Comanche Rose

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Comanche Rose Page 9

by Anita Mills


  Sprenger had touched a spot rawer than the one in his leg, and Hap didn't want to expose it further. "How is she, anyway?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  "How's who?"

  "Mrs. Bryce."

  Will considered for a moment, then allowed, "She's damned disappointed, but I expect Davidson told you about that. If it'd been me, I'd have told her I'd file a report—or look like I was doing something, anyway. The woman's lived on hope, and damned if he didn't dash it right down. Man's too concerned with his damned regulations to act more'n half human. He thinks telling her he's sorry is enough."

  "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Doc."

  "But other than that, she's coming along better'n I'd expected," Sprenger murmured, returning to Annie's condition. "Don't guess you were in any shape to notice much about her, but she's a real pretty woman—be a fine looker once she puts a little meat on those bones. I thought for a moment she was even going to soften up Black Jack, but I don't guess that's possible."

  "That's what everybody said—that she was real pretty, I mean. I guess her husband was good-looking, too, but it was hard to tell it by the time Rios and I found him. Yeah," he said, exhaling. "They left Bryce lying in a field, facedown in the mud. By the looks of it, he was still alive when they tore his scalp off."

  "God."

  "Worst of it, it was too late to go after the wife. Maybe if Clay hadn't been down in Laredo, things might've turned out different. He thought like 'em—knew where they'd hide—but we didn't. Hell, it rained about three or four days along in there, washing their tracks out. The San Saba was high, too, and by the time we got across it, there was no sign left to follow."

  "You can only do so much, Hap. If you were in my business, you'd know that."

  "It doesn't make it any easier. Besides, she had two little kids with her, and knowing that made it even worse."

  "Damned savages killed the baby."

  "Davidson told me. I guess the little girl's still out there."

  "If she's alive."

  "Yeah. 'Course if the kids survive, they adopt 'em and treat 'em just like flesh and blood. If she's alive, she's a Comanche."

  "That's what old Black Jack told her."

  "Yeah, I know. I think he felt pretty bad for saying it," Hap ventured. "Hell, I know he did."

  "The way he and Haworth get along, he's not even going to ask for help at the agency. Not that he'd get it, anyway," Sprenger admitted. "Now Cora's all upset that Mrs. Bryce wants to go home to Texas. She was looking forward to having the company for a month or so. It's hard for a woman out here on a post, what with the other women either being Negresses or gossipy officers' wives, most of whom are twenty or more years younger than Cora. She's taken a real liking to Annie. For one thing, we lost a girl back in '53, which would have made her about Annie's age. For another, Cora thinks she needs mothering right now."

  "She probably does. It's going to be damned hard on her in Texas."

  "I've already seen some of that around here. But to tell you the truth, I don't think she cares. All she wants is that little girl."

  "Yeah, women kinda pine for the young'uns," Hap agreed. "They never get over losing 'em. So she's going home right away?"

  "Well, there's a supply train of wagons coming up from Fort Griffin now that the road's passable. I was thinking of telling her about it. They'd probably take her back that far, anyway, and then I know somebody'll be going down from Griffin toward Concho before long." Seeing that Hap frowned, Will demanded, "What's the matter?"

  "I don't know, Doc. Some bullwhackers are real hard cases. And given where she's been, they're apt to have notions. Maybe you ought to send her with the mail."

  "It'd be out of her way." Sprenger considered for a moment, then nodded. "But I see what you're saying."

  Hap reached for the crutches propped against the wall, then slid off the bed.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "To the privy. Then I'm going to see if my borrowed britches fit. If they do, I'm going for a walk."

  "Like hell."

  "Yeah. I figured I'd go over to the store and get myself a razor and a bottle of whiskey. At least that way I'll be a good-looking drunk."

  "Or a crippled one."

  "I'm all right."

  Will's mouth turned down at one corner. "You and the Bryce woman must've been cut from the same cloth. You'd both be saying you were all right if you were dying."

  Hap shrugged. " 'Way I look at it, it's a whole lot better than complaining, Doc."

  "Only if it's the truth." Removing his surgeon's apron, Will folded it up, then laid it aside. "If it looks like you're going to fall, call for Walsh. He's out there passing out paregoric for the runs again."

  "Remind me not to eat in the enlisted men's mess," Hap murmured.

  "It's not the food, it's the water. People've been keeping pigs, and the waste drains into the creek. Hell, you got enlisted men drinking and bathing in it, but since Davidson gets his water from the well, he refuses to see the problem. But I finally got his attention on the health and hygiene report, so I guess he's giving everybody a week to find someplace else to keep the animals until they're butchered."

  "Yeah, he wouldn't want anything bad going in on anything official."

  "Tell you what, you get around on those crutches without falling, and I'll tell Cora to set another place at dinner." Sprenger reached for his hat and carefully placed it over his thinning gray hair. "I'll tell one of the boys to come on early and help you over. We eat about six-thirty, and Cora's pretty much set about that." Turning back to Hap, he added significantly, "Be a whole lot better for you than swigging on a bottle by yourself. Besides, it'll give you another look at Annie Bryce. You owe her, you know."

  "Yeah." Actually, Hap had been thinking about that, but there was something about facing a woman who'd seen him buck naked that made him uncomfortable. It was as though she'd seen the worst of him already. And what made it even harder was the guilt he felt for what had happened to her. But if she was going to leave, it was time he got around to thanking her. "Yeah."

  "Good." Moving to remove his coat from the peg by the infirmary door, Will glanced out the window. His hand stopped in midair. "Well, I'll be damned."

  "What?"

  "Haworth's going to be mad as hell. They're bringing in one of his pets—in irons."

  Cursing the damned crutches under his breath, Hap hobbled up behind the surgeon for a look. Sure enough, surrounded by at least a dozen troopers, a manacled Comanche sat astride a bony pony, his impassive face giving him a majestic look despite the ragged blanket that covered his shoulders.

  "Looks like you were wrong, Doc," he murmured.

  "About what?"

  "Black Jack's arrested Bull Calf."

  Annie was sitting alone in her room, composing a letter to the Bank of Austin, asking for an appointment to go over her affairs as soon as she got home, when Cora knocked on the door. As she looked up, the older woman came in.

  "I know it won't begin to make up for what happened, but at least they've caught him," she said. "I thought you'd want to know they've arrested the savage responsible."

  For a moment Annie was at a loss. "They've arrested whom?"

  "Colonel Davidson said to tell you that you don't have to face him. If you give a sworn statement, he believes it will be enough—at least to hold him, anyway," Cora explained. "Indeed, he wanted to tell you himself, but I thought perhaps the shock might overset you, so I said I'd prepare you."

  "Prepare me for what? Who's been arrested?" Annie asked again.

  "Even if you wish to avoid testifying, which you very well might, the colonel still believes the arrest may force them to yield your daughter. It's been done before."

  Annie's hands gripped the arms of the rocking chair. For an awful moment she thought of Two Trees, and it was as though she was hollow, totally empty inside. But it couldn't be—she'd never even mentioned him to anyone. And he'd be the last Comanche to come anywhere ne
ar the reservation.

  "I don't think—"

  "Oh, dear, I knew it was going to be a shock." Moving behind Annie, Cora placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "My dear, they've found the Indian called Bull Calf. Colonel Davidson just had word of the Tonkawa scouts that they were coming in with him."

  "Bull Calf? But—" For a moment Annie was at a loss, then she protested, "But he wasn't—oh, Lord, no!"

  Cora nodded. "He said it was the least he could do for you after all you have suffered."

  "Well, I wish I'd been asked, for I could have told Colonel Davidson—they're bringing him in now?"

  "Yes, he didn't want to say anything until it was done."

  "But it's not right, not right at all!" Quickly setting her writing supplies aside, Annie rose to go to the window, and what she saw made her heart sink. There in the middle of the parade ground, two troopers were wrestling Bull Calf from his horse, and despite the fact that his hands were shackled, he was putting up a fight. Finally, one of them cracked the barrel of a pistol against the side of his head to subdue him. "No, he doesn't deserve this," she said under her breath. "I can't let it happen—I can't." She started for the door.

  Confused by her guest's manner, the older woman hesitated, then asked, "What are you doing? Surely you're not going out there?"

  "I've got to stop them!" Annie flung over her shoulder.

  "Don't—you'll take your death without a wrap!" Then the words sank in. "Stop them? Have you lost your mind? No, you don't want to make a spectacle of yourself!" she called out. "Annie, come back!"

  "But they're wrong!"

  "They brought him in because of you!" Hugging her arms against the cold, Cora hurried after her. "Annie, wait!"

  It was as though her words disappeared in the chill wind. Before Cora could catch up, the younger woman reached the cordon of soldiers around the Indian. As she watched with dismay, Annie Bryce pushed her way through the men, crying, "Let him go! You don't know what you are doing!"

  Bull Calf's black eyes glittered as he lunged toward her, his manacled hands raised as though he would strike. Two troopers caught him from behind, pulling his elbows back. He stared hard for a moment, then demanded angrily, "Is this how you would repay me, Woman Who Walks Far? Look at you. You deceived me, and now you have told them lies! Fat Owl was right—you brought misfortune among us! You blinded me with pity when I should have killed you!" he finished contemptuously.

  The Comanche words stung. Facing him, she fought tears as she reached a hand out, speaking his language haltingly. "It is true that I could speak—that I was not possessed of spirits—but I was afraid. I did not know that I would find kindness in Bull Calf. I had no reason to expect it. I saw the scalps on Bull Calf's lance, that they were white, and I wanted to live. But you let me stay. Out of pity you fed me."

  "Not one hair of your head did I harm. Nothing did I ask, and this is how I am thanked for it."

  She swallowed and nodded. "And I will tell them that. I will tell them Bull Calf is my brother," she promised. "I will tell them I suffered no ill at your hands." Her hand closed over the cold iron on his wrist. "I swear it."

  Expecting gratitude, Davidson was making his way toward her when he saw her touch the Indian. He recoiled as a shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. He'd risked Sherman's certain displeasure by violating his orders, but he'd been prepared to lie and say his men had taken the Comanche chief after he'd fled the reservation. And now that it was done, she was saying they'd made a mistake. He felt betrayed. And angry. As his temper rose, she saw him.

  "Colonel Davidson," she said, "I appreciate what you have done, but this is the wrong man. You've got the wrong man."

  "It's Bull Calf, isn't it?" he demanded harshly.

  "Yes, but—" Taken aback by the anger in his voice, she hesitated, knowing it would be difficult to find the words to convince this stern man he'd made a mistake. "It wasn't Bull Calf who killed my husband, Colonel. It wasn't Penetaka Comanches who raided our farm. The war party was mostly Quahadi and Nokoni—and a couple of Kiowas, I think. But no Penetakas. This man is innocent."

  Davidson's jaw worked visibly before he could bring himself to speak. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Mrs. Bryce," he responded with tightly controlled fury. "This is the man who held you captive—you were found in his camp. Are you saying you were there willingly? That you were not misused there?"

  Those gathered to watch fell completely silent, and she could feel the hostility around her. In the eyes of every man there she was condemning herself by defending Bull Calf. Her chin came up and she dared to meet Black Jack Davidson's eyes, seeing the outrage there.

  "Yes," she responded simply.

  It wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Look at him—he's a savage!" Davidson said furiously. "He's got the blood of God only knows how many whites on his hands! How in God's name could you—?" He choked on the thought.

  "He's innocent of mine," she countered quietly. "I was abandoned, left to die by a man called Two Trees. I wandered for days, lost and alone without food or water, until the Penetakas found me. And there were those who wanted to kill me, but I pretended to be crazed. Then, afraid of my evil spirit, they wanted to leave me to die as Two Trees had, but Bull Calf didn't abandon me. He let me follow him and his family."

  "He starved you half to death," the colonel retorted.

  She shook her head. "None of us had any food at the last. When the hunting was bad, I was a burden to him, but he let me stay. Once we reached the reservation, he encouraged me to walk to the agency. If I'd had the strength, I would have come on my own, but by then I was too weak from hunger to make it."

  She wasn't telling him anything he wanted to hear. She was making him look like a damned fool. He stared hard into those blue eyes of hers, but she held her ground. Finally, it was he who looked away.

  Afraid of drawing Davidson's ire, one of the troopers turned to Lieutenant Hughes to ask, "Where do you want to put the prisoner, sir?"

  The colonel squared his shoulders ramrod straight and fixed the man with a glare. "Strike the manacles, soldier," he snapped. "Then get the red son of a bitch out of my sight."

  With that, he turned and stalked across the ground toward his office. It wasn't until the door slammed that anyone spoke. Elliott Hughes exchanged glances with Captain Harrison, who exhaled audibly, then ordered, "Release the prisoner and escort him off the post. I don't know what the colonel's going to tell Haworth, but I sure as hell don't want to be around when it happens."

  Relieved, Annie turned back to Bull Calf. "They're letting you go," she told him. In front of everyone, she held out her hand again. For a long moment the Comanche just stood there. Finally he took it, clasping her fingers in the white man's gesture of friendship.

  Then it was over. A soldier stepped between them to unlock the irons. As soon as his hands were free, Bull Calf swung up on the pony, and without waiting for any escort, he dug his moccasin into a bony flank and laid the braided quirt across the animal's shoulder. At the edge of the parade ground, he wheeled around for one last defiant gesture, then rode off.

  Taking their cue from Davidson, soldiers and onlookers drifted away, most without looking at her. Cora Sprenger took a step toward her, then stopped.

  "Well, my dear, you've certainly made your road a lot rougher," she said finally. "Colonel Davidson will never forgive you."

  "It doesn't matter. I'm going home, anyway." Shivering now, Annie rubbed her arms. "For three years Bull Calf was the only good thing that happened to me," she added, sighing. "I just repaid the favor. But if you want me to remove myself from your house, I'll understand."

  "No, of course not." Cora forced a smile. "I know you did what you thought you had to, and I just wish you didn't have to regret it. Well," she said, "I'm going inside. It's too cold to stand out here, my dear. I think I'll make a good, strong toddy. Right now we both probably need it."

  "All right."

  As the older woman started back to her house, Annie pa
used to watch Bull Calf. His bravado gone, he was riding slowly southward on the plodding pony. As much as she despised his people, she felt sorry for him. Clasping her arms across her breasts, she turned to follow Cora Sprenger.

  "Wait up!"

  Startled, she stopped for a moment, then saw Hap Walker awkwardly hobbling across the yard on crutches. By the looks of it, he was going to require a lot of practice before he mastered them. He was nearly breathless by the time he reached her. She waited warily, expecting him to condemn her. When he didn't say anything, she observed, "Well, you are getting around at least, Captain."

  "Like a racehorse," he muttered dryly. "But it'll get better. It's got to."

  The winter sun seemed to reflect in the pale hair that framed her face. And her eyes were as blue as a summer sky. Doc Sprenger had been right—she was a pretty woman.

  "I guess I know what you're thinking," she told him.

  "I'd be surprised if you did," he countered, a smile slowly spreading across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked up at the sun for a moment, then back to her. "You look real different from when I saw you in that Indian camp. I couldn't even tell what color your hair was then."

  "You couldn't tell much of anything then, could you?"

  "Not much," he agreed. "I don't remember much before the next morning." He glanced at the sky again. "Yeah, I was kind of waiting for you to come back after that. Makes more sense to visit a man when he's awake, doesn't it?"

  "Major Sprenger said you were recovering," she murmured.

  "I guess you've been busy," he allowed, "but I was kind of hoping I'd get a chance to say thanks. You've got healing hands, you know that?"

  "No."

  "Well, you do. And I just wanted you to know I appreciated everything you did for me that night. Doc says you were more'n half-sick yourself."

  "I had to do something. I couldn't sleep." It was too cold outside, but she didn't want to leave him standing there. "Mrs. Sprenger's making hot toddies right now. Uh, I don't suppose you'd care to join us?" she asked him. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

  "Never drink the stuff. 'Way I look at it, it's a waste of whiskey."

 

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