Texas Rifles (8 page)

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Authors: Elmer Kelton

BOOK: Texas Rifles
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Barcroft left the yard, turning back a moment at the gate. “I'll be back tonight, Hanna, when I've had a chance
to clean up some. By then your mother may feel more like talking to me.”
“Please do that, Aaron.”
As he swung into the saddle and started away, she said again, “It's good to have you back.”
Barcroft glanced then at Cloud, as if he had forgotten him. “Never did introduce you, did I?” it occurred to him. He studied a moment and said, “You'll come back with me later. That girl seems to have decided she can trust you. Maybe you can get her to tell us where her home is.”
Cloud nodded, glad somehow that he hadn't seen the last of Easter Rutledge. “I'll try, sir.”
Riding away, he glanced over his shoulder. Hanna Lawton still stood in the yard, watching them. Cloud said, “You've known these folks a long time, Captain?”
“A long time, Cloud. A long, long time.” Barcroft's face was grave. He seemed to reach far back into memory a little while, then he said, “My wife was a Lawton. The old folks there, they were her mother and father.”
“Then the one you called Hanna …”
Barcroft nodded again. “Hanna was her sister.”
 
The store was closed and dark when they rode back in the dusk. At the cabin in the rear, a lantern glowed on the narrow porch, showing the way to the door. Cloud and Barcroft swung down from their horses and dropped their reins over the stake fence. Cloud stepped to the gate first and held it open for the captain. He rubbed his clean-shaven chin.
“Miss Rutledge may not know us now, sir,” he commented. “Bath in the creek, clean clothes and a shave—I don't hardly know myself.”
The captain never even attempted a reply as he walked through the gate.
Hanna Lawton had heard the horses. She stepped out onto the porch, into the yellow glow of the lantern. As the captain moved up to her, she held out her hand. He gripped it a moment.
“We've been expecting you, Aaron.”
“How's your mother?”
“She has her temper under control. But she hasn't changed her mind.”
“I'll not argue with her,” the captain said. “Nobody can.”
Hanna Lawton's gaze rested on Cloud, and curiosity was in her eyes. Barcroft said, “Hanna, this is Sam Houston Cloud. He's a new recruit in the Rifles. I've put him up as scout with Miguel Soto. It was Cloud who found the white woman.”
Hat in his hand, Cloud bowed from the waist. “Ma'am.”
Hanna Lawton said, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Cloud.” It wasn't just something she said because it was customary. Cloud got the feeling she honestly meant it. In this sparsely settled country, strangers didn't remain strangers long. Frontier dwellers lost the veneer of cool reserve that people so often held to in heavily settled country. A new face was always welcome, unless it brought trouble.
Cloud asked her, “How's she feelin‘—Miss Rutledge, I mean? She makin' out all right?”
Hanna Lawton shook her head. “It's hard to tell. She's a little bewildered yet. And sad, too. She won't say so, but she's thinking about”—she glanced quickly at the captain—“about her baby.”
The captain asked, “Has she told you anything about her home—where the Comanches stole her from?”
“Nothing, Aaron. But we haven't pushed her. We thought it best to try to make her feel as much at ease as
we could, not upset her with a lot of questions.'
“Well,” said Barcroft, “the questions will have to be asked, sooner or later, if we're to get her back to her home. May we go in?”
“Surely, Aaron. I didn't mean to keep you standing around outside.”
She motioned toward the open door. Cloud and the captain stepped up onto the rough-hewn porch. Cloud stamped his boots to get the dust off. He had an idea from the looks of the outside that this cabin would have a plank floor, and he wouldn't want to get it dirty. Barcroft went in first, as befitted an officer. Cloud trailed, pausing to motion for Hanna Lawton to go in ahead of him.
He saw Easter Rutledge then, and the sight of her brought a quick stab of surprise.
The Indian clothes were gone. Although her face was burned a deep brown by the sun, she was unmistakably white in a rather plain sort of homespun cotton dress that fitted tightly around her slim waist and flowed full to the floor. The braids had been taken from her brown hair, the hair washed and rolled up into a round bun at the back of her neck. A simple white ribbon had been tied around the bun.
“By Ned!” Cloud breathed, “I don't believe it!”
Protest formed in the captain's eyes. He turned to Hanna Lawton. “That dress—is it—”
She said quickly, “It's one of mine.”
Barcroft nodded then, relieved. “I thought for a minute …”
Mother Lawton stood beside the girl, proudly looking over the changes she had been able to accomplish since afternoon. “Aaron,” the old lady said, “you still have all of Celia's things packed away in that big leather-bound trunk. They'll do no one any good there. This girl could certainly use some of them. Why don't you—”
“No,” the captain spoke sharply. “They were
hers
! I'll give them to no—” He broke off, for he had said more than he intended to. The quick anger settled, but a trace of it remained in the hard set of his mouth. “We'll leave her clothes in that trunk!”
Mother Lawton turned away, face tight. “Anything you say, Aaron.”
After an uncomfortable moment, the captain introduced Cloud to the Lawtons. To old Henry Lawton, puffing calmly on his pipe, Barcroft said, “I noticed Cloud looking at your Texas flag on the store. I think he had rather it was still the Union flag.”
Cloud flinched.
That was sure putting it out in the open.
Barcroft said matter-of-factly, “He's not the only one in my command who still fancies the Union more than the Confederacy.”
He's not ever going to forget that,
Cloud thought darkly.
He could tell by the Lawtons' faces that they disagreed with his politics. But after a moment Mrs. Lawton said, “Well, at least Mister Cloud didn't shirk his call to duty. He joined the Rifles. There are others in this section who see things the way he does.” She smiled then to set him at ease.
Henry Lawton drew thoughtfully on his pipe, eyes narrowed as he stared at Cloud. “You a native of Texas, Cloud?” When Cloud nodded, the old man reached out and shook his hand. “That's all right, then. Long's a man keeps his rifle pointed at the Indians instead of at us, I'm inclined to let his politics alone.”
Cloud felt better. He knew he could get along fine with these folks.
Barcroft nodded toward Easter Rutledge and abruptly changed the subject. “We came to see what this woman can tell us about her people. We need to find out where
she's from so we can return her there and get her off of our hands.” He turned to Easter Rutledge. “How about it?” he asked her brusquely. “Where was your home?”
Her eyes stabbed at him, then she turned away to stare sullenly at the cabin wall. She did not reply.
Stiffly the captain said, “It's not for
my
benefit I'm asking you this. It's for
yours
.”
She was silent a moment. Then, not looking at him, she spoke with an edge of hatred in her voice. “I do not talk with you, Captain. I will talk to the other man”—she pointed her chin toward Cloud—“but I do not talk to you.”
Barcroft's face darkened. He rocked back hesitantly, unaccustomed to being spoken to this way. He started to say something but bit it off short.
Henry Lawton said, “Aaron, maybe it'd be better if you left. Let Cloud talk to her.”
Barcroft spoke tightly, “Are you running me off, Mister Lawton?”
Mother Lawton said, “Nobody's running you off, Aaron. But under the circumstances, it just looks as if you might better leave.”
Barcroft backed toward the door. “As you wish, then.” He glanced at Cloud. “Take over, Cloud. I'm going back to camp. He paused a moment, and it appeared he was more hurt than angry. “Good night, Mister Lawton, Missus Lawton. Good night, Hanna.”
Hanna said, “I'll walk out with you, Aaron.”
Cloud stood first on one foot, then on the other, feeling that he was caught in the middle. When the captain had gone, he said to the Lawtons, “He don't seem to realize how hard he's treatin' Miss Rutledge. Got a blind spot toward her, seems like.”
Mrs. Lawton looked toward the open door through
which Hanna had followed Barcroft. “Not the only blind spot he has,” she said pensively.
Easter Rutledge still stared at the wall. Wanting to put her at ease, Cloud said, “Why don't you sit down, Easter … Miss Rutledge?” He pulled out a chair for her. She sat, but her blue eyes were still grave.
Cloud tried to appear cheerful. “Well, now, these folks have sure fixed you up pretty. I told you you'd look mighty good wearin' a white-woman dress, your hair all done up nice. You do now, and that's a fact.”
Henry Lawton said, “Been a steady stream of people to the store, hopin' to catch a look at her.”
Mrs. Lawton nodded. “But we've kept her pretty much out of sight. No use gettin' her all nervous with a lot of people starin' at her.”
Easter had shown no response, and Cloud turned back to the Lawtons. “Sure good of you folks to take her in this way.”
Mrs. Lawton shrugged away the compliment. “We're puttin' her over in the other side of the cabin, in the room with Hanna. She's welcome to stay just as long as she wants to.”
“You hear that, Easter?” Cloud asked the girl. “You're goin' to like it when you get used to white people's ways. These are good folks. And they'll take real good care of you.”
Easter looked at him a moment, her eyes softening. Then she said, “But there is always the captain.”
“The captain, he's been through a lot, Easter. He don't really mean to be hard. He just doesn't think, sometimes.”
She said firmly, “He is a bad man.”
Mother Lawton sat down beside the girl and put a wrinkled hand on her arm. “Not a
bad
man, honey, a
driven
man.” Easter looked blankly at her, not comprehending. Mrs. Lawton said, “Never mind, you'll understand bye
and bye. Right now this young man has come to talk with you, to try to find out some things so he can help you.”
Easter Rutledge dropped her chin. “Help me?” She slowly shook her head. “There is only one way to help me—get me back my baby. I tell you, it is a sick baby. It needs me. It has always been a weak baby. The women, they say it is the white blood. Without me it may die!”
Cloud swallowed. “It's too late for you to go back now. Look, ma'am, you've likely got folks someplace, white folks. We'd like to find them for you.”
Her lips were tight. “My people are to the north. The Noconas are my people.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cloud looked around helplessly at the Lawtons. Scouting Indians was something he could handle. Trying to talk soft words to a heartbroken woman was out of his realm.
Mrs. Lawton gently took the girl's hand. “Easter, he means well for you. We all do. You don't belong out there where you were. You belong in Christian company, with your own family.”
Bleakly the girl said, “I belong with my baby.”
Mrs. Lawton's voice was soft and kind. “God forgive him, that was a bad mistake on Aaron's part. But there's no way we can correct it now. We'll just have to go ahead and do the best we can to make things up to you, to help you. Won't you help
us
?”
For a long moment Easter Rutledge didn't answer. Finally she said, “You are good people. And you”—she looked at Cloud—“you tried to help me.” She bit her lip. “I have lost all that mattered to me. I have nothing more to lose. I will tell you everything I remember … .”
I
T DIDN'T TAKE CLOUD LONG TO FIND OUT THAT SOLDIERING was about one part action to ten parts routine—even frontier soldiering.
Headquarters was a heavy log house a mile or so down-creek from the store. The man who had built this house had put it up large and sturdy, a small fort atop a brush-cleared rise where Indians would have a hard time sneaking up unseen and where they'd have a harder time breaching the bull-stout walls. Bullet holes and splintered wood, darkened now with age, showed they'd tried it more than once. But eventually they'd caught the settler far out from his fortress and had left him to die in the open grass, his knife-carved body bleeding in the sun.
Now the long-abandoned house served as command post for Captain Aaron Barcroft and his company of the Texas Mounted Rifles. Rebuilt corrals held the horses, when they weren't in use or weren't being loose-herded
on the prairie. Dust-grayed tents were staked in straight rows on either side of the log house, their canvas sides rolled up to let the summer heat escape, as much as it could.
On the hot days, Cloud wished the settler had left some trees for shade in which to pitch the tents. But the man had traded the shade for a better chance to keep his life. A pole stood in front of the building, the tamped earth still fresh around its base. It was short for a flagpole, but tall trees weren't to be found in this country. Besides, the company didn't have a Confederate flag yet anyway. It had the pole, just in case a flag ever came.
A flat area below the house served as a drill ground. Here Barcroft regularly brought his well-thumbed copies of Hardee's
Light Infantry Tactics
and the U.S. Army's
Cavalry Tactics
to put the men through instruction and drill. Actually, he didn't really need the books anymore. He'd learned them by heart. Because he'd never been a soldier before—much less an ofncer—he'd studied hard to learn the things he needed to know. What Aaron Barcroft learned, he never forgot.
Part of company routine was to keep up a picket system along the frontier, one link in the state's chain of posts which extended all the way from the northern extremity on the Red River to the southern line on the Rio Grande. At regular intervals Barcroft dispatched men to work out in either direction, meeting riders from other companies and joining the chain. As they rode, these riders watched closely for Indian signs. Any time the Indians made a raid, they had to cross the patrol lines ridden regularly by the Texas Mounted Rifles.
The Rifles also watched for signs of white men moving west. Often these were war-evaders trying to escape service in the armies of the Confederacy. On the occasions when the Rifle patrols met such men, there was usually
little they could do about them. These service-evaders usually traveled in parties big enough to stand off the Indians—or the Rifles.
Anyway, Indians were the main reason the Rifles were organized. The “scalawags” had to be put up with, like an incurable disease. Long as they didn't bother anything, the patrols usually left them alone.
Cloud found that Barcroft had a simple but effective method of getting rid of the occasional laggard or coward who found his way into the command. He worked the man's tail off or put him in the most hazardous duty. Usually it wouldn't be long before the man turned up missing on morning roll call. Though he was supposed to, the captain never sent a patrol after such a deserter to bring him back. He was afraid he might have to put up with the man again.
As to antisecessionists like Cloud, Barcroft had no clear-cut policy, other than to keep them busy. Occasionally some little animosity flared between Unionist and staunch Confederate, but most of the men kept their politics to themselves. They agreed it was more worthwhile to fight Indians than to fight each other.
An exception was a ruddy-faced, belligerent farmer named Seward Prince, who stood up for the Confederacy proud and loud, and was constantly daring any “black Republican” to say him nay. He had whipped just about every Unionist in the company, including Quade Guffey, and he kept challenging Cloud. Finally Cloud got a bellyful of it.
He walked with Prince down to the creek, out of sight. Here, completely alone, the two took off their shirts and wrestled and slugged for the better part of an hour. They kept it up until both men could hardly move. The only thing they settled was that one was about as tough as the other.
From then on, respecting one another but with no friendship between them, Cloud and Prince kept their distance as best they could.
Barcroft got wind of the fight. Afterwards, he kept Cloud assigned out on patrol duty most of the time. No sooner would Cloud drag in wearily from one scouting trip than he would get orders from Barcroft to go out on another. The only consolation was that Barcroft was working Seward Prince about as hard. Whichever way he sent Cloud, he sent Prince in the opposite direction.
Often Quade Guffey was assigned with Cloud. Riding out one day into the dry country to the west, Quade commented, “Ever seem to you like the captain's got all of us picked as has any sort of Union leanin's? Keeps us bumpin' our tailbone agin a saddle all the time. Don't give us no chance to sit around camp and talk treason.”
“Keep us out of trouble,” Cloud commented. “Man opens his mouth wrong these days, he can get hung for it. Maybe he's doin' us a favor, keepin' us too busy to talk. Anyway, I'd rather be out on scout than in camp havin' to drill.”
Quade agreed. “Drill looks to me like a heap of foolishness. Who's goin' to ride in a column of twos—or march along in step—into a battle with the Indians?”
Cloud shrugged. “Give the devil his due; Barcroft knows what he's about. You take this drill now, it teaches discipline. Most of us in this outfit never took no orders before. Somethin' comes up we don't like, we want to stop and argue about it. But you get in a fight, you got to know how to follow an order. That's what this drill is for.”
If Barcroft worked and drilled his men until they dragged, he fought for them, too. Cloud and Guffey happened to be in camp, resting from a long patrol, the day an inspector came out from Austin headquarters to look
things over. He was a paunchy little man with a big nose and a quarrelsome voice that started complaining as soon as he rode up in his hack. For an hour he made the rounds with Captain Barcroft, criticizing first one thing, then another.
He pointed to Cloud and Guffey and said crossly, “I see men sitting over yonder in the shade, Captain. Orders call for plenty of drill. I suggest that you should have them out at drill instead of lounging about.”
“These men are fresh in from a long scout.”
“Perhaps you haven't heard, Captain, but we're at war. This is no time for weakness in men. We must be strong and hard, ready to sacrifice.”
Barcroft had tried hard to contain his anger, but that was too much. He pointed to the man's soft belly and gritted, “
You
haven't done without anything, that's plain to see. Time and again you politicians have promised us what we need to carry on our job here, and time and again you've turned a deaf ear to everything I've asked you for. It's all I can to do keep these men fed. Times we don't have enough powder and lead to do our job. It's been two months since these men have been paid. You stand there fat and comfortable and talk to me about being hard, about accepting sacrifice?”
The fat man sputtered. “Captain, I'll remind you who I am—”
“I know damned well who you are, and I know
what
you are! If you press me, I'll tell you what that is. And if you don't like it, I'll let you choose your own weapons!”
The inspector was backing away. “I'll have your commission! I'll tell them back in Austin!”
“You do that! Tell them for me that they're just a bunch of grasping politicians with their fingers so deep in the pie that they don't care if the whole house is afire!
Tell them that if they don't send us what we need, I'll turn my back on the Indians and lead this company to Austin! We'll do some housecleaning there, I promise you!”
The inspector didn't even wait for supper.
Cloud and Guffey tried to hold back their grins as they watched the politician's hack pull away.
Barcroft said sharply, “You two get out of my sight or I'll set you to drilling!”
 
Now and again, when he had the chance, Cloud would drop by to visit Easter Rutledge at the Lawton home. Indoors much of the time now, she was beginning to lose much of the dark-brown color the outdoor life had given her. Her skin appeared to soften. Some of the grief lines had faded from around her eyes. She seemed now to be prettier than he had first thought.
The first time he saw her smile was one day when she asked him about his name, Cloud.
“Cloud,” she said, then repeated the name, listening to the sound of it. “Sounds like an Indian name. You're not an Indian, are you?”
She smiled then as he assured her he was not. After that, she smiled with him more and more often.
And now that he had seen her smile, he went back to visit her more and more often.
One day, freshly bathed and shaved after a long patrol, Cloud rode up to the house behind the store and tied his horse to the fence. Mother Lawton was out sweeping the yard clean. There was no grass, so the old woman took pride in keeping her yard swept bare as her floor.
“Hello, Cloud.” She smiled. “I reckon you came to see me!”
He grinned back at her. “Sure I did. Who else?”
“I couldn't imagine. But you'll find her down by the
creek. Took her slate with her. She's practicin' writin'.”
Cloud's eyebrows lifted. “Learnin' fast, isn't she?”
“Hanna's work. Hanna's a natural teacher. She teaches all the kids around here, and Easter's an apt pupil.”
Cloud said, “I'm glad. Maybe she'll find her way easier than we thought she would.” He frowned. “How's she doin', otherwise?”
Mother Lawton shrugged, leaning on her broom. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. I mean, you couldn't expect miracles, tearin' her away like that from the people she knew, from … But there's times she acts almost happy for a little while.”
“The people around here, they've taken to her pretty good, haven't they?”
“Most of them. She was a real curiosity at first. Everybody wanted to come and look at her. They scared her some. But she got over that—sort of come to accept it, I guess. And people liked her—most people, anyway.”
“Some didn't.”
“Cloud, there are always a few who won't understand. They say she's a white woman, and she ought to've killed herself rather than live with the Indians that way—take one for a husband—bear his baby. One woman even told her that, to her face.”
Cloud looked sharply at Mother Lawton. “Did it hurt her?”
“Didn't hurt her as much as it made her mad. And when she gets mad, she gets Indian-mad.” She smiled. “That woman never has come back. Not even to the store. Just sends her husband when she needs somethin'.”
Cloud nodded. “Good for Easter.”
Mother Lawton took hold of the broom again. “Well, I've got work to do. Go on down to the creek. You'll find her.”
Walking down toward the water, Cloud could hear children
talking. When he spotted Easter, she was sitting in a rude outdoor chair in the deep shade of cottonwood trees, several youngsters gathered around her. She was showing them the letters she had made on a slate. “Is that all right?” she asked. A little girl said, “It's fine, except the bar needs to be straight on the T. Here, I'll show you.”
Cloud watched silently, smiling, until the children noticed him and Easter turned around to see what they were looking at. Cloud took off his hat. “Howdy, Easter.”
“Hello, Cloud.” She stood up and faced him. The children waited around until they could tell their visit with Easter was over. Then the girl who had corrected Easter's writing said, “Well, we'll be going, Miss Rutledge. We'll see you later.”
“Come back, children.”
Easter watched them go, and Cloud could see the faint smile that lighted her face. “Good children,” she said quietly.
“Nice to see you've found you some friends.”
“Children are always the same—white children, Indian children …” He watched the sadness drift into her eyes again, and he knew she was remembering.
He pointed quickly to the slate. “Looks like you're doin' fine.”
She looked at the letters she had made. “The Noconas have a picture writing, but it's not like this. Here you can write anything you want to say, any word.” She looked away, to ward the children disappearing from sight. “It makes me feel foolish. I am so much older, yet they teach me.”
Cloud smiled. Easter no longer had difficulty in talking. English had come back with use. Before long she would be reading and writing it.

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