IT DIDN’T TAKE CLOUD LONG TO FIND OUT THAT SOLDIERING was about one part action to ten parts routine—even frontier soldiering.
Headquarters was a heavy log house a mile or so down-creek from the store. The man who had built this house had put it up large and sturdy, a small fort atop a brush-cleared rise where Indians would have a hard time sneaking up unseen and where they’d have a harder time breaching the bull-stout walls. Bullet holes and splintered wood, darkened now with age, showed they’d tried it more than once. But eventually they’d caught the settler far out from his fortress and had left him to die in the open grass, his knife-carved body bleeding in the sun.
Now the long-abandoned house served as command post for Captain Aaron Barcroft and his company of the Texas Mounted Rifles. Rebuilt corrals held the horses, when they weren’t in use or weren’t being loose-herded
on the prairie. Dust-grayed tents were staked in straight rows on either side of the log house, their canvas sides rolled up to let the summer heat escape, as much as it could.
On the hot days, Cloud wished the settler had left some trees for shade in which to pitch the tents. But the man had traded the shade for a better chance to keep his life. A pole stood in front of the building, the tamped earth still fresh around its base. It was short for a flagpole, but tall trees weren’t to be found in this country. Besides, the company didn’t have a Confederate flag yet anyway. It had the pole, just in case a flag ever came.
A flat area below the house served as a drill ground. Here Barcroft regularly brought his well-thumbed copies of Hardee’s Light Infantry Tactics and the U.S. Army’s Cavalry Tactics to put the men through instruction and drill. Actually, he didn’t really need the books anymore. He’d learned them by heart. Because he’d never been a soldier before—much less an ofncer—he’d studied hard to learn the things he needed to know. What Aaron Barcroft learned, he never forgot.
Part of company routine was to keep up a picket system along the frontier, one link in the state’s chain of posts which extended all the way from the northern extremity on the Red River to the southern line on the Rio Grande. At regular intervals Barcroft dispatched men to work out in either direction, meeting riders from other companies and joining the chain. As they rode, these riders watched closely for Indian signs. Any time the Indians made a raid, they had to cross the patrol lines ridden regularly by the Texas Mounted Rifles.
The Rifles also watched for signs of white men moving west. Often these were war-evaders trying to escape service in the armies of the Confederacy. On the occasions when the Rifle patrols met such men, there was usually
little they could do about them. These service-evaders usually traveled in parties big enough to stand off the Indians—or the Rifles.
Anyway, Indians were the main reason the Rifles were organized. The “scalawags” had to be put up with, like an incurable disease. Long as they didn’t bother anything, the patrols usually left them alone.
Cloud found that Barcroft had a simple but effective method of getting rid of the occasional laggard or coward who found his way into the command. He worked the man’s tail off or put him in the most hazardous duty. Usually it wouldn’t be long before the man turned up missing on morning roll call. Though he was supposed to, the captain never sent a patrol after such a deserter to bring him back. He was afraid he might have to put up with the man again.
As to antisecessionists like Cloud, Barcroft had no clear-cut policy, other than to keep them busy. Occasionally some little animosity flared between Unionist and staunch Confederate, but most of the men kept their politics to themselves. They agreed it was more worthwhile to fight Indians than to fight each other.
An exception was a ruddy-faced, belligerent farmer named Seward Prince, who stood up for the Confederacy proud and loud, and was constantly daring any “black Republican” to say him nay. He had whipped just about every Unionist in the company, including Quade Guffey, and he kept challenging Cloud. Finally Cloud got a bellyful of it.
He walked with Prince down to the creek, out of sight. Here, completely alone, the two took off their shirts and wrestled and slugged for the better part of an hour. They kept it up until both men could hardly move. The only thing they settled was that one was about as tough as the other.
From then on, respecting one another but with no friendship between them, Cloud and Prince kept their distance as best they could.
Barcroft got wind of the fight. Afterwards, he kept Cloud assigned out on patrol duty most of the time. No sooner would Cloud drag in wearily from one scouting trip than he would get orders from Barcroft to go out on another. The only consolation was that Barcroft was working Seward Prince about as hard. Whichever way he sent Cloud, he sent Prince in the opposite direction.
Often Quade Guffey was assigned with Cloud. Riding out one day into the dry country to the west, Quade commented, “Ever seem to you like the captain’s got all of us picked as has any sort of Union leanin’s? Keeps us bumpin’ our tailbone agin a saddle all the time. Don’t give us no chance to sit around camp and talk treason.”
“Keep us out of trouble,” Cloud commented. “Man opens his mouth wrong these days, he can get hung for it. Maybe he’s doin’ us a favor, keepin’ us too busy to talk. Anyway, I’d rather be out on scout than in camp havin’ to drill.”
Quade agreed. “Drill looks to me like a heap of foolishness. Who’s goin’ to ride in a column of twos—or march along in step—into a battle with the Indians?”
Cloud shrugged. “Give the devil his due; Barcroft knows what he’s about. You take this drill now, it teaches discipline. Most of us in this outfit never took no orders before. Somethin’ comes up we don’t like, we want to stop and argue about it. But you get in a fight, you got to know how to follow an order. That’s what this drill is for.”
If Barcroft worked and drilled his men until they dragged, he fought for them, too. Cloud and Guffey happened to be in camp, resting from a long patrol, the day an inspector came out from Austin headquarters to look
things over. He was a paunchy little man with a big nose and a quarrelsome voice that started complaining as soon as he rode up in his hack. For an hour he made the rounds with Captain Barcroft, criticizing first one thing, then another.
He pointed to Cloud and Guffey and said crossly, “I see men sitting over yonder in the shade, Captain. Orders call for plenty of drill. I suggest that you should have them out at drill instead of lounging about.”
“These men are fresh in from a long scout.”
“Perhaps you haven’t heard, Captain, but we’re at war. This is no time for weakness in men. We must be strong and hard, ready to sacrifice.”
Barcroft had tried hard to contain his anger, but that was too much. He pointed to the man’s soft belly and gritted, “You haven’t done without anything, that’s plain to see. Time and again you politicians have promised us what we need to carry on our job here, and time and again you’ve turned a deaf ear to everything I’ve asked you for. It’s all I can to do keep these men fed. Times we don’t have enough powder and lead to do our job. It’s been two months since these men have been paid. You stand there fat and comfortable and talk to me about being hard, about accepting sacrifice?”
The fat man sputtered. “Captain, I’ll remind you who I am—”
“I know damned well who you are, and I know what you are! If you press me, I’ll tell you what that is. And if you don’t like it, I’ll let you choose your own weapons!”
The inspector was backing away. “I’ll have your commission! I’ll tell them back in Austin!”
“You do that! Tell them for me that they’re just a bunch of grasping politicians with their fingers so deep in the pie that they don’t care if the whole house is afire!
Tell them that if they don’t send us what we need, I’ll turn my back on the Indians and lead this company to Austin! We’ll do some housecleaning there, I promise you!”
The inspector didn’t even wait for supper.
Cloud and Guffey tried to hold back their grins as they watched the politician’s hack pull away.
Barcroft said sharply, “You two get out of my sight or I’ll set you to drilling!”
Now and again, when he had the chance, Cloud would drop by to visit Easter Rutledge at the Lawton home. Indoors much of the time now, she was beginning to lose much of the dark-brown color the outdoor life had given her. Her skin appeared to soften. Some of the grief lines had faded from around her eyes. She seemed now to be prettier than he had first thought.
The first time he saw her smile was one day when she asked him about his name, Cloud.
“Cloud,” she said, then repeated the name, listening to the sound of it. “Sounds like an Indian name. You’re not an Indian, are you?”
She smiled then as he assured her he was not. After that, she smiled with him more and more often.
And now that he had seen her smile, he went back to visit her more and more often.
One day, freshly bathed and shaved after a long patrol, Cloud rode up to the house behind the store and tied his horse to the fence. Mother Lawton was out sweeping the yard clean. There was no grass, so the old woman took pride in keeping her yard swept bare as her floor.
“Hello, Cloud.” She smiled. “I reckon you came to see me!”
He grinned back at her. “Sure I did. Who else?”
“I couldn’t imagine. But you’ll find her down by the
creek. Took her slate with her. She’s practicin’ writin’.”
Cloud’s eyebrows lifted. “Learnin’ fast, isn’t she?”
“Hanna’s work. Hanna’s a natural teacher. She teaches all the kids around here, and Easter’s an apt pupil.”
Cloud said, “I’m glad. Maybe she’ll find her way easier than we thought she would.” He frowned. “How’s she doin’, otherwise?”
Mother Lawton shrugged, leaning on her broom. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. I mean, you couldn’t expect miracles, tearin’ her away like that from the people she knew, from … But there’s times she acts almost happy for a little while.”
“The people around here, they’ve taken to her pretty good, haven’t they?”
“Most of them. She was a real curiosity at first. Everybody wanted to come and look at her. They scared her some. But she got over that—sort of come to accept it, I guess. And people liked her—most people, anyway.”
“Some didn’t.”
“Cloud, there are always a few who won’t understand. They say she’s a white woman, and she ought to’ve killed herself rather than live with the Indians that way—take one for a husband—bear his baby. One woman even told her that, to her face.”
Cloud looked sharply at Mother Lawton. “Did it hurt her?”
“Didn’t hurt her as much as it made her mad. And when she gets mad, she gets Indian-mad.” She smiled. “That woman never has come back. Not even to the store. Just sends her husband when she needs somethin’.”
Cloud nodded. “Good for Easter.”
Mother Lawton took hold of the broom again. “Well, I’ve got work to do. Go on down to the creek. You’ll find her.”
Walking down toward the water, Cloud could hear children
talking. When he spotted Easter, she was sitting in a rude outdoor chair in the deep shade of cottonwood trees, several youngsters gathered around her. She was showing them the letters she had made on a slate. “Is that all right?” she asked. A little girl said, “It’s fine, except the bar needs to be straight on the T. Here, I’ll show you.”
Cloud watched silently, smiling, until the children noticed him and Easter turned around to see what they were looking at. Cloud took off his hat. “Howdy, Easter.”
“Hello, Cloud.” She stood up and faced him. The children waited around until they could tell their visit with Easter was over. Then the girl who had corrected Easter’s writing said, “Well, we’ll be going, Miss Rutledge. We’ll see you later.”
“Come back, children.”
Easter watched them go, and Cloud could see the faint smile that lighted her face. “Good children,” she said quietly.
“Nice to see you’ve found you some friends.”
“Children are always the same—white children, Indian children …” He watched the sadness drift into her eyes again, and he knew she was remembering.
He pointed quickly to the slate. “Looks like you’re doin’ fine.”
She looked at the letters she had made. “The Noconas have a picture writing, but it’s not like this. Here you can write anything you want to say, any word.” She looked away, to ward the children disappearing from sight. “It makes me feel foolish. I am so much older, yet they teach me.”
Cloud smiled. Easter no longer had difficulty in talking. English had come back with use. Before long she would be reading and writing it.
“You’re doin’ fine,” he said again. “Study with Hanna Lawton and pretty soon you’ll be readin’ and writin’ a
sight better than I can. I never had a chance for real schoolin’ myself. Just had to pick it up the best way I could.”
“I study and practice hard. It keeps my mind busy. I don’t have so much time to think … about other things.”
“But you do think about them.”
The sadness lay dark in her face. Cloud knew it was never far beneath the surface. She said evenly, “I know it’s useless, but there are things you can’t forget. You even wake up, dreaming … .” She bit her lip. “Cloud, do you really think you’ll find my family—my white family?”
Cloud nodded. “Maybe we will. The captain sent word down that way to see if there’s still some Rutledges around.”
“I hope there are. At first I didn’t want to go. But now I want to see them. Maybe if I find a new home, new people, I can stop thinking so much. At least I can try, Cloud, I can try.”
He saw then how much hope she was building up. She was grasping desperately for something to cling to.
“Do you think my people will be ashamed of me?” she asked worriedly.
“Ashamed? Why?”
Pensively she said, “I am a grown woman, but I don’t know the things a white woman should know. I can’t read, I can’t write. I don’t know much of the white man’s God. Every day I make mistakes. All I know are the Indian ways. Maybe my family will be ashamed.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Easter, don’t you worry.”
“Some people here have said I should be ashamed, living with the Indians when I am white, having an Indian husband. Do you feel that way, Cloud? Does that thought bother you?”
“Now, don’t you fret yourself thataway,” he said quickly. But his voice wasn’t as firm as he wanted it to be. Truth was, it did bother him a little, even yet. He let go of her hand. “Easter, if they’re your folks, they won’t bother about what’s past. They’ll just take you and be glad you’re back.”
“I hope so,” she said softly, “I hope so.” She looked up at Cloud then, gratitude in her eyes. “You’ve been good to me, Cloud. I wish you could come here oftener.”
“The captain keeps me awful busy.”
“If he doesn’t find any of my people, I won’t have anyone, Cloud—no one but you and the Lawtons.”
“You’ve got lots of friends here.”
“It isn’t the same as your own people.” She looked down. “I hope they come soon. If they don’t, I don’t know how I can stand it.”
“I been hopin’ they wouldn’t come too soon.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll be leavin’ then, and I’ll miss you.”
She gave him a faint smile and touched his hand a moment. “I won’t forget you, Cloud.” She studied awhile, then asked unexpectedly, “If none of my people come, would you take me, Cloud?”
He stepped back, swallowing. “What?”
“I would have no husband, no people. A woman is not meant to be alone.”
He stammered. “Look, Easter, among white folks …”
She nodded. “I know, they must have the papers and be married. It is like that among the Indians, except without the papers. But I would marry you. Would you marry me, Cloud?”
He swallowed again, and no words came. Hitting him that way all of a sudden … she hadn’t learned the devious manner of the white woman yet. She still had the direct, devastating way of the Indian.
Looking down, she said, “Or maybe you wouldn’t want to. Maybe you’d remember that before you there was an Indian husband.”
Tightly he answered, “Easter, you’re a good woman, a pretty woman. Any man’d be proud. The Indian husband hasn’t got nothin’ to do with it. It’s just that I hadn’t given no study to gettin’ married, no study atall.”
Yet even as he spoke, he knew he was half lying to her. He knew the thought of the Indian husband might stay with him. He knew this: that he wanted to reach out and pull her to him and kiss her. Yet he realized too that every time he touched her, he might remember there had been another man, a savage who had traded for her like he would swap for a brood mare.
He clenched his fist and wished to God he knew what to say.
As it was, he didn’t get the chance to say anything. Captain Barcroft came striding down the creekbank toward him, his back straight, his dark eyes somber.
Cloud turned to meet him and stood half at attention. Half was about as far as he ever went. Figuring Barcroft was about to send him off on another long patrol, he asked wearily, “You lookin’ for me, Captain?”
“Looking for both of you.” The captain’s eyes dwelt a moment on Easter Rutledge. Cloud saw no softness in them.
He hates that girl, he told himself.
Easter Rutledge stood up stiffly and faced the captain, her eyes turned suddenly hard.
And she doesn’t like him any better, Cloud thought.
“What business do you have with me, Captain?” Easter asked, her voice crisp.
“I have some news for you, Miss Rutledge,” the captain replied. “I’ve just gotten word that they’ve found a brother of yours down south. He’ll be here in a few days.”
Easter suddenly swayed. “A brother …” The words came in a whisper. She dropped her chin, and Cloud saw her lips go tight. She blinked, trying to stop a sudden rush of tears. Then she looked at the captain, her voice no longer steady.
“Only a brother? There are no others?”
The captain shook his head. “I couldn’t say. The message spoke only of a brother.”
Easter sat down limply in her chair. “My own people …” she said wonderingly. “My own people …”
Cloud took her hand and patted it gently. “That’s sure fine news, Easter. I’m glad for you.” But he knew he really wasn’t. He felt something sinking inside him.
The captain turned his gaze to Cloud. “I’m afraid I have something for you too, Cloud. Miguel Soto has come in with a report of Indian signs—raiding party south of here. I’m preparing to take out the company.”
Cloud nodded. “All right, sir. I’ll be right with you.”
The captain tipped his hat to the girl and said, “Good day,” as if he had just casually met her strolling on the street. He turned on his heel and walked back up the creekbank.
Gripping Easter’s hand, Cloud stood a moment looking down at this woman, wishing he knew something to say. But there weren’t words for what he really felt.
“Easter,” he spoke quietly, “I got to be goin’. But as to what you said to me a while ago—what you proposed—I felt honored that you asked me, sure enough I did. But I wouldn’t go tellin’ Mother Lawton about it, was I you. You see, white women sort of beat around the bush on things like that. They don’t just come out plain that way. They get what they want from a man, but they make him think it was his idea. Mother Lawton might not understand.”
Still dazed by the captain’s news, Easter said, “I will remember. Be careful, Cloud.”
“I will. And don’t you go leavin’ here till I get back.”
He squeezed her hand, then turned away to follow the captain.