Original Work The Stuarts of Texas

Two weeks later, after much wrangling and negotiating back and forth, Col. Stuarts treaty had been sealed with the Comanche band. He would be allowed to graze over 50,000 acres of Comanche land, and control 20,000 acres with future ownership likely. The tribal leaders realizing that the Confederates were defeated that they would now have to deal with the despised Blue Coats. All bets were off, and since the tribe still held hunting and fishing rights to the land, including free access, they had no trouble signing off on a treaty with the ‘French Colonel’. The annual payment for the land would be: 20 lbs of honey, 500 lbs each of beef jerky, and Corn, all the acorns the land produced, five tanned cow hides, 50 fish hooks, 5 wool blankets, and misc jewelry. Some variation and trading was allowed when circumstances required it, and both parties agreed. The Indians demanded a hostage swap, but the Col. refused as officially, there were not enough of the whites to do that. Not the real reason of course, but it worked. Col. Stuart did offer to employ one or two of the older, and useless to the tribe, warriors to teach them the ways of the land. The chiefs realizing they would have a free built in spy at the location made a show of grudging agreement. Two of the chiefs and two warriors would accompany the settlers to their home location and set up markers on the land to keep marauding war parties from harassing the whites or stealing whatever was available. They were on their own as far as the Comanchero were concerned and the Comanche would take no sides. No pigs allowed on the land.

The next day after the treaty had been signed, Col. Stuart and Ramon sat in a local Mexican restaurant drinking coffee and awaiting the breakfast that Ramon had ordered for them.

“I see that we have received some excellent service and the people here seem very friendly,” said Stuart.

“Indeed, my distant cousins run a nice establishment, and are happy to see me. I told them that you are my employer and to be sure and make me look very good in front of you. I hope you don’t mind the liberty I have taken concerning employment with you. I wanted to make sure everything went right for you after the way you have helped me.

“Actually, that brings up a subject I wanted to discuss with you. I’d like to hire you as my ranch foreman. Your knowledge of local conditions, cattle, and everything else has been and will be valuable to me. Are you interested?”

Ramon smiled and said, “To be honest, it’s not like I have anything going for me right now. Little to no jobs or money for a former Confederate, and if I got any around here, they’d just rob me like last time, so yes, I’d love to work for you.”

“Excellent, now what does a ranch Foremen make a month? I don’t want to cheat you.”

“Normally, about half again to twice what a regular ranch hand makes. A bit more on the bigger spreads. So, between 45.00 and 60.00 a month and found. Cowboys usually 20.00- 30.00 a month and found. You will have to supply horses, about 5-6 per cowboy when there is heavy work, and the horses run free as much as possible during low work months. Cowboys supply their own tack and guns whenever possible. The land where you are headed will not support more than 3,000 head, but more than likely 2,000 to 2,500 head. You can buy steers locally for about 4.00 a head. Three thousand head can be driven by at least ten cowboys with three horses each. That is the minimum. How many head do you think you will want?”

“Around 2,000 head of good cattle. I want to get good ones, not scrubs, and while I will pay a fair price I do not want to be cheated. Can Indians drive cattle?”

“Yes, they are very good driving livestock, and can rope very well too. What did you have in mind?”

“I thought I’d further ingratiate myself further with the Comanche by hiring six or so to help drive a heard along with the standard number of cowboys. How should they be paid?”

“We will have to make a deal with the chiefs. They will probably want horses or some type of trade goods. We will have to find out. Further, I can get you good cattle from around the Seguin area and keep you from being cheated. Cowboys can be had also, and I will get you all top hands if you are willing to pay for them. Even though you have a treaty, that does not mean you will never be attacked by Indians and others. That far west, you will have to hire a fighting crew, and that will cost money. How do you know that you can trust me to do all this since we just met?”

Stuart smiled and said, “I made plenty of inquires, and everyone told me that you and your family are to be completely trusted. I understand you are a third cousin to Juan Seguin, who figures greatly in Texas history. You come from good stock.”

“Indeed, but I do not trade on that. I want to make my own name. Ah, I see that our food has arrived!”

With that the two men dug in to the Heuvos Rancheros all the food was very good, and the Col. had never had beans like these!

 

Following Raging Bulls direction the men arrived at the “town” almost two days later. They stopped on the outskirts about a half mile out where Raging Bull, Al, and the pack horses could remain hidden in the trees and down wind of the only road in the area. The men took a break to discuss what Dave was going to do.

“I do not wish to get drunk and lose my mind like so many others, but I do like the white man’s whiskey. I was told that when healing herbs were put into a jar of this alcohol that more of the plants power would be pulled into the drink and it would be more effective. Have you heard this?” Asked Raging Bull.

“I have heard that too, and that oils could be used the same way, replied Dave. How much do you think you will need?”

“I will have to guard it closely from my clan, and I would like some to sip on when I feel like it, so maybe a gallon?”

Al looked dubious and did not voice his concern but Dave knew he was thinking that the Indians would get drunk and go wild on all that alcohol. It could send them on the war path. However, Dave also knew that some of the local weaker stuff could be cut with water and not cause too much undue mayhem. That is what he would do.

“I will go into town and see what they have on hand. It could be a lot of the good stuff or very little at all. I have no way of knowing.”

“I trust you to do what is best,” said Raging Bull.

“You can count on it,” replied Dave.

Dave stepped into his saddle and turned dun toward the “town”. When it came into view, he could see that it was little more than a thrown together trading post that probably did little more than service the cavalry patrols, and a few travelers. Across the street was a blacksmith shop with some corralled horses. He probably did more horse shoeing anything else. Everything was quiet, with but three horses tied outside the trading post/saloon. Dave scanned the area, and no one was lounging about looking for trouble, and the only thing noticeable was the steady pounding of the smithy’s hammer. Swinging in to the front of the post, Dave dismounted and secured the dun to the hitching rail then removed the shotgun from his saddle and stepped onto the low porch which consisted of some boards laid flat on the ground.

Walking into the building, Dave quickly stepped to the right side of the door so his eyes could become accustomed to the dark interior. The talking stopped for a few seconds then a voice to his left spoke, offering Dave a seat at the card table and the game in progress. He politely declined then with his spurs jingling every step he moved to the far end of the bar which was just some boards nailed together on top of some barrels. It looked rickety. With a steady walk and armed with the shotgun Dave appeared to be exactly what he was, a very dangerous ice cold man off the range. In an area and time when many dangerous men were about, he stood out from the crowd, lethal, ready and relaxed. A scary look that everyone took note of and had no interest in bothering.

Reaching the end of the bar where he could face the entrance Dave placed the shotgun on top, careful to ensure that it pointed at no one, but could be brought into action instantly. The bartender raised and eyebrow and David said “Whiskey, and the good stuff if you please,” as he laid a quarter on the bar. A bottle and glass were deposited before him and the drink was poured. “Leave the bottle,” said Dave with a little too soft voice. The bartender nodded then turned to his duties.

Sipping his drink, Dave looked the place over. One half of the floor space was dedicated to a saloon with four tables, and the other side of the main room was a store of sorts with most of the staples required for frontier life. Nothing fancy, just basic foods, equipment, tools, and misc merchandise.Nothing was going on except the card game near the entry way. Evidently, a young cowboy was losing badly and not taking it well. He had a minor dispute going with the dealer, and Dave hoped that the kid would not call him out as a cheat, which he probably was but it could cost him his life to call the dealer that. After a few moments the dealer had calmed him down and gave him one of his dollars back stating he would never take a man’s last dollar. The kid looked at it ruefully then walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He glanced at Dave and quickly looked away not wanting any trouble.

It was then that one of the other players, an older man near 40 or so started running his mouth about the kid being a sore looser. The kid tried to ignore him but the loudmouth wouldn’t let it go, and kept prodding him trying to make the kid lose his temper. The kid stood there red faced trying to maintain his self image and drink his beer quietly. The loudmouth kept jabbing and finally called to Dave.

“What do you think of a boy that would gamble his money away, then take offense and act like a sore loser?”

“I don’t think anything about it at all. I mind my own business and stay outa others business. Besides, we’ve all been where he is standing and had to learn the lesson. Don’t nobody start out full grown.”

The older man looked at Dave for a moment saying nothing but his alcohol fueled anger greatly increased as Dave stood there slowly sipping his whiskey with one hand while the other was next to the sawed off shotgun in front of him. Then David’s soft lethal voice came out, “Don’t fight it, let it happen.” The man jerked and started to move his right hand below the table, when his friend at his side grabbed his arm and stopped the movement. A few words were exchanged then all hands were kept on the table top and no one answered Dave.

It was deathly quiet, then from down the road horses could be heard approaching the town. They kept coming until in front of the trading post then came the military command to halt. Blast, the cavalry has arrived!

 

Twelve troopers talking rough and loudly came stomping through the door on stiff legs and backs with dusty clothes and dry throats, looking to slake their thirst with some much needed liquor. Stumbling into chairs and tables they clumsily worked out a seating arrangement that took up all but one table, and all the chairs and a couple of wooden barrels. Loudly demanding service they let the bartender know they needed beer and lots of it. A corporal yelled, “I don’t know what the rest of the women here need, but you’ve got some real men to serve and you’d best get at it!”

Dave noticed that there was no officer to keep control of the group, just a three stripe sergeant that looked like he was in over his head with this group. They were pure trash with a disheveled look to their uniforms and a couple weren’t even wearing cav boots, just infantry brogans. Swearing and pounding the table they were demanding food and drink as Dave suspected at the expense of the owner. Their sergeant made a couple of half hearted efforts to get them settled down but to no avail. The gambler and two with him silently slipped out with only the kid at the bar remaining.

The kid carefully looked about not wanting to be noticed. He wanted to leave, but he had half a beer left and instinctively knew if he drained it the troopers would start in on him. So, he slowly sipped. He was almost done when the loud corporal started on him asking if the the beer was too strong for him to drink any faster. The kid mumbled no sir and turned back to him beer. It didn’t matter what the kid did, because it would have been wrong anyway.

“Did you get smart with me boy?” Demanded the Cpl.

“No sir, I just said no sir.”

“I just heard you say no sir. You messing with me boy?”

“No sir, just want to finish my beer and head home.”

“I jes wanna go home to my mommy!” Mocked the Cpl in a loud whiney voice. That brought out a burst of laughter from the troopers. All but one that is, the quiet one sitting on a barrel against the wall, the one that didn’t laugh or do anything else but remain alert.

The kids face began to get red from his neck up and his hands shook slightly. Not from fear, but anger. The kid was unarmed like everyone else but the US Army. They had taken everything shootable when they swept through the state, leaving everyone helpless from anyone or anything that decided to attack them leaving the army free to run roughshod over the whole state.The only ones armed were union sympathizers, outlaw bands, the Mexican army, and Indians. The army did not bother to defend the civilian population from these threats though they loudly claimed to do so. So, the kid was in a tough spot, knowing that the army and the new state police had shot unarmed civilians on a whim several times. Sometimes robbery was the motive. Am I next? He thought.

The vicious Cpl began to goad the kid. “Are you a virgin boy? I bet you are, cause I ain’t seen nothing desperate enough to get into bed with something as ugly as you. You even stink, I can smell you from here. I bet you can’t fight either, you’re just like the rest of these cowardly Texans. ‘Come save me from the Indians, Mexican, bandits, or whatever!’ You can’t even stand up to your whore women. I bet your momma is a whore ain’t she?”

The kid began to shake with rage. He knew that he was going to get murdered by this lot of trash. He knew that his elderly parents depended on him to work their small ranch. He knew he could not live with the shame of not standing up to this scum, he had to face them. He began to turn and noticed that Dave gave him a short shake of his head indicating no. He kept turning anyway. As he faced the troopers, he became calmer. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but our women aren’t like the fat whore you fell out of. She probably wouldn’t be allowed to mop saloon floors around here. At any rate, she couldn’t have been much of a woman to have raised a no account fool Iike you,” he said with a smile.

The stunned troopers sat frozen in place and silent for a moment, all except the silent one smiling from the wall. Then, some exploded with laughter, but most with anger.

“boy, I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna blow your head off.” Said the enraged Cpl.

“Then you’d best do it now while I’m unarmed cause there ain’t no way you can take me with a gun.” Replied the boy.

The enraged Cpl stared at him for a moment then an evil smile spread across his face. “Smith, give me your gun, now!”

Trooper Smith handed over the weapon and stepped back. The Cpl waved away the others sitting between him and the kid then drew his own Colt and tossed Smith’s pistol to the floor near the kids feet.

“There ya go boy, make your play.” He said with a sneer.

The kid swallowed, crossed himself and was about the dive for the pistol when two loud clicks were heard from the end of the bar. Everyone looked and there stood Dave with the cocked shotgun in one hand and a cocked Remington in the other pointing at the Cpl. “I reckon that’s about enough.” He said in a soft voice. The hard face and ice cold blue eyes were enough to convince most of them that he was dead serious. “Let’s just all be good little boys and get along.”

The Sergeant was obviously shook but said, “Look cowboy, you can’t get away with this, or even survive it if shooting starts. Put them guns away, and let’s talk this out. Nobody has to hang and you wont be in jail very long, just put ‘em down and let’s talk.”

Dave’s cold smile let the Sergeant know that he had failed. “I’d say that somebody shooting off their mouth is what started this in the first place. I know you ain’t gonna punish this fool, and I also know that you ain’t gonna arrest me for anything. Besides, when the Cpl. was about to murder this kid, you didn’t say anything. I guess that part wasn’t important enough to talk over was it?”

“Look, there are thirteen of us against just you. You may get a couple of us, but you can’t get us all.”

“I ain’t exactly new at this, you got it to do. Now either start shooting or start running, it’s all the same to me.”

The bartender cleared his throat standing there with a Colt .44 in each hand and said, “Make that two to thirteen.”

The quiet soldier on the barrel tipped it forward then stood and moved to Dave’s right while still on the wall and said with a smile, “Make that three to thirteen.”

Dave said, “Kid, when the shooting starts or earlier drop to the floor so you ain’t hit by a stray round.”

Looking like a walleyed horse, the kid nodded.

Outraged the Sergeant yelled, “Jackson you traitor you’ll hanged for this! What’s gotten into you?”

Jackson calmly looked at him and said. “I guess y’all don’t remember kidnapping me from my home at fourteen and making me a slave on your building projects, then beating me until I signed the enlistment papers. I fought the Souix for four years and nearly got killed several times. I and my people came from North Carolina and had moved to Colorado prior to you dragging me north to fight Indians I never seen. I don’t owe any of you anything.”

“I’d say them is workable odds!” Said Dave.

The Cpl then made his last mistake of the day and raised his pistol to aim at Dave who let him have a blast of 00 buckshot in the chest knocking him over. The other barrel went into the Sergeant then Dave dropped the shotgun and drew his other pistol as he heard the bartenders .44s open up. Jackson in the back shot the two facing him then stepped to the side and began shooting at the others. With the heavy concussion of guns firing inside a building the kid was a bit stunned but managed to hit the floor very quickly while men shot, screamed, and died in front of him. It seemed over in an instant and the air was filled with choking smoke from the shootout. Dave stepped forward and began checking bodies for life and one tried to raise a gun when rolled over. Dave shot him in the head, looked around and found no further wounded. Turning to the bartender he said, “Looks like we’ve got a mess to clean up.”

“Looks like it.”

“We might as well go thru their pockets and see if they can pay for their drinks and damage.”

The bartender agreed and they did so. In the end, they had enough to cover the drinks and damage leaving 21.26 in coin as surplus. “I guess you deserve the rest since they couldn’t be cleaned out any other way.”

“I’ve got enough money. Why not give the rest to the kid since he can use it.”

“Sounds good to me. Jackson, you got any place to go? I’m heading home to our ranch, If you need some place to go, and a grubstake we can fix you up.”

“Yes sir, I do need a change os scenery and a grubstake as I’d like to head home to Colorado.”

“Pick our four of those Colts and gun belts. They’re worth their weight in gold around here nowadays. Pick out the best two horses and saddles for the same reason. Kid, leave here with nothing but the money we gave you and keep your mouth shut about it. The authorities will eventually get around to seeing what happened here. Tell ‘em that me and the missing soldier shot ‘em down and forget about the bartender’s part in all this. Blame it on us and tell ‘em you heard we’re heading south to Mexico. Can you stick to that?” Asked David.

The kid nodded nervously and took off like a shot.

“Turning to Jackson Dave said, “I forgot to mention I’m not by myself on this trip”

“I’m good, lets get outa here!”

 

I added a little to the post above. J

Col. Stuart wiped sweat and a heavy layer of dust from his face and concentrated on keeping the stragglers and problematic cows moving down the trail toward the Seguin ranch holding pens. He had told Ramon that he wanted to learn as much as he could about ranching and the cowboy trade, and knew he was in trouble when an evil smile spread across Ramon’s face. “You are the Patrone, and no work is expected from you, only smart, honorable decisions and leadership. You will lose no respect from the vaqueros if you work from that position and can fight. If however you do something to make them think that you are trying to be one of them and fail, you will lose their respect. And that, my Col. would be a very bad thing. Please carefully think this over before you make a decision.”

Toughened by the four years of hell he had been through in the recent war, Col. Stuart knew he could handle this challenge and come out on top as he had the others in his life.It would be dirty, hard work but without the steady loss of life he had endured already. So, while he was the boss and did lean heavily on Ramon, he worked as long and hard as anyone in the outfit, ate with them, slept on the ground with them and was always ready to learn from the men and take correction. He was even learning Spanish from all of them, and earning their respect. He even paid the men up front for the work done on the round up, knowing the funds were badly needed. They did not know it, but there would be a healthy bonus at the end. Twelve cowboys and a cook, Anglo and Hispanic had been chosen by Ramon for the round up and for the trail drive to the ranch. With the six or more Comanche hired for the trip, that would make up a large crew for the drive, but Stuart had his family to consider and safety was of prime importance.

 

Dave looked around appraising the trade goods then said, “I’m for getting outa here too, but we need some things for the trail Reaching into his shirt pocket Dave produced a list of needed commodities and remarked to the bartender/owner. “I need a couple of gallons of whiskey. One diluted, and one full strength. Bonded if you have it.”

Stepping to the door, Jackson said, “I’ll keep the nosey town folk away, no point in letting them in on anything we don’t want known.” Reaching the open door, he saw the first of the citizens walking toward the saloon. “Go on, git! Ain’t nothing here any of your business!” He snarled. That was enough to send them all away, but they watched from a distance.

“We have some good home brewed, and four quart bottles of bonded. How much do you want the home brew cut?”

“Depends, how strong is it?”

The bartender pulled a jug from under the bar, poured a drink and handed Dave a box of matches. Dave smiled, struck a match and held it over the glass then held the glass up to the light. He could see no flame, but saw the dancing heat waves that proved one was there. Smothering the glass with his hand, Dave then sniffed the drink and took a sip. The high alcohol content made Dave’s eyes water and gave his mouth a proper burn.

“Man, that is some smooth home brewed!”, he said hoarsely. “It tastes almost pure.”

“It’s about 180 Proof. My family has been making whiskey and hiding from the tax man for generations. My father came from the Dublin area.”

Dave smiled and said, “Well, that explains the red hair and the keen desire to fight and do so effectively. Cut it down to about 80 Proof if you would please.”

The bartender mixed the whiskey on the bar, then gathered the supplies, wrapping everything in a canvas tarp, mentioning that a pack saddle would help the animal carry the load better than the McClellan saddle of the army mounts, so Dave agreed to that and had him tally up the price.

“I hate to charge you like this, but goods are hard to come by still, and I don’t get much in the way of business except for the saloon. It amounts to just over one hundred dollars, but we can make it an even one hundred. I’ll even help you load, but I’d appreciate it if you could hold a gun on me while I worked. Somebody for sure will be reporting me for helping you otherwise.”, stated the bartender.

“Not a problem at all. Be sure to complain about us shooting up the place and stealing all this. No point in giving them anything to hurt you with. The Yanks will be miffed as it is with their superb patrol getting shot up like this so you’ll have to see that they’re notified. Maybe you could send the most worthless guy in town to drag along the horses to wherever their post is and report this. Maybe even charge them for burying this worthless trash too.”, said Dave as he counted out the money.

“I like the way you think, and I have just the man for the job. Gonna have to leave the horses here though as the Comanche would pick up the trail and go after him for the horses alone not to mention the fun of torture.”

A half an hour later, Dave and Jackson came trotting in to camp leading three of the army horses. Al and Raging Bull came out from concealment and commented. “We heard all the shooting and were trying to decide if we should leave or wait around to see if they’d let us bury you.”, said Al.

Raging Bull walked around the group evaluating the horses and tarped supplies along with Jackson who calmly looked him in the eye and nodded. Raging Bull returned the nod and stated his name and Jackson replied with his.

“David, how many horses, guns, and men are you going to collect on this trip? Soon, you will have enough to start your own tribe. How am I going to rob you with this many foes to face? I think I am going to need help.”, Raging Bull stated with a blank face.”

He and David were facing each other staring into each others eyes with no apparent give. Al slowly removed the thong from his pistol unseen by the Comanche, then Dave suddenly laughed followed by Raging Bull doubling over in laughter. This went on for several seconds while Jackson and Al stood by silently assessing the situation.

“You two entertainers should take your act onto the stage so everyone else can enjoy it too!” Snapped Al as he eased the thong back onto the pistol hammer.

 

The days had been long and dusty over rough terrain. No roads, no town, and very few of the rapidly thinning ranches and homesteads. The half wild cattle had taken the better part of a week to settle down and accept the fact that they were leaving their home territory and they had a new lead steer to follow. A strangely dominate fellow for a steer that liked people for company. Most every steer and cow had their place on the road so to speak and there always seemed to be some jostling and disturbance until linear order had been restored. There were only four bulls to deal with and the most experienced vaccaros dealt with them until they also became trail broke, as much as they would.

While a bit on edge, with the Indians and cowboys suspiciously eyeing each other throughout the day and night until everyone was satisfied that the other side wasn’t going to murder the other in their sleep. After that, work and cooperation became as smooth as it could under the circumstances. The sharing of identical meals with no favoritism shown in duties or position had been a unifying action.

 

Col. Stuart quickly threw his saddle onto the sorrel provided by the wrangler and lashed it down snug but comfortable for the animal. The wrangler usually handled this job, but Stuart took care of everything he needed, leaving the rest of the crew free of dealing with a pampered dilettante. Free to conduct their duties unimpeded by foolish distractions. The crew noted and respected this. He mounted the horse and walked it over to the wagon that contained his wife and children.

Stuart noticed his son standing on the highest part of the wagon scanning the surrounding area, apparently looking for threats and weather conditions, a habit he’d gotten used to while emulating the cowhands and Comanche. “How is our threat situation this morning?”, asked Stuart.

Smiling a little self conscientiously, the boy replied. “Looks clear, but the day ain’t over yet.”

Stuart replied with a smile, “Well, keep a sharp eye out, frontier living requires constant vigilance on the part of everyone. Danger is everywhere. Not to be feared, but to be respected for what it can do if one gets careless. Have you checked your rifle yet?”

“Yessir, I did that before I even got out of the bedroll. Wiped her down and checked the cap for tightness and candle wax.”, replied the boy.

“Candle wax?”

“Yessir, Mr. Seguin showed me how to water proof it as best as we could. Said I’d never know when it might be needed, and to always keep my guns clean and handy like my horse.”

“Spoken like a true cavalryman.” Remarked Stuart.

Sorry, another blasted interruption!

 

Stuart looked at his son and said, “I’m proud of the way you’ve been growing as a man and learning a frontiersman’s ways and forethought. I want you to continue walking half of the day during our trip. Never know when you might be afoot and have to run and walk to where ever you’re heading. Keep your head up and remain aware of what is going on around you and where you are putting your feet. You’ve earned it by your conduct, so from now on start wearing your Colt pistols. They may only be .31 caliber right now, but soon your strength will allow you to carry the .36 Navies we had modified for you.”

The boy smiled his thanks, untied his horse, mounted and rode to the Ramrod to receive his work orders for the day.

Riding up to his wife’s wagon to check on his family, he reigned in and was instantly noticed by his children and mobbed with questions. “I’ve been gone fifteen minutes, and nothing has been changed.” , he said with a smile. “And as for “Are we there yet?” No, it will be 20 more days of travel before we reach our new house less home. Right now, this is a vacation compared to the work we’re going to be doing once we get there. This is only six says a week. weeks may, on occasion, be longer.”

“Oh Dad, we just want to get off this wagon and hunt, fish, and play.” Remarked his daughter.

Looking on with a patient smile, Col. Stuart said. “There will be more work than play all the time. We do not have the house and facilities that we had in Carolina, it will all have to be built, and there are few people here but us to do the work. There will be some fun, but not a lot for the first few years.”

The children and wife looked at him as though this was the first time they’d heard this, but it had been discussed several times over the last few weeks. then their gaze shifted off to one side and Col. Stuart turned to see one of the war chiefs setting on his horse calmly waiting. Stuart reined his horse around and moved up along side of the war chief Standing Wolf. “Good Morning chief Standing Wolf.”

“Good Morning Gray Rider Stuart. My scouts have brought me word that you might like to hear.”

“What is the news Standing Wolf?”

“We are being followed by some Apache warriors. They have been either behind or a couple of miles off to one side for the last five days. There are only ten. They could cause problems, and will steal horses and cows, maybe kill a rider or two. They will not bother The People, but whites may be in danger. Do you want us to kill them, or drive them away? Killing is better. They can’t change their minds and return later that way. They will want the Golden Ones if they attack.” Referring to Mrs. Stuart and her daughter.

The Col. thought about this for a moment then looked at Standing Wolf and asked, “I worry about my family. Is killing necessary?”

“No, not if you want to guard your woman and children all the time. I would not take chances with my family.”

Stuart looked into Standing Wolf’s eyes and replied. “Kill them, ALL of them.”

Standing Wolf smiled and turned his pony away toward the other Comanche leaders. Once there, he spoke a few short words then held up his 14’ lance over his head and shook it. All six Comanche braves quickly rode over to their chiefs and leaned in to hear their orders. Silently, but energetically the warriors split up and went to scout for the Apache threats.