Sunday's Colt & Other Stories Read online

  Bear Shield examined the trade goods and cheap bolts of cloth. He spoke quietly to Big Star and addressed Maesaw in equally reserved fashion.

  Maesaw nodded and turned a tortured expression toward McKnight and James. “Bear Shield says that his people will welcome the gifts warmly. He feels that the chief of the Kamanashe should be entitled to a special gift, as was Big Star.”

  Tom James’s face took on the appearance of a red-hot boiler about to explode. McKnight stepped in front of his partner and turned his back toward the chiefs. James relaxed as McKnight’s shadow crossed his form.

  “How about the velvet?” McKnight asked.

  James grimaced and bit his lip. “Sure, why the hell not?”

  “Why don’t you go back and get it? I’ll try to get Maesaw to reason with them,” McKnight said.

  Maesaw was uneasy. His attention drifted nervously between the anxious brigade commander and the sullen chief.

  “You know, Maesaw, we don’t have much left. Can’t we try something else?” McKnight asked in as reserved and pleasant a manner as he could muster.

  “Señor McKnight, we are at their mercy. I fear that if we refuse them, we will be dead men within the hour.”

  McKnight listened stoically. He knew Maesaw was no coward and his answer was not the result of cowardly logic. He turned to Jeemy Wilson.

  “Well, what do you think, old timer? You’ve dealt with these Indians before,” McKnight asked.

  The buckskinner set his eyes toward the ground. “If they was Kiowas or Arapahos, you might try getting tough and bluffing your way through. But, these Comanches are a strange lot. I fear you’ll end up giving them the whole shebang and they’ll still show fight.”

  Tom James presented a roll of a hundred and seventy yards of red velvet cloth. Bear Shield felt the bolt reverently with the tips of his fingers. The master politician smiled and swelled with flamboyant generosity. He spoke boldly so the whole of the community could hear.

  A warrior rode his pony to the bolt and lifted it from James’s arms. He took hold of the cut end of the cloth and tossed the bolt into the air, riding away at a gallop. In seconds the red velvet was being unrolled as the populace eagerly descended upon it.

  James watched in horror as his precious trade cloth was ripped and torn into blankets, robes, and fragments. “We paid six dollars a yard for that velvet.”

  McKnight nodded. “Maybe that will satisfy them, Tom.”

  Bear Shield turned toward Big Star and issued some orders before swinging his pony away from the men toward his tipi. Big Star slipped from his pony and approached McKnight and James through the throng of clamoring Indians. He spoke to Maesaw and pointed toward an open area between the mound and cliffs to the west.

  “We are to make camp there for the night. Bear Shield is satisfied,” Maesaw said.

  “They ain’t going to let us go?” Jeemy Wilson asked.

  “No, we are to remain here,” Maesaw answered.

  McKnight nodded and motioned his group toward the mound without comment.

  The men made camp without interference. They were allowed to come and go to the stream at will and prepare their evening meal in peace. As the men gathered around evening campfire there was little conversation.

  Jeemy Wilson watched the sentries on the cliff tops as he sipped some coffee. “We could try slipping out when the camp’s asleep, but I fear those guards will sound the alert as soon as we stir.”

  McKnight nodded. “How would we outrun them on foot? They’d overtake us within hours even if we were able to slip away.”

  “At least we could make a stand on open ground,” John James said. “We’re trapped like rats against this wall.”

  “Maesaw, how far is it to a settlement?” Tom James asked.

  The Spaniard shook his head. “It is at least a hundred leagues to Nacatoche. It would take three days hard march to get there.”

  “No ranches or haciendas nearabouts?” James asked.

  “None that I know of. Nacatoche is the closest settlement. It is in the forest. The Comanche will not go into the trees except to trade, and even then they will only come reluctantly.”

  “Maybe we could make the trees and they’d back off,” Frederick Howard said.

  The Spaniard cut his eyes slowly toward Howard and spoke solemnly. “We would not make the trees, Señor Howard.”

  McKnight watched his men carefully, trying to decide the best strategy. He felt that such a bold move might be necessary but could plainly see that Maesaw feared the tactic. At that moment he trusted the Spaniard’s judgment more than the others did. “It might be that we have won them over. I’d hate to think we’d forced a fight that wasn’t necessary. I suggest we wait to see what they do in the morning.”

  There was a moment of silence. His words seemed logical and reasonable. None of the men were eager for a fight that would end with their massacre.

  “If worse comes to worse, I don’t want us to go under like a pack of whimpering dogs. I say we make our lives as dear as possible. Make them pay a price,” Wilson said.

  The men voiced support.

  McKnight nodded. “I agree, Jeemy. But I reiterate, we have other avenues that should be attempted before that.”

  “Let us firmly resolve and pledge to one another. If the worse comes, we will stand and fight like men, together and to the end,” Tom James said.

  Agreement spread through the brigade. McKnight did not say more. The pledge was a good idea. Men with such a mindset were easier to lead and persuade. Facing death with defiant resolve was a much easier dose of medicine to swallow.

  McKnight threw the dregs of his coffee into the fire and watched the liquid sizzle and bubble on the burning embers. It seemed a good symbol of their situation.

  III

  Morning dawned bright, still, and hot. Dust surrounded the brigade members as they prepared their packs. Comanche activity was slow developing. McKnight observed morning activities not significantly different from St. Louis: women choring, children playing, and men going about their business.

  Big Star and another Indian came to their camp on foot, dressed in formal attire, carrying a smoking pipe. The brigade members joined him at the campfire to pass the pipe. James offered tobacco and the Indian graciously accepted.

  “I thank my white brothers. You have been generous and brave in your dealings. I want you to know that I will do all I can to see you safely on your way. I brought you to the camp because One-eye was waiting to rub you out,” Big Star explained through his interpreter.

  “May we go, then?” Tom James asked.

  “No, I fear not. There will be a council to decide your fate. I will speak for you.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” McKnight asked.

  “Perhaps more gifts. Something for Bear Shield. His voice will be the greatest.”

  McKnight turned to Tom James. “What about a pistol? I’ve got those duelers in the case.”

  “Maybe one,” Tom James answered. “I’d save the other to put a bullet in the old bastard’s heart.”

  McKnight nodded. Frederick Howard went to a pack and drew out a cherry wood case. He fetched one of the .45 caliber flintlocks from the box and handed the prize to McKnight.

  “Give this to Bear Shield. Tell him it is a great prize and was intended as a bribe for the Spaniards in Santa Fe.”

  Big Star accepted the pistol. “This will do nicely. Bear Shield has no such weapon. None other in the village has anything like it.”

  The chiefs departed, leaving the brigade members in silence.

  “That may just turn the trick,” McKnight said.

  “I paid a hundred dollars for those pistols in St. Louis,” James said.

  McKnight nodded. “Load the other and give it to me. I’ll save it for later.”

  One-eye and his braves rode into camp from the north slope of the valley at a full gallop. The war chief guided his pony to the edge of the brigade’s campsite and glared down upon the men, especia
lly Tom James.

  James returned the hot glare with a nod. One-eye mumbled a soft curse and kneed the pony towards Bear Shield’s tipi.

  Wilson stepped to James’s side. “I wish that fellow had been a little slower showing up. I doubt he’ll speak kindly in our favor.”

  James’s expression went cold and dark. “I’ll tell you one thing—I’ll see him in hell if he starts a fight.”

  Wilson rocked his ax in his hand. “You and me both, Johnny.”

  Within the hour, Big Star and the other chief returned. He seemed disturbed and frustrated. “There is a problem. One-eye wants the sword.”

  James became indignant. “I gave the sword to you. Tell him I’ll give him something else.”

  “No, he will have the sword or your lives,” Big Star reluctantly answered.

  “Piss on him. I won’t give him another damn thing,” James said.

  “You have no other sword?” Big Star asked.

  “No, that is the only one I had,” James answered.

  The Indian nodded and handed the blade to James. “Take it and give it to One-eye.”

  James took the sword. The Indian smiled as Maesaw translated James’s words. “I’ll make this up to you, Big Star.”

  “Give the sword to Black Pony to take to One-eye. I cannot give the sword for you. It would not look good.”

  James nodded and handed the sword to the other chief.

  Within the hour several chiefs and elderly men gathered at the top of the mound. Younger men and boys started to climb the hill as well, but the older ones drove them back. Soon it was evident that a major council was being held on the hilltop.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” Wilson said as the brigade members watched the progress of the meeting.

  The younger men and boys were gathering horses and preparing weapons. Most disturbing was that Big Star and Black Pony were not a part of the council.

  “I think we should pile our goods and form a barricade around them with saddles and harness,” McKnight said.

  “Then it’s a fight, is it?” James asked.

  “I think we should close ranks and be ready to defend ourselves, if it comes to that,” McKnight answered.

  The group worked quietly, piling the goods in the center, surrounded by empty packs, harness, and pack saddles. As they were completing the chore, the council broke up. The old men and chiefs ambled down the slope and went to their tipis. Village activity increased as individuals gathered possessions and assembled families.

  “It looks to me like they’re getting ready for a move,” James said.

  “Maybe they’re just going to leave us here and be on their way?” Wilson said.

  “What do you think, Francois?” McKnight asked.

  The Spaniard shook his head slowly.

  Big Star returned to the barricade and cast his eyes to the ground as he spoke. “I will remember you. I will speak of you with honor.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Frederick Howard asked nervously.

  Wilson shook his head and picked up his fusel. “It means we’re going on a journey and he wants to bid us farewell.”

  Howard’s expression was fearful as he turned to McKnight.

  “They mean to rub us out,” McKnight said impassively.

  “Perhaps more gifts,” Howard suggested half-heartedly.

  “What for?” Tom James asked. “They’ll get it all, anyhow.”

  “Maybe we should take these two as hostages?” Wilson suggested.

  James waved the chiefs away. “No, they’d only kill them as well. They did their best. Let them go in peace.”

  As the lodges came down, the Indians began slowly gathering around the brigade. McKnight formed his men, shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle, facing out from the goods in the center, tomahawks and knives in their belts. McKnight stood between Tom James and Wilson. John James stood beside his brother.

  The Indians constricted the encirclement, mounted men to the front, women to the back.

  Tom James noticed McKnight’s pale lips trembling. Maesaw could be heard mumbling a rosary prayer from the other side of the goods.

  James turned to his younger brother. “I’m sorry I got you into this, John. I wish I could have given you better service.”

  John nodded slowly and spoke without looking at his brother. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Tom. You’re a good brother and a fine man.”

  Tom James turned back to face the Indians. He nodded and fought back tears. “Thank you, John.”

  The men faced their grim foes stiffly. Only the nervous prancing of ponies broke the silence. Heat and dust enveloped the barricade.

  Bear Shield forced his pony through the throng. He was dressed in the white bear robe and carried an elaborately decorated spear. The old chief glared menacingly down at the brigade. In short course, One-eye forced his pony to the chief’s side. Bear Shield jammed the point of his spear toward Tom James’s breast, as if calculating the distance to his heart. He placed the spear across the front withers of the animal and drew the dueling pistol from his belt. He opened the frizzen and examined the powder. Not liking the appearance, he replaced it with a fresh load. After closing the frizzen, he stopped as James’s rifle muzzle slowly swept in his direction.

  One-eye watched the event carefully, his eye dancing from side to side.

  Finally, McKnight spoke. “I can’t stand this much longer, Tom. I know he means to kill you first. I’ll revenge you the instant he fires.”

  “Let’s be done with it. I’ll cleave a path through them as soon as the word is given,” Wilson said.

  Tom James blinked and swallowed hard before speaking. “Wait a minute. Let’s not rush into this. Those two know they’re dead men just as soon as we are. Let them fire the first shot.”

  McKnight bit his lip and nodded slowly.

  Several moments passed as the Indians glared silently at the determined brigade. The smell of sweat, unwashed bodies, and nervous beasts permeated the air.

  Suddenly, David Kirkee threw down his weapon, raised his hands, and stepped away from the circle.

  Ben Potter whispered harshly. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’ve had enough, boys. I’m going to walk out of here and let them have the damned stuff,” Kirkee said.

  “That cuts it,” James said. “Get ready, men.”

  As Kirkee stepped to the encirclement of Comanches, they allowed him to pass.

  “Can it be that simple?” Tom James asked.

  McKnight’s voice was firm. “I doubt that David gets far.”

  A commotion could be heard toward the outskirts of the village.

  “They must have got David,” McKnight said.

  “The bastards,” Wilson said. “Let’s get this over with!”

  Maesaw’s voice rang out, “No. Wait, señors. They are Mexicans.”

  The Comanches divided as a handsome Spaniard in expensive dress forced his mount past the chiefs.

  “Thank God I am in time,” the Spaniard said. “I truly feared that you would be dead.”

  The Spaniard turned toward One-eye and spoke sternly. The chief accepted the orders without resistance. He swung his pony about and issued orders for the people to withdraw. Old Bear Shield cut his eyes menacingly toward James and without comment wheeled his horse away.

  “These Comanches are our allies,” the Spaniard said. “They had been told to kill any Yankees that passed through these lands. They had no way of knowing that the Spanish are no longer in control. A free Mexico welcomes you openly.”

  “I’m John McKnight. To whom do I have the honor?”

  “Don José de Philimon, Alcalde of Nacatoche, at your service, señor.”

  The men gathered around Philimon. Within a few moments, David Kirkee returned and paused apart from the group. Jeemy Wilson roughly slapped him on the back.

  “Don’t feel so bad there, David,” Wilson laughed. “For several moments, I was wishing that I had tried the same
thing.”

  “We should go to Nacatoche immediately. I am not sure how long this truce will last,” Philimon said.

  “How did you know about us?” James asked.

  “Big Star sent word by rider yesterday,” Don José answered.

  “Give me that pistol, John,” Tom James said.

  McKnight drew the flintlock from his belt and handed it to his partner. James walked alone toward Big Star who was gathering his wives and possessions.

  Big Star turned toward James and smiled with uncertainty.

  Tom James looked intently into the warrior’s eyes as he spoke. “I know you can’t understand a word that I’m saying, but I want you to know that I’ll never forget what you did for us.”

  Big Star accepted the gun without examining it and spoke to one of his wives. The woman retrieved an ornamental smoking pipe.

  “Na net shay, he mi toscha,” he said softly as he handed it to James.

  Big Star mounted his pony and ordered his family to move out. He did not look back as he rode away.

  James walked silently back to Maesaw and asked, “What does, Na net shay, he mi toscha, mean?”

  Francois Maesaw paused and thought before shaking his head and answering, “He said, ‘All men travel a common road.’ It is meaningless.”

  James turned to look back toward the last vestiges of the village as Wilson stepped near.

  “I wonder what he meant?” James asked as he fondled the pipe.

  “Does it matter?” Wilson asked.

  Tom James smiled. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  Sunday’s Colt

  When Bill Sunday came riding down the lane on that spring day in 1910, Grandpa and I were standing at the corral fence watching the progress of Nan as she initiated another colt on a lesson of respect for the halter. Nan was a nineteen-year-old bay mule that Grandpa used exclusively for lead breaking colts. Yearling colts were haltered with the lead rope attached to a similar halter on the jenny. Nan and the colt were turned free in the corrals. When Nan wanted a drink, she went to water. When she became hungry, she went to the trough.

  The colt had a choice as well. He could follow along, or he could kick, fight, bite, buck, balk, or throw himself…then follow along. Nan accepted such hysteric opposition with stoic strength, calmly waiting until her young companion learned that it was much easier to simply follow the jenny’s lead. It seldom took more than an hour for the colt to resign himself to his situation.