by J. T. Edson
‘So?’ asked the first speaker sullenly.
‘So this,’ Dusty answered. ‘I don’t know what you figure your life’s worth. But whatever you figure on it, that’s just what you owe to Long Walker and the other Comanche chiefs.’
Having been one of the Kid’s party at the corral, the soldier knew just how slight his chance of reaching safety had been. He looked at Dusty, then to Mark and the Kid. Something in the Texans’ eyes warned him not to take the matter further, even though he could not see the people Dusty claimed to have helped them.
One of the men from the main building, not appreciating the danger of the corral party, felt less inclined to accept the Texans’ words.
‘That bunch we’ve been after for the past two days sure had a strange way of wanting peace,’ he stated.
‘There’re good and bad in every race, soldier,’ Mark replied. ‘Those Waw’ai didn’t want peace. But there’re white men who feel the same way. Only they don’t go out and raid, they just supply the Indians with guns and let them do it.’
‘Why’d they do that?’ demanded the soldier.
‘To make folks feel like you do now,’ Dusty explained, ‘To make them hate all Indians, even the ones who want peace.’
While the Texans put a different complexion on the matter, the soldier did not feel entirely assured.
‘That bunch didn’t want peace,’ he repeated
‘They will after the mauling you handed them,’ Dusty answered. ‘And it was you here at the station who licked ‘em. Sure we helped chase them off. But you men held them here, kept them so busy that they didn’t see us coming. It’s you who’ve broken Sidewinder’s medicine. His men won’t follow him again.’
‘Which same I never saw Sidewinder,’ the Kid said bitterly. Looking across the range, he knew that there would be no chance of finding the chief’s tracks among the many which left the area. If he had known the tracks of Sidewinder’s horse the Kid might have accomplished something. Without that knowledge, he could only guess at which fleeing group included the chief. It seemed that once more Ka-Dih favoured Sidewinder and allowed the chief to slip through the Kid’s hands.
‘Hey. Look there!’ yelled one of the soldiers and pointed off across the range.
On turning, Dusty, Mark and the Kid saw a welcome sight. Colonel Goodnight rode towards them, accompanied by Long Walker, War Club and four other elderly Comanches, driving a large bunch of riderless horses.
‘Those’re your Indians who don’t want peace,’ Dusty told the soldier. ‘Long Walker and War Club, two chiefs of the Pehnane. The others are the chiefs of the Yap-Eaters, Liver-Eaters, Water Horse and Burnt Meat Bands. They’re the ones who told us about the raid,’ Dusty felt he could tell a small lie under the circumstances, ‘and who got us here in time to help you out.’
‘How’d they know about the raids?’ asked the soldiers.
‘Likely got the word from a medicine man,’ the Kid put in. ‘And don’t sell them short, soldier. They know things that no fancy Eastern professor can explain.’
‘No matter how they knew,’ Mark went on. ‘They got us here and it looks like they’ve brought in all the horses the Waw’ai picked up on the raids.’
‘That won’t bring back the folks those other Indians’ve killed,’ protested the soldier who had done most of the talking.
‘Look around, you, soldier!’ Dusty ordered. ‘There are fifty or more dead Waw’ai hereabouts, not counting any the others carried away. Just how many more lives do you want?’
No reply came from the soldiers and they stood in a silent group. Yet Dusty knew he had given them food for thought. Then Manners came out of the barn, face haggard and body drooping in tiredness. Slowly he walked over to the Texans.
‘You did it, Jeff?’ Dusty said.
‘I lost half of my patrol,’ Manners replied. ‘Was it worth it?’
‘You saw how those Waw’ai could fight,’ Dusty answered. ‘And they’re not the toughest Comanche band. It’s better to have peace with folk who fight that good.’
‘I’d best start work,’ Manners sighed, not commenting on Dusty’s remark.
‘Wait for Captain Connel’s troop to help you,’ Dusty suggested. ‘They’re coming back now.’
After following the scattering Waw’ai for a time, the second troop of soldiers came back to the relay station. At the same time Goodnight walked over from where he and the Comanche halted the recovered horses.
‘Long Walker and the others called it right on where we’d find the Waw’ai stock,’ he said. ‘And they sure haven’t forgotten how to handle themselves in a raid.’
‘Did you have any trouble, Uncle Charlie?’ asked Dusty.
‘Nope. Sidewinder only left four bucks guarding the horses and they never had a chance to make a fight.’
‘Then we’ve got all the loot back, except for maybe a few guns.’
‘Sure, Dusty.’
Manners stood with Captain Connel and the soldiers mingled in talking groups. It seemed that the second troop’s members praised the manner in which Long Walker and the other Comanche chiefs guided them across the range, for some of the hostility died away among the group which had held the relay station.
‘I’ve left men out on the range, gathering the lances that the Waw’ai are discarding, Dusty,’ Colonel said. ‘Why’d they take them from Przewlocki’s men in the first place, if they aimed to throw them away?’
‘Took them to show they’d whipped the white soldier lance carriers,’ the Kid explained. ‘And threw them away to save weight on the hosses’ backs — and because they figured those lances brought bad luck.’
‘They could be right at that,’ Connel grunted. ‘They sure didn’t do Przewlocki’s men any good at all. I’ve told Jeff Manners to rest his men and mine’ll start the cleaning up here. Unless you figure on following the Waw’ai up, Dusty.’
‘How about it, Lon?’ asked Dusty.
‘You could try,’ drawled the Kid. ‘But they’ll not gather together again for days and won’t stop running until they’re back with the rest of the band. I’d bet that the Waw’ai come in after this. Or would if we could get Sidewinder. While he’s out, if he can get his medicine back, they’ll never settle down.’
‘Then we’d best try to get him,’ Dusty said.
‘We can try,’ agreed the Kid doubtfully. ‘Tell me which set of tracks to follow and I’ll make a go at it.’
‘Maybe he’s gone back to the camp aiming to collect his mother,’ Dusty guessed, ‘From what you told me about him, he always stuck pretty close to her.’
‘It’s worth trying,’ the Kid admitted. ‘Let’s get our hosses and go see.’
‘Is that all right with you, Tom?’ Dusty asked, looking at Connel.
‘Go to it, Dusty. Do you want any men?’
‘We’ll handle it ourselves,’ Dusty replied, glancing at his two friends and Goodnight. ‘Coming, Uncle Charlie?’
‘I figured to take those horses to their owners and make sure that the owners know who got them back,’ Goodnight replied.
Knowing the respect in which most Texans held Goodnight, Dusty could see that his uncle’s decision was the correct one. If anybody could smooth down the hostility caused by Sidewinder’s raids, or ensure that it went to the right source, Goodnight stood the best chance of doing it.
‘You might run into some of the Waw’ai,’ Connel warned.
‘They’ll likely not be wanting to fight any more,’ Dusty answered. ‘But in case they do, we’ll ask the chiefs to come with us. Maybe they’ll be able to talk any Waw’ai we meet out of fighting.’
‘Or help us with the fighting if talk doesn’t work,’ drawled Mark.
On having Dusty’s suggestion put to them, the chiefs agreed with considerable enthusiasm to going along. In fact, judging by the way they fingered their weapons, Dusty reckoned that the chiefs hoped for a meeting if it gave them a chance at one final fight before going on to the reservation to live a boring, peaceful life
.
The ride proved uneventful, with no sign of Waw’ai and nothing of interest happening. At noon the following day, the men arrived at the site of the village and found that only one tipi remained. Recognizing the tipi, a cold, hard smile twisted the Kid’s lips and he could have made, a mighty good guess at what lay ahead of them, even before his keen nostrils caught the unmistakable smell of death which came from Sidewinder’s home.
Drawing up his bandana over his nose, Dusty slipped from the paint and approached the tipi. He lifted the flap and stepped inside, peering through the gloom and not liking what he saw. In the centre of the tipi a well-dressed elderly woman’s body sprawled twisted and contorted, its face a hideous mask of pain and horror. Close by the body lay a medicine bag, its contents scattered around as if the woman up-ended it in an effort to find something that might help her.
‘It’s Fire Dancer,’ said the Kid from the tipi door.
‘She looks like she’s been poisoned,’ Dusty replied, having twice seen poison victims and knowing the signs.
‘Must have been something she ate,’ answered the Kid.
Dusty turned and studied his friend’s face. When the Kid’s voice took on that innocent note and he looked as saintly as a choirboy trying to win a good-conduct prize, he knew more than he admitted about the subject in question. Long experience had taught Dusty that questioning the Kid at such a time was a waste of time and so he did not bother.
‘What about the rest of them?’ Dusty asked, walking from the tipi and nodding towards the deserted camp-site. ‘Where’ve they gone?’
‘Back to their people most likely,’ the Kid replied, glancing at his grandfather who went to the tipi and looked inside. ‘When the women saw Fire Dancer dying the same way that folks who she cursed went under, they’d figure that her medicine had gone right back on her and pulled out afore it got them too.’
‘You came here, Cuchilo?’ asked Long Walker.
‘Yes, tawk,’ admitted the Kid. ‘I found how she killed and laid a trap.’
‘It is well,’ the chief said and let the tipi’s door flap fall. ‘Sidewinder has not been here.’
‘He left no sign of it if he has,’ agreed the Kid, ‘Shall we wait to see if he comes?’
‘No. After what has happened, I think the chiefs will listen and sign the treaty. Even the ones who waited to hear of Sidewinder will know that be has failed and be willing to make peace.’
Mounting their horses, the men rode away from the death camp. Dusty turned in his saddle and looked back at the tipi.
He wondered what, if anything, the Kid knew about Fire Dancer’s death. One thing was for sure, Fire Dancer’s death was for the best; whether the poison had been administered accidentally or with deliberate intent. With her gone, the white men who opposed the making of the treaty had lost a powerful and dangerous ally. Dusty doubted if Sidewinder would deal with white men on a friendly, or co-operative basis without his mother forcing him to do so. A major threat to the chance of making a lasting peace lay dead in that tipi and Dusty felt disinclined to inquire too closely in how she came to die.
Apart from the Kweharehnuh, who only the most optimistic observers had expected to come in, the majority of the Comanche people felt reconciled to making peace and living on a reservation. It seemed that only Sidewinder among the leaders might spoil the signing of the treaty and, with his band demoralized, scattered or dead, he should prove less of a threat than he had only three days before. Dusty could not think how the chief might accomplish anything more.
On returning to the Fort, Dusty found that Temple Houston had not been wasting time in his absence. The lawyer obtained permission to visit Bristow, the captured whiskey pedlar, and at first had no success with the man, So Houston made a plan and put it into operation. On the night that Dusty left, a shot through the window almost silenced Bristow — although, as Houston fired it, the man was in no great danger. Scared by what he regarded as a narrow escape, and believing that the people who hired him aimed to take the easy way out of their difficulties regarding him. Bristow fell eagerly into Houston’s suggestion that he saved his neck by talking. While he knew little, Bristow told Houston the name of his contact and the only person he had met concerned with the plot. The pedlar gave Houston a lead which subsequently brought about the arrest of several members of the ring involved in trying to disrupt the treaty council.
That evening, a further piece of good news arrived. After some discussion, the assembled chiefs of the Comanche decided to meet the white members of the treaty council with a view to making the final arrangements for signing the treaty.
Everything seemed all set for the successful conclusion of the council and the beginning of an era of peace between the majority of the Comanche Nation and the people of Texas.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE KID ACHIEVES A BOYHOOD AMBITION
Tim day of the treaty signing could not have been better. Overhead the sun shone brightly and only a light breeze stirred the air. General Handiman and the Congressional Committee sat at a table with all the papers before them, faced by the senior chief from each Comanche band that aimed to sign. To the right, formed up and wearing their best uniforms, sat three companies of cavalry and on the left of the table gathered a large number of Comanche men, women and children all dressed to the height of fashion,
Every detail had been thrashed out in meetings, with the Kid stood by to act as interpreter for the Comanches and at last the big moment had arrived. In a matter of seconds the treaty would be signed and a start at a lasting peace made.
Even as Handiman reached for the pen which lay ready for use, two shots rang out. Every eye turned in the direction of the shooter, looking out over the range and up a broken, bush-dotted slope. Six Indians, one of them sporting the war bonnet of a chief, sat their horses on the top of the slope.
‘Sidewinder!’ growled Long Walker as the war bonnet chief waved a Winchester carbine over his head.
‘Hey, Comanches!’ yelled Sidewinder. ‘What frightened dogs are you to let the white men force you to make peace? Who rides with me to live the old way?’
‘Captain Connel, take men and—,’ Handiman began.
‘Hold it, General!’ interrupted the Kid! ‘That’s not the way to handle it.’
‘Damn it, Kid,’ Handiman snorted. ‘We can’t let him get away with it, even if I have to send all three companies after him.’
‘And how’d that look to the Comanche down here?’ asked the Kid. ‘Sidewinder’s likely only got those five jaspers with him. They’re here to bust up the council, or die — and they won’t die easy. Happen you send men against them in that broken stuff, they’ll kill off plenty afore you get them. And while the fighting’s going on it’ll only take a wrong move on either side down here to spark off a shooting fuss.’
All of which Handiman could see plainly enough when he paused for a moment. Sidewinder might have lost his medicine, but could easily regain it and pick up a following if the assembled tehnap and tuivitsi saw his small band inflicting heavy losses on the Army. And they stood a good chance of inflicting those losses, for the nature of the ground favoured the Indians.
‘What can we do?’ Handiman growled, knowing that doing nothing would be as disastrous as sending forward soldiers.
For a moment the Kid did not reply, but his eyes went to the ink pots on the table. While one contained blue ink, the other held red ink of a thick kind to be used in making the Indians’ marks.
‘I reckon it’s long gone time that me ‘n’ Sidewinder settled up old scores,’ the Kid said and laid his rifle on the table.
Standing among the other honoured guests at a distance behind the table, Dusty and Mark watched as the Kid peeled off his shirt. They exchanged glances and moved forward for they guessed at what the Kid aimed to do and wanted to know if they might help in any way. While acting as interpreter for the Comanches, the Kid wore his Indian clothes and retained his armament. No Indian ever expected to have to lay down hi
s arms at a peace council, that would be a sign he did not trust the other party involved.
Watched by the amazed white members of the crowd, the Kid stripped off his leggings and retained only moccasins, breechclout and gunbelt. A low mutter ran through the assembled Pehnane ranks, echoed by such of the other Comanches who knew the ways of the Quick Stingers, as the Kid poured red ink on to his palm and made the imprint of his hand on his chest. A quick grab raised his rifle from the table and he ran to where Manners stood holding the General’s horse.d
‘Pukutsi!’ roared the Kid, leapfrog mounting over the horse’s rump and snatching the reins from Manners’ amazed hand.
‘Pukutsi!’ boomed back the voices of the Pehnane as they watched the Kid send the horse leaping forward in the direction of Sidewinder’s party.
Sidewinder watched everything from where he sat his horse on the rim. While he had not seen the Kid since they were both boys, the chief knew that only one white man would act in such a manner. A snarl of fury left Sidewinder as he pointed at the charging Texan.
‘Kill him.’ he ordered.
Knowing that the only way to halt a man riding Pukutsi in the Pehnane fashion was in the way their chief commanded, three of the braves sent their horses leaping forward to meet the Kid. Two of them carried rifles and the third held a bow to which he notched an arrow as his mount hit a full gallop.
Up swung the Kid’s Winchester as he rode with the reins lashed up and hanging over the horse’s neck, steering it with his knees. He sighted and fired, tumbling one of the rifle armed braves from the saddle. Levering home another bullet, the Kid changed his aim and saw the second brave lining a rifle at him. Flame licked from the Kid’s ‘yellow boy’ as the brave fired at him. The Kid felt his mount jerk as the bullet struck it, heard its squeal and sensed it collapsing under him, Before the horse’s body crumpled and hit the ground, the Kid had left its saddle and landed on his feet with a cat-like agility born in him and improved on by long training. While landing he saw that his second shot had taken effect, for the other rifle-armed brave lay sprawled on the ground.