[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (21 page)

"If you do, I'll know who to go lookin' for."

"What about our guns?"

"I'll sack them up and take them to Tom Blessing. When you work up the nerve, you can get them from him." Along with a sermon stiffer than Preacher Webb ever gave, he thought.

Hoskins frowned over his dead mount. "That was a good horse. It'll be hard to find another."

Rusty said, "It was either him or you. I figured you'd rather it was him."

Hoskins and his cousin struggled to retrieve the saddle, having to lift the animal's dead weight. Hoskins handed the saddle up to another rider and mounted behind his cousin. He looked back angrily as they rode away.

Preacher Webb moved over beside Rusty. "We didn't make any friends here tonight."

"I don't need friends like them anyway." Rusty turned toward the cabin. "Who was the feller I had ahold of?"

"Jed Hoskins. He and his cousin Mordecai took up farms to the south yonder a ways. It was after you went up to Fort Belknap."

"I want to remember them two."

Shanty had ventured outside. He gave the dead horse a moment's sad scrutiny. "Pity for an innocent animal to die like that."

"Might've been better to've shot the man who was on him," Rusty said, "but there would've been all kinds of trouble."

Webb said, "There's trouble anyway. You can see now that you're not safe here, Shanty. They'll keep comin' at you 'til you leave ... or 'til somebody's dead, most likely you."

Shanty seemed finally to accept the minister's judgment. "Best that I be goin'. But this is home. Won't no other place ever be the same."

Rusty said, "I told you before, you can stay with me. It's not far. We can ride over here and work your farm together. I'll help you with your fields, and you can help me with mine."

"That'd be a kindness, but you don't owe me nothin'."

"I owe Isaac. Since you're his only heir, I owe you."

Preacher Webb nodded approval. Shanty said, "I'll tote my share of the load, and that's gospel."

His thin shoulders did not appear capable of carrying a heavy load, but Rusty knew better. He had seen him work. "You'll do fine, just fine."

Shanty went into the cabin and began to throw a few things together. "Be all right if I fetch my old banjo along? I'll try not to be no bother with it."

"Bring it. That cabin could stand to hear some music."

B
adger Boy sat with the children at some distance from the fire. He listened to the drum and watched the dancing by his elder brother and fifteen warriors who had volunteered to accompany him on his raid. Resentment gnawed at him like hunger in an empty belly. Steals the Ponies had belittled his pleading that he be allowed to go along. His shadow was not yet long enough, his brother had said. That in itself was humiliating, but the fact that Steals the Ponies said it with a laugh only compounded the wrong.

No one could say with certainty how many summers Badger Boy had lived, but the best guess was nine or ten. The top of his head came to his brother's shoulder, and Steals the Ponies was relatively tall by the standards of The People. Badger Boy had seen warriors smaller in stature ride out to strike the Texan settlements or to invade the scattered ranches and tiny pueblos of northern Mexico. Perhaps they
had
been a little older, but that did not mean they were better riders, better fighters.

Badger Boy could not help wondering if his brother's reluctance had to do with the fact that the boy was Texan by blood, not Comanche. But he felt Comanche. All he knew was Comanche ways. Whatever he might once have known about the white man's world had been forgotten or at least pushed back into some deep corner of his memory where he could not reach it.

The dance was meant to strengthen the warriors' puha, the mystical power that would improve their chances of success. It was also intended to bolster their resolve and confidence. They did not lack for exuberance. They sang and shouted as they danced to the strong beat of the drum. Consternation and terror would tear like wildfire through the lodges of the Texans before these men returned to the encampment.

Badger Boy had heard pessimistic old men lament the passing of the good times. They were saying, though others strongly disagreed, that the white men were coming in ever-increasing numbers and that the days of The People as free-roaming hunters and raiders would soon be over. Wolf That Limps, highly honored for past brave deeds but too arthritic to ride far anymore, had told of a vision in which he saw the buffalo only as scattered bones. White men's spotted cattle grazed the buffalo range, thick as fleas on a camp dog. He saw no Comanches anywhere, just white men with their plows and cows.

"I do not know what we have done to offend them," Wolf had said, "but the spirits have turned against us."

Steals the Ponies contended that Wolf was an old man whose stomach had soured, that he had eaten spoiled meat and his vision had been nothing but a bad dream. Badger Boy wanted to believe that, but the dark predictions filled him with foreboding nevertheless. If he waited until he was as tall as his brother, it might be too late. There might he no more raids. He wanted to go now.

Wolf had not said where The People had gone in his vision, simply that they were no longer here. Perhaps they had returned to the place from which tradition said they had come, a hole deep in the earth. If that were so, the spirits might never call for them to emerge again, and Badger Boy's chance at being a warrior would be gone forever.

He wanted to go now, and go he would.

Later he lay awake, listening to his brother snoring nearby. He did not understand how Steals the Ponies could sleep so soundly, knowing that sunrise would find him on his way to the settlements. He supposed his brother had already ridden the war trail enough times that it no longer stirred the high excitement it once did.

Badger Boy wanted to sleep but could not. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force sleep, but soon he found himself staring up at the stars through the smoke hole in the tepee's top. His skin prickled with eagerness to be on his feet and moving.

Steals the Ponies and his companions made plenty of noise about their predawn leaving. They had no qualms about awakening the entire camp. On the contrary, they wanted everyone to know. A major benefit of being a warrior was the acclaim one received. Reticence was not a virtue among fighting men.

Badger Boy watched his brother and the others mount their war horses in the pale light that preceded sunrise. Steals the Ponies rode over to him and leaned down for a final few words.

"Do not grieve. You will be going with us sooner than you think."

"Sooner than
you
think," Badger Boy said, too softly for his brother to hear.

He watched the men walk their horses through the center of camp, receiving the cheers and plaudits of those who could not go. They led a few extra horses to be used as remounts in the event any of those they rode were worn out, crippled, or killed.

While most of the crowd was watching the spectacle and vicariously riding with the warriors, Badger Boy entered the tepee and picked up the items he had laid out: his bow, his quiver and arrows, a leather lariat, and a supply of dried meat sufficient to last him many days provided he did not eat much. He slipped out the back side, where the bottom of the buffalo hide covering had been rolled up to allow circulation of air at ground level. He glanced around quickly to be sure no one had seen him, then trotted toward the horse herd.

He stopped twice, turning to look back, making sure he was not followed by anyone who might try to stop him. He could still see the tepee he shared with his brother. He feared he might not share it much longer, for Steals the Ponies had taken a strong fancy to a young woman of the village. He was talking about marrying her when he returned from the raid, for he was confident he would bring back many horses. Her father would be pleased to accept a new son-in-law who brought him many horses.

Badger Boy did not see why a man needed a wife. From observation he was aware that a man had physical need for a woman, but he knew a woman's favors were not difficult to obtain for one honored as a warrior. He had awakened many times deep in the night to find that a young woman had voluntarily entered the tepee and joined his brother upon his blankets. A man did not
have
to marry. He did not have to put his brother out of the tepee just so he could bring in a woman to stay.

However, since that appeared to be the probable outcome and Badger Boy would soon be living alone or perhaps sharing with other youths too young to ponder marriage, it seemed all the more appropriate that he be allowed to participate in the raid. And if he could not have his brother's approval, he would go without it.

He had planned this for some time. For several days he had slipped out before full daylight and studied the horse herd. He had found that most horses formed habits of behavior. At night, each had its own place to sleep within the group. Though the herd was moved frequently from one area to another for fresh grass, daylight would find each animal in more or less the same location relative to the others.

Steals the Ponies had taken his best war horse with him. But Badger Boy had long thought his brother might be overlooking the merits of a particular roan he had brought back from an earlier foray. This roan could usually be found near the perimeter of the herd each morning, on the north side near two other geldings with which it had formed a bond.

Stealthily, like the wolf, Badger Boy had practiced slipping among the horses and catching the roan without stirring up the rest of the herd or the two sleepy-eyed boys who stood night watch. So far he had not been caught. He did not plan to be caught today.

The roan had become accustomed to Badger Boy's morning routine. It pointed its ears toward him as he approached but showed no sign of concern. Badger Boy quickly had one arm around the horse's neck and fitted a rawhide bridle over its head. Though surprised, the roan did not resist or try to turn away.

Badger Boy held still a minute, making sure where the two night guards were. He located both on the far side, paying no attention that he could see. He felt sure one was asleep, and the other was not far from it. He led the roan to the edge of the herd in a slow walk. The roan's two friends followed. He stopped and raised his hand quickly. The pair halted, their ears following him as he continued leading the roan away.

He kept looking back over his shoulder, trying to keep the roan between him and the two guards so they would not easily spot him if they should happen to look in his direction. Only when he had reached a stand of small timber did he begin to breathe easily. Only then could he feel confident that he was getting away with his plan.

He had reconciled himself to the certainty that Steals the Ponies would be unhappy with him. He knew he was probably in for verbal and perhaps even physical abuse at his brother's hands and from his brother's companions. But by the time they saw him and knew what he had done, it would be too late to send him back. He planned to follow unseen until they were in the settlements. From that point, Steals the Ponies would see that it was safer for him to remain with the warriors than to try to find his way back alone through the white man's country.

He mounted bareback, his bow and quiver and the lariat slung over his shoulder. He wore no decoration, no feather in his hair, for he had not yet earned the right. He had not yet been on the customary vision quest during which a young man waited for a guardian spirit to visit him, to endow him with the medicine that would guide him on his life's journey. He had asked the shaman to advise him, but the shaman had said he did not yet have enough years to seek power.

Badger Boy had a feeling the shaman had never liked him, probably because of his lighter skin, which he considered a mark of impurity. The shaman was given to strong counsel against bringing outsiders into the tribe, diluting the blood that made the Comanches
The
People, superior to all other races, white or red. If it were in the shaman's power he would see that Badger Boy never received a vision, never received the intercession of a guardian spirit. He might even try to saddle the lad with a dark spirit that would work against him.

Badger Boy felt that he could do well enough for himself without the aid of that evil-eyed old man, his potions and talismans and witchery. He had seen the shaman perform his rituals over the sick. Sometimes they recovered and sometimes they did not. In a few cases he suspected the old man had willed them dead, and they had died. There was a question in Badger Boy's mind whether the shaman had allied himself with benevolent spirits or with those of the darkness.

Unfortunately the shaman's negative views were shared by some others influential in the hand, like the warrior Tonkawa Killer. Badger Boy hoped his participation in this raid would demonstrate that his white skin was not a liability.

His first impulse was to ride hard and get himself some distance away from the village in case someone should miss him and come to fetch him back. But who was likely to miss him? If he rode too fast he might overtake his brother and the war party prematurely. He would almost surely suffer punishment for his transgression, then be sent back, shamed.

Steals the Ponies had always counseled him that patience was essential, that haste too often led a warrior to a downfall. Though Badger Boy itched to move with more speed, he slowed his pace once he felt he was well clear of the village and any strong likelihood that someone would come after him. He knew Steals the Ponies and the others would not push their horses hard and risk wearing them down. The time to push would be on the return, when there was likely to be pursuit.

In the beginning the trail was easy to follow. The riders made no effort to conceal it, for here in the heart of Comancheria there was no enemy to elude. He knew that as they moved closer to the settlements the tracks would challenge him. Fortunately his brother had taught him much about trailing, whether it be for game or for enemies.