"I was on the Washita looking for my grandmother," Famous Shoes said, thinking it would be wise to change the subject. "There are many deer in the Washita country. If you are wanting deer, that is where I would go." Blue Duck stood nearby, strutting and playing with a hatchet he wore in his belt. He wanted the band to know that he was responsible for bringing in the Kickapoo. If his father didn't appreciate it, maybe Slow Tree would. It was clear that the great chief Slow Tree had no fondness for Kickapoos.
Buffalo Hump was engaged in the delicate task of being polite to Slow Tree, a man he neither liked nor trusted. He didn't need an irritating boy standing nearby, playing with a hatchet. Blue Duck wanted people to think he had captured someone important, but Famous Shoes wasn't important. He was just an eccentric Kickapoo.
"Why did you bring this man here?" he asked, looking at his son coldly. "You should have left him to eat his duck. If you see him again, leave him alone." He did not want to mention the fact that Famous Shoes had helped tend his grandmother while she died. The business with his grandmother was between himself and Famous Shoes; it was not a matter he wanted to discuss with everyone.
Blue Duck was shocked that his father would speak to him so, in front of Slow Tree and the worthless Kickapoo. He turned away at once and caught his horse. Then he gathered up his weapons, and a robe to protect him from the cold, and left the camp.
Buffalo Hump made no comment. Soon they saw the angry boy winding up the trail out of the canyon.
"If he was my son I would let him hang you upside down and put the scorpion in your nose," Slow Tree said to Famous Shoes.
Famous Shoes didn't answer--why respond to such a stupid comment? Blue Duck was not Slow Tree's son. He thought he would probably go up the other side of the canyon when he left, though. It would be good to have the great Palo Duro Canyon between himself and the rude, angry boy.
There was silence, for a time. Slow Tree was annoyed because Buffalo Hump was ignoring everything he said. Buffalo Hump listened in a polite manner, but he made no move to take Slow Tree's advice. He wasn't even interested in torturing a Kickapoo, which most Comanches would do immediately, without waiting for a chief's permission.
"My wives will feed you and then you can go," Buffalo Hump said, to Famous Shoes.
"I had that fat duck, I don't need to eat," Famous Shoes said. "I had better go look for Big Horse Scull before he gets lost." "Kicking Wolf is following him now too," Buffalo Hump remarked casually. "He wants to steal the Buffalo Horse." "I better go," Famous Shoes said. The news he had just heard shocked him badly. Big Horse Scull had been following Kicking Wolf, but now it was the other way around. Of course Kicking Wolf was already a famous horse thief, but stealing the Buffalo Horse would be a powerful act. If Kicking Wolf could steal the Buffalo Horse his people would sing about him for many years.
Famous Shoes changed his mind about eating, though. One fat duck wouldn't last him forever, and Buffalo Hump's wives had made a stew with a good smell to it. He squatted and ate a big bowl full, while Buffalo Hump sat patiently on his robe, listening to old Slow Tree brag about how happy he made his wives.
Jake came in the door, avoided Felice's eye, turned into the hall, and started up the stairs only to find old Ben Mickelson planted squarely in his way.
Jake despised old Ben, for being a disgusting, profane, purple-lipped old drunkard, but he .was the Sculls' butler and it was necessary to be polite to him.
It was necessary but it wasn't easy: old Ben was looking at Jake with a mean gleam in his watery blue eyes.
"Not today, you don't, you damned lout!" Ben Mickelson said.
Jake thought he must have misheard. Every day for three weeks he had hurried up to the Scull living quarters and been welcomed ardently by the lady of the house. Yesterday she had been particularly ardent--Inez Scull straddled him on the chaise longue and bounced so vigorously that the chaise broke. Then she dragged Jake onto the couch and continued no less vigorously. By the time Madame Scull quieted down, every piece of furniture that had a flat surface had been made use of in their sport.
So why was old Ben Mickelson barring his access to the stairs?
"Mind your ^ws, Ben, if you don't want a licking," Jake said--it occurred to him, for a moment, that the Captain might be back, but if the Captain was back the boys would be back too, and he hadn't seen them.
"Not today, you ain't going up, and not tomorrow and not the next day and not the next week and not the next month and not ever!" old Ben said, the ^ws bursting out of his mouth like gobbets of bile.
"But what's wrong?" Jake asked, confused.
"Nothing's wrong--y just be gone now. We don't need to be seeing the likes of you around the big house again." Jake wanted to grab the old man by his scrawny neck and shake him good, but he didn't quite dare. Something .was wrong, he just didn't know what. Yesterday Madame Scull had called him "Jakie," and could hardly wait to get out his little pricklen, as she called it. But today Ben Mickelson stood on the stairs looking at him in a gloating way.
"Begone," Ben said, again. "I'll be calling the sheriff on you if you don't. The sheriff will know what to do with a lout like you, I guess." Jake was confused and disappointed. He knew the old butler hadn't just decided to dismiss him on his own authority, because he had no authority. He might curse the kitchen girls and pinch them under the stairs, but he was only a butler.
Jake knew that if he wasn't allowed up it was because Madame Scull didn't want him up--but why? He had tried to be cooperative, no matter what wild game Inez Scull suggested; and some of her games went far beyond the bounds of anything he had ever supposed he would be doing, in his life. But he had done them, and Madame Scull had yelled and kicked with pleasure. So why was the old butler now planted in his way?
"All right, Ben," Jake said, feeling deflated. He wandered back into the kitchen, where Felice was churning butter. She didn't look up, when he came in--Felice was careful never to raise her eyes to him, anymore. But now he felt lonely--he had been turned out. He would have liked a smile from Felice; he had a sense that she felt he had treated her bad, though he had only done what he had been told to do by the Captain's wife. Felice had no cause to turn her head every time he entered the room.
"Well, I guess the Missus ain't up," he said, idling for a moment. "I'd sure like a glass of buttermilk before I go to work." Felice got up without a ^w and poured him a tumbler full of buttermilk from the big crock where they kept it. Captain Scull too liked buttermilk--he had been known to drink off a quart, on days when he came in with a thirst for buttermilk.
Jake thanked Felice, thinking it might melt her reserve, but Felice went back to her churning without even a nod.
Jake was sitting on the back step, drinking buttermilk and wondering what he could find to do all day, when Inez Scull strode out of the house. She had on her riding habit and was pulling on a glove. When she saw Jake sitting on the step with the tumbler of buttermilk she did not look pleased.
"Who told you to sit on my stoop and guzzle my buttermilk?" she asked, her black eyes snapping. Jake was taken aback by her look, which was icy, and her tone, which was hot. He jumped to his feet in embarrassment.
"I suppose you got the buttermilk from that yellow bitch," she said. "I'll quirt her soundly when I get back." "Why, the crock was full, I thought I could drink one glass," Jake said, very nervous.
"That's the Captain's buttermilk, it's not for common use," Inez said. "I instructed the butler to inform you that we didn't need you around here anymore. I suppose I'll have to whack that old sot a time or two, if he forgot to tell you." "He told me, I was just resting a minute," Jake said, confused by the coldness in Madame Scull's tone. Only yesterday she had pressed hot affections on him--td she acted as if she scarcely knew him.
"Get off my step, I told you," Inez said. "I don't want you around here--and stay away from that yellow bitch, too. I don't want you indulging in any irregularities with the servants." Madame Scull poked him, not gently, with the toe of her
riding boot. Jake jumped up and hurried down the steps. Then he remembered that he still had the tumbler in his hand.
"I thought you liked me!" he blurted out.
Madame Scull's lip curled. "Like you?
A common thing such as yourself? I've stooped to many follies but I doubt I'd allow myself to like a common farm boy," she said.
Jake sat the tumbler on the step, where Felice would find it and take it in.
He was walking slowly and sadly back down the main street of Austin, trying to puzzle out why he had been welcome one day and shunned the next, when he heard a horse galloping close behind him. Madame Scull was coming, on her fine thoroughbred, Lord Nelson. The horse was worth as much as a house, some of the rangers claimed.
Two men stood guard over Lord Nelson, all night, at the Scull stables, lest Indians try to sneak in and steal him. Madame Scull raced Lord Nelson over the prairies at full speed, usually alone.
As Inez Scull came abreast of Jake she drew rein and ran her quirt lightly through his hair, which she herself had just cut, the day before, with her scissors, after their sweaty sport.
"It was the curls, Jakie," Inez said, the ice still in her voice. She flicked her quirt again through his short hair.
"The curls," she said. "I suppose I found them briefly appealing. But then I cut them off. So that's all done now, ain't it?" Then she put the spurs to Lord Nelson and went galloping straight out of town.
Kicking Wolf could move without sound. When he decided to steal the Buffalo Horse he only took Three Birds with him--except for himself, Three Birds was the quietest warrior in the band. Fast Boy and Red Badger were brave fighters, but clumsy. They could not approach a horse herd in the soundless way that was required if a tricky theft was being contemplated. Kicking Wolf prayed every night that he could keep his grace with animals--few Comanches could go into a horse herd at night without alarming the horses.
Buffalo Hump could not do such delicate work, not at all. He was a great raider, Kicking Wolf acknowledged. Buffalo Hump could run off many horses, and kill whatever white men or Mexicans got in his way. But he could not go into a horse herd at night and steal a mare or a stallion--he was too impatient, and he did not bother to disguise his smell. Mainly, he was a fighter, not a thief.
Kicking Wolf, though, was very careful about his smell, and he had instructed Three Birds how to eliminate his odor before going into a horse herd.
Kicking Wolf would eat little, for a day or two before a raid. He wanted his body to empty out its smells. Then he gathered herbs and rubbed them on himself, on his armpits, on his privates, on his feet. He chewed sweet roots to make his breath inoffensive. He prepared carefully, but mainly it was his grace, his ability to move without sound, that enabled him to go into a herd of strange horses at night and not alarm them. He wanted to be able to move close to the horses and stroke them--he wanted the stroking to begin before the horse was even aware that a man was there. Once he had the horse's trust he could move through the herd seeing that all the horses stayed calm. It was important to start with a horse that had calmness in him--often Kicking Wolf would study a horse herd for a few days, until he had selected the horse that he would approach first--it had to be a horse with calmness in it, a horse unlikely to panic.
Once Kicking Wolf had chosen the first horse, he would pray in the morning that his grace would not desert him; then he could move into the herd with confidence and stroke the lead horse. He liked a night that was cloudy but not entirely moonless, when he went to steal horses. He wanted to be able to see where the ground was--and so would the horses. In complete darkness a horse might brush up against a thornbush and panic if it rattled. A whole herd might break into a run in an instant, if they heard a strange sound.
Kicking Wolf was proud of being the best of the Comanche horse thieves--he had honed his skills for many years. Simply stealing many horses had never been enough for him; he only wanted to steal the best horses--the horses that would run the fastest, or make the best studs. He wanted to steal the horses that the Texans would miss most. Plow horses he never touched.
Invariably, when he got back to camp with the horses he had stolen, the other warriors would be jealous. Even Buffalo Hump was a little jealous, although he pretended not to notice Kicking Wolf and his horses.
The other warriors always offered to trade Kicking Wolf for his horses--they would offer him guns, or their ugly old wives, or even, occasionally, a young pretty wife; but Kicking Wolf never traded--he kept his horses and because of them was envied by every warrior in the tribe.
From the moment Kicking Wolf first saw the Buffalo Horse he wanted to steal it. The Buffalo Horse was the most famous horse in Texas. If he could steal such an animal it would make the Texans look puny. It would shame their greatest warrior, Big Horse Scull. It would bring glory back to the Comanche people--the women and the young men would all make songs about Kicking Wolf. The medicine men could take piss from the Buffalo Horse and use it in potions that would make the young men brave and the women amorous. Buffalo Hump would sulk, for he would know that Kicking Wolf had done a great thing, a thing he himself could never have done.
When he saw that the Texans were not going to go chase him to the Rio Pecos he rested for three days in a little cave he had found. He built a warm fire and feasted on the tender meat of one of the young mares he had killed. Then he heard from Red Badger that Blue Duck had attacked the Texans with a few young warriors and killed one ranger. Red Badger was so fond of one of the young women who had come to the camp with Slow Tree that he could not stay in one place. He was in love with the young woman, who was the wife of old Skinny Hand. Though old, Skinny Hand was a violent fighter; Red Badger had to be careful, for Skinny Hand would certainly shoot him if he caught him slipping out with his young wife. Red Badger said that Buffalo Hump was bored with Slow Tree but was trying to be polite.
Kicking Wolf soon got almost as bored with Red Badger as Buffalo Hump was with Slow Tree. Red Badger was a foolish person who was so crazy about women that he could not accomplish much as a warrior. He talked about women so much that everyone who had to listen to him was bored. Fast Boy was so bored that he wanted to tie Red Badger up and cut out his tongue. Everyone was almost that bored, but of course they could not simply cut out a warrior's tongue.
The fact that it was so cold made Kicking Wolf decide that it might be a good time to steal the Buffalo Horse. The Texans did not like cold. They did not know how to shelter themselves and keep themselves warm, as he was doing in his little cave.
When it was cold the Texans all huddled around fires and went to sleep. New snowflakes were falling outside his little cave--it was not going to be warm for many days. Even if the Texans went on south across the llano, the cold and sleet would follow them. With the weather so cold the Texans would not be very watchful of the horses.
At night Scull hobbled the Buffalo Horse, but did not keep it on a grazing rope. Once Kicking Wolf had called the Buffalo Horse by whistling at him--he whistled twice and the big horse came trotting right to him.
Kicking Wolf also noticed that the Buffalo Horse was very alert. If a wolf crossed the prairie, or even a coyote, the Buffalo Horse would be the first to raise its head and look.
It did not whinny, though, like some of the younger horses, who might be frightened by the smell of a wolf. The Buffalo Horse had no reason to fear wolves, or anything else on the llano.
When the morning dawned, gray as sleet, Kicking Wolf walked a mile from his cave and sat on a low hill to pray. When he had prayed some hours he went back to camp and told the few warriors there that he had decided to steal the Buffalo Horse. It was a plan he had never mentioned to anyone. The warriors were so surprised that they could not think of any ^ws to say --x was such a bold idea that everyone was a little scared, even Fast Boy. Kicking Wolf was a great horse stealer, they all knew that. But the Buffalo Horse was a special horse; he was the horse of Scull, the terrible captain with the long knife. What would Scull do if he w
oke up to find his great horse missing?
"We will all go with you," Red Badger said, after a few minutes' thought.
"Three Birds will go with me," Kicking Wolf said. "No one else." Red Badger wanted to go--stealing the Buffalo Horse was a great and audacious thing; any warrior would want to help do such a great thing. But the firm way Kicking Wolf had spoken caused Red Badger to swallow his protests. Kicking Wolf had spoken in a way that did not invite disagreement.
Fast Boy had meant to say something, also, but Kicking Wolf had such a cold look in his eye that Fast Boy did not speak.
"Where will you take the Buffalo Horse when you steal him?" Red Badger asked. The more he thought about what Kicking Wolf planned, the more his breath came short. It was a big thing, to steal such an animal. Many of the Comanches thought the Buffalo Horse was a witch horse--some even thought it could fly. Some of the old women claimed they had heard the whinny of a great horse, coming from high up in the sky, on dark nights when there was no moon.
"I will take him to Mexico," Kicking Wolf said. "To the Sierra Perdida." "Ah, the Sierra Perdida," Red Badger said. "I don't know if the Texans will follow you that far." "If they try to follow us past the Brazos you can shoot them," Kicking Wolf added. It was a little joke. Red Badger had a repeating rifle of which he was very proud; he cleaned it and rubbed it every night. But Red Badger had weak eyesight; he couldn't hit anything with his rifle. Once he had even missed a buffalo that had been laying down.
Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon Page 12