[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote (20 page)

"One sees many captives, some Mexican, some gringo. Not all want to go home."

Andy understood that from his own experience, but it would be different with Billy. "This one would want very much to go home."

James told Martínez, "If you're in good with the Indians, we'd like you to take us to them and ask about the boy."

"Se
ñ
or, it would be most dangerous."

"We'd pay you if you'd find him for us."

"Pay?" Martínez's mood escalated from indifference to interest. "How much? You have it now?"

James ran his hands into his pockets. "We brought no money with us. But we would pay you when we get home with Billy."

Martínez seemed to be giving the matter deep consideration. "Water your horses, and yourselves. Then we eat together. You like buffalo?"

Andy did, though he had tasted little in his years apart from the Indians. Tanner said, "Ate a many a pound of it ridin' with the rangers. Ain't but few things tastier when you been livin' on water and air." Any kind of food sounded good to Tanner.

Evan had a more urgent priority. "Then we will talk?"

Martínez nodded. "Then we talk."

The Texans had used up the few provisions Burmeister had given them, so all they had eaten since yesterday was one prairie chicken divided between them. They wolfed down the roasted buffalo. For drink the Mexicans offered strong coffee, boiled with sugar.

Andy remembered being present when his band had traded with such people at the foot of a great escarpment, its dark rock walls steep and forbidding. The stream that meandered past was known as the River of Tongues because many languages were spoken there by the various tribes that gathered to barter. An informal truce kept old enemies from battling. They might try to kill one another on the way there or the way back, but it was bad manners to attack even a lowly Apache while commerce was under way. Plains Indians were dedicated traders, and unnecessary violence got in the way of business.

A similar honor system protected the Mexican traders at the site, though it was hardly unknown for warriors to trail after them and rob them on their way home. With luck, goods taken from one set of
Comancheros
might be foisted upon a second set unaware of the robbery. Such doings were generally frowned upon, however, not so much on moral grounds as on the practical consideration that traders might be discouraged from coming again. One should gather the prairie hen's eggs without killing the hen.

Evan was the first to finish eating. He trembled in eagerness to talk about recovering his son. Martínez pointed out the many difficulties involved, not the least of which was finding the boy in the first place. The Comanches tended to scatter across the plains in many small bands. They had their pick of dozens of campsites, most known only to themselves.

Martínez said, "Then, if he is found, he may not be for sale. For money the Comanche has no use. He cannot eat it. He cannot go to town like you and I and spend it. You must offer him something he will want more than the boy. Usually that is horses. A Comanche can never get enough horses."

James said, "Then horses is what we'll give him. How many you reckon it'd take?"

Martínez shrugged. "Who can say? If he is a young warrior and has not many horses, he will be happy with a few more. If he is old and has many horses, a few will not interest him. He will require many more."

Andy could see obstacles no one else had brought up. For one, how would the horses be delivered? It was unlikely the Comanches would ride openly down to the Monahan place to receive them, risking not only treachery by the Monahans but attack by other whites who would know nothing of the trade and would simply consider them invaders. For the Monahans to attempt to drive the horses up into Comanche country for delivery would involve the same general risk.

As he saw it, both sides would have to trust the
Comancheros
to make the delivery. He wondered if either would have so much faith. But when Martínez suggested that path of action, James and Evan agreed without squandering much time on consideration. Tanner remained out of the conversation because he had lost no boy and had no horses to offer.

To Andy the best answer seemed simple: find him, steal him, and get the hell away from there.

Martínez said, "We will travel among the bands, my friends and I. We ask questions—carefully. If we find him, we bargain. If a trade is made, I will come for the horses. Without doubt the Indians will want to see horses before they let the boy go. When I get the boy. I take him home to you."

Evan insisted, "Couldn't you bring him when you come for the horses? Tell the Indians we won't cheat them. Tell them we're honest people."

"How can I tell them when I do not myself know you until today? No, they will believe when they see horses, and then only."

Evan spoke to James. "We'll need first of all to know that Billy is all right. When we see that he is, you'll go home and bring the horses. I'll stay with the Indians so they'll know we don't mean to pull any tricks."

It would take only one disgruntled warrior to put a knife or an arrow into Evan. Andy was impressed with his willingness to accept so much danger. He wondered if his own white father would have done as much. He wanted to believe he would, had similar circumstances arisen. In all probability he had had no chance.

Martínez raised both hands. "Wait, gentlemen. You talk as if you would go with me. That you will not. You will go home and wait."

James demanded, "Why can't we go with you?"

"Think. Many a warrior would rather have three
Tejano
scalps than a few horses. The first Comanches we find would surely kill you. They might kill me also for letting you ride with me."

Andy said, "He's right. It's better the Indians never see you. But it's different with me. I'm the one who ought to go with him."

James argued, "You're a Texan, too."

"But The People will accept me as Comanche. Whoever has Billy, I can talk to them. I can make sure he's all right. And I think I can make them believe me when I promise they'll get their horses."

Evan said, "That's too much to ask of you." Though he protested with his words, Andy could see in his eyes that he was desperate for Andy to go.

Andy said, "I owe you. Billy wouldn't be where he is ... none of us would be where we are ... if I'd told about runnin' into that raidin' party."

Martínez looked from one to another, trying to understand. He had no reason to know how much Andy blamed himself, or why.

Tanner studied Andy with strong misgivings. "Rusty told me to look after you. How am I goin' to do that if you ride off and leave me behind?"

Andy tried to smile, but it did not work. "All this time I thought I was lookin' out for
you
."

T
he horses were hungry as well as tired. All afternoon they hardly raised their heads from the grass upon which they were staked. Andy took a careful look at Long Red, examining his legs, his hooves.

"No tellin' how far we'll have to travel," he told the horse. "I don't want you goin' lame on me." He rubbed a hand over the animal's back in search of possible saddle sores.

Tanner complained, "I've half a mind to stay with you. Rusty'll raise hell with me for lettin' a boy go on a man's job."

"I'm not a boy anymore, and you know why you can't go. You'd get yourself killed. Maybe the rest of us too. Tell Rusty the only way you could've stopped me was to shoot me."

"You don't hardly even know Billy."

"I know his folks. I know he belongs with them, and he'd be with them now if it wasn't for me. And I can remember enough to know what he's goin' through. They'll be whippin' on him to see if he shows fight."

"If he doesn't?"

"They may decide they can never make him into a warrior. Like as not they'll kill him."

"That might've already happened. What we've done, and what you're fixin' to do, could go for nothin'."

"I'm bettin' on him showin' enough fight that they'll want to keep him." Andy had seen the boy's pony take him under some low-lying limbs and knock him out of the saddle. Billy had immediately gotten up, used some language his mother would not have wanted to hear and gotten right back on. He had used his quirt a little heavier than necessary.

Tanner said, "If they decide he'll do to keep, they may want more horses than the Monahans can gather. It might take the whole Yankee army to pry him loose."

"We don't want soldiers gettin' into this. Billy would be the first person killed."

Tanner gave up with great reluctance. "Then I reckon it's up to you and that Martínez. Keep a sharp eye on him. I ain't trusted Mexicans since the fall of the Alamo."

"You wasn't even born then."

"I started distrustin' them
before
I was born."

Andy was not sure what James and Evan had promised Martínez as a reward for his part in finding and recovering Billy. Money, probably, or part of the horses. It didn't matter. In the dark of the night, wrapped in a thin blanket he had brought tied behind his saddle, he had time to think, to consider the probabilities. The more he examined them, the more problems he saw.

The odds were heavily against finding the boy in the first place, though Andy intended to press the hunt however far it led him. He stood a worrisome chance of falling among some of Tonkawa Killer's vengeful friends before he found Billy. They would probably murder him, leaving Rusty and the Monahans to forever ponder two mysteries: whatever became of Billy, and what happened to Andy Pickard?

He ate but little breakfast. The coffee seemed sour on a stomach already in turmoil from worry and lack of sleep.

Against their will, Tanner, James, and Evan saddled their horses and prepared to ride south. Evan squeezed Andy's hand so hard the bones felt as if they would break. Tears welled in Evan's eyes. His lips were pressed shut. He could not speak.

Andy's throat tightened. "If there's any way—"

James said, "We don't want you dyin' for a lost cause. Been too many people done that already."

Tanner almost crunched Andy's shoulder with a grip stronger than the former ranger probably realized. "You've been a damned good boy, Andy. Don't you do nothin' foolish and get yourself killed before you have a chance to become a damned good man. If things get too hot, peel off and run like hell. Won't nobody blame you."

Andy knew he would blame himself. "Tell Rusty. .." What he really wanted to say would not come. Instead he said, "Tell him that when we get Billy back, we'll go home together and shoot Clyde Oldham."

"A deal." Tanner forced a smile. "And I'll shoot Buddy-Boy."

Watching the three ride away, Andy felt desperately alone despite the presence of the four Mexicans.

Pablo Martínez busied himself breaking camp and gave Andy time to recover from the stress of parting. Finally he said, "No Indians come here today. We must go to the Indians."

The cart men had the ox teams hitched. Andy said, "I'm ready." He led Alamo to the spring to let him drink. Martínez was not certain they would reach another watering place before night. They might be forced to a dry camp. Each cart carried a wooden barrel freshly filled so the animals would not suffer.

Andy had seen only a little of what was in the carts, but he assumed it would be the usual trading goods that Indians had come to regard as necessities: blankets, cooking utensils, knives, and such. It would include luxuries to which Indians had become somewhat addicted: sugar, coffee, tobacco. Very possibly it might include rifles and ammunition.

He hoped it would not include whiskey, but he had to accept that possibility. When whiskey entered the picture, the unwritten rules against violence at the trading place had been known to go up in smoke.

Andy had never considered how much slower an ox team traveled than did horses or mules. They plodded along, straining in their heavy wooden yokes. He wondered if anything could excite them. A horse or mule team would occasionally take fright and bolt from something as innocent as a rabbit suddenly jumping up in front of them. The oxen looked half asleep.

For the likes of these, the white man would trade the buffalo. Andy grimaced at the thought.

He remembered that when he lived with the Indians on the plains, the wind rarely died down completely. It blew now out of the west, warm and dry. It was not unpleasant. The movement of air kept the sun from feeling quite so hot as it otherwise would.

He had time now, as he had last night, to assess the hazards and consider his possible moves. He saw little point in devising detailed plans. He could make only the wildest guess about the situation that might confront him when and if he and the Mexicans found Billy. In the beginning, at least, he would have to let Martínez take the lead. Andy saw few options for himself unless for some reason the whole business fell apart. Then he would play whatever hand luck presented to him.

Martínez gestured for Andy to ride beside him. Martínez was mounted on a long-legged fine-boned brown horse that Andy took to be thoroughbred. Martínez seemed proud of him, for he put on a show of turning the animal one direction and then another with almost no pressure on the reins. "I won him in a race at Taos," he said. "He is of the
sangre puro
, the pure blood. Where did you get that sorrel?"

"Got him in a trade. Don't have no idea about his blood. I expect it's red, same as any other horse."

"You ever been to New Mexico?"

The Comanches had traveled over wide areas, but they had little knowledge of or interest in boundary lines. "I suppose so. I don't know where it starts."

"We come from a place called Anton Chico. A valley between the mountains. We farm, we raise sheep, we trade. A very long time my people have lived in that valley. Maybe longer than the Comanche has been in this country, who can say?"

Andy had once assumed that the Comanches had been in Texas since the mountains were built and the rivers set to running, but Preacher Webb had told him it was not true. They had migrated south from somewhere far up in the big shining mountains in the very early 1700s. Somewhere, probably by stealing from the Spaniards, they had acquired the horse and soon were able to roam wherever and however far they wanted to go. They had become the most fearsome warriors on the plains.