Comanche Temptation

by Sara Orwig

  Bushes rustled faintly; a horse snorted, and as if they had materialized out of the spring air, six warriors with painted faces and eagle feathers in their hair rode toward Luke and the Roths. Tips of arrows showed in quivers worn over the warriors’ shoulders, and their countenances were fierce.

  A chill ran down Luke’s spine, yet he fought the urge to go for his gun, knowing they were outnumbered and to draw now would only invite instant death. And Roth seemed unconcerned.

  Two

  Luke’s gaze shifted from the warriors to Roth, who had turned and was watching him. He realized Roth was studying his reaction to the Indians.

  “Do what I do,” Horace Roth said quietly. “And keep your hand away from your pistol.” Then he turned to them, saying words that Luke couldn’t understand and motioning with his hands, pointing his fingers and waving both hands. He pointed to Luke and held up two fingers.

  Luke repeated the hand signs, mystified and still feeling little frissons of alarm. To his dismay the children gave exclamations of unmistakable joy and clambered over the sides of the wagon to run to the warriors.

  Two Indians leaned down, lifting the children before them on the horses and laughing with them, conversing in a strange language.

  The stiffness went out of Luke’s shoulders, and he dismounted as Roth jumped down from the wagon and motioned to Luke.

  “Take this sack of flour. Smile and nod when you give it to the warrior with two feathers in his hair.”

  With ease Horace Roth swung a large sack of flour out of the wagon, giving it to Luke, who carried it to a man who held Honor before him. She sat sideways, and the warrior gazed at her solemnly as he touched her cheek lightly. He said something to her, and she answered, glancing at Luke. Luke placed the sack of flour behind the warrior on his pony and returned to the wagon.

  “He’s Tall Wind, my children’s uncle,” Horace Roth said flatly, watching Luke intently.

  He nodded his head. “I don’t understand their language. If I’m to see them often, I need to learn some of the words.”

  “Start with Tugani, their name for me. They’re Comanche.”

  Luke glanced sharply at them and back at Roth. “So you’re safe on the frontier then?”

  Horace Roth shrugged his shoulders. “No one is safe on a frontier, but I don’t have to fear my Comanche in-laws. We get along. I give them supplies, horses, and cattle. They don’t raid, and we’re friends. They’re a part of my children’s heritage, and I want my children to know my wife’s people.” Gazing beyond Luke, Roth raised his head. “Texas is the land of opportunity. I came from nothing, but I’m building something here for my children, and they’ll have the best education money can buy. This land is changing rapidly, and now that the war is over, it’ll change faster.” His gaze shifted to Luke. “You could do worse than to stay here and grow with it.” He handed Luke another sack. “Give this to Gray Hawk, the man holding Jeddy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Luke took the sack of coffee beans to the warrior. When he returned to the wagon, Roth handed him another sack. They continued loading the horses until every animal was burdened with goods. Then the warriors set the children in the wagon and turned, vanishing as swiftly and as quietly as they had come.

  Luke’s curiosity was rampant because all he had heard about Indians had been disparaging, but the men he had just encountered had been more civilized than some of the white men he had known at home for years.

  Once Roth climbed into the wagon, they continued north. Finally, as they topped a rise in the distance they could see, on a level stretch of ground dotted with tall cottonwoods, a sprawling, whitewashed adobe house, a barn, a bunkhouse, outbuildings, and a corral. Men and horses milled around, and a shaggy dog turned, racing toward them. Luke’s gaze roamed over the land spread before him and once again he felt a sense of safety and freedom even as he thought about Horace Roth’s words, “I came from nothing.”

  What kind of man was his employer? As they passed the house Luke gazed at the hanging pots filled with pink and purple impatiens, red begonias, and yellow bougainvillea. The pots dangled underneath the sloping roof that ran the length of the house. The road branched off, with a lane curving around the house to the front door while the main road ran past the back door of the house, between the house and the barn. The pale, whitewashed adobe house had thick green shutters that looked as if they could be closed to turn the house into a fortress. Beyond the weathered barn to the north was a bunkhouse and an attached cookhouse. As Luke gazed at all the H Bar R buildings, he realized the place was prosperous and thriving, and he was glad he had accepted Roth’s offer.

  When the wagon reached the barn Roth halted the team. As Luke dismounted, an older man came toward them. He had a slight limp, a shaggy brown mustache, and a scar running down the right side of his face. Almost half a foot shorter than Luke, he looked wiry and as tough as the cactus growing around them. His blue eyes went to Luke in a quick assessing glance, and then he stopped in front of Horace Roth.

  “Glad you’re back. We’ve got strayed cows along Rim Creek.”

  “Dusty, this is Luke McCloud. Luke, Dusty Shackleford is my foreman. He’ll show you where to bunk.”

  “Glad to meet you,” Luke said, thrusting out his hand to feel a firm shake.

  “Luke saved my kids from a scrap.”

  “Seems like you came along at a good time,” Dusty said dryly, glancing at the kids as Jeddy and Honor reluctantly climbed down from the wagon. Jeddy moved up close to Dusty, gazing up at him, while Honor petted the shaggy dog.

  “Looks like you tangled with an old mossy and lost,” Dusty said, hunkering down to look Jeddy in the eye.

  The child moved forward and Dusty hugged him while he glanced at Honor. “I hope you gave as good as you got.”

  “Dusty, I swear—” Horace Roth declared with good-natured exasperation. “Remember, I’m trying to teach them not to solve problems by fighting.”

  Dusty grunted, staring at Honor. “Did you?”

  She lifted her chin and Luke saw a faint hint of a smile tug at her swollen mouth. “I might have.”

  “Enough of that,” Horace Roth said. His children glanced up at him, and he jerked his head toward the house. Both of them turned to run to the back door.

  “You know what started the fight,” Horace Roth said quietly and with such bitterness that Luke looked at him. Roth was gazing beyond him, watching his children disappear into the house. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Dusty, and ride out to the creek with you.”

  “Sure, boss. This way,” he said to Luke, who followed the short man with legs so widely bowed he looked as if he had grown up on a horse.

  They walked in silence toward a long low, frame building and stepped inside. Pictures of women were pinned to the walls, clothing was strewn on the floor by iron beds that lined the room. Dusty pointed to one. “Third bed from the right is yours. After you put your things away, you can ride with us to the creek. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to our cook.”

  With their boots scraping the cottonwood plank floor, they walked through an open breezeway into a kitchen and large dining room. Smells of chili made Luke’s mouth water, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything except jerky for two days. A short, dark-skinned, black-haired man with a cigarillo dangling from his mouth turned to look at Luke.

  “Diego, we have a new hand. Meet Luke McCloud. McCloud, this is Diego Padilla.”

  Luke shook hands with him and eyed the huge pot of chili bubbling on the stove before he and Dusty left.

  As they went back through the bunkhouse and stepped outside, Dusty glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen. “Diego’s older sister is widowed and cooks for Boss in the big house. She’s Dolorita Castaneda, and she lost her husband and child to smallpox over fifteen years ago. Diego brought her here to cook for Boss. She’s a second mother to Boss’s kids.”

  They stopped at Luke’s horse and Dusty waved his hand. “You’ll get line duty after you’re accustomed to the wo
rk. There are line shacks out on the ranch’s boundaries where men stay and keep the beeves from wandering off our place. Rim Creek is the southern boundary and Owl Creek is the northern boundary. Eastern and western boundaries aren’t so damned clear.”

  Luke nodded and reached up to untie his bedroll and few belongings, taking them back to the bunkhouse. He led his horse back to Dusty, who had returned to the barn and was unhitching the team. As Luke began to help, Dusty glanced at him. “You don’t have many questions. Ever worked cattle before?”

  Luke shook his head. “No, sir. I grew up on a farm in the hills of Kentucky.”

  Dusty nodded. “Looks like it was a good thing you stepped in and stopped the fight. Jeddy took a beating.”

  “He got in some good blows. They were twice his size. Probably twice his age.”

  “He’s eight, and Honor is twelve. Their mother was full-blood Comanche,” Dusty said casually, squinting at Luke. “She died when Jeddy was about three years old, so he doesn’t remember her too well.”

  Luke glanced at the house, wondering about Horace Roth and his children.

  “You don’t seem to mind their Comanche blood,” Dusty commented.

  “Should I?”

  “No, but some folks do.”

  “That’s what caused the fight in town.”

  “It always does. They get tormented about their Comanche blood and about their ma. Boss called her Ila, Eyes That Laugh. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Dusty added quietly.

  “I didn’t know the Comanche would marry out of their own people.”

  “They seldom do. Comanche and Kiowa won’t let a white man live among them, but Boss won the Comanche over like he does most everyone when he sets his mind to it. He knows a little of their language, so when he moved out here, he settled down and made friends from the first, and pretty soon he was courting the chief’s daughter. He gave them thirty fine horses and a dozen head of cattle for her, plus some good rifles.”

  “I suppose thirty horses and rifles would charm a lot of men,” Luke said with amusement, and Dusty shrugged.

  “You’re safe from the Comanche while you work here. We’re far enough out that we get travelers, some good, some wanted by the law. We get renegades who think we’re easy prey, occasionally hostile Apache warriors. There’s an abundance of rattlers, a few wolves, and panthers, but if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone—just keep your pistol handy and don’t work alone until you get accustomed to the land.”

  “I don’t plan to stay that long,” Luke said, gazing at the trail they had followed up to the house. “I’m moving west. I’ve never had much of anything in my life, and I want to change that. Men say opportunity is out this way and in California.”

  “There’s plenty right here. Here comes Boss.”

  Eight weeks later Luke rode with Dusty and three other men. Honor and Jeddy both rode nearby as they herded wild horses toward a brush corral in a canyon. A mustang shook its head, veering toward the west, and Honor turned her horse quickly to head the mare back with the herd. She waved her arms and the horse changed course, falling back with the others.

  Honor glanced at Luke, and he winked at her. He liked the kids and realized that he had won their friendship. Both of them followed him around if they weren’t tagging after Dusty or their pa. Horace seemed particularly close to Honor, and Dusty close to Jeddy.

  Luke stretched, realizing his muscles had toughened with the digging, hard riding, and bronc busting he had done. He had intended moving on west after a few weeks, but the first two weeks’ pay had surprised him because it had been more than he had expected. He hadn’t asked what he would get, so he stared at the money Dusty handed him.

  “Something wrong, son?”

  He glanced at Dusty. “No, sir. I didn’t know anyone paid this much to ride herd on stray cattle and help birth calves.”

  “Boss tries to be fair. He expects good work from you; you can expect a good wage from him.”

  Now as Luke watched the horses, he felt a growing reluctance to move on west. He was safe here—as free from the law as he could hope to be. The money was good, and Dusty and Roth were good men to work for.

  That night, when they were back at the corral, after feeding and watering his horse, Luke cleaned out a stall in the barn and glanced at Dusty, who was putting away a saddle.

  “Dusty, what’s Boss going to do with the cattle? Gather them and sell them in San Antonio or take them to a hide-and-tallow factory on the coast?”

  Dusty shook his head. “Neither one. Last year two men, Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving drove a herd south out of Texas, over a stretch of dry land, across the Pecos, and up north to sell to a government agent at the Fort Sumner reserve for Mescaleros. In Texas a steer brings two cents a pound. At Fort Sumner they paid eight cents. Last summer Boss took eleven hundred head, and we drove them to Santa Fe and sold them to a government contractor for nine cents a pound.”

  Astounded, Luke stared at him. “I knew the market was good up north, but I didn’t know you could take a herd from here to the north and sell them there.”

  “Boss says he’s going to make a drive late this summer. You can see for yourself. That’s why we’re doing all the cow-hunts and branding.” Dusty wiped his hands on his pants and looked at Luke. “During the war the men left Texas to fight. Beeves ranged all over this land and herds grew. All we have to do is gather them in and drive them north, and now there’s a trail.”

  Luke barely heard the last. Figures danced in his mind and he thought of the steers roaming the land, the rangy longhorns that were as plentiful as the scrub oak. He multiplied out a year’s wages working for Horace Roth. “Will you sell beeves in Santa Fe again?”

  “Yes. Boss expects to take more this year and do better. We’ll be more experienced at what we’re doing.” Dusty glanced at Luke as he rolled the cheroot to the corner of his mouth and squinted against the smoke drifting up before his face. “Sounds more tempting than California, don’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” Luke glanced around him. “What’s land cost?”

  “It’s cheap enough, but you don’t have to own land to let cattle graze. Just pay tax on it and get the grazing rights.”

  “Mr. Roth doesn’t own all this?”

  “Yes, he does because he thinks the day’ll come when men will want to own their land. Mrs. Roth never did like owning land. Not the Indians’ way. They fit in with the land like they’re part of it; they don’t try to hoard it or change it.”

  Luke was lost in thoughts about the cattle again, realizing opportunity was all around him. Staying on the H Bar R, out of saloons, and away from gambling, he could take his money and buy land, a bit at a time. The thought made him draw a sharp breath, and he glanced at Dusty and beyond him at the rolling land. Water was vital, but grass was abundant and a small start of cattle could build swiftly. Thoughts of California faded from mind as he turned his bay to follow Dusty.

  Luke’s life settled more than it had been in the past six years, and he felt an ease he hadn’t known in a long time. Only when he left to go into town did the past return to haunt him, every stranger a potential threat because of the possibility of bounty hunters searching the frontier towns. Most of the time Luke stayed at the H Bar R, going into town on Saturday nights twice a month, trying to stay out of fights and avoid trouble. Like other frontier towns he had traveled through, Montello had almost a dozen saloons and half of those had women to accommodate the male customers. On his second trip to town, Luke met Miss Maizie at the Bluebonnet Saloon. Short, blond, and as good at cards as many men, Maizie had a dry wit that appealed to Luke. By the third trip into town, he was included in her exclusive Saturday night game of poker in her private parlor.

  By four in the morning everyone had dropped out except Luke, Maizie, and two other men who finally tossed down their cards. “You win tonight, shavetail,” a grizzled, black-haired man said, standing and stretching. “I’m going to find Desmona. �
��Night, Maizie, Luke.”

  “I’m folding, too,” Shorty said, picking up a half-empty bottle and leaving the room with the older man.

  Luke gathered up his winnings, as Maizie, too, admitted defeat. “It was a good night, Maizie.”

  “You’ve been here three times now and each time it’s a different woman.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t see any need to get tied to one.”

  “Course not,” she said, lighting a cheroot and leaning back to study him as she exhaled a stream of smoke.

  “What are you, Luke, about twenty-six?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Twenty-three,” he answered honestly. “I joined the Union when I was seventeen. After the war I headed west because there wasn’t anything left at home for me to go back to.”

  “Twenty-three! Lordy, you’re a baby. I suppose I look like an old lady. I’m twenty-nine now. Thirty is coming and in my business, age isn’t like fine wine.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, glancing at her wide blue eyes and mass of golden ringlets, her skintight green silk dress.

  She laughed and shrugged. “But too old for you.”

  He looked down at the stack of gold coins in front of him. “No, it isn’t age.” He glanced up at her, meeting her gaze directly. In the soft glow of the hanging lamp, Maizie’s cheeks were rosy, her lips a deep red. Luke chose his words carefully. “As I understand it, twice a month on Saturday and Sunday nights, you give your time to one man. Since he’s my boss, I don’t want to—” He paused, at a loss for words, and she smiled at him.

  “You’re right. And the rest of the time in between is his, too. He doesn’t want to share me with others, and I was teasing you. Just wondering if my age was beginning to show.”

  “Hell, no!”

  She smiled and leaned forward to pour more brandy into their glasses. “That’s good to hear because most men make it obvious they find me attractive. When you’re with me, you’re as straitlaced as a Sunday-go-to-prayer preacher.”