North to the Salt Fork Page 6

  “Good question. I guess we start by asking trading folks and Comancheros where we can find any. Someone will know or will have seen the two white women in a Comanche camp.”

  “That could take forever,” Craig said, disheartened.

  Jack looked him in the eye. “These deals usually do take forever. But this is our mission. You need to get back?”

  Craig shook his head, a little ashamed. “Not yet.”

  “Good. I need you as long as you can stay.”

  “Oh, I ain’t running out on you, Captain.”

  There was no need for more words between them. Jack understood the man’s concern and disappointment. But a big rain was just one inconvenience in this search. There’d be others. Maybe worse ones.

  After a restless night the crew made ready to continue on their journey the next morning. With Jangles singing “Ole Dan Tucker,” they rode out. The rising sun promised to steam out their wet clothing, but the water holes were full and the rainwater had not turned to alkaline. It was easier to swallow and better for their ponies.

  A feeling came over Jack as he rode across the great cap rock: They must be the only people out there. Sure, there may be a coyote, some jackrabbits, prairie dogs, burrowing owls and a few ravens circling above. But there wasn’t another soul to be found.

  Riding in the lead, Cotton pointed at a small, dirty piece of cloth in the mud. He launched off his horse and waved it in the air. “It could be part of a dress.”

  They all dismounted, careful not to disturb a thing, and began to search. They detected some barefoot pony tracks near the scrap.

  “Could these be their tracks?” Craig asked.

  Jack nodded.

  “You think we have their trail again?” Arnold asked Jack.

  “It looks that way. Craig, you ride ahead and stay off this trail to the side if you can and look for more signs. We may have stumbled on to something good.” His hopes up, he swung back in the saddle, waving the boys out of the creosote brush.

  Staring hard at the trail, the rancher nodded. “I think we’ve found ’em.”

  If an echo could be produced in that vast country, it would have been from Jack’s shouts of “Hallelujah, yah!”

  Chapter 8

  Jack thought he could see a square gray object far to the west, but his vision came and went, blurred by the rising afternoon heat waves. It looked to be about ten miles away. They rode on. He hoped to be able to distinguish it, but the distance seemed to stretch on. The closer he came the more his curiosity was aroused. Soon the boys noticed the object as well.

  “What is that thing out there?” Cotton asked, riding in close to point it out to Jack.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been watching it for an hour,” Jack said.

  “It ain’t ordinary desert stuff.”

  Jack agreed.

  “It’s a canvas shade,” Jangles said.

  “What’s it doing out here?” Cotton asked.

  “Be gawdamned if I know.” Jangles shrugged. “But that’s what it is, boys.”

  When they drew closer, they could hear someone wailing. Jack told them to stay back in case it was a trick. He’d go up there and check out what it could be. He gave a spur to Mac’s side and short-loped him up the grade to where the ends of a crude tent made of canvas, suspended between short mesquites, flapped in the strong wind. When he swung off the saddle and onto the hillside he held the .45 in his fist.

  Climbing the steep grade, he caught the flap and lowered his head to enter. The sunshine’s yellow light shone through the material on a half-naked white woman seated on a rag of a blanket and pleading with the gods, “Bring my baby back. Oh, please bring her to me.”

  Shocked by his find, Jack holstered his gun and backed out. “Craig,” he shouted. “Cut a hole in a blanket so we can use it for a dress. I think it’s the Lerner woman we’ve found. But she’s mostly naked.”

  “I know what Mrs. Lerner looks like,” Cotton said.

  “Wait till I get her dressed. I’m afraid she’s lost her mind as well as her clothing.” He shook his head, feeling more nauseated by the moment. If only they could have come on faster. But the Comanche probably would’ve killed her if they’d closed in. Craig delivered the blanket, a hole cut for Mrs. Lerner’s head in poncho style. After taking a deep breath Jack went back into the flopping shelter and crawled on the ground toward her. When he rose to put the blanket over her head he heard a dry rattle. Throwing his body aside, he whipped out his .45 and pointed the gun at the viper ready to strike.

  He managed to get a shot off, then kicked away another rattler, stomping it with his boot heel. The place was alive with them; she was the bait. Get out! Get out! he silently screamed as he dove out of the shelter, hit the ground and rolled almost to Mac’s front hooves.

  Their guns drawn, his rangers scrambled uphill to join him.

  “What the hell—gawdamn rattlesnakes!” Jangles swore at the sight of one slithering out of the tent. The rangers stood on their toes and quickly scanned the ground for more.

  The canvas flopped. The snakes rattled and the wind blew stronger. Mrs. Lerner cried for her baby. The child that Jack knew his men had buried the day before.

  Soon a thick sidewinder came slithering out from under the tent’s hem, intent on escaping to some lesser place that was shady and cooler than the tent. Arnold blew its triangular head off when it stopped to use its forked tongue to sense the direction of the heat.

  While the headless back section roiled on the ground in death’s arms, Jangles pointed out the long leather thong tied on his beaded tail. “They had them staked out for you, didn’t they?”

  Jack nodded in silent agreement, still recovering from the shock of his discovery.

  Using his rifle butt to stomp them, Cotton held the tent back and Jangles smashed two of their heads in. Another rushed off to the back and was gone before the cautious boys could raise the roof high enough. Arnold used a big rock raised high over his head to dispatch another.

  Jack dressed the numb woman in the blanket. It made no difference if the boys saw her full breasts weeping milk and smudged in dirt. There were dried muddy hand-prints on her bare shoulders and body. But soon she was clothed in the blanket and Jack swept her up in his arms to carry her out.

  “No! No!” She began pounding him with her hands. “Give me back my baby!”

  Dodging her fists and flailing arms as best he could, he sat her down by the horses and told her to stay there, but she jumped up and tried to flee. Jack ran her down, caught her arm and brought her back. He knew she was out of her mind, lost in such terrific grief and stunned by the torture. But if she didn’t settle down he might be forced to handcuff her with the pair that he’d finally taken off his other wrist the night before. If only she’d listen—but it looked doubtful that he could even reach her.

  “Do you think that one of those rattlers bit her?” Cotton asked, joining him.

  “I don’t think so. She’d be showing signs by now.” He sure didn’t intend to inspect her inch by inch. Even if he did, how would he be able to see two tooth punctures on her scratched, bruised skin anyway? She looked like she’d been dragged through a thicket of rosebushes or briar brambles.

  “They certainly could’ve,” Cotton said, eyeing the battered woman apprehensively.

  “I guess you’re wondering what we do next, huh?”

  Cotton nodded as the others joined him.

  “Guys, I’d give a good month’s wages to find the redskin feller who set that trap. He ain’t your ordinary red buck, but I’m afraid we need to send Mrs. Lerner home. That might be why he set the trap—to steer us away from him.” He dropped his gaze to the dirt, then began giving commands. “I’ll take two rangers with me. Craig, you and whoever stays behind can surely get her back to her people. The three of us’ll ride two days farther after the Comanches and see if we can find her other daughter, Mandy. If we don’t hook up with them by then we’ll turn around and return home.”

  “W
e knew you was concerned about them state police,” Craig said. “But we’re all going to help you whip that deal when you get back.”

  “That’s fine . . . I’m lost as to who even thought I was in San Antonio that summer.”

  “There’s plenty of sons of Texas will stand with you on that one.”

  The others nodded.

  “I want no trouble with them. Right or wrong, they’re the law now.” Somehow he had to reinforce in these boys’ minds how those worthless jerks were law in their state, even over the rangers.

  “Wait! Wait,” Jangles said, as Mrs. Lerner struggled up to her feet and started to try to run away. Jangles caught her by the waist and dragged her back.

  “You may have to tie her on a horse.” Jack shook his head in defeat. “Let’s cook a good and hearty meal. Then we can sleep and split up in the morning.”

  They tied her hands behind her back and left her crying and wailing on a blanket while they scrounged up some fuel to cook with. She looked pitiful, her red-eyed, tear-stained and dirty face badly sunburned and her hair plastered to her head.

  The image of her battered body wouldn’t soon leave Jack’s thoughts. Another reason he wanted those damn Comanches in his gun’s sights.

  She refused to eat, so they left her tied up and moaning and went down the draw to spoon up their bacon and beans in glum silence. After dinner they decided that Arnold would go back with Craig in the morning. Cotton and Jangles were the best shots and the most experienced—the choice wasn’t hard.

  They parted before sunup. Craig cleared one of the packhorses of its burden for Arnold. They led Mrs. Lerner, mounted and with her hands tied to the horn of his horse’s saddle. In the weak, predawn light everyone shook hands and the two groups separated.

  Jack’s crew made little progress and he started to get the feeling they would never find the Comanches. But late the next day they found warm ashes where the Comanches had eaten part of a horse they’d killed or lost. Running off the buzzards, Jack used his knife to take out a portion of the flank for them to cook. The meat wasn’t hurt and only hours before the war party had feasted on it, so it wasn’t decayed.

  “If I wasn’t so damn hungry for some meat, I’d never eat it,” Cotton said, looking glumly at the strip of bloody meat.

  “Forget it. Meat’s meat in this case,” Jack said.

  Roasted over a fire of dry mesquite wood, the horse meat tasted like corn-fed filet of beef. Maybe a little tougher, but they ate lots of it. Everyone went to bed full and content.

  They ate more of the cooked meat in the morning before they set out. Jack hurried them onward, knowing this would be the decisive day. If they found nothing, they’d turn back for home. All day they pushed their horses hard, and in the late afternoon Jack saw some color moving ahead. Spotted horses could be seen from miles away. As the rangers pushed their own tired horses closer in a hard trot, the animals became clearer through the distorted heat waves.

  “That’s them, ain’t it?” Cotton asked.

  Jack nodded.

  “Come back here, you red bastards,” Jangles shouted, riding in beside him.

  “Will they fight us?” Cotton asked.

  “They say they’ll fight a buzz saw.”

  “We ain’t exactly a buzz saw,” Jangles said.

  “But we can fight like one, can’t we?” Jack asked.

  “I reckon we can. If they’ll hole up we’ll damn sure show them,” Jangles said with a whoop.

  “I doubt they’ll stop and fight,” Cotton said.

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  “Why should they? They’ve got the girl, the horses they stole and the other things they took.”

  “I’m counting on one thing,” Jack said. “That bastard leader’s pride. He thinks he’s so damn smart, setting snake traps for us and all. He’s thinking that if he don’t show them young bucks how he can ass-whip three rangers, then he might not get as big a following on the next hunt.”

  “You’ve been thinking on this a lot, haven’t you?” Cotton asked, reining in his bay beside him.

  “A whole lot.” Jack set Mac off on a long lope. They rode three abreast through the greasewood brush, polishing their boot toes and the bottoms of their bull-hide chaps on the brush tops. Their spur rowels rang like distant church bells. Jaws set, eyes firmly locked in hard stares, they breathed hard and let the pungent desert smells fill their nostrils. The dark skin on their faces was drawn taut by the eternal wind and baking sun. Their hat brims were pulled down enough to cut off the sun’s lower glare.

  Jack thought, Three Texas rangers are coming after you, Injuns. And we’re going to nail your red hides to the shithouse wall. . . .

  Chapter 9

  “They’re coming back for us!” Jangles shouted, and cocked his Spencer rifle. The three of them lay on their bellies, surrounded by loaded tubes and cartridge boxes. Each was faced in a different direction to prepare for a Comanche attack from all sides.

  Jack could hear the shouting and coyotelike yipping of the war party out of sight in the brush as they tried to gather their courage for a second attempt. They had attacked first, but the rangers had left two dead warriors, while they remained unharmed. Jack knew the leader himself would be back this time, so they chose to hunker down in a dried-up lake to defend themselves. The horses were ground tied in the center and, he hoped, low enough to avoid getting shot. Even if they whipped the Comanches, he and the boys had to get out of there—and that, of course, would require horses.

  “You reckon they’ve killed that Lerner girl?” Jangles asked, lying on his side and holding his rifle in both hands.

  “How would I know?” Cotton said.

  “Easy, guys. We’ve got Injuns to fight,” Jack said to ward off any cross words.

  “How many of them are left?” Cotton asked, rising but seeing little more than the tops of greasewood trees flagging in the wind.

  “Several,” Jangles said.

  “Less than there were before,” Jack said. “Unless their leader is a strategist, he can’t whip us.”

  “What in the hell is a strategist?” Jangles asked.

  “A military man who knows the rules of warfare.”

  “Oh hell, here they come—” Jangles exclaimed.

  The sound of the Comanche screams pierced Jack’s ears. He rose and took aim with his new Henry rifle. The leader, a full war-bonnet rider dressed in black on a piebald horse, charged forward, a Winchester cradled in his bare brown right arm. His war whoops urged the others on.

  Jack struck him in the chest with his first shot and he jerked, but not quick enough before another hot slug of lead tore through his chest. He cartwheeled off his horse and fell to the ground in a heap. Close by, Jangles shot a horse out from under another young Comanche.

  Cotton shot down another Indian whose horse stampeded toward them while Jack took quick shots at the mob of Indians encircling them. One by one the Indians fell to the ground, just as their leader had. They were making their bullets count.

  The Comanches, growing fearful of the rangers’ dead-on accuracy, soon had enough and drew back. When their yipping at last ceased, Jack felt relieved. The battle wasn’t over, but his rangers’ fierce defense had turned them back for the moment. All told, they had cut the war party in half. Taking down the leader right away had slowed the bucks’ appetite.

  “Look, Captain. They’ve got a truce flag.” Jangles motioned toward a bare-chested buck who was walking cautiously toward them with a white flag tied to his gun barrel.

  “Want me to meet him?” Cotton asked.

  Jack scowled. “It could be a trap to pull one of us away. Jangles and I will train our rifles on him until you get back. First sign of anything wrong and you ride like hell back up here.”

  Cotton nodded, quickly mounted his horse and spurred him hard. Jack, nervous for Cotton, dried his sweaty palms on his pants. Rifle at the ready, he watched the two as they came together. After a moment, Cotton nodded to the Comanche messenger an
d raced back, sliding his horse to a halt in front of Jack and Jangles.

  “They’ll give us the Lerner girl for their leader’s body.”

  Jack squinted against the glaring sun. “I wonder why.”

  “What do you mean?” Jangles asked.

  “Don’t make sense. We ain’t gonna eat him. We’ll pick up and leave here, then they can have him. I figure he’s dead or dying.”

  “Don’t we need to trade?” Cotton asked. “I mean, for her sake.”

  “Of course we will. I’m saying, though, it seems like too easy of a trade. I don’t trust ’em.”

  “There ain’t much for us to do but trust ’em.” Jangles made a grim face.

  “What’re we going to do?” Cotton looked back toward where the handful of bucks sat on their battle-weary horses.

  “Cotton, give the go-ahead to the messenger. But we’ll have to watch every move they make.”

  Cotton nodded and headed off toward the waiting messenger.

  If they cut the boy down it would be him and Jangles against the five or six Indians left. He liked three better than two and wanted ten more.

  Cotton and the messenger quickly exchanged words while Jack and Jangles cleaned their rifle bores with rags, preparing for the worst.

  Cotton stepped off his horse. “They say they’re sending her. Damn, I hate to see the poor thing.”

  “There’s three of them with an extra horse for the fallen leader,” Jangles pointed out.

  “I see her coming,” Cotton said. “Aw hell, she’s naked too, or near it. We won’t have a damn blanket left without a hole cut in it.”

  “Better cut one. She’ll need it.” Jack could see that all she was wearing was part of a skirt. He drew his six gun and took the blanket Cotton had prepared for her to wear.

  He tossed it over his shoulder and started toward her through the greasewood. “You boys be on your toes. This could be the tricky part.”

  “I’ll feel a damn sight better when we’re all back here together,” Jangles said as he watched the Indians loading their leader.