Chapter Twenty
Sierra hoped that she was not annoying Grandpa Jack. Since their talk last night, she was finding it difficult to have him far from her sight. She was wanting to know this man and somehow fill the gap of all those years she and her father had missed. Grandma Emily had given birth to a lie and carried it to her grave. Sierra had not a scintilla of a doubt that Grandpa Jack had told her the truth. It was consistent with all she was learning about this man. He had not known he had a son all those years.
She wondered how that knowledge might have changed all their lives. Certainly, Papa would have seen much of his father. Would Grandpa Jack have stayed on with the Rangers? Would he have purchased the Lucky Five or even had the opportunity? Would her father still be alive? Would she have even been born? She supposed she could write pages of questions and “what ifs.” So many life stories changed by a single lie. It boggled a person’s mind.
They had finished a breakfast of bacon and hotcakes swimming in molasses efficiently put together by Rudy and Bram. The two were a good team, she thought, and obviously had an affection for each other that was belied by Rudy’s grumpy, growling manner with the young man. She was also learning that Rudy was far from the senile old man she had first judged him to be. She would not be surprised to learn that his seeming unsophistication was largely an act, a ploy of sorts to cause others to underestimate him. She was confident that Grandpa Jack did not.
The mule teams were being hitched to the wagons now, and Sierra stood beside Jack while he talked to Jordy, Mitch Eagle Eyes, and Tige Marshall. “I think we head due west on the old Butterfield stage road, pick up the Comanche War Trail and go through Castle Gap to Horsehead Crossing. That’s the only place I know of we can cross the Pecos River with these wagons. The riverbanks are too damned high and steep from the north side of the Pecos as I recall. Tige, you spent some time at Fort Stockton. You must have ridden along the Pecos.”
“Yeah, maybe five years back with a detachment of Tenth Cavalry not long before I mustered out. I don’t know where else we’d cross. I didn’t like Castle Gap much. It’s a perfect place for ambush, and the Comanches left a lot of dried out bones from horses and mules that died there during their attacks on travelers and the Army. We can cross easy enough if the river ain’t running high because of spring thaws from mountains to the north.”
Jack said, “With the tribes going to the reservation, Comanches shouldn’t be a problem. Those few bands that refuse to go in are not likely to be stirring up trouble right now.”
Tige said, “The crossing is about fifty miles northeast of Fort Stockton. The Comanches are going in, but Apaches are known to come this far west. Some are at San Carlos in Arizona Territory, but soldiers at Concho tell me it’s almost a game for those devils to jump the reservation every so often, and there are bands that haven’t even thought about going in.”
“We won’t be going south. Once we cross the river, we will head northwest along the river’s course for a day, then head west for another day, maybe two, till we reach Lookout Canyon.” Jack turned to Eagle Eyes. “Do you know that country, Mitch?”
“Never been there. I’ve heard of the Comanche War Trail, but I was a kid when I left the Kwahadi band. I don’t even remember that much Comanche language. I always ended up with scouting jobs because I kept my Kwahadi name.”
Jack said, “What you didn’t learn with the Comanches, you made up for with the Rangers.”
“They’d have never hired me on if they guessed how little I knew.”
“Well, you’re our scout. We will hit the trail we’re looking for an hour west of here, I’d guess. It should take about three days to Horsehead Crossing. Main concern is water. When I was down this way with the Rangers years ago, water was hard to come by on this stretch. But that was in early August. Your job is to locate water.”
“I’ll find water and keep an eye out for surprise company.”
The group broke up and Jack walked toward the Studebaker where his saddled bay was hitched beside Sierra’s red roan. Jordy’s horse was tied to the other big wagon, and he moved up on Sierra’s other side.
“Who’s driving the wagons today?” Jack asked Jordy.
“Bram and Rudy will switch off on the chuckwagon, of course. Swede will handle one of the Studebakers, and Tige plans to skin the other.”
“Good. I need to chat with Tige a spell. When I take a break from the saddle, I’ll join him on the wagon seat.”
Mitch Eagle Eyes had disappeared by the time the party headed out, with Jack and Sierra, astride their mounts, taking the lead, followed by the three wagons. Irish and Roper lagged at the rear with the spare mules and horses, and Abel Burke and Nick Iverson, two of Tige’s former buffalo soldiers, each took a side and rode some distance out on the wings of the procession, keeping their eyes out for the unexpected. Jordy had fallen back, but Sierra had lost track of him.
The procession reached the old stagecoach trail less than an hour after they pulled away from the campsite. When they moved onto the well-packed wagon tracks of the broken trail, Sierra could tell they picked up the pace significantly.
During the ride to the trail connection, nary a word had passed between the two. Sierra thought it was something else
