The Texans Read Free Page A

Prussian’s presence. He was pretty sure he could lick him, but then there was that damned sword that the Prussian always had at his side.
    â€œI’m glad you came,” Red Wing said.
    Even with the moonlight, Odell couldn’t see her in detail, but he knew that face just the same. He thought about smooth brown skin and those soft doe eyes. Her hair was as black as the darkest night, and she would be wearing the red ribbon he’d given her to tie it back.
    â€œHerr Odell, what brings you on such a long walk in the night?” the Prussian asked.
    â€œThere are Comanches about.” Odell was sure that damned foreigner knew good and well what he’d come for. The Prussian was just rubbing it in that he’d gotten there first.
    â€œComanches? I hope there will be a time when we’ve rid the country of those thieving, killing devils,” the Prussian said, or at least that’s what Odell thought he had said. The Prussian’s accent was so strong that Odell couldn’t always understand him, and half the time he mixed his native German tongue into what he said.
    â€œI did a little scouting and crossed the trail of one this evening.” Odell saw no sense in giving his story any more detail. It wouldn’t do to have the Prussian know he’d let a Comanche pass through his sights without firing a shot. Odell had come to learn that most Texans were pretty much of a similar opinion when it came to Comanches.
    â€œBy
Gott
, those gut eaters are probably stealing my horses and burning my house right now.” The Prussian stood angrily with his sword sheath rattling against the porch.
    Odell thought it rude and highly insensitive for the man to be talking so harshly about Indians in Red Wing’s presence. While true that she wore pretty dresses, played the piano, and sang beautiful folk songs, the blood in her veins was Comanche. Colonel Moore had captured her on a raid against the Comanches sometime around the Battle of Plum Creek. He had given her to the Wilsons, and half the white pioneers along the Colorado River had curled up their noses at them for taking in a savage child.
    The Wilsons were about the richest folks in the country, but their money never had been able to buy them a daughter, and Mrs. Ida Wilson wanted one more than anything. They took Red Wing in and started raising her like a lady. Four years later, very few who didn’t know her would have guessed she had been born a Comanche. Her adaptation to the white man’s ways had been remarkable in such a short time, and she was nothing if not beautiful. Most folks had conveniently forgotten her heritage, especially the overabundance of bachelors in a land short of women. She spoke better English than any Texan was expected to and had already read more books than Odell ever knew were written. The only sign of her former life was the fact that she insisted on keeping her Comanche name, even if a roughly translated Texas version of it.
    â€œDo you think the Comanches will come here?” There was no hiding the terror in her voice.
    â€œThere was just one of them. I don’t think there’s anything to fear.”
    â€œThere will be more of them,” she said quietly.
    â€œDon’t worry, Frau Red Wing. I will stay here to fight for you if need be. There are enough of us here to stand off many Comanches,” the Prussian said.
    Odell didn’t like that at all. If anybody was to do any fighting for Red Wing, he intended to be the one to do it. The Prussian had his left hand on the pommel of his sword just like he always did, and Odell couldn’t help but wish he had one too. He had to admit that the weapon made a man look far more impressive than a Bowie knife or just a plain old butcher knife stuck in a belt. The Prussian cut quite a figure in his fancy coat and ruffled shirt and with that sword rattling against his leg. Supposedly, he had killed two men with that blade. That might