in such an area. So an old man rode through the village, crying the news of the impending move and telling everybody by what time they must be ready if they wanted to travel with the main body.

  Next day, working with the speed of long practice, the people packed their belongings and dismantled the tepees. Despite the hurried nature of the departure, and the fact that few of the village’s inhabitants slept much the previous night, everything went smoothly. Two hours after sun-up, the first families moved out on the heels of the horse herds and following the line taken by the warriors of the advance guard.

  Instead of riding in his usual place up at the front of the column, Ysabel waited until he saw Raccoon Talker and then swung his grulla alongside her mount.

  ‘What do you make of the Antelope’s death, pia?’ he asked, using the term ‘mother’ as one of respect due to the medicine woman’s wisdom and position in life.

  ‘The young one was poisoned,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘How?’

  ‘That I do not know,’ Raccoon Talker admitted. ‘At first I thought that he had eaten the Deadly Amanita mushroom, for that is how one who eats it acts when the poison begins to work. But what grown man would eat that?’