The Black Jacks

One prospective buyer, swaying from the effects of too much firewater, rose from his place by the fire and came up to Emily. Though terrified, she stood her ground. He yanked on her hair and checked her teeth as though she were a horse, which elicited gales of laughter from his comrades. Then he began to fondle her breasts. Emily closed her eyes and willed herself not to scream. Her captor, deciding the other Indian had sampled the merchandise long enough, finally intervened, pushing him away. Some of the men shouted at him derisively, ridiculing him for trying to barter away a woman that he would not let them see. Stung by the rebuke of his peers, the warrior grabbed the bodice of Emily's soiled and tattered dress and with one vicious pull exposed her to the view of the others. They roared their approval. Shamed beyond measure, Emily nonetheless stood defiantly in place and began to sing softly, her eyes closed, her face lifted to heaven.

"Swing low, sweet chariot,

Coming for to carry me home. . . ."

Belatedly she realized the warriors had fallen silent. Opening her eyes, she saw that they were staring at her in slack-jawed amazement. She couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it had something to do with the song. Her voice tremulous, she continued.

A curt voice interrupted her, and she noticed a warrior emerging from the night shadows under the trees, leading a painted pony on which rode a wounded Comanche, slumped forward.

Gray Wolf took one look at the scene and knew what had transpired. The sight of the liquor jugs infuriated him. Dropping the horsehair reins of the pony he had been leading, he waded into the warriors sitting around the fire like, Emily thought, Jesus in the temple of the moneylenders. He snatched up the jugs and smashed them into the fire, and only stopped when it occurred to him that the ninety-proof brave-maker was causing the flames to leap higher.

"Put out that fire!" he snapped. "Throw away the white man's poison. I did not know Quohadi warriors could be such fools."

"We thought you were dead, Gray Wolf," said Ru

Gray Wolf stared at the bodies of the white woman and her infant child and trembled with rage. "Who did this thing?"

Ru

Gray Wolf nodded curtly. He had found his friend Tall Horses severely wounded, without a pony and unable to walk, not far from the Texas settlement. This had slowed him down, yet he had never once contemplated leaving Tall Horses behind.

He turned his attention to the white woman who had been singing. He had marveled at her song as he came through the trees into the clearing and now, as he gazed at her, was impressed by her courage. Confiscating a blanket from one of the Quohadis, he covered her nakedness and glanced coldly at her captor.

"I will give you five horses for her."

The captor readily accepted this offer. He would have taken much less—especially from Gray Wolf.

Gray Wolf addressed the other Quohadis. "The Texans will be here soon. We must go, quickly. This is not the time or place to stand and fight."

"Red Eagle says you led us into a trap," said one, of stouter heart than his brothers.

Gray Wolf's smile was bitter. "If you wanted to follow Red Eagle, why did you not go with him? The Texans fought well. What did you expect of them? We did not surprise them. If you don't want to listen to me, stay here and die. I am going."

In a very short time they were on their way. Tall

Horses now transported in a travois which had been swiftly constructed from sapling poles and blankets. Emily was mounted on a mule. She took the tattered remains of her dress, not wanting Yancey to find it for fear of what the discovery might do to him. Again riding his war pony, Gray Wolf led her mule by means of a horsehair rope. Instinctively, she knew she was better off in Gray Wolf's keeping. She would not try to escape. Escape was futile anyway, and if she made an attempt she risked antagonizing her new captor. No, she would invest all her hopes in Uncle Yancey and Captain McAllen. She clung fiercely to her dream of a future with the man she loved, and refused to let reality insinuate itself, because reality would destroy the dream if she let it. And that dream was all she had left to make life worth living.

A few hours after the last of the Comanches quit the woods which stood at the site of the spring, Joshua led McAllen and the Black Jacks right to the spot. They had picked up the trail of the three warriors who had abducted Emily, and not once had the young half-breed been diverted from it.

A few of the men had brought storm lanterns along—these, in case the night became overcast, robbing them of the moonlight by which they followed the Comanche sign. In the gloom of the woods the lanterns were lit as soon as it was confirmed that the enemy did not lurk in ambush, and the lantern light revealed the bodies of the woman and her child. Joshua examined the ashes of the fire and found a bed of embers still glowing. Shards of crockery—the smashed liquor jugs—littered the ground. "How long ago?" asked McAllen. He had already made a good guess, and Joshua merely confirmed it by holding up two fingers, then extending a third. Two hours, maybe three. Tice saw the agony etched on McAllen's face.

"No use second-guessing yourself, John Henry," said the physician. "Who would have thought they'd linger here so long?"

"We should have set out sooner," said McAllen. "There's no justifying it."

"We had to bury the dead and pay our last respects. We needed to make arrangements for our families while we were gone. We had to prepare ourselves for a pursuit that could go on for days, or weeks."

"That's just it, Artemus. We would have caught them right here. If I hadn't made a mistake it would all be over now." He turned to Yancey, who stood nearby. "I'm truly sorry."

Yancey shook his head. "Don't be apologizin', John Henry. They'll have to slow down sooner or later. They've cut down a few saplings. Means they made a travois. So they've got at least one wounded they don't want to abandon to our tender mercies. I warrant we'll catch up right soon."

The mother and child were buried in a common grave. Cedric Cole said he thought he recognized the woman as the wife of a farmer who lived up near Brazoria. Will Parton read from his Bible. He was brief, like the others, he ached to catch up with the heathen savages who made war on i

"It's there, gentlemen," he said, patting the Bible. "Right there in Exodus, Chapter Twenty-one. 'Then it is life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound and lash for lash.' It also says in Romans, 12:19, 'Do not avenge yourselves, but leave room for divine retribution; for it is written, vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord.' But this here's the frontier, boys, and to my way of thinking the New Testament doesn't apply out here. Not yet. So it's the Old Testament for me, especially with these Comanches, because God helps those who help themselves."

"Let's go," said McAllen.

As one, the Black Jacks turned to their horses.