by Neil Hunter
‘Griff just wouldn’t quit. He kept pushing until it was too late for anyone to back out.’
‘One day,’ Bodine said angrily, ‘this damn country will grow out of this violence. Tame the country and then you can begin to tame the people.’
‘Amen to that,’ Kennick said.
‘What about this man Beecher? What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. One minute I think I do, the next I don’t. All in all, I guess I’ll just have to face whatever comes.’
Bodine didn’t press it any further. Instead, he asked, ‘This village you were in, could you give us any idea as to its location? We’ve got two companies of cavalry under Ranald Mackenzie half a day behind us, with orders to track down any Comanches they can locate.’
‘Cracking down on them?’
‘I think this is the beginning of the end for the Comanches. Washington seems really determined to put them down once and for all. Mackenzie’s got Phil Sheridan backing him right down the line on any steps he takes. The Indian Bureau will give protection to any Comanches who surrender. Perhaps the death of Kicking Bear will cool off some of the hotheads. We know many of the older Comanche are ready to call it quits. We’re here to settle with those that won’t. Mackenzie is planning an all out campaign that will sweep the Comanche clear across Texas. He intends to go into their Staked Plains stronghold, the place they call Comancheria. So, Kennick, maybe your trip wasn’t futile. With one of their top warriors dead, a lot of the fight is going to go out of the Comanche. I—’
‘Don’t waste your breath, sir,’ Claff said. ‘The man’s not heedin’ vou.’
‘Eh?’
‘He’s asleep, sir. Dead to the whole wide world.’
Kennick slept in one of the supply wagons, undisturbed by the motion of the jouncing vehicle. He slept for a full day and a half. He awoke to find his shoulder freshly bandaged and a clean, blue Army shirt on his back. He felt stiff but a lot more human.
When the wagons halted at noon, Kennick borrowed Claff’s soap and razor and shaved and washed. Then he ‘made his way along to the ambulance wagon where Jeannie was. He met the Army doctor outside.
‘How is she, doc?’
‘Still asleep. A remarkable young woman. She’s gone through a lot, but given a few days’ rest, she’ll recover without trouble.’
‘Grateful, doc. And for the job on the shoulder.’
‘You’ll live.’
The troop of cavalry that had taken out after the Comanches at the river had returned. The troop had been led by a young lieutenant. He was with Bodine when Kennick reached the captain’s fire.
‘Sit down, Mister Kennick,’ Bodine invited. He poured out a mug of coffee and passed it to Kennick. ‘You look better.’
‘Feel it,’ Kennick said. ‘Hope we’re not causing any bother.’
Bodine shook his head. ‘I was just telling Lee here that you’d been most helpful to us. Oh, sorry. Luke Kennick, Lieutenant Lee Sumner.’
Kennick shook hands with the younger man. Sumner was tall and slim, with fair hair, his hand was firm.
‘You catch your Indians?’ Kennick asked.
Sumner grinned. Yes. They made a mistake, jumping us like that. Soon as we dropped a few of them, they up and ran.’
‘Always do. Never did know a Comanche who’d stick it out and fight when the going gets too rough.’
Bodine said, ‘I had to send a rider back across the river with dispatches, Kennick. I told him to report that Kicking Bear wasn’t coming.’
‘Grateful. I don’t suppose that news’ll be received with cheers.’
Bodine lit a long, thin cigar. ‘Makes no difference now. Mackenzie should be with us by tomorrow. When he hears about your Comanche village, the matter of Kicking Bear will no doubt be resolved once and for all.’
Kennick stayed with Bodine until the noon halt ended. On Bodine’s orders, Kennick was loaned a horse and saddle from the train’s remuda. It felt strange to be sitting a McClellan saddle again after so long.
With the wagons moving steadily toward still-distant Fort Cameron, Kennick found himself able to relax a little. Maybe his troubles were about over. Despite the failure with Kicking Bear, he began to realize the truth in Bodine’s words. And he tried to clear his mind of any guilt. He had done his best. No man could do more. His failure was not from lack of trying.
At least the trouble with Griff was over, though that gave Kennick no satisfaction. How could any sane man find satisfaction in the death of another? No matter how that man had hounded and driven him. Griff had let his lust for vengeance sicken him to the point of no return.
No, a man could not find satisfaction from the death of a man like Griff. Only pity and anger that it had happened at all. And there was Bo, dead because of his brother. Another wasted life to add to the list. It made a grim tally. And, Kennick thought, catching sight of Joe Beecher—also on a borrowed horse—riding up at the head of the train, maybe one more would be added. He had a feeling that Beecher was not about to forget the trouble between them. His grievance was based on that old enemy: pride. Pride that led men to kill each other because they felt they had lost it, or had it tarnished, spit upon. Here again was a problem that nine times out of ten could only be talked out one way. With a gun. Kennick made himself a promise to check his gun the first chance he got. If it had to come, he wanted to be ready.
Mackenzie’s cavalry joined them the following day, and Kennick saw a few remembered faces in the mounted lines of dusty men.
When Mackenzie was told about the Comanche village, he called a command conference. Kennick was invited to attend. He did, giving as much information as he could. After the conference, Kennick was introduced to Ranald Mackenzie.
Mackenzie, a clean-shaven, slight man, thanked Kennick for his help, then hurried back to his waiting command.
Toward evening of that day, Mackenzie led one company out, pennants flying above the rolling dust of their passage. Kennick felt suddenly lost and out of it as he watched the long blue line of troopers ride out. He’d been one of them once, and the sight recalled his own time at the head of a mounted line.
‘It’s a sight that makes a man want to be up there with them,’ a voice said. It was Sergeant Claff.
‘One time I would have agreed, Claff. But I lost my taste for it a long time back. I’m a cattleman now, and I like it fine.’
Claff said, ‘Sure,’ Kennick gave him a sideways glance, but Claff was staring hard into the distance.
‘Sure,’ Kennick repeated and walked away, heading for the ambulance wagon.
Jeannie was sitting up on her cot, finishing off a plate of meat and beans. She looked up as Kennick entered. The smile on her face made up for any dark moments he’d had. He sat on the edge of the cot and just looked at her. She had washed her hair, brushing it until it shone. Her face was still a bit raw-looking, but to Kennick she was the best thing he’d seen in a long time.
They sat silently facing each. Jeannie suddenly grinned at him. ‘I look that strange?’
‘No. Not ever strange.’
She tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. ‘You have shaved,’ she stated solemnly.
‘It’s usual.’
‘But it’s the first time I’ve ever seen what you really look like.’
‘Disappointed?’
She shook her head. ‘Luke, when are we going home?’
‘Home?’
‘Yes. Wyoming. The ranch with the big trees in the yard that shade the house. Home, Luke.’
Kennick liked the way she said it.
‘We’re going as soon as we can,’ he said. ‘As soon as I settle things up, we’re going home.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
They reached Fort Cameron a day and a half behind Mackenzie. His company had located the Indian village and attacked it. The stockade at Cameron was packed with the remaining Comanches. The rest were dead, or had fled from Mackenzie’s cavalry. There were over a hundred Comanches in the
stockade, men, women and children.
Mackenzie had already led his company out again, this time heading for the Comanches’ Staked Plains strongholds. Orders had been left for the second company to follow after they had brought the wagons to Fort Cameron.
Jeannie was fit enough to ride two days before they reached the fort, and she stayed with Kennick constantly. She was at his side when they rode in.
Beecher, who had strangely kept away from Kennick the whole way, headed his mount over to the sutler’s.
As Kennick dismounted, a burly figure shouldered through the passing column of troopers. ‘Luke, me boy! By God, you’re a sight to set the angels weeping!’
Kennick turned, smiling. ‘Hello, Bren.’
‘Ah, don’t look so glum, boy. So it didn’t come out quite right. It’s not the end of the world.’ O’Hara grinned at Kennick. ‘Don’t look so surprised. We heard all about your trip from a fuzzy-cheeked lieutenant called Sumner.’
‘Female gossips have nothing on the Army grapevine.’
O’Hara ignored that, turned to Jeannie. ‘And this will be Miss Bahlin,’ he said, sweeping off his hat. ‘Let me help you down, darlin’.’
‘Watch him,’ Kennick warned her. ‘Many a girl has been taken in by his blarney.’
Jeannie was like a child in O’Hara’s arms, as he lifted her from the saddle. ‘Thank you, Mister O’Hara.’ Kennick had told her much about this man on the ride to Cameron. She could see now why he was so fond of the big Irishman.
‘Did you hear that, Luke? Mister O’Hara she called me. Marry me, darlin’, and make me a happy man.’
Kennick laughed. O’Hara was trying to keep things light, and he was grateful. But there were things still to be settled.
‘Look after Jeannie for me, Bren. I have to see Broughton.’
O’Hara nodded as Kennick headed across the parade ground.
‘He takes everything so hard,’ Jeannie said, looking after him. ‘He wanted so much to make things come out right.’
O’Hara glanced at her. ‘Trouble with trying so hard is that you land so much harder when you fall.’
‘Have you heard anything about Kicking Bear?’
‘That murderin’ bas— Beg pardon, ma’am. We heard. Mackenzie’s men found him after the fight. All decked out ready for his trip to wherever he was going. The women were singing death songs when our boys rode in.’
‘All that Luke went through was for nothing then. What a waste!’
‘I don’t think so. And you mustn’t. A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be lined by worry.’
‘But I do worry. I can’t help it. I keep thinking about Joe Beecher. He seems to have taken over from McBride. I’m sure he’ll try to kill Luke. O’Hara, help him if you can. Please.’
‘You love that boy a lot, don’t you, ma’am?’
Jeannie faced him squarely. ‘Yes, I do, O’Hara. And I need help to keep him alive.’
O’Hara nodded gently. ‘I’ll do what I can. That I will.’ But he was wondering just what he could do. Beecher had broken no law, and he was beyond Army control. If he called Kennick out, it would have to be that way.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he repeated.
As Kennick passed the stockade he stopped. He saw one of the Comanche captives staring at him through a gap in the stockade wall. Kennick recognized him. It was the Elder who had spoken with him at the Comanche village. The old man stood rigid, his face impassive, as Kennick came up close to the stockade.
‘These are bad times, father,’ Kennick said in Comanche.
The old Indian inclined his head slightly. Though his face was expressionless, his eyes revealed a sorrow beyond words. ‘It is bad, Kennick.’
‘It was I who told the soldiers where to find your village.’
The Elder said, ‘Are we not at war? It was a thing you had to do, though I see in your eyes, Kennick, that your heart is troubled.’
‘You gave me my life, and in return I betrayed your people.’
‘In life there is much we do that brings sorrow, yet we do those things.’
‘I did what I thought was right, father.’
‘Kennick, who knows what is right. Was not Kicking Bear sure his way was right? Yet he took our young men and they died against the guns of the whites. They believed he was invincible. When he came back to them as a dying man, they were made afraid. That is why the blue coats won. Now Kicking Bear is dead. Maybe now the young men will stop thinking of war and we can have peace.’
‘It must come, father. War brings only grief and misery to all. The Comanche are becoming too few to fight any longer.’
‘I see the end coming, Kennick. These eyes have seen much, and now they see the end. The buffalo are gone. The land of the Comanche is taken by the whites. It was a good life, Kennick, in the old days.’
The old eyes turned to the sky and watched the soaring flight of a hawk wheeling its way across the cloudless blue. Kennick could almost read the old Indian’s thoughts. Thoughts of the wild, free days when the plains were covered with the buffalo. Days when the Comanche was ruler over the vast land that he roamed, living a good and contented life. A time long before the whites forced their way in from far away, bringing guns and drink and disease, which in turn bred violence and hatred and death.
Kennick looked past the old Indian, into the stockade, remembering the challenging, defiant attitude of Kicking Bear. Now he saw only crowded men and women and children, huddled together in subdued silence. A defeated people, bewildered and afraid as they wondered about their fate.
There was nothing else he could say, nothing he could do. He turned away impatiently, glad to look away from those lost and lonely faces behind the stockade wall.
Colonel Broughton looked tired. He faced Kennick across his desk, toying absently with a Comanche coup stick.
‘You chose the wrong man, Colonel,’ Kennick said. ‘I made a mess of it.’
Broughton put down the coup stick. ‘You can cut that talk out for openers. How could anyone foresee the problems you had to deal with.’
‘I still failed.’
‘I can understand how you feel, Luke.’
‘Can you, Colonel? Can you really understand how I feel? All that way to come to nothing.’
‘All right, Luke, maybe I’m just saying it to make you feel easier. But before you decide it was all a failure, just listen. Granted we didn’t succeed in what we originally intended.
But maybe we did in another. Kicking Bear is dead. I know the way he died was unfortunate, but it was him or you. And had you got him through, the Army would have hanged him in the end, no matter how they used him first.’
‘Makes me sound like an executioner,’ Kennick said bitterly.
‘Better that than have Kicking Bear alive and running wild again, butchering every white he came across. Another thing, Luke, have you seen the effect of his death on those Comanches out there? Lieutenant Sumner told me that when he led his men on that village, the resistance was very weak. There was something lacking in the way they fought, he said. Luke, they’ve lost a lot of their spirit. You know how superstitious they are. How they believe in spirits who lead them through certain chosen warriors.
‘Kicking Bear was a chosen one. Now he’s dead, like any ordinary man who takes a lead slug. It’s hit them hard, Luke. Left them leaderless and confused. Right now is our chance to hit them harder, before they get themselves organized. Keep them on the run until winter. Destroy their food stocks, their shelter. I don’t think they can ride out another winter of cold and starvation.’
Kennick thought of the old Indian, telling of the good life, a time long ago, now gone forever.
‘Hear me, Kennick, I see the end coming,’ the Elder’s voice spoke in his thoughts. ‘Soon the Comanche way will be no more. Even now the tribes are scattered to the four winds. Their strength is gone and the whites will defeat them. Winter cold will freeze them, and they will not eat, for what is there to eat? It is bad, Kennick, but it is
so. The Comanche will fight, for he knows no other way, but he will only die. Perhaps the way of the whites is the only way for the Comanche now. They say they will put us on good land and feed us and clothe us. So be it. We must trust the word of the whites.’
Broughton got up from behind his desk and looked hard at Kennick.
‘If I did wrong, asking you to come, Luke, I’m sorry. I can only say I did what I thought was right. I brought you trouble, that I know. But don’t let it eat at you, Luke. You feel you failed, but success isn’t important. What’s important is that you tried, and risked everything in that try. No man can do more. There’s no shame in failing. Come right down to it, I failed, too, Luke, but I’m using that failure to make a new attempt.’
‘And do we make a new attempt for Griff and Bo?’
‘For God’s sake, Luke! Men die every day. It’s part of creation. Life and death. A lot of things happen in between that we may not like. Men do what they can to make things happen right, but it doesn’t always work. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s got to be faced. Griff knew what he was doing. He’s not worth crying over.’
Broughton sat down again and they sat silent, facing each other. It was hot in the room. Sounds from the crowded parade ground came clearly through the open window.
‘Going home, Luke?’
Kennick nodded slowly. So many people seemed to be asking him that just now. ‘Yes, I’m going home,’ he said, in a tone that implied he didn’t really believe it.
Broughton looked about to say something more, but Kennick got up and opened the door.
‘Forget it, Colonel,’ he said, and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Luke Kennick stood outside Broughton’s office. As he watched the milling soldiers on the parade ground he felt a stab of envy. They were all so intent, so involved in their duties. They had no time to think, no room in their minds for nagging worries. It was what he needed, to be far away from all this. As far away as Wyoming, and a ranch that needed a lot of hard work that didn’t leave a man time and energy to think or worry. It had worked for him once, maybe it could again.