4

Blanchard and Blue Hawk spent that night in a shallow draw, about two miles from where the Horton gang had met its fate. They had driven the outlaws’ horses before them, and picketed them to graze on a good-sized patch of grama grass. Now, early the next morning, the pair was readying breakfast before preparing to ride on.

“I’d best write up my report for Austin before we head on out,” Blue Hawk,” Blanchard explained. “I’d also better write you a receipt sayin’ those horses are rightfully yours.”

He dug two sheets of paper and the stub of a pencil out of his saddlebags.

The Ranger and Comanche had agreed Blue Hawk would receive possession of the outlaws’ horses as some compensation for the loss of his family, and as a token of appreciation for his assistance in nursing Blanchard back to health and helping him track down the renegades. The outlaws’ weapons would be taken back to Austin by the Ranger.

Blanchard thought for a moment, then added, “In fact, I’d best ride along with you until you’re back across

the Red and into the Territories. Anyone who sees a lone Comanch’ herdin’ six shod horses on this side of the river is liable to shoot first, without botherin’ to check the ownership of those broncs until it’s too late.”

“You are right,” Blue Hawk agreed. “So we will ride together for one more day, then tomorrow I will cross back to the reservation.”

While Blanchard wrote a brief report and the receipt, Blue Hawk made a scant breakfast of jerky and cornmeal. Once they had eaten and cleaned up, Blanchard handed the receipt to Blue Hawk.

“Don’t let anything happen to this, at least until you get back home,” he warned.

“I will make sure of that,” Blue Hawk assured him. He tucked the document into a pocket of his shirt.

A short while later the pair pointed their horses northwestward, back toward the Red River some twenty- five miles away.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The Ranger and Comanche rode steadily all day, the six horses they were herding slowing their pace. Sundown found them still a few miles short of the river. They reined in alongside a clear creek, which watered a grassy glade.

“This is as likely a place as any to spend the night,” Blanchard observed. “There’s plenty of grass and water for the horses.”

“You are right, Jack, since we can’t make the Red tonight,” Blue Hawk agreed. “We can get a good night’s rest, and finish our journey in the morning.”

Blanchard swung out of his saddle, then yawned and stretched. He slipped the bridle from his horse’s head, then loosened the cinches and pulled the saddle from the gelding’s back.

“Reckon that feels good, eh T, Boy?” he asked the paint as he scratched the paint’s ears.

“I reckon it’s high time I got rid of this shirt, too,” the Ranger chuckled. He was still wearing his bullet- torn, bloodstained shirt.

“I agree.” Blue Hawk smiled as he climbed from his pony’s back. “Frankly Jack, you smell.”

Blanchard pulled his badge from his shirt, peeled off the ruined garment, and tossed it in the creek, watching until it floated out of sight. He turned away from the stream, then whirled, his hand dropping for his Colt, too late. An arrow hissed across the clearing and thudded into the middle of the Ranger’s belly, burying itself deep in his gut. Blanchard grasped futilely at the arrow’s shaft. He staggered back against his horse’s side, doubled over, then spun to the ground, landing heavily on his back.

When the Ranger fell, a war-whooping Comanche burst from a clump of redberry juniper, with a knife in his hand. He raised the weapon high to plunge its blade into Blanchard’s heart. Blue Hawk raced to Blanchard’s side and grabbed his fellow warrior’s wrist, wrenching the knife from his grasp to stop the fatal thrust.

“Dark Bear, no!” In his native tongue, Blue Hawk screamed in grief and rage.

“Blue Hawk, why did you stop me?” Dark Bear asked, puzzled. “I have freed you from your captor and killed our enemy. Now I will take his scalp.”

“This man is not my enemy, but my friend,” Blue Hawk replied. “Did you not see he wasn’t holding me as a prisoner? Instead, we were riding together. He helped me find the men who murdered my family. Without his help, their deaths would not have been avenged.”

“But he is a white man, and a Texas Ranger,” Dark Bear objected. He had seen Blanchard pull the badge from his shirt before tossing it in the creek.

“He is also a brother, and I will protect him as best I can,” Blue Hawk retorted. He knelt alongside Blanchard.

“Jack, I am sorry,” Blue Hawk murmured. “Dark Bear is my cousin. He did not realize what he was doing.”

“It’s all right, Blue Hawk,” Blanchard half-whispered. “Although I don’t think any of your Comanche medicine will help me this time.”

The Ranger’s hands were still wrapped around the arrow’s shaft. Surprisingly little blood was running from the wound to trickle over the flesh of Blanchard’s belly. However, internally he was bleeding profusely, blood filling his abdominal cavity.

“I am afraid you are right, my friend,” Blue Hawk sorrowfully answered. “I will stay with you until your soul flies to the Great Spirit. And may there be a curse on Dark Bear until he makes amends for what he has done.”

“Does Dark Bear understand English?” Blanchard asked.

“Very little,” Blue Hawk answered.

“Then please tell him this for me. I understand why he put this arrow in me. Had our roles been reversed, and I saw a Comanche and white man together, I might have done the same as he did, and put a bullet into the warrior to save the white man’s life. Dark Bear only did what he believed was right. I hold no malice toward him, and I don’t want your curse on him.”

In Comanche, Blue Hawk repeated Blanchard’s words to his cousin. When he finished, Dark Bear responded, at first calmly, then his voice rising when he glared at

Blanchard and gestured angrily. Dark Bear’s eyes glittered as he fixed his gaze on the dying Ranger.

Blue Hawk answered Dark Bear in equally harsh tones, then turned away from his fellow Comanche.

“Jack, Dark Bear offers his thanks for your forgiveness, and as is your wish I will not curse his spirit. However, I will not do as he requests and allow him to take your scalp!” Blue Hawk spat. “He also feels he has earned your horse and weapons.”

Blanchard let out a deep sigh. Blood was now running from his mouth. He choked on it as he replied.

“Let Dark Bear take my scalp,” Blanchard said. “After all, he earned it. He shot me fair and square, believing he was saving you. I just wish he’d got me in the chest rather’n my gut. I’d’ve died quicker and it wouldn’t hurt so much. Your cousin has the right to my scalp, but he’ll have to wait until I’m dead to collect it. That won’t be long now.”

“What of your horse and weapons?” Blue Hawk questioned.

“My horse is yours. You said yourself that under different circumstances you would have killed me to steal him. I know you will treat T well,” Blanchard answered. “My rifle and Colt are also yours. Let Dark Bear keep my Bowie knife as a trophy of war.”

“That is more than fair, Jack,” Blue Hawk agreed.

Blue Hawk repeated Blanchard’s statement for Dark Bear, who nodded his understanding to the Ranger.

“Blue Hawk, I must ask one more favor,” Blanchard requested.

“What is that?”

“Please make sure someone gets word to Ranger Headquarters what happened to me. Don’t tell ‘em how I died, though, or they’ll come after Dark Bear. Just say that I was killed fightin’ the Hortons and their bunch.”

“I’ll do that,” Blue Hawk agreed. “What about your family?”

“I’ve got no kin,” Blanchard answered. “My mother and father are both dead, and I’ve got no sisters or brothers. The Rangers were the closest thing I had to a family.”

“I understand,” Blue Hawk nodded. “I am also grateful you do not want revenge on Dark Bear.”

Blanchard shuddered as a wave of agony wracked his body. Sweat was beading on his forehead and running down his chest and stomach, mixing with the blood around the arrow’s shaft.

“I won’t be hangin’ on much longer, Blue Hawk,” he told the Comanche. “We made a great team though, didn’t we?”

“We did indeed, Jack,” Blue Hawk answered. “May the eagle swiftly fly your spirit to the Great Spirit.”

“Thanks, pardner,” Blanchard whispered.

“I will not be able to give you a proper funeral, as is the white man’s custom,” Blue Hawk continued. “Nor will I be able to provide you a Comanche burial ceremony. However, I will make sure the scavengers will not ravage your flesh and scatter your bones.”

“I’d be grateful for that,” Blanchard answered, his voice weak and fading. “Reckon, it’s time to see what’s on the… other side of… the Great. Divide.”

Blanchard was wrenched with pain. The Ranger rolled onto his side in a death spasm, gave out a long groan, then his body went slack.

“You were as brave and honorable as any Comanche warrior, Texas Ranger Jack Blanchard,” Blue Hawk sorrowfully whispered.

True to Blanchard’s word, Dark Bear was allowed to take his scalp, but out of respect for the Ranger he’d killed, and at Blue Hawk’s insistence, Dark Bear sliced the scalp carefully and cleanly from Blanchard’s skull. Once that was done, Dark Bear took Blanchard’s Bowie and departed, leaving the grieving Blue Hawk alone with his dead companion.

T, Blanchard’s pinto, had remained nearby, waiting and watching. Now, he walked up to his deceased rider, nuzzled him, and nickered sadly.

“I know you’ll miss Jack,” Blue Hawk soothed the horse. “I promise you I’ll care for you just as he did. Right now, though, it will be better if you don’t see what I have to do.”

He led the horse away and picketed him with the others.

Blue Hawk gathered dried branches and stacked them to prepare for his Ranger compadre’s final journey. Once he had sufficient fuel, he gently lifted Blanchard’s body from the ground and laid it reverently on the pyre. He picked up Blanchard’s silver star on silver circle badge from where it had fallen and placed it on the Ranger’s breast.

The preparations completed, Blue Hawk lit a length of dried mesquite and touched it to several places at the base of the pyre. As the flames rose, he broke into a Comanche death chant, the mournful dirge seeming to mix with the sparks rising into the night sky. When the flames reached Blanchard’s body, a single tear rolled down Blue Hawk’s cheek.