Chasing the Sun (6 page)

“Berto said the Comanche are angry. He said most of the Indians are angry.”

“I suppose that’s right,” William replied. “The way I figure it though, we’d better all learn to get along. If we keep on fighting, we’ll kill each other off and then there won’t be anyone to take care of the land.”

“Mr. Lockhart hates the Indians. He told my pa they weren’t good for anything. He thinks the soldiers should just kill them all.”

“Some folks feel that way, but I don’t. I think we’re all God’s creatures and we need to work through our differences.”

“But you went to war.”

William didn’t really know how to explain his thinking to an eight-year-old. “I went because my father wanted me to go. Nothing more.”

“So you won’t kill Indians?” Andy asked, momentarily forgetting the game.

William grew thoughtful. “If I’m attacked, I will defend myself. But otherwise, I won’t seek to harm anyone. I prefer things being peaceable.”

Andy nodded. “Me too. I don’t like to fight. Hannah says that God isn’t pleased when we hurt each other. I like it when folks get along. Pa said there’s a big war going on back where we used to live. He said hate is what stirred it up. I don’t like war.”

Thoughts of battle flooded William with images of death and destruction. “I don’t, either,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Mr. William, you come quick. That Indian is waking up!” Juanita called from the archway. “Hurry!”

T
he Comanche boy rallied and quickly faded out again. Throughout the night, William watched the boy and wondered when his people might come for him. He didn’t want to upset Miss Dandridge, but there was little doubt in William’s mind that the Comanche would track the boy back to the ranch. Of course, if the young man was of value to the band, they might be willing to barter for him. It wasn’t likely, but there was a chance nevertheless.

Having been using his nights for travel and days for sleep, William didn’t find it all that hard to keep watch. He read a bit, but he felt more on guard than he had in his weeks of dodging soldiers and Indians. He knew Berto and Diego were most likely helping keep watch. They understood the likelihood of the Comanches’ return. William and Berto had discussed it in brief and they’d all agreed that given the recent threat, everyone would be better served to sleep under one roof.

William had been glad that Miss Dandridge was the sensible sort. She didn’t argue with the suggestion at all. In fact she had taken Juanita and Pepita up to the loft with her and the children. He thought it remarkable that Miss Dandridge didn’t separate herself from the hired help. This was the second example he’d witnessed, and he couldn’t help but wonder how a young woman so clearly raised among educated, genteel Southern folk could act in such a manner.

William looked at his pocket watch. The sun would be up soon. William wasn’t exactly sure what the plan should be. He’d thought by now the Indian boy would be awake—at least enough that he could converse with him and explain they meant him no harm. William had seen more bloodshed than he cared to remember during the war, and the last thing he wanted to witness was the murder of the Dandridge children or Berto’s family.

He closed the watch and returned it to his pocket. The timepiece had been a gift from his mother and father on his eighteenth birthday. His mother had died not long after. For the first time in quite a while he allowed himself to remember her and the good days—the days when his mother had been alive and their family had been whole. He knew that in a situation like this, his ma would tell him to pray.

Lucy Barnett could have given lessons in prayer to preachers. She prayed all the time and believed that God heard each and every petition. William had never been quite so confident. He believed in God and had asked Jesus into his heart when he was just a boy at his mama’s knee, but as he grew older trust came harder.

Ma had said that was Satan’s way of trying to wiggle into a young Christian’s heart. Satan liked to attack before a fellow could make his faith strong enough to stand the tests of life. That was why God gave children God-fearing parents and other adults of Christian faith.

“Those who have fought the good fight for longer in life are able to pray and encourage those who are weak,”
she would tell him.

Then she would touch his cheek and tell him that she was praying for God to strengthen him. Gazing across the small bedroom, William could imagine her standing there, as she might have been when he was a boy. She always made him feel loved and cared about, even when she was busy at her tasks.

“God has a plan for your life, William.”
Her words were laced with pride and assurance.
“You may not know exactly what that entails,”
she would say,
“but you can rest in certainty that it will be honoring and pleasing to Him.”

William shook his head and thought of the men he’d killed in battle. Was that honoring and pleasing to God? Where was God then?

He leaned back against the wall and tried not to remember the horrors of war. It was nigh onto impossible, though. He could still smell death in his nostrils. Death, mingled with smoke, dirt, and gunpowder. He would never forget the cries of the wounded, the dying. Men who had only moments before been strong and healthy now groaned and pleaded for their mothers, their wives, their sweethearts. Some were just as glad for a complete stranger to take their hand and await death’s embrace.

Would the memories never stop tormenting him? Would he ever be able to close his eyes and sleep the rest of the innocent?

He saw movement in the bed and jumped up to find the Comanche boy had awaken. Choosing his words with great care, William spoke the boy’s language.

“You are safe here,” he told him. “We mean you no harm.”

The boy’s eyes darted around the room. “Why am I here?”

“Your horse threw you. You landed in the wash—broke your arm and hit your head. You’ve been resting here all night.” William moved closer and the boy cowered. Pain was clearly etched in his expression.

“I mean you no harm. My name is William Barnett. This is my ranch. What’s your name?”

The young man watched William for a moment, then answered.
“Tukani Wasápe.”

“Night Bear,” William repeated in English.

“My father is He Who Walks in Darkness,” the boy said, struggling to sit up. “He will come for me.”

“I’m certain he will,” William replied. “However, we want no trouble with him or with the
Numunuu.
”

“You do not call us Comanche?” Night Bear questioned.

“I respect the People,” William said, calling them as they called themselves. “The People have been long in this land and I am not an enemy.”

The boy’s upper lip curled slightly. “All white men are our enemy. You would see us all dead.”

“You don’t even know me,” William said in his defense. “I do not wish you dead. Would I have brought you here and seen to your care if I wanted you dead?”

Night Bear considered this for a moment. “You brought me here?”

“Yes.” William watched the Comanche for a moment. “I was there when you were about to shoot the young boy.”

“The white hair,” Night Bear said as if suddenly remembering. “His scalp would have been my first. It would have been a good omen.”

“No, it would not. That child meant you no harm. When you fell from your horse, that boy came to your aid. He never knew you meant to take his life.”

The door opened and Hannah looked inside. “Mr. Barnett, I thought . . .” She stopped in midsentence at the sight of the young Comanche awake.

“This is Night Bear,” William said. He looked at the young man. “Do you speak English?”

“I know the white man’s tongue,” Night Bear replied. “It is evil and full of lies.”

“That it is,” Hannah said, seeming to forget her surprise. She came to the bed. “I’m Hannah Dandridge, Night Bear. You are a guest in my house. Are you hungry?”

He looked confused for a moment and Hannah asked again, this time gesturing to imitate eating. “Would you like to eat?”

“
Haa
—yes.”

“Good. Then I will bring you something right away.” She looked at William. “Would you like something?”

“Not just yet,” he told her.

Night Bear watched as she exited the room then turned his attention back to William. “She is your woman?” he asked in Comanche.

William shook his head. “
Kee.
No. It’s a long story, but let’s just say she is a guest—a friend.”

Hannah soon returned and placed a tray with a sweet roll and milk in front of the boy. It wouldn’t be something the boy was used to eating, but perhaps he was the adventurous sort.

“I’ll have some hot food in a little while,” she said, straightening.

Night Bear considered the sweet roll for a moment. He poked at it with his finger then looked up. William explained as best he could in the boy’s language. This seemed to satisfy him. He picked the roll up and bit into it. The flavor apparently met with his approval, because he wolfed down the entire thing in only a few bites.

“Goodness, you must be hungry. Should I get another one for you?”

“Haa. I eat more,” Night Bear declared.

Hannah smiled and William thought it the loveliest smile he’d seen in some time. “I will get you another.”

Night Bear drank the milk and waited for her return. William couldn’t help but wonder if the boy’s father would appreciate the kindness they were showing Night Bear and in turn show mercy. If the warriors returned with a larger raiding party, there was little they could do to defend themselves for long.

“Is your father an honorable man?” William asked in the boy’s tongue.

“He is,” Night Bear replied. “He is most honorable. He is chief of our band. The Numunuu hold him in high regard. He is wise and just.”

“Will he be just with us?” William asked. “We have shown you mercy and cared for you. We did not wish to see harm done to you. Will He Who Walks in Darkness honor our kindness and do us no harm?”

The young warrior seemed to think on this for a moment. “My father hates the white man. He has lost many good people to the fighting. My grandfather and uncles are all dead because of the soldiers at the fort. My father would not agree to the treaties. He will not go to the reservation.”

“I can understand his anger, but we are not soldiers and we mean you and your people no harm. My family has lived here for many years and has done so in peace. Even when the Numunuu and Kiowa were fighting the soldiers at the forts, we did not fight with them.”

“How did you learn to speak our tongue?” Night Bear asked.

“We once employed a young man who had been raised with the Comanche. He had been traded back to the whites and came to work for us after a time. He taught me your tongue.”

Just then Hannah returned with not one, but two additional sweet rolls. “Here,” she said, smiling. “This should stave off your hunger for a while.”

“Ura,”
the boy said.

“That means thank you,” William explained. “In the Numunuu language.”

“I thought he was Comanche,” she replied, looking oddly at the boy.

“He is Comanche, but that is not the name they call themselves. Numunuu is what they use. It means the People.”

“I see. Well, you are very welcome to the food, Night Bear.” She looked to William. “When did he wake up?”

William covered a yawn. “About ten minutes ago. We hadn’t been talking long when you came in.”

Just then Berto rushed into the room. “The Comanche are back. They are just beyond the pens—on the hill.”

Hannah put her hand to her mouth but said nothing. William looked to Night Bear. “It would seem your people have come to take you home.”

Night Bear ate the remaining piece of one roll and took up the other in his good hand. “I go to them. I make the peace.” He stood, but immediately began to sway.

William rushed to his side. “You have a head injury. You shouldn’t move too fast. Let me help you.”

Berto came to offer his assistance. “What do you want to do?”

“We will help him walk to his people,” William said. “Hopefully, they will see that we are treating him well and perhaps the boy will be able to tell them we are friends.”

“Comanche won’t be friends with the white man,” Berto declared.

William knew it was a long shot, but they had to try. “It’s our only choice.” He looked to Hannah, but found she was gone. “Where’s Miss Dandridge?”

Berto looked around the room. “I don’t know.”

“I can walk,” Night Bear said, struggling against their hold. “I am not a weak woman.”

William and Berto let go and waited to see if the boy would fall again. He drew a deep breath, however, and stood his ground. “I will make the peace. You have treated me honorably.”

They made their way to the hall and then to the front door. William and Berto walked in support beside Night Bear in case he stumbled or lost consciousness. The one thing that amused William was that the boy never lost his grip on the sweet roll.

To William’s surprise the front door was standing open to the world. He stepped forward with Night Bear, fully expecting to find the Comanche waiting in the yard. Instead, the area looked deserted. They walked around the side of the house, however, and that was when William spotted Hannah.

She was walking toward the Comanche as if they were long lost friends. She held out her hands, palms up as if to show them she had nothing that could bring them harm. William and Berto stopped. Night Bear did likewise. The Comanche could clearly see him, but what they thought of the situation was yet to be determined.

William wanted to call to Hannah, but he was afraid of what might happen if he said anything. He watched the breeze play with her long brown skirt as she crossed the open span. What was she thinking?

He caught sight of a horse and rider separating from the line of some fifteen men. The rider directed the ebony horse slowly down toward Hannah. The warrior seemed in no hurry.

“That is my father,” Night Bear announced. “Come, we will go to him.”

William knew that now would be the moment of decision. He had no weapon with him. He’d not even thought to take up his rifle. He didn’t know if Berto had a pistol or knife, but either way they would be no match for fifteen trained Comanche warriors.

Hannah stopped and waited for the rider to approach her. William couldn’t help but admire her bravery. He hoped that the Indian chief would esteem it, as well. People always said that the one thing that impressed the Comanche was shows of strength.