'Pick up the reins.
Drive.'
Then he turned, and he and Jon raced forward. Swearing beneath her
breath, Tess picked up the reins and called to the mules. They started
plodding along.
Dolly crawled into the seat, puffing.
'Comanche! Never did trust 'em.'
The mules pulled the wagon over the dune. Tess felt as if her heart
stopped, as if it caught in her throat.
The Comanche seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.
Bare-chested, in buckskin pants, with various types of feathers banded
around their heads, they sat as still as ghosts. Many carried spears and
shields, others wore quivers at their backs and held their bows proudly.
Not one moved.
They just sat on their horses, looking down at the small party that
approached.
Tess wondered dismally if she was about to become the victim of a real
Indian. Her heart thundered, and she dropped the reins. Jon and Jamie
had pulled in before them, and they sat on their horses on the dune,
watching the Comanche.
The sky seemed afire with the morning light. Earth and horizon seemed to
stretch together in shades of dusty coral and crimson and gold. The
quiet was eerie; not even the wind whispered in the sagebrush.
Then Jamie lifted his hand in some kind of greeting. A loud, shrieking
cry sounded from atop the hill.
And then the Comanche were coming.
Tess screamed as the Indians started toward them in a blazing cloud of
dust, their whoops and cries loud. No one could ride like a Comanche.
The men lay braced against their ponies' necks, they swung beneath them,
they righted themselves again. They came closer and closer. Their cries
sounded ever louder.
Ever more deadly.
'My God, we're going to be butchered!' Tess breathed. 'No, no, I don't
think so,' Dolly told her calmly.
Astonished, Tess stared at the woman.
'Well, it's Running River. He and Jamie are blood brothers.'
'Blood brothers,' Tess repeated.
'Yes. The Comanche are warlike, of course. But not this tribe.
Running River has been peaceful since Jamie came out here. He always
deals with the lieutenant, and though there have been Comanche attacks,
they've never been perpetrated by Gray Lake Comanche.'
Tess was still unconvinced. There had never been a Comanche attack on
Wiltshire--in fact some Comanche even came to town for work now and
then--but she had heard about the things that could happen, and watching
the extraordinary horsemen bear down upon them did nothing to ease her
spirit.
'My God ...' she breathed, sitting very still. The riders were circling
the wagon, shaking their spears and bows in the air. Now that they were
closer, she could see that their faces and chests were painted in
brilliant colors.
