Silver City Massacre Read Free Page B

general direction of the twisting and turning Brazos, aided by the existence of a well-worn trail that reminded them that they were riding in Comanche territory. The river managed to maintain its contact with the travelers, although it often took leave to turn away from them before coming back again. The country looked the same, with no indication that it would ever change in appearance, the gently rolling prairie broken only by the occasional line of hills.
    On the second day of travel, upon entering a wide valley bordered by a long ridge on their right, they came upon a recent campsite that Riley determined to be Indian.
    â€œNot more’n a day old,” he told Joel as they both tested the ashes of the campfire.
    â€œI agree,” Joel said. “I expect we’d best keep a sharp eye.”
    He walked around the clearing among the cottonwoods, inspecting the tracks, seeking to get an idea of the size of the hunting party. It was plain to see that they had come upon a popular camping spot, for there were many older tracks as well as the remains of a couple of other campfires, long dead. He returned to focus his attention on the fresh tracks.
    â€œThey’re Indians, all right. None of these horses are shod. Doesn’t look like a very big party, maybe three or four at the most—may not be that many—could be one or two and extra horses.”
    â€œMaybe they’ll take off in some other direction,” Riley speculated. He was not overly concerned about a fight with hostile Indians, if these were indeed hostile. Depending upon how well armed the Indians were, they would most likely be able to ward them off.
    â€œFrom the looks of these tracks, they left here in the same direction we’re headin’.”
    â€œBut like we said,” Riley replied, “they’re most likely a day ahead of us.”
    â€œWe’d best keep an eye on their tracks anyway,” Joel advised. “Maybe they’ll turn off in some other direction.” They climbed back into the saddle and continued on. After a few miles, the Comanche’s tracks turned back toward the east.
    They encountered no more tracks on that day, and no more than an occasional sign of Indians during the next few days. Still they knew better than to relax their caution. There had been word of increased Comanche attacks on the little settlements and ranches in northwest Texas in recent weeks.
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    For two more days they continued to follow the Brazos until late one afternoon they arrived at a point where the river seemed to change its course back more to the west. Accustomed by then to the many turns and twists of the river, they decided to stick with it, so they made camp there at a wide bend, with plans to start out again in the morning. Weary of the open sameness of the country, they welcomed the nightly fare of bacon and coffee.
    â€œDamned if I ain’t ate so much bacon I’m gonna turn into a hog if we don’t see somethin’ to shoot at before long,” Riley complained. They had occasionally seen sign of deer, but no sightings of the animals themselves. “I swear, I’m about ready to think about butcherin’ that packhorse.”
    â€œHe looks a mite tough,” Joel teased. “Maybe you’d do better butcherin’ Dandy.”
    â€œCouldn’t do that,” Riley responded, chuckling. “Ol’ Dandy might come back to haunt me.”
    â€œHow’d you come up with a name like Dandy for that horse, anyway?”
    â€œOn account of the way he acts around the ladies,” Riley informed him. “See, he don’t know he’s been gelded—acts like a damn stallion every time he gets near a mare. Thinks he’s a real dandy when it comes to courtin’ the ladies. I feel real sorry for him if he ever finds out he ain’t got nothin’ to work with.”
    The next morning found them in the saddle