Chasing the Sun Page 3

  She climbed up the ladder and found her sister playing with her doll in the loft. It was a good place for her, Hannah decided. “Marty, you need to stay up here for the time. There might be trouble.”

  The little girl came to the ladder and looked down. “Injuns?”

  Her comment surprised Hannah. “Don’t call them that, but yes, there are problems with the Indians. I need to go find Andy, so you stay here. Promise me you’ll stay there.”

  “I could shoot a gun,” Marty declared.

  “No. You need to stay put. It’s much too dangerous and I need to know that you are safe. Stay right there. Promise me.”

  Marty’s tone betrayed her disappointment. “I promise, Hannah.”

  Hannah stared up into the innocent expression. The child was full of brave notions but had no idea what they were truly up against. Back in Vicksburg they wouldn’t have had to worry about Indian attacks. Of course, if they’d remained in Mississippi, they might all be dead from the siege and battle that had killed so many others.

  Hannah pushed those thoughts aside. She needed to find her brother. “Andy?” she called out, but there was no answer.

  It didn’t take long to ascertain he wasn’t in the house, and Hannah realized she hadn’t seen him in some time. Why hadn’t she kept better track of him?

  “Juanita, I’m going to the barn to see if Andy is there,” Hannah told her as she headed for the back door. “Marty is in the loft playing.”

  “Go quickly,” Juanita encouraged. Pepita worked with her mother to secure a wooden bar across the shuttered window. “Berto will help you.”

  Hannah nodded and made her way from the house. The skies were turning dusky. It would be dark before much longer. Where was her brother?

  “Andy?”

  Berto appeared, rifle in hand, from around the corner of the barn. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t find Andy,” Hannah replied. “Have you seen him?”

  The man frowned. “No.” He glanced around. “I get my brother and we search for him.”

  “What of the Comanche? Were they close by?”

  Berto nodded. “Close enough. Thomas and JD saw them about five miles away and rode back fast to tell us. There were about six Comanche warriors.”

  Hannah swallowed hard and touched Berto’s arm. “Please find Andy.”

  He left without another word, and Hannah turned to survey the grounds around her. The area between the house and barn was mostly hard-packed ground with little grass. The women kept a large vegetable garden to the far side of the yard and had even planted a few flowers and herbs along the front of the otherwise unadorned house. Beyond this, there were pens for the horses, a coop for chickens, the outhouse, the bunkhouse, and the small house where the Montoyas lived. In other words, plenty of places for a young boy to hide.

  “Andy? Are you out here?” she called. She scanned the horizon beyond the house.

  About a half mile away, there was a river lined with brush and trees. A little farther the land was cut with rocky ravines. What if he’d fallen down one of those? Hannah knew Andy loved to frequent the area. He was always asking Hannah to take them there to explore. She thought to go investigate, but Berto and Diego came running full speed from around the back of the house.

  Berto took hold of Hannah and motioned wildly. “Get in the house. The Comanche are coming.”

  “But we haven’t found Andy yet. We have to find my brother!” She heard the fear in her voice, and it startled her. This wasn’t just a game. The light was fading and the Comanche were closing in. Six warriors could wreak havoc on a tiny homestead. Larger numbers than theirs had faced small bands of Comanche and been wiped out.

  “Berto, he must be close by. Maybe he went to the river,” Hannah suggested. “I can go see.”

  “No. You go to the house, Miss Hannah. We will look for him if we can. Go now before it is too late. You and Juanita—get the rifles.”

  Hannah froze. They never armed the women unless the threat was grave. She waited only a second more before heading back inside, calling for her brother the entire way. “Andy! Andy, please don’t hide from us! Come to the house right now—there’s danger!”

  She paused at the door to the house. How could she seek shelter knowing the eight-year-old was still out there somewhere? Glancing skyward, she prayed as she’d never prayed before. Surely God would protect her brother. He was just a child, after all. Hannah pushed aside thoughts that other children had been lost at the hands of the savages—why should she imagine Andy to be any safer?

  “God, please help us.”

  “You find him?” Juanita asked, coming to her side.

  Hannah turned, tears in her eyes. “No. Berto and Diego are looking for him. . . . They said—they—we’re supposed to get the rifles.”

  Juanita nodded, her dark eyes fixed on the horizon. “Sí. I get them.”

  William Barnett rubbed his right leg and grimaced. Sometimes the pain was so great, he wanted nothing more than to give up and die. His father and brother were dead—so why not him? Why had he been left behind—a cripple?

  For months now he’d been recovering from the wound given him in battle. He probably should have lost the leg. The ball that hit him in the thigh had gone clear through, splintering a bit of bone on the way. The surgeon had overlooked Will’s situation at first, but Will’s own men had ministered enough care to ward off gangrene. The wound festered for some time, but little by little the leg healed and the bone reknit. Of course, it left William with a limp and a great deal of pain that the doctor told him would probably follow him throughout life.

  Closing his eyes, William tried to forget the sights and sounds that continued to haunt him. War had not been his choosing, but rather his father’s and brother’s. William wanted only to remain behind and care for the family ranch, but his father determined they would go and support the Union—as a family. Berto and the hands could manage the ranch. After all, it wasn’t as if they could send cattle to market. The borders had been closed and the South was quickly depleting of supplies and money.

  His father believed the defense of the Union was every man’s responsibility. It wasn’t a war about slaves or individual ways of life—it was about preserving what had been so fiercely won not even a hundred years earlier. America—their country, their United States—deserved faithful protection.

  William frowned. The war had taken his father and brother, and Texas had taken his mother. There was nothing left now, except a piece of land they had all once loved.

  He was headed back to that land now. William knew he was nearly there; he should arrive just after dark at his current pace.

  It hadn’t been easy. After being wounded, William had been transported upriver to a Union hospital. It was there that he had done most of his recovering. It had taken weeks to heal enough to get back up on his feet, and even longer to feel capable of heading home. And then there was the war itself—as a former Union soldier crossing the lines to head south, he’d been at the mercy of both sides. That was why he’d done most of his traveling at night, sticking to the shadows. He’d followed the rivers, staying close to the shorelines and trees to avoid being seen. He’d learned as a boy to live off the land, but that had been prior to his injuries. Trying to hunt or fish with his lame leg hadn’t been easy.

  He’d wisely cut across Indian Territory for the last part of the journey. It seemed odd that the risk he faced with the Kiowa and Comanche should be less than that from white soldiers, but so far he’d managed quite well. The farther west and south he went the safer he felt. He wasn’t sorry to leave the war behind and could only hope it wouldn’t follow him to Texas.

  Easing up to look over the edge of the rocks, William felt a sense of peace at the empty landscape to the east. He was nearly home. This ravine made an adequate hiding place in which he could stay out of sight and rest until darkness could cloak him. Hopefully, he’d make it back to the ranch in time for supper.

  He smile
d at the thought of Juanita’s cooking. She made the finest spicy pork and rice. Her tortillas and frijoles were the best to be had. William had longed for such meals since leaving Texas. He’d missed the ranch and the people who’d acted as family to him over the last twelve years.

  Picking up his few things, William struggled to his feet and moved on. The river wasn’t wide or deep, but it afforded him water and pointed the way home. That alone was worth everything. William longed so much for the comforts of home. The war and its sufferings had been his existence for so long now. It seemed to have lasted a lifetime, instead of just years. Things would be different now, he promised himself. He would put the war behind him and forget the horrors he’d experienced.

  His fervent hope was that the war would soon end. Gettysburg and Vicksburg had caused even the staunchest Southern supporter to reassess the war, but then a win at Chickamauga had encouraged their dreams of winning yet again. And so the cycle of destruction continued. . . . But it had to end soon. It just had to.

  Winding through the narrow cracks and crannies, William thought of his life and what he would do now. He could imagine his mother telling him to pray, but prayer seemed almost foreign to him now. If God cared, He certainly had a strange way of showing it. For all of his life, or at least a good portion of it, William had trusted that God was good and that He cared for His children. William’s mother had always believed it to be true and her stalwart faith had sustained her younger son. Now, after living through her death and the ravages of war, William knew he could no longer rely on his mother’s faith.

  A noise up ahead caught William’s attention. Familiarity with the land had caused him to let down his guard. Crouching low, William leaned heavily on his left leg and balanced himself against a rock as he brought up his rifle.

  “Come on now,” William heard a child say. “Don’t be afraid.” And then he heard the unrelenting distress of a longhorn.

  He edged forward and flattened himself on the ground. Creeping closer, William could see a small towheaded boy working to free a young steer from where it was caught in the brush. The animal was more than a little agitated, and William feared the boy could be harmed.

  “You shouldn’t have come out here,” the boy chided the beast.

  William smiled at the comment. The little guy was certainly determined. William decided to lend a hand and started to straighten when another sound above them caught his attention. He pressed back against the rock and waited. He saw the legs of the horse before catching sight of the rider: a Comanche warrior. And from the looks of him he wasn’t full grown—maybe no more than sixteen.

  It was easy to see that the Comanche had spotted the little boy. He moved his horse closer to the edge of the ravine and pulled back on his bow. William quietly maneuvered his rifle to take aim. He didn’t want to have to kill the young warrior, but he couldn’t allow him to take the life of the child.

  Before he could pull back the hammer, however, something spooked the horse. William rose up just enough to see the boy glance overhead. His eyes widened in fear. William thought to rush to the child, but everything seemed to happen at once. The pony reared and bucked wildly, sending the young Comanche off the back and over the ravine. Crashing to the bottom below, the boy lay motionless—his left arm bent under him at an awkward angle.

  William stood, but not before the blond-headed boy moved away from the steer and went to the unconscious warrior’s side.

  Squatting down, the boy shook the shoulder of the silent figure. William kept his rifle on the warrior. He’d seen Indians play dead before. The boy hadn’t noticed William.

  “Hey, you hurt?” He shook the Comanche again.

  Coming up behind the boy, William tried not to startle the child. “Looks like we’re in a bit of a predicament.”

  The boy turned and jumped to his feet. “Who are you?”

  William smiled. “William Barnett. Who are you?”

  “Andy Dandridge. Are you the Barnett that used to own our ranch?”

  Used to? William’s brows knit, but he didn’t pose the question on his mind. “Look, his people are going to be looking for him. We’d best get out of here.”

  “But we can’t leave him. He’s hurt.”

  William searched the top of the ridge for the Indian’s horse, but it was gone. He knelt down and pressed his fingers to the Comanche’s neck. He could feel a steady pulse, but Andy was right—the Indian was hurt.

  “Do you know how to handle a gun?” William asked.

  “Sure. I’ve been learnin’ to shoot real good.”

  William leaned the rifle against a rock and reached for his pistol. “This thing has quite a kick,” he said, handing the boy a long-barreled Colt. “You stand back—over there. Keep the gun aimed at him. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Andy didn’t argue. He took the pistol and backed away, seeming to understand the importance of his job. William gently turned the warrior on his back. There was a large knot forming on the Comanche’s forehead.

  William checked the boy over, but he didn’t so much as moan. The left arm appeared to be broken, but besides minor cuts and the blow to the head, William saw no other evidence of injury. Now the question was what to do with the patient.

  “Did you say you’re living at the Barnett Ranch?” William asked Andy.

  The boy nodded. “We moved there. I can show you the way.”

  “Thanks, but I know the way.” William stood and motioned Andy to his side. “I need to scout the area and see if there are other Comanche out there.” He pointed to the unconscious Indian. “He’s dressed to raid, so he’s probably part of a larger group.”

  “I gotta get to the house then,” Andy said, his expression taking on a panicked look. “I wasn’t supposed to come down here this far, but I lost track, and then I heard the steer.”

  William had nearly forgotten the animal. He looked back to see the steer was still entangled. It could wait. Right now the most important thing was to get this child back to his family. The family that had apparently taken up residence on his ranch.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” He took the rifle and crawled up the ravine. It wasn’t exactly the homecoming he’d figured on, but at least he would sleep under his own roof tonight. At least he hoped so.

  4

  Pepita cried softly against her mother’s shoulder, terrified of what the Comanche raiders might do. The last year had only served to heighten everyone’s fears. So many ranchers had been burned out or run off. With only a small number of soldiers to keep peace in the West, the Indians were raiding closer and closer to the towns. The stories of stolen children, murders, and mayhem ran rampant. Hannah had to admit she’d not worried overmuch until now. Her father had implied that many of the stories were most likely exaggerated, and since the Barnett Ranch had been untouched, it was easy to believe him. Now, however, facing the possibility of an attack, Hannah wondered at the foolishness of having stayed.

  Marty tried hard to pretend she wasn’t afraid. She sat in the corner, hugging her doll closer and humming. She had wanted Hannah to hold her, but that was out of the question. Hannah had to be ready to defend the house with her rifle.

  Dear God, please don’t make me have to kill someone.

  Hannah couldn’t help but wonder if Marty was worried about her brother. Marty often followed Andy around like a puppy to his master, so his absence was bound to cause her alarm.

  Where are you, Andy? Hannah’s mind raced with horrible thoughts of him being taken by the Comanche.

  JD, a lanky sixteen-year-old who’d been hired just a few months earlier, came bounding into the living room twisting his hat in his hand. “They’ve up and gone,” he announced. “Berto and Diego are following a ways behind to make sure they’re not hiding out to attack in the dark.”

  “Why would they just leave?” Hannah asked.

  The young man shrugged. “Don’t rightly know, ma’am. They may have seen something that spooked them. Maybe soldiers are
headin’ this way.”

  “God has heard our prayers,” Juanita said, hugging her child close.

  Hannah nodded and headed for the door. “What about Andy, JD? Did you see anything of him?”

  “No, ma’am. I ain’t seen him.”

  She tried not to let the comment worry her. Hopefully Andy had taken cover. Maybe he just couldn’t get back to the house. She vacillated between being angry that he’d broken the rules and terrified that he might be hurt or worse.

  “I’m going to look for him.” She leaned the rifle up against the wall in order to open the door.

  “But Berto say to stay here, Miss Hannah,” Juanita declared, getting to her feet. “You don’t know the danger.”

  “I can’t just leave him out there. I mean, what if the Indians have him?”

  “Then you no find him here. Wait for Berto.”

  Despite Juanita’s urging, Hannah opened the front door. In the growing darkness she could make out someone approaching. Hannah reached out to take up the heavy rifle. Had the Comanche thrown the men off and circled around to attack from the front of the house?

  Andy’s excited voice filled her heart with joy. “We found a hurt Comanche.”

  Hannah quickly discarded her weapon. “Andy! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

  Andy came running. “I found Mr. Barnett, too.”

  The man stepped forward, the Indian slung over his shoulder. “I reckon we found each other,” he announced.

  Hannah didn’t know what to say or do. For a moment she locked eyes with the handsome stranger and froze. It was Juanita who brought a lamp and welcomed the man.

  “Mr. William, you come home.”

  He grinned. “Juanita, it is so good to see a friendly face. I’m afraid I’m pretty much done in—otherwise I’d give you a big hug.”

  “Your arms are full,” she said, handing Pepita the lamp. “You bring him in?”