by M L Dunn
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“Some,” she said taking a puff on her pipe. “The Comanche showed up where them Kickapoos hole up someplace the other side of the Cimarron. They was hoping to find them with some whiskey or laudanum or the like I guess. A couple of them was hurting from the fight you must have engaged in with them and was wanting something, else they’d never stop to visit a Kickapoo,” the woman explained. “Thing was the Kickapoos recognized Black Horse. I guess he has some reputation in those circles. Of course they didn’t let on that they were headed here afterwards, else the Comanche might have gotten the notion they needed killing,” she explained before taking a long pull on her pipe. “I suppose it’s fortunate that Comanche don’t think highly enough of Kickapoos, to think they might be smart enough to sell such information to someone who might find it useful,” she added. “They told me the child they saw with the Comanche had bright yellow hair.”
“That’s her,” Caleb said turning towards the sheriff. Caleb returned to his table and sat down, but was still watching the woman. It was apparent she was considering matters still; her expression was like that of a person adding sums in their head. She looked over at him again.
“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re going through,” she told him. “What you’re feeling now I’ve been feeling for twenty years now. It don’t get any better. I like to think my Laura was raised as one of their own. Comanche will do that. They have a strong sense of family. You have to credit them that,” she said nodding at her own thought. “That’s why your child is unlikely to be brought in for a reward. Your child is probably somewhere south of the Canadian River by now,” she added. “At least you know now what band to look for, that narrows it down some, but good luck finding them. That’s still quite an area they wander through.”
Caleb looked at the sheriff then, hoping he’d have something to add.
“That helps,” July agreed. “We’ll pass this information on to the colonel tomorrow.”
Caleb was satisfied with waiting till the next day. He wanted to get started on a letter, so he approached the tavern’s owner and asked if he had paper and pencil.
“You serve food here?” July shouted from across the room.
They ate a dinner of beans and roasted chicken, followed by apple pie. Caleb ate little while he worked on his letter. The price for the meal was steep, but the food surprisingly good. Caleb wrote some about the woman as she sat studying the shapes and rings her pipe floated in front of her. She smiled at him whenever he glanced at her, but she mostly ignored the sheriff and Steam Carter. A candle flickered on her table, but Caleb never felt like he’d gotten a good look at her.
Soon patrons began to trickle in - soldiers and emigrants and drovers. An Indian wearing white man’s clothing and a big hat came to the side door and later bearded men who looked like prospectors or the sort. There was a posted sign claiming only three drinks per customer, but keeping an accurate count must have been difficult for some men soon looked to have surpassed that number. They learned the old woman’s name was Sally, and she and her son owned the tavern.
Soon the small structure was crowded and filled with smoke and conversation so Caleb, thinking he owed Mattie and Allison some time in his thoughts, stepped outside. The owner had offered them use of a lean-to behind the building for only a few cents. Caleb found he needed to temporarily evict some chickens before he could take possession of it. He washed his face and hair in a basin of water he’d borrowed and then lay down, listening to the muffled voices coming out the building. Words and speech floated out to him like leaves falling from a tree that he could reach out and snatch. At various intervals he caught portions of the sheriff’s and Steam Carter’s conversation which knew only to drift backwards through time. He heard them mention generals and battles and crossroads, a few of which he was familiar with. Their voices faded, others emerged, and Caleb’s thoughts mixed with these to form a disjointed and confusing train of thought that did little to settle his mind.
So he rose and walked down to the Arkansas and then along its uneven bank away from the fort and its gloomy residents. The only trees and shade to be found were right along the banks of the river, but their branches were thick with leaves and many kinds of birds hidden within called out to him. He thought that was something he and Mattie could aspire to after they were reunited - to learn to identify each type of bird by sight and know their call.
The news Sally had passed on to him had put him in a better frame of mind. Up until then he had been considering what the sheriff had proposed, that Mattie might be returned without his having to go looking for her in Indian Territory. He had nearly bit on its empty promise like a man with an ailment contemplating purchasing a bottle of elixir sold out of the back of a wagon.
Chapter 15
Waiting to see the colonel the next morning, Caleb sat on a bench outside the limestone building reconciling himself with the thought of going after Mattie into Indian Territory. July sat next to him. Caleb knew the sheriff wanted to return to his duties about the county, but if Allison were there, she would have worked on convincing him to continue on with him.
The early morning air was still and cold, but it would warm and begin moving about soon. Across from them, a pleasant looking woman was peeling strips of paint from the side of a two-story house. She inspected the peelings before dropping them on the ground like rotten fruit picked from a neglected tree. Her dress and shoes were clothing that was neither common nor practical for these parts. She’d fastened the buttons on her dress all the way to her throat and the buttons on her cuffs were done up also and she gave Caleb the impression not that she’d just arrived here, but that she had no inclination to abandon the customs and manners of wherever more civilized place she came from.
July’s thinking was somewhat along the same line – that some people were not capable of surviving out here.
The woman came towards them and smiled as she made her way into the colonel’s office. Caleb turned toward the sheriff then and asked what Mattie’s life would be like if he were never able to find her.
July tried to think over that whole different order of world before answering.
“You and I would consider it a hard life, but she’s young enough to adjust to it,” July said. “Comanche don’t think of their way of life as hard, at least not until the buffalo started to disappear. I suspect she’ll be treated the same as any other Comanche child. She’ll marry young and she’ll do a lot of work, but most Comanche treat their wives as well or better than most white men do,” he said. “It would be best for her if she was able to forget completely about you and your wife and her sister,” he told Caleb. “Easiest if she didn’t spend her life wishing for the one she’d lost. I know that’s the last thing you or your wife might want to hope for, but it would be the best thing for her. It ain’t come to that yet though,” he said. “You may find her yet.”
Caleb nodded and began working on the letter he’d started the day before.
July tried to picture his daughter. She of course was much older than Mattie Evans now and he’d not seen her for many years. The last time he’d seen her she been just about Mattie Evan’s age and for that reason Mattie Evans was a haunting specter to him, but not in all ways an unwelcome one. July liked to think his wife would have had plenty of suitors vying to take his place after he left. And that she would choose one who’d be a good father to their daughter. He’d tried to convince himself of this for many years now, but despite evidence to support this, his mind like to reject such thinking just to spite him.
Months after leaving them, he did write wanting to know their situation and he received a letter back telling him by the time he received this reply, she would be remarried. She informed July her new husband, though a bit older, owned a number of warehouses in New Orleans, attended church, had three well-mannered children of his own, and did not consume liquor and that July not need write her again. Up till then, waiting for her rep
ly, July had been thinking of returning.
This and other mistakes he tried to bury, but his mind liked to dredge them up like bloated, frightening things from the depths of murky water and exhibit them before him.
The sergeant stepped out on the porch then and told them the colonel would see them.
“We’re you able to find a guide?” the colonel asked when they stepped into his office.
“No,” Caleb said, “but…”
“I’m sorry gentlemen; this is my wife, Katherine. She’s visiting from back East,” the colonel said, motioning towards the woman they’d been watching earlier. Caleb’s gaze met the woman’s, and it seemed she expected him to introduce himself. “Caleb Evans, mam,” he said taking his hat off.
“Katherine Campbell. Pleased to meet you,” she replied in an eastern accent.
Usually July had little patience for such formalities, but the colonel’s wife seemed genuinely sincere in her desire to meet them. “July Ford,” he said tipping his hat before deciding to remove it.
“What’s this about?” Katherine Campbell inquired, turning towards her husband. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Mr. Evans’ child was taken captive by Indians a few days ago,” the colonel explained holding out a hand towards Caleb.
“I’m so sorry,” Katherine said turning back. “I’ve heard of such terrible things, but I had no idea that was why you came to meet with my husband. How did this happen?”
“They just… took her.”
“Why would they do such a thing?” she asked bewildered.
Caleb could only shake his head.
“He was wondering what assistance the Army could provide him,” the colonel told his wife.
“And what assistance can you provide?”
“Uh, we’ll make a report and dispatch it to the company commanders,” the colonel said trying to sound encouraging. “They’ll keep an eye out for her, and they’ll ask about her whenever they come across any friendly bands. I’ll see that word reaches the forts and stations down in Texas and the Rangers. Any peace officer or trader knows to inform us if they learn the whereabouts of any captive. Just last month a unit out of Fort Concho took back three captives,” the colonel said nodding at his wife like she was the person in the room that most needed to be persuaded.
“We was hoping the colonel might be able to partner us with someone who’s traded with them,” July interrupted, hoping the colonel’s wife might prod him some.
“Can you?” Katherine asked.
“I don’t know who I could send with them that would be much help,” the colonel said.
“What about Corporal Jackson. Didn’t he live out here before the war?”
“He did, yes.”
“Could you lend them him?”
“I suppose,” said the colonel nodding his head, seeming to think his wife’s suggestion might have some merit to it. “He might know of a trader or someone who could approach the Comanche.”
“Send for him,” Katherine ordered her husband.
The colonel glanced at Caleb and July, embarrassed that his wife was ordering him around in front of them, as he called for the sergeant. The sergeant stuck his head in the room. “Have Corporal Jackson brought here,” Colonel Campbell instructed the sergeant.
“Yes sir,” the sergeant said before pulling his head back out of sight. A moment later Caleb spotted him out the window, starting across the parade grounds toward another building.
“Would you gentlemen mind stepping outside for a moment?”
July and Caleb did as the colonel asked and stepped out onto the porch fronting the building. The sheriff glanced in the window to the colonel’s office and saw that he was explaining, what looked like to him, something complicated to his wife.
Soon they spotted the sergeant stepping out of a low, wood building and following him was a Negro soldier in hand irons. The prisoner wore an Army uniform that should have been a size larger for he was muscular and it was stretched tight over his chest and arms. He was not tall, but solidly built and had a clean-shaven head. His face was square and muscular. Next came two soldiers carrying rifles, although they carried their weapons and walked in a relaxed manner more like squirrel hunters than prison guards.
July stared at the procession as they crossed over the compacted bare dirt of the parade grounds. The prisoner was older than what he expected, probably in his late thirties, although from where this idea grew he didn’t know. The prisoner glanced at them as he entered the stone building and July voiced what he figured Caleb was thinking also. “What the hell?”
“Take those off him!” July heard the colonel yell and seconds later the sergeant stepped back out onto the porch - his smile missing – and told them the colonel would see them now. The sergeant did not follow them in, but made for some work on his desk that he must have decided needed his immediate and undivided attention.
As they entered the room, the two soldiers were hurriedly removing the irons while the colonel whispered to his wife, who sat on a chair off to the side of the room. And in the middle of the small room, the Negro soldier stood motionless. Caleb and July went and stood against the wall opposite the colonel, behind the prisoner, and when the two soldiers were finished removing the irons - the colonel dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
“Hello Jonas,” the colonel’s wife said.
“Hello mam.”
“Gentlemen this is Corporal Jackson of the Ninth Cavalry,” the colonel said taking a seat behind his desk.
July thought Caleb didn’t act like he was concerned that the soldier was Negro, but he must have at least been disturbed some by the fact that the soldier had been brought there in chains.
“Ninth Black Cavalry,” July said, repeating what he thought he’d heard.
“Just Ninth Cavalry,” Jonas Jackson said, not turning around.
The colonel smiled weakly at his wife, before addressing the corporal. “These men are pursuing Comanche warriors who stole Mr. Evans’ child,” the colonel said gesturing towards Caleb and causing the corporal to glance around at them.
“Yes sir.”
“The sheriff and Mr. Evans have asked about the Army providing assistance with the return of Mr. Evans’ daughter,” the colonel said looking down into his hands while he spoke. “Of course under the circumstances of both yourself and present Indian policy you could not serve in an official Army capacity. Your involvement would be purely voluntary.”
“Yes sir,” Jonas said, having no idea what present Indian policy was, but all too familiar with his own circumstances.
“If you choose to assist these men, your remaining sentence would be suspended assuming you perform your duties with proper diligence.”
“Thank you sir,” Jonas said, noticing the colonel was looking at him expectantly. “May I ask something sir?”
“Of course.”
Corporal Jackson turned to look at the man who had lost his child. He was tall, maybe thirty years old, and both his appearance and manner indicated a wife’s daily influence. He stood against the wall holding his hat between his hands, an anxious look on his face as if he had just arrived late for church services and wanted to take his seat unnoticed. “How long they had your daughter?”
“A few days.”
“Little girl?”
“She’s seven.”
“That’s good,” Jonas said. “Any others taken with her?”
“There was a woman taken also, but the sheriff got her back.”
“How’d that happen?”
“We caught up to them,” July said. “We tried to trade for both captives, but there was a fight and they escaped with his child.”
“Any killing?”
“There’s less of them now, yeah,” said July.
“Finding them will be difficult,” Jonas said turning back to the colonel. “Don’t help any that the Comanche will have a grudge against these men.”
“Finding them may not be too difficult,” Caleb
interrupted. “We’ve learned the Comanche who took Mattie is called Black Horse. He’s one of Big Bear’s warriors. Have you heard of him?”
“I know of Big Bear,” the corporal said. “That helps some,” Jonas agreed, “but they still would have to want to be found. We’d need someone who’s traded with them. Someone who they’d come out on the plain to meet.”
“Would you know of someone like that?” the colonel asked.
“Maybe,” Jonas replied. “There ain’t as many men like that as there used to be, but we could look around for someone.”
“Are you willing to help these men then?” The colonel asked.
Jonas considered his options. He had four more month’s sentence of hard labor, which wasn’t all that hard although he did his best to make it look that way. He was fed regular, slept on a cot at night and his work, despite what they called it, was light and unsupervised, although now the colonel’s wife seemed intent on changing that. A trip into Comanche territory wasn’t his preferred way of escaping her, but he was a soldier, he owed the colonel, and he thought he could help. “Well, if you’d like me to ga along with these men I will,” Jonas answered.
“Good,” said the colonel. “Go change out of your uniform.”
“I don’t own any clothes, but my uniforms,” Jonas replied, tugging at his shirt.
“Pull all the stripes and insignia of it then,” the colonel said after considering. “Get your things together and then go see the quarter master about issuing you a weapon and another set of clothing and anything you might need.”
“And pistol?”
“I’ll see you’re given an officer’s weapon,” the colonel told him. “I’ll walk over there and see you’re properly outfitted.”