by Ron Schwab
"You speak like someone who has had military experience."
"Major. First Cherokee Brigade, Confederate Army."
"I see. I don't know what the hell you're doing here . . . pardon me, Miss Rivers . . . but it doesn't matter, I guess. What do you suggest?"
"Stay put. You've got water to wait out a siege, although that's unlikely since they'll want to move on quickly. More important, you have time to fortify a position. The ground is a little higher here, and you've got a rocky terrain. I'd circle the springs with nine or ten stone fortifications that would provide cover for four or five men each. There are some dead cottonwoods that could be drug over to provide more cover. Stake the horses outside the ring so they aren't in the direct line of fire, but put extra men near the mounts because the Comanche would like to make off with the animals."
"You make sense. I'll take your advice." He turned back toward the camp and yelled, "Sergeant Riley, on the double."
Tabitha gained new respect for Sean Kelly at that moment. It took an exceptional young officer to heed the counsel of another--especially a civilian scout--in devising critical military strategy at a moment of crisis. Soldiers would not die needlessly because of Lieutenant Kelly's ego.
White Wolf spoke again. "With the Lieutenant's permission, Rattlesnake and I will head out and scout out the enemy's location and numbers. I hope we can report back that your preparations have been unnecessary and that we can proceed to Adobe Walls as ordered."
"Permission granted."
Tabitha didn't think the Lieutenant had even noticed that White Wolf wrestled the Comanche prisoner back on the horse and led the animal out of the camp as he and Rattlesnake rode out. She hoped White Wolf would turn the Indian loose and send him on his way to the reservation. She knew, also, she would never ask.
22
The soldiers worked feverishly, rolling and pushing stones into small barricades rising no more than three feet from the rock-littered earth. Tabitha helped with the staking of the horses, which at the Lieutenant's order were kept saddled. Whether this was for possible escape or readiness for some suicidal charge, she had no idea.
The reality of the situation suddenly struck her. She was no longer a writer observing and reporting a story. She was a part of the story, and she might never live to write it. She remembered her dueling verses with Sean yesterday afternoon and recalled more lines from Tennyson's "The Charge of the Light Brigade": Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell rode the six hundred. Was this his mouth of hell? She had seen firsthand Comanche handiwork. She could not imagine a hell worse than what had been rendered at those scenes of savagery. She had known fear in her life, but on other occasions it had been suddenly thrust upon her, and she had only to react. The angst of waiting for the unknown was far worse.
Soldiers were beginning to move into the placements with their rifles and other weaponry as Tabitha left the remuda. Lieutenant Kelly approached her, his face glum. "I am sending a courier to inform Colonel Miles of our situation. I can spare two more men. I would like you to ride with them. It's a much safer option, and I know you and Smokey can outride them."
"No," she said flatly, thinking as the word came out that she was a fool.
"I can order you."
"Yes, but you can't make me obey. I'm not leaving."
Lieutenant Kelly shrugged and walked away.
Tabitha found her Winchester and bag of ammunition, snatched up her canteen, and slipped behind a barricade with Sergeant Riley and two young privates. "Can you use another gun here?" she asked. The portly, gray-haired Riley looked at her questioningly and then smiled. "Yes, ma'am. Make yourself at home. Can you shoot as well as you ride?"
"Better."
"Then you're more than welcome here."
More than an hour of eerie silence dragged by. Other than the occasional whinny of a horse, not a sound broke the night air. The tension seemed contagious, each man's anxiety and nervousness feeding off of his comrades. A sliver of sunlight pressed above the western horizon, and at that moment, the sound of hoof beats alerted the encampment. One rider, Tabitha decided, racing toward the soldiers. As the horse neared, she could tell it was Rattlesnake from his low set in the saddle.
The Tonkawa reined in his horse and slipped onto the ground in what seemed a single motion. The lieutenant paced deliberately out to meet him. They were beyond easy earshot, but their hands were animated, and Rattlesnake was obviously excited. Soon the grim-faced lieutenant returned to his troops, while the Tonkawa led the exhausted horse away.
"They'll be here in an hour or less," Kelly announced. "Rattlesnake says there could be as many as a hundred Comanche. Just remember they probably don't have as many rifles as we do, and very few will have the marksmanship skills with the guns. Don't fire until you hear the order. Those who carry Sharps will fire on the first command. You have a longer range. Other rifles will commence firing on the second order. Don't waste your ammunition. Rattlesnake says they will try to run us over and swarm in for hand to hand. If we can stop that, we can wear them down. At some point we can make their losses unacceptable. They've already been in one battle. These warriors are not fresh."
The Comanche still outnumbered them two to one, Tabitha thought. And the fact they had fewer rifles mattered only a little. Comanche arrows would be true, and in hand to hand combat, the war clubs and axes would be unlike anything these young soldiers had ever encountered. Sean, with the exception of a few sergeants and corporals, was not commanding battle-hardened soldiers.
A half hour later, White Wolf appeared like an apparition out of the hazy dawn and led his speckled Appaloosa into the middle of the fortifications. "They are here," he said. "You cannot see them, but they have arrived."
As if on cue, lines of Comanche appeared silently on the north and eastern horizons. To Tabitha's eye, the lines were endless, and it seemed there were thousands, but she knew her imagination was just taking hold. She felt at once a lump of terror in her throat and regret she had not learned the growing art of photography that would have allowed her to capture this frightening and magnificent scene. If she somehow lived through this day, she vowed to add that skill to her journalistic repertoire.
She heard White Wolf discussing the battle plan with Sean, who seemed amazingly calm and collected for his first time under enemy attack. The lieutenant then ordered that half the soldiers at each battle station move with the thrust of the enemy to barricades to assist with the points of direct attack until the troops were fully encircled, as would probably eventually be the case. At that point the designated swing men were to resume their original stations.
Suddenly, the Comanche moved forward in waves, their horses becoming a thundering herd that nearly drowned out the whoops and battle cries of the skilled riders. Tabitha felt like she was the only target of the onslaught and that the attackers were aimed at her position. Momentarily, three more soldiers squeezed behind the barricade, barely leaving room to maneuver the rifles. She could see the faces of some of the Comanche now, fearsome and almost grotesque behind the masks of war paint.
"Fire!" came the lieutenant's order from somewhere behind her. The rifles roared almost in unison, and a half dozen Comanche tumbled from their horses. Several horses went down with their riders. But the Indians swept forward. Tabitha felt they were almost upon her and was impatient to fire her own rifle. What was Sean waiting for?
"Fire at will!"
Tabitha squeezed the trigger. Her first shot missed, but the second struck an attacker's neck and she could see instant eruption of blood before he slumped off the horse. Her first kill, and it left her unfazed. Her angst evaporated, and now her concentration focused on the next target, and the next.
The Comanche were taking heavy casualties, and dead and wounded warriors and horses littered the ground. Suddenly, the wave split and the riders broke off to right and left, thinning their ranks, and, as predicted, encircling the defenders. The attackers moved out of gunfire range, and some, who were eviden
tly chiefs of some kind, rode back and forth, speaking with each other and then returning to others, waving their arms and signaling something. During the lull in the fighting, two of the soldiers left the barricade and returned to their own stations. Only then did she notice the unmoving soldier crumpled on the ground beside her. The side of his face had been smashed by a bullet and was painted scarlet with blood. He had also taken an arrow in the throat. He had died soundlessly in the heat of battle no more than two feet from her placement, and she had not even known.
Sergeant Riley lumbered to his feet, grabbed the private's feet and dragged him to the center of the camp, where other dead and wounded lay. By Tabitha's count, there were at least six dead and that many more wounded. There was no surgeon with the company, and several untrained troopers had been assigned to tend the injured. Her first instinct was to move to assist with the wounded, but a fresh assault by the Comanche pulled her back to her firing position. She sensed someone moving in beside her and filling the void left by the dead soldier. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she saw it was White Wolf. Neither spoke as they waited for the Comanche to near and then began to fire their rifles.
Comanche continued to fall but so did troopers. The Comanche would charge toward the embattled company and then abruptly wheel away. Tabitha noted that with each attack the warriors inched closer until now they were as near as twenty-five feet distant. Then some of the presumed dead or wounded Comanche began to rise from the ground and race forward with lances or war clubs upraised. Several had invaded the circle of defense now and were engaged in the dreaded hand to hand. While she was reloading, a near-naked warrior leaped over the stone fortification and arced his axe down toward her skull. As she raised her gun to ward off the blow, a knife blade sunk under the Comanche's ribcage, and he fell backward with White Wolf on top of him. White Wolf yanked back the knife and sliced the blade across the warrior's throat for good measure and, just as quickly, returned to his firing position.
The Comanche seemed to be pulling back some when Tabitha caught sight of warriors dragging two hapless young troopers by their hair and arms away from the camp. She fired repeatedly at two of the warriors who had captured one soldier and took them down, allowing him to crawl away under cover of fire. The other soldier was being carried away now by a half dozen warriors to others with awaiting horses. Seemingly out of nowhere, Lieutenant Kelly erupted and gave chase with his Army Colt blazing. Several soldiers fell in behind him, and the encampment's fire turned on the captors, who dropped the soldier and leaped on their horses. But in a final taunt, a tall muscular warrior heaved his lance as the enraged lieutenant closed in, and it drove true, entering Sean Kelly's chest and the point burrowing out between his shoulder blades.
The Comanche were withdrawing, at least temporarily, and soldiers instantly raced to the battlefield and retrieved their wounded commanding officer. White Wolf joined them as they moved the lieutenant into the defense circle. The scout broke off the long shaft of the lance and cut off the point that erupted through the back, making it easier to maneuver the wounded officer's body. Tabitha moved to his side and could see his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. It was a mortal wound, and she could only offer comfort during his final moments. She scooted next to him and lifted his head so it rested on her lap. His eyes opened and he blinked,
"Tabby, is that you?"
She caressed his cheek softly. "It is, Sean. Just rest now."
"You're beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever known."
"Thank you, Sean," she said, knowing that with her dust- and blood-caked face, she was far from his vision of her. "And you are the most handsome man I've ever known."
He smiled and closed his eyes, and his breaths became shallow before they faded away to nothing. She held him for some minutes after he was gone, making no attempt to hide the rivulets of tears that rolled down her cheeks. She released him only when Sergeant Riley's gravelly voice warned, "The Comanche are coming. Back to your positions."
"Sergeant, I'd tell your men not to fire," White Wolf interjected. "They're returning for their dead and wounded. If we let them do this in peace, I think they'll call it quits and move on."
"I guess we got nothing to lose." He called to the troops, "Hold your fire."
Riley even ordered three dead Comanche within the circle carried out to their tribesmen and placed on the ground. The Indians watched with suspicious eyes until the soldiers retreated. When all of the dead had been slung over horses and the wounded mounted or placed on travois to be dragged away behind horses, the Comanche moved out silently. And as White Wolf had speculated, the battle was over.
Sergeant Riley, as the senior sergeant, took command. There were now twelve dead to be buried and that many more wounded who required medical assistance. He decided that the remnants of Company B should move south and rejoin the Miles column. Tabitha insisted she must go on to Adobe Walls. She tried to convince the Sergeant that if several troopers joined her, they would be able to evaluate the situation there and report back to Miles, thus still completing the original mission. After heated argument, the Sergeant gave in and ordered two troopers and White Wolf to accompany Tabitha to Adobe Walls and to join the main column "damn fast."
23
It was pitch black outside when Josh arrived at the Rivers and Sinclair offices. There was only a sliver of moon in the sky, and a rare cloud cover obscured most of the stars. There was a light in the waiting room as well as his personal office, so Linda, always a step ahead, must have lighted the new kerosene lamps before she came to fetch him at the ballet performance. Jess would be pissed when she learned of his early departure, and she would be suspicious of any excuse, but when he explained, she would grant him absolution, he was confident. Besides, the performance was a splendid success, and she would be consumed the next four days with the encore presentations.
When he entered his office, Clayborne Pierce stood and extended his hand. Josh accepted warily. The man had obviously not shaved for days, and he looked haggard and wasted. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty. This was not the dandy Josh had met more than a month before in Santa Fe.
"You said it was urgent that you see me."
"It's about the search for your son." He pulled a small leather bag from his coat pocket and handed it to Josh. "I'm refunding your payment. I can't help you."
"I think I'm due an explanation. Come on into my office."
Josh led the way to his private office and sat down in the chair at his desk, gesturing with his hand that Pierce should take the chair across from him. "Now tell me what this is all about."
"Offers for ransom are clearly not being considered for your son, Michael."
"You located him?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know where he's living at this particular moment, but I know who he's with."
"Get to the point, Pierce. Who is he supposedly with?"
"Quanah's band of Kwahadi."
Josh was stunned at the statement. "That can't be."
"Screeching Owl and I rode out to Palo Duro Canyon country, and I camped there while my Tonk colleague went out to search out his Comanche friend. Before he left, he told me that his contact was Kwahadi and that the man had assured him Michael was being raised in Quanah's band. He said there was a scar on the boy's arm. He may or may not have obtained it during his captivity."
"His left arm, just above the elbow. He pulled over a kerosene lantern when he was just starting to walk, and it shattered on the floor. He stumbled and fell on the glass. He had three or four cuts, but the arm wound was particularly nasty. My mother had to do serious stitching."
"Green-tinted brown eyes and rust-brown hair. Sound familiar?"
"My own. My God. It must be Michael." He suddenly felt deeply betrayed. By Quanah and by She Who Speaks. And he was working for these people. Taking Quanah's gold. They had to know, and they had lied to him by deception and silence, if nothin
g else. "You knew these things and didn't feel obligated to tell me?"
"If I had told you, it would have accomplished nothing. You would have pressed for more. I didn't know which band had him, because, as I explained, Screeching Owl was instructed not to tell me before I met with our clients. He informed me before he left to make the contact. That was the first I knew of the location."
"So you know where he's at, or who he's with. I don't understand why you're returning your fee."
"I can't help you. The boy cannot be ransomed."
"I don't understand. Why not?"
"I received a message."
"What kind of message?"
"Screeching Owl finally returned to my camp. He had found his Comanche friend, but some other Comanche discovered them both. They were both tortured. One of Owl's eyes was burned out with hot coals, leaving most of the right side of his face a mass of red, swollen pus-oozing wounds. They cut out his tongue as well. He signed that his Comanche contact had been killed. Owl was released to inform me that I would meet an even worse fate if I attempted to contact them about the boy again. Screeching Owl rode out the next morning to go back to his people on the reservation. He was a friend, and I regret the terrible things that happened to him. I think it is time for me to seek out another line of work. The last of the Comanche will be coming in soon anyway. And their captives will be with them. Sorting them out will be a nasty business."
Josh pushed the leather bag of coins back across the table. "You earned this. Our deal was that you would tell me the location if you couldn't accomplish the ransom. And you were to keep the initial payment. You've done that part, and I thank you for it. I'm sorry about your partner. Your information helps me more than you could know."
The two men stood and shook hands. "You're an honorable man, Mr. Rivers. I hope you can recover Michael."