Comanche (16 page)

All in all the hunt had been a success. Every Indian boy managed to take at least two mustangs and Comes For Food gathered in four, after grabbing a rope from the hands of a companion who appeared content to have two captives on his hands. For all their multiple successes, none of the boys thought less of Loncey’s only taking one horse. They knew quality when they saw it and recognised that the white stallion, properly broken and trained, would be the equal of three or four ordinary broomtailed mustangs.

‘We’ll go back to the buffalo camp,’ Ysabel ordered, glancing up at the sky. ‘There’s still work to be done on these horses.’

Unless being selected as suitable for breeding, or intended as a favourite mount, male horses were castrated. A gelding caused less trouble in the remuda than a stallion would and proved easier to handle. So, on arrival at the buffalo-hunt camp, the boys selected their best horse and went to work on the others. Roping the horse’s forelegs, they brought it down and tied its feet to a post. Two of the boys laid hold of the hind legs and a third, watched over by Ysabel, handled the knife. Working deftly and swiftly, the boy performed the operation. So efficient had been their training that not one horse was lost or seriously injured during the gelding.

Naturally Loncey did not subject the white stallion to that treatment. Wishing to make the white a one-man-horse, he requested permission to return to the village. Always willing to encourage initiative, the leaders of the hunt allowed him to go. Accompanied by four of his friends, he rode back to the main village, but did not settle there. A
tsukup
wise in such matters taught the boys how to set up a pole corral. Building one close to a deep waterhole a mile from the village, aided by his friends, Loncey placed the white stallion and mare inside. Then he had a tepee erected and stayed there alone.

For a week the boy could not approach the stallion. Each day he gathered such titbits as might tempt the horse’s fancy, spending every possible minute near it. At last his persistence won through and the stallion began to allow him close, then to touch, fondle and caress its sleek skin. Freed from the mare, the white showed no sign of trying to run and Loncey went on with the next stage of training.

By the time the buffalo-hunters returned, laden with a winter-long supply of meat, hides and all the other parts used in their lives, Loncey had taught the stallion to come when he whistled or called, and to accept the feel of blanket, then saddle, on its back.

Everything the boy saw warned him that putting on the saddle would be easier than persuading the white to accept him as a rider. So he started to lead the horse to the waterhole and wade out until the water lapped around its belly. Regarding this as a pleasant sensation, the big white went in willingly and Loncey carefully checked the bottom. He found only firm sand, no rocks on which the horse might damage a leg, so knew he could put the next step of the training into operation.

Leading the horse into the water as usual, Loncey fastened a rope securely to his saddle, knotting the other end firmly about his waist. Then he slowly levered himself on to the horse’s back. Feeling the unaccustomed weight, the white began to rear in an effort to dislodge whatever might be on its back. Deftly Loncey kept its head down and it started to buck. Even impeded by the water, the white put such fury into its efforts that it threw Loncey. He came up spluttering, grabbing the rope in both hands and halting the horse’s rush for the shore. Three more times the white threw Loncey and he swung back astride on rising. At last the boy’s tenacity won out, he kept in the saddle and rode the horse to a standstill. When the horse fought no more, Loncey led it from the water and back to the corral.

From that day Loncey continued to ride the stallion, sitting out its bucking until it understood that it could not throw him. Kindness and patience kept the stallion from losing its spirit even though it no longer fought against carrying him on its back. Not until the fighting ended did Loncey cease to fasten himself in the saddle.

The work of training did not end with being able to ride the white, it was only the beginning. A Comanche’s favourite horse must be more than a mere means to take one from place to place. It had to be obedient to various commands and able to act as an extra pair of eyes, ears and a spare nose for its master.

Aided by his friends, Loncey taught the horse to locate and give warning of hidden men; a simple task as the horse retained most of its wild instincts. The boy watched and studied its reactions, learning to read every head-toss, snort or ear twitch. Observing from a distance, Ysabel and Long Walker nodded their approval and repeatedly told each other that they had never seen such a horse before.

Others also observed Loncey’s activities, but with less innocent intent. Fire Dancer watched and an idea began to form in her head. Due to Ysabel’s previous caution, she had not achieved anything in the way of revenge. At last she saw a chance to strike at the big white man through his son.

‘If you go against Cuchilo while he is out there with the horse,’ she told No Father, ‘you could kill him and none will know who did it. If you take the horse they will blame the Waco, or Apaches.’

‘I could take my rifle—’ the boy began.

‘You missed the last time you tried that. There is another way.’

‘You mean go after him with a knife—alone?’ asked No Father, showing a remarkable lack of enthusiasm.

‘Not alone. Have you no friends?’

‘Some, but they will not kill another member of the People.’

‘How about the captive boys?’

Recently No Father had befriended five boys captured in raids on different Indian tribes. With his mother’s help in the way of food, he turned them into willing cronies. However, No Father was unsure of how much sway he had over them.

‘I don’t know—’

‘Go and speak with them, bring them here,’ ordered his mother. ‘We will see.’

Gathering the captive boys, No Father brought them to his mother’s tepee and she spoke to them of her medicine. To hear Fire Dancer tell it, the boys could be made free and returned to their own people—with her aid—if they helped kill the one called
Cuchilo
. Although the prospect of freedom might be alluring, one of the boys, a bulky, tall Tejas, raised objections.

‘If we kill a
Tshaoh
, they will kill us.’

‘First they must catch you,’ Fire Dancer pointed out.

‘A horse can run faster than a mule,’ countered the Tejas.

The Comanche never allowed captives to ride other than mules, which lacked the speed to escape from pursuing horses.

‘I have horses for you. There will be a storm tomorrow, its rain will hide your tracks as you flee. But you must help No Father kill
Cuchilo
or my medicine will ensure your capture.’

‘
Cuchilo
has weapons,’ objected the Tejas.

‘So will you,’ promised Fire Dancer and walked to her bed. Drawing aside the buffalo robe blanket, she exposed a collection of knives and tomahawks. ‘There. Come to me in the early hours of the morning and I will arm you. Then you go with No Father, kill
Cuchilo
and ride to freedom.’

‘And if we don’t?’ the Tejas inquired.

‘You remember the
Kweharehnuh
who died in this camp many seasons ago?’ hissed Fire Dancer and the boys nodded. ‘My medicine killed him because he would not obey me. Now what do you say?’

‘We go with No Father,’ answered the scared Tejas while his companions gave their agreement.

In the early grey light of the morning Raccoon Talker left her tepee and walked hurriedly through the camp. Although headed for the home of Long Walker and Ysabel, she halted on seeing two young shapes approaching. On their way home after a night at playing stealing horses, Comes For Food—renamed Four Horses due to his exploit on the mustang hunt—and Loud Voice halted at the woman’s low spoken command.

‘I smell evil in the air,’ she told the boys. ‘Danger threatens
Cuchilo
—’

The boys needed to hear no more. Even when playing their inevitable horse-stealing game, they carried their knives. So, without waiting to collect other weapons, they ran to collect horses so as to reach their friend the more quickly. After watching the boys go, Raccoon Talker turned and hurried on to her original destination.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WHILE it had not been No Father’s original intention to accompany the captive boys on the actual attack, they stood firm in their refusal to go without him. So, rather than put aside what might be the best chance they would ever have to kill Loncey, Fire Dancer insisted that her son went along. He alone of the party possessed a firearm. In addition to his rifle, a Colt 1851 Navy revolver rode in his waist belt. Although wanting revenge, Fire Dancer did not dare advertise her intentions by obtaining bows and arrows, so the remainder of the raiding force bore either knives or tomahawks.

Scattered around Loncey’s tepee, the boys made their cautious way through the cold grey light of the dawn. Overhead, sullen black clouds gave warning spatters of rain, but as yet the full force of the impending storm had not broken. The Tejas, smarter and less trusting than the others, saw numerous snags in the proposed murder and horse theft. After its success, he doubted whether Fire Dancer would allow the party to go free. So he decided to act for himself. Leaving the others to stalk Loncey’s tepee, he made a cautious way towards the gate of the corral. In doing so, he alerted and warned the white stallion.

In the tepee Loncey came from deep sleep to full awake at the horse’s first alarmed snort. Automatically he scooped up the revolver in his right hand and bowie knife in his left. Rising, he paused and listened to the scraping of the corral’s gate pole. No Comanche boy would play at horse-stealing so far from the camp and with the animal another of the People kept penned for private training. That meant somebody made a serious attempt to steal the white stallion. Letting out a low hiss of anger, Loncey burst through the tepee’s door.

A shape loomed ahead of him, coming with upraised knife. Already cocked on being taken up, the Dragoon boomed. Struck in the chest by the soft lead ball, the first attacker went over backwards. At Loncey’s right, a second boy hurled his tomahawk. Lack of skill caused the head of the handle to strike instead of the blade, but it hit Loncey’s right wrist with numbing force and caused him to let the heavy Dragoon fall from limp fingers.

Letting out a screech, the tomahawk thrower hurled at Loncey with bare hands. Pivoting, Loncey brought up his knife in a savage backhand slash over the reaching arms and laid the other boy’s throat open to the bone. Even as he struck, Loncey saw enough to tell him what had been planned.

Down by the corral, the Tejas boy let the top gate-pole fall and vaulted over it. Unless he sadly misjudged, the white could clear the lower poles even carrying him, so he did not need to waste further time. Starting forward, he heard the stallion snort, saw its ears flatten—then it charged him. Before the boy could decide on what action to take, the stallion reached him. Rearing high, the white slashed out with its hooves and drove them into the boy’s skull. Although the Tejas crashed down with his skull smashed open, the stallion did not halt its attack. Screaming with fighting rage, it stamped the body into a bloody pulp.

Loncey saw No Father rise from behind a bush and start to bring up the rifle. At the same moment, a third boy, a Waco, rushed up and presented more immediate danger to Loncey’s life. Like most Indians, the Waco held his knife with the blade beneath his hand in a way which allowed only two types of blow; a downwards chop aimed behind his enemy’s collarbone, or a sideways stroke directed to the ribs. The Waco elected to try the former attack and brought the knife swinging downwards. Before Waco steel could blood itself in his flesh, Loncey threw up his numb right forearm to block the other’s knifewrist. Then the bowie knife gave its answer; only Loncey held it as taught by Don Francisco Almonte, its blade extending from the thumb and forefinger side of the hand. Such a grip allowed the knife to be used for its most deadly stroke, the driving, ripping cross-slash. Holding off the Waco’s knife, Loncey sank the bowie’s blade into the other’s belly and tore it open.

Hooves thundered and drew No Father’s attention from Loncey. Seeing Loud Voice and Comes For Food tearing down to the rescue, and noting they were closer to him than Loncey, No Father swung his rifle towards them. He aimed and fired, driving a .56 calibre bullet into Loud Voice’s head and tumbling him from the back of the racing pony. Tossing aside the empty rifle, No Father started to draw the Navy Colt. Not so brave as the others, the remaining captive boy had advanced less speedily and found himself in the path of Comes For Food’s horse. With the courage of a cornered rat, the captive hurled himself forward. Comes For Food whipped out his knife and dived from his horse on to his attacker, both of them crashing to the ground.

Giving a roar of rage, Loncey charged at No Father to avenge the killing of his foster brother. The Colt swung his way and he went forward in a rolling dive. He heard the crash of the shot and felt a searing, burning pain on his shoulder, while being half-blinded by the Colt’s muzzle blast. Seeing Loncey coming, No Father started to spring aside. Loncey slashed viciously sideways in passing. The knife sliced into No Father’s calf so deep that it tore through the muscles almost to the bone. Blood spurted and No Father gave a scream, staggering and dropping the revolver.

On hearing the first shot and seeing the arrival of the two
Pehnane
boys, Fire Dancer realised that her plan might fail and help was sure to come from the village. Leading her son’s horse, she charged out from where she had been hiding and raced towards No Father. Comes For Food rose from disposing of the boy he tackled, heard the drumming of hooves and whirled to deal with the newcomer should he prove to be an enemy. Recognising Fire Dancer, the boy paused undecided as to what he ought to do. Fire Dancer pulled the single-shot pistol from her waist band, lining it and firing. Lead ripped into Comes For Food’s chest, spun him around and tumbled him aside.

At that point Fire Dancer saw her son receive the injury and screamed in rage. There was no way she could reload the pistol and she possessed no other means of dealing with Loncey. Already in the distance she could see two men galloping towards the battleground and recognised them. With Ysabel and Long Walker coming, she dare waste no time. Showing riding skill of a high order, she tore down and scooped her son on to the horse in passing. Give him his due, hurt badly though he might be, No Father still retained the presence of mind to catch his mother’s wrist and swing afork the horse behind her. Before Loncey could rise, the horses whirled by and tore away. Wild with rage, he caught up No Father’s heavy Navy Colt, but could not make a hit on the fast riding, double-loaded couple. Turning, Loncey dashed to the corral, meaning to use his white for the pursuit. Hot with fury still, it showed obvious signs that warned Loncey to enter the corral at that moment would be suicide.

Rain began to come down faster, lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Before Ysabel and Long Walker arrived, the storm broke in all its fury.

‘Who was it, boy?’ demanded Ysabel, leaping from the grulla as it slid to a halt at his son’s side.

‘Fire Dancer and No Father,’ Loncey answered. ‘Let me have your horse, ‘
ap
.’

‘Loud Voice is dead!’ Long Walker called from by the boy’s body.

‘Give me the horse, ‘
ap
!’ Loncey repeated.

‘You couldn’t find them in this storm, boy,’ Ysabel answered gently. ‘And you’ve got a mighty bad gash on your back.’

Not until that moment did Loncey realise he had been wounded. Before allowing himself to be taken to the village for treatment, he insisted on replacing the corral rail so as to keep the white stallion inside.

The following afternoon Loncey stood in his grandfather’s tepee, facing the chief, Ysabel, War Club and Comes For Food’s father—the latter two haggard with grief at the loss of their sons. After he told of the attack, Loncey stated his intention of finding Fire Dancer and her son even though the storm wiped out their tracks.

‘I had old Buffalo Keates come in to see me the other day, boy,’ Ysabel interrupted. ‘Was fixing to tell you when you could handle the white. The South’s gone to war with the Yankees and Texas is siding with the Confederate States, which being what the Southern States call themselves. Buffalo said that Mosby gent we showed some buffalo hunting a couple of years back wants us to go along and join a regiment he’s starting to fight the Yankees.’

‘You mean to ride to war?’ Loncey gasped.

‘Sure, boy.’

For a long time the boy stood without a word. At last he could achieve every Comanche boy’s ambition of taking the war trail. But if he did, he must put off his vengeance search for No Father.

‘We will understand if you go, my son,’ War Club told the boy and Comes For Food’s father nodded agreement. A war trail of that kind took precedence over the quest for vengeance and any other business.

‘
Ka-Dih
does not favour you hunting them at this time,
tawk
,’ Long Walker went on. ‘That was why he sent the storm to wash out their tracks. Ride to war and count many coups.’

‘Very well,
tawk
,’ Loncey said quietly. ‘I will. I will come back, find No Father—and when I do, one of us will die.’

oooOooo

How Loncey finally met No Father and kept his promise is told in
Sidewinder
.