They reached Fort Cameron a day and a half behind Mackenzie. His company had located the Indian village and attacked it. The stockade at Cameron was packed with the remaining Comanches. The rest were dead, or had fled from Mackenzie’s cavalry. There were over a hundred Comanches in the stockade, men, women and children.
Mackenzie had already led his company out again, this time heading for the Comanches’ Staked Plains strongholds. Orders had been left for the second company to follow after they had brought the wagons to Fort Cameron.
Jeannie was fit enough to ride two days before they reached the fort, and she stayed with Kennick constantly. She was at his side when they rode in.
Beecher, who had strangely kept away from Kennick the whole way, headed his mount over to the sutler’s.
As Kennick dismounted, a burly figure shouldered through the passing column of troopers. ‘Luke, me boy! By God, you’re a sight to set the angels weeping!’
Kennick turned, smiling. ‘Hello, Bren.’
‘Ah, don’t look so glum, boy. So it didn’t come out quite right. It’s not the end of the world.’ O’Hara grinned at Kennick. ‘Don’t look so surprised. We heard all about your trip from a fuzzy-cheeked lieutenant called Sumner.’
‘Female gossips have nothing on the Army grapevine.’
O’Hara ignored that, turned to Jeannie. ‘And this will be Miss Bahlin,’ he said, sweeping off his hat. ‘Let me help you down, darlin’.’
‘Watch him,’ Kennick warned her. ‘Many a girl has been taken in by his blarney.’
Jeannie was like a child in O’Hara’s arms, as he lifted her from the saddle. ‘Thank you, Mister O’Hara.’ Kennick had told her much about this man on the ride to Cameron. She could see now why he was so fond of the big Irishman.
‘Did you hear that, Luke? Mister O’Hara she called me. Marry me, darlin’, and make me a happy man.’
Kennick laughed. O’Hara was trying to keep things light, and he was grateful. But there were things still to be settled.
‘Look after Jeannie for me, Bren. I have to see Broughton.’
O’Hara nodded as Kennick headed across the parade ground.
‘He takes everything so hard,’ Jeannie said, looking after him. ‘He wanted so much to make things come out right.’
O’Hara glanced at her. ‘Trouble with trying so hard is that you land so much harder when you fall.’
‘Have you heard anything about Kicking Bear?’
‘That murderin’ bas— Beg pardon, ma’am. We heard. Mackenzie’s men found him after the fight. All decked out ready for his trip to wherever he was going. The women were singing death songs when our boys rode in.’
‘All that Luke went through was for nothing then. What a waste!’
‘I don’t think so. And you mustn’t. A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be lined by worry.’
‘But I do worry. I can’t help it. I keep thinking about Joe Beecher. He seems to have taken over from McBride. I’m sure he’ll try to kill Luke. O’Hara, help him if you can. Please.’
‘You love that boy a lot, don’t you, ma’am?’
Jeannie faced him squarely. ‘Yes, I do, O’Hara. And I need help to keep him alive.’
O’Hara nodded gently. ‘I’ll do what I can. That I will.’ But he was wondering just what he could do. Beecher had broken no law, and he was beyond Army control. If he called Kennick out, it would have to be that way.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he repeated.
As Kennick passed the stockade he stopped. He saw one of the Comanche captives staring at him through a gap in the stockade wall. Kennick recognized him. It was the Elder who had spoken with him at the Comanche village. The old man stood rigid, his face impassive, as Kennick came up close to the stockade.
‘These are bad times, father,’ Kennick said in Comanche.
The old Indian inclined his head slightly. Though his face was expressionless, his eyes revealed a sorrow beyond words. ‘It is bad, Kennick.’
‘It was I who told the soldiers where to find your village.’
The Elder said, ‘Are we not at war? It was a thing you had to do, though I see in your eyes, Kennick, that your heart is troubled.’
‘You gave me my life, and in return I betrayed your people.’
‘In life there is much we do that brings sorrow, yet we do those things.’
‘I did what I thought was right, father.’
‘Kennick, who knows what is right. Was not Kicking Bear sure his way was right? Yet he took our young men and they died against the guns of the whites. They believed he was invincible. When he came back to them as a dying man, they were made afraid. That is why the blue coats won. Now Kicking Bear is dead. Maybe now the young men will stop thinking of war and we can have peace.’
‘It must come, father. War brings only grief and misery to all. The Comanche are becoming too few to fight any longer.’
‘I see the end coming, Kennick. These eyes have seen much, and now they see the end. The buffalo are gone. The land of the Comanche is taken by the whites. It was a good life, Kennick, in the old days.’
The old eyes turned to the sky and watched the soaring flight of a hawk wheeling its way across the cloudless blue. Kennick could almost read the old Indian’s thoughts. Thoughts of the wild, free days when the plains were covered with the buffalo. Days when the Comanche was ruler over the vast land that he roamed, living a good and contented life. A time long before the whites forced their way in from far away, bringing guns and drink and disease, which in turn bred violence and hatred and death.
Kennick looked past the old Indian, into the stockade, remembering the challenging, defiant attitude of Kicking Bear. Now he saw only crowded men and women and children, huddled together in subdued silence. A defeated people, bewildered and afraid as they wondered about their fate.
There was nothing else he could say, nothing he could do. He turned away impatiently, glad to look away from those lost and lonely faces behind the stockade wall.
Colonel Broughton looked tired. He faced Kennick across his desk, toying absently with a Comanche coup stick.
‘You chose the wrong man, Colonel,’ Kennick said. ‘I made a mess of it.’
Broughton put down the coup stick. ‘You can cut that talk out for openers. How could anyone foresee the problems you had to deal with.’
‘I still failed.’
‘I can understand how you feel, Luke.’
‘Can you, Colonel? Can you really understand how I feel? All that way to come to nothing.’
‘All right, Luke, maybe I’m just saying it to make you feel easier. But before you decide it was all a failure, just listen. Granted we didn’t succeed in what we originally intended.
But maybe we did in another. Kicking Bear is dead. I know the way he died was unfortunate, but it was him or you. And had you got him through, the Army would have hanged him in the end, no matter how they used him first.’
‘Makes me sound like an executioner,’ Kennick said bitterly.
‘Better that than have Kicking Bear alive and running wild again, butchering every white he came across. Another thing, Luke, have you seen the effect of his death on those Comanches out there? Lieutenant Sumner told me that when he led his men on that village, the resistance was very weak. There was something lacking in the way they fought, he said. Luke, they’ve lost a lot of their spirit. You know how superstitious they are. How they believe in spirits who lead them through certain chosen warriors.
‘Kicking Bear was a chosen one. Now he’s dead, like any ordinary man who takes a lead slug. It’s hit them hard, Luke. Left them leaderless and confused. Right now is our chance to hit them harder, before they get themselves organized. Keep them on the run until winter. Destroy their food stocks, their shelter. I don’t think they can ride out another winter of cold and starvation.’
Kennick thought of the old Indian, telling of the good life, a time long ago, now gone forever.
‘Hear me, Kennick, I see the end coming,’ the Elder’s voice spoke in his thoughts. ‘Soon the Comanche way will be no more. Even now the tribes are scattered to the four winds. Their strength is gone and the whites will defeat them. Winter cold will freeze them, and they will not eat, for what is there to eat? It is bad, Kennick, but it is so. The Comanche will fight, for he knows no other way, but he will only die. Perhaps the way of the whites is the only way for the Comanche now. They say they will put us on good land and feed us and clothe us. So be it. We must trust the word of the whites.’
Broughton got up from behind his desk and looked hard at Kennick.
‘If I did wrong, asking you to come, Luke, I’m sorry. I can only say I did what I thought was right. I brought you trouble, that I know. But don’t let it eat at you, Luke. You feel you failed, but success isn’t important. What’s important is that you tried, and risked everything in that try. No man can do more. There’s no shame in failing. Come right down to it, I failed, too, Luke, but I’m using that failure to make a new attempt.’
‘And do we make a new attempt for Griff and Bo?’
‘For God’s sake, Luke! Men die every day. It’s part of creation. Life and death. A lot of things happen in between that we may not like. Men do what they can to make things happen right, but it doesn’t always work. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s got to be faced. Griff knew what he was doing. He’s not worth crying over.’
Broughton sat down again and they sat silent, facing each other. It was hot in the room. Sounds from the crowded parade ground came clearly through the open window.
‘Going home, Luke?’
Kennick nodded slowly. So many people seemed to be asking him that just now. ‘Yes, I’m going home,’ he said, in a tone that implied he didn’t really believe it.
Broughton looked about to say something more, but Kennick got up and opened the door.
‘Forget it, Colonel,’ he said, and closed the door behind him.