Before the mouthy brave knew what had happened, Four Crows had driven his knee hard into the man’s solar plexus, driving out another rush of breath, then grabbed the brave’s right hand and torqued it at the wrist, disarming him. In a blink he was kneeling on the brave’s chest, and the man’s knife was strategically positioned at his own throat.
Four Crows leaned forward, pressing just hard enough against the blade so No Name could feel it. Four Crows’ breath was hot on the brave’s nose, and his eyes were filled with fire. Quietly he said, “Disrespect me again and I will skin you alive in front of your village.” Maintaining his gaze, he leaned back. As he rose, he quickly shifted his weight to his knee again, then stood. He turned and handed the brave’s knife to Twin Deer, who slipped it into the waistband of his breeches.
Four Crows turned again and deliberately stepped over the brave on the ground. He looked at the elder. “Elder, I apologize for the trouble. It was not my intention. However, I cannot allow such a show of disrespect.”
The elder nodded. “Welcome, Four Crows. It is well that you have come. If you would come to my tipi, we will talk of many things.” He looked past Four Crows for a moment at the brave who was still lying on the ground. He gestured with his left hand. “See to it these men are fed and their horses fed and watered, One With No Name.”
The elder looked at Four Crows again and said, “Come.” He turned away and Four Crows walked just behind him and to the right, a sign of respect for the elder.
As Four Crows’ men dismounted behind him, the sounds of welcoming wafted through the early evening air. The elder had spoken.
At the tipi, Four Crows moved to one side and grasped the edge of the flap. He held it for the elder, then crouched and entered behind him.
When they were both seated and the elder’s woman had given each of them a gourd of water, Four Crows sipped to show his appreciation. Then he looked at the elder. “Why did you not say your name outside, Red Hawk?”
A grin tugged at the corner of the elder’s mouth. He leaned forward to place a small stick in the fire. “Ah, so you know. Perhaps I wanted to see whether you would kill me as well.”
“I have a great deal of respect for you. Your brother spoke of you often. It is why I came to you first. I would seek guidance from you, as I sought guidance from Iron Bear.”
“You said earlier that you were born where Iron Bear fell, and now you speak as if Iron Bear is no more. You have news?”
Four Crows nodded, then conveyed his version of what had happened in the arroyo near the place where the sides were pinched together.
In the manner of warriors of every clime and place, he was tempted to embellish the truth in places, but also in the manner of all warriors, out of respect for the elder, he did not. He even admitted not obeying Iron Bear’s implied order to come down from the bluff after checking to make sure it was clear, that he had decided instead to scout ahead on his own and thereby impress Iron Bear further. The decision had saved his life but he realized Red Hawk could as easily take it for an act of cowardice.
He didn’t. Red Hawk listened quietly, attentively, nodding occasionally.
Finally Four Crows said, “In the end, Iron Bear was not cautious enough, but only because he cared so strongly for his people. He was thinking more, I think, of resting them than of setting a trap for the Rangers.”
The old man nodded. “His vision for the nation often was veiled by his compassion for those around him at the moment.” He sighed. “And more than once he underestimated the Rangers. Did he tell you of those times?”
Four Crows shook his head. “No.”
“You need to know. The Rangers will be your greatest adversaries.
“Six summers ago, the last time Iron Bear and I were together, he called a halt on the south side of the Canadian River north of the town of Amarillo. Even as we settled in, nothing felt right. The trees were whispering, and fish were leaping in the river although it was a moonless night. The crickets, even, were silent.
“We were too close to something bad, and I told Iron Bear so.
“He said we would move the following morning before first light, that he wanted only to give us all a few hours’ rest.
“Less than an hour later, still unable to rest for every nerve standing on end, I gathered my men and told them we were moving northeast. Even as tired as they were, they recognized the danger and quickly made preparations.
“We mounted and walked our horses away from the camp. It must have been near the middle of the night. We had been moving at that pace for some time when Iron Bear caught up with us. His horse was lathered. He had been riding hard.
“He yelled my name, then broke through the brush to my left and stopped in front of me. Our riding out had undermined his authority, he said, and we should return to his camp.
“I said no, that we were unable to rest there. We would make a separate camp.
“Even as he parted his lips to respond to me, the gunfire broke out. There must have been a hundred shots fired. Within a very short period of time, it began, built to a crescendo and died. It was over before we could get our horses turned around.
“Another time, toward the end of summer five years ago, two Rangers were waiting where they thought Iron Bear would be, and they were right. My brother was traveling alone through an arroyo when they opened fire. The first two shots missed, and then one bullet hit a medallion dangling from his neck. It left a bruise on his chest the size of my open hand.
“They continued firing as he wheeled his horse around and rode hard up the side of the arroyo. Other shots missed. Some bullets ricocheted off rocks as he rode past, and dirt was kicking up all around him as he continued up the side. Finally, a second bullet struck him hard in the back just before a third ripped past his neck, here.”
The old man drew a finger along the right side of his neck, then forward across his jawline to his chin. “That one bullet gave him those two scars on his neck and his jaw.” He shook his head. “The impact of the bullet that hit his back nearly took him from his horse, but it did no lasting harm. It was absorbed in his arrow scabbard. It broke all of his arrows but one.”
Red Hawk paused for a moment, his gaze lost in the memory, and smiled. He shook his head. “When my brother cleared the edge of the arroyo, he stopped his horse, dismounted and crept back to the edge. He spotted the Rangers, then took his only unharmed arrow from his quiver. Then he strung it in his bow and fired it at them. At the same time, he said he yelled at them, ‘Here is the arrow you did not kill. Use it in good health.’ Then he laughed.
“Do you see how he was? The Rangers were not within range, but he said he got the arrow close enough so they noticed. I think he did it only to prove to them he was unharmed.”
Again the old warrior paused, and a somber look came over him. “Sometimes, Four Crows, know that good fortune can be a bad thing. Never allow it to matter to you too much.
“My brother’s good fortune at having been absent when the Rangers sprang their first attack at the Canadian River bolstered his confidence. And then his escaping a fusillade of bullets in the ambush in the arroyo cemented in his mind that he was immune to the Rangers’ attempts to kill him.
“When he repeated the tale in villages, others believed him invincible as well, and in no time he had raised a large raiding party. Braves came and went, but the group remained large enough to separate into two or even three groups when necessary. Those times the groups would raid separately, then meet at a predesignated location to discuss other targets.
“When they raided separately, the Rangers couldn’t be sure whether it was Iron Bear or someone else. It kept them guessing at locations and even the frequency of the raids. It was a smart way to do it.
“But for some reason, Iron Bear began to raid again with the whole group. I never understood his reasoning. He was able to raid fewer places and he was easier to track. The time you rode with him was his fifth such raid in only two months.” He sho
ok his head. “It was too much.
“What he did not understand is that the Rangers study the land. They respect it and they know it as well as we do. They also study the Comanches, and they watch for patterns. That is how they caught up with Iron Bear before, and that is how they caught up with him the last time.
“When you ride, no matter the size of your party, never repeat a route or a tactic more often than every fourth time, or even less often. And never allow your emotions or your pride to enter into your work.” The old man paused again and peered at Four Crows for a moment. “I think you have signed what you have done. If you continue to do so, they will find you more quickly.”
Four Crows thought of the girl he had ordered pinned to the ground with fourteen arrows, and of his bravado on the bluff overlooking the Rangers, but he only nodded. He would not confess his foolishness to Red Hawk, even though the elder seemed to already know. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t change what he had already done.
Red Hawk said, “Your goal is noble. Your means will be what they must. All that remains is to decide your motivation. You must decide whether you will ride for Four Crows or whether you will ride for the Comanche.” He raised his hands before him, palms out. “This is not something you must decided for me, but only for yourself. Only within yourself.”
Again Four Crows nodded. “I understand, my chief.”
Red Hawk nodded. “And what of you for now, Four Crows? Would you gather the people, perhaps even the nations, to drive out the invaders?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
Four Crows looked at Red Hawk for a long moment. A weariness settled over him and he felt many times his age. His voice was quiet. “Though I hesitate to say it, despise the sound of it even as it comes from my own mouth, our time, the time of the Comanche, is closing, my chief.”
He paused, expecting a response.
Red Hawk only waited.
Four Crows continued. “The white-eyes will bring change upon us, as we brought change upon those who were here before. But the white-eyes must earn their way, as we earned our way.” He hesitated, then said, “I am the price they will pay.
“I and my braves will raid as Iron Bear raided. We will come as a wind, laying waste to the trespassers, and we will leave as a breeze, secretly and without remorse. We will have touched all of them and will have been touched by none.
“Those who see us will not live to speak of it. Those who attempt to remain in Comancheria will come to believe the land itself is rising up against them.”
Four Crows paused, then said, “When I am grown old they will have won, but they will know we were here.”
Red Hawk nodded, his eyes misting. He waited for a moment, then stood.
Four Crows stood as well.
Red Hawk offered his hand, and Four Crows reached past it, clasping the elder’s wrist as the elder clasped his.
Red Hawk said, “You speak a quiet truth when boasting would serve you better. Some here will want to ride with you. If I were a younger man, I would follow you myself.”
Red Hawk released his grip, then patted Four Crows on both shoulders with his hands. “Four Crows, my younger brother, I am old, but I still have a few tricks left. I have knowledge of something that will help a great deal. I had not decided until now whether to share that knowledge with you. Now I have decided.” He paused.
Though Red Hawk left an opening, Four Crows remained respectful and held his tongue, waiting patiently for the elder to continue.
Red Hawk nodded to indicate his approval, then said, “Two days from now, some men will bring a wagon with guns, the new repeating rifles. There will be enough for you and for all who ride with you.”
Four Crows said, “Thank you, elder. I will rest here and wait.”
Red Hawk nodded. “You are wise. Rest here for two days, and then you will ride well and well-armed, young chief.”
* * *
In the early afternoon of their third day out of Amarillo, Corporal Court Edwards and Rangers Mason Philby and Blake Stanton rode through the open front gate of Fort Perry. Court looked over at Mason and said, “You ever see the gate standin’ open like that when you been here before?”
Mason shook his head. “Not just standin’ open with nobody comin’ or goin’. I didn’t see no guards either. Strange.” He looked about. “Place looks deserted.”
Court nodded. Quietly he said, “Somethin’ ain’t right, that’s for sure. Keep your eyes open.”
Across the compound ahead of them was the squat, square headquarters building nestled near the south perimeter wall. When they were still some distance away, the door opened, a face appeared and then disappeared, and the door closed.
Nothing else was moving anywhere. Even the flag on the flagpole was hanging, listless in the hot, dry air.
The Rangers walked their horses toward the building. The sign in front read Headquarters, 4th Cavalry.
They reined in at the hitching rail and dismounted just as a sergeant came out.
Edwards looked at him. His uniform fit well, but he was a very large man at around six feet four inches and probably pushing three hundred pounds. In a holster on his right side was a Remington Army model revolver.
The sergeant glanced at them, put his hands on his hips and waited.
When Corporal Edwards stepped up onto the porch, he smiled and smoothly proffered his hand. “Corporal Edwards, Texas Rangers, out of Amarillo.”
The sergeant briefly shook his hand, then released it as if he was touching something dirty. He put his hand back on his hip. “Sergeant McGaffey. What can I do for the Texas Rangers today?”
Court gestured toward his companions. “These men are Rangers Philby and Stanton.”
Philby proffered his hand. “Good to meet you.”
The sergeant held up one hand, palm out. “Yeah, yeah, good to meet you too, both of you.” He looked at Court again. “So what can I do for you again?”
Edwards said, “If it’s convenient, I’d like to talk with your colonel.”
“About what?”
Something told Edwards not to mention the telegram to his captain. If the sergeant didn’t already know, there was probably a good reason.
He shrugged. “I just wanted to see if maybe he can put me an’ my men up for the night. We been on the trail awhile. It’d sure be nice to have a little whiskey an’ then maybe sleep in a clean bed instead of on the ground for a change.” He grinned. “It’s another two, three days to Amarillo.”
The sergeant frowned. “I see. Well, unfortunately it ain’t convenient.” He paused as his cheeks began to flush. “Well, what I mean, the colonel’s not in just now.”
Edwards frowned. “No? Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Ah... well, no, I’m not sure. He’s uh... he’s leading a troop up north. Northwest, I think he said. Expected to be gone three, four days.”
Court nodded. “Okay. I think I understand.”
He twitched his shoulders as if to turn away. As his Colt cleared leather in his right hand, he put his left hand on the sergeant’s chest and pressed him hard back against the wall. Dust puffed around his shoulders.
The sergeant jerked his right hand down to his Remington.
By then, Court’s Colt was cocked, the barrel pressed up against the sergeant’s solar plexus. “I wouldn’t.”
The sergeant looked at him for a moment, then lifted his hand away from his revolver.
Philby took a quick step forward and snatched the sergeant’s Remington from his holster. “Got it,” he said quietly and passed the weapon behind him to Stanton.
Court focused his gaze on the sergeant’s eyes as he pressed him harder back against the wall, the barrel of his Colt still digging into the man’s midsection. Barely above a whisper, he said, “How many are inside?”
The sergeant rolled his eyes downward, looking past his cheeks. “W-what?”
Court pressed harder with the Colt. “You heard me.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your captain’s gonna hear about this and—”
“You ever seen a man gut shot at close range with a .45 caliber bullet? Blow your spine right out your back. You’ll stick to the wall.”
“Okay, okay. Just let me—”
Court pressed again with the Colt. “How many?”
“Three. Three inside here.”
“Where’s the colonel?”
“I told you, he led—”
Court dug with the barrel again. “Bullshit. Colonels don’t lead patrols. Where is he?”
The sergeant seemed to flag. “Stockade. He’s in the stockade.”
Philby glanced back at Stanton, then gestured with his chin toward a formidable building across the compound.
Stanton stepped off the porch.
Court said, “Wait, Philby, Stanton.”
Stanton stopped.
Court turned his attention back to the sergeant. He hooked his left hand in the sergeant’s uniform shirt and pulled him away from the wall, then put his hand on his left shoulder and shoved, turning him toward the door. “We’re goin’ in. You first.”
“But I—”
Court pressed the barrel of his Colt against the man’s back. “Shut up. Open the door, then step through.”
The sergeant turned the doorknob and began pushing the door open. He leaned his head left toward the opening, then quickly said, “It’s the Rangers! Don’t sh—”
Two explosions filled the room and the sergeant slammed back against Court, who shoved him forward to the left. The door slapped against the wall on the left and was trapped there by the sergeant’s leg and foot as he fell.
Court’s Colt bucked just as Philby’s exploded behind him to the right and the man in the center of the room dropped his revolver and staggered backward, clawing at his stomach with both hands.
Just as the sergeant hit the floor face down, Court’s revolver bucked again and a man near the left corner slammed back against the wall, then sat down hard in the corner, a hole in his chest.
Another revolver exploded and something scalding ripped through Court’s shirt just above his right bicep and across Philby’s shirt where his left shoulder joined his neck.
As Stanton stepped past Philby all three Rangers fired and the man was slammed backward to the wall, then fell forward. On the floor he arched his back once, as if his middle was trying to escape the rest of him, then died.
The Rise of a Warrior Page 9