[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote (19 page)

Andy complied, though he could not imagine that he and this old German frontiersman had much to talk about.

Burmeister asked, "Know you much of history?"

This seemed no time to talk of history, but Andy said, "I read about the American revolution in a book. All those people are dead now."

"The people are dead, but history is alive. What happened before will happen again. If we know what people have done before, we know what they may do again."

"You mean we'll have another revolution?"

"I was thinking of a time ... it is now thirty years past ... when a big battle we fought with the Comanches. We found at Plum Creek a small boy with red hair. Stolen, you see, by the Indians. "Then many years after, when that boy was a man, he found another boy who had been taken by the Comanches. That was you. Now the Indians have a third boy. Perhaps you can help find him as Private Shannon found you and as the rangers found
him
."

"You're sayin' Rusty paid his debt, and now it's time for me to pay mine?"

"We all have debts to people of the past. We cannot go back to those people, so our debts we pay to people who live now. Somewhere ..." he pointed skyward, ". . . there is a bookkeeper."

Andy felt crushed by the heavy weight of his new debt. "I don't know how I can ever pay enough. Vince Purdy was killed and Billy stolen because I didn't tell anybody I had seen Indians. But if I had told, and a bunch had rode out to chase them, there might've been even more people killed. I wouldn't have wanted to be the cause of that either." He lowered his chin in frustration. "I wish somebody would tell me what I ought to've done."

"Always do what you think is right. Most times it will be so. The other times we leave to God."

"You sound like Preacher Webb," Andy said. He intended it as a compliment.

Though tracks indicated that the Comanches were driving as many as a dozen stolen horses in addition to the ones they rode, they had ways of making those tracks suddenly disappear. It would seem as if horses and men had simply evaporated. At such points much time would be lost while the two trackers circled farther and farther outward until they picked up sign again.

Evan seemed about to come apart. James remained close, trying to reassure him that they would find his son. To Andy they seemed more like blood brothers than brothers-in-law. Andy remembered what Rusty had told him about Evan's fighting for the Confederacy and almost dying of the wound that sent him home from battle. Yet this was almost certainly the most important fight of his life. Andy wanted to go to him and tell him how sorry he felt about Billy, but he could not bring himself to do it. Words were not enough.

By nightfall it was obvious that the pursuit would be difficult to sustain. Only the rangers had provisions. The others had ridden out from Monahan headquarters in hopes they would quickly find Purdy and Billy. They had not taken time to pick up food, canteens, or blankets. Though the rangers would share the food they carried, it was clear that all would soon depend upon what they could obtain from the land itself.

Most maps were sketchy about details of the country beyond the settlements and military posts. Some had large areas virtually blank except for the word
Comanche
.

James hunched over a small campfire built in a shallow hole so the flames might not be seen from afar. He said, "We're comin' into country I don't know. Never came this far huntin' wild cattle. Len, did you ride over it in your ranger days?"

Tanner nodded. "That's too long ago. Hard to remember landmarks. And we was too busy trailin' Indians to stop and draw maps."

Both men turned toward Andy. Tanner said, "Maybe you know it from when you rode with the Comanches."

Andy was heartened by their acknowledgment that he might have some value on this quest. He would not have been surprised had they ordered him away. "Parts of it. We moved here and yonder, followin' the water and the buffalo."

Burmeister joined the conversation. "Most important is the water. They must have water for their horses. We must have water for our horses."

Their general direction was northwestward. The farther they traveled, the more critical water sources would be. A spring rich in flow on one trip might be reduced to a bare seep or even dried and caked mud on another. Creeks that ran bank-f after a good rain often went dry within a matter of weeks, or even days. One reason Texans had made slow headway in penetrating the plains homeland of the Comanches was that the Indians always knew where the water was. Texans rarely did.

By noon of the second day the horses were suffering. Andy remembered a spring where The People had camped a couple of times. But he did not know how to make the dried-up spring produce water.

"Rum luck," James complained, punching at the dry mud with the pointed end of a broken willow branch. All he raised was dust.

One of the rangers told Burmeister, "These horses are stretchin' their limit. We'll be walkin' home if we try to push them any further."

Evan protested, "We can't just give up. For all we know, Billy might not be more than a mile or two ahead of us."

Burmeister said, "He might not be ahead of us at all. You know the Indians have split. We do not follow as many today as yesterday. Those we follow now perhaps do not even have your boy."

Evan turned away from the others, fixing his eyes on the northwest. He trembled in silence. James placed a comforting hand on Evan's shoulder. "They're right. Besides, Billy ain't their boy. But he's our boy. Me and you will keep up the hunt."

Andy said, "And me."

Tanner said, "I'll stay with you."

Evan did not reply except with his eyes.

Burmeister was sympathetic, but he was a realist. "Think, gentlemen. How many times have Indians brought captives this far, and how many times has anyone been able a rescue to make?"

James argued, "But he's our own. We can't just back off and leave him in their hands."

"It will take much patience, but always there is a chance. We will alert all Indian agents to watch and listen. Sometimes they ransom captives if they can find them. And there are traders from New Mexico who go among the Indians. They are at heart decent people, most of them. We will find a way to let them know. It is not unknown that they buy captives and send them home."

Evan said bitterly, "That means you're givin' up."

"Not giving up. We go back to make a fresh start."

James said, "Time you show up here again they could carry that boy halfway to Canada."

"But they do not go to Canada. They will stay on the plains. And as long as they are on the plains there is a chance we find him. Have faith."

Four people glumly watched Burmeister turn back. The rangers left what provisions they had not already consumed as well as most of their ammunition.

Tanner said, "Don't get the notion old Captain is afraid. He ain't, and never was.

Evan retorted, "But he's left us."

"He gave you his reasons. Don't sell him short. One day when you think the world has slid within two feet of hell's rim, he'll come ridin' up with guns in both hands."

James turned to Andy. "You knew where this water hole was. There wasn't no way you could know it didn't have no water in it. Do you remember where the next one is at?"

Andy wished he could be more sure. "I think so."

"Point us the way."

He went by instinct as much as by memory, fearing all the way that they would find the place dry. These little pop-up seeps and springs depended heavily upon recent rainfall, and that could vary widely. He had seen rains cut a new gully in one place while dust continued to blow on the other side of the hill. That brought up one of the points that made it difficult for the Comanche side of him to understand the white man. The horseback Indians were always mobile. They could pack up and follow the rains. The white man tied himself to a specific piece of ground whether rain fell there or not.

No one had said anything in a while. Andy supposed the others were as dry-mouthed as he was, and as weary. His lips felt brittle and about to crack open. He could feel fatigue in the sorrel horse beneath him.

He felt a jolt of relief as he saw the tops of a few willows at some distance ahead. He had guided them right. At least the hole was there. There might or might not be water in it.

James seemed inclined to rush ahead and find out. Tanner quietly restrained him. "Might be some of Andy's cousins up there. They may be his kin, but not ours."

Evan said, "Billy could be there."

Tanner nodded. "There, or a hundred miles from there."

Andy said, "You-all wait. I will go." He peeled off his shirt, handing it and his hat to Tanner. "I won't look so much like a white man." He set Long Red into an easy walk. The horse had perked up. He probably sensed that water waited.

He caught the smell of wood smoke before he saw the camp. He slipped to the ground and tied his reins to a tall weed that would not hold the horse for even a moment if it should decide to travel. He saw nothing that would hold better.

Carefully he walked in the direction of the willows. He dropped to his belly and crawled to the top of each rise as he came to it, lifting his head slowly, surveying the ground ahead. Finally the water hole and the camp were in full view. There were no tepees. This was a temporary transit camp for whoever was down there. He counted two horses grazing among the willow trees. Beyond them several oxen had their heads down in the green grass. Two Mexican carts stood near the water. They appeared to be piled high with goods, though the cargo was covered with canvas.

Comancheros
, Andy realized. These were the people who came out of villages in eastern New Mexico to trade among the Comanches, the Kiowas, and whatever other tribes they might come across.

Andy retreated carefully to his horse, then returned to where the others waited. "There are people at the spring. Mexican traders. I don't know if you want to go among them."

Evan spoke quickly. "The captain said
Comancheros
might be able to buy Billy back."

James said, "What would we pay them with? I didn't bring any money. Even if I had, it wouldn't be near enough."

"We can promise to pay them when they deliver Billy to us at the farm."

"More likely they'll deliver
us
to the Comanches. You've been around them, Andy. What do you think?"

Andy wished he had an easy answer. "It's a risk. The People have traded with them a long time. I don't know that they've ever completely trusted them. But the Mexicans don't completely trust The People, either. You never catch one far from his guns."

Tanner said, "We can parley with them, at least. If we don't like their looks, I reckon we can shoot them."

James gave Tanner a quizzical look. "You talk a lot about shootin' people, but how many have you ever really shot?"

"I don't keep count on such as that. Maybe a hundred, a little over or a little under."

A practical question came to Andy. "Any of you talk Mexican?"

Tanner claimed he did, but Andy knew his knowledge was limited to a scattering of individual words, most of them profane. Evan said, "My daddy fought in the Mexican War. He was always against any of us learnin' their language."

Andy pointed out, "These yonder may not talk English."

James said, "If they're tradin' with the Indians, at least one of them ought to talk a little Comanche. You can auger with him, Andy."

Andy felt uplifted by the responsibility. "I'd better go first. They'll likely take me for an Indian long enough for me to talk my way in. I'll signal you-all when it's time to follow."

Evan said anxiously, "Ask them if they've seen Billy."

Andy rode boldly into the camp, holding one hand high and shouting a Comanche greeting. Four Mexican men quickly materialized, all armed. They had evidently been napping on blankets in the shade of the willows.

One stepped a little ahead of the others, raising his hand in guarded response to the greeting. Peering from beneath the sagging brim of a frayed sombrero were suspicious eyes so dark as to be almost black. He did not appear to be an old man, though heavy black whiskers and a thick mustache covered most of his features. His clothing had been patched and patched again and matched the color of the earth. "
Quien es?
" he demanded.

Andy answered him in Comanche. "I am known among The People as Badger Boy. Who are you?"

The dark eyes blinked as the man weighed the likelihood of a gringo boy speaking Comanche. "I am Pablo Martínez. Your talk is Indian, but your eyes are blue."

"I was stolen and raised among the Comanches."

The Mexican appeared to weigh the account carefully before conditionally accepting it. "It is not uncommon. I have seen it."

Andy said, "Three friends of mine wait to come in. Would you share the water?"

"God has provided it for all."

Andy turned and signaled. He watched anxiously for the reaction when the Mexicans realized these were not Comanches.

"
Tejanos
," Martínez exclaimed. He raised his rifle but stopped short of the shoulder.

Andy said, "They mean you no ill. They come to harm no one. They search for a missing boy."

"There is none in this camp."

"But perhaps you have seen him?"

"One sees many children in an Indian camp."

The other three Mexicans gathered beside Martínez, ready either to shake hands or to start shooting, whatever he decided upon. Andy was aware that the people of eastern New Mexico had no love for Texans in general. A Texas Confederate army had invaded them early in the Civil War and, though soon defeated, left bitterness in its wake.

Like Martínez, these three appeared to have been lifelong strangers to prosperity.

A few moments of awkward silence passed; then Andy introduced James, Evan, and Tanner.

Martínez switched languages. "I speak some the English. Better than I speak Comanche. What is this about a boy?"

Evan eagerly told him about his son. "If you've been tradin' in Comanche camps you might've seen him."