Disclaimer: The Characters used are the property of MGM and Trilogy. No financial or creative rights are claimed to the characters from the Magnificent Seven Television series.
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Language, Violence
Spoilers: A hint of Achilles, Manhunt,Penance and Sins of the Past, possibly others. Walking the Roots and The Crying Waters may be helpful.
Notes: This is a work of fiction, though actual people are mentioned. Lieutenant Cooper, Black Bear and Walks in the Sun are of my origination. The events are loosely based on Quanah Parker's search for renegade Comanches along the Pecos. The writer hopes the Comanche dialect and the People were represented with some accuracy. Acknowledgment to all that envisioned a young Vin Tanner living with the Comanches as this writer envisioned. Thank you to my sister Kathy for gently correcting my oversights. A heartfelt thank you to Painted Eyes for her suggestions and guidance and to Joan for her encouragement.
Bibliography:
1.) Nerburn, Kent: The Wisdom of the Native Americans, New World Library, Novato, CA, 1999.
2.) Hagan, William Thomas : Quanah Parker, Comanche Chief, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, Publishing Division of the University, 1993.
3.) Fehrenbach, T.R.: Comanches The Destruction of a People, De Capo Press, Inc., N.Y., N.Y., 1994; originally published Alfred A.Knopf, New York, 1974. 4.) Hofsinde, Robert (Gray-Wolf): Indian Sign Language, William Morrow & Co., New York, NY, 1956.
5.) Charney, Jean Ormsbee: A Grammar of Comanche,University of Nebraska Press,1993.
6.) Goodchild, Peter: Survival Skills of the North American Indians,Chicago Review Press, Incorporated,Chicago, IL,1984,1999.
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"I was born upon the prairie where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of sun. I was born where there were no enclosures and where everything drew a free breath. I want to die there and not within walls."
Ten Bears
Yamparika Comanche
The creased and worn newspaper lay spread out in front of Vin Tanner, pressed down flat on the table. Struggling over the words, Vin stubbornly sounded them out the way Mary Travis had schooled him. A scattering of newspapers placed at his feet on the floor had already been painstakingly read. The news spoke of unrest along the Red River and Vin worried for his family that was among the band of Kwahadi.
Vin read the stark, black typeface moving his lips with each word: The last band of Comanches, the Kwahadi, or antelopes, had finally surrendered themselves to Colonel Ranald Mackenzie at Fort Sill. The Reservation was located in Indian Territory with its' southern border running along the Red River.
He rubbed his face pensively and took a long drink from the mug of beer grasped, white-knuckled, in his hand. He knew the Comanches were at the dusk of their days, but it still brought a stirring to his heart. At the age of twelve when the Rangers tore him away from a life of freedom and true joy, Vin knew that the white man, tahbay-boh had won and would win again.
He had seen the white man's destruction during his time in the war and had feared for the People, knowing they could not win against this enemy; too many men, too many guns, too powerless to overcome. The white men were as many as leaves on trees.*
The Kwahadi surrendered at Fort Sill in June of 1875. They surrendered because they no longer could survive on their beloved plains. They surrendered because the old were dying, the young were dying, their women were dying. The Comanche warrior could not tolerate this sorrow, surrendering their souls so that the People might live.
Vin lifted the Dallas newspaper closer to him, as he haltingly read the *abbreviated * letter sent by Colonel Mackenzie on behalf of Quanah, the son of Cynthia Ann Parker:
Denison, Texas Quartermaster. Quanah Parker seeking information and location of mother, Cynthia Ann Parker (Naduah) and sister, Prairie Flower (Topsannah). Last seen December 1860. Any information to be forwarded in care of Colonel Ranald Mackenzie at Fort Sill, Indian Territory. Written by Colonel Ranald Mackenzie as requested by Quanah Parker dated May 19, 1875.
Vin released a slow breath and stared into the shadows of the darkly lit saloon. He knew Quanah's kin were dead and had been dead for many years now. Cynthia Ann, Topsannah and Vin had been taken from the Kwahadi during a Ranger raid in the winter of 1860. The Rangers, angered at Nawkohnee, a war chief, for his raiding near the Brazos, relentlessly pursued and attacked the Kwahadi band as they camped along the Pease River.
Vin's leg, jittery under the table, rhythmically bounced up and down, as he remembered. It all came back to him, angry, fierce and frightening in his mind's eye as he heard the howling rage of the wind that had almost muffled the thrumming of hoofbeats, close and urgent, as they had converged on the encampment. He had grabbed up his quiver and had shouted to his mother to remain in their lodge. The attackers loomed, menacing and violent, over the frantic women and children as they had aimed their firearms with no mercy on all that had the ill fortune of being caught in their sights. The icy fingers of a northern wind had torn at him, bringing with it a scent of bloodied death and screams of terror that had rendered him almost senseless. He remembered it all too well.
Sixty or more Rangers and soldiers, vengeful and maddened, had rampaged against women and children and a growing desperation had clutched at him to save as many as he could. He had turned towards a figure encased in a blanket, running away on foot from a Ranger, lusting for blood, then the Ranger surprised to see the dull, yellow hair of a white woman. The butt end of a carbine dropping him, as he had grabbed at the Ranger's booted foot, falling to the ice-cold earth as voices, muffled and unexpectedly gentle, had reached him with words. "Don't shoot! They're white."
The newspaper shook in his hands, uncontrolled, as he tried to rein in his breathing, suppressing the memories of the maimed and bloodied bodies of women and children and the lingering fear that his mother had died. He closed his eyes tightly, away from the pictures so clear, and he turned towards more memories, this time pleasant as he called to mind the yellow-haired woman who was Quanah's mother.
On quiet evenings, she would sometimes speak to Quanah and Vin about her days as a child. Vin would always listen intently and Naduah, who had been Cynthia Ann before coming to the People, would laugh and call him tzat taso tuine`hpua, good white boy.
She spoke of living along the Navasota River as a child. The land was a magnificent vista of rolling plains, soil rich for farming, and game to overflowing. There was an abundance of deer and turkey, oaks filled the great expanse and water was plentiful. Cynthia Ann and her family settled there with a few other families.
She spoke of a time when the People came and took her to live with them. The men had been working in the fields when the attack occurred whilst she, her brother and some other settlers were inside the "Fort". There were Comanches, Kiowas and Wichitas, one hundred strong. As she spoke, Vin recalled that her eyes showed no ire, even when she mentioned of her family dying at the hands of the People, accepting that as their way.
Her brother, John Parker and James Plummer, were ransomed and returned to the tahbay-boh after being captive for six years. John, running away from the white man, returned to the plains seeking out his sister, but could not find her. He eventually married a Mexican girl who had been a Comanche captive, and lived in Mexico close to the Rio Grande.
Cynthia Ann married a war chief named Nawkohnee, or Peta Nocona, and lived comfortably with honor. She gave Nawkohnee three children, one of which was Quanah. When the Rangers attacked, Cynthia Ann fought against them trying to save herself and her daughter. She did not wish to be rescued, coming to love her life and her Comanche family. Cynthia Ann mourned for the Kwahadi, no longer living in a world in which she truly belonged, dying among the Tahbay-boh.
Vin was of the same mind of not belonging, unsure of his place after being taken from the People. He did not belong with the tahbay-boh nor could he return to the Kwahadi; he was alone again at the age of twelve.
He closed his eyes as he recalled his days with his family; a faint smile brushed the corners of his lips and his face showed contentment as he thought of his *mother*, Walks in the Sun. She loved children passionately, but the spirits did not allow her the joy of being a mother. Her husband, Gusape, or Black Bear, wished to bring her happiness asking Vin to be of his family and Vin gratefully accepted.
The People loved their children deeply and Vin was no different, being allowed to play with Quanah and his younger brother Pecos, along with the other children. Vin would spend most of his days practicing with his bow and lance, and particularly loving to ride the ponies. The wind catching at his long, brown hair taking his breath and the sun bronzing his skin a golden hue as he raced beside Quanah, their speed not tempered, giving Vin a joyous release and a wanting to ride free, always.
Vin's life was much easier than the years' before, when each day had been filled with loneliness, fear and punishment. He loved his new mother and father and they loved him dearly; being a quiet and gentle boy, but fierce of heart.
Vin lived with his mother and his father's second wife, who was younger than Walks in the Sun and was with child. Walks in the Sun no longer was sad of heart, now that Vin was in her life. She would always be Black Bear's first and most loved wife; the deerskin cord tied to her bedding of buffalo robes summoned her each night to Black Bear's lodging. Her husband and son brought her much joy.
Walks in the Sun showed Vin a caring that he had not known after his mother's death. She made him clothes of the finest deerskin and buffalo hide and he never felt hunger or thirst, his lodgings comfortable and filled with buffalo robes that kept them warm in the coldest of winters. Walks in the Sun gave all she had to Vin with unselfish devotion.
Vin would sometimes wake at night with dreams that would frighten him, not remembering what they were about, and would be sodden in sweat and trembling with fear. Walks in the Sun would gather him in her arms and comfort him, singing songs of a mother's love and of pleasant days to come on the plains.
Vin took a drink from his beer and squinted his eyes in thought, trying to recall his mother's words. A raspy whisper floated softly through the empty saloon as Vin spoke from a hazy memory.
"O Son, walk the grasses,
O Son, ride the grasses.
The wind embraces,
The sun warms,
The rain stills thirst.
The grasses cradle in slumber."
Life was good for Vin Tanner for the first time, since his mother's passing, though still filled with sorrow that his mother had died. Walks in the Sun knew this sorrow and she would hold Vin close in his despair, soothing him, granting him the compassion of a mother's touch.
During his years with the Kwahadi, Vin and Quanah had become close friends, though he was three years older than the mixed-blood Comanche. Quanah was slight in build, like Vin, and gray-eyed. Vin found him to be brave and very skilled in his ways with horse, bow and lance. Avowing with a determination to be a great war chief, Quanah proved himself courageous with powerful puha, or medicine, through the years.
Vin had learned that Quanah had been a force behind the attack of the Buffalo hide hunters at Adobe Walls, along with a young medicine man named Eschiti. He heard talk of the signs that the young medicine man spoke of to the People: a great blaze, Coggia's comet, would pass across the heavens for five days and then there would be no rains. His visions were true, and the People believed Eschiti possessed great puha or power, and followed him in his quest of the destruction of all Tahboy-boh.
Eschiti had gathered the Kiowa, Cheyenne and Comanche together to perform a sun dance, though it was not a Comanche ritual. During his time with the People, Vin had seen the scalp and war dances. Vin knew the People did not have societies or many religious ceremonies, unlike the Lakota, Cheyenne and Kiowa. The Comanche were free to take counsel or choose their own path.
The vision of Eschiti had begun with the sun dance and ended with the decision to attack and kill the buffalo hide hunters for the suffering they had caused the People. Eschiti's war trail had been bad medicine for the Comanche, Kiowa and Cheyenne; almost being defeated by the twenty-eight buffalo hide hunters, losing many horses and men to the long-range, powerful buffalo rifles.
The alliance of the Kiowa, Cheyenne, Arapaho and Comanche had withered and Eschiti's puha was marred. Adobe Walls had been the first battle of many that had lead to the destruction of the People and Vin looked on those day with a deep sadness.
He had received news of the Kwahadi from other bands when he was buffalo hunting many years ago, but never seemed to come across them on the great expanse of the plains. Being nomadic people, they traveled many miles over the Comancheria. Vin's troubles with Eli Joe kept him from returning to the staked plains over the years, as Tascosa rested on the banks of the Canadian River. Vin had not heard of his family's fate and prayed they were unharmed.
He swallowed down the last of his beer and arranged the newspaper with care, folding it gently along the worn creases, trying not to tear the fragile publication. All things having the written word were highly regarded by Vin, an old longing in him to understand the puzzling markings that told stories without voice and enabled visions without drawings.
He could never fully express his gratitude towards Mary. Words seemed inadequate to declare his thankfulness, but that was all he had to offer her that day, so many months ago. He had given her a quiet, "Thank you, Mary", and a tip of the hat with his capable, slender fingers, as he quietly turned and closed the Clarion door behind him. Walking away, he had looked back quickly, catching a hint of her smile, reflecting a caring for him that warmed his heart. Vin smiled at that recollection as he gathered up the newspapers on the table in front of him and slowly rose, walking to the bar to get a beer.
J.D. sauntered into the saloon, adjusting his eyes from the glare of day to the shadows of half light. Noticing Vin at the bar, he walked over and gave a boisterous greeting, not being able to rein in his youthful exuberance. Though J.D. jangled his nerves at times, Vin enjoyed the kid's company, reminding Vin of the few years when he had felt contented and unburdened. They were kind memories and it brought him a smile to think on them and it brought him a smile to think on J.D.
"Hey, Vin. What'cha up to?" J.D. looked curiously over towards the table with the stack of papers.
Watching J.D. glance over at the back table, Vin stated matter-of-factly, "Just doin' a little readin', J.D."
"Oh, yeah? Didn't know you were big on that sort of thing." J.D. pressed Vin further. "What are ya readin'?"
Vin smiled and turned away from J.D.'s questioning eyes, thinking back to a time and to a life that J.D. could not understand. He knew it was difficult for many whites to see the Comanches as little more than savages, and though it pained him that things were that way, he ruefully accepted what he could not change. He walked slowly over to the table nearest to the wall and placed the newspapers neatly on the floor beside him. He snaked himself down into his chair, slouching with booted feet crossed at the ankles.
J.D. swaggered over with his bright-eyed enthusiasm and sat down across from Vin, staring intently, waiting for an answer. It must be something mighty interesting to get Vin Tanner to read a newspaper. J.D. started to question Vin again, but stopped himself, abruptly as the imposing presence of Chris Larabee loomed over their table.
"Hey, Larabee. Set a spell." Vin nodded for Chris to take a seat. He sat down near Vin in a fluid motion of black duster and sinew. Chris glanced down at the floor, noticing the newspapers stacked at Vin's feet.
"Catchin' up on the news, Vin?" Chris half-smiled, head low and eyes lifted up teasingly towards Vin.
"A man's got t'know what's goin' on in the world," Vin impassively replied, taking a drink from his beer and boyishly wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"I s'pose that's true." Chris looked towards J.D. , who sat silently watching the two men.
"J.D., how 'bout gettin' me a beer?" Chris asked tossing a coin towards J.D.
"Sure, Chris. But, I sure would love t'know what Vin was reading." J.D. was curious as ever and he didn't want to miss out on anything as he went to the bar.
"Now, J.D., you know a man's business is his own." Chris smiled over at Vin. He was as curious as J.D. about what the sharpshooter was all-fired interested in reading. And, damn it, he was gonna find out even if it took the rest of the day, which by all accounts it probably would. Chris knew from experience that Vin was not forthcoming about matters of a personal nature.
Vin was not unsettled by their meddling. If he had wanted solitude, he would never have taken the papers into the saloon. This place was full of prying cowboys, worse than a bunch of ladies at a social. Larabee, especially. Can't seem to go a day without wanting to know what he was up to. Vin snorted glancing over at Chris, half-disgusted and half-relieved that there were people that wanted to know his whereabouts.
Chris eyed Vin. "Got somethin' you want t' share?"
"Naw." Vin sipped his beer thoughtfully, enjoying the quiet before the questions came his way.
"Well, somethin' got ya laughin'. If you call that damn snortin' of yours, laughin'." Chris glanced over at Vin waiting to hear a sarcastic retort.
"Ain't nothin' funny here. Hell, the only one funny is J.D. and that ain't sayin' much what with those dog jokes and all." Vin tssked loudly with feigned disgust.
J.D. approached the table three beers in hand, a broad grin filled his youthful face. "You really think I'm funny, Vin?" J.D. set the beers down on the table and looked directly at Vin not being put off again. "Do ya, Vin?"
" J.D." Vin glanced down at the floor. "What do I know 'bout being funny?"
Chris smirked down into his beer. He found Vin to be one of the most humorous men he had ever come across. Vin's natural irony about life always brought a smile to him, even a laugh, and that was some doing.
"Well, I heard ya tellin' Chris that I was the funniest person here. So, that means you think I'm funny. Don't it, Chris?" J.D. looked doggedly at Chris. "You tell that to Buck, okay Vin?" J.D. turned his attention to Vin, not getting a response from either man. J.D. didn't seem to care, as he sat back in his seat with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
Vin looked up at Chris with a full smile and a friendly wink. The kid was damn amusing. Vin shook his head and glanced down at his hands, enjoying the camaraderie.
"So do I have t' climb over ya and see for myself or are ya just goin' t' tell me and make it easy?" Chris pointedly asked, waiting for a reply. Chris settled down over his beer and resigned himself to a long wait.
Choosing not to disturb his reclining position, Vin slowly reached down to the newspaper closest to him and tossed the worn and yellowed paper on the table without rancor.
The bold face print shouted from the front page:
*******************************************
COMANCHES ATTACK ADOBE WALLS
RED RIVER WAR RAGES
***********************************************
Chris looked up at Vin after perusing the headline and handed the paper over to the ever-curious J.D. "Old news ain't it, pard?" Chris asked wondering where this was heading.
"I reckon." Vin sat up straight and faced Chris, weighing his words before he began. "I just wanted to git the whole story. There's been a lot of palaverin' about the Comanches lately."
"You think this is the truth?" Chris asked, surprised that Vin would put any stock in the white man's journalism.
Vin shrugged his shoulders, his eyes searching for answers in the shadows of the dingy saloon. "I heard some buffalo hide hunters talkin' 'bout Adobe Walls. I knew some of the warriors on that war trail. One of 'em goes by the name of Quanah. He's a mixed blood."
"When did you know him, Vin?" J.D. asked eyes wide with excitement. "When you were huntin' buffalo?" J.D. continued without waiting for a reply. "Nathan said you lived with them for awhile when you were huntin' and I know you mentioned it a few times, 'bout the Kiowa and the Comanche. Was it then,Vin?"
Vin stared at J.D. shaking his head astounded by the unrelenting prattle. "J.D. git some air. I ain't pickin' y' up off the floor if'n ya black out."
Chris grinned at Vin's seeming irritation at J.D. Though Vin and J.D. were not separated by many years, J.D. still held an innocence that life had brutally stolen from Vin long ago. Chris waited for Vin to answer J.D.'s questions. He knew Vin's vexation would be short-lived, not a man to throw away valuable time on trifling concerns.
"I lived with the Kwahadi on the Canadian when I was 'bout nine or so. Was with them for three years, I reckon. Rangers took me away 'round the winter of '60 or so. Quanah's ma got took back too. Cynthia Ann Parker, ya'll mighta heard of her." Vin looked at Chris waiting to see what he knew and watching to see how Chris took to the idea of him growing up with the Comanches.
"I reckon you got some ties then?" Chris was not surprised that Vin had lived with the Comanches when he was a boy. He was aware that Vin had lived with them when he was hunting buffalo, Vin was plain on that right from the start.
He looked deep into Chris' eyes before he answered, feeling reassured by what he saw mirrored back at him. There was no judgment or disapproval, just acceptance. "I had a family. Adopted me, took care 'a me. They was kind t' me. Couldn't ask fer more than that." Vin took a long thirst-quenching drink from his beer, reflecting on his past.
Chris was humbled to contemplate all the adversity that Vin had to overcome in his life and yet, held no bitterness within him. From the get-go, Chris held Vin in high regard. Something about his bearing was upright and true and Chris' respect for the man increased with each passing day.
"You ponderin' on somethin'?" Chris could tell that Vin's mind was working itself around some quandary that needed tending. Chris again waited patiently for Vin to reply.
"Just some business of mine that needs lookin' into." Vin was close-mouthed, offering Chris nothing more.
"Need help?" Chris offered looking directly into Vin's eyes.
"You offerin'?" Vin questioned back with a high-spirited grin.
"You askin"?" Chris countered grinning back at Vin.
"I reckon," Vin conceded. "I'll let ya know, if it comes t' that."
"All right." Chris sat back and took a long drink from his beer, satisfied that the matter had been settled. If Vin needed help, Chris would be there. Vin rose up in a flowing motion, reaching down for the newspapers.
J.D. had been quiet through the whole discourse between the two men. He was always intrigued by their conversations, few words spoken, but so much said. J.D. knew he needed to work on restraint, but his enthusiasm always seemed to get the better of him. He kept quiet as long as he could, and then felt as if he would burst at the seams, if he didn't speak before Vin left the saloon. Vin, seeing J.D. shifting nervously in his chair, smiled down at him. "Somethin' git in yer drawers, J.D.?"
J.D. looked down at his beer, feeling foolish as his face burned hot. "I just wanted you t' know that I'm offerin' too, if you need me, Vin."
J.D.'s willingness to help without question moved Vin. Generous and kindhearted, J.D. was often times hurt by a world crueler than he believed it to be, inciting Vin to protect him from life's unkindness, whenever he could.
"Thanks, J.D." Vin tipped his hat to the boys, and with newspapers in hand walked out through the batwing doors.
************************************
Vin entered the Clarion the way he entered all buildings with discomfiture, turning around slowly, as he closed the door behind him with a methodical exaggeration. Purposefully watching, making sure it closed properly, as he instinctively guarded his back, giving him the time he needed to collect himself before facing whatever lay ahead.
Mary sat in thought with her head down setting type for the morning's paper. She turned away from her labor and looked towards the door as the bells overhead jangled through the quiet room. A smile touched her lips as she glanced up to see Vin Tanner enter the small office, an unease on him. Mary waited expectantly for the shy smile and slight touch of hand to hat brim.
"Afternoon, Mary," Vin spoke softly. "Thank y' for the newspapers. I 'preciate ya lettin' me read 'em."
"I hope they were helpful to you, Vin." Mary looked at Vin with concern. She knew he had a strong bond with the Comanches and that their fate was not a pleasant one at the hands of the Government. "Is there anything I can do for you, Vin?" She was not sure what she could offer him, but she did want him to know that she cared.
Vin looked thoughtfully down at the floor, studying on his words before speaking. "I was hopin' you might help me send a telegram t' a Colonel Mackenzie at Fort Sill."
"I can do that for you, Vin." Mary eagerly grabbed a pencil from behind her ear and reached for a writing tablet off the desk. They sat on the high stools placed around a workbench.
"What would you like to say?" She inquired gently, knowing that the task of putting words on paper fretted the kindhearted man, though he could speak the language of a poet; eloquent and lyrical. Mary smiled at Vin, as she thought of his words comparing his poetry to that of the rhythmical dialect of the People, the cadence remaining in his heart and in his speech.
"Well, I was just wonderin' 'bout the whereabouts of some. . ." Vin hesitated looking at Mary ". . .family. Folks that took me in when I was a little feller." Mary smiled at Vin and waited for him to continue. "I'm just not sure how t'word it right. I want t'make sure it's written proper like so that the Colonel will git me the answers I need."
"All right, why don't we start, then?" Mary sent a reassuring smile to Vin and began the task of writing out the telegram.
************************************************
Chris saw Vin enter the Clarion and determined that he was returning the old newspapers to Mary. Chris knew Mary had been helping Vin with his reading and scribing. Vin's gladness at his newly developed skill was unmistakable to the attentive eye. Chris saw quiet signs of satisfaction whenever Vin read the wanted posters at the jail or the signs and notices on the town's buildings. He reminded Chris of a blind man given the gift of sight. It was a pleasure to watch and Chris did so discreetly, not wanting to unsettle the reserved man.
He watched Mary's and Vin's heads bowed down together in concentration and felt a warmth fill him at the sight of two people that somehow wormed their way into his life, into his heart. He didn't even know when it happened, it being so natural, so quiet that it took him completely unawares. Chris was no longer running from people and he was again able to rekindle his long ago forfeited friendship with Buck. Grievous thoughts of his family no longer were incited whenever he was around the lanky cowboy. Chris was slowly beginning to feel life again; one determined day at a time.
Chris walked past the Clarion with a nod of approval, leaving Vin and Mary alone in their task. He would find out soon enough what they were doing. A knowing smile unfolded across his handsome features as he thought about his cunning at gaining news from the comely widow. He swaggered down the boardwalk with what appeared to be a smile on his face, causing stunned townsfolk to tip their hats and swiftly call out greetings to the normally somber gunslinger. Stares of bewilderment and then pleasant surprise were left in his wake.
*************************************
. Mary looked up at Vin, pleased with the wording of the telegram. Vin nodded his head in silent agreement.
"Well, I think that should do it." Mary handed the paper to Vin and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.
"Reckon it should, Mary. 'Preciate yer help." Vin folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket. He looked at Mary for a moment and then turned towards the door.
"I hope you find them, Vin," Mary spoke softly, sincerely wishing him good fortune in his search. Vin turned towards her with a touch to hat brim and quietly walked out the door.
Making his way to the Telegraph Office, Vin trod gingerly through the townsfolk gathered on the boardwalk, half-listening to the noises and voices of the small town. He observed Buck and Ezra heading into the saloon; hunters in pursuit of their prey, one for money and the other for women. Vin shook his head pondering on the two men, an agreeable grin forming on his lips.
He cast his eyes towards the dingy, dust-coated clapboards of the church and saw Josiah, a bear of a man, sitting in repose on the steps, taking in the sun's warmth. Vin ambled over and sat down quietly at Josiah's side, not saying a word, feeling the calmness flowing from the man beside him. Vin knew that every man had more than one leaning to him and Josiah, though a man with a hunger for peace, sometimes divulged a rage within him so forceful, it was difficult to harness. Vin did not fear Josiah, even in those moments of fury. He had a sense of him, knowing that the calm would return before he caused any real hurt.
They sat together for more than twenty minutes before either man spoke, enjoying each others' quiet companionship. Shifting his powerful, sturdy legs, Josiah opened his eyes and nodded, looking towards Vin with intense blue eyes and strong jaw jutting out in a broad grin. "Brother Vin, I do believe it is a glorious day for quiet contemplation."
"Reckon so, Josiah." Vin gave an affectionate whack to Josiah's leg before rising.
"C'n I help y'with anything, Vin?" Josiah asked wanting to assist Vin if there was a need.
"You already did, Josiah." Vin smiled up at Josiah tilting his head to the side revealing his eyes beneath his slouch hat.
Josiah laughed out with true joy at the tracker's words. "Glad to be of service, Brother Vin." He watched as Vin continued on towards the Telegraph Office, his steps seeming a bit lighter.
*****************************************
The blue-uniformed cavalry and infantry soldiers stood at attention in the already stifling heat of June, as the weary Kwahadi marched into the quadrangle of Fort Sill. Colonel Ranald Mackenzie, a taciturn and remote man in his thirties and respected Civil War veteran, watched with unguarded respect for the band of Comanches, as they entered the grounds of the post.
The cavalcade of Comanches and rawboned ponies, wearily pulling travois that carried the Kwahadi's remaining meager belongings, stopped apprehensively within the barricades of their captor's fort. The People looked to their war chief, Quanah, who stood stoically beside the Colonel, unsure of what to do next, desperate as their freedom slipped away from them.
Starvation plagued the Kwahadi, during the unrelenting assaults of the long-knives and buffalo soldiers, since the winter, forcing the People to survive on nuts, grubs and rodents. The army had sent six detachments covering the plains that kept the Kwahadi on the run. They could not hunt or kill the buffalo, dry the meat or prepare the hides for winter lodges.
Though they had their freedom, the Kwahadi knew they could not keep up this way of life before death came to them all. They would never survive the coming winter without food stores and good shelter. They could not stay in one place for fear of attack from the soldiers. Many Kwahadi were relieved when the decision was made for surrender.
Quanah watched the People as their eyes darted anxiously around the Post, noting the guardhouse with narrow windows barred, foreboding and threatening. A hushed murmuring of fear and distress grew steadily stronger, as they turned their attention to a small stone structure, the ice house, standing desolate and exposed with no roof to protect from the heat of day or the cold of bitter winter. The Comanches watched as soldiers threw raw meat over the walls, and feared for whatever it held within its' stony prison.
Colonel Mackenzie spoke resolutely to the Comanches before unrest ran through them. He conveyed his message by use of an interpreter, bidding Quanah to assure his People that no harm or imprisonment would come to them.
"You have fought well and you will not be dishonored in defeat." Colonel Mackenzie said no more, as he turned towards his quarters, dubbed the Sherman House. He had told General Philip Sheridan about his admiration for these Comanches and that he would try to grant them the honor they deserved.
The Kwahadi's life on their beloved plains no longer would be theirs, though some still chose to flee the reservation. Quanah chose opportunities given and worked with the Indian Agents to gain favor, becoming head of a "beef band"; to sort out and give government rations and beef to the People.
Quanah proved himself showing cooperation and found his status growing among all the Comanche bands, determined to learn the ways of the tahbay-boh. He had stated, if his mother could learn the Comanche ways, he could learn the white man's. Quanah wisely determined that one must know his captors to protect himself and his People. He would not allow them to surrender completely to the white man's ways.
**************************
"Colonel Mackenzie, Sir." The young Lieutenant entered the Colonel's office holding a paper in his gloved hand. "Telegram, Sir."
"Leave it," the Colonel commanded not averting his eyes from his paperwork. The Lieutenant stiffly saluted, holding it, waiting for the return salute. The Colonel feeling the presence of the young man, sharply saluted in annoyance, not raising his eyes. The interminable paperwork was an exasperating situation and beneath the dignity of a fighting soldier.
Colonel Mackenzie looked up slowly, waiting for the door to close and glanced across his desk to the telegram. With little interest, he picked it up and slowly read the brief message.
To: Colonel Ranald Mackenzie
Fort Sill, Indian Territory
Information needed.Stop.Locate Walks in the Sun/Black Bear.Stop. Kwahadi, Comanches.Stop.Surrendered Fort Sill June.Stop.Reply to Clarion News.Stop. Four Corners, New Mexico Territory.Stop.
Mackenzie threw down the telegram with disgust. "I've no time for this. Lieutenant Cooper, Lieutenant, NOW!!"
The young officer quickly appeared at the door, shakily looking towards the Colonel, eyes wide with alarm. What had he done wrong now? He always seemed to be too inept for the Colonel. The war horse was as hard and fierce as they come. The Lieutenant had heard many stories of the Colonel's unrelenting drive, showing no mercy towards his men. He knew he was no more significant to the Colonel as a bug underfoot and chose to placate the man as best he could, trying not to be crushed in the process.
"Yes, Sir?" Lieutenant Cooper shivered at the intense stare sent his way. Oh! Lord, let him get out of this with his skin! He waited for the Colonel to speak, standing at attention. A paper was tossed in his direction across the great mahogany desk. It was that blasted telegram!
"Look into it and let me know what you find out," the Colonel directed. "Also, find out who sent the telegram. Report to me before the end of the day." The Colonel rose from his chair and walked towards a US Territorial Map hanging on the wall, his eyes searching the New Mexico Territory for the town of Four Corners.
The Lieutenant saluted and raced through the door intent on his objective, desperate to please the rankled Colonel.
*************************
It had not been an easy task, but the Lieutenant had hunted down the information the Colonel requested. He had found Quanah, an imposing Comanche with gray eyes and a hint of Anglo in his features. Quanah seemed to be in good standing with the Colonel and was more cooperative than most of the warriors.
There had been talk that Quanah was the son of Cynthia Ann Parker who had been captured by the Comanches at the age of nine. The Parkers were well know in Texas and had laid claim to a vast amount of fertile country off the Brazos. It took a strong breed of people not to uproot after the suffering that had been inflicted upon their family. The Lieutenant knew he did not possess this inner fortitude. What would he fight for to the death? His own skin! He felt a coward as he walked back to the office.
Lieutenant Cooper felt a shiver run up his spine when he thought of some of the battle hardened soldier's stories about the Indian captives. These soldiers had fought against the savages and their stories were so brutal and vivid that the young, naive Lieutenant had to run away before spewing his dinner in front of them.
He thought of their raucous laughter following him as he fled in haste and embarrassment. The Lieutenant was relieved that the Comanches had been subdued and were safely captive on the reservation. He knew he would not be brave enough to sustain the torment that the soldiers spoke. He slept fitfully all night long, and the occasional sleep had been filled with dreams of savage torture.
He entered the office disturbed with himself at his cowardice. His only comfort was his ability to acknowledge his shortcomings. He did not view himself as more than what he was and felt uplifted by own his self-acceptance. He felt safe in this benign territory knowing that he would not have to prove his mettle. This gave him a sense of relief and calmed his fears.
The young Lieutenant sat down at his desk and wrote down the information he had procured. The Clarion was owned by Mrs. Mary Travis, daughter-in-law to a Circuit Judge, Orin Travis. He concluded that Mrs. Travis was working on a story for her newspaper about the plight of the Comanches. It seemed innocuous enough to the Lieutenant. He reviewed the information he had garnered and hoped that it was thorough and would not cause any distress to the Colonel, which in turn would come back to him. He sighed and forced himself to enter the office of the irascible, imposing man.
"Enter." The Colonel was standing at the map reviewing what seemed to the Lieutenant to be past victories. There was a distant look in the Colonel's eyes that possessed a light of fury and a hint of sorrow.
"What have you found out, Lieutenant Cooper?" Colonel Mackenzie walked back to his desk and sat down wearily into his chair.
"Sir, I spoke with the Comanche, Quanah. He stated that Walks in the Sun had been killed years ago during a Texas Ranger raid against the Kwahadi." The Lieutenant paused waiting for the Colonel to speak.
"What of the other?" The Colonel looked at the young Officer with unwavering intensity waiting for his answer.
Lieutenant Cooper looked at the Colonel suspiciously, his senses on high alert. Was he being tested? He cleared his throat loudly, taking a deep breath. "Quanah stated that he was gone." The Lieutenant shifted his feet nervously.
"And what does that mean, Lieutenant Cooper?" Colonel Mackenzie still did not turn his gaze away from the Lieutenant.
Gone. That was what Quanah had said, gone. The Lieutenant did not question the response. He presumed that Black Bear was also dead. The Lieutenant had not pursued the issue. Oh, God! He wished the floor would open up and allow him to disappear from those eyes, from that man who now glowered at him.
"Sir, I concluded that Black Bear was deceased." Lieutenant Cooper waited for the stern admonishment that seemed to be a daily occurrence.
"Well, Lieutenant Cooper, let me enlighten you. I have just received word about Comanches that have left the reservation. In that group was a well-known and respected warrior by the name of Black Bear." The Colonel stood intimidating the young Officer with his rigid comportment. He continued, as he walked towards the Lieutenant.
"Gone, as Quanah stated means gone, as in left the reservation." The Colonel looked directly into Lieutenant Cooper's eyes. "Get me Agent Haworth and Quanah Parker. Also, locate an interpreter, immediately. I will write the response to the telegram and you will send it. Is that clear, Lieutenant?" The Colonel turned and walked back to his chair. Looking up towards the young officer, he waved his hand in the air as if shooing away an insect. "Dismissed."
The Lieutenant saluted and waited patiently for the return salute that was given with diffidence. "Yes, Sir." He hastily left the office grateful to be alive.
*******************************************
"Telegram, Mrs. Travis." Mary Travis looked down at the young messenger boy as he floated the telegram towards her in a quick motion, and turned on his heels, racing down the boardwalk towards his other deliveries.
Mary startled a moment at the speed of the boy, and quickly released a "Thank you, Matthew" that seemed to hang in the air, not reaching him in time. Turning towards the Clarion, a smile crossed her face when she heard the youthful voice call out, "Yer Welcome!".
"Good Morning, Mary." Chris Larabee stood beside Mary glancing at the telegram in her hand. Mary entered the office beckoning Chris inside.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Chris?" Mary asked, putting the telegram on the table and heading toward the stove in the back room.
"Yes. Thanks, Mary." Chris sat on a stool waiting for her to return. He watched her appreciably as she walked towards him. Her blonde hair worn loose ran down the length of her back. The blue eyes shone brightly with intelligence and a deep compassion. Her loveliness suffocated him at times and he often felt the need to flee. He stood on the fringe with her, not able to nor allowing himself entry.
"It should be heated in a few minutes." Mary's soft voice lightly touched the edge of his thoughts causing him to look up at her slightly disconcerted. She stood close to him and he breathed in the scent of her with a longing, a need that he knew would never be realized. Chris sighed deeply and turned away from her glance, directing his eyes to the telegram on the table.
"Vin's?" He asked, lifting his chin in the direction of the telegram.
"Yes, I should find him and let him know it's here." Mary walked to the door and looked out hoping to see the tracker. "Is he around?" Mary knew that Vin would sometimes leave the town and head for open spaces.
"He should be. Didn't mention otherwise," Chris shrugged. "I was headed for the jail, thought he might be there." Chris again glanced at the telegram and then at Mary. "Is he lookin' for his family?"
Mary looked intently at Chris, knowing that he was not a man to idly talk about others' affairs and was asking only out of a concern for Vin. With that knowledge in mind, she looked at Chris and nodded her head. "Yes, he's trying to locate his adopted mother and father."
Mary turned towards the back room and quickly made her way to the stove. She returned carrying two cups of coffee and sat down next to Chris. "I hope the news is good, but there has been so much bloodshed on both sides." Her eyes filled with tears of sympathy.
Chris reached out and gently touched her hand. "He'll be fine, Mary. No matter what the outcome, he'll be all right."
Mary looked into Chris' eyes and saw a determination that would not allow things to be otherwise. "I know he will, Chris," Mary whispered softly, her breath touching lightly across his cheek.
Chris drew back at the closeness of her, jumping up abruptly from the table, leaving his coffee untouched as he walked quickly to the door. His actions caused dismay to rise up in Mary, her cheeks turning crimson with hurt and anger.
"Thank you for the coffee and the company, Mary." Chris' eyes lingered on Mary for a long moment. She sensed he wanted to say more to her, but something held him back. He turned away from her and walked out the door. Mary watched him disappear into the dusty haze and bright sunlight as he made his way down the boardwalk.
*****************************
It was taking too long! A week's time had gone by and still no telegram. Vin was not one to be impatient, knowing how to patient better than anyone. Sometimes on the hunt, he would wait for days in one place, not moving, just watching and waiting. Keeping his temper reined in, keeping patient was one of the boyhood lessons he learned from the People and he was always rewarded with a successful hunt of deer, antelope or buffalo.
Vin would carry the deer to the camp on horseback, but the buffalo needed to be found and taken care of by the women. They would skin it and cut the flesh into strips and would prepare the buffalo hides, making them soft and pliable which took up to three weeks of hard work. Vin wanted to help his mother in her toils, but this was not the custom among the People.
He had great respect for the women of the Kwahadi for they carried most of the burden within the band. The teepees were set up and taken down within minutes by the women. They were hardworking and skilled at their tasks and expressed no complaints. Vin knew this to be the way of the People and their means of survival. The men were the providers of food and the protectors of the band. When they were not on the war trail or hunt, their days were spent training their horses, making and repairing weapons or in idle quietude. This did not abide well with Vin and he would find tasks to occupy himself through those tedious times. He was patient then, and he'll just have to be patient now.
Vin shifted in the chair, slouching lower, tilting his hat over his eyes. The jail was quiet and the morning light filtered through the windows giving it a warmth that blanketed over him. Vin started to drift off, but the sound of footsteps outside the door, brought him to attention. He sat up abruptly, grabbing at his Mare's leg, eyeing the door and slowly settling back when he no longer sensed danger.
Chris entered with a grin, knowing that Vin was alert and very much aware of his presence, even though his outward sign showed no reaction. Vin sat quietly with his hat over his eyes, seeming to be asleep. Chris knew better, a man like Vin was mindful of all that went on around him, his life depended on it.
"Hey, Cowboy." Vin sat up slowly lifting his hat off his angular features revealing a lively smile. " You been busy with a purty newspaper lady?"
Chris looked at him with a grimace on his face. How did he know? Chris took his time to respond to the taunting. He was just guessing. "None of your damn business." Chris turned his back on the tracker sitting down at the desk. He smiled over at Vin and then turned his attention to the stack of papers, studying the wanted posters.
"What was that smile fer?" Vin looked at Chris his face showing disdain.
"I got some information for ya, but just for that last comment, I'm not so sure I'm gonna share it." Chris leaned back in the chair, bringing his booted feet up to rest on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. He sat back smugly, grinning over at Vin.
"Ya'll share it, if'n y' value that purty face of yers." Vin smiled at Chris, showing a high-spirited glint in his eyes.
"Tanner, your 'bout as scary as a hibernatin' grizzly." Chris laughed loudly at his joke.
"Ever woke one up?" Vin rose up tall, standing in front of Chris, making a move to knock his feet off the desk. Chris shifted his booted feet, anticipating Vin's movement.
"You can move right quick fer an old man." Vin sat back down, disgusted that Chris had outmaneuvered him, but Vin knew, if it was someone else and the game was for higher stakes, he would be the winner.
Chris laughed out loudly and put his feet back on the floor, looking over at Vin who was working hard on a scowl and trying not to let out a laugh.
"It won't kill ya Vin." Chris waited for Vin to glance over at him, knowing Vin would have that exasperated look on his face that was a mix of *don't waste my damn time* and *what the hell are y' talkin' 'bout*? Just the thought of it made Chris laugh even louder.
"Y'all reckon yer so damn funny." Vin rubbed his hand along his forehead. "And what the hell are ya talkin' about?" Vin paused and took his hat off his head, rubbing his hands through his hair. "What ain't goin' t' kill me?"
"Laughin', Vin." Chris laughed at the look of amazement that crossed Vin's face. "Laughin', Tanner. Give it a try."
"Yer given *me* schoolin' on laughin'." Vin stood up shaking his head. "The world must be comin' t' an end. Where's Josiah? I need t' do me some repentin'." Vin cussed loudly, while Chris listened with admiration, shaking his head at the extent of the tracker's vocabulary.
"Someone taught ya real well." Chris grinned at the man sitting across from him. He hadn't felt this lighthearted in years. Damn, it felt good! "Hey, Vin before the devil himself comes to get ya, Mary's got a telegram for ya. And you better watch your language."
"Aw hell, Chris, I respect *Mary*." Vin stood up tipping his hat to Chris, opening the door quietly and disappearing into the stream of light that spilled into the room.
Chris' smile slowly faded from his face as the morning light skirted across the papers on his desk, drawing his eye. His mind pondered on another paper, needing it greatly to bear good news.
*****************************************
Vin stood at the door of the Clarion watching with amusement as Mary fought defiantly with a brute of a printing press. He laughed aloud as he heard her curse in a very delicate fashion. She turned towards Vin frowning with irritation as her face colored with shame at being caught using language not befitting a lady. Her ink-stained hands exasperatingly worked strands of free-falling hair away from her face as she attempted to control her annoyance at the troublesome machinery.
"Reckon that beast is a mite fractious." Vin walked towards the printing press and then back to Mary. "Anythin' I c'n do t' help?"
Mary shook her head in defeat as she stood beside Vin looking at the press with a pained expression on her face. "The platen seems to be jammed again." Mary wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll need to loosen up the bolts and realign it." Mary smiled up at Vin. "It seems to be our daily ritual."
"I c'n give ya a hand," Vin quietly offered, looking over the printing press, not quite sure what a platen was or where it might be setting.
"It's all right, Vin. I can take care of it later, but thank you." Mary sat down at the workbench looking up at Vin, suddenly recalling with a start, why the tracker must be at her office. Her eyes scanned the papers across the room on her desk. She walked over grabbing the folded note on top of a stack of blank sheets of paper.
Vin watched Mary make her way towards the desk, reaching for the telegram. A twinge of nerves gripped him as she walked back to the workbench, handing the paper to him. Mary saw Vin's hand tremble as he took the paper from her. Her heartbeat quickened as she watched Vin look apprehensively at the telegram.
"Would you like me to read it for you, Vin?" Mary wanted to soothe his disquiet. Vin looked at Mary with gratitude, not sure if he could make out the words, his thinking was so addled.
"I surely would appreciate that, Mary." Vin rubbed his fingers across his chin and smiled. "B'sides it was sent t' ya'll." Mary laughed softly, knowing Vin was teasing her trying to quell his uneasiness.
Mary sat on the stool beside Vin and opened up the telegram. She began to read the message, her heart sinking at the first words. Her eyes filled with tears as she read aloud to Vin.
To: Mrs. Mary Travis
Clarion News
Four Corners, New Mexico Territory
Walks in the Sun Deceased.StopRanger Attack winter of '60.StopBlack Bear Renegade.StopArmy in Pursuit.StopInterference will not be tolerated.Stop Colonel Ranald Mackenzie.StopUnited States Army.Stop.Fort Sill,Indian Territory.Stop.
Vin's breathing became labored as he tried to lay hold of the words that Mary read to him. *Deceased*. Vin no longer was listening as his mind wrapped around the word. Walks in the Sun had died that day and he did not know it. He had not sensed that she was no longer living. He had left her to die, alone!
Vin stood upright with a force that caused the stool to fall backwards, startling Mary. The look in Vin's eyes filled her with concern and she spoke his name. Vin did not answer her as he bolted through the door of the Clarion, and headed for the livery. Air, he needed air!
Mary followed closely behind Vin calling to him desperately, reaching for his arm. She watched Vin as he quickened his pace, running away from her pleadings. Frantically, she turned and ran towards the jail, hoping to find Chris.
***************************************
Wailing filled his ears and warriors cutting strips from their hair assailed him as he spurred Peso into a headlong gallop towards the wilds. He could never get accustomed to the mourning of the People. It would unsettle him and he would flee from the sorrow and make camp, alone. The mourning would last for days at a time, unrelenting, agonizing cries that tore into his whole being. It was a grief so strong, so uncontrolled that he could not escape from it.
Vin reined in Peso abruptly, as he jumped from the saddle. He fell to the ground on his knees and began a death chant that came from some remembrance buried deep, deep down inside him. Vin sang for two mothers and allowed himself to mourn.
"Aheya aheya ya-heyo
Ya eye heyo aheyo-
O Sun, you live forever
But, we must die-
O Earth, you remain forever
But, we must die..." *
*Set-tank (Sitting Bear) death chant
The hair of the warrior was meaningful and this was taught to Vin. It was believed that the spirit or shade would be destroyed and not be able to enter the afterlife, if the person was scalped in death. The cutting of hair was a sign showing the fullness of their sorrow. Vin raised his eyes upward and took his knife from the sheath and sliced a lock of his long hair in keeping with the mourning of the People.
Vin knelt for hours in sorrow, never mourning for his mother when she had died. He had been taken away when he was five and could not remember saying good-bye. Vin had not been given that time to mourn; it had not been allowed. He was filled with a grief he could not hold back and his heart seemed almost to breaking.
Chris watched from a distance, listening to the anguish of the stalwart man who knelt on the ground, keening in the dialect of the People. Chris knew the heartache had been kept silenced for too long. He would not intrude on this man's grief, but would wait for however long it took, and would be vigilant. Chris would watch Vin's back now and always. He settled himself against a rock and waited.
**********************************
Vin knew Chris was there watching out for him and shame overcame him at the knowing of being seen with his soul so openly unguarded. Vin could not seem to move his body upward for his dishonor and disgrace so heavily burdened him. He had always kept his sentiment bridled. Vin heard the booted steps approaching him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the gamma grasses that rose around his kneeling legs.
"Vin," Chris spoke softly, not wanting to startle the wary man. "Let's go, alright?"
Vin slowly stood up, but did not look at Chris. He averted his eyes looking into to the distance, staring at the cottonwoods that swayed in the dry winds. He sighed deeply, readying himself to face Chris Larabee. Before he had a chance to speak, Chris reached out his hand towards Vin, giving a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder.
"It's between you and me, Vin. Nobody's got t' know." Chris spoke with conviction, mindful that Vin was feeling unsteady by all that came to pass.
Vin's gaze slowly reached Chris' eyes, showing shame and gratitude. Chris held Vin's glance, forcing the reticent man to remain focused on him. Chris' eyes never wavering as he nodded his head, showing Vin a depth of understanding that only a man who has endured the same suffering and loss could disclose.
Vin nodded his head to Chris and they grasped arms tightly. As they released their grip, Vin spoke with a voice raspy from grief, "Thanks, Chris."
"Let's go home, Cowboy." Chris walked Peso over to Vin handing him the reins. They mounted their horses and cantered off together in silence.
*****************************
Chris and Vin had a quiet meal at the saloon before turning in for the evening. Each one immersed in his reverie of past grief and disconsolation. Vin, disquieted over his show of debility, was comforted by Larabee's silent strength by his side.
Walking towards Vin's wagon, Chris sighed bringing the night air deep into his lungs. He turned to Vin and spoke quietly, as he watched the moon's light reflect off the sorrowed eyes of the tracker.
"We'll work it out tomorrow." Chris looked at Vin purposefully, not sure if Vin had a grasp on the whole telling of the telegram he had received.
Vin looked at Chris questioningly, his eyes like flint. "Nothin' t'work out, Chris. Dead is dead." Chris winced at the roughness of the words that Vin spit out into the black stillness of night.
"Not what I'm talkin' 'bout, Vin." Chris steadied himself against the wagon and waited for Vin's ire to recede. Vin raised his eyes to Chris with a wordless apology and Chris nodded to him showing his discernment.
"What then, Chris?" Vin was weary and wanted to retreat from the day's occurrences with sleep, though the worry of troublesome dreams nipped at his thoughts.
Chris reached into his pants' pocket and retrieved, the now creased and wrinkled paper. He wordlessly handed it over to Vin, watching as Vin hesitatingly, extended his hand out to it. Vin shook his head and looked at the telegram.
"Don't want t'go there now, Chris." Vin continued looking at the paper in his hand, recalling the words that unleashed year's of pain.
"I know that pard, but there's more t'it." Chris waited while his words wrapped around Vin's thoughts. It had been a hard day for the sharpshooter and Chris sensed the enormity of Vin's weariness in body and spirit.
"Just say it plain, then." Vin supported himself with his back against the wagon, bracing for whatever Chris was pondering.
"Black Bear left Fort Sill. The Army is after him and some others." Chris glanced at Vin's guarded expression for an instant, then continued. "Army's not goin' t' allow anyone t' go barging in on them."
Vin eyes narrowed at those words and then back at Chris. He waited a spell before he spoke, quieting his hostility. "I musta b'n woolgatherin' when Mary was readin' t'me." Vin looked up at the bright stars, the position of the dipper and the north star indicating that it was nearing ten o'clock.
Chris sighed, mindful that it was more than woolgathering that hindered Vin from hearing the telegram. As Chris waited for Vin to go on, he studied the boardwalk and shadows out of an instinct bred of survival.
"He's my kin, Chris," Vin stated plainly and Chris nodded his head knowing what that meant.
"All right." Chris put out his hand to Vin and they clasped arms. "We'll talk in the mornin'. Get some shut-eye."
"G'night, Chris."
Vin watched as Chris walked away and disappeared into the blackness, becoming one with the night.
********************
Vin saddled Peso talking to the horse in soft, soothing tones endeavoring to calm the excitable nature of the blazed-face gelding. Peso chose to be still for the moment and Vin rewarded him with dried pieces of apple as he gently patted the flank of the gelding with deep fondness. Vin walked Peso from the livery and mounted with a casual grace. He glanced around at the empty boardwalks and road, grateful for the solitude. Turning Peso east, Vin headed towards Nettie's homestead as the shades of daybreak embraced him.
Vin wanted to be away from the town before daylight. He needed to see Nettie, not necessarily to speak, but to be with her. Her bearing always brought him a comfort that quieted him like no one could. Pondering on those words, Vin chawed on his friendship with Chris. That ornery cowboy brought an ease to him, also. A grin came to him, pleased at the notion.
Vin would palaver with Chris and the boys when he returned to town. He had not decided what course to take to help his father. Vin knew that Black Bear would, more than likely, head on to Mexico. It would be a long and dangerous journey and it needed some studying. He did not want the men to come to any harm, if they chose to ride with him.
It was not something he was use to, men standing by him. It was hard to accept their help, their concern, their loyalty. Was it because he felt undeserving or was it because practiced ways were difficult to set aside? Vin was not sure of that or anything else.
Things were getting more convoluted all the time. The more folks in your life, the more muddled up things became. He sighed, surrendering to his entanglement of having friends. It brought a wry grin to his face and a quiet laugh, never did he think that his quandary would be having too many folks caring about him. Vin shook his head with wonderment and with a slight touch of his heels, spurred Peso into a gallop down the road.
*****************************
Mary entered the saloon prudently, her eyes darting over the unkempt patrons leaning on the bar and sprawled at tables, in search of Chris Larabee. Oftentimes, the men would gather for breakfast and companionable talk filled with ribald jokes and good-natured banter. Ezra Standish saw Mary enter the saloon and observed her discomfort as she viewed the dingy room and its' breakfasting reprobates. He gallantly strode to her rescue, extending his arm and escorting her to the men's table.
"Gentlemen, we are fortunate, indeed, this fine morning to have the pleasure of the lovely Mrs. Travis' company. Would someone be kind enough to offer Mrs. Travis a seat?" Ezra looked pointedly at J.D., who looked up at Ezra exhibiting a blank expression.
"What?" J.D. looked around flustered.
"A chair, Mr. Dunne, a chair." Ezra appeared rankled at the unrefined behavior displayed by the young man.
"That's quite alright, Mr. Standish, J.D." Mary graciously declined and turned her attention to the intense stare of Chris Larabee.
"What is it, Mary?" Chris asked as he rose to bring her a chair, placing it at the table near him. "Sit, please."
Mary nodded and sat down, waiting for Chris to do the same, before she spoke. As Chris sat, he turned his gaze to her, green eyes questioning.
"Mr. Larabee," Mary paused, reproaching herself for appearing so formal. " Chris, I took it upon myself to get more information about the *situation*." Mary was being cryptic, not sure how much the other men knew.
Chris nodded to Mary understanding her hesitation. "The boys know, Mary. I just got finished tellin' 'em the circumstances."
Mary looked at each man before she continued and pulled out a telegram from her dress pocket. "I sent a telegraph off just to see what information I could obtain. The Army was more than cooperative, when I mentioned I was inquiring for the Clarion newspaper. I'm sure they're concerned with people's ire at renegades on the loose."
Mary looked again at each man noting their approval. "Black Bear has been on the run for two weeks and Colonel Mackenzie has sent a warrior named Quanah to capture and return the renegades to Fort Sill. They've been in pursuit for a week. The soldiers are heading towards the Pecos River."
Mary sighed and brought her full attention to Chris. "That's all the information I could gather so far. I hope it's helpful for Vin." Mary stood up gracefully, motioning the men to stay seated, as a warm smile enveloped her lovely features. " Well, good day gentlemen and enjoy your breakfast."
Chris stood and walked Mary to the batwing doors, holding one open for her with an outstretched arm. As she brushed along his side softly, a fire rose up in him at the passing touch and he inhaled sharply, attempting to subdue the wanting that filled him. Mary's face heightened with color as she stood on the boardwalk, waiting for Chris to approach her. Her hands trembled slightly and she became annoyed at herself for her school girl behavior.
Chris stood before her with a smile that made her weak at the sight of it. He was a handsome man with eyes that were tender and deadly, a combination that caused terror and need to rise up in her. She wanted this man to be a part of her life, but was afraid for the wanting.
"Thank you, Mary. I appreciate all yer doin' for Vin." Chris looked into her eyes and a sadness passed through him, knowing the wanting was not enough. Mary was needful of more than he could give and Chris would not allow her to settle for less than she deserved.
"You know how I feel about Vin." Mary stared intently into his eyes wanting to complete the words with . . . and you. She sighed softly, knowing it would be sometime before those thoughts were given flight. "If I hear anything else, I'll let you know."
"Thank you again, Mary." Affection for her apparent in his voice, husky with emotions he thought long since buried with his wife and son.
"When will you be leaving?" Mary faced him with eyes clear and steady, tucking away the wishing for the moment as she considered the needs of the town. "Will you all be going?"
Mary knew in burgeoning western town, there was always trouble at every turn. Lawless men with too many idle hours, too much hostility and too little regard for life would lay to ruin anything in their path, her own life a reflection of that violence. A shiver ran through her at the memory and she waited for Chris' reply, clasping her hands tightly together to control her anxiety.
"Ezra and Buck will stay in town." Chris reached out to her and touched her hand reassuringly. "You'll be fine, Mary. Hopefully, we'll be back in four, five weeks time."
Mary nodded and started to turn away. "Good luck, Chris. Keep safe." Mary smiled sadly, "Tell Vin . . . wish him luck for me and let him know he's in my thoughts."
"I'll do that, Mary. We'll be back soon enough." Chris watched her walk away, her hair flowing like a river of golden light that kept his eye as she moved with an unassuming elegance down the length of the boardwalk and still continued watching, even as she disappeared from view, captivated with the memory of her. Taking off his hat, he ran his hands through his blond hair and shook his head purposefully, reclaiming his reasoning and strode back into the saloon.
************************************
Nettie strolled over to the steps of her porch as she watched the lean, loose figure of the man, she had come to care for deeply, ride in towards her. His slouch hat was angled low over his revealing eyes, as he reined in Peso in front of her.
'Morning, Son." Nettie smiled warmly at Vin. "Git that mule settled and come in fer some breakfast. You c'n use some meat on those bones of yers."
"Yes, ma'am." Vin reined Peso towards the barn, aware of Nettie's eyes on him as he went.
"Git a move on." With those words, Nettie turned into the house to prepare a repast, befitting a growing boy.
**********************************
Vin stood on the porch looking out towards the distant hills surrounding Nettie's homestead, as he thought of his father. A man whom he had not seen in over a decade and more, but the memories strong as if Vin was still that young boy. It was a time of joy and of family that Vin carried in his heart.
He learned about the land and all the mysteries of the People during those years. His father patiently guided him in the ways of hunting and tracking. He acquainted Vin with the caring, breeding and training of horses and showed him how to ride a pony like a true Comanche. A smile played across his angular features and kindled his blue eyes as he recalled the exhilaration of riding suspended from the side of a pony with a speed faster than a fierce wind, chasing the buffalo.
It brought Vin a sadness at the knowing that a freedom so pure would never be his again nor that of the People. The tahbay-boh did not have the sensibility to lay hold of what was truly of value, destroying a People, a way of living and to Vin, destroying the nearest thing to God on this earth.
Vin's eyes filled slightly, as he became overwhelmed by the loss and took a breath trying to steady his emotions. He felt a firm hand enfold around his waist and he grabbed hold of it. Nettie was there for him strong, good-hearted and loving. It brought comfort to Vin and he looked at her, giving a smile that filled Nettie's heart.
Nettie took in the sight of Vin, a handsome boy beneath the buckskin coat and unruly hair with expressive, blue eyes. She took off his hat, letting it fall down his back hanging by the stampede strings, and gently pushed away light brown strands of hair from his face. Her hand softly traced the side of his cheek and jaw and she rested it on his chest, looking into his eyes.
No words were spoken, yet she knew he had come to tell her something, to unburden himself. Nettie waited knowing it was difficult for Vin to share, not because he was uncaring, but because he cared too much and was hurt too often. She waited, holding her hand on his heart, letting him know he was safe with her, no matter what he did or said.
Vin looked into Nettie's eyes and lightly whispered a kiss across her weathered cheek. Nettie dropped her head down and a smile came to her delighted by his offering of endearment. She looked up at him and patted his face softly, her eyes inviting him to speak. A shy smile crossed his face, as unease crept over him at the closeness of the moment. She sensed his disquiet and took his hand, leading him down the steps.
"Let's git us some air." Nettie placed her hand through the crook of his arm and they walked together silently, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the gentle touch of the breezes that passed through their hair.
The silence was not uncomfortable, but enjoyable, and Vin held on to this time, locking it away in his heart with all pleasant memories that were too few in his life. He knew Nettie was waiting for him to speak of whatever was on his mind, but did not prod. He smiled knowing Nettie had a sense of him and accepted his ways.
As they made their way to the stream that had only months ago been so close to taking away another person in Vin Tanner's life, he stopped and turned to Nettie, still with his hat off and enjoying the freedom of it, and spoke softly. Nettie strained to hear as his words drifted quietly by her.
"Sometimes things just ain't right." Vin paused trying to put into words the ache that he had in his heart. "I stopped questionin' life a long time ago."
Vin turned to Nettie and with great care, helped her get comfortable on the grassy edge of the stream bank. He squatted down beside her, all bone and sinew wrapped up in buckskin, arms hanging loose over his knees, while his hands touched the grasses and his eyes watched the low waters of early summer drift by almost motionless.
"I got things that I need to git squared away. Make 'em right, if'n I c'n." Vin looked over at Nettie who turned to him, her eyes questioning.
"What do y' need t' do, Son?" Nettie reached over to hold his hand and he allowed this, seeing the misgiving in her eyes.
"Well, Miz Nettie y' might not know this, but I lived fer a spell with the Comanches when I was a youngin'." Nettie nodded her head, her eyes imploring him to continue. "The People treated me kindly and I was takin' care of better than I c'n remember aft'r my ma's passin'."
"There's good folks, Indian or white, no matter what the differences." Nettie shifted herself to face Vin, still grasping his hand, endeavoring to hold fast to the unguarded union. She was grateful that he had found some kindness along the way.
Vin gave Nettie's hand a gentle pulse of his slender fingers and smiled, letting her know her words were appreciated. "The family that took me in. . .my adopted kin, well, Walks in the Sun died 'n Black Bear's on the run from the reservation over at Fort Sill." Vin shifted his legs slightly as Nettie watched, calling to mind his ability to stay still and balanced for hours at a time. "Goin' t' help him git home."
Nettie was perplexed by Vin's words. "Home t' where, Son?" Nettie watched Vin's eyes search the distant hills. She spoke, pulling his eyes back to her. "T' live here?"
"No, not here." Vin did not give her more, as his eyes continued to search the hills.
"What are y' lookin' for, Vin?" Nettie paused. "What are y' seein' in those hills?"
Vin sighed deeply and looked Nettie square in the eyes. "Ghosts." Vin stood abruptly and reached down towards Nettie, offering her assistance in standing. "Just ghosts."
Nettie was not sure how to respond, but persisted, trying to decipher the meaning behind those words. "We all see ghosts from time t' time, Son."
Vin nodded his head before speaking," Reckon I'll be ridin' int'a passle of 'em."
Nettie was growing frustrated. "Vin, talk t' me plain, boy. I don't understand."
"Nothin' t' understand, Nettie. It's dead 'n buried now. Gone." Vin looked at Nettie, apologetically. "I'm sorry, Miz Nettie. I don't mean t' upset ya like this."
"Nonsense, Son." Nettie patted his hand affectionately. "You just promise me one thing. You bring yerself home t' me in one piece. Ya hear me?' Nettie looked intently into Vin's eyes, her hands holding firm to his shoulders. "You take care 'n don't cause me any fret."
Nettie gathered Vin in her arms and he placed his head on her shoulder, giving her a hug filled with a fondness that brought tears to Nettie's eyes.
Nettie gave Vin one last hug and pushed him to arm's length looking up at him. "Yer makin' an ol' woman cry." Nettie smiled. "You git along back t' town. You got alot t' git done 'fore ya go."
Vin smiled. "Yes, ma'am." He turned towards the barn to ready Peso, but stopped abruptly turning to Nettie. "You be here when I git back."
"I ain't goin' anywhere, Son," Nettie called out to him reassuringly. Vin turned again towards the barn, aware of Nettie's eyes on him as he went.
****************************
The six men were seated at their table, waiting for Vin to arrive. Decisions had been made and duties were assigned by Chris, the men acquiescing without question. Buck and Ezra were to remain in town to watch over things and the rest where agreeable to traveling with Chris and Vin to Texas.
Unease lay heavy on Chris and Buck, each having their own concerns about the journey. Buck, disquieted over J.D. traveling through country that was dangerous and deadly, filled with comancheros, outlaws and renegades. Chris, troubled over Vin going back to Texas, though Tascosa was hundreds of miles away, a bounty had no boundaries. Their eyes locked sensing the tension in each other, a bond built over the years of friendship, knowing when the other was unsettled.
"It'll be fine, Chris." Buck, always the first to offer reassurance, being blessed with an optimistic nature. "Ya do what needs doin' 'n y'git yer asses back here quick."
Chris let out a laugh, turning to Buck with a grin. "Seems easy enough." The other men joined in with the laughter, pushing aside their worries for the moment.
Nathan looked around at the men. "That Colonel Mackenzie is a tough one. Him 'n the 4th Calvary got 'emselves a reputation fer bein' relentless. Mackenzie 'n those Buffalo Soldiers are purty much responsible fer subduin' the Kiowas 'n Comanches. His battle strategies b'n used over 'n over by other Officers. Heard tell that Colonel Mackenzie went int' Mexico with the 4th 'n raided the Kickapoo-Apaches camps. Eighty miles non-stop, hardly any water, no sleep. Men were falling out of their saddles when they finally crossed back over the border. The Colonel said that it was his decision t' cross int' Mexico 'n he woulda had any man who refused t' go shot dead."
The men were silent, not liking the odds that they might have to face, and not wanting to go against the Army. Ezra shuffled his cards and looked around the table at the men. "It seems you may be confronting a very formidable adversary."
Josiah had been silent through Nathan's account of the Colonel. He raised his beer to his lips and drank deeply, setting it down, he turned to Chris. "Does Brother Vin have a plan or is he runnin' blind on emotion?"
Chris stared at Josiah coldly, before speaking, "You know Vin wouldn't do anything without thinkin' it out, especially if our lives are dependin' on it."
Josiah nodded knowing Chris was right. Vin Tanner would die first before he let any of them be put in danger. "Yer right, Chris. Brother Vin is more than circumspect. I never met a more prudent man."
"What?" J.D. didn't understand one thing Josiah said and he was starting to get rankled. Did Vin have a plan or not? Before J.D voiced his question again, Ezra spoke up quickly, not sure if Chris was in the humor to be pestered by the youth's many questions.
"Mr. Dune let me clarify in a fashion that you might comprehend." Ezra gave a winning smile to J.D., before continuing on with his interpretation. "Mr. Sanchez is aware that Mr. Tanner would never place any of us in a precarious situation, and he is more than prepared when he endeavors to take on, what may appear to be insurmountable odds."
J.D. shook his head in disgust. " Ezra, your answer is more highfalutin then Josiah's."
Buck looked at J.D. and ran his fingers through his mustache. "Listen, J.D. what Ezra, Josiah and Chris are sayin', now listen close 'cause I ain't plannin' on repeatin' m'self. They're sayin', that Vin will have a plan and that he will make sure yer safe no matter what the cost."
"Oh ... well, why didn't ya say so in the first place." J.D. stood up with disgust and walked to the bar, getting himself a beer. Sometimes they made him feel so stupid, he could just spit. He looked over at the men, their eyes intense and anxious, working on plans and hashing out details that J.D. knew would be a means to saving their lives, if the need arose.
Yes, they were smart men, all of them and very aware of the dangers that they might face and they would go just the same because a friend needed them. They would go without question, without hesitation, even if it cost their lives. J.D. swallowed hard, emotions rising within him, as he watched these fine men that allowed him to be a part of them. He walked back to the table, no longer angry and very much willing to listen and to learn.
"Whata 'bout this Quanah that Mary mentioned?" J.D. asked as he sat back down with the men. "Vin said he knew him, do ya think that might help?"
Chris looked over at Nathan for any information he might have on the Comanche *chief* Quanah. "Chris, ya prob'bly know jes' as much as me. He's a fierce fighter and Mackenzie had a hell of a time gettin' the Kwahadi to surrender to Fort Sill." Nathan shrugged his shoulders, not knowing if Quanah would be a help or a hindrance to them.
Josiah turned to Chris. "Well, Brothers the way I see it is that Quanah may be just as much of a threat as the Colonel, himself. My counsel would be to keep an eye to the Lord and a hand on the gun."
The men suppressed sardonic laughter that mingled with the slurred voices of drunken patrons and coy banter of saloon girls, drifting and floating out into the black night.
"What time ya got, Buck?" Chris' eyes fixed themselves on the saloon doors waiting for Vin Tanner to appear.
Buck reached into his vest pocket and took out his old "turnip" pocket watch, turning it towards the brighter light of the saloon. "It's late, Chris. That boy shoulda b'n back by now." Buck looked at Chris, a question hanging between the two men. Buck voiced what they all where pondering. "You don't think he lit out already?"
"Dammit, Tanner." Chris rose up like a shot, walking towards the batwing doors, angrily pushing through them, nearly detaching them from their hinges.
J.D. was the first to speak as the rest of the men collected themselves. "Chris sure is mad!"
"That's quite an understatement, my dear boy." Ezra shook his head with sympathy for the tracker. "Quite an understatement." The men quickly gulped down their beers and rose together, hoping to thwart disaster.
*********************************
He lay back with his head resting against the saddle, looking up at the night sky, brilliant with stars. The Big Dipper was angled slightly southwest of the North Star showing that it was two o'clock. Vin had gotten very little sleep. He knew Larabee was, more than likely, madder than all hell at him for not coming back to town. Vin wasn't ready to return yet, not wanting to feud with the boys. He had decided against having them ride with him and he knew, if he went back, they would not take no for an answer. Damn fools! Vin did not want to go against the Army and he hoped it would not come to that. He would not let any of the boys get in the middle of it, not even Chris.
Vin lay still for a while wanting to silence the worry that filled him. He grumbled to himself rising to sit cross-legged with his back resting against the saddle. Might as well get up, can't sleep now, no how. Vin stood up gathering his scant belongings and saddled Peso. He had to get back to his wagon and collect his Sharps, ammunition, and supplies that he had gathered together the day he sent off the telegram to Fort Sill. He had to do this unnoticed and light out of town before the men awoke.
********************
It was quiet as Vin came into town, working his way around the livery and heading towards his wagon. The slumbering town appeared peaceable and Vin kept to the shadows, blending into the black layers of the night. The only sounds were the winds playing at the store signs; a repetitive bang that became almost calming. Dustdevils danced and twirled through the town, descending on the boardwalks, that were pointlessly swept with care each day by the shopkeepers.
As Vin reached the wagon, he dismounted silently and tethered Peso, talking to him in a soft voice. He would have to take the gelding to the livery and make preparations for their long journey. Peso needed to be curried, fed, watered and rested. Vin smiled recalling the times when the comforts were scarce and they made due and survived with very little. Thriving on the hardship of the wilds, they became stronger and more untamed with each day. They learned to travel on little water, sometimes little food and many a night with little sleep. This journey would be no different and Vin was prepared for whatever encumbrances that came to pass.
The livery was empty and he methodically and deftly cared for Peso. Vin packed a supply of pemmican, dried meat strips made with mesquite beans and bone marrow, flavored with fruits and nuts, which was very much to his liking. He gathered several canteens filling them with water. A large sheath would later be shored on Peso's flank which would carry his .50 caliber Sharps, his cherished buffalo rifle.
Vin was pretty near finished with his readying for the journey and he had Peso all saddled and geared. He walked out of the livery, leaving the gelding in his stall and headed for the wagon, making sure he had all the necessities packed up in his saddle bags. He grabbed an extra shirt, though cleanliness was not going to be a concern on the dusty trails. Water would be scarce after leaving the Pecos and Vin only knew of a few springs along the Comanche Trace. One was at Saint Gall, Comanche Springs, too close to Fort Stockton for comfort.
Mapping the trail out in his head, Vin figured to ride through the Guadalupes on the Butterfield Overland route, finding shelter and using the springs at the abandoned station houses and then following the Delaware, picking up the Goodnight-Love trail and continuing to follow the grasses along the Pecos, until reaching the Comanche trace that headed straight to Mexico. He could ford the Pecos at Horsehead Crossings, depending on which way the trail led him.
Vin knew it would be a good 250 miles or more just reaching Fort Stockton. A man with a purpose could travel a good 30 miles a day with a strong horse and enough food and water. Mindfulness of the water supply would be necessary, after leaving the Pecos and traveling would be slower in the heat of the day. He'd reach the Glass Mountains in two weeks time.
Vin looked up at the stars and noted the Big Dipper was now level and directly south of the North Star. "Four o'clock." Vin's voice cut through the night's stillness and he regretted the intrusion, sensing a change in the balance of things.
A shadow caught his eye, as he turned towards the livery and his hand reached down to his sawed-off Winchester at his right side. Vin strained to see if it was friend or foe, and then, he heard the sound of a familiar booted gait and rhythmical jangling of spurs. Damn! Larabee. Vin sighed and walked towards the ominous black shadow.
Chris saw Vin coming towards him, and he tried his damnedest to control the anger that was rising up in him. He was relieved that Vin had not left on his own to help Black Bear, but he could sense that Vin was going to fight them, tooth and nail, about journeying with him. Chris was tired and didn't want to butt heads with the mule-headed tracker. He had hardly slept, being tied up with anger and worry, most of the night.
They stood face to face, like wary dogs, cautious waiting to see who would strike first or who would reconcile. Vin stood down, not wanting to leave with harsh words between them. "Chris, a mite early ain't it?"
Chris' eyes sparked with a buried rage, biting back the words that would only heighten the already strained situation. "Was waitin' on ya." Chris looked hard into Tanner's eyes. "You said you'd be back 'n I've never known ya t'go against your word."
Vin's shoulders dropped, dejected at Chris' biting statement. Chris knew where to strike the tracker and he struck hard, needing Vin to know how furious and disappointed he was that Vin intended to carry out things on his own.
"Chris." Vin raised his eyes up and Chris winced, seeing the hurt and distress in them. "I'm sorry, but it's somethin' that's got t' be done, alone."
"No it don't, Vin," Chris stated, not being swayed by anything the tracker had to say.
"Don't want none of ya gittin' caught in the crossfire." Vin would not back down. This scrape was too dangerous and he could not shoulder the knowing that he brought good men into a no-win situation.
"Our decision, Vin." Chris would not yield and waited for the sharpshooter's response.
Vin was bone-weary tired and Chris was pushing him down, hard and fast. He had fought many men in his time, but Chris was one that he could not seem to beat, not having the heart to hurt him. Vin rubbed his hand over his closed eyes, tightening his fingers against his temples for a moment, trying to relieve the tension building up inside of him.
"Chris, I cain't ask ya t'do this." Vin knew he would not be able to stop Larabee, unless he cold-cocked him good and lit out of there right quick.
"You don't hafta ask, Vin." Chris paused and tried to say things right. "But, we hafta help, no two ways around it." Chris' intense green eyes bore into Vin's. " I need t' help ya, Vin.'
Vin saw the truth in the gunslinger's eyes, though his words were simple, professed much to the tracker. Vin could not refuse knowing it was Chris' way of showing the deep regard he had for him.
"Alright, then." Vin held out his hand to Chris and they clasped arms together, anger long since past.
Vin and Chris headed for the livery, each ruminating on the journey that lay ahead of them.
"Vin, why do you think he left?" Chris felt foolish knowing the obvious answer. What man would want to be captured and confined? Especially, men that lived a freedom that Vin understood and he could only imagine. "Do ya think Black Bear is still fightin' against the army, even though the Kwahadi surrendered?"
Vin stopped walking and raised his eyes up to the stars, thinking of days long since past and he thought of the man he knew then. The People had chosen Black Bear, Guasape, to be their *peace chief* or headman of the band and he offered insightful counsel. He was kindhearted and caring. His wisdom was respected and the council always heeded his word. He was compassionate and honorable and he had loved Vin. This Vin knew for a fact and he carried that love in his heart, even to this day.
Vin had pondered on the reasons and there had only been one answer. One painful answer that tore through Vin and drove him to help his father, no matter what the cost to himself. It would be more troublesome, now that the boys were caught up in the tumult. He would have to work around that somehow, making sure no one got hurt.
Chris was quiet, waiting for Vin to reply, knowing he was studying on his thoughts and knowing that Vin had probably queried this a hundred times, beforehand. Vin looked solemnly at Chris and finally spoke. "B'n thinkin' on that some 'n one thing I know fer certain is Black Bear's a man of peace. C'n only mean one thing." Vin paused, not wanting to own up to the truth of things, out loud.
Chris watched Vin seeing his reluctance to continue speaking, but he had to ask. He had to know what they were up against. He would not allow the men to do battle with the army. The war had been lost years ago by the Indian and he would not lose his men to a futile cause. He would not lose Vin Tanner, no matter what the price. Each man was of the same mind, but their focus was on different intent. Vin's, to protect Black Bear and the men. Larabee's, to protect Vin.
"What does it mean, Vin?" Chris needed to know and he would not back down until he understood the reasons. Chris read the despair in Vin's eyes the moment Vin looked at him. "What is it, Vin?" Chris persisted. "What's goin' on?"
Vin cleared his throat before speaking, not wanting to be betrayed by the emotions playing inside of him. "He's gone t'die, Chris."
Vin turned away remembering a time that was without burden, without sorrow. It was a time before the children cried and the old men mourned. A time before the buffalo was silenced. It was a time that now, was a long time gone.
"I'm sorry, Vin." Chris watched the forlorn tracker and could say no more.
"Not yer fault, Chris." Vin turned away and headed to the livery, needing to help his father finish his journey.
As Vin entered the livery, he was startled to see the men at the ready, waiting to go with him. It brought him comfort and a slow lopsided grin spread over his features as he leaned to the side in an offhand way, hooking his fingers in his belt. "You boys goin' somewhere I don't know 'bout?"
J.D. looked at Vin incredulously and blurted out, before he realized Vin was joking, "We're goin' with you, Vin. You know that, don'tcha?"
The men all laughed at his words and Josiah turned to J.D. with a grin. "He knows, Son."
J.D. shrank down into his saddle, trying to hide from the laughing. Vin stood in front of J.D. and smiled. "It's all right, J.D. Just found out m'self. Some ornery cowboy won't take no for an answer and he's got h'mself some right stubborn friends, too."
Chris laughed at that and waited for Vin to mount Peso as the other men shook hands before their departure. Chris looked at Buck and Ezra as he spoke, "Take care of the town and watch your backs. We should return in four t'five weeks."
Buck shook Chris' hand and gave a devilish smile. "What cha meant t'say Chris, is fer Ezra and me t'take care of a certain lovely newspaper lady fer ya, until y'git back. Ain't that right?" Buck laughed loudly at his teasing.
"Go t'hell, Buck." Chris reined his black out of the livery, a smile playing across his face as Buck's laughter chased after him down the dusty road of the town. The men followed behind Chris, bolstered by the high-spirited banter. The ordeals to befall them, set aside for the present. Vin kneed Peso and caught up with Chris, giving him a grin and a wink. Chris returned the grin. "Let's get it done."
They rode off in a cloudburst of dust and hoofbeats rumbling, awakening the town to a new day.
***********************
Vin stood tall in the stirrups bringing his spyglass to his eyes, scrutinizing the open plains before him. It had been a quiet trail so far, but Vin felt his hackles rising. Open spaces made for easy prey, which he chose not to be while traveling in Texas.
His sharp eyes caught a figure traveling toward them in a gallop, riding hard. The slender mustang was an Indian pony, a red-ear Medicine Hat that was believed to have strong powers, protecting the warrior in battle. Vin knew it was Comanche bred and brought the spyglass to his eye, again.
The long raven hair soared behind the warrior, as he advanced in a run towards the men, hidden behind a rise. His pony showed weariness as he sustained his punishing pace. Vin scanned the distant plains in search of the warrior's pursuers. He saw nothing, but the vast land of the staked plains. The Spanish called the high plains, Llano Estacado that meant barrier rising like a fortress.
The Staked Plains ran south of the Canadian River in the Texas Panhandle, north and east to the Texas Cap Rock, west into New Mexico and south to the Pecos River. Beholding the Plains for the first time, thunderstruck most with its' expansive, crystalline blue sky and boundless grasses rippling in the wind and an occasional view of rolling hills in the distance.
Vin rested himself down into the saddle and urged Peso slowly forward down the enfolding slope of the grassy plains. He motioned to the other men to follow at a distance as he trotted forward towards the warrior. Vin noted that he carried no gun, only a quiver containing bow and arrows; guns had been taken away from the Comanche when they had surrendered to the army. Using the weapons of the People became a necessity for the renegades, until they could raid or trade for guns.
The Comanche warrior slowed the pinto to a trot when he saw the buckskin clad man approaching. Vin slowed, bringing Peso to a stop. He held his right hand up making a fist, bringing index and middle finger together pointing upward indicating *friend*. The warrior did not speak, watching Vin with eyes squinted tight, showing mistrust and agitation.
Vin felt the presence of the other men coming up behind him. He raised his right arm up, making a fist. The men stopped abruptly, knowing this to be Vin's sign to halt. Vin did not take his eyes from the warrior, and continued signing. It did not appear that the Comanche would speak and was keeping a wary distance from Vin.
Vin brought his left thumb towards his chest signing for* I* and then cupped his right hand making an open circle with thumb and index finger, he moved his hand towards his mouth in a drinking motion to show *want*and again brought his right hand fisted up to his mouth, with index finger and thumb again in a circle, snapped out his index finger showing the sign for *talk*.
The warrior raised his fisted right hand with index finger, pointed upward. He then dropped his hand down, wrapping his pointed finger over his thumb signing *yes*.
Vin made the sign, once more for *friend* and then extended his left hand and rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the top of his left a few times. He brought his fisted right hand to his right side and extended out his index finger, making a motion of a snake.
J.D.'s horse danced excitedly under him sensing J.D.'s eagerness and surging curiosity. Josiah, to the right of J.D., passively sat watching the men sign the language of the plains. The Shoshone dialect was used often by the plains Indians when trading, but the universal language from the Canadian Rockies to the Rio Grande was signing.
Josiah knew that Vin spoke the Comanche dialect and was intrigued that they did not speak, but communicated with sign. Josiah's thoughts were interrupted by J.D.'s intense, but hushed voice. "What are they sayin', Josiah?" J.D. waited a moment for a reply not taking his eyes off of Vin's hands. He was repeatedly astounded by Vin's skills and knowledge.
Josiah spoke in his considered, soothing manner, "Well, J.D. it has been sometime since I used sign, but if I recall correctly, Vin just told the warrior he was a friend to the Comanche and that he wanted to talk."
"What did the Indian say t' Vin, Josiah?" J.D. stared intently at the Comanche warrior, noting the buckskin breechclout and deerskin moccasins that ran from foot to hip painted blue and ornamented with colorful beading, some of silver.
"Well, J.D., the *warrior* said yes that he would have a dialogue with Brother Vin. Josiah knew that the warrior was in a hopeless circumstance, a man lost, no longer having a place on the plains. He eyed the widespread land and grieved for the passing of things. Josiah turned his attention away from J.D. and watched Vin sign and at intervals use the Comanche tongue.
"AhpiwekIkitu?i nii. Guasape." Vin made the sign for father by bringing his right hand up and touching his right chest three times, and then pointing his right index finger up and forward towards the warrior. Vin knew his language was rough. It had been many years since he spoke the tongue. Hell, his English wasn't any better. * I'm coming to look for father. Black Bear.*
The Comanche warrior brought his pony nose to nose with Peso and stared intently at Vin. Chris stiffened and sat upright, alerted and displeased at the hawkish motion. Vin sensing Chris' rancor gave him a reassuring glance and quickly turned his intent to the Comanche. Chris stood down waiting and watching, distrustfully.
"Piaet nii yaakwatu?i." *I'm taking a rifle.* The warrior thrust his hand out towards Vin's saddle scabbard that held his Winchester carbine. Vin reined Peso away from the warrior and spoke with ironclad determination. "Tocuse." Vin extended his right hand palm down and turned it quickly palm up *No*. "Tocuse piaet." Vin watched the warrior closely after speaking. *No rifle.*
The warrior persisted taunting Vin. "Tebujua`e nii yaakwatu?i." *I'm taking a spyglass.* He reached for Vin's spyglass. Vin again repeated "Tocuse tebujua`e. Tocuse." Vin was starting to get tired of this game. He needed answers and the warrior was being willful, wanting *gifts* for his telling. *No spyglass. No.*
Vin brought his hand to his mouth and flicked out his index finger *Talk* and spoke, "Tecuaro." The Comanche looked at Vin knowing that it was done. He would need to leave soon. The soldiers would be coming to return them back to the reservation. He would not go with the soldiers, peacefully. He would die on the plains a brave warrior with honor.
"SitikwI hunuvehtu mi?an." The warrior pointed southeast in the direction of the Pecos. *They went to the creek* The warrior spoke again. "Tovo?ihupiti." *They crossed to the other side*
Vin smiled, relieved that he had his answer. He extended both hands out and pushed down signing *thank you*. The warrior nodded and turned his pony north heading for the Colorado River and most likely his death. The men were silent as they watched the warrior vanish into the flowing grasses of the plains.
Vin was the first to speak, as he reined Peso back towards the Pecos. "We'll ride 'long the river 'til we hit the trace." Vin looked across the plains knowing Black Bear was close at hand. "Be pickin' up their trail soon."
"Let's ride." Chris followed behind Vin as they continued on their journey.
*********************************
The Comanche trace was well traveled through the years by the Lords of the Plains on their pursuit of raiding, trading and warring against the Mexicans and Apaches. Fort Stockton was positioned on the trace which worried Vin. Black Bear and the other renegades would have to use caution with the soldiers so close at hand.
They were traveling towards the Del Norte and Santiago Mountains blindly, not willing to turn back to the reservation. There were many perils facing the*renegades* namely the Calvary, Lipan and Kickapoo Apaches and little food or water. Though the Apaches were few and broken, their threat was still strong.
Vin and the men passed Fort Stockton, unobserved and it appeared the warriors had also been fortuitous. Vin knew they were a stone's throw from meeting up with the Comanches and that Quanah and the other scouts were fast on their trail. Vin read the signs and noted the Comanches' ponies were now walking slowly, their front and rear hooves marking only a two to three foot distance.
The Comanches' ponies were showing signs of weariness and so were Vin and the boys. Water was scarce and the men drank sparingly. Twenty-five miles of riding had left the Pecos far behind them. Comanche Springs was located in the town of Saint Gall and was in close proximity of Fort Stockton. They would have to bypass that water and head to the Glass Mountains, which was the source of the spring.
It was early morning and the searing sun was unrelenting. Vin had removed his buckskin coat hours ago. He wore his hat pulled down low protecting his eyes from the intense light as he rode ahead of the men scouting for signs of renegade Apaches and soldiers that might thwart their journey. Peso's endurance was still strong and he climbed the rolling hill easily.
Vin reined Peso in and dismounted, leaving the gelding to graze on gamma grasses as he walked and then crouched down low, surveying the distant plains. He hastily placed his spyglass to his eye and viewed to the east and west and then directly south. As he lowered the glass, his bare eyes caught movement and he saw riders coming in from the west heading south towards Mexico. Vin rubbed dirt on the metal edge of the glass and put it to his eye. "Damn." He anxiously watched the riders push on at breakneck speed. There were five Apache warriors, Lipans and Kickapoos on the run, fully armed and none too friendly.
Though Mackenzie and his buffalo soldiers defeated the Lipans, Kickapoos and a scattering of Mescaleros in surprise raids, there still remained Apaches in the mountains of southwest Texas and Mexico. The Chiricahaus, Warm Springs and some Mescalero Apaches had taken refuge in the mountains of Chihuahau and Sonora closer to the New Mexico and Arizona borders. They chose to fight the long-knives the way Cochise and Magnas Coloradas had fought, refusing to give up their freedom. They now were lead by new Chiefs, Chato and Nachez, who was a son of Cochise. The Apaches were still a deadly threat.
Vin stayed crouched and headed back to Peso. Once he was below the rise, Vin stood and hurriedly mounted, heading for the boys. They would have to put spur to hide to stop the Apaches from attacking Black Bear and his small group of renegades.
Chris saw Vin heading towards them at a gallop and knew something was wrong. He spurred the black forward at a trot and the other boys followed sensing trouble. Vin stopped Peso alongside Chris and as he looked at the weary men, guilt ran through him. He should never have allowed them to come along, this was his fight and his fight alone.
Chris' voice broke through his pondering. "What's goin' on, Vin?" Chris asked pointedly, these men were his responsibility and he wanted to be prepared for all dangers that they might encounter.
"Spotted five Apaches headed south. More'n likely be on top of Black Bear in twenty minutes or so." Vin looked at Chris and around at the men. "We got t'make tracks." Vin watched each man nod their heads with agreement and turned Peso towards the trace at a run. The men followed close behind him.
*************************
They kept up a brisk run for over twenty minutes and Vin slowed them down as he pulled out his spyglass, standing up in the stirrups, holding his balance with his knees. Before raising the glass, Vin's keen eyes observed plumes of dust clouds rising.
Bringing the glass to his eye, Vin saw the Lipans and Kickapoos fast approaching the Comanches who were now punishing their tired ponies, pushing them into a rapid gallop. He turned to Chris and yelled over his shoulder. "Next rise we'll stop. I got t'git the lay of the ground t'see what's ahead."
Vin pointed in the direction of a distant rolling hill. They rode through tall grasses now, no longer on the Staked Plains. Desert shrubs and scrubby live oaks were scattered over the land.
Vin dismounted Peso and tethered him to a scrubby oak, grabbing his .50 caliber Sharps from the sheath over Peso's flank. He pulled off his saddle bag and ran up the hill at full speed. He knew he had little time to waste.
Vin studied the lie of the ground and dropped to his knees, moving closer to the rise. Placing the saddlebags on the ground, Vin pulled out several cartridges that he had made before the trip. He covered his saddlebags with his coat and placed the rifle on top of it. Vin removed the ramrod from the rifle barrel setting it down near the ammunition and took out a match smoking the front blade of the rifle, killing the glare.
Vin laid flat on the ground holding the big rifle against him and looked through the sights finding his target. He squeezed the trigger and watched as his shot met it's victim. The Apache reeled forward and fell hard from the pony. The four other Apaches pulled up firmly on their reins, looking behind them for their attacker.
Before they had a chance to scatter, Vin threw open the breech and removed the spent case and loaded another cartridge. Searching with the rifle's sight, he aimed with precision and took down another Apache. The Apaches' ponies reared up their front hooves wildly, sensing the fright of their riders. Vin, again with the skill of his buffalo hunting days, reloaded and took aim. This time sending his shot out as a warning to move on, no longer finding it necessary to kill. The Lipans and Kickapoos gathered their dead and let out a cry of respect to a worthy, but feral hunter, galloping away from the Comanches' trail.
Vin placed his head down on the Sharps which was now dirty and hot, remorse filling him. He did not want to kill and never had a nature for killing, man or beast. Every kill aggrieved him to the core. Josiah had told Vin that God had blessed him with the aptitude, yet tempered it with prudence and conscience. Unraveling the words, Vin became humbled by Josiah's remarks. Likable thoughts, but to Vin they were all dead just the same.
The men had gathered around Vin during the height of the hunt, watching in amazement at his ability to shoot dead on, at such a great distance. They were quiet as they saw Vin place his head down in grief. Chris waited by Vin's side, giving the sharpshooter time to get himself collected. He bent down and started picking up the spent cases. Vin brought his head up and watched Chris picking up his supplies.
"I c'n do that, Chris." Vin set the Sharps aside and took his coat off the saddle bags, placing the cartridges inside the bag. He took a cloth from the bag and wiped down the buffalo rifle. He hoped to have an opportunity later to give it a proper cleaning. Vin stood taking the ramrod and Sharps in his hands. Chris gathered up the saddlebags and faced Vin, wanting to say something that would be comforting, but could not find the words.
Vin spoke first startling Chris, "I know ya don't abide by that kind of killin'."
Chris stopped dead turning to face Vin. "It needed to be done. If your lookin' for my approval, you got it." Chris waited for Vin to look at him. "You don't kill freely, Vin. I know that, you know that. I see what it does t'ya." Chris paused. "Hell, what killin' does t'us all."
Vin nodded finding comfort in those words. He raised his head and encountered the concerned looks of his friends. He smiled at them and nodded with assurance that he was just fine. The men watched in silence as Vin walked down the hill, carrying his Sharps over his shoulder.
**************************
They camped that night near a grouping of scrubby oaks and a drying creek bed with scant traces of water. Vin had hunted down a male and female sage hen for their meal. The male was seven pounds of good meat and the female, a few pounds less. He did not pursue the jackrabbits, saving them for when the game was scarce. Jackrabbit did not offer much meat and was often tough. Vin regretted not having his Sharps with him, spotting pronghorns several hundred yards away. Pronghorns were a challenging hunt being able to see and scent from great distances. Long range hunt was the best way to stalk and kill the elusive and swift Pronghorn.
The men were sated and settled back for a needed respite from the heat and riding of the day. Vin settled back with them enjoying the camaraderie for the moment, but knew he would soon be on watch. Black Bear could only have gotten ten miles ahead of them at the most, and the Comanches needed to rest their paints. The Indian ponies were almost played out from the unmerciful pace, and a man could not long survive on foot in a harsh land that touched on the edges of the Chihuahuan Desert.
J.D. appeared to be sleeping, but surprised the men when he raised his head up and gave a full smile to them. Josiah grinned back at J.D., continually fascinated by the untainted nature of the youth. Josiah was in eternal pursuit of capturing that purity, searching for it in God and religious disciplines. It seemed to always elude him and he laughed in mockery of himself as he stared into the face of it.
"You look like y'have somethin' on yer mind, J.D." Josiah rested his body down, getting himself comfortable in anticipation of a myriad of questions, that Josiah knew, he more than likely would be answering alone, being aware of the reticent nature of Vin and sometimes Chris. Nathan, a man of patience and a good friend to Josiah for many years, had always shown compassion and a desire to help people. Josiah looked at Nathan with a grin and an unvoiced call for help, if the need arose. Nathan acknowledged Josiah's plight with a returned full white-toothed grin and an emphatic nod of support.
"Well, I've b'n thinkin' about Vin and his days huntin' buffalo and the Indians and all." J.D. paused not wanting to offend Vin or make him uncomfortable. J.D., also, was apprehensive, not being sure how Vin would take to him poking into his personal concerns.
Vin sat upright and turned towards J.D. feeling a mite prickly inside himself, forcing it down, not wanting to show temper at the kid. "Ask me plain, J.D., I'm settin' right here."
Vin's words ruffled J.D., and he wanted to lay back down and forget he mentioned anything, but it was too late now, with all the men watching him and Vin. Nathan, Josiah, and Chris sat quiet. They knew J.D. pretty much got away with more than any of them, when it came to prying into Vin's life. Vin did not fault J.D. for his curiosity and overlooked most of J.D.'s blundering.
"Vin, I don't mean t'be meddlin' int' your affairs, but I was just curious about your time huntin' buffalo." J.D. paused and looked into the fire, searching for the words that wouldn't sound like an accusation or cause Vin distress. "What I b'n hearing, it just seems to me a lot of the Indians problems were because the buffalo was being killed off by the buffalo hunters. You bein' raised by the Comanches and all, it just doesn't make sense t'me."
J.D. cringed at his words. Here he was accusing Vin of being a part of killing the buffalo, that destroyed the Indians, destroyed his own family. J.D. swallowed hard, knowing men had been shot down dead for speaking less to other men. Vin looked down at his hands as if they were the cause of all the evils that had been inflicted on the People, and slowly raised his head, speaking soft and plain to J.D. about the truth of the buffalo.
"I was a hunter, but not like the ones that came later. My friend and I hunted the herds closest t'the People. When we kilt the buffalo, the women of the bands would take what we didn't need. Not the kinda man that needs much, just 'nough for bullets and such. Most times, I gave more away than I kept in thanks t'the People for their hospitality, lettin' us stay in their lodges. Knowing that gives me a peace, but not stoppin' the buffalo hide hunters from the slaughter, that's somethin' I ain't proud of."
Nathan looked at Vin with a need to absolve Vin from his guilt. "You're jes' a man,Vin. One man cain't solve everythin'. Sometimes things cain't be stopped by ourselves alone. It took a long time fer slavery t'end 'n I still don't know if'n it will ever be done with in people's minds. I couldn't stop that alone and y'couldn't stopped what happened t' the buffalo."
Josiah clamped his massive hand on Nathan's shoulder offering him comfort knowing the painful memories of slavery would always be a raw wound hidden away, but never healed.
Josiah wanted to offer wisdom and resolution to Vin and Nathan knowing they were two men who would die fighting to slay the demons of the world. Not unlike the other men and not unlike himself, but his demons were not as discernible or momentous as slavery or genocide. Josiah was ashamed for his weaknesses and self-indulgences looking at these men of strength and integrity.
"Brother Nathan is right, Vin." Josiah's voice carried itself over to Vin, forcing him to lift his eyes up to the men. "You have nothin' to be ashamed of and you gave sustenance t' the People when they were in need. You had no hand in the slaughtering of buffalo or the killing of a People. I know that don't change the way things are, but it helps a man live out his life with some peace of mind. We're all searching for that elusive peace one way or another, every damnable day."
Chris stood up and threw his coffee into the flames of the fire causing it to hiss and dance until it rekindled itself strong again. Chris knew peace would be a long time coming for him, but like a light of sun coming through clouds, Chris realized it was the same for them all. He felt less alone at the thought and reached within himself, uncovering a determination to survive that had been a long time lost.
Vin stood and walked over to Chris. "I'll be takin' first watch. You git some shut-eye." Chris looked at Vin a long while, not saying anything. Vin nodded seeing friendship in those eyes, a friendship as true and clear as the sky of the plains. Vin turned away feeling a momentary flicker of peace kindle up in him. He tipped his hat to the men and walked out alone into the covering of night.
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The stars reflected the time of night that Vin interpreted as easily as people did their timepieces. It was 2:00 a.m. and Vin had told Chris that he would wake him for the next watch. He knew the men were weary and Vin chose to let them rest. The horses seemed a mite jittery and Vin stood, eyes searching the darkness. He felt something out there, but the night divulged no enemy.
Vin heard the quietly stealth sounds of approaching steps and before he could react, a force drove him down to the ground, knocking him back, swift and hard, hitting the unyielding earth with such impact, the breath left him. As he felt his head meeting earth, his vision caught sight of breechclout, beading and raven hair. Comanche. Vin's mind reeled and he fought with a fierceness, trying to subdue the attacker who had the advantage of at least twenty pounds.
Vin felt as though he knew this warrior and was taken by the familiarity of him during their struggle. The flesh, the sinew and the scent was like that of remembering a brother from long past. The need to survive did not let his pondering betray him and he returned a blow to the face of the warrior and felt the blood flow on him as it spurted from the nose and mouth of his deadly foe.
The Comanche would not be taken down, and returned a blow to Vin's side, dropping him to the ground with a grunt of pain. The warrior did not allow the opportunity to pass as his prey lay stilled on the earth and he kicked Vin, again and again, in the ribs and lower back with intensity. Vin was grateful it was not a booted foot that drove into his flesh, but that of moccasin.
Vin collected himself with a determination, knowing that he had to take down this man or Chris and the boys would be in harm's way. The struggle between the men was soundless and lethal, only the skittish snorts of the agitated horses broke into the night's silence. It would be a battle to the death, if the warrior had his way.
Vin lay trapped on the ground, pinned down by the weight of the Comanche and he felt his knife being pulled from the sheath on his side. He bucked up his back, planting his feet firmly and used all his power to unseat the burden on his chest. The effort threw the warrior off balance to the ground and Vin climbed on top of him, assailing his foe with deadly blows.
He saw the flash of his hunting knife's blade and felt it plunge into his thigh and he let out a guttural cry of agony and anger. The warrior grasped firmly to the knife hilt bringing the blade up slicing the thigh open and then twisting it as he pulled it from Vin's leg creating a long, deep and gaping wound.
Vin's strength was ebbing, but he would not surrender because the men needed him. He fought hard with the knowing that they might die if he did not defeat this adversary. Vin wrestled the knife away from the warrior, but was taken off-balance from the intensity of the motion. The Comanche, taking advantage of the moment, sent a blow to Vin's head, dropping Vin to his knees.
Vin struggled to keep the blackness from overtaking him and let out an enraged yell in Comanche, "Tocuse." He stood reeling as the warrior lunged into his midsection, his head meeting earth with a force that left him unaware, until he heard the reverberation of a gunshot that played over and over in his head, and he struggled to make sense of the goings-on.
Vin's eyes skirted around the edges of a face that was seemingly familiar, but could not place a name to it. He had a murky recollection of the voice calling out to him, but the blackness beckoning had a more powerful grasp, and he surrendered to it.
***********************************
Vin cursed to himself feeling the poking and prodding and weakly slapped at the hands that deftly and firmly worked their way over his ribs and his lower back. He heard voices drifting above him, but still he could not recognize them. Not an enemy. Taking care of him. He laid hold of those thoughts and calmed, feeling safe.
"Comanche got him good in his thigh. Almost hit the bone. Looks like he wrenched the knife back and forth before he pulled it out. It's a mess. I gotta stitch it up and hope it heals. Could be some muscle damage." Nathan was grateful that Vin was still unaware, and smiled down at him, when he saw blue eyes looking up, blurry and confused. "Easy, Vin. We gotcha now. We gonna take care of everythin' that's ailin' ya. Y'lay still now. Y'hear?"
Vin heard the sound of a voice, but was not sure of what was being said. His head was buzzing and he closed his eyes willing it away. "That's right, y' rest now. Chris is here and we're gonna take care of ya."
"What do ya need, Nathan?" Chris raised his hand calling over Josiah and J.D. who were standing guard, not sure if more Comanches were lurking in the darkness around them.
"I need my saddlebag with the laudanum, bandages, carbolic 'n git me some horse hair. That needs to be boiled real good. There's a needle, boil that too."
Josiah ran for the saddlebags and J.D. raced to the horses getting the necessary horse hair. The Comanche lay dead on the ground, nearby and J.D. shuddered at death being so close to hand, finished up his task quickly, escaping from it.
Nathan rested a hand on Vin's forehead as Chris looked on intently. Nathan knew the gunslinger was worried and he gently reassured him with words that Nathan felt he had spoken too many times, grateful for that, but angry that they needed to be uttered at all. "He'll be fine, Chris." Chris looked at Nathan a good long time letting the words sink in and then he nodded, trusting it to be so. Josiah and J.D. let out their breath loudly, filled with a sense of relief.
" Let me try to git some laudanum int' him." Nathan brought the bottle to Vin's lips, but Vin shook his head, vigorously. "Tocuse!"
"It's Nathan, Vin. I ain't gonna give y'anythin' that would hurt y' now." Vin still wouldn't take the laudanum and Nathan resigned himself to it, turning to Chris and Josiah. "I'm gonna stitch this up now. Chris, Josiah hold him down, but gently. Y'know how he gits. Cain't have him thrashin' 'round on me."
Nathan went to work, taking the needle and horsehair from Josiah and began sewing small neat stitches thro