[Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line (4 page)

"Maybe, if the Comanches didn't leave everybody dead behind them."

"Maybe me and the boys can put some fightin' men together. There's four of us to start."

"Six. Mike and me, we'll go with you." Webb looked to Shannon for silent confirmation.

They struck southward, driving the family's extra horses and mules several miles before they came upon a brush-lined creek. Blessing told his sons, "Scatter the stock down in there. I doubt the redskins'll come this far off of their line of march."

That done, he said, "Let's be headin' for Linnville." He led off without waiting for argument. Webb offered none, and Shannon seemed as eager as Blessing for a fight.

They pushed their horses into a lope for short distances, then slowed to a trot to conserve the mounts' strength. Webb could see the cloud of dust to the north, marking the location of the Comanche column.

The oldest of the Blessing boys, Tom, drew up on the reins. "Listen. I think I hear shootin'."

Webb first thought the Indians might have caught one of the families he and Shannon had warned. But he decided that was not the case; the sound indicated many guns.

The elder Blessing said, "Somebody's done lit into them. Come on, boys, or we're liable to miss the fight." He spurred off toward the dust. His sons struggled to catch up.

Webb gave Shannon a questioning glance. Shannon said, "Hell, Preacher, who wants to live to get old and decrepit?"

They never managed to close the distance between themselves and the Blessings, but presently through the dust they could see a back-and-forth surging of men and horses. Rifles and pistols snapped in a desultory manner. Webb reined up, for he wanted to grasp the full situation before riding into the middle of it. He saw a large company of white men dismounted, shooting at horseback Indians who circled them. Farther ahead, the main column of Comanches hurried away with their women and children, their horse and mule herd, while this detached set of warriors fought a delaying action.

Blessing and his sons had halted, watching the fight from two hundred yards. Uncertainty held the big farmer back, though he chafed to ride headlong into the scrap. "We'd probably all get killed if we was to try to break through. Maybe we can do them fellers more good from out here."

Shannon said, "At least, 'y God, we can give them devils somethin' else to be worryin' about."

The men dismounted. Webb tied a knot in the end of his split leather reins and slipped them over his arm so the horse could not easily jerk away. He dropped to one knee and aimed his rifle as he heard shots fired on either side of him. After the flash, a white cloud of smoke blossomed around the barrel. He could not see if he had hit anything.

Some of the Indians immediately split off and charged toward the six men. Anticipating this, two of the Blessing boys had held their fire. While four reloaded, the pair took their time in firing. A horse went down, and the charge broke up. The Indians zig-zagged in a rough circle, reconsidering. By the time they decided to rush again, the reloaded guns blazed a second volley. One of the Indians fell from his horse. The others halted, two grabbing him between them, carrying him back toward the main group.

Soon the larger column had moved well beyond the skirmish. The nearby Indians broke their circle and began to travel slowly in a westerly direction. Those who had firearms kept shooting back in the direction of their adversaries. The company of white men continued firing toward them. The range became too great for accuracy by either side.

Shannon said, "Looks like they've had enough entertainment for a while. Let's go see how the boys yonder made out."

A rough count told Webb that the company was made up of more than a hundred men. Most had managed to hang on to their horses through the fight, though a few animals were wounded and at least a couple lay dead.

A horseman rode out to meet the six incoming riders. "Welcome, men. You almost missed the skirmish."

Webb thought he knew the face. "Seems to me I've seen you at camp meetin'."

The man nodded. "You're a preacher, as I recollect. We're volunteers out of Victoria. We've followed this bunch all the way from Linnville."

Blessing pressed, "Linnville? What happened there?"

"They took the town by surprise. Killed several folks, burned down just about everything. Ain't much left but ashes."

Blessing swore, mostly under his breath. "I have a sister in Linnville."

"Most of the people got away in boats. Like as not she did, too. The dead were mostly menfolks, I think. They tarried too long, fightin' a losin' battle."

Blessing swallowed and looked at his sons, then back to the man from Victoria. "You-all ain't givin' up the fight, are you?"

"We haven't even started yet. We'll nip at their rear 'til more outfits catch up to us."

Webb said, "There's more on the way?"

"The alarm's been sent out in all directions. There'll be some rangin' companies along, I expect."

Several Victoria men stood in a circle, heads bowed, staring down at a man on the ground. It was evident that he was dead.

Shannon said, "Since we've got a preacher with us, I expect you-all would like some words spoke."

One of the bystanders said, "We'd appreciate it mightily."

Webb removed his hat, and the others followed suit. He said a brief prayer for the stranger who lay before him. One of the Victoria men said, "Pray that before we get through, we send most of them bloody-handed Comanches after him."

Webb doubted the propriety of such a prayer, but at the moment, standing in the presence of death, he could think of no reply. Most of the Victoria men took solace in the fact that they appeared to have killed or wounded several Indians. It crossed Webb's mind that he might pray for those too, but he dismissed the thought. The devil had sent them; the devil could have them.

The captain of the volunteers came forward. "I'd be pleased to have you men join us if you have no company of your own."

Blessing was torn. "I ought to be seein' about my sister."

His son Tom placed a large hand on his father's shoulder. "You go find Aunt Bess. Me and Bert and Jim'll do the family's share of the fightin'."

The two brothers signaled agreement. Blessing cleared his throat and shook hands with his sons, each in turn. "I've always been proud of you boys. A man couldn't've asked for better." Shortly he rode away, toward whatever was left of Linnville.

Tom Blessing told the captain of the volunteers, "We got cousins in Gonzales. They'd be mighty put out if they was to miss the main fight. Reckon we've got time to go and fetch them?"

"You might run into Indians along the way."

"It'll be their own fault if they mess with us Blessings."

The captain glanced toward the dust left by the departing Comanches. "'Til the ranger companies show up, there aren't enough of us here to do more than pester their rear guard a little. If you can gather up some more help, go with my blessings."

Shannon said, "Me and the preacher'll go with you, Tom. Just in case you do run into some Indians." He glanced at Webb. "All right, Preacher?"

"You said it yourself: Who wants to get old and decrepit?"

Riding at the rear of the long column, Buffalo Caller looked back toward the white men who trailed behind like wolves following a buffalo herd. Their pursuit had become something of a game—parry and thrust, feint and retreat—in an effort to draw warriors into a trap. After a couple of these episodes resulted in a few casualties, the Comanches had become slow about rising to the bait.

Buffalo Caller saw no reason such a superior force should play the white man's game. The People had all the advantage. It appeared to him that the whites were trying to delay the Indian retreat by pecking at its edges. They probably hoped for reinforcements. He doubted that they could muster enough fighting men to mount any serious challenge against a force this strong. Should they try, it would only mean more scalps dangling from war lances, more celebration when The People were back on their home ground. Buffalo Caller would welcome a stiff fight. Linnville had been so easy he almost felt cheated.

Swift as the Antelope kept looking back, sweat running from beneath the band of the white-man stovepipe hat he had worn since they had sacked the coastal town. Because of the heat he no longer wore red cloth wrapped around his body, but he had not abandoned it. He had it loosely rolled and tied behind his rawhide-covered saddle. It was for his wife, he claimed.

Antelope was impatient, as usual. "We should strike them like the lightning. We could kill them all before they have time to catch a breath."

They had tried that already, though with only a small portion of their fighting force, expecting the Texans to flee in terror. Instead, the hair-faces had surprised them with a stiff resistance. Several warriors had had to be carried away after the skirmish.

"There is time enough," Buffalo Caller said. "Let them become tired and hungry. Sooner or later they will begin to straggle. "Then we can cut them to pieces."

"But they are growing stronger. More
teibos
keep joining them."

"All the more of them to die."

He had noticed small groups joining the pursuers periodically, but the Texans remained relatively small in number. Buffalo Caller was confident that they were much too weak to make any meaningful dent in the Comanche column, strung out so far now that he could not see the head of it. If the enemy should have the poor judgment to try, their blood and bones would enrich this prairie ground, and the grass would grow stronger for years.

Antelope opened his hands, showing all his fingers. "With this many men I could run them all the way back to the water."

He had always been prone to overstate his accomplishments and sometimes took personal credit for deeds performed by others as long as he did not expect to be challenged by someone who had been there.

"Go, then. I will marry your widow and give her many sons."

"You have two wives already, and your seed produces only girls. You have no son except that Texan boy."

Buffalo Caller saw danger in Antelope's eyes. Antelope had repeatedly made veiled threats against the child since they had taken him from his dead mother's side.

"The boy is not your concern."

"I tell you again, that hair is an ill omen. It looks like blood. I had a dream last night. The boy will bring evil. If you do not have the stomach to do what must be done, let me." He clasped the deer-horn handle of his knife.

Buffalo Caller stiffened. "You will not touch him!"

Antelope roughly pulled his horse away and joined other warriors, but a dark scowl said the question was not settled. Buffalo Caller knew their friendship, though of long standing, would not be enough to protect the boy. Antelope believed strongly in medicine and omens. He had a remarkable ability to sense the presence of dark spirits when no one else was aware of them.

Buffalo Caller believed in medicine as strongly as anyone, but his guardian spirits often disagreed with Antelope's. Antelope claimed to carry the power of the badger, and certainly he possessed that animal's belligerent temperament. Still, Buffalo Caller sometimes wondered if Antelope was not misled by Coyote, the trickster. Coyote was always up to mischief. He liked to play with men's minds and lead them into folly.

Antelope's implied threat began to play upon the mind of Buffalo Caller. To reassure himself that the boy was all right he put his mount into a long trot, passing the rear guard and going around the massive herd of stolen horses and mules. The women and children rode near the head of the column, where they were considered safest from attack by the trailing Texans. He sought out Whippoorwill, the younger and prettier of his two wives, the one he had chosen to accompany him on this long journey. She carried the boy in front of her on a high-stepping sorrel mare taken from the Mexican traders at Victoria.

"Is he all right?" he asked, though he could see no evidence to the contrary. The boy still wore his homespun clothes, now dirty and beginning to ravel from the stresses of traveling. He did not look Comanche, but the shirt and trousers would have to last until the band made its way back to the homeland. Then he could be put into something more suitable.

"He does not understand anything I tell him," Whippoorwill said. "At times he talks, but they are not words I know."

"He will learn soon enough to speak like a Comanche. Has Antelope said anything to you about him?"

"This morning, as we broke camp. He said the spirits came to him in a dream and told him we should kill the red-hair before he brings death to us.

"Watch out for him. Do not let him get close to the boy."

"What if he is right? What if the red-hair is bad medicine?"

"My spirits have told me no such thing. Antelope makes wind and thinks it is spirits speaking to him."

Satisfied for the time being, he dismounted and let his horse graze the dry grass while he waited for the column to pass. Its movement was slow as a turtle's, he thought. He remembered his doubts when the council first decided to allow women and children to accompany this grand punitive excursion. Ordinarily it would be considered too dangerous, but so many warriors had massed together that the expedition seemed secure enough to allow such luxury. It was argued that the outnumbered whites would fall like dry leaves in an autumn wind. Though resistance had proven strong enough to turn the raiders back from the heart of Victoria, Linnville had been crushed like a beetle beneath a warrior's moccasin. The spoils had been extraordinary. Those who had chosen to remain behind in the homeland would soon be ashamed for their timidity.

The rear guard came along after a time, and Buffalo Caller grasped his horse's mane, pulling himself up. His eyes met those of Antelope for a moment before Antelope looked away. What he saw there convinced him that once they reached home he would have to remove his family from Antelope's reach.

A warrior known as Feared by His Enemies pulled up beside him. "More white men have joined their brothers back there." He pointed his chin toward the horsemen, who trailed at a respectful distance.