Dead Man's Walk (55 page)

Call was surprised by Lady Carey's riding. She rode sidesaddle, of course, but handled her black gelding as expertly as any man. She could even make the horse jump, putting him over little gullies and small bushes while at a gallop. Call thought that was foolish, but he had to admit it was skillful, and pretty to watch. Willy tried to get his pony to jump like his mother's gelding, but of course the pony wouldn't. Mrs. Chubb rode a donkey, and protested constantly about its behaviour, though Gus pointed out to her that her donkey behaved no worse than most donkeys.
"In England they behave better, sir," Mrs. Chubb insisted. "This one tried to bite my toe." Emerald, the tall Negress, rode a large white mule; she astonished Gus when she told him that the mule had sailed over from Ireland, along with Willy's pony and Lady Carey's black gelding.
"I doubt I could get fond enough of a mule to bring one on a ship," Gus said. He himself was riding a lively bay, procured in El Paso. In fact, thanks to Lady Carey's largesse, they were all better mounted than they had been at any time during their journeying. Each man had two horses, and there were four pack mules. One carried Lady Carey's canvas tent; the others carried provisions, including plenty of ammunition. They all had first-rate weapons, too--brand-new rifles and pistols, and a pretty shotgun for shooting fowl. Gus was eager to try the shotgun on prairie chickens-- he had acquired a taste for the birds, but traveling east out of El Paso, they saw no prairie chickens, only desert. Gus did manage to bring down a lean jackrabbit with the shotgun, but upon inspecting the rabbit, Emerald declined to cook it.
"Lady Carey doesn't care for hares, unless they're jugged," she said. Lady Carey had raced far ahead. She was still completely veiled, so veiled that Call didn't know how she could see prairie-dog holes and other dangers of the trail. But she rode fast, her veils flying, and the black gelding rarely stumbled.
At four, to the Rangers' astonishment, the party stopped so that tea could be served. A small table was set up, covered with a white damask cloth.
A fire was made; while Emerald sliced a small ham and made little sandwiches, Mrs.
Chubb brewed the tea. The sugar bowl was brought out and sugar tonged into the cups. All the Rangers liked the tea and drank in the desert.
The boys could drink all the tea they wanted at night--why waste the daylight? But he had to admit that otherwise Lady Carey's arrangements had been excellent. The saddles were the best that could be located in El Paso; also, mindful that winter was approaching, Lady Carey had insisted that they buy slickers, warm coats, and plenty of blankets. If Caleb Cobb's expedition had been half so well equipped, it might have succeeded, at least in Call's view.
With proper equipment, it would have had a chance.
At night, with Long Bill's help and Gus's, Emerald set up Lady Carey's tent. While the tent was being anchored, Lady Carey sat by the campfire and read Willy stories from one of the storybooks they had with them.
Some of the Rangers, unused to having a lady handy who would read, listened to the stories and enjoyed them as much as Willy. Matilda Roberts, for her part, enjoyed them more than Willy--the young viscount, after all, had had the stories read to him many times. But Matilda had never heard of Little Red Riding Hood, or Jack and the Beanstalk.
She sat entranced, letting her tea grow cold, as Lady Carey read.
Even more entrancing than the stories was Lady Carey's singing. Mostly she sang light tunes, "Annie Laurie," "Barbara Allen," and the like--the light tunes suited the men best. But now and then, as if bored with the sentimental tunes, Lady Carey would suddenly let her voice grow and grow, until it seemed to fill the va/s of the desert. She sang in a tongue none of them knew--none, that is, except Quartermaster Brognoli, who suddenly stood up and attempted to sing with her. He had not emitted an intelligible sound in so long that his voice was hoarse and raspy, but he was trying to sing and there was life in his eyes again. A vein stood out on his forehead as he attempted to sing with Lady Carey.
"Why, he's Italian and he knows his operas," Lady Carey said. "Now that he's found his voice again, I expect he'll be singing arias in a day or two." That prediction proved wrong, for Quartermaster Brognoli died that night. Call looked at him in the morning, and saw at once that he was dead. His head was twisted far around on his back and neck.
"I guess that jerking finally killed him," Gus said, when the sad news was reported.
"No, it was the opera," Lady Carey said.
"Or perhaps it was just hearing his native tongue." Quartermaster Brognoli was buried in the hard ground--the four remaining Rangers took turns digging. Lady Carey sang the same piece she had sung when the Mexican firing squad cut down Bigfoot and the others. All the men cried, although Wesley Buttons had never been fond of Brognoli. Still, they had traveled a long way together, and now the man was dead. In the va/s of the desert, each reduction of the group made them realize how small they were, how puny, in relation to the space they were traveling through.
"We're back where it's wild again," Call said.
Lady Carey happened to overhear the remark-- she drew rein for a moment, looking toward a faint outline of mountains in the east.
"Yes, it's wild, isn't it," she said.
"It's like a smell. I smelled it in Africa and now I smell it here." "It means we have to be careful," Call said.
Lady Carey looked again at the distant mountains.
"Quite the contrary, Corporal Call," she said. "It means we have to be wild, like the wild men." She turned her head toward him, and sat watching him for a moment. Call couldn't see her eyes, through the several dark veils, but he knew she was watching him. One of her shirtsleeves had ridden up a bit--he could see just a bit of her wrist, between the shirtsleeve and her black glove. He and Gus had speculated a little, about how affected Lady Carey was by the leprosy.
She had no trouble handling her horse, and she was dexterous with her hands, when it came to pouring tea, or buttering muffins. The wrist he saw was a creamy white--much whiter than Matilda's.
Matty was brown from the sun.
Although she had been always polite, Call felt nervous, knowing that her hidden eyes were fixed on him.
"Are you wild enough, Corporal Call?" Lady Carey asked. "I have a feeling you are." "I guess we'll see," Call said.
The Comanches struck deep into Mexico, under the bright moon. In Chihuahua Buffalo Hump struck a ranch, killed the rancher and his wife and all the vaqueros, and took three children and seventy horses. He ordered three young braves, led by Fast Boy, back up the war trail with the horses. He wanted the horses safely back in the main camp, in the Palo Duro Canyon, before the worst of the winter ice storms came. They could eat the horses, if buffalo proved scarce.
Then, with the shivering, terrified children tied on one horse, he struck east, taking only those children that were old enough to be useful slaves. The others he killed, along with their parents. At one hacienda he tied the whole family, threw them on their own haystack, and burned them. The Comanches rode on, striking hard and fast. Once they saw a little militia in the distance, perhaps twenty men. The young braves wanted to attack, but Buffalo Hump wouldn't let them. He told them they could come back and fight Mexican soldiers anytime.
Now they were on a raid, and needed to concern themselves with captives and horses.
They soon had ten children--four boys and six girls--none of them, older than eight or nine years. They also had twenty more horses, which they drove with them as they turned north. Buffalo Hump was satisfied. They had taken almost a hundred horses, and ten children who were strong enough not to die on the hard journey. Kicking Wolf had failed to appear. Some of the braves speculated that he had caught another white to torture.
More than thirty Mexicans had been killed on the raid. Now the wind was growing colder-- Buffalo Hump wanted to go to the trading place, the Sorrows, to trade his captives for tobacco and blankets and ammunition. He himself had the fine gun the Texans had given him, but he didn't use it to kill Mexicans. The fine gun he kept for buffalo hunting. The Mexicans he merely struck with his lance, or put an arrow through. He wanted guns, though--not for himself but for his braves. There were more Texans than ever, moving west on the creeks and rivers, cutting trees and making little farms. They were easy to kill, the Texans, but there were many of them, and most of his warriors still only had bows and arrows. All the Texans had guns--some of them could shoot well. It would be better if his young men learned to use the gun. Otherwise, the Texans might come all the way into the Comancheria and start killing the buffalo.
A day south of the Rio Grande, Buffalo Hump took a girl, a pretty Mexican girl who was caught while washing clothes on a rock in a little creek. There was a village not too far distant, but Buffalo Hump was on the girl so quickly that she did not have time to scream.
He drew his knife to kill her, but in the brief struggle her young breasts spilled out of her tunic and he decided to keep her. He had had Mexican women before, but none so appealing as the slim girl he had just caught. He gagged her with a piece of rawhide, and put her over his horse.
Later, when they were many miles north and not far from the river, one of the braves came and informed him that a foolish young warrior named Crow was missing.
Buffalo Hump didn't wait. Probably Crow had gone into the outskirts of the village and attempted to steal a girl for himself--Crow had always been jealous of Buffalo Hump. Though only sixteen, he wanted everything the war chief had. The young braves became restive. They didn't want to leave Crow; he was known to be foolish. An old witch woman had told Crow that he would not die, and Crow believed her.
Yet, he was brave in battle, and the young warriors didn't want to leave him. Buffalo Hump finally sent two of them to find their friend.
They arrived back late at night with long faces and bad news. Crow had attacked the Mexican village single-handedly, convinced that he could scare away all the cowardly Mexicans and take what he wanted from the town. The braves who went back caught a boy and made him tell them what had happened, for they had not met Crow along the trail. The boy said Crow had ridden around the village, drinking and shooting off an old gun he had found. He did scare the Mexicans away for awhile, but he enjoyed frightening the village people so much that he grew careless. A vaquero roped him from a rooftop.
While he was spinning in the air, the village men came back and hacked him to death with their machetes.
Buffalo Hump took the Mexican girl, though she struggled violently. He decided to take her for a wife. It might be that when they got to the trading place one of the traders would offer him a very high price for the girl; unless it was very high he resolved to keep her, although he would have to be careful when he took her back to the tribe.
His old wives were jealous and would beat the girl severely, with firewood or sticks, unless he made it clear to them that they would suffer from his hand if the girl was too much damaged.
Crow's loss he did not lament. It was true that Crow had been brave, but he was not respectful. Several times already, Buffalo Hump had been tempted to put a lance through him, in response to an insolent look.
The girl, Rosa, whimpered from cold and fright.
Buffalo Hump went to her, and took her again.
Then he stuffed the rawhide gag back in her mouth; he didn't like the sounds frightened women made.
The next day, one warrior short, the Comanches crossed the Rio Grande. That day they caught two whites, an old man and an old woman, traveling west in a little wagon. They were people of God--they prayed loudly to their Jesus, but Buffalo Hump burned them anyway, in their own wagon. They screamed more loudly than they prayed. As the Comanches were riding off, a cougar jumped out of a little spur of rocks and raced away. Several of the young braves gave chase--it would be a great thing, if one of them could kill a cougar. But Buffalo Hump let them go--he had once longed to kill a cougar or a bear himself, and finally had killed a bear, near the headwaters of the Cimarron. But it had only been an old she-bear with a wounded paw; he could not claim much credit for having killed it. Once he had put his lance in a male grizzly, but the grizzly had treated the lance like a burr, and had chased Buffalo Hump for a mile. If he had not been on his best horse that day, the bear would have killed him.
Of course, the young braves did not manage to catch the cougar. Their horses were a little tired, from the swift raid. The cougar outran them easily.
Later that day, Kicking Wolf appeared.
Buffalo Hump was angry with him, for missing the raid, but they had taken so many horses and so many captives that he didn't bother complaining. Kicking Wolf was a very contrary man-- he did as he pleased. He told Buffalo Hump he had decided to wait for them on the trail, because he was enjoying the feeling he had after torturing Kirker to death.
It was a feeling of great power and calm, Kicking Wolf said. He didn't want to lose it just to catch a few Mexican children and run off a few horses. He explained that he had tortured Kirker for another day, after they hung him over the fire. After Kirker died, Kicking Wolf cut off all of his fingers--he meant to take them to the main camp and make them into a necklace. The fingers of the scalp hunter should not be wasted.
When Kicking Wolf saw Rosa, the Mexican girl, he became immediately jealous.
He began to wish he had taken time to go on part of the raid. His only wife was old and smelly-- Buffalo Hump had three young wives already, too many, in Kicking Wolf's view. He was a lu/l man and could only watch enviously when Buffalo Hump went to the girl and took her.
He ought to have gone to Mexico and taken a girl himself--it was only that he had been patiently torturing Kirker and didn't want to lose the feeling of great peace that came to him when the scalp hunter died.
"It's a lurchy way to travel, if you ask me," Call said. "It's still a long way to Galveston and we ain't near through the Comanche country, yet. Why is she stopping, just to paint a hill?" "You can't rush a lady like her, Woodrow," Gus said. He, too, thought it was eccentric of Lady Carey to stop the trip for a whole day, just so she could paint the colours of a desert sunset as they appeared on the line of bluffs to the north.