North to the Salt Fork (9 page)

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 and 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.

“So will I,” Jack spoke over his shoulder.

The dirty-faced girl, with her hair full of sticks and straw, came hurrying down the slope toward him. He wondered how she could walk barefoot across the ground, which was covered in stickers. Her state of undress appeared to be of no concern to her.

“Is my mother still alive?” she asked as he covered her nakedness with the blanket poncho.

“Yes. I sent her home two days ago.” He made a check to see that they were alone.

Tears of relief welled in her eyes. “That's good.”

“Come. I want to get you back to my men.” He was still worried about being out in the open. He could only hope that her captors were too busy gathering the body of their dead chief, which the rangers had laid out in front of their “bunker” on the shore of the dried-up lake.

“Do you have many men?” she asked, stepping around a cactus bed.

“Two. You may even know them. It'll be nice for you to be around familiar faces.”

She nodded, tight-lipped.

He looked back over his shoulder, his muscles itching. Any moment he expected a bullet in his back.

“They must have gotten their chief,” he said under his breath more to himself than to her.

“He's Ten Bears' son—the real chief. They're worried he'll blame them for his death, that they didn't do enough to save him and kill you.”

Jack nodded, impressed at her words. “For someone in such a sticky situation, it's amazing how much you managed to figure out.”

She lowered her blue eyes and nodded. “Some of the things I learned wasn't that good.”

Jack tipped her chin up. “I'm sorry. We came as soon as we could.”

“Thank you . . .”

“Captain Jack Starr.”

She swallowed. “Captain Starr.”

“It's no matter, Mandy,” he said, giving her shoulder a little reassuring squeeze.

“Men,” he announced as the two boys swept off their hats for her. “Say hello to Mandy Lerner. Mandy, you might know Jangles and Cotton.”

She nodded. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“You're sure welcome, ma'am,” Jangles said.

“Yeah, you really are welcome,” Cotton echoed.

Both young men looked at a loss for words. Jack could tell they were shocked she wasn't a raving idiot. Despite her disheveled appearance, she was perfectly poised.

“What now?” Cotton asked.

“She can ride double behind you,” Jack said. “Load up—we're going back. We've done all we could here.”

 

They rode all night, posting one man guard when they finally stopped, just in case the Comanches changed their minds. Jack took watch for the last two hours. Sitting cross-legged on his bedroll he listened to the gentle night winds and insects. There was a lot on his plate. They were several days from the girl's home—no doubt burned down. On top of that the matters of the state police and murder charges against him needed to be settled. Thank God he'd met Lucille Thornton. She was the only thing holding him together.

Other women had swept in and out of his life before her, and he hadn't batted an eye. But Lucille was different. He didn't want to lose this one, but he had so little to offer her. Had he spent the past years since his discharge establishing a ranch or business, he'd have nothing to worry about.

A nearby coyote let out a mournful howl and Mandy came over, huddled in her poncho against the predawn chill. “May I sit here, Captain?”

“Sure. That old sundog won't hurt you. He's just looking for the rest of his pack. They'll find each other and sleep the hot day away.”

She lowered her head. “I thought it might be the Comanches coming back.”

He shifted the rifle in his arms. “I think they've moved on.”

She nodded and they sat together in silence until they heard Jangles and Cotton stir.

For breakfast they drank fresh coffee and ate boiled cornmeal and gruel with brown sugar. Still sleepy-eyed, they climbed in the saddle before dawn and prepared for another tough day of riding. Jack rationed the corn the horses received so it would last. But between the barely potable gyp water and lack of forage, their mounts grew weaker with each long day.

 

Dead tired in late afternoon, they reined up on a ridge. Below them was a large construction crew building a sprawling ranch headquarters near a thicket of cotton-woods. Several dozen men scurried around doing this and that. There were stacks of bright, fresh-cut lumber, to which the workers added plank after plank, while row after row of adobe bricks were drying in the sun. Hammers clapping and saws whining, the operation looked impressive.

Jack rode in the lead toward them and met a redcomplexioned man mopping his sweaty face with a large handkerchief.

“Good day, sir,” Jack said, tipping his hat. “I'm Captain Jack Starr.”

“Windy Hardy's my name. What are you and these children doing out here?”

“We're rangers. We've been chasing down Comanches and returning captives.”

Hardy nodded slow-like. “Well, I wouldn't turn away heroes. Welcome to the Wagon Bar Ranch. I'm the general superintendent here. You-all get off your horses; you look plumb tired to me. Ramon”—he waved to a Mexican boy to come over—“fix these boys' horses up and then I'll take 'em to the chow hall.”

He turned back to Jack. “You three and the young lady come with me.”

At the chow hall, one of Hardy's helpers presented Mandy with a hairbrush, and thanking him she combed through the tangles and tried to make herself look as presentable as possible. Despite all her trials, she remained self-possessed.

“Whose ranch is this?” Jack asked Hardy.

“Feabius T. Newcastle's.”

“I don't guess he ever comes around?”

Hardy smiled. “It's real long ways out here. He's a rich tycoon who lives in New York.”

“How many men are working here, Mr. Hardy?”

“Seventy-eight, but ten more are due here in a month.”

“Sleep with your guns. The Comanches are still out there.”

Hardy scoffed at him. “They wouldn't dare raid this place.”

“Comanches will do a lot of things you don't expect.”

“I'll try to be ready for them.”

Jack knew the superintendent felt too secure with all those mechanics and craftsmen on the premises. But a raid could, and in Jack's book would, happen before summer was over. Way out here, Hardy would sure learn the tough way.

The coffee that the crew cook served tasted wonderful. Mandy ordered pancakes, as did Jack.

They recounted the details of Mandy's recovery to Hardy. Hardy shook his head in disbelief at several points during the story. “You boys sure did good work. Thankfully, I haven't seen an Indian on this ranch since we arrived here.”

“I'd bet a hundred dollars they've seen you. They can stay hidden better than anyone,” Jack said, pressing the issue.

“If you and two boys could take them on they must be dandy fighters,” Hardy said with a chuckle.

“That doesn't say as much about the Comanches as it does about my boys. We took on a band of Mexican horse thieves and laid them to rest just as well.”

“So that's you boys, huh? I've heard about you,” Hardy said, the realization dawning on his face.

Jack was pleased to hear that Hardy had heard of their travails, but could see that no amount of talking would persuade the superintendent that he was susceptible to attack.

They ate their meal quickly and rested. Hardy assigned Mandy a room of her own in some temporary quarters, had bathwater drawn for her and apologized for the fact he had no females to help her. Jack and the boys were assigned hammocks to sleep in.

 

After sundown, Jack and his crew ate supper with the men. A young man played the fiddle for their entertainment, and the barbecued beef, sourdough bread and beans filled Jack's belly for the first time in more than a week.

“I suppose you'll have to go on in the morning?” Hardy asked.

“I might stay here a year or two and eat your grub,” Jangles said, rubbing his belly. They all laughed.

“We appreciate your hospitality, but we do need to move on,” Jack said. “I'm surprised my two men who rode back this way earlier didn't find you.”

“I've not seen hide nor hair of anyone else,” Hardy admitted. Jack hoped they had made it back alright.

He thanked Hardy again and the fiddler played more music. While the strains of fiddle music floated around them, Jack thought about the construction work going on around them. Hardy's team was erecting a great house, large horse barns and hay sheds, the kind that were popular in the East but would be of little use in West Texas. But it wasn't Jack's place or money to worry about.

 

The next morning, loaded up with food and fresh supplies, they mounted and rode their rested horses out at dawn. Their spirits lifted, they made many miles and were fast approaching home. After two days in the saddle they reached the fort at San Angelo. A colonel at the fort, who could hardly believe their story of Mandy's recovery, invited them to rest and fed them a large meal. The officers' wives found Mandy a new dress to replace her poncho and held a small dance that night to celebrate.

In all this no one reported seeing Craig, Arnold or Mrs. Lerner. How had Craig missed both the Wagon Bar and the army outpost? Jack was worried but gladly accepted when a lady named Mrs. Chapman asked him to dance a waltz with her.

“You look like a very industrious man, Captain,” Mrs. Chapman said good-naturedly. The story of Mandy's recovery had circulated throughout the entire fort.

“Well, I didn't really have a choice. The boys forced me into it.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth to suppress her amusement. “You're either modest or a liar. I don't know which one I like more.”