[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote (21 page)

Martínez said, "First we were Spanish. Then there was war between Mexico and Spain, and they told us we were Mexicans. Then there was war between Mexico and the
Estados Unidos
, and they told us we were Americans. Always, people from outside come and try to tell us who we are. We
know
who we are.

"Do you wonder that we do not trust people from the outside? They never come with good news. Always they come to take something, like the
Americanos
and the Texans."

"The Comanches do the same thing, don't they?"

"In the past. But the way to make an enemy not be your enemy is to trade with him. Get him things he cannot get from somebody else. Then your enemy is his enemy. Long time ago we had much trouble with the Apaches. Not much anymore. They are afraid the Comanches will come and help us."

"But you trade with the Apaches too, don't you?"

"Better to trade than to fight. The Indian thinks he is different, but he is like all other men. Get him to want things. Get him enough of these things to keep him wanting more and he will do as you bid him. You think these oxen want to stand and wait for the yoke each morning? They do it because they know they will be fed. Feed them and they will serve you. Stop feeding them, and soon they are gone."

"You ever quit bringin' goods to the Indians, they're apt to come after you with a scalpin' knife."

"A little danger is to life as salt is to the meat."

Andy could see a serious flaw in Martínez's reasoning. "When you trade with the Comanches and Kiowas for whatever they steal out of Texas, don't you know that makes them raid and steal even more?"

"It is for the Texans to take care of themselves. When they came into our valley in the last war they fancied themselves better than anyone else.
Damned greasers
, they called us. Took what they wanted, did as they pleased. What is it to us if the Indians make them fight a little?"

"My friends are Texans. How is it you agreed to try to rescue the boy for them?"

"I am a merchant. I sell what others want to buy. The boy is trade goods, like coffee and sugar."

Andy frowned. The
Comanchero
was being bluntly honest. Martínez had never met Billy. The boy meant nothing to him except in terms of market value. At least Andy knew where the man stood. In event of crisis he was not likely to stand hitched.

Martínez kept a close watch on the horizon as if he expected Indians to appear at any time. None did. Before night he approached what Andy remembered had been a weak seep in the side of a usually dry creek bed. Martínez rode ahead to look it over. He returned, the slump of his shoulders telling the story before he came close enough to speak. "No water. Too long no rain."

The water barrels would have to suffice.

Andy asked, "No Indians either?"

"No Indians."

Andy put down disappointment. Reality told him he should not expect to overtake Billy's captors so soon, but one could always hope for a stroke of good fortune.

After a meager supper of tortillas, beans, and a bit of buffalo meat, he told Martínez, "I'm goin' off out yonder by myself awhile. Got to think."

Martínez made a faint smile. "You expect some Indian spirit to whisper in your ear?"

"Maybe. It don't hurt to be listenin'."

"I will tell my priest about you. He will pray for your heathen soul."

Preacher Webb probably would not approve either. Andy was not sure what he believed and what he didn't. He had heard so many conflicting opinions about gods and spirits, those of the white man as well as of the Indians, that he was hopelessly confused. He knew only that he had observed the wise men of the tribe wandering off to meditate and seek truth wherever they could find it. Sometimes they claimed it had found them.

He did not have time for a proper vision quest. He was old enough. If he were still with The People he would probably have undergone one or more such searches by now. The proper way would be with the aid of a dependable shaman, who would purify him and give him instructions. Then, in some isolated place where he would not be distracted by small things, he would fast and pray and go through the specified procedures for as long as four days and nights. If he were fortunate, at some point a benevolent spirit would visit, counseling him, perhaps revealing his future. Such an experience was regarded as a rite of passage to manhood.

He could not expect all this in a single night, but he could lose nothing by laying himself open to whatever spirits might be roaming about in the darkness. He could only hope they would be of a kindly nature and not malevolent. It was well known that malevolent spirits were always on watch for the unwary. Even Preacher Webb recognized their evil presence and preached for vigilance against their snares.

He had no tobacco, so he could not perform the smoke ritual except with a small campfire. He tried to blow and push the smoke in each of the four cardinal directions, then down to the earth and up to the stars. He sat back and waited.

He was still waiting at daybreak. He awoke with a start, aware that the eastern sky was turning pink. No voice had spoken to him, no vision had appeared. He tried to remember if he had dreamed. Sometimes visions were elusive and came disguised as dreams. He remembered only loose and random fragments, none that made any sense.

He trudged back to camp, where the smell of coffee told him the Mexicans were making breakfast. Martínez gave him a questioning glance. "Any message from the Comanche spirits?"

Andy did not want to talk about it.

Martínez said, "You are probably too much white. It is better you look for your white-man spirits in church."

"I've tried. Maybe they don't like the Comanche in me any more than the Comanche spirits like me bein' white."

Martínez lifted a crucifix from beneath his shirt and fingered it. "No people of your own and no God. You wander like a soul lost in darkness. You are to be pitied, Badger Boy."

The use of his Comanche name, though in English translation, startled him a little. For a long time he had heard no name except Andy other than in his brief meeting with Horse Runner's party on his way to the Monahans'.

The oxen complained but stepped into their proper places as Martínez cracked his whip. They slung their heads in brief protest, then submitted to the yoke. Andy wondered if their necks might be perpetually sore from the burden. They had long since developed heavy muscles and a thick hide to compensate. The wooden cart wheels groaned under the weight of their load. They needed grease, but the cart men seemed oblivious of the racket.

If any Indians were about, Andy thought, they would hear the carts before they saw them.

Toward the middle of the afternoon two horsemen showed themselves where the prairie rose up gently into a halfhearted semblance of a hill. Their silhouettes indicated they were Comanche. Andy felt a quickening of pulse, an uncertain mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Martínez made a show of leaving his rifle atop one of the carts. He rode slowly out in the Indians' direction, holding one hand high to indicate he meant no harm. When he reached the halfway point the Comanches wheeled their ponies about and disappeared.

Andy felt disappointed, but Martínez seemed unconcerned on his return. "They will be ready when they are ready."

The vegetation began showing more life, indicating that more rain had fallen than farther to the south. Andy hoped this meant the evening campsite would offer live water. The carts' barrels were down by more than half, which would mean tight rationing if the site proved dry. The oxen had to be considered first, before the men.

Late in the afternoon they passed over a small swell in the prairie, and he saw that they would not be alone at the night's camp. He rough-counted thirty or forty horses loose-herded on the curing grass. A breeze from the north brought the faint odor of burning wood.

He wanted to ride directly to the horse herd and see if Billy's pony might be there. Martínez stopped him with a quick jerk of his head. "Better you stay with the carts. Make not too bold until they have looked us over.

Andy curbed his eagerness and remained beside one of the carts as it approached the camp. Comanches began walking out or in several cases riding their ponies to give the carts a full inspection. They paid less attention to the Mexican cart men than to what they brought with them. At first Andy thought none were going to notice him, but soon he found himself the object of considerable curiosity. One of the warriors pushed so close that Andy was almost nose to nose with him. Andy realized with a start that he had seen the man before. He recognized several of the warriors.

Looking around quickly, he spotted Horse Runner, though the raiding party leader did not notice Andy right away.

"You," a warrior said, poking his finger at Andy, "you are the white Comanche."

That caused Horse Runner to turn around. "Badger Boy!" He hesitated as if he could not believe, then he moved forward to embrace Andy. "You have come back to live among your true people?"

"No, I have come on a quest."

"Quest for what? When we saw you, you were going to give warning to a friend. Did you not find him?"

"I found him. Now there is other trouble. I have come to find a small boy who was taken, a Texan boy. He belongs to my friends." He watched Horse Runner's dark eyes for any sign that the raider had knowledge of Billy.

The eyes betrayed nothing. "I know of no boy."

"He was with an old man. The old man was killed and the boy stolen."

"Not by us." Horse Runner made a sweeping motion toward the other warriors. "We took horses. We did not have the fortune to take scalps." He hastened to add, "You may look among us. You will not find a boy."

Disappointed in not finding Billy, Andy was nevertheless pleased that Horse Runner's party was not responsible for killing Vince Purdy. He had a friendly feeling toward these warriors. He had been revulsed at the thought of their having another friend's blood on their hands.

Yet his basic problem remained. If this group did not have Billy, who did? Where were they?

"Do you know of other such parties that might have taken the boy?" he asked.

"We have not met any other parties except a few hunters. We saw a few Kiowas who fought the blue-coat reservation soldiers. They had no boy with them." Horse Runner seemed little concerned. "Your friends who lost the boy, they have other children?"

"Just a little girl."

"They should have another boy, then they can forget this one. He is better off with The People.
You
would be better off to stay with The People and not go back to the Texans."

"It is not an easy thing, losing a child and a grandfather. Their hearts are on the ground."

"Many times have
our
hearts been on the ground because of the Texans. I do not find it here . . ." he touched his chest, ". . . to weep for them."

"It is my fault ... my shame ... that they lost him." He explained that he had made it a point not to mention to anyone that he had seen Horse Runner's raiders before he reached the Monahan farm. "I feared they would send out men to stop you, and there would be deaths on both sides."

Horse Runner did not grasp the point. "What does it matter that you did not tell them about us? We are not the ones who took the boy."

"But if I had told them there was danger the boy and his grandfather would not have gone out alone."

"The spirits were against them. There was nothing you could do against the spirits."

Andy saw that he could not explain his logic to Horse Runner.

Horse Runner said, "Forget the boy. Stay with us if you would like. Soon we will be in our own camp and celebrate our victories. There will be feasting and dancing and singing."

"It is a matter of honor. I must find him."

Honor was something Horse Runner understood. He said, "If you like, I will go with you. I know most of the camps."

Andy explained in general terms about the agreement with Martínez and the
Comancheros
. "If I find the boy, I have nothing to trade for him. I must stay with the Mexicans."

The raiding party had evidently ransacked at least a couple of homes, for they had picked up such miscellaneous treasures as some cooking pots, a clock, and a couple of hand-sewn quilts of intricate design. These had more appeal to them than to the
Comancheros
, but Martínez was receptive to trading for as many of their stolen horses and mules as they chose to offer. Because horses were precious commodities to the Indians, they were willing to part with only a few. They were happy to trade the mules, which they considered inferior to the horses.

Martínez and the cart men spread out their trading goods for the Indians' inspection. As Andy expected, there were mostly knives, hatchets, beads, blankets, and the like. Negotiations seemed to continue for hours, jovial at first but taking on a more and more serious air as the evening wore on. At a critical stage Martínez uncovered a jug and offered it as a gesture of goodwill.

Andy turned away, wishing it had not happened. He had observed the chaos whiskey could cause in a Comanche camp. But Martínez wisely restricted the gift to a single jug, enough to loosen the Indians' spirits, yet not enough to get them recklessly drunk. Each time the jug was passed around, Martínez made a show of drinking from it. Andy doubted much actually passed his lips, for the trader would want to keep his wits sharp. As the stack of dry wood beside the campfire gradually dwindled, the Indians traded off more of their horses than they intended and settled for fewer of the trade goods.

Andy decided Martínez could skin a prairie chicken without mussing its feathers.

At daylight Martínez took stock of the horses and mules he had acquired. "These I can sell for good money in Taos or Santa Fe. Not bad for an evening of work."

Andy pointed out, "All these are stolen stock. They belong to somebody."

"Yes, they do. To me."

Martínez considered it good policy to move on early while most of the Indians still slept, lest some begin to reconsider their transactions in full sunlight. The extra animals were tied together on long ropes and led rather than herded. Not until they had put a couple of hours behind them did he allow the cart men to stop and fix a simple breakfast.