The full moon was already chasing the sun, the sky still a brilliant liquid blue without a wisp of a cloud in sight.
“Harlan, pass the word that we’re going in. I want every man armed and ready. Tell them to fire in the air and don’t shoot to kill unless it’s in self-defense. I want as many taken alive as possible. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Harlan took his assignment seriously. Solemn as a judge, he began to move down the line, spreading the word. There was barely a sound as the men unsheathed their rifles.
Sweat trickled down Reed’s temple. When he swiped at it with the back of his arm, his shoulder wound gave a twinge. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Unbidden, Daniel’s image flashed through his mind.
Jonah was riding along the line of troops, repeating over and over, “Ride slow, stay low, and fan out until I give the signal—then we ride fast and hard and take as many prisoners as we can.” He pointed out a holding area and assigned four men to hang back and act as guards.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Reed told him when they joined up again.
Jonah’s expression was intent. “If you aren’t feeling right about this, tell me now and stay back with the guards. No one’s gonna blame you, not after what you went through before, but I can’t risk having you with us if you aren’t up to it.”
Reed thought of the settlers who had been killed, of the terrified women who had already spent hours in Comanche hands. He wasn’t about to back out, even if his mind and heart were unsettled.
“Let’s go.”
Jonah waved the men on, and the Rangers fanned out along the upper slope of the plain, moving in a slow, single file toward the tree line along the river. Before the encampment came into view, they separated into two columns, Reed leading one, Jonah the other.
Somewhere in the camp, a baby cried but was quickly quieted. Smoke spiraled from campfires; the smell of burning mesquite did little to alleviate the stench of curing hides and rotting bones scattered around— evidence of a recent buffalo hunt. When an encampment went too sour, the Comanche simply moved on. Reed had smelled worse.
Down the line of troopers, someone’s horse whinnied and tossed its head, fighting the bit. Jonah waved the men into a charge, and, as one, thirty Rangers spurred their mounts across the shallow water of the running stream and up the slight embankment, directly into the Comanche camp.
When the firing began, startled women, children, and old men ran for cover and for weapons. Cooking paunches filled with simmering food were dumped; fires were scattered in the melee that ensued. The Rangers followed Jonah’s orders, firing over their heads, kicking away attackers when they could, knocking them out with their rifle butts instead of shooting, but in many cases there was nothing to do but kill or wound the enemy.
Within seconds the Comanche were able to get their hands on weapons—spears, war axes, knives, pistols, even rifles. Smoke filled the air as the Rangers began torching tepees and summer shelters made of boughs. Reed was dead center in the middle of the encampment when, screaming like a banshee, a woman came running through a screen of smoke. Even though an infant hung in a carrier on her back, the woman charged him with a war ax raised over her head.
His horse reared, and she dropped the ax, fell back, and rolled on the ground. At first her eyes went wide with terror then dark with resignation. She expected death, was ready to face it. Reed shouted at her in broken Comanche, ordered her to surrender.
Then came a flash of movement to his right. Reed turned in the saddle, saw a boy no older than ten years running toward him with an old percussion pistol.
Reed raised his rifle, looked down the barrel.
And imagined Daniel’s face.
29
When Reed heard Tommy Harlan holler at him to shoot, he looked away from the Comanche boy with the pistol and watched Tommy jump his horse over a low campfire, riding down on them. Detached, Reed froze, unable to move, unable to shoot the boy aiming at him as he tried to protect the woman.
Rifle at the ready, Tommy closed in, screaming, “Shoot, Reed! Kill him! He’s going to fire!”
Reed knew the Comanche boy had one shot and knew he would take it. Suddenly, without warning, the boy whirled and fired at Harlan. Tommy was nearly knocked out of the saddle as his body reacted to the impact of the bullet. A red stain flowered across his shirtfront as shock and surprise registered on his face.
The Comanche boy looked as surprised as the young Ranger when Tommy’s eyes glazed over and he fell to the ground.
Distinct within the volley of shots fired around him, Reed heard another, this one fired at close range. He saw the Comanche youth’s body arch, his thin arms flail the air. The old pistol flew out of his hand. He fell forward and hit the ground facedown. A ragged bullet hole ravaged his back.
Reed swallowed bile.
The young mother-sister-wife on the ground screamed and scrambled to her feet. She took off running for the shelter of the trees along the river as Reed looked past the fallen boy to see who the shooter was.
His eyes met and held Jonah’s. In that instant Reed saw concern, disappointment, and resignation. Then Jonah turned his horse and charged after an old man hobbling for the stream.
Reed kicked his horse, rode down the woman with the babe. He dismounted and tied her hands together, forced her to follow him as he rode over to the holding area. In the distance, sporadic firing faded into silence.
It was high summer, the time of long days. Sunlight held until the Comanche braves rode into the creek bottom with the stolen horses. When they saw the smoking remains of the camp and realized what had happened, they were more than willing to trade the four white captives—two women and two young girls under fifteen, as well as the horses, in exchange for their wives and children.
A full moon lit up the night sky as Company J set up their own camp for the night a few miles away. Doc saw to the wounded. The only life lost had been Harlan’s. Jonah ordered guards to watch the body. It was covered by a tarpaulin and draped over his saddle, the horse picketed away from where the women could see it. No one forgot it was there.
In self-imposed exile, Reed sat alone a good distance from the cook fire, staring at the moon, seeing nothing, feeling little more. Jonah had not been the only witness to Tommy’s death. Word had quickly spread that Reed was responsible. It wasn’t long before he had become a pariah.
Somewhere off in the distance, a coyote pack set up raucous howling. Seated on the ground, his legs drawn up and his rifle alongside him, Reed shoved his hat back and rested his arms on his knees.
He heard footsteps rustling the grass but did not bother to pick up his rifle. If death had come for him, he was ready.
But it was only Jonah.
The man said nothing as he lowered himself to the ground, pulled out a rolled smoke, a case of matches. Once the tobacco was lit and he had taken a drag, Jonah finally spoke. “You cost a man his life today. You could have lost your own.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Reed asked.
“What happened?”
What happened?
Daniel happened.
Daniel with his long Comanche hair, his defiant eyes. Whether Daniel was his own child, or his father’s, like Kate had said, he was a Benton. The boy was back in his life and so were the memories of what Daniel had meant to him once, long ago.
What happened today?
I stopped seeing Comanches and saw a child.
A boy like Daniel.
Someone’s son. Someone’s brother.
I saw a mother, a babe.
Not just Comanches.
He had left himself open and vulnerable and had gotten Tommy Harlan killed as sure as if he had pulled the trigger on that old percussion pistol himself.
Deep inside, he guessed Jonah was perfectly aware of what had happened out there today, but the man wanted him to admit it.
“I couldn’t have shot that boy today any more than I could shoot you,” Reed admitted.
> Jonah took a long pull on the cigarette. “But I could have been killed by your inability to act in the heat of battle the same as Harlan. You’re through as a Ranger, Reed. You know that, don’t you? I can’t have you out here, a danger to yourself and the rest of the men.
“Go home, Reed, and put your life back together. You’ve been hiding out here for years, you and I both know that. Revenge and hatred can get real old.”
Jonah dropped what was left of the tobacco and snuffed it out with his boot. “This war has gone on way too long with too many lost on both sides. I don’t see an end to it without one side or the other leaving Texas altogether, and I know it won’t be us. Like I told you before, I’m doing this for the people of Texas. If you aren’t, then it’s time to get out. You know we’ll always be friends.”
Since there would be years of bloodshed to come before the Comanche either went peaceably to the reservation land or died fighting, Reed had never much thought past being a Ranger. Before this afternoon he never could have imagined having this conversation.
Once he assumed his father would live on for years to come, but now Lone Star was his. He could run it as he saw fit and live on the ranch without battling his father’s will.
In his heart, he knew where he belonged, just as he knew there was no avoiding Daniel or his responsibility to Lone Star any longer. He already had Tommy Harlan on his conscience. He didn’t need Daniel and Kate there, too.
Jonah was right. It was time to go home.
30
Kate sat on the settee in the Benton parlor watching Charm laugh over a bad checker move in a match against Preston.
Wearing a red-and-white striped shirt and denim pants that Charm had just finished the day before, Daniel sat at the opposite end of the plush upholstered piece, his little legs and feet sticking out over the edge, his crutch propped beside him. It was the first time he ever sat so close to the rest of them. His usual haunt was a chair at the far end of the room where he could observe without being part of the group.
Another Sunday supper had just ended. Another pleasant summer afternoon lazed on. It cheered Kate to see Charm laugh with such a light heart. The girl was more at ease with the minister, too. It had been two weeks since Jonah Taylor’s proposal, and neither Kate nor Charm had brought up the subject again. Although Charm never said a word about it, Kate could tell that she was suffering from a broken heart.
Wishing there was something she could do, it suddenly dawned on Kate that Charm had become a good friend. As had Preston. Dear friends. Something she had never had before.
Preston won the checker game, and Charm conceded defeat. Kate thought about fate and how it had brought three such unlikely souls together to share each other’s company. Over and over she tried to remind herself that her time and position here were only temporary, that circumstances could change as quickly as the weather.
She had come to care for not only Charm, but for Preston, and of course, for Daniel, who was trying so hard not to slip into their way of life, fighting to remain what he had become during his captivity.
“Kate, recite something for us, would you please?”
Drawn out of her musing, Kate saw Charm smile expectantly, seated across from Preston, elbows on the table, her chin in her hand. The day that Jonah had proposed, Charm had been so upset that Kate had recited two humorous pieces, trying to cheer her. The girl had begged for more every evening since.
“You do recitations, Kate?” Preston leaned forward on his chair. “I would love to hear one.”
Kate felt her color rise. “I used to teach elocution.”
“What’s echo-lution?” Charm asked.
“Elocution. According to the Latin, the word means ‘to speak out,’ from e meaning out and loqui meaning to speak.”
“Whatever you call it, Kate is wonderful at it,” Charm assured Preston. “As good as an actress I saw once in Saint Louis.”
“Oh, I’m not anywhere near professional,” Kate insisted.
“Please,” Charm urged. “For me.”
“And for me.” Preston smiled encouragingly, his gray eyes intent, filled with something Kate did not dare to name. Her life was uncertain enough.
She stood and shook out her skirt, let the bright calico fall into place.
“I’ve never performed for a man,” she told Preston, too nervous to begin.
“Then what if we both recite? Do you know any Shakespeare?”
Kate was tempted to deny it, but the thought of actually delivering a dramatic recitation with someone else was something she had never experienced. The idea intrigued her.
“I know a few passages from one or two of his works.”
“Then we may be in luck. Do you know anything from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
“Part of Act One, Scene One, was my older students’ favorite.”
“The scene between Lysander and Hermia?”
“Yes.” Kate stood. “It’s not very long and is easily memorized.”
“I happen to know it, too.”
Charm came to life and clapped her hands.
Daniel, aware that something was about to happen, sat up straighter. Kate tucked his long hair back behind his ear.
Ever the Southern gentleman, Preston offered, “I would be happy to join you, if you are willing to give it a try.”
Kate nodded, and they stood together before the huge stone fireplace, a fitting background with the bucket of wildflowers Charm had set inside it.
Kate stood erect, pressed her hands firmly together and began to slowly inhale and exhale. The guide to elocution stated that the chest was a sounding board that gave strength to the voice. Beside her, Preston stood tall and straight and very, very close. Within seconds of his opening, his strong voice and lilting Southern drawl made him a wonderful orator. She was certain he was capable of delivering rousing sermons.
Too late she realized that this particular scene was entirely the wrong one to perform with a preacher.
Lysander and Hermia were lovers.
It had been two weeks since Reed had left the Rangers, two weeks since he’d gotten Tommy Harlan killed and Jonah had thrown him out of the company.
He had spent most of the last few days lost in a bottle of whiskey, holing up at one outpost or another until he had wound up in Lone Star last night, passed out at Dolly B. Goode’s.
None of the girls would have done him any good, at least not with all the liquor he had consumed flowing through his veins.
Dolly, cheerfully assuring him that he looked like death warmed over and that his father would rise up out of his grave if she didn’t do something, saw to it that he had a good night’s sleep, a close shave, and a bath before he left her establishment.
Now, as he rode into the stable area behind Benton House, Reed was thankful the robust madam had insisted on cleaning him up.
If he had arrived looking the way he had last night, he most likely would have scared Kate half to death.
As it was now, he no longer reeked of whiskey or self-pity. Hopefully, he had left them behind.
Scrappy was waiting for him as he rode in. The old cowhand had seen him the minute he came over the rise and had waved his hat over his head in greeting. Reed rode up, swung his leg over the saddle, dismounted, and handed the wrangler his reins.
“ ’Bout time you decided to come back,” the old cowhand said.
“Yeah. I guess so.” He wasn’t about to tell Scrappy what had happened. The afternoon sun beat down on them both as Reed glanced at the back door. There was no sign of life behind either of the long kitchen windows.
“The women are in the house,” Scrappy told him without being asked. “So’s the preacher.”
Reed frowned. Hell, if it wasn’t Sunday. Then he remembered it had been the damn church bell ringing that had shocked him out of a deep sleep this morning and set his head pounding.
Scrappy opened his mouth, then shut it without a word.
“What?” Reed looked into the old man’
s eyes.
“Nothin’.”
“Come on, I can see you bustin’ to say something. Out with it.”
“Welcome back.”
Reed knew that wasn’t what the old man was going to say as sure as he knew it wouldn’t do any good to push the stubborn old coot.
“Might as well go in and get it over with,” Scrappy said as he started to lead Reed’s horse away.
“Yeah, might as well.”
Now was as good a time as any. Besides, he was curious to see for himself if the pretty little picture Jonah had painted for him of Kate, Charm, and the preacher was anywhere near true.
He let himself into the house without a sound, hung his hat on a rack near the door, and stopped at the stove to dip his finger in a pot of mashed potatoes. They were still warm as he scooped out a taste and then closed his eyes over the creamy delight. Bacon, beans, rice, and fresh-killed game could fill a Ranger’s stomach, but there was nothing like a pile of mashed potatoes and a plate of golden fried chicken to warm his heart.
The sound of voices carried from the parlor. He walked out of the kitchen and entered the windowless hall. A breeze sneaked through the house from front to back along the hallway, a pleasant touch he had missed while living in a stifling tent.
He walked without making a sound, intent upon Kate’s voice; then he heard the preacher’s baritone. He stopped short of entering the parlor, lingered inside the double door to the entry hall, intrigued by a scene he could view without being seen.
Across the long room, framed in front of the fireplace, Kate stood beside the preacher. She was play-acting, her voice growing stronger and more certain with each word.
Dressed in a calico dress that modestly covered her bountiful cleavage, Charm sat at the table watching in rapt wonder, her bright eyes shining. In a glance Reed noticed the girl looked younger and prettier than ever.
Daniel sat alone, paying close attention, though there was a look of scorn on his face. But even though he looked mad enough to spit worms, he was very still and watched intently.
Summer Moon Page 21