by Mike Kearby
Ward moved next to Polk. “Help Charlie get the colored tied up before he tries something stupid.”
Charlie hurried to his horse and pulled a length of rawhide from his saddle horn. “Bring him over here, Nathan.”
Polk shoved the Winchester into Free’s back and prodded him forward. “Get over there, Mr. Colored Man,” he ordered.
Free walked toward Charlie as instructed, I can’t be messing with these three to night, he thought. And I can’t help Clara if I let them tie me up. He glanced at the darkening sky and figured now was as good a time as any to act. He strode three more steps, halted in midstride and reeled quickly to his left, pushing Polk’s rifle skyward as he turned.
Polk jumped in surprise as Free raced by him. Free’s quickness caught him off guard, and he yelled, “He’s loose, Ward! Stop him!”
Free lowered his head and accelerated toward Ward. He knew if Polk got a shot off before he rounded the corner, he was a dead man.
“What?” Ward Fischer turned, surprised, and tried to see what was causing all the commotion.
Free flew by Ward and landed a well-placed elbow to the ruffian’s nose as he went. “Parks! Free screamed into the darkness, “It’s Polk and two more! Take cover!”
Ward grabbed his nose with both hands and howled in anger. “My nose! He broke my nose!”
Charlie hurried over to his brother and hollered, “Don’t just stand there, Polk! Shoot him!”
Polk ran past the boulder into the open and began shooting blindly into the night.
“Stop it!” Ward slapped at Polk’s arm. “Stop it! You’re just wasting bullets, you danged fool!”
Free sprinted through the camp and snatched the Henry rifle from his saddle ring. He continued full bore for the heavy brush at the base of the mountain. “Parks!” he shouted, “I’m coming your way!” He raced through a clump of cedar, ducking as the heavy branches slapped at his face. Fifty yards into the brush, a hand reached out and stopped his progress. “Parks?” he whispered.
“Yep.”
“Thank, God!” Free exhaled and bent over to catch his wind.
“It’s Polk?” Parks asked.
Free nodded his head in frustration, “How could he have tracked us here?”
Parks gazed toward the corral, searching for movement by the men. “I don’t think he followed us, Free.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a feeling that those three are headed to the Apache winter camp.”
The realization of Parks’ words hit Free like a kick to the stomach. “They’re the border traders?”
Parks shrugged. “They probably trade with the Apache several times a year. I reckon they’re trading repeaters with Cochinay for captured children.”
Free grimaced. “If that’s right, then they’re probably sitting on a whole load of ammo.”
Parks rolled his Colt’s cylinder and checked his load. “Most likely,” he said.
From across the way, Ward called into the darkness. “Hey, Mr. Colored Man! You broke my nose! Now, I owe you for more than just Isham and Coy!”
Free searched the darkness for any moving shadows and then whispered to Parks. “We have to do deal with these traders to night. If we don’t show in the morning, Cochinay may not receive us again.”
“Hey, Mr. Colored Man!” Ward called out again, “What are you doing with all the mustangs? You weren’t planning on heading to Cochinay’s camp to trade them, were you?”
“What do you want, Ward?” Free hollered.
A blare of gunfire erupted at the sound of Free’s voice. As the shots quieted, Ward called out again, “Did we hit you, Mr. Colored Man?”
Free frowned. “Com’on, Ward!” he shouted across the camp, “Let’s work out a deal. I only want to get my wife back from the Apache! That’s all I’m aiming to do!”
Laughter erupted from the corral. “Why do you want her back, Mr. Colored Man? She’s soiled goods now. I probably could trade her for a broke-down mule, but that’s about it!”
Free turned to Parks. “Those boys are….” He stared into the spot where he had last seen his friend and realized Parks had disappeared. “Parks,” he whispered, “Parks? Where are you?” He scanned the cedars, but it was hopeless in the total blackness. He looked back toward the corral and tried once more to negotiate with the Fischers. “Ward, there must be something we can work out!”
The flash of gunfire erupted again. Free fell to his stomach and lay flat as cedar limbs danced in the air above him.
“How about now, Mr. Colored Man? Did we hit ya yet?” Ward yelled, “If we didn’t, we’ve got lots of ammo over here to try with!”
Free backed up several feet and took cover behind a larger cedar. “Think about it, Ward! I’ll give you whatever you want!”
“We’ll think it over while we’re reloading!” Ward laughed, crazily. “And then we’ll get you an answer!”
“I tell you what, Ward! Let me get my wife away from the Apache, and I’ll surrender to you! When I’m sure she’s safe, you can kill me or hang me or whatever you want to do!”
The night erupted once more in the flash of gunfire. As the trader’s guns emptied, a solitary shot rang out in the darkness from above the corral. Then all went quiet, except for a groan and the sound of Ward cussing, “I’m hit, Charlie! They shot me good.”
“Ward!” Charlie hollered, “Ward! Hang on! I’m coming!”
The corral area held quiet for several minutes, and then Charlie screamed in rage, “You killed Ward! You killed Ward!” and then he yelled, “He must be behind us, Polk!”
Free inched forward on his belly, Henry in hand, and stared into the darkness. He was afraid to talk any further as Parks was somewhere behind the two remaining men.
Suddenly, six shots rang out and the whole of the desert floor streaked with running shadows.
“Free!” Parks shouted from above the corral. “They’ve cut the mustangs loose!”
“There!” Charlie shouted and fired in the direction of Parks’ voice.
Free rose and ran unthinking toward the corral. He waved his hat in vain and tried to turn the horses around. But the panicked herd stampeded past him. As the last of the mares roared into the night, he knew they would not stop for miles. Free dropped to his knees and slammed the Henry to the ground in despair. “What have I done, Clara? What have I done?” he cried.
Near the corral, another lone shot rang out, and the moan of a man falling hard sounded across the desert.
Free lifted his head at the gun’s report. “Parks!” he screamed, “Are you OK?” Frantic, he scanned the night and saw a dark shadow to his left.
“I don’t know, Mr. Colored Man,” the shadow answered.
Free froze and felt Nathan Polk push the barrel of the Winchester against his temple.
“But, no matter what else happens to night, I’m going to kill you.” Polk levered the Winchester.
Free stared at the dark figure unbowed and waited for his bullet.
Chapter 33
The Apacheria, Texas January 1869
The pungent odor of intruders drifted along the javelina trail and alerted the Kiowa dog to danger. He lifted his nose to the wind and then raced in silence toward the source of the smell. He locked on the scent and in seconds was racing toward a dark form standing on the desert floor.
The dog reached the figure quickly and recognized the smell as that of the trader. He left his feet, hit the man with full force and knocked him to the ground.
Overpowered, Nathan Polk stumbled, squeezed the Winchester’s trigger and fired a bullet into the ground near Free.
The dog bounced off Polk and hit the ground violently. He rolled head over tail and landed on his back several feet away. Growling, he scrambled to his feet and raced back toward Polk, barking in a wild rage.
Polk gained his balance and turned to Free. He raised the rifle when the dog struck him again. Polk staggered and toppled over on his back.
In seconds, th
e dog straddled Polk and clamped his powerful jaws on the trader’s throat.
Free struggled to his feet and ran to the dog. “Good, Dog!” he yelled, and then directed his attention to Polk, “Are you crazy, Polk! I out to….”
“Free!” A shout broke through the darkness.
Free jerked his head up and looked in the direction of the voice. “Parks!” he cried out, “Where are you?” He tossed a quick glance at the dog and Polk, and then raced toward his friend.
At first light, Free surveyed the carnage. Parks rested against his saddle with a bullet hole on his left side, just below the ribcage. Free knelt and removed Parks’ bandage. Blood still seeped from the wound, but it was a through and through hole. “You’re lucky, Parks.” he patted his friend’s chest softly.
“It was a lucky shot in the dark.” Parks grimaced.
Free spread yucca paste on a piece of wool rag. “This should keep the poison out.” He placed the bandage on the wound.
“Did we lose all the mustangs?” Parks asked.
“Every last one of them. And the trader’s horses too. And the repeaters and the ammo. They’re all probably a hundred miles away by now.” Free stared blankly across the desert.
“And Polk?”
Free glanced at the dog, lying quietly nearby. “Dog took care of Polk.”
“I’ll get up shortly,” Parks said, “We’ll fix this somehow, Free. We can still get Clara back safely.”
Free gazed at the three bodies lying motionless in the morning sun. “You’re not fit to ride anywhere, Parks. Just lie still for now. I’ll figure this out.”
“But, I know we….” Parks stopped and then bolted upright. “I’ve got it. We’ll challenge Cochinay to a race.”
“What?” Free asked, “What are you saying?”
“That’s it.” Parks became lost in his thoughts and then said, “The Apache love sport, Free. The ultimate honor to an Apache is winning a challenge. Cochinay won’t refuse.”
“So they would rather race against us than kill us?”
“Not exactly, but they would accept the challenge of a race if the loser had to pay with something precious.”
“But, we don’t have anything valuable right now, Parks. We barely have enough ammunition to load our Colts again.”
“Oh, we’ve got something Cochinay wants…”
Free hesitated and then asked, “…and that is?”
“Our scalps.”
Chapter 34
Cañon de Sierra Carmel, January Texas 1869
Free sat on Horse and stared anxiously at Cochinay and his warriors. Parks had insisted he ride Horse to the Apache powwow this morning, “He’s faster than any Apache pony, and you know he can outpace Spirit at any distance. It’s your best chance of getting Clara back,” Parks had said.
“Tejano, where is your friend?” Cochinay finally spoke and broke the uneasy silence. “He is not hiding above?” Cochinay scanned the high cliffs that surrounded them.
“No, Cochinay, men ambushed us last night and shot my friend.”
“Ah, this is dangerous country, Tejano. Many men die in the Apache land.” Cochinay looked past Free. “And the horses?”
“The traders ran off our horses.” Free sat tall in the saddle and tried to disguise his fear. His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he waited for Cochinay’s reaction.
Cochinay shrugged. “Then you have nothing to trade?”
“Not horses,” Free replied.
Cochinay looked back and spoke to his braves. The Apache warriors listened, nodded and then turned their horses back toward the canyon mouth.
“Good-bye, Tejano.” Cochinay said, “Be glad Cochinay is kind and lets you leave with your life.”
“Wait!” Free yelled.
Cochinay continued to walk his horse away, but turned and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Surely, the Apache are not afraid to listen to the Tejano?”
Cochinay frowned and then pulled reins on his pony. “Be careful of your tongue, Tejano.” He spoke with authority, “It fights only with words, no match for an Apache blade.” Cochinay pulled a long bladed flint knife from his sash.
“My tongue only offers a better trade, Cochinay.”
Cochinay stared deep into Free’s eyes. “What is better than horses, Tejano?”
“Sport.”
Cochinay relaxed and laughed. “Sport?” Cochinay tapped at his temple several times. “Maybe the Tejano is loco.”
“A challenge, Cochinay. I have always heard the Apache love a challenge.”
Cochinay spoke aloud in Apache. The braves listened to their chief and then laughed loudly.
“A challenge, Cochinay, with my scalp as the prize.” Free removed his hat and showed the Apache a thick head of hair.
Cochinay studied Free with a careful intent.
“Cochinay can take your hair now if he wants.”
“But that wouldn’t show the Apache courage. No, to beat the Tejano at a race and then take his scalp is the Apache way,” Free offered.
“How do you know the Apache way, Tejano?” Cochinay flipped his hand out as if to dismiss Free.
“A race as far as Cochinay chooses.”
Cochinay smiled. “An Apache race, Tejano?”
Free nodded. “Yes, an Apache race. My horse against the best Apache horse.”
Cochinay grinned broadly. “All right, Tejano. We race the Apache way. And if the Apache win, we take the Tejano’s life, his horse and his hair.”
“Done,” Free replied without hesitation. “And if the Tejano wins, he gets to keep his life and his hair, and his scalp, and the….”
“Done,” Cochinay interrupted.
“…the hostages,” Free finished.
Cochinay nodded his acceptance.
“Cochinay,” Free continued, “all the hostages.”
Cochinay looked at Free with understanding. “The buffalo woman, she is yours, Tejano?”
Free answered deliberately. “She is my wife, Cochinay, and I aim to take her home.”
Chapter 35
The Apache Winter Camp, Texas January 1869
Free stood, surrounded by Apache squaws. The women slapped at his body with horse tail quirts and chattered relentlessly at his presence. Free withstood the assault with a calm indifference and stared expressionless at his tormentors.
Cochinay took a position next to Free and raised his hands high into the air. The squaws stopped their ceremony at his signal and backed away. Cochinay spoke rapidly in Apache and then pointed to Free. The whole village burst out in fervor at his words. Ecstatic, the squaws immediately formed two lines and began to chant at one another. One line would yell, “Chelee!” and the other side would respond with, “Gah!” The back and forth kept building in volume until the whole tribe engaged in the taunting.
“Do you understand, Tejano?” Cochinay asked, smiling.
“I can’t say that I do.” Free listened to Cochinay’s explanation, but his thoughts were preoccupied with Clara. He scanned the camp diligently for any sight of her.
“One side calls “horse.” The other side calls “rabbit.” It is our sport. Rabbit and horse.”
“I still don’t understand.” Free gazed at Cochinay, confused.
“The Tejano asked to race the Apache way. So, first you run like a rabbit up the cliff to your horse and then the horses race. That is the sport, Tejano.”
Free swallowed hard and wondered what he had gotten himself into. “What about my wife?” he asked.
“The Tejano will see the buffalo woman if he wins the race.” Cochinay scanned the crowd and motioned with his hand toward the assembled warriors. A muscular Apache brave stepped forward at Cochinay’s signal and strode over to Free.
Cochinay took the brave’s hand and placed it atop Free’s. “Tejano,” Cochinay spoke loudly, “this is your opponent, Delshay. He is the warrior married to the buffalo woman.”
Free glared at Delshay, drew a deep breath and tried to
keep his composure.
As the ceremony quieted, Cochinay pointed at the back canyon wall. A half mile up the cliff walls, an Apache warrior stood and held the reins to two horses in his hands.
“Tejano! You will race up the cliff to your horse. On top, you will ride to the spot where the sun rises each day. There you will find an Apache arrow buried into the stalk of a sotol bush. The arrow bears a purple ribbon and the man who brings the ribbon back to me is the champion.”
“Is that all?” Free asked above the noise.
“No, Tejano.” Cochinay slapped his thighs with both hands. A brave from the crowd emerged and handed the chief two bows and eight arrows.
“Netdahe!” Cochinay yelled out, “Each man can kill the other at any time, but be careful, for each man gets but four arrows.”
Free exhaled loudly.
“What is wrong, Tejano? Is this not the race you chose?” Cochinay mocked, “The Apache way.”
Delshay reached for his bow and shook the weapon at Free. “Gusano!” he screamed.
The squaws erupted in laughter. Free looked at Cochinay perplexed.
“He calls you a worm.” Cochinay joined in the laughter.
Free smiled and grabbed for his bow. “Tell him, I will wait for his return when I race back first.”
Cochinay turned to Delshay and relayed Free’s words. Delshay eyes darkened in anger. “Gusano!” he repeated.
Cochinay grabbed both men’s hands. “When I release your hand, Tejano, the race is on.”
Free looked over to Delshay and slipped the bow over his neck and shoulder. Delshay glared back and shook his arrows at Free.
In the building noise, Free felt Cochinay release his hand; he glanced at Delshay and then sprang forward in an explosive burst of speed. The squaws roared loudly as both men raced neck in neck for the back wall and soon the whole village joined in and ran behind them.
After thirty yards, Free felt his muscles relax and he eased slightly ahead of Delshay. He pumped his hands furiously as he sprinted for the trail, now visible at the base of the cliff.