“These tracks head west,” Red observed on the fourth day out. “One of the six horses has shoes that have the heels built up. Another one has a loose front shoe and occasionally stumbles.”

  “Even my old eyes noticed that,” Al agreed.

  “One of the soldiers back at the fort reported that there was a tobiano pinto among those horses,” Red recalled out loud. “Even if they make it into a town, they should be easy to track down.”

  “Easy that is, unless of course they’re covering their back trail and planning to ambush us.”

  “Maybe, but there’s no indication of it. Look at the way they’re spacing out their horses and the speed at which they’re riding. While they’re not ambling along, they’re not racing to get out of here, and they’re not bunched up. I don’t think they’re expecting anyone to be following them yet,” Red stated with some certainty.

  “I deal with facts,” Al said, “and I don’t believe things always go the way you think they will. Life will teach you that as you get older.”

  “So we just keep following what trail signs we can find, then,” Red replied.

  “Until we can figure out where they’re headed,” Al said, “because based on their trail, I can’t get inside their heads.”

  * * * * *

  For the next few days, the pair tracked the outlaw gang, which had shifted from a west to an east-southeast direction. As evening approached, the horses needed a rest as much as the riders, so they headed for a water hole they hoped had been replenished by the recent rain. It was hidden, surrounded by a small stand of oak scrub. They were in luck, and at the hole they dismounted and let the horses drink. Red decided to give the horses some extra grain and got out the two feed bags from his saddlebags.

  “Let ’em graze, but don’t over-grain ’em,” Al cautioned. “With Kiowas roaming and Lannigan’s group on the loose, we may have to move out fast.”

  “You know, I never would have figured that out by myself, what with me being such a greenhorn and all,” Red said.

  “Just saying, better safe than sorry,” Al retorted, when he was taking the saddle off his horse. He tied the reins to his saddle horn, got out his blanket, and threw it on the ground. He stretched out using the saddle seat as a pillow.

  “More grass for him to graze over there,” Red said, pointing to a green patch of grass fifteen feet away.

  “Maybe so, but, as I said, this way I can grab rein and ride out in a hurry.”

  “You worry too much,” Red said.

  “Trouble is, you don’t worry enough.”

  “If sleep will make you feel better, Al, I’ll keep watch for a few hours while you rest those old bones of yours, and then you can spell me,” Red suggested.

  “These old bones are gonna be rattling around when you’re too old to stand up,” Al said as he tipped his hat forward and closed his eyes. “Wake me in a couple of hours.”

  “You just rest those blue eyes of yours, and don’t fret none. Ranger Red is on the job.”

  “Heaven help us,” Al muttered, smiling. He pulled his blanket up and rolled over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thornton spelled Red some four hours later. Although groggy and fighting off a craving for a hot cup of coffee, Al sat alert to any sign of trouble. Once the skies began to lighten, he took out his knife and whittled. At the crack of dawn, he nudged his younger partner with his foot.

  “ ’Morning, pardner,” Red said, sitting up and stretching.

  Thornton walked over to the saddlebags to put away his knife. When he thought he heard something, he jerked, and the knife slipped from his hand. As he bent over to pick it up, cursing himself for being clumsy, an arrow whistled right over his head.

  Al dropped and made a forward roll which caused a sharp pain in his back, but still he came up with gun in hand. “Indians!” he shouted, then muttered to himself: “If I hadn’t bent over, I’d’ve been hit for sure.”

  Red pulled his rifle from his saddle and ran at a crouch to the nearest rock. Arrows began flying into their camp. Red pulled one from the ground and quickly looked it over. “Kiowa” he said, tossing it over to Al.

  “Well, they got us in a hell of a spot this time, that’s certain. You fixed for bullets, Red?”

  Red shook his head. “In my saddlebags. Doesn’t matter though, there’s way too many of them, Al. I don’t think trying to shoot our way out of this would be the smartest move.”

  “No way we can outrun ’em. They’d cut us down before our horses got two feet,” Al said.

  “Not what I had in mind, either,” Red said.

  “What then? What in tarnation are you thinking?” Al asked.

  “Follow my lead. And whatever you do, don’t shoot . . . no matter what happens,” Red snapped. Then he stood, leaving his rifle on the ground, and started speaking in Kiowa, a language Al didn’t know.

  “Why do you shoot at the son of Bear Slayer, friend of the Kiowa?” Red shouted, and then stepped out into the open with both of his hands held high. He swallowed hard as he waited for a response.

  For a moment Al squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the arrows to come flying again. But when he opened them seconds later, Red was still upright.

  Al raised his hands, stood up, and cautiously walked up next to Red, looking out at the horizon. “I know some Apache,” he said to his partner, “but no Kiowa. What’d you say?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just keep that hogleg of yours holstered,” Red said nervously. He addressed the man he believed to be the leader of this band. “You know of my father. He was friend and family to the Kiowa. I am the son of Bear Slayer, and my partner and I aren’t here to fight you.”

  The tall, thin warrior moved out and dismounted from his horse. He stood stock-still for a moment, then walked closer.

  “I know this name . . . Bear Slayer. My grandfather spoke of him and how he once saved his life. But how do I know you are his son?”

  Red sighed and relaxed his breathing. He took a slow step forward, and when nothing happened, he walked toward the Kiowa brave, stopping about ten feet away. The other warriors watched him carefully. Red shook his raised arms and then slowly moved them down so that he could unbutton his shirt. He pulled out the necklace with the three large bear claws given to him by the Old Man so long ago.

  “Do you recognize this?” he asked. “Will this convince you I am telling the truth to my brothers? We mean you no harm, and I know the Kiowa would never fear just two lone men.”

  A number of the braves moved closer so they could better see the necklace. The man who had done the talking walked up and reached out to touch the bear claws. Several members of the band were nodding and talking among themselves, their eyes occasionally meeting Red’s. Thornton watched from fifteen feet back, not yet certain how this would turn out.

  When the tall brave let go of the bear claws with a nod, Red smiled and extended his hands in a gesture of friendship. The brave took Red’s hands in his own and nodded, saying: “You will come with us?”

  “My friend does not speak your language,” Red said, “so I will explain to him that we will ride with you to your camp so we may speak more. Maybe you will tell us why the Kiowas are making war with my people at the fort. Maybe we can help.”

  “I do not think white eyes can help, but we will talk.”

  “Bear Slayer helped once. Maybe his son can do the same,” Red reminded him.

  “We will see. Get your horses and come with us,” the Kiowa leader said.

  When Red explained to Al what had been said, the older Ranger stood in disbelief. “Ride alone into a Kiowa camp? Just the two of us? Are you touched in the head?”

  “It’s the only way, Al. You trust me, right? And they could have killed us already, if that was their intention.”

  Thornton nodded. “I hope you’re right, and heaven help us iffen you ain’t.”

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon found the two Rangers riding into a large Kiowa encampment. Red estimated there were over a hundred large teepees, stretching in a circle around several campfires. Braves and women and children stared at them as they rode in. Several scrawny dogs barked and nipped at their horses’ heels.

  Red had learned from the Old Man that long ago the Kiowas migrated down from the Montana area and that after settling in the southern plains became some of the best horsemen among the tribes. During their ride in, Red had found out that there were a couple of Real Dogs in the group, the most elite warriors of all the Kiowas.

  The tall, thin brave who lead this band was known as Blue Arrow. He was the son of the current chief, a man named Beaded Shirt.

  “Until we meet with the chief and while you are in our camp, you will hand over your weapons,” Blue Arrow commanded when they dismounted.

  “I expect to get these back when we leave, Blue Arrow,” Red said firmly, unbuckling his holster and handing it over.

  “If you leave,” the Kiowa replied.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” Al remarked out of the side of his mouth as he dismounted.

  “Well, we’re not dead yet,” Red replied just as quietly, not yet convinced that Blue Arrow or anyone of the braves didn’t know English. “If we keep our heads on right and don’t appear hostile, we may get out of this in one piece.”

  Blue Arrow pointed to a nearby tent, indicating that the two men were to go inside. The teepee had several large drawings of dogs chasing a deer. Red had no idea if they had any special significance other than decoration, but he studied the artistry as they neared the tent and then went through the teepee’s tent flap. They both stood inside, looking around, before sitting on the ground, alone but for each other.

  “These Kiowa tents seem larger than ones I’ve been in before,” Al said.

  “Let’s keep our voices down.” Red leaned in, asking quietly: “Did you see the large brave who came out of teepee as we were heading inside?”

  Al nodded. “Couldn’t miss him. Tall as I am . . . and his muscles . . . twice the size of most men’s. Built like a grizzly bear.”

  “When he opened the flap, I swear I saw a white woman inside.”

  “How could you even see inside . . . look how dark it is in here. Are you certain she was white just from a quick glance?” Al asked.

  “Well, didn’t look like she was dressed in Kiowa garb, and for another it looked like her mouth was covered,” Red said. “Or at least, I think so.”

  “Could she be from that Ellis group that went missing a short time back?” Al said.

  “I don’t know who . . .?”

  “Back at the fort, I heard some talk that a couple of wagons headed up by some fellow named Ellis was late in arriving,” Al explained. “They were supposed to be heading farther west and were due to stop over at the fort on the way. Old friends of Captain Jensen . . . from the East.”

  Red nodded. “I suppose it could be. For now, let’s just take it one step at a time,” Red cautioned.

  The old Ranger shook his shoulders. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The few times Red stuck his head out of the teepee flap, he was pushed back inside by one of the two braves guarding the opening.

  “Guess they don’t want us wandering around,” Red remarked. “But I’d like to find out if I’m right about a white woman being in that teepee.”

  “Guess we’ll find out about that soon enough,” Al said.

  About an hour later, the flap was pulled open, and Blue Arrow leaned in, indicating for them to follow him. They were ushered over to the center of the camp, where a group of tribe elders were gathered. They were then instructed to stand facing the group.

  After a brief conversation between Blue Arrow and Beaded Shirt, the Kiowa chief finally spoke.

  “Blue Arrow tells me you know our language,” the chief said. “That is good, so we will talk in Kiowa.”

  “I do, and proudly so,” Red replied.

  “He also says you claim to be the son of Bear Slayer.”

  This time Red merely nodded.

  “How do we know this to be true?” the chief asked.

  Again, Red opened his shirt and took out the necklace from around his neck, but this time he removed it and held it out.

  At the sight of the necklace, several of the Kiowas nodded, while others looked fearful.

  “It was given to me by my father,” Red told the chief. “He was killed a few years back.”

  Beaded Shirt reached under his shirt and pulled out a necklace. Even at a glance, Red could tell they were practically identical.

  The older man nodded and smiled. “I remember your father. I was young boy. He was good man, good friend of the Kiowa.”

  “He often spoke fondly of his time with the People,” Red told him, as he put the necklace back on. He left it hanging outside his shirt as a reminder of who he was.

  “My friend and I mean you no harm. But we are wondering why the People are making war on the white eyes . . . why they attacked the fort. Why there have been more attacks.”

  “No peace now,” Beaded Shirt replied firmly.

  “What has changed?” Red said.

  The elders began shifting as they sat. Red could tell that something had them agitated.

  “We thought the soldiers had taken one of our women . . . Shining Star, daughter of my brother . . . to the fort. We learned it was not true. She was found dead. She was . . . dishonored . . . by the one who killed her.”

  Red quietly translated for Al.

  “One guess who’s responsible,” Al said angrily. Red gave Al a warning glance, not wanting to upset the chief. “Ask him when this all took place,” Al suggested.

  Red translated as the chief replied. Al stroked his beard as he thought. “The time frame fits,” Red told him. “I’d stake my life it’s all the fault of Lannigan and his gang.”

  “We are tracking some very bad men. We think this gang is the same one who took Shining Star,” Red told Beaded Shirt. “If it is the same men, they also attacked one of our own women. My friend and I were on the trail of these badmen . . . to bring these outlaws to justice, when Blue Arrow found us. Great Chief, it will only cause harm to the People if you attack forts, no matter the reason. These men are the enemies of both the People and the white eyes, including me and Al here.”

  “Why is it the work of you men to find them?” one of the elders asked.

  Here it comes, Red thought. He hesitated before answering but knew how much the Kiowas valued the truth. “My partner and I are Rangers,” he said.

  Angry murmuring began among the councilmen as they shot hostile looks at the two white eyes. The Kiowas knew who the Rangers were. The had fought them many times over the years over the homeland. The white eyes moved across their ground with their cattle and farms, pushing the Kiowas back, pursuing them. And the Texas Battalion had been formed to be even more aggressive in the pursuit of the Kiowas.

  Beaded Shirt raised his hand and shouted to quiet his tribe members: “Son of Bear Slayer speaks truth when he could lie. We will listen.”

  Clearly worried, Thornton watched the councilmen as they talked. Red stood his ground, studying the faces of the Kiowa elders before saying: “Beaded Shirt is right. I have stated the truth, because that is who we are, and I know that the truth is important to the People. My friend and I want to catch these men and bring them to justice.”

  A brave sitting behind the elders stepped forward and shook his fist. “This white eyes lies. These Rangers wish all the People dead . . .”

  “I’d be willing to stake my life that the men we are looking for did this to Shining Star,” Red insisted. “Again, I tell you that we were tracking them when Blue Arrow’s group found us. When we catch them, they will be punished. Especially their leader.”

  “White man’s justice,” the brave said, spitting on the ground to emphasize his point.

  “I tell you as the son of Bear Slayer,” Red said firmly, “that when we leave here and we catch up with these men and punish them, I promise I will come back and tell you it is so.”

  “If you leave here,” Blue Arrow said again.

  “That is for the elders to decide, not you, Blue Arrow,” Beaded Shirt rebuked his son. “We will talk now.”

  Red and Al were escorted back to the teepee. As they walked, Red kept his eye on the teepee where he had seen the white woman. This time the flap of the teepee came open and stayed open, and he saw the woman clearly. She was not a young woman, but not old, either. She was sitting hunched over, looking defeated. Red nudged Al’s arm and cocked his head in her direction.

  In spite of what they had seen, neither man said anything inside the teepee while they waited for nearly an hour before they were taken back to the council.

  “Bear Slayer was friend to my family and to the People,” Beaded Shirt began. “We owe him a debt. This debt we will pay to his son. You are free to leave, but when you find these bad men, you must return to tell the People it is done.”

  Taking in a deep breath, Red decided to take a big risk and catch the elders off guard. “And the white woman you have captive . . . she will go with us,” he said.

  The reaction of the council men to whatever it was that Red said sent shivers down Al’s back, and he looked at Red with fear in his eyes. “What happened? What did you say?” he whispered.

  “Wait,” Red whispered, barely moving his lips.

  “She is property of Eagle Claw,” said the huge Kiowa they had seen when they first were brought into camp.

  Red hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath. “It is the sworn duty of a Ranger to protect our people. I have no choice in the matter. How did she come to be here?”

  “We found her wandering when we returned from the fort,” Blue Arrow insisted. “Eagle Claw had lost his woman many moons ago. He needed a woman to cook and to . . .”

 

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