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Authors: Elmer Kelton

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BOOK: Texas Rifles
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“You're doin' fine,” he said again. “Study with Hanna Lawton and pretty soon you'll be readin' and writin' a
sight better than
I
can. I never had a chance for real schoolin' myself. Just had to pick it up the best way I could.”
“I study and practice hard. It keeps my mind busy. I don't have so much time to think … about other things.”
“But you
do
think about them.”
The sadness lay dark in her face. Cloud knew it was never far beneath the surface. She said evenly, “I know it's useless, but there are things you can't forget. You even wake up, dreaming … .” She bit her lip. “Cloud, do you really think you'll find my family—my
white
family?”
Cloud nodded. “Maybe we will. The captain sent word down that way to see if there's still some Rutledges around.”
“I hope there are. At first I didn't want to go. But now I want to see them. Maybe if I find a new home, new people, I can stop thinking so much. At least I can try, Cloud, I can try.”
He saw then how much hope she was building up. She was grasping desperately for something to cling to.
“Do you think my people will be ashamed of me?” she asked worriedly.
“Ashamed? Why?”
Pensively she said, “I am a grown woman, but I don't know the things a white woman should know. I can't read, I can't write. I don't know much of the white man's God. Every day I make mistakes. All I know are the Indian ways. Maybe my family will be ashamed.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Easter, don't you worry.”
“Some people here have said I should be ashamed, living with the Indians when I am white, having an Indian husband. Do
you
feel that way, Cloud? Does that thought bother you?”
“Now, don't you fret yourself thataway,” he said quickly. But his voice wasn't as firm as he wanted it to be. Truth was, it
did
bother him a little, even yet. He let go of her hand. “Easter, if they're your folks, they won't bother about what's past. They'll just take you and be glad you're back.”
“I hope so,” she said softly, “I hope so.” She looked up at Cloud then, gratitude in her eyes. “You've been good to me, Cloud. I wish you could come here oftener.”
“The captain keeps me awful busy.”
“If he doesn't find any of my people, I won't have anyone, Cloud—no one but you and the Lawtons.”
“You've got lots of friends here.”
“It isn't the same as your own people.” She looked down. “I hope they come soon. If they don't, I don't know how I can stand it.”
“I been hopin' they wouldn't come
too
soon.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because you'll be leavin' then, and I'll miss you.”
She gave him a faint smile and touched his hand a moment. “I won't forget you, Cloud.” She studied awhile, then asked unexpectedly, “If none of my people come, would
you
take me, Cloud?”
He stepped back, swallowing. “What?”
“I would have no husband, no people. A woman is not meant to be alone.”
He stammered. “Look, Easter, among white folks …”
She nodded. “I know, they must have the papers and be married. It is like that among the Indians, except without the papers. But I would marry you. Would you marry me, Cloud?”
He swallowed again, and no words came. Hitting him that way all of a sudden … she hadn't learned the devious manner of the white woman yet. She still had the direct, devastating way of the Indian.
Looking down, she said, “Or maybe you wouldn't want to. Maybe you'd remember that before you there was an Indian husband.”
Tightly he answered, “Easter, you're a good woman, a pretty woman. Any man'd be proud. The Indian husband hasn't got nothin' to do with it. It's just that I hadn't given no study to gettin' married, no study atall.”
Yet even as he spoke, he knew he was half lying to her. He knew the thought of the Indian husband
might
stay with him. He knew this: that he wanted to reach out and pull her to him and kiss her. Yet he realized too that every time he touched her, he might remember there had been another man, a savage who had traded for her like he would swap for a brood mare.
He clenched his fist and wished to God he knew what to say.
As it was, he didn't get the chance to say anything. Captain Barcroft came striding down the creekbank toward him, his back straight, his dark eyes somber.
Cloud turned to meet him and stood half at attention. Half was about as far as he ever went. Figuring Barcroft was about to send him off on another long patrol, he asked wearily, “You lookin' for me, Captain?”
“Looking for both of you.” The captain's eyes dwelt a moment on Easter Rutledge. Cloud saw no softness in them.
He hates that girl,
he told himself.
Easter Rutledge stood up stiffly and faced the captain, her eyes turned suddenly hard.
And she doesn't like him any better,
Cloud thought.
“What business do you have with me, Captain?” Easter asked, her voice crisp.
“I have some news for you, Miss Rutledge,” the captain replied. “I've just gotten word that they've found a brother of yours down south. He'll be here in a few days.”
Easter suddenly swayed. “A brother …” The words came in a whisper. She dropped her chin, and Cloud saw her lips go tight. She blinked, trying to stop a sudden rush of tears. Then she looked at the captain, her voice no longer steady.
“Only a brother? There are no others?”
The captain shook his head. “I couldn't say. The message spoke only of a brother.”
Easter sat down limply in her chair. “My own people …” she said wonderingly. “My own people …”
Cloud took her hand and patted it gently. “That's sure fine news, Easter. I'm glad for you.” But he knew he really wasn't. He felt something sinking inside him.
The captain turned his gaze to Cloud. “I'm afraid I have something for you too, Cloud. Miguel Soto has come in with a report of Indian signs—raiding party south of here. I'm preparing to take out the company.”
Cloud nodded. “All right, sir. I'll be right with you.”
The captain tipped his hat to the girl and said, “Good day,” as if he had just casually met her strolling on the street. He turned on his heel and walked back up the creekbank.
Gripping Easter's hand, Cloud stood a moment looking down at this woman, wishing he knew something to say. But there weren't words for what he really felt.
“Easter,” he spoke quietly, “I got to be goin'. But as to what you said to me a while ago—what you proposed—I felt honored that you asked me, sure enough I did. But I wouldn't go tellin' Mother Lawton about it, was I you. You see, white women sort of beat around the bush on things like that. They don't just come out plain that way. They get what they want from a man, but they make him think it was
his
idea. Mother Lawton might not understand.”
Still dazed by the captain's news, Easter said, “I will remember. Be careful, Cloud.”
“I will. And don't you go leavin' here till I get back.”
He squeezed her hand, then turned away to follow the captain.
L
ANCING IN BELOW BRUSH HILL, THE INDIAN RAIDING party had struck out in an arc northeastward. Plenty of settlers in that direction, and plenty of horses. Good strategy for the Indians. Coming in from open country to the west, they could go out to the north without having to retrace their steps, without running head-on into aroused white pursuit.
The raid caught Barcroft's company short, many of his men out on scout and patrol duty. He sent quick word to those he could reach in short time. The others he would have to do without. To those who could get the message, he set a rendezvous point so the rest of the company would not have to wait in camp. Two hours after the alarm was raised, the company was riding out in a column of dry dust, spurs jingling, saddle guns jostling in leather scabbards. Silent men sat straight, shoulders squared, a battle-eagerness in their faces.
Out in the lead rode Cloud and Soto, the Mexican led by his unerring instinct even though they hadn't yet struck the trail. He knew which way it had headed—where they were most likely to cross it without riding unnecessary miles. He rode to it like a bee to the hive.
As the small company moved along, some of its men began catching up and falling in from other duty, adding strength. At the appointed rendezvous point, Barcroft called a short halt for rest. And while the men waited, others showed up as instructed.
Barcroft looked with Miguel and Cloud at the trail the Indians had left. “About fifteen of them, you think?”
“
Sí, mi capitán
,” said Miguel. Cloud nodded agreement.
The captain glanced back over his men and nodded in satisfaction. “Fair match, then, I'd say. Let's go.”
The Indian tracks were several hours old, but the Rifles were pushing their horses as hard as they dared, yet saving strength for a long chase if it developed.
At length the company came upon a spot where the Indians had reined up and milled around as if in conference, then had scattered. Cloud raised his chin and sniffed. “Smoke, Captain, I do believe.”
Barcroft took a long breath and replied, “You're right. Let's find it.”
They rode out, and the smell grew stronger. Cloud glanced at Miguel, then swung his rifle around in front of him on the saddle, where he could get at it in a hurry. He could see the smoke now through a line of brush which clustered along a summer-dry watercourse. Breaking through the brush, he and Miguel saw the still-crackling ruins of a cabin, the roof tumbled in among the charred sidelogs. They reined up to give the scene a long look from some distance.
“Been a spell since they left, I reckon,” Cloud commented
in a moment. “We better look around; might still be somebody alive.”
Even as he spoke, he saw a movement in the brush at the other side of the cabin. He gave the rifle a quick jerk, freeing its leather thong from the saddlehorn. Then he let the rifle ease down again.
“By Ned,” he breathed. “A woman and kids.”
From out of the brush came a woman and several children, a couple of them boys of ten to twelve. The woman carried a baby in one arm, a rifle in the other. One of the boys also held a rifle. The woman walked up to the two advance scouts as the rest of the company broke out of the timber behind them. She looked them over a moment before she spoke.
“Howdy. Be you fellers Rangers?”
Barcroft spoke, “We're the Mounted Rifles. It appears you've had some unwelcome company.”
“Well,” she replied slowly, “they wasn't invited.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“No, sir, we taken to the brush in time. Husband, he was out cow-huntin', and he ain't got back yet. He's goin' to be some mad when he does git back. They got all the horses we had, 'cept the one he's on.”
Barcroft said, “Do you have any neighbors you can go to?”
She nodded. “We got neighbors pretty close, only seven-eight miles. We'll go over there soon's my husband gits in.” She frowned. “You don't reckon them
national assassinators
'll be a-comin' back?”
That was a name some people on the frontier had given the Indians because of the federal reservation that had afforded some of the marauders sanctuary between raids.
Barcroft said, “I doubt they'll be back this way. They came in one direction, and I'd judge they'll go out another.” He looked at her children, and Cloud could read
the thought in the captain's troubled eyes. “Just the same, ma'am, I'd take care. It would be wise of you to move to a settlement and stay there.”
She shook her head, much as Lige Moseley had done when the captain had made the same suggestion to him. “No, thank you, sir, we lived in one of them settlements once. There's things worse than Indians.”
Barcroft shrugged. People like this, you couldn't scare off. “It's up to you. I wish we could stay and help, but we've got to keep moving.”
“We'll make it all right.”
“Maybe we'll recover your horses, ma'am. We'll try.”
Moving out, they began to cross land that was vaguely familiar to Cloud. After a long time they broke out of the big thicket and came into sight of old Lige Moseley's double cabin. Cloud's heart quickened. The Indian trail led straight that way. They had hit Lige, too, sure as thunder.
The cabin was still standing, though Cloud hadn't seen any sign of life around it. He held up his hand to slow down the rest of the company until he had a chance to ride in and show himself.
“If that old fire-eater's still alive,” he told Miguel Soto, “he's a crack shot. We don't want him makin' any mistakes.”
Lige's dogs set up an awful racket as Cloud rode in alone. Lige Moseley stepped out from the corral, waving his left hand. His right hand was weighted down by a rifle big as a cannon. Cloud glanced over into the corral. Just as the last time, Moseley's horses were safe inside.
The settler's bearded face broke into a wide grin. . “Well, you boys come too late. Excitement's done over.”
Looking around, Cloud saw little sign of battle. These raiders evidently had been smarter than the last bunch.
They hadn't tried to go up against Moseley's solid walls. “Get you any Indians?”
Moseley shook his head. “Can't say as I did. But we didn't lose no horses, neither. Comanches has got to git up awful early in the mornin' to steal anything off of this outfit.”
The rest of the company rode in after seeing it was all right. The captain, dusty now with whiskers beginning to darken his face, nodded at Moseley. Mrs. Moseley and the children filed out of the house to see the Mounted Rifles. The captain's gaze dwelt a long time on the children, especially on a little girl of three or so named Joanna.
Same age as his was,
Cloud thought.
Barcroft said, “It appears you've been lucky again, Moseley.”
“Ain't just luck, Captain,” Moseley replied, patting his big rifle. “Keen eye down the barrel of one of these is better than luck. And keen eyes just naturally run in the Moseley family.” He pointed his chin at his wife and at the boy Luke. “You-all care to stop and rest yourselves a mite?”
The captain shook his head. “Can't. The Indians lost a little time here, and they lost some at another place back down the way. If we
don't
lose any we'll be able to make some gain on them.”
Moseley agreed with a nod of his head. “I'm a right fair shot, Captain. I'd be tickled to go along and he'p you, if you'd care to have me.”
Barcroft shrugged. “Suit yourself. But what about your family?”
“Them Indians won't be back. Besides, Luke'll be here. He's as good a shot as I am.”
While Lige saddled his horse, Samantha Moseley came farther out into the yard. She stood silently watching
Cloud, her eyes soft with a longing she probably could not even understand.
The dogs followed for a way as the company rode out. Cloud turned once in the saddle to see if they had dropped back. He saw Samantha still standing there, watching him.
Miguel Soto glanced at Cloud, his eyebrows raised. “Pretty girl, that one,” he commented pointedly. “A most pretty girl.”
 
The Indian trail was not hard to follow. Besides their own mounts, there were the several extra horses the Comanches had picked up. An hour or so from Moseley's, Cloud and Miguel, up front again, came across one of the Indian horses limping along painfully. Dirt was caked on its chest and along one side. It evidently had fallen and lamed itself, and its rider had transferred to one of the stolen horses.
“Still sweatin' a little,” Cloud observed. “Them redskins ain't too awful far in front of us anymore.”
Shortly afterward, he thought he heard the distant sound of gunfire, drifting in the north wind. He stepped out of the saddle and handed Miguel his reins. Then he walked out a little piece to listen, where squeak of saddle leather wouldn't bother him.
He listened a minute or two, turning his head first one way, then the other, his face drawn into a deep frown. “I'd of sworn I heard it,” he said, shaking his head. He rode back to report it to the captain, then regained his lead with Miguel. “You ever hear anything, Miguel?” he asked.
The Mexican shook his head. “Maybeso you got better ears.”
“Or a better imagination.”
They were in and out of the brush for an hour before
they suddenly came in sight of a single wagon, sitting at the edge of a big post-oak motte. Part of its canvas cover had been burned away.
Cloud sucked in a short breath. “Caught 'em a mover. Bet they didn't leave much of him.”
Then he saw movement at the wagon, and he got a glimpse of a man with a hat on, the quick flare of a skirt. “Looky there, Miguel. Them folks must of scrapped their way through it.”
He spurred into an easy lope, Miguel close beside him. He reined up just short of the wagon and took a quick look. He saw one gray-bearded man and two women—one old like the man, one young. The man had his left arm wrapped in a white strip of cloth, evidently torn from a woman's underskirt. A blotch of red showed through it. The older of the women stood close, hand red with blood from the bandaging. The younger woman stood a little to one side, the clutch of fear still strong in her dust-smeared face.
Cloud dismounted, flipping his loop rein over his horse's head and keeping hold of it. “You folks must've put up a dandy fight to've run them off.” He didn't say it, but he thought it would have taken a lot to have discouraged a bunch of bucks if they had seen the young woman. “You didn't lose anybody?”
The old man shook his head. “They got off with our team, but we got off with our lives.”
Cloud glanced at a rifle leaned against the wagon wheel.
“That the only gun you got?” he asked incredulously. “Don't seem like one gun would've held them off long.”
“We had a pistol too. Wife used the pistol.”
Cloud glanced questioningly at Miguel. Three people with only two guns between them, and a prize like that
young woman with her long brown hair. Didn't seem reasonable.
He looked at the household goods piled in the wagon and said, “'Pears you folks was movin' someplace.”
The old man nodded. “We was. But we can't git far now without horses.”
The fear still lay live and fierce in the young woman's face. “Ma'am,” Cloud said to her, “you don't need to be scared no more. They're gone, and I don't expect they'll be back.”
She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.
“My daughter-in-law, mister,” the old man said quickly. “She got a bad scare. She'll be all right.”
“Where's your son?” Cloud asked.
The old man hesitated, “Why, he's off in the army—the Confederate Army.”
“And you was movin', just the three of you?”
“That's it, that's all there is to it.” The old man was plenty nervous, and so was the old woman. Cloud thought that was natural, considering what they had just been through. And yet …
Then he saw the tracks, a set of boot tracks that didn't match the ones he saw around the old man's feet. And Cloud knew.
There was somebody else with this wagon!
Barcroft rode up with the rest of the company. As was his way, he wasted no time with foolish questions. “Nobody killed?”
The old man shook his head. “No, sir, no damage except a little scratch on my arm, and the fact that them red thieves run off with our horses.”
Like Cloud, Barcroft found it hard to believe these three had stood off that raiding party alone. “How did you do it?”
The old woman spoke up for the first time. “We seen
them Indians comin' and knowed we couldn't outrun them. We got our wagon up here and piled off and took out into that brush yonder. They didn't try too hard to come in and git us. They just cut the team loose and left. They set the wagon afire, but we put the fire out before it did us much hurt.”
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