Later, not long before dawn, one of the donkeys began to whinny. The wind had shifted; now it blew from the west, and the donkey had smelled something. The horses pointed their ears to the west, but did not whinny. The braves around the campfire thought it wasan animal. Donkeys were cowards?they would whinny at a coyote, or even a badger. Fast Boy, who slept little, decided that the animal was probably a cougar. Perhaps the cougar they had seen earlier was following them, hoping to eat a donkey. The other braves laughed at Fast Boy, and laughed even more when he mounted his horse and loped off to look for the cougar. They thought it was ridiculous for Fast Boy to suppose he could find a cougar in the darkness.
When Fast Boy returned, running his horse, the sun was just rising. The wind was high; the sun was ringed with a haze of sand. Buffalo Hump was annoyed, when Fast Boy raced into camp. He did not approve of such behaviour. They were cooking horse meat from one of the old slaver’s horses. Fast Boy’s horse kicked dust on the meat, which was gritty enough, anyway.
But Buffalo Hump forgot his irritation when Fast Boy told him that a party of whites was camped only three miles to the west. It was a small party, mostly women, Fast Boy said. There were only four men and a boy, besides the women. But the news that made Buffalo Hump forgive the reckless riding and the gritty meat was that one of the men was Gun-In-The-Water, the young Ranger who had killed his son. When Buffalo Hump heard that, he began to put on his war paint?most of the other warriors put on their war paint, too. Kicking Wolf declined to bother?he did not like to paint himself. He made the point to Buffalo Hump that he himself could sneak over the hill and kill Gun- In-The-Water and all the whites in less time than it would take for Buffalo Hump and the other braves to paint themselves. Buffalo Hump ignored Kicking Wolf. Kicking Wolf had always thought his way of doing things was best. Buffalo Hump didn’t care what Kicking Wolf thought. He intended to paint himself properly. Then he would ride to where the whites were and do to Gun-In-The-Water what he had done to the old slaver: throw his lance so hard that it would go through him without killing him at once. Then, before he died, Buffalo Hump intended to scalp him and cut him. The scalp he would take home to his son’s mother, so she would know the boy had been correctly avenged.
When Buffalo Hump mounted, he made a speech in which he warned all the braves to leave Gun-In-The- Water alone. He himself would kill Gun-In-The-Water.
Kicking Wolf didn’t like the speech much. He rode off in the middle of it, in a hurry to have a look at the women. Perhaps one of them would be as pretty as the Mexican girl, or even prettier. He wanted to be the first to see the women, so he would get the best. Maybe he would find one who smelled better than his wife.
THE HORSES SMELLED THE Indians first. Call was about to throw the sidesaddle on Lady Carey’s black gelding, when the gelding began to nicker and jump around. Gus’s bay did the same, and even the mules acted nervous. Lady Carey’s tent had been folded and packed ?they were all about ready to start the day’s ride. Emerald was brushing her white mule; she brushed the mule faithfully, every morning.
Call scanned the horizon to the east, but saw nothing unusual? just the bright edge of the rising sun. Lady Carey still had a teacup in her hand. Willy was eating bacon. Mrs. Chubb was trying to wash his ears, pouring water out of a little canteen onto a sponge that she kept with her, just for the purpose of washing Willy. Wesley Buttons had his boots off?he was prone to cramps in his feet, and liked to rub his toes for awhile in the morning, before he put his boots on. If he took a bad cramp with the boot on, he would have to hop around in pain until the cramp eased.
Matilda Roberts walked her mare around in circles. The mare was skittish in the mornings, with a tendency to crow-hop. Matilda was no bronc rider; she liked to walk off as much of the mare’s nervousness as she could. Twice already, the mare had thrown her; once she had narrowly missed landing on a barrel cactus, which was all the more reason to walk the mare for awhile.
Gus McCrae and Long Bill had walked off from camp a little ways, meaning to relieve themselves. Long Bill was much troubled by constipation, whereas Gus’s bowels tended to run too freely. They had formed the habit of answering nature’s call together? they could converse about various things, while they were at it. One of the things Gus had on his mind was whores; now that he was eating better and not having to walk until he dropped, his sap had risen. A subject of intense speculation between himself and Long Bill was whether Matilda Roberts intended to take up her old profession, now that they were back in Texas?and if so, when? Gus was hoping she would resume it sooner, rather than later. He was of the opinion that anytime would be a good time for Matilda to start being a whore again, even if he and Long Bill were her only customers.
“Well, but Lady Carey might not approve,” Long Bill speculated, as he squatted. “Matty might want to wait until we’re shut of all these English folks.”
“But that won’t be till Galveston,” Gus said. “Galveston’s a far piece yet. I would like a whore a lot sooner than Galveston.”
Long Bill had no comment?he noticed, as he squatted, that there was commotion back at the camp. Woodrow Call and Lady Carey were standing together, looking to the east. Long Bill could see that Call had his rifle. Matty had come back to stand near the others. Long Bill felt a strong nervousness take him?the nervousness clamped his troubled bowels even tighter.
“Something’s happening,” he said, abruptly pulling his pants up. “This ain’t no time for us to be taking a long squat.”
The two hurried back to camp, guns in their hands. It seemed a peaceful morning, but maybe it wasn’t going to be as peaceful as it looked.
“Here’s Gus, he’s got the best eyes,” Call said.
Lady Carey went to her saddlebag, and pulled out a small brass spyglass.“Help me look, Corporal McCrae,” she said. “Corporal Call thinks there’s trouble ahead, and so does my horse.”
Lady Carey looked through her telescope, and Gus did his best to scan the horizons carefully with his eyes, but all he saw was a solitary coyote, trotting south through the thin sage. He, too, had begun to feel nervous?he didn’t fully trust his own eyes. He remembered, again, how completely the Comanches had concealed themselves the day they killed Josh and Zeke.
Emerald walked over, leading her white mule.
“The wild men are here, my lady,” she said, calmly.
“Yes, I believe they are,” Lady Carey said. “I believe I smell them. Only they’re so wild I can’t see them.”
Then they all heard a sound?a high sound of singing. Buffalo Hump, in no hurry, walking his horse, appeared on the distant ridge, the sun just risen above him. He was singing his war song. As the little group watched, the whole raiding party slowly came into view. All the braves were singing their war songs, high pitched and repetitive. Gus counted twenty warriors?then he saw the twenty-first, Kicking Wolf, somewhat to the side. Kicking Wolf was on foot, and he was not singing. His silence seemed more menacing than the war songs of the other braves.
Call looked around for a gully or a ridge that might provide them some cover, but there was nothing?only the few sage bushes. They had camped on the open plain. The Comanches held the high ground, and had the sun behind them, to boot. They were four fighting men against twenty-one, and Wesley Buttons couldn’t shoot. Even if he had been a reliable shot, the Comanches could in any case easily overrun them, if they chose to charge. Four men, four women, and a boy would not look like much opposition to a raiding party, singing for death and torture. Call wondered if the English party knew what Comanches did to captives; he wondered if he ought to tell Lady Carey, and Emerald, and Mrs. Chubb how to shoot themselves fatally, if worse came to worst. Bigfoot’s instructions about putting the pistol to the eyeball came back to him as he watched the Comanches. No doubt Bigfoot had known exactly what he was talking about, but would the English lady, the nanny, and the Negress be capable of performing such an act? Would Matilda Roberts, for that matter?, Lady Carey stood watching the Indians calmly. As always, she was dressed only in black, and wore her three veils. She did not seem frightened, or even disturbed.
“What do you think, Corporal Call?” she asked. “Can we whip them?”
“Likely not, ma’am,” Call said. “They beat us when we had nearly two hundred men. I don’t know why they wouldn’t beat us now that we’ve only got four.”
“It’s interesting singing, isn’t it?” Lady Carey said. “Not so fine as opera, but interesting, nonetheless. I wonder what it means, that singing?”
“It means death to the whites,” Gus said. “It means they want our hair.”
“Well, they may want it, but they can’t have it,” young Willy said.
“I need my hair, don’t I, Mamma?”
