“Can I ask just one more question?”
“Why not? We’ve got all day.”
“Why are you helpin’ the Rangers?”
“That’s a long story, which goes way back in my people’s history,” Percy said, with a slightly bitter laugh. “I’ll shorten it up for you. Us Tonkawas have always had plenty of enemies we’ve had to deal with. There were the Apaches, Comanches, and Karankawas. The Karankawas were probably the worst. They were a really fierce tribe, and practiced cannibalism. Of course, I have to admit, some of us Tonks did also. We believed if you ate a part of your slain enemy some of his strength, courage, and spirit would be passed on to you.”
Percy looked at Nate and grinned.
“Hey, don’t look at me thataway, Percy,” Nate said.
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t eat your heart or liver… at least not yet,” Percy answered. “You’re still a bit too young to have the warrior’s spirit.”
“That’s a real comforting thought,” Nate said. “You’re just waitin’ for me to fatten up, like a turkey or steer.”
“Then just stay skinny, and you won’t have to worry,” Percy said, with a laugh. “Anyway, to continue, for us to survive, since we were a smaller nation than many of the others, we often were forced to make alliances. We were pushed off the plains and into Texas by the Apache. Luckily for us, we didn’t subsist only on buffalo and other game, although they were our main source of food, clothing, and housing.
“Unlike most Indians, we also eat fish and oysters. But there was a lot of hunger caused us by the Apaches. When the Comanches arrived, we made an alliance with them, against the Apaches. Later, things turned bad between us and the Comanches, so some of our members realigned themselves with the Apaches.
“And while all this was going on, the Spanish arrived. We never had good relations with them. In 1758, we joined the Apaches and some other tribes in destroying their mission at San Saba. Years later, we did reach an uneasy truce with the Spanish. However, we never really had a cordial, trusting relationship with them.”
“So why are you helping whites now, Percy?”
“It all goes back to our need for allies, and for the way the Anglos treated us when they first arrived. We always got along with your people. They helped us fight the Comanches.
“The Rangers, in particular, wiped out what was left of the Karankawas, so we were, of course, grateful for that. We’ve worked with the Rangers since that time. And we remained friends with the whites, even though, in the late 1850s, some of them attacked the reservation Texas set up for us along the Brazos, and killed many Tonkawas. In 1859, those who were left were taken to a reservation up in the Territories.
“During the War, with no soldiers to protect us, we were attacked by a number of other tribes. By then, there were only about three hundred of us left, and about half were killed in the raid. The survivors worked their way back into Texas, and settled just outside Fort Griffin. Quite a few of us now serve as scouts for the United States Cavalry. Others, like myself, ride with the Rangers. However, our numbers are dwindling, and I would expect in the not-too-distant future, the Tonkawa people will disappear, just like the Karankawas and so many other tribes.”
“And yet you still help us. You’re a better man than most, Percy.”
“Not particularly. I just do what I have to do to survive. And speaking of surviving, we’d better stop talkin’ and start lookin’ for some game.”
“All right.”
As they rode along, Percy pointed out different features of the land, as well as plants which could be used for food or medicine. Nate had never realized so many plants, which to him looked mostly like weeds, could provide life-giving fluids, food, or medicine. He’d never have imagined jelly could be made from the fruit of the prickly pear, or a medicinal tea from the manzanilla plant.
“Do you see the thin line of greenery off to the left there, Nate?” Percy asked, some time later. “It’s at the base of that low mesa.”
“Yeah, I do. Is there anything special about it?”
“That means there’s some moisture, probably a spring or even a small waterhole. And where there’s water, there’s usually game to be found. We’ll ride over that way and see what we can scare up.”
“Okay.” They turned their horses off the trail. Different birds and animals scattered before their approach.
“Those fast, skinny birds are roadrunners,” Percy explained. “They run real fast, and like to eat snakes, especially sidewinders. They also eat a lot of bugs. Now, those plump ones hidin’ under that prickly pear are prairie chickens. They’re mighty good eatin’, and I’d ordinarily try to shoot a mess of ’em, but I want to see if we can find an antelope first.”
“You’ve got really good eyes, Percy,” Nate said. “I didn’t see those until you pointed ’em out.”
“It’s just a matter of training your mind, and eyes, to observe everythin’ around you.”
“What the devil is that?” Nate exclaimed, pointing at an ungainly, armored animal which emerged from the brush and crossed in front of them.
“That? That critter’s an armadillo. It ain’t good for much, except diggin’ up termite and ant hills. And mebbe for a laugh.”
“A lotta the critters out here are pretty strange-lookin’,” Nate said. “Even the rabbits.”
Several jackrabbits had burst from the brush and scattered in front of their horses. However, one remained frozen in place, about sixty or seventy feet ahead.
“Nate, that fella’s just askin’ to be our dinner,” Percy said. “You want to try for your first game kill? Move slow and easy, and don’t make a sound, or you’ll spook him.”
Nate hesitated, then slowly lifted his gun from its holster. He took careful aim at the rabbit’s head, thumbed back the hammer, and pulled the trigger. His shot took the rabbit cleanly, right between its long ears.
“Good shot, Nate!” Percy said. “We’ll clean and cook him, once we get under those trees.”
They rode up to the dead rabbit. Nate began to dismount to retrieve it, when a distinctive buzzing came to his ear. Big Red reared, nearly throwing his rider. Percy yanked out his pistol and fired one shot. The bullet took off the head of a four-foot long diamondback rattlesnake. Red stood, snorting and quivering. Sweat broke out on Nate’s brow, and he felt shaky inside.
“Well, now we know what had the rabbit mesmerized, Nate,” Percy said, as he punched the empty cartridge from his gun, replaced it, and slid the gun back in its holster. “He was about to be that snake’s meal, instead of ours. Well, we eat even better, pardner. You get the rabbit, while I get the snake.”
“We’re gonna eat snake?” Nate asked.
“Sure. It’s good eatin’. And sometimes it’s the only eatin’.”
“Long as you say so.”
They dismounted, retrieved the carcasses, then remounted and finished riding the rest of the way to the mesa’s base. What Percy had described as trees were mainly scrub willow, mesquite, and stunted cottonwoods, surrounding a decent-sized waterhole.
“See those willows? You can use their bark for tea, or make up a poultice with it. They’re good for easin’ pain. Well, there’s no game here, but at least there’s wood for a fire, and fresh water,” Percy said. “We’ll let our horses drink, then you gather some wood and start the fire while I gut and spit these animals.”
“All right.
There were plenty of dead branches lying on the ground, so it only took Nate a few minutes to gather enough for a good sized blaze. Percy waited to clean the rabbit and snake until he could show Nate how that was done. In a short while, the meat was skewered on a spit and roasting over the fire, grease crackling and flaring when it dripped into the flames. Soon, Percy was pulling chunks of meat off the spit.
“You want to try rabbit or snake first, Nate?”
“I’m gonna hold my nose and try the snake.”
“Good for you.” Percy passed a piece of the diamondback to him. Nate hesitated, t
hen shoved it in his mouth. The meat was tough and chewy, but palatable.
“It tastes like…” he began.
“Don’t tell me. Chicken,” Percy said.
“Nope. It tastes like snake.”
“Well, at least the rabbit will taste like rabbit.”
Eager to get on the trail again, they made short work of the meager meal. The fire was put out, the cinches retightened on the horses and the bridles put back in place. They were getting ready to remount when Wind Runner lifted his head, pricked his ears sharply forward, sniffed the air, and snorted.
“Riders comin’,” Percy said. “We’d best see who it is. You stay here, Nate, and keep the horses quiet. Can’t chance them callin’ to those other cayuses and givin’ us away. I’ll take a look.”
“All right.” Nate took the horses’ reins and clamped his hands over their muzzles, while Percy dropped to his belly and crawled into the brush, moving almost silently. He reappeared only a few minutes later.
“Comanches!” he whispered. “Must be a bunch who jumped the reservation. There’s six of ’em, and they’re headed for the water, right at us. We’ve gotta be ready for ’em.”
“You think mebbe they won’t spot us?” Nate asked.
“They’re Comanches. They already know we’re here. We’ll have to fight them off.”
Nate’s blood ran cold, and a lump rose in his throat. A solid block of ice seemed to settle in his stomach. For one brief moment, his mind flashed back to when his friends in Delaware had heard he was moving to Texas. All they could talk about was he’d have the chance to fight Indians, and how much excitement that would be.
Well, right now, he fervently wished he could trade places with his friends. They could have the excitement and danger—as well as the lance, which would most likely puncture his gut, before this day was done.
“Nate?” Percy’s voice, low and anxious, snapped him back to the present.
“Yeah, Percy?”
“There’s quite a few boulders scattered at the base of the mesa. Our only chance is to hole up behind ’em. They’ll provide decent cover, and with any luck we can hold off the Comanch’ until the rest of the men catch up to us.”
“We rode off the trail, remember?”
“Yeah, but you can be certain the boys will see our horses’ hoof prints. Not to mention, they’ll hear the gunfire and see the powder smoke. Now let’s get movin’. We don’t have much time. Let’s just hope there’s no quicksand on the other side of this waterhole to bog us down. Let’s go. And don’t worry about bein’ seen. They might know we’re here, but those Comanch’ won’t be expectin’ us to make a move, not quite yet. Just stay low over your horse until we get behind those rocks.”
“Okay, Percy. You’ve fought Indians, and I haven’t, so I’ll do whatever you say.”
“You mean other Indians,” Percy said, grinning. “Don’t forget, I’m also an Indian. Let’s move, now!”
The two Rangers sprang into their saddles, drummed their heels into their horses’ ribs, and sent them splashing through the water and across the muddy ground on the opposite side.
Big Red stumbled in the middle of the muck and nearly went down, but Nate’s firm hand on the reins pulled his head back up, steadied him, and got him moving again.
Behind them, the Comanches, seeing their prey, whooped and hollered, and sent a few rifle shots in their direction.
Nate and Percy raced their horses into the shelter of the rocks, grabbed their rifles from their boots and spare ammunition from their saddlebags, and led the mounts behind the largest of the rocks, where they would be safe from any bullets or arrows, except a chance ricochet. Nate and Percy bellied down behind adjacent rocks.
“How do you think they’ll come after us, Percy?” Nate asked.
“Dunno for certain. We’re in pretty good shape here. They might try to circle around, but there’s not all that much room for ’em to maneuver. They could try to wait us out, or hold out until dark when they can sneak up on us. But I’d imagine they’ll try to rush us, at least once. When they do, be ready for ’em. Don’t fire too quick, though. Make sure you have a good target. We can’t waste any bullets. If we can get two of three of those Comanch’, the others might decide it ain’t worth comin’ after us.”
The minutes ticked slowly by, five, ten, fifteen. Nate pulled off his Stetson, wiped sweat from his brow, ran a hand through his soaked hair, and set the hat back in place.
“When’re they gonna make their move?”
“That’s part of their plan. They’re waitin’, hopin’ to see if we break first. Just hold on a few more minutes, Nate. They’ll be attackin’ any time now.”
Nate’s heart was pounding, his every muscle tense. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt, made dark circles under his arms, and trickled down his chest. Biting flies and other insects tormented him. When he raised up, just for a moment, to slap at one, a bullet smacked into his sheltering rock, just below him, then ricocheted away.
“You’d better stay down, no matter how much those bugs bother you, Nate,” Percy cautioned. “A bullet bites a lot harder’n any horse fly or skeeter.”
Nate nodded a silent reply, then settled back to wait. He had his rifle laying on the top of his boulder, ready to shoot the minute an Indian came into range. Just when he thought he could bear the tension no more, they came, galloping their horses out of the brush and through the water, whooping and hollering.
“Let ’em get a bit closer, Nate,” Percy urged. “Now!”
He and Nate fired at the same moment. Two of the Indians went down, knocked off their horses and into the water with bullets in their chests. They levered and fired again. Blood spurted from a third Indian’s stomach, where Percy’s shot hit him. Nate’s bullet hit low, striking the ground in front of his target’s horse.
All four of the remaining Comanches, the wounded man slumped over his horse’s neck, spun their mounts and raced back into the brush. Percy and Nate hastily reloaded their rifles.
“Think they turned tail and ran?” Nate asked.
“Comanches? Not a chance,” Percy answered. “They’ll be back. Now, it’s also a matter of pride, since we killed two of their companions, probably three. That means they have to kill us, to save face. And hey, aim a little higher, will ya? You’ve got to remember the farther a bullet travels, the more it drops. That’s why your last shot missed so badly.”
“All right,” Nate said. “Sure wish I had my canteen. I’m dyin’ of thirst.”
“You chance goin’ after it and you’ll be dyin’ from a bullet or arrow in your back, instead,” Percy pointed out. “You’ll just have to make the best of it. Put a pebble in your mouth if it’s so dry. That’ll help some.”
“You sure? All right, I’ll try it.” Nate picked up a pebble lying at his feet, rubbed it clean on his shirtsleeve, then popped it in his mouth. To his surprise, it did slake his thirst, at least a bit.
For close to an hour, the two sides maintained a standoff. Having lost three of their number, at least two of them dead, the Comanches were wary, realizing a full frontal charge would be futile. Nate and Percy were effectively pinned down.
The one time Percy attempted to shift position, a bullet and arrow which came far too close for comfort convinced him he’d be hugging that boulder until the fight was over, one way or the other.
“I sure hope Cap’n Quincy and the men find us soon,” Nate said.
“So do I,” Percy answered. “I kinda figured they’d be here by now. And these hombres have gotten awful quiet, even for Comanches. I figure they’re up to somethin’. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“All right.” Nate didn’t need to tell Percy how hard it was to keep his eyes peeled. Between the blinding sun reflecting off the ochre hued rocks, the sweat dripping into his eyes, and the strain of staring across the waterhole, searching for their enemies, he was constantly fighting to keep his vision from blurring. He’d just run the back of a hand across his eyes to clear them yet again
when Percy shouted a warning.
“Here they come, Nate!” A bullet ricocheted away from the cliff behind Nate, and an arrow bounced off the rock in front of him. Patiently, the Comanches had worked their way around the waterhole, and were now attacking from each side.
Nate emptied his rifle at the two men racing at him, their zigzagging paths, ducking and rolling making them almost impossible to hit.
He yanked out his American just before the two reached him, and fired. Blood blossomed on one Indian’s chest, and he tumbled to the ground. The other lunged for Nate, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him onto his back, knocking the pistol out of his grasp.
Both sprang to their feet, the Comanche with a knife in his hand. He swung the razor-sharp weapon at Nate, who sidestepped just enough to avoid the fearsome blade being sunk deep into his gut.
Instinctively, he reached for his own knife, and pulled the heavy Bowie from its sheath. The Comanche glared at him, his dark eyes glittering with hate. He began waving his knife, muttering in the guttural Comanche tongue.
As the Comanche waved his knife, circling and stalking, Nate forgot everything Hoot had taught him about knife fighting. Instead of maneuvering, trying to circle and dodge the Comanche’s weapon, he froze. Stock-still, he stared at the Indian’s bone knife, the blade almost white as new-fallen snow, his nerves tight, unable to make his muscles follow his brain’s commands.
He barely reacted in time when the Indian lunged at him. Somehow, he twisted just enough so the Comanche’s blade slid along one of his ribs. As it did, Nate brought his knife up and into the Comanche’s belly. He was surprised at how easily the Bowie’s thick blade sliced through flesh and muscle, to bury itself to the hilt.
Hot blood splattered over Nate’s hand. As the Indian fell, Nate dropped to his hands and knees and vomited. He turned at the sound of one final gunshot. The Comanche who had gone after Percy lay crumpled at his feet.
“Nate! You all right?” Percy asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just kinda sick to my stomach, is all. How about you?”
“I’m fine. Looks like we get to keep our scalps another day, pardner. But you’re hurt more’n just a queasy belly. Better let me take a look at you.”
Lone Star Ranger #3 Page 7