Chapter 3
Death on the Plains
Texas has yet to learn submission to any oppression, come from what source it may.
-Sam Houston
South of Bastrop-Late September, 1835
Towards late afternoon Hawk reigned in his horse. A breathtaking panorama now unfolded before their eyes, allowing them to see for miles off in the distance. Clearly taken by the scene before him, Hawk raised up in his stirrups, peering deliberately toward the southwest.
“I see it, too,” Joey uttered abruptly. It was the first words they had heard from the youngster.
Baffled, Hank asked, “See what?”
“Smoke,” Hawk responded tersely, his eyes now focused intently on some unseen object.
Though Hank peered, he could see nothing untoward.
Joey now spoke up yet again, “What is it, Mr. Hawk? What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know, son, but I intend to find out,” Hawk responded meaningfully.
“How far off is it?” Hank asked in confusion.
“No more than a mile, I expect,” Hawk answered brusquely, “Now gentlemen, listen up,” and it was clear from his attitude that Hawk had placed himself in charge of his fellow riding companions, “This is what we are going to do - we’re going to ride over there through those bushes and around to the south, so as to avoid being detected. I need everyone to be silent along the way.”
Still puzzled, Hank put in, “What’s the problem, Hawk?”
“I think we’re dealing with some Indians,” Hawk responded, and at this he turned and rode forward. His companions followed in apparent trepidation.
After several minutes, Hawk pulled up his horse. Raising his hand, he motioned the others to halt as well. He then instructed, “Alright gents, here is what I have in mind to do. I’m going in there and see what that smoke is from. If I haven’t returned by the time the shadow from that tree hits that rock there, you get the heck out of here as quickly as possible, and you ride for Gonzales as fast as your horses will take you!”
Joey turned white as a sheet, but didn’t say a word.
For his part Hank gulped, scanned about for help of any sort, and mumbled, “What the…,” but by then Hawk had already ridden off. Having no other option in mind, the three stepped down from their horses and awaited Hawk’s return.
He was back within minutes and, climbing down from his horse, he removed his hat and stroked his brow with the back of his sleeve. “We have ourselves a real mess, gents,” he said tersely, and he followed this with one of his by now famous spits.
Sensing the gravity of the situation from his tone, no one dared move.
He now continued, announcing, “What we have here is a couple of Indian pups, probably out on a training mission. They’ve captured a woman. From the looks of her, she’s a settler. She’s all trussed up, and they’ve beaten her pretty bad.”
At this Hank asked inanely, “What’s a training mission?”
“Thought you’d ask. These pups are Penatucka Comanches. That tribe likes to send their soon-to-be warriors out on a mission to prove their manhood. An older brave goes with them, sort of a guide to make sure they don’t try anything stupid. Usually they go out and kill a bear, or a cougar, or some animal. But they go after anything they find. Otherwise, they’ll be branded cowards. They apparently came across this family – a man, his wife, and a boy. They killed the man and the boy straightaway, and now they’re out there having their way with the woman.”
Hank scratched his head and, catching Hawk’s eye, he suggested, “I don’t like this, Hawk.”
“You got that right, Hank!” Hawk exclaimed, “We got ourselves a hornet’s nest here.”
“Why?” Joey asked. His dad simply stood silently, awaiting Hawk’s next move.
Hawk now espoused pointedly, “There is no older brave with them,” at which Joey instinctively crouched and, peering from side to side, he appeared to scout the brush for signs of movement.
“Relax, son, if they were after us, you’d already be dead,” Hawk posited, “I saw signs, though. There was indeed a third one - I could tell from the hobble stones. There’s a real dangerous Indian somewhere around here, and he’s probably watching us at this very moment.”
“What we gonna do, Hawk?” Hank inquired fearfully.
“Well, here’s the thing, boys,” Hawk announced, “I’m a Ranger - sworn to defend Texans against Indians. I’m therefore duty-bound to go and save that woman. So here is what I propose to do. The Guadalupe River is just right over there about a hundred yards or so. We’re going to go down river a little ways and find a really good spot to defend ourselves, and when night falls, I’m going to rescue that woman.”
At this, not a single word was spoken. Sensing their collective shock, Hawk glanced at each one of them in turn, thenceforth commanding, “Follow me, gents.”
They found a spot protected by a small cliff on the west bank, and they immediately set to building a small fort from river rocks. They subsequently holed up within, and when dark came, Hawk prepared for his departure. He started by stuffing his saddle bags with mud and small rocks from the river bank. Then, for some reason he removed his clothing, Hank noticing in the process that he was covered with hair from head to foot. With his massive girth, Hank thought he looked like a bear in the darkness.
Observing the rather strange scene developing before him, Hank exclaimed, “What in tarnation are you doin’ there, Hawk?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Hawk responded cheerfully. “Listen Hank, those two pups are on the opposite bank over there. I plan to swim the river, and then I’m going to take my double barreled musket here and shoot the both of them, that is, assuming they’re still there.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“That mean-assed brave is still around here somewhere. He is either waiting to shoot us, or he’s gone back to help them get away. My guess is he’s not interested in them. He’s interested in us. If so, then as soon as I leave, he’s going after the three of you. So you watch yourself, you hear?”
Suddenly feeling the blood rushing to his face, Hank croaked, “What?”
“You’ll be alright, Hank. You just stay in this little fort. Indians are way too smart to attack three men under cover. If you stay well protected, he’ll be after me instead.”
“How you gonna fight him? You got one musket with two shots, and there’s at least three Indians out there, maybe more!”
“There’s only three of them, of that I’m certain, but each of them has a rifle. So there’s two rifles in their camp. I ought to be able to take the two pups’ rifles before the lead brave gets back,” and at that, Hawk pulled the saddle bags tight around himself and turned to head up river.
“What are you doin’ with them saddlebags, Hawk?”
“Breastplate, Hank. I observed it in the French army. It’s protection, in case one of them gets off a shot at me.”
“Well, I’ll be!” Hank snorted, “Well then, good luck, Mr. Banks!”
Seeing Hank’s concern, Hawk replied matter-of-factly, “If all goes well, I’ll be back in less than an hour. If not, come first light you gents get on downriver to Gonzales as quick as your horses will take you.”
Hawk now stepped out into the river and headed against the current. Eventually, he came upon their camp. They had built a roaring fire, allowing him to observe everything. Seeing that one of the two pups was taking advantage of the woman, he realized that this was the perfect opportunity.
Moving as quickly as he could Hawk crossed the river with the intention of reaching the far bank before the pup finished what he was doing. Moments later he rose silently out of the river and bolted for the camp. Unfortunately, he stepped on a stick, causing it to snap loudly. Still too far to fire the musket, he ran directly toward the one that was tending the fire.
Hearing the sound, the pup looked up, and seeing Hawk coming at him
, he grabbed for his rifle. Hawk saw him raise it, but he was still too far away to fire his musket. He raced directly at the pup and, raising his musket as he did so, the two combatants fired simultaneously. Hawk went down.
The bullet had struck Hawk full in the chest, and although it had struck the saddlebag with a powerful wallop that knocked the wind out of him, the bag had held. And Hawk’s musket had struck home. The pup was down, writhing in agony.
Hawk bounded back to his feet just as the second pup grabbed his rifle and swung round to fire, but Hawk caught him in the chest first with his other musket ball. His aim having been true, both pups were done for. Hawk coughed in pain, grabbed the second pup’s rifle and, racing over to the woman, he planted himself behind a boulder close by.
Expecting the older brave to come running any second, he now waited. Minutes passed, during which he strained to hear any sound at all emanating from the woods. His chest hurt badly, but he was otherwise uninjured. The woman said nothing and, although she lay motionless as if she was dead, he could hear her breathing.
Eventually satisfied that the brave was not coming for him, Hawk leaned over to the woman and asked her if she was alright. She jerked around and stared vacantly at him without so much as saying a word. Seeing that she was able to move, he pulled his knife from his saddlebag and cut her ropes.
She yanked the ropes off as fast as lightening, grabbed Hawk’s knife and ran for the pup who had been on top of her. She jumped on the corpse and, stabbing it repeatedly, she chanted vehemently with each vicious thrust, “That’s for Billy, you bastard. That’s for Billy, you bastard.” Having eventually exhausted herself, she ceased her macabre ritual. The pup was by then a real mess, and she was covered with blood.
She thenceforth managed to stumble to her feet and, staring wildly at the mangled corpse before her, she appeared within the eerie light of the campfire to be the very picture of the devil.
Keenly aware that they were still in danger, Hawk whispered soothingly to the woman, “Now, we must be going, Ma’am. There could be more of them about, so we must be going now. Was there another one with them, an older brave?”
Ignoring his question, the woman remained motionless, somehow unable to tear herself from the sight of the dead Indian. Observing that she was obviously messed up, Hawk could tell that she wasn’t going to be much help. He had seen this sort of thing once before, and he knew what to do.
Somewhere Down River
Unfortunately, Hank had lost track of time. It seemed to him that at least two hours had passed since he’d heard the shots. And when Hawk didn’t returned, he’d begun to imagine all sorts of things. Every telltale sound in the darkness had brought his rifle up, but he saw nothing at all, and by now he was in despair over the apparent loss of Hawk.
Suddenly, he heard Hawk call sonorously, “Gents, hold your fire, I’m coming in. And I got the woman with me.”
Relief flooding over Hank, he decided on the spot to stick close to Hawk from now on.
As Hawk came into view, Hank could see he was tugging the woman along behind him. “What the heck are you doing, man?” He asked.
“Shush up, Hank,” Hawk ordered quietly, “She’s not herself at the moment. I had to tie her hands to get her to follow me. I’ve heard about this before. The Indians can drive people loco real fast when they catch them. No telling how long they had her, but they treated her abominably. So give her some space. We’ll get her on down to Gonzalez in the morning. Those folks will know what to do with her.”
Joey asked sheepishly, “What happened to them two Indians?”
“They got their just reward, son,” Hawk replied succinctly. “Now listen here, gents. That lead brave is still around here somewhere, I’d bet my cajones on it. So be lively, and keep an eye out.”
At that moment, they heard a wailing song, piercing the air from somewhere off in the distance. Hank jumped a foot in the air in surprise, exclaiming, “What in tarnation is that?”
“Told you,” Hawk responded officiously, “That’s the brave. He’s tending to his dead pups. They have to be treated just right or they won’t get into heaven. He’ll be singing their death song so as to clear the way for them.”
“They got weird ways, if you ask me,” Joey said. “Why didn’t he try to defend them pups?”
Hawk spat, responding, “Well, they’re not weird ways to them. I suppose our ways are just as strange to them as their ways are to us. To their way of thinking, a young brave has to prove himself on his own, without the help of the older warriors. That lead brave was just an observer of sorts. He was here to protect the two pups from natural phenomena, but not from humans. He was bound by Indian custom to not interfere. He was also there to report back to the tribe should anything untoward happen to the pups. As it turns out, they acquitted themselves quite well. They killed a couple of Texans, captured a white woman, and, perhaps most important of all, they defended themselves to the death. So while the tribe will mourn their loss, they will be comforted by the knowledge that their two pups gained manhood and will most assuredly be welcomed into heaven.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” Hank murmured wistfully, “I never!”
“Now you gents get some sleep,” Hawk commanded brusquely, “I’ll keep watch till morning. We’ll start for Gonzales at first light.”
Hank awoke several hours later to the grey light of morning. Clearing his mind, he suddenly realized where he was and, rising from his slumber, he glanced about. Hawk was standing over by the river bank, and for some reason he was staring at the crest of the cliff directly above himself.
Suddenly, Hawk cooed politely toward the sky, “Now, you come down from there, ma’am. That brave is still around here somewhere. You might not be safe up there!”
At this Hank rolled to his feet and peered skyward. The woman was standing on top of the cliff staring off in the distance. He noticed that Joey and Joseph were watching, too, transfixed by the sight.
She seemed to be watching the sunrise, and as Hank watched, the sunlight touched and lit up the top of her head. Down below, they were still hidden in the last darkness that presages dawn.
The woman now began singing a song, a slow Scottish tune of mourning, one that Hank recalled from his youth.
Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad
Thy moaning makes my heart full sad.
Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
Thy father bred me great annoy
Baloo, baloo, baloo, baloo
Baloo, baloo, lu-li-li-lu.
O'er thee I keep my lonely watch
Intent thy lightest breath to catch
O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile
And thus my sorrow to beguile.
Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
Thy father bred me great annoy
Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
Twelve weary months have crept away
Since he, upon thy natal day
Left thee and me, to seek afar
A bloody fate in doubtful war.
Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad
Thy moaning makes my heart full sad.
I dreamed a dream but yesternight
Thy father slain in foreign fight
He, wounded, stood beside my bed
His blood ran down upon thy head
He spoke no word, but looked on me
Bent low, and gave a kiss to thee!
Baloo, baloo, my darling boy
Thou'rt now alone thy mother's joy.
As she sang, the sunlight slowly crept down the length of her face, thereby bathing her entire visage in sunlight. At that moment, Hank saw a movement off to her left. A brave was s
tanding further along the crest of the cliff, patiently watching the woman as well.
The woman, having completed her song, stood motionless for a few seconds more, and then she stepped silently from the cliff into thin air. She tumbled as she fell, landing on her head at the river’s edge. There she lay motionless, death her welcome escape.
Now the men gazed skyward yet again and saw that the lone brave had taken up her spot on the cliff. As he was quite tall, and he was possessed of an enormous hump. He was positively the most terrifying thing that Hank had ever seen in his life.
The brave now sang his own song to the heavens, and as he did so, it seemed somehow appropriate for the men to remain motionless in homage. The wailing song was sad and deep, just as had been the woman’s, thereby moving Hank to tears.
When the brave had finished, he gazed imperiously down upon the men for a few moments, then announced, “They died well.” He then stared directly at Hawk and, raising his right hand to the sky, he said, “We will meet again someday, Hawk-who-Spits,” and then he turned and disappeared.
Moved by the entire proceeding, the four remained motionless for a few further moments. Joey finally broke the silence with, “Who was that Indian, Hawk?”
“Buffalo Hump,” Hawk replied, and so saying, he spat furiously.
“Never heard of him,” Joey responded.
“You will, son, you will, if you live long enough. Now let’s bury this poor woman and get on down to Gonzales.”
Two hours later the four men headed along the river for Gonzales.