Man in the Saddle

by Matt Chisholm

  The old man spoke with his hands. Pagley handed his rifle to Spur and replied.

  “What did he say?” Spur asked.

  “We’re just bein’ polite. What do I tell him?”

  “Tell him to bring the girl to the Comancheros.”

  Pagley told him.

  Spur looked up to find the pale-eyed Kiowa, Man-Who-Catches-Rain watching him over the head of his chief. He had a different design painted on his face this morning.

  Spur said: “Now give him a good threat to show we don’t scare and he’d better not double-deal us.”

  Pagley’s hands and arms moved for a long time. The Indians watched closely and Spur could see that they were getting pretty mad. When he had finished, Pagley told him: “I said that if he plays us false or tries to harm us, we will die gladly and that we will take many of his band’s young men with us. If the girl is touched we shall take an equal revenge. But if the Kiowas play fair, we shall bring many good things to them - guns, blankets, sugar and coffee.”

  Spur grinned. “May God forgive you.”

  “God doesn’t have to. This old goat would double-deal his own mother. Most likely he’ll have the girl raped just before they hand her over.”

  Two Bulls gave the sign that the meeting was at an end. Man-Who-Catches-Rain leaned forward and said something to him.

  Pagley told Spur: “Pale-eyes says wouldn’t it be a good idea to kill the whitemen now and save a lot of trouble.”

  Two Bulls was grunting a reply and Pagley added: “The old man says it would be more profitable to leave it till later. One never knows, the whitemen might keep their word and bring many good things.”

  Spur stood up and gave the peace-sign, then turned his back on them and walked away with Pagley beside him. They felt the eyes of the savages following them. They went through the Comanchero camp and spoke to the old jefe, felling him that they had reached an agreement with Two Bulls and would rendezvous with him across the Canadian River. The old man grumbled - he had a meeting with the Comanches planned. Spur told him that Two Bulls wished it and it would go hard with the Mexicans if they failed him. Besides there was great profit in this deal; he would be foolish to forego it. Finally, the jefe reluctantly agreed.

  Spur and Pagley returned to their camp and started packing, loading the pack-horse and saddling their own mounts.

  Spur said: “I know what you’re thinking. This is a slim chance.”

  “But it’s our only one,” Pagley said. “But we’re headed for trouble. Can a man ask you how you hope to get the girl from him without all those wonderful presents I was telling them about?”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Spur admitted.

  They mounted and looked back toward the Indian camp. The Kiowas were on the move, bunching their great horse-herd and heading into the north, home.

  “Next time we meet them,” Pagley mused, “I’ll wager there’ll be some shooting.”

  They turned their own horses east and rode.

  Chapter Seven

  They cut the sign of the Comancheros a month south of the Canadian and crossed the stream at the same ford the Mexicans had used. They found them in camp on the opposite bank. By this time, the two men had overhauled their outfit. Now they had with them five horses, the two extra traded with a rancher far to the east and now carrying dummy packs. Neither were prepossessing in appearance, but they were good animals with staying power. Pagley reckoned that was what would be needed when they ran into the kind of trouble that was obviously ahead of them. The dummy packs had been cunningly built by the Delaware to give the impression of being of some value to the Indians. Several stout sticks had been tied in skin covers to resemble rifles. The sight of them caused quite a stir in the camp of the Comancheros when they rode in.

  The Mexicans were pretty spooky and showed it. The old jefe greeted them surly and declared that he would not wait at this spot for long. He wanted to be in safer country far to the south.

  They camped off to one side of the Comancheros away from the river because Pagley had a rooted objection to camping near water. The sound of it allowed a man to come up on you silently, he claimed. They rigged up a tarp to protect them from the sun. The rains had passed and the heat was fierce. Even the nights were breathlessly hot and gave a man no chance to recover from the day.

  They stayed there three days sweating it out and seeing neither hide nor hair of the Kiowas. Not even word of them came and the old Comanchero chief was starting to mutter that he would not remain there much longer. This was not healthy country for a man of his profession. Too many Texans came this way and he had heard that the crazy Anglos were not reluctant to tie a rope around the neck of an honest Comanchero and swing him from the nearest tree.

  On the fourth night, Pagley was on watch. The moon was high and he could see their horses grazing at a distance of about fifty feet. They were hobbled, but even so with the chance of Kiowas being in the neighborhood he preferred them to be in sight. Around midnight he was startled by a sudden chorus of coyotes out on the plain. It continued for maybe ten minutes and finished off abruptly with the howl of a wolf. He at once woke Spur.

  “There’s Kiowas about,” he said.

  Spur hastily pulled on his boots and reached for his rifle. The two men listened and could hear nothing. Then the Comanchero camp stirred and Spur reckoned the Mexicans were standing to their arms.

  Pagley’s hand reached out and gripped Spur’s arm.

  “Listen!”

  A faint roll of hoofs came.

  “North,” Pagley said. The two men worked the levers of their rifles and put a round into the breech.

  Spur reckoned that at least a dozen horses were coming at a flat run towards the camp. A horse neighed in the camp of the Comancheros and their own horses grew uneasy, looking into the north with their ears forward.

  Suddenly a small cluster of horsemen seemed to burst into the moonlight, sweeping over the nearest ridge and running between their own camp and the Comancheros’. Spur saw that they were Indians. They made no attempt to go near the horses, but passed on into the night. Before their hoof beats had died away, they came sweeping back again. This time they halted abruptly about fifty yards away from Spur and Pagley. A mounted man came thundering out of their midst and the two watching men saw that he carried a large object in front of him on the shoulders of his horse.

  He swung in close to them, leaned from the saddle and dropped the object almost at their feet. It rolled and came to rest against Spur’s right boot. With a yell, the rider was gone. The other Indians gave a series of shrill cries and disappeared with a thunder of hoofs into the night.

  Spur dropped to one knee.

  Great dark eyes stared at him out of a pale thin face.

  A girl!

  She moaned softly and tried to crawl away from him, but her wrists and ankles were bound and she could not.

  Pagley drew his knife and freed her. She screamed softly.

  “You’ve nothing to be afraid of,” Spur said. “You’re with friends.”

  Pagley said: “Goddam, this ain’t the girl.”

  Spur was rubbing the girl’s ankles. She moaned with the pain of the returning blood. It was some time before she was able to stand on her feet and tell them who she was.

  “I’m Jane Croxley. I was took last year. Didn’t never think to see a whiteman again.”

  “I’m Sam Spur. This is Will Pagley. We came looking for the Grimes girl. You see ought of her?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Croxley,” Pagley said. “I know that name. There was a mustanger used to follow the broomtails all over the south-west called Croxley.”

  “My pa.”

  The Delaware grinned. “Men said you rode as good as him.”

  Spur said: “We’re sitting on trouble. You know that, Pagley. Miss Croxley here’s the wrong girl. The Kiowas’ll be coming for payment.”

  “Which we didn’t have any road.”

  Spur nodded. “That’s tr
ue enough. But this means we still don’t have the Grimes girl.”

  Jane Croxley took hold of both his arms.

  “Mister,” she said, “don’t give me back, for Gawd’s sake. I don’t want to ever get back with them Indians again.”

  Spur patted her head. “You’re free and you’ll stay free, girl.”

  Pagley groaned.

  “We’ll be damned lucky if any of us stay free. Or alive.”

  Spur said: “You can say that again.” His head jerked up. “Here comes a deputation. Keep your hands on your rifle, Pagley.”

  The Delaware turned and saw a half-dozen Comancheros walking across from their camp, the old man in the lead.

  Pagley said nervously, “Don’t go takin’ no chances, man.”

  Spur swung his rifle on the approaching group and called out in Spanish: “Only the old man comes forward.”

  They stopped. They didn’t like it, but they stopped. The old man screamed out: “You have the girl, now we have come for her price.”

  “No hurry, old one. We shall not fly away. We will wait till the Indians come.”

  The old man said something to the others and came stamping in a rage. “Por Dios, this is a bad thing. The Anglos never keep a promise. It is worse than dealing with the heathens themselves.”

  Spur grinned. “Go back to your carts and wait in patience.”

  The old man’s eyes flitted to the packs on the ground. He ran his eyes over the girl. He did not want to leave.

  “My young men,” he said, “will be angry over this. It is a bad thing, to threaten us with your guns.” He gestured to his men. “They are brave men, not at all afraid. A word from me and they will come on you with their weapons.”

  Pagley said: “Old man, this is a rifle looking at your belly.” The old man could not understand the words, but he got their meaning all right. He backed up and went away muttering sullenly. There was a long consultation with the others during which they cast angry glances at Pagley and Spur, then they all walked slowly back to their carts.

  Sitting on one of the packs, the girl said: “You can’t stop the Indians takin’ me back.”

  The two men thought that as well, but they didn’t say anything. They brought the horses nearer camp. They didn’t saddle them. That would have looked bad and told the Comancheros the whole of the story.

  At noon, as they ate, the girl pointed excitedly to the north-west and cried out: “Look!”

  They both turned and saw the dust.

  Spur finished his plate of bacon and beans and said: “Well, folks, here we go.” He looked at the girl and saw that she was very scared. In her boots he would have been the same. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t the same in his own. Pagley looked a dull gray color.

  “Saddle the horses,” he said.

  “It’d look bad,” Spur told him.

  “Who cares? It could save our lives. For my money we can’t get out of here fast enough when them Kiowas find out we don’t have the right girl and we don’t give her back.”

  Spur said: “What makes you think they don’t know they’ve given us the wrong girl?”

  The Delaware said: “I’ll saddle the horses.” The girl got up and gave him a hand. They did not load the pack-horses and she said that she would ride using an aparejo for a saddle. She had ridden one so many times. Spur watched the dust, apprehensive, wanting to know how many riders it contained. However many there were, they were not hurrying themselves. The girl finished helping Pagley and sat beside Spur. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but she didn’t have a smile left in her.

  She was, he thought, not beautiful, she was too thin for that. Mustanging had formed her, for she was as tough and wiry as whang-leather. But her eyes were fine and her mouth generous. She was a stranger, but for some reason he and Pagley were risking their lives for her. It didn’t make sense.

  Watching the dust, the Delaware said: “Not many. Maybe a dozen. But that’s twelve too many for this Indian.”

  They moved their little camp back to the bank of the river which offered them some cover. There was no other of which to take advantage. If there was going to be a fight, it would be better than nothing to have the river at their backs.

  The camp of the Comancheros was in great excitement. The old man rushing about and giving orders, the others priming their muskets and getting children into the cover of the carts. They apparently had no doubt that trouble was in the wind. Pagley and Spur discussed this, but they couldn’t decide what the Comancheros’ worry was. They should be happy that they were about to receive their percentage.

  All Spur and Pagley could do was put their packs on the bank top as a barricade and wait.

  Chapter Eight

  Pagley was right.

  There were a dozen Indians. Two Bulls was in the lead with Man-Who-Catches-Rain at his side. Behind him could be seen the young man who had wanted trouble when they had met the party of Kiowas on the plains. As they approached in a head-tossing rush, Pagley said to Spur: “Cover me. I’ll go out and talk with them or they’ll be all over us.” He handed his rifle to the girl and hitched his revolver around so that he could reach it quickly. Spur made a quick inventory of the Kiowas’ arms - Man-Who-Catches-Rain was armed with a Spencer repeating rifle, but that was the only such weapon. There were a couple of breech-loaders and a revolver there. The rest were bows and lances, war-clubs and hatchets. Neither Spur nor Pagley, with their experience, underestimated any of them. At this range bows and arrows could be more deadly than a rifle.

  Pagley stepped over the packs and walked forward, a hand raised in the peace-greeting. The Kiowas pulled in their horses and halted not a couple of yards from him in a choking swirl of dust. Pagley coughed on this. In their shelter, Spur and the girl watched the Delaware standing motionless as the fierce painted faces glared down at him. Man-Who-Catches-Rain shouted something, as his horse jigged this way and that, and pointed toward the man and girl by the river. Two Bulls gave him a curt word and slid from the saddle, stalking up to Pagley and making the sign of peace.

  The Delaware’s hands started talking.

  Almost at once a murmur of dissatisfaction ran along the line of mounted braves. Taking their lead from Man-Who-Catches-Rain, they quickly turned this into a shout of anger. A couple of warriors jumped their ponies past Pagley and came toward the river. Spur stood up and pointed his rifle toward them. Pagley’s hands worked frantically and old Two Bulls screamed furiously at the two young men. They turned their ponies and returned to their companions. Spur breathed again.

  The old jefe of the Comancheros came flat-footed from his camp, flanked by two men armed with bows and arrows and lances. He was scared and showed it. He and Two Bulls exchanged greetings. The Kiowa was cold. Within five minutes the jefe was running toward Spur shouting in voluble Spanish, he beat his breast and pulled savagely at his hair.

  “Por Dios” he howled. “What are you trying to do? To kill us all? If this is the wrong girl, give her back.”

  Spur said: “Calm yourself, old man. The girl stays,”

  “Give her back or we all die today.”

  “Would you give a Christian girl back to the heathen?”

  “A Christian! She has been with the Kiowas - that one is a Christian no longer.”

  Jane Croxley yelled at him in Spanish: “Keep a clean tongue in your head, you old thief. I know you. My father knows you.”

  The old man held his hands out in front of him, aghast. “No - it cannot be. Señorita ... I had not heard …. this is terrible.” He wept a little and walked up and down throwing his hands up to heaven and calling on the Virgin. “This girl’s father is a terrible one. I see trouble all around me.”

  Spur said: “So she cannot go back.”

  “No, you are right. She cannot. Yet she must. God in heaven, my friend, tell me what I must do.”

  “Hitch up your animals and go south.”

  “Who can escape from Kiowas? We shall all be killed.”

 
Suddenly, Spur moved fast, hurling the old man to one side. There had been an eruption of movement from the Indians. Man-Who-Catches-Rain had jumped his pony forward. The animal’s shoulder caught Pagley in the chest and bowled him over. At once the pale-eyed warrior had leapt to the ground and was swinging his rifle up to pound out the Delaware’s brains with the brass-bound butt.

  Spur levered a shot into the breech of his rifle and fired a shot close over the heads of the bunched Indians.

  Feathered heads ducked.

  Man-Who-Catches-Rain paused, rifle held high. Two Bulls shouted at him. Slowly he lowered the weapon. Pagley got to his feet and Spur saw that his pistol was in his hand. Slowly, he walked back toward the river. Spur did not take his eyes from the Indians. The temptation to charge was strong in them. Only the leveled rifle stopped them. Yet Spur knew that if they were mad enough to attempt it, they could pull it off and no rifle on earth could stop them.

  He heard the girl at his side work the lever of Pagley’s rifle.

  The old Comanchero was running toward Two Bulls, holding out his hands, begging him not to fight.

  Alan-Who-Catches-Rain’s pale eyes glared balefully at Pagley’s retreating back, longing to put a bullet into it.

  As he came to the packs, the Delaware said: “They say give back the girl or die. They also say they know of no fair-haired girl such as the one we have come for.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I said that we would keep this one until they brought the one we want. Then we will exchange and give them many presents.”

  “My God, no,” Jane Croxley said.

  “You won’t go back,” Spur assured her.

  Pagley stepped over the packs and faced the Indians, saying: “Easier said than done.”

  “It has to be done,” Spur said.

  The two dismounted Indians went to their ponies and mounted. Old Two Bulls said something curtly to the jefe and the Indians wheeled slowly away. Spur let out a deep sigh of relief. The three of them watched the Kiowas go past the camp of the Comancheros and halt beyond it. They dismounted and a young warrior drove the horses away to good grass,