Comanche (A J.T. Edson Western Book 1) Read online

  Young though he might be, Loncey did not need to have the significance of the second detail explained to him. When travelling for peaceful reasons, an Indian took his family along so that the women could perform the menial tasks of tepee-erection and cooking. If the braves had left their women behind, it meant that they rode to make war.

  ‘They are following along the tracks our village made as we came down here,’ Broken Nose stated.

  ‘How many?’ asked Long Walker.

  ‘Ten hands at least.’

  Even allowing for some exaggeration, the braves would not be too far out in their estimation of the enemy strength. Fifty men in the Waco party put the odds well in their favor. At the most, even counting youths not yet old enough to be classed as warriors, the Pehnane village could at that moment muster no more than thirty. While every Comanche was expected to be brave, nobody could call him foolhardy. That meant a head-on battle was out. Yet the property of the village must be defended and prevented from falling into enemy hands.

  ‘We’ll get back to the village and make ready,’ Long Walker announced.

  Without any further discussion, the party started their horses moving. Loncey rode alongside his grandfather, having drunk in every word said, and wondered what plans might be running through the chief’s head. Three times during his young life there had been attacks by other tribes upon the Pehnane. On those occasions Loncey had been too young to take any active part. He believed that he could now lend a hand should it be needed and hoped to be given his chance.

  Long Walker had almost forgotten his grandson as he sank deeper into thought. No general in the U.S. Dragoons, trained in warfare at West Point, ever gave more complete attention to details while planning an attack or defense. Using the experience gained during a lifetime of making war, Long Walker looked at the problem from every side.

  Flight could be discounted straight away. No village, hampered by women and baggage animals, could hope to out-run an all-male war party. Covering six miles to the villagers’ four, the Wacos must eventually catch up when the hard-pushed work horses gave out.

  Separating into small groups and scattering did not offer any better a solution. Many families did not have a grown man present and would fall easy victims to the pursuing enemy. All the Wacos needed to do would be select sets of tracks and follow them until finding their makers. After that it would be all too easy.

  With two prime tactics inoperative, Long Walker saw only one alternative. Selecting their ground and taking every possible advantage, they must fight the Wacos and inflict such losses that the enemy would decide to run for safety.

  Long before reaching the village Long Walker formulated a plan which might, given Ka-Dih’s blessing, work. He sent a crier around the camp to gather all available men at his fire. On hearing the news, the men came quickly. When all had assembled, Long Walker explained the position.

  ‘Bad news rides a fast horse,’ he said. ‘But I have a plan that might work.’

  After hearing their chief’s suggestions, the assembled men sat silent and thought on his words. Using his knowledge of the enemy, local geographical conditions and the strength of his own force as his guide, Long Walker planned well and none of the others could offer any alternative arrangement. However one of his braves injected a comment.

  ‘Who will guard the horses, Long Walker?’

  A rumble of agreement went up from the others. Following Long Walker’s plan would put the men selected in a position of some danger. Naturally the danger drew volunteers, as any hazardous mission always did among honor-seeking Comanches.

  ‘I will be one,’ said Broken Nose.

  ‘And I,’ went on Bent Dogwood.

  ‘The Waco will not attack if they see tuivitsi guarding the horse herd,’ Sleeps Long and Deep pointed out. ‘That is the work of boys, not brave-hearts.’

  Already Long Walker had foreseen the snag and knew how to answer it. Yet the decision did not come easily to him. Slowly his eyes went past the seated warriors to where the boys of the village hovered in the background. By listening to the councils of their elders, the boys gained wisdom and also learned the kind of manners needed when they too joined the seated circle. Standing taller and slimmer than any of the others, even the fourteen-year olds, Loncey took no locating. Long Walker needed a brief moment of heart-searching before he pointed to his grandson.

  ‘Loncey,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

  With his chest puffed out to almost three times its normal size in pride at being called to the council fire, the boy advanced. Squatting on his heels before his grandfather, the boy tried to assume a similar grave, unemotional facial aspect to the braves around him.

  ‘You heard what is wanted?’ asked Sleeps Long and Deep, studying the boy with an almost paternal interest.

  ‘I heard,’ agreed Loncey eagerly.

  ‘And you think you can do it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who do you want to be with you, tawk?’ Long Walker put in.

  The task to be assigned to Loncey required the services of three boys. Beyond the council circle eager boyish faces tried to catch Loncey’s eye. Not that he needed to look or think.

  ‘Loud Voice and Comes For Food,’ the boy announced.

  ‘Do you think they will be able to do what’s needed?’ inquired one of the young braves, conscious that it was his first time at the council fire and wishing to have his presence noticed.

  ‘I think they will,’ replied Long Walker. ‘And they are just the right age for their task. Besides, we need all the older boys to help us fight.’

  For a time the discussion went on and Long Walker laid his plans. Few people in the world equaled the Comanche for being ruggedly individualistic and independent; yet when they put themselves under the command of a war leader—be he a fully-appointed war bonnet chief, or a brave declaring that he aimed to take the war path and needed volunteer companions—they obeyed his orders without question. Shrewd fighting men all, they recognized a born leader and accepted Long Walker as the best man to guide them through the forthcoming battle.

  Much praise went to the bringers of the news for the sensible manner in which their party conducted itself; the more so considering that all six were tuivitsi riding for the first time without an experienced warrior along.

  On locating the Waco band and guessing its intentions, the leader of the party immediately dispatched his two best-mounted companions to warn the village. Next he sent the remainder of his party to surround the Wacos and, remaining undetected, keep watch on the enemy.

  Towards evening two more of the scouting party returned, bringing further news of the enemy. Any lingering doubts as to the Waco’s intentions died as the scouts told how the enemy party rode fast and ignored a herd of buffalo which made its appearance. Only men bent on war would pass up such a chance to collect meat and hides.

  ‘They have two scouts out ahead,’ one of the tuivitsi told Long Walker. ‘Do you want us to go back and kill them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But they will come and see the horse herd,’ objected the second scout, knowing what would be the prime target of the enemy.

  ‘Then they will see what we want them to see,’ Long Walker explained, ‘and take word of it to the chief. Loncey, you know what to do?’

  ‘I know, tawk,’ agreed the boy.

  ‘Then go and do it.’

  Riding through the gathering darkness far ahead of their main party, the two Waco Indian scouts kept alert and held their weapons ready for use. Yet, despite the careful watch, neither saw a sign of the Pehnane braves who preceded them in the direction of the village.

  Cautiously topping a rim, halting just below it with only enough of them as necessary for looking over raised above it, the Wacos saw a sight which gladdened their eyes. Down on the floor of the wide valley beyond the rim grazed the Pehnane horse herd. Over a hundred horses and a number of mules stood, lay or moved leisurely, watched over by a trio of young boys.

  ‘O
nly the boys guarding them,’ said one scout, the younger of the pair. ‘Shall we go down and take them, the village is at least half a mile away.’

  Being more experienced in the ways of the Tshaoh, the Enemy People, the elder scout shook his head. ‘No. Their braves would catch up with us before we could reach our party. Let’s go back and tell the chief what we’ve seen.’

  Although he did not know it, the words saved his and his companion’s lives. Concealed close by, holding back their natural inclination to strike down an enemy, four Pehnane braves lined their bows and had orders to kill should any attempt at taking the horses be made before the arrival of the main Waco party.

  Backing off the rim, the scouts made a long circle around the horse herd and reconnoitered the village. Neither felt particularly surprised nor suspicious at seeing how few men the village held. The summer had always been a favorite time for raiding and hunting. Their own village was also denuded of braves at that very moment. After studying the camp, the Wacos turned their horses and headed back to their companions. While doing so, they passed over the tracks of the second pair of returning Pehnane scouts, but by that time night had come and the darkness prevented the Wacos from seeing something which might have given them a grim warning.

  A grin of satisfaction came to the face of White Crow, war leader of the Waco party as he listened to his scouts’ report. Mutters of delight rose from the other braves on hearing of the discovery of part, at least, of the Pehnane horse herd.

  Any war party that entered the Comanche country came with one main object in mind, horses. Any other loot, scalps and prisoners would be acceptable, but were only secondary to the horses. Every Texas, New Mexico and Arizona Indian tribe gave the Comanche credit for being the supreme horse-masters of the red nations. Among the Indians, the Comanche stood almost unique in their attitude to horse breeding. Not for them to raise stock indiscriminately, so as to have prestige by numbers regardless of how the animals looked or worked. Instead the Comanche tried to improve the strain and supply himself with horses ideally suited to his nomadic way of life. Only the Nez Perce of the far West ranked with the Comanche in the quality of stock owned.

  Small wonder White Crow felt pleased to hear of a good-sized Comanche remuda grazing in his path and watched over by what sounded like two Pehnane boys and a young white prisoner.

  ‘Tomorrow at dawn we strike,’ he announced.

  ‘At the village?’ inquired a brave.

  ‘We will take the horses first and drive them down through the village to waken those Tshaoh dogs. When they come out of the tepees, we can make a killing.’

  ‘The boys must be silenced before they can ride and give warning,’ a wily old brave counseled.

  ‘Three wolf-scouts will see to that,’ answered White Crow. ‘Take the boys prisoner if you can. But kill rather than chance them escaping.’

  While the Wacos made plans and contemplated a successful attack which would bring them much loot and many coups, the Pehnane village also prepared for the morning. Before the start of a raiding expedition or vengeance trail, an all-night dance put the brave-hearts into the right mood and ensured Ka-Dih’s support in the proposed venture. No such precaution need be taken when defending the village against an enemy attack. Of course, given time to do so, a Comanche always applied his war paint and donned his best clothing before a fight. No member of the People cared to go into battle—even in a defensive action—unless dressed in a manner suitable for his entry to the Land of Good Hunting should he be killed.

  Knowing that the Waco did not fight at night, Long Walker also realized that they could move during it. So he took no chances and prepared against a surprise visit to the remuda. After the Waco scouts left, Loncey’s party returned to the village and a guard of half the fighting force gathered about the herd. All the other available men, including tsukup and boys not yet old enough to take the war trail, formed a circle around the camp, remaining alert, and unsleeping through the night. Towards dawn, there having been no sign of the Wacos, the men needed for Long Walker’s plan gathered in the village and made their preparations.

  After dressing in his best clothing and applying his war paint, each man looked to his weapons. There had been a brisk trade among the arrow-makers and every bow-toting brave’s quiver held a good supply of barbed war shafts ready for use. Men with rifles checked on their powder and bullet supply, although their chief’s plan did not call for much shooting, and loaded with care. Each knife and tomahawk’s blade was tested on the ball of the thumb and brought to its best possible edge. Those among the men whose shield bore medicine power, to give spiritual as well as physical protection, went through the established ritual to collect the shield. A medicine-protected shield could not be brought into a tepee lest a menstruating woman came near to it or a person with greasy hands touch it, both being certain to destroy its power. So the shield must be hidden well clear of the village and its owner always made a full circle around the tepees when going to collect it.

  Much as they would have liked to do so, Loncey and his two companions were forbidden to put on war paint or good clothing. The success of Long Walker’s plan depended on everything looking natural when the Wacos arrived; and young boys guarding the remuda did not perform their menial task dressed as warriors.

  Following their orders, the three boys acted just as they might be expected to after an all-night session of guarding the remuda. They sat in a triangle, patient ponies close by, with blankets draped over their shoulders and, despite the excitement bubbling inside them, looking more than half asleep. Never had they been more awake than as the dawn began to lighten the sky upon that morning.

  ‘They’re coming,’ Loncey whispered. ‘I can see one behind you, Loud Voice.’

  ‘I’m not sorry they’re here,’ Comes For Food put in, speaking no louder. ‘It’s cold and I’m hungry.’

  ‘You always are,’ grinned Loud Voice. ‘There’s one coming down behind you.’

  ‘I can see another behind that clump of mesquite,’ Comes For Food stated, ignoring the comment. ‘He’s after your scalp, Loncey.’

  The long hours playing at Nanip’ka paid dividends as the eagle-eyed boys detected the cautious advance of the Waco scouts. Against grown men the Wacos, would have been far more careful, but made the fatal mistake or underestimating Comanche training. Most likely they would have succeeded had the boys really been on guard all night and not expecting an attack.

  ‘There’s no sign of the rest of them,’ Loud Voice commented. ‘They’ll be around, waiting for the signal from the scouts,’ Loncey guessed.

  Moving in on the three boys, the scouts saw there would be no chance of taking prisoners. Although the slope offered reasonable cover, some fifty yards separated it from where the boys sat. Long before the scouts could reach them, the trio would be alerted, afork their waiting ponies and fleeing to the camp to raise the alarm. That meant, as the leader of the scouts knew, they must use the second alternative.

  Across the valley, the third scout caught his leader’s signal, knelt up cautiously alongside a rock and lined his bow on Loncey’s back. To be of any use, all three arrows had to strike at the same instant. Should one boy be hit too early, the other two might avoid their arrows and escape. So the brave drew back his bow, sighted the arrow at the boy some fifty yards away, and waited for the signal. A glance told him that his companions on the other slope were ready. Then the leader released his bow string and the other two followed suit only an instant later. Three barbed war arrows winged their silent, deadly way through the air towards the sitting boys.

  ‘Now!’ yelled Loncey, having watched the men behind his companions, even as the first arrow started to leave its bow.

  Instantly each boy threw himself sideways and down, rolling clear of his blanket. The move had not come a moment too soon and every arrow would have found its mark had the boys remained seated. After the arrows hissed overhead, the boys sprang up and ran for the horses. Making a flying mount, Loncey
landed afork the dun colt and started it running. No less agile, the other two sprang on to their mounts and headed for the remuda. Letting out wild yells, the boys startled the resting, grazing horses into motion and sent them running along the bottom of the valley in the direction of the distant, out-of-sight village.

  Chapter Eight – A Lesson In Indian Tactics

  Seeing the speed with which the boys moved, the scouts’ leader wasted no time in notching another arrow and attempting to bring one of the fleeing youngsters down. There would be no chance to silence or stop all three, but maybe the remuda could be taken provided his party moved immediately. Throwing back his head, the scout let out a ringing wolf-howl. Clearly the Wacos possessed considerable skill in the art of silent horse-movement, for as the howl sounded hooves drummed out and mounted men swarmed over the top of either side of the valley. None of the Wacos needed explanations, they saw the fleeing remuda and knew that the plan to silence the boys had failed. Wild with humiliation, the scouts darted forward to bound on to the horses brought by their friends and joined in the chase after the remuda.

  With the luster of already having received the honor of a Give-Away Dance, Loncey brought up the rear of the remuda and allowed his friends to ride on the flanks. Doing so put the boy in the most dangerous position, but it fell on Comes For Food to land in trouble.

  Up on the right flank of the racing horse herd, Comes For Food’s colt selected that moment of all times to drop its foot into a gopher hole. The colt went down, screaming as its leg broke, and pitched its rider over its head. Trained almost from birth at riding, Comes For Food felt himself going and lit down with cat-like agility on his feet. Catching his balance, he flung himself towards the passing horses in an attempt to mount one. Although his fingers brushed a racing pinto’s mane, he failed to obtain a grip and the horse brushed him aside.