To men like Sam Ysabel a thing like customs duties bore all the intolerable stench of an infringement of personal liberty. Having traded across the border from the days when Texas was a republic, he saw no reason why some fat Yankee politician shining his butt-end on a chair in Austin—or far-off Washington—should interfere. So Ysabel turned from trader to smuggler, running goods across the border and defying the U.S. or Mexican army to stop him. As yet he operated in a small way, but sensed the day must come when he would be forced to make it his living.
Already Ysabel could see the way things headed in Texas. Since the transition to Statehood gave the chance of stability and security, many settlers began to pour in from the north and east. As yet the influx made but little impression on the vast area of the State, but Ysabel knew it would eventually. Far-seeing men like the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan on their vast Rio Hondo holdings, Big Rance Counter down in the Big Bend and Charles Goodnight up in the Panhandle country saw the possibilities of Texas’ untold miles of rich grass land. They began to breed cattle, turning the longhorned stock of Mexican origin loose to fend untended on the range and building the nucleus of the great herds which would mean so much to the fate of the Lone Star State in the future.
Gradually, but surely, the ranches expanded and grew in numbers, pushing ever closer to Comancheria. Soon the cattlemen would be approaching the
Pehnane
country and Ysabel knew what the outcome must be. Buffalo and cattle could not share the same range in the numbers that used it at that time. So the buffalo would have to go, and upon them the Indian depended. Sooner or later the
Pehnane
must adopt a different mode of life. Ysabel knew the futility of his friends trying to fight against the inevitable and hoped they would not try.
Being a realist, Ysabel knew he would need a trade when the change came. One could not treat another man’s cattle as if they were buffalo, deer or antelope—not without considerable shooting fuss developing—so some other way of obtaining food must be found.
Smuggling offered Ysabel a damned good way, while being as close as a man could come to retaining the good, free old
Pehnane
life. Not that he aimed to teach Loncey the business so young, but he figured his son deserved a trip and had reached the age when he ought to be seeing how white folks lived.
‘Get some sleep, boy,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll talk about it some more when we get back to the village.’
After Loncey settled down for the night, Ysabel threw a glance across to where Fire Dancer lay under her blankets. He wondered what brought the woman back to the
Pehnane
country after so many years among the
Kweharehnuh
. If the occasional rumours which filtered through from the Antelope country be true, she seemed mighty unlucky in keeping a husband. Likely she could not find any more men willing to chance marrying her and came back to the
Pehnane
in the hope of— No, Burnt Grass called her a medicine woman. Could it be that she came back to meet Raccoon Talker and learn a few things about her business.
Although pretending to be asleep, Fire Dancer sensed Ysabel’s eyes on her. All the hate stored up for so many years beat inside her and she looked towards the packs at the edge of the camp. In one of them lay a suitable present for Sam Ysabel. She wondered if she should use it right then. After a moment’s thought, she discarded the idea. Even if successful, she knew that the attempt could be too easily traced back to her. The Comanche would have no mercy upon her when caught taking that kind of revenge. So she decided to wait until a more suitable moment.
Having reached her decision, Fire Dancer closed her eyes and went to sleep. Unaware of the plans Fire Dancer made for ending his future, Ysabel made up the fire and then rolled into his blankets, settling down easily upon the only kind of bed he ever felt really comfortable when using.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MUCH to his disappointment, Loncey found his triumphant return overshadowed by the fact that a raiding party had returned earlier after a most successful trip down into Mexico. However, Loncey admitted that his exploit, important as it might be to him, did not compare with the achievements of the raiding party. His grandfather praised him and Ysabel promised to tell of the successful hunt during the later stages of the celebrations.
One major difference showed in the Victory Dance for the raiding party and that held to celebrate the defeat of the Wacos. Around the scalp pole, with its hanging trophies, sat half a dozen scared Mexican children bound hand and foot, and much of the party’s loot was set out close by so that all might see how well the braves did during the raid. Much the same songs rolled out, drums beating out rhythm, and dancers performing the steps in the flickering light of the flames. At first the voices kept low and held the tempo down, but gradually it swelled in volume and the pace built up. Frequently one of the party left the dancing line, approaching the prisoners and pretending to kill then scalp the Mexicans. No lives had been lost on the raid, so nothing beyond pretence happened to the bound group by the scalp pole.
In one way Fire Dancer felt pleased to have arrived at such an opportune moment. Due to excitement at the forthcoming celebrations, nobody troubled to question her reason for returning. A brave from the raiding party flushed with success, presented her with a tepee and some cooking utensils. Beyond that, she found herself practically ignored as people prepared for the dance. Woman-like, the disinterest annoyed her at first. Then she saw that it improved her chances of dealing with Ysabel and avoiding coming under suspicion.
With typical Comanche hospitality, the Antelope braves were welcomed and invited to attend the dance. After the leader of the successful raiders had told his story, Long Walker danced over to Burnt Grass and, in his capacity of Big Whip, acted it the traditional manner. Knowing what was expected of him. Burnt Grass rose and declined to dance. Instead he told the story of his greatest coup, how he stole a number of horses from under the noses of a U.S. Dragoon company; evading the sentries, cutting a picket line and leading animal after animal away without being detected. When the story ended, Long Walker indicated that Burnt Grass could sit down as no exploit of his own could equal the deed. Not to be outdone in courtesy, the Antelope chief joined the dancing. In that way honour was satisfied all round and nobody’s feelings hurt by having to rate the merit of one deed against another.
As the evening went on, the dance’s pace increased. When sure that nobody would notice them, or form the wrong opinion if they did, Fire Dancer led Jose, the youngest member of her escort, into darkness.
‘What is it, medicine woman?’ he inquired a touch impatiently, having been making satisfactory progress with a pretty Pehnane
naivi
* and not caring for the interruption.
‘I have something for you to do,’ Fire Dancer answered.
‘What is it?’
‘I want you to take this
awyaw: t
of pemmican to the tepee of the one called Ysabel and leave it inside.’
The young Antelope brave showed no surprise at Fire Dancer’s suggestion. Often a middle-aged widow took such a way of showing an older man that she would be willing to contemplate matrimony. Sending a sample of her cooking to the intended’s tepee allowed him to decide how well she might be able to tend to his needs. Pemmican, being regarded as such a delicacy, was the most frequent choice for such a gift.
‘Where do I find this tepee?’ asked Jose.
‘Over there by Long Walker’s,’ answered the woman. ‘It is the one with the grulla stallion tethered close by.’
Again the brave saw nothing unusual. A woman sending somebody on that sort of delicate mission would make certain that she supplied information to guide the messenger to the right tepee.
‘Will there be anybody in the tepee?’ Jose asked, taking the
awyaw: t
from the woman.
‘Ysabel has no woman, as I have discovered. Both he and his son are by the fire and the tepee will be empty.’
‘Then I will go now.’
‘Let no one see what you are doing,’ warned Fire Dancer , ‘And say nothing of it to anybody.’
‘Nobody but Ysabel will know,’ Jose promised.
‘See that they don’t!’ hissed the woman and returned to the fire.
Jose frowned. While he did not care to have a woman address him in such a manner, he recollected that Fire Dancer had certain medicine power. In view of the high mortality rate of her husbands, that power had best not be angered. So he held down his feelings, resolved to maintain strict silence about his mission, and set off to complete it.
On leaving the fire, Jose made a circle into the darkness and behind the tepees as he headed for Ysabel’s dwelling. Several of he inevitable cur-dogs to be found in any Comanche village roamed in the darkness, but they recognised Indian scent and made no fuss.
Despite having been lavishly entertained, Jose still felt a little peckish and eyed the
awyaw: t
speculatively. Much to his delight, he noticed that the end had already been opened and slices removed. Most likely Ysabel would not miss another wedge; and, after all, Jose figured he deserved some reward for wasting time that could have been profitably spent in the company of the
naivi
. Halting in the darkness, he drew back the outer covering from the pemmican. With his knife, he sliced off piece of Ysabel’s gift. Jose continued on his way. He found the tepee with no difficulty and halted outside. While everybody seemed to be around the main fire and engrossed in the entertainment, he knew better than to take the chance of being seen entering an unoccupied tepee. Deciding that the white man probably followed the
Nemenuh
way of placing his bed, so it faced the tepee’s entrance, Jose solved his problem in a simple manner. He tossed the pemmican through the door, heard it thud gently on its arrival, and returned to the fire. Catching Fire Dancer’s eye, Jose nodded to show her that he had carried out her orders.
Much to Fire Dancer’s annoyance, Ysabel did not offer to return to his tepee. Like all his kind, Ysabel liked to buckle in and really enjoy himself given the opportunity. So he remained by the fire, joining in the dancing, eating and generally enjoying himself. Nor did the woman’s second hope evolve, for Loncey did not visit the tepee either. Like most of the younger boys, he soon grew tired of the celebrations around the fire. Gathering his companions, he faded off into the night, meaning to play at the old Comanche game of stealing horses.
One of the half-starved cur-dogs, catching the scent of the pemmican, halted outside Ysabel’s tepee. Hunger caused it to approach the door. Cautiously, ready to leap back and flee, the dog entered the tepee. It darted across to Ysabel’s bed, snatched up the
awyaw: t
in its jaws and ran back out of the door. Drawing off into the darkness, the dog began to eat its prize and fight off the attempts of other curs which came up. Some four of the dogs finally shared the pemmican Fire Dancer intended for Sam Ysabel.
Towards midnight, by white man’s time, Jose began to feel uncomfortable. At first he took it to be no more than distress caused by overloading his stomach with good food. Slowly the pain increased, driving into his body and seeming to knot his stomach. Suddenly he remembered Sam Ysabel’s gift. Maybe the medicine woman had put a curse on the pemmican to prevent any but the man for who she intended it enjoying the tasty present. Once again a knife-like thrust of pain drove through his body and he lurched to his feet. Not far away from him sat Ysabel. Maybe if he went to the white man and confessed, the medicine would end.
‘Ysa—bel——!’ he gasped.
All eyes went to the young man. Clutching at his stomach, Jose took a couple of staggering strides towards the white man. Even as Ysabel came to his feet, Jose tottered and crashed face-downwards to the ground.
‘What the hell?’ demanded Ysabel, moving forward and dropping to his knees alongside the writhing Antelope brave.
Raccoon Talker left the place where she sat among the other dignataries of the village. The music stopped and every eye turned in the direction of the groaning brave. Looking up, Ysabel growled a warning to keep back and ended the forward surge of curious people. After throwing a grateful glance at the big white man, Raccoon Talker bent closer to make an examination. After only a quick glance, she knew that the brave lay far beyond her powers. From all the symptoms, the young man had been poisoned and she felt that she could hazard a guess at the nature of the poison.
The knowledge puzzled Raccoon Talker for, if true, everything pointed to the poison being deliberately administered.
Only a very young Comanche child would eat the Deadly Amanita mushroom, being ignorant of its lethal nature. No grown man would knowingly consume it, being taught early how to differentiate between edible and poisonous plants.
Given time and starting at the first warning sign, Raccoon Talker might have been able to accomplish something. Before he could even ask for her medicine bag to be brought along, the brave vomited violently, went into a convulsion of tormented writhing and died.
Once again Raccoon Talker felt puzzled, knowing the length of time required by the Deadly Amanita’s poison to take effect to be around fifteen hours after consumption.
‘He is dead,’ she announced, looking up to where the Antepe braves gathered in the forefront of the crowd.
‘How did he die?’ asked Burnt Grass.
‘It looks to me as if he had been poisoned,’ Fire Dancer put in.
Instantly the three remaining
Kweharehnuh
men moved closer, throwing coldly suspicious glances around them. Raider, Jose’s elder brother, growled out the question which passed through every mind.
‘How did he come to take the poison?’
All eyes went to the group of people with whom Jose spent most of the time. Rising, the father of the
naivi
who attracted the young brave growled, ‘He ate nothing that we did not.’
‘When did he eat before that?’ Raccoon Talker continued.
‘Not since sun-up, I reckon,’ Ysabel answered. ‘We made a good meal before we broke camp this morning and didn’t stop again until we reached the village.’
That figured to anybody who knew the way of Comanches on the last leg of a journey. Rising early, so as to cook a meal then douse the fire before daylight allowed its smoke to be seen, they pushed on until reaching their destination without bothering to take more food. If Jose had ate the poisonous mushrooms in the early hours of the dawn, their effects ought to have shown much sooner.
‘This is strange,’ said the medicine woman, half to herself.
‘You may use one of my tepees, Antelope brother,’ remarked the leader of the successful raiding party, making a typically generous gesture in presenting the bereaved men with a place in which to lay out their dead companion. ‘And I think we will dance no more this night.’
‘You have our thanks,’ Burnt Grass replied. ‘Come, Raider, will help you carry your brother.’
Grief twisted Raider’s face and he glared around him. ‘I still want to know how J— he came to be poisoned.’
Tactfully Burnt Grass smoothed over the implied insult and, assisted by Long Walker, Ysabel and the raiding party’s leader, carried the dead brave to the supplied death-tepee. There Burnt Grass persuaded Raider to leave the business of laying out the body to them. Turning, Raider passed through the tepee door He stood for a moment glaring around suspiciously and then turned and stalked into the darkness.
While the dance had been cancelled, excitement and interest ran too high for the people of the village to seek their beds. Instead they gathered about the big main fire, or in groups at family blazes and discussed the death of the
Kweharehnuh
visitor. One man, going into the darkness on a natural errand stumbled over something and bent down. He found a dead dog its body twisted in agony much as the Antelope brave’s had been but did not connect the two incidents. Growling a curse, he gripped the dog’s legs and dragged it into the bushes. Little did he know that three more dogs lay dead in the vicinity, having devoured the pemmican which should have been left in Ysabel’s tepee.
If anybody noticed that Fire Dancer followed Raider into the darkness, they thought nothing of it. Catching up with the man, she led him clear of the tepees and looked around to make sure that none of the
Pehnane
could overhear her words. While travelling from the
Kweharehnuh
country, she had come to know her escort pretty well. A medicine woman needed to be a shrewd judge of human nature, and Fire Dancer used her knowledge of Raider to further her own plans. Knowing how Jose came by the poison, she assumed that he had devoured some of the pemmican and hid the remainder to be consumed later. That meant her gift to Ysabel had gone astray, and she must use other means of settling accounts with the big white man. Typical of the way her mind worked, she decided to use the brother of her victim. Jose failed her, but had passed beyond punishment. So she intended to make his brother suffer for the dead brave’s disobedience to her wishes.
‘What do you want, medicine woman?’ growled Raider. ‘This journey has been bad medicine. J— My brother is dead.’
‘That is why I come to you,’ Fire Daucer replied. ‘You know I have the power given by
Ka-Dih
?’
‘So it is said.’
‘I have it—for do I not know who killed your brother.’
Interest showed on the dull, grief-lined face. Like all Comanches, Raider felt a strong bond with his younger brother. With Jose dead, murdered it seemed, Raider must take revenge upon the one responsible.
‘Who?’
The word came in a hate-filled growl and Raider’s blunt, powerful fingers closed upon the tomahawk in his belt. Watching the man intently, Fire Dancer knew that she could achieve her ends if she handled him the right way.
‘Ysabel!’ she spat out the name dramatically.
‘Ysabel?’ repeated the man, sounding puzzled. ‘Why would do it?’