CHAPTER 41

It ain't Apache, that's for sure. I'd swear it's a Comanche arrow, Leroy." Jamey English bent over to get a better look at the feathered end of the arrow. "Yeah, I think you're right." Leroy paused and stared down at the decaying body. "Besides, this is too far east for Apaches. It's Comanch' all right."

"Does that mean they're raiding again?" Clayton asked, in a near whisper. "Nobody's gonna be safe if they start up them raids."

"This massacre may have happened because somebody was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Leroy stood up and searched the horizon. "In any case, this trail is several days old. We'll never find 'em. No Comanche can be tracked when he's had this much time to get away."

Leroy pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead and the band inside and then slowly put the hat back on his head.

"Hell, there ain't much chance of tracking 'em, anyhow," Jamey added.

"Unless, of course, they want us to," Leroy said. "And if they want us to find where they're camped, that means they'll be ready for us. I don't want to be 'round no Comanch' that's ready and waitin' for me. That's how a man loses his hair."

"Men, get busy and bury these poor folks. We'll do our best to give them a Christian burial, then we'll be on our way," Captain Gantner called out. "No need hanging around here keeping the buzzards company."

The Rangers held a brief funeral service for the dead settlers. Captain Gantner read a few words from the Bible. Then the twenty-five Rangers mounted their horses and rode due west. They left the camp as they found it except for the buried bodies. Leroy knew that there was a good chance that the Comanche warriors would be back to dig them up, but at least they had made the effort to bury the victims in a Christian manner.

"Leroy, you ever get scared, being out this far with only a dozen or so men?" Clayton asked as they rode away from the grisly scene. "We don't know how many Comanches there are in that raiding party, and I heard the captain say something about splitting us up."

"Chances are we'd be outnumbered, that's for sure." Leroy kept looking at the distant horizon. Then he turned to his brother and grinned. "But then, Private Wiley, being former proud members of the Confederate Army, we wouldn't know how to fight if we wasn't outnumbered, say three to one. Ain't that about right?"

"But that was against the Yanks." Clayton braced imself in the saddle and took a long look around and behind them. "Yanks don't fight like Comanches."

"You're right about that," Leroy agreed. "Nobody can fight like an Indian on the war path. Hell, sometimes I think they fight just because they're bored. When they ain't fighting us or the Yankee Army, they're perfectly happy fighting each other."

"How far are we from the next settlement?"

"Not far." Leroy grinned and then leaned over toward Clayton and added. "If it's still there."

The basic cause of the conflict between the settlers and Indians was their vastly different ideas about how life should be lived. These differences frequently led to fighting between the two groups. The Indians who rode the rough terrain of northern Texas were hunters. They hunted wild animals for their food and clothing. Most white settlers made their living by farming and ranching. The settlers cut down the forests and cleared the underbrush in order to plant crops or raise cattle. After the settlers destroyed the trees and underbrush, wild animals could no longer survive there.

That left the Indians with the choice of moving to new hunting grounds or staying where they were and fighting the white men. Most of the white men had powerful rifles designed for hunting buffalo. This meant the Indians would always be at a disadvantage. If the tribes chose to move, they had to fight other tribes for the right to be there. The Comanche chose to stay and fight the settlers in order to keep their original hunting grounds for as long as they could. They believed that white settlers posed a threat to everything dear to their way of life.

Even when the tribal leaders signed treaties, they seldom understood the meaning of the bargain they had made. They viewed all land as belonging to God, or the Great Spirit. No man could own it, but the Great Spirit gave the use of it to various tribes, and the land on which their ancestors hunted was theirs to use forever. No writing on a piece of paper could change that. When they signed the papers, they meant to lend the land for a time, as in rent. They did not understand the white man's concept of purchase.

All over the west there were tribes who tried to make peace and survive the best way they could with whatever land the white man gave them. But this wasn't the case in Texas where the Apache and the Comanche saw the conflict with the white man as a fight, not only for their way of life but also as a battle for the survival of their tribes. Both of these tribes fought a prolonged and bloody war against the incursion of the white man.

The Texas Rangers knew from past experience that whenever the Comanches or Apaches began to raid, they would massacre as many white men and women as they could. Sometimes the children would be taken captive, but usually they were killed along with their parents.

Leroy and his fellow Rangers decided early on that the only solution to the Indian wars was for more white settlers to move in and claim Indian lands. Then the Indians would have no place to go but farther west. In order for that to happen, the settlers had to feel safe, and that meant that the raids had to stop.

"I know it's dangerous to split up the men," Captain Gantner confided to Leroy when they stopped to rest the horses. "But we've got a full company of twenty-five Rangers, and we've got a lot of ground to cover. Problem is, I ain't too sure which way they went." Gantner shook his head and pointed toward the northwest. "That way leads to Apache lands. You can never tell what a savage will do, but I don't expect the Comanche would want to go up there and tangle with the Apaches. Even the Comanches know not to stir up a den of rattlesnakes."

Captain Gantner then looked towards the west. "So I'm putting my poker money on that-a-way." He paused for a few seconds before he turned back to Leroy. "But I don't have to tell you that the Comanches can be mightily unpredictable. They don't necessarily do whatever's reasonable. That's why I say we split up and give it one day's ride in both directions and then meet at the spot on the Big Washita River where we camped last week.

His mind already made up, Captain Gantner didn't bother to ask Leroy's opinion of his plan. Instead, he turned and walked back to the Ranger company and began to address the men. "Men, I want you to rest your horses regularly and keep an eye out at all times. Remember, these savages like to sweep down from the high ground with the sun at their backs. Make sure to watch for 'em coming at you from that direction. Also, keep in mind they also like to attack just before daybreak, so they can see but still have some cover of darkness."

Captain Gantner went on in a fatherly tone. "Since we have a few men with us who are new to the Rangers, I'd like to tell you what a settler told me a long time ago about the Comanches. He said 'They come at you like foxes, fight like lions, then disappear like birds.'" After a brief pause, he continued. "I might add that he didn't profit much from the knowledge and wound up losing his hair at an early age. We don't want that to happen to any of us."

The Rangers divided up into two groups. Clayton made a point of not lining up with Leroy, who had been put in command of the group heading west. After a final word with Captain Gantner, Leroy approached Clayton and motioned with a slight movement of his head. Clayton shrugged and followed him over to a nearby watering hole.

"Looks like an underground spring, Leroy," Clayton pointed at the clear running water.

"Never mind that," Leroy took him by the arm and pulled him close so that no one else in the company could hear.

"Listen to me, Clayton." Leroy stared intently into his brother's eyes. "I just had a talk with the captain. I ain't too sure of his plan. I think splitting up the men without knowing how many Comanches we're up against is a big mistake, but it's not my call. I know he's trying to find those murdering savages before the next wagon train of settlers comes through here. But this is one big risk. I want you to stay with me."

"Leroy, it's not your job to look after me." Clayton shook his head and whispered. "I know what I'm doing, and I can take care of myself. Besides, Jamey's going with us. He's probably the best scout we've got." "Yeah, he's that, all right, and, next to me, he's probably the best Indian fighter in the Rangers. But there's something you ought to know about him."

Leroy lowered his voice even further. "He hates the Comanche so much that sometimes it clouds his judgment. His whole family was massacred by them when he was a boy. The only reason he survived was 'cause he and his brother Dave were all broken out with some sort of rash and fever. The Indians were afraid of them. They knew that whenever some of their tribe broke out in red spots like that, a lot of 'em died. The Comanche probably hoped that the disease would spread and kill off a bunch of whites."

"Yeah, I heard all about that."

"Well, take my advice and stay with me," Leroy grinned, trying his best to convince Clayton to come along. "I may need you a lot more than Jamey will." "I've already lined up with the other fellows." Clayton looked around to make sure that no one else was close enough to hear what he was about to say. "They'll all think I'm scared if I go over to ride with you, and besides, I'd have to find somebody to take my place riding with Jamey and the fellows going northwest."

"I can handle that." Leroy nodded toward a tall Ranger leaning against a tree. "See the new guy over there? The skinny one wearing the hat way back on his head?"

"Yeah, that's Charlie Wilson. He's that crazy Reb from Virginia that keeps talking about Stonewall Jackson all the time."

"He also happens to have the most fighting experience in the company, except for me, of course."

"He'll go with Jamey?"

"He doesn't give a damn where he goes. He just wants to keep fighting somebody. He ain't given up on the war yet. He keeps saying that if old Jack had lived, we'd have won at Gettysburg."

"So what does that have to do with the Rangers?"

"Everything. It means he ain't gonna run. That counts for a lot."

"The same goes for all the Rangers, don't it?"

"Don't count on that." Leroy pulled his brother close.

"Lots of men will run when a bunch of screaming savages is coming at 'im with their guns blastin' and their knives and hatchets dripping with blood."

"I just can't go with you this time, Leroy. It'd make me look bad. Like I was afraid."

"You better be afraid." Leroy hoped to instill enough doubts in Clayton that he would change his mind regardless of what the other Rangers thought of him. "And you better stay afraid. Sometimes that's what keeps a man alive. There's one more thing, Clayton. In the Rangers, one of the first things you learn is that when you're going up against the Comanche, you always save the last bullet for yourself. Don't let 'em catch you alive. Believe me, it ain't worth trying to keep on livin'."

"Saddle up, boys," Captain Gantner called out. "I'll go with Jamey's group. Leroy--Leroy, where are you?" "Over here, Captain," Leroy answered. He still had not taken his eyes from Clayton's face.

"Leroy, take your men toward the Salt Fork. I'll see you at the bend in the Big Washita at noon, the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Leroy replied. Before he could say another word to Clayton, his brother walked over to where Jamey English stood and joined his half of the Ranger Company.

"Damn, damn, damn," Leroy cursed under his breath. "How could I have stopped him?" He pulled his hat down low over his forehead, he then got up on his horse and began heading west, carrying with him a feeling that they were making a terrible mistake.

The following morning Jamey picked up the trail of the Comanche raiding party. The trail led northwest, but because the Indians were constantly doubling back and dragging brush behind them, Jamey couldn't be sure of their exact number. Looking around, he tried to figure out where the Indians were headed. After pausing to rest their horses, the Rangers resumed their pursuit of the Comanches.

To a man, the Rangers were all veterans of the War Between the States. Clayton remembered that Leroy had told him that some of the men were afraid to try civilian life, yet they no longer had an army to be part of. Seemingly, these men needed to be part of a group. After their years of service in the Confederate army they were used to hardship and exhibited a strong sense of loyalty.

All possessed courage, or they would never have taken the oath to defend the Texas frontier. However, the raw courage that was so prized during the War Between the States was at times the wrong quality for fighting Indians. Leroy had warned Clayton to be more cautious than brave and never to let his guard down, especially while tracking the Comanches.

After a long day of searching for signs of the Comanche raiding party, Jamey found a campsite that he hoped would afford them some protection against a surprise attack. Only after the Rangers had set up camp did they find the campsite full of rattlesnake holes. They decided to stay, anyway and have fried rattlesnake that night for supper. After cutting off the heads of eight big rattlers, Clayton decided eating the snakes would be all right.

Heck, he thought, eating snakes don't bother me too much; rattlesnake tastes a lot like the white meat of a chicken. But being around all the snake holes sure wreaks havoc with a man's sleep.

Just after daybreak, as the Rangers were breaking camp, they heard a distant roar and saw the top of what appeared to be a cloud of dust. Jamey English and Captain Gantner climbed up on a nearby cluster of rocks to see what was causing all the commotion. When they reached the top, they saw a herd of wild pintos thundering across the wide plain.

"Come take a look, men," Captain Gantner called down. "It's quite a sight. Looks like the land's covered with 'em. Wonder what's spooked them?"

At that moment a bullet slammed into the left side of his chest. "Oh my God," were the captain's last words. Only Jamey English heard what he said. English quickly turned around and saw about thirty Comanche warriors, all covered in war paint, racing on horseback towards them. War bonnets flapping in the wind, they all were holding rifles or bows above their heads. The Comanche warriors were using both arms to aim and fire their weapons while they guided their unshod horses with their knees.

"Rifles," Jamey called out. "They got rifles!" The leader carried his rifle proudly. His eyes were filled with hate and in his heart there was a fierce determination to rid his tribal hunting ground of whites, especially the Rangers, who had killed so many of his braves.

Before Clayton and the other Rangers could organize a defense, the Indians swept down on them. The sun had barely risen, but the attacking Indians had made sure that it was behind them. They looked like shadows to Clayton; shadows of death.

The Rangers, with their own backs to the cluster of rocks, began to fire sporadically at the charging braves. It was too late. The Indians swarmed among them, sometimes firing the rifles, but mostly swinging their tomahawks and thrusting their spears with murderous rage.

Clayton looked up to see where Jamey was. He started to call out to his friend but saw him slumped over a rock with both arms dripping in blood.

It's too late, Clayton thought. We're done for. Oh, Mama, Ellen, I--. His mind faltered as he thought of his brother and Leroy's attempt to get him to go with the other group. Leroy, oh please, dear God, let Leroy come get me out of here!

The last thing Clayton saw was an Indian pony with what appeared to be lightning streaks painted on its front coming directly at him.