Chapter 7

The next morning was some improvement for Mary and me, but Ma was still in a state of deep mourning. We practically had to force Ma to go to the kitchen for breakfast. Once there, she could only be persuaded to drink a cup of coffee and eat one biscuit. Mostly, she just sat at the table and stared into space. The rest of us were at a loss for what to do about Ma's descent into what I figured was a state of shock.

Well, there were chores to be done that could not be put off, such as feeding the stock. Also, it was time to harvest some of Ma's herbs and spices that went so heavily into getting us the silver coins that we had to have to survive. Mary was the only one besides Ma who knew enough about that business to do the harvesting. Ella Mae went with Mary to help her as best she could, while Charlotte stayed in the house to look after Ma and Jimmy.

Jimmy had reached the stage where he needed a lot of supervision as he toddled from one place to another. He was constantly getting into things and pulling stuff out of cabinets to play with it. The situation was bad enough that Charlotte had a four-foot-long leather strap that she used to tether Jimmy to a table leg. That let him walk around, but kept him from messing with too many things. Ma did come to herself enough to lift Jimmy to her lap and to do a lot to entertain him while Charlotte started working on cleaning the house.

Meanwhile, I worked in the barn and on the larger garden. The garden didn't need much work except for watering some of the plants. However, the sun was hot and that sweated away a lot of my depression as I labored in my shirt and large hat. Only a fool went out into the August sun in Texas without those things if he was a White man. Otherwise, he was sure to come down with a bad case of sunstroke.

Over the next few weeks, Ma did improve slowly, but steadily, but we wondered if she ever would recover to her old optimistic and bright personality. When it was time to make the September run into town for supplies, she just could not bring herself to make the trip. Instead, Charlotte made the trip with me and left Jimmy in Ma's care.

This time, we figured to do our best to stock up on staples before the prices went out of sight. Therefore, we took our largest wagon with two mules to pull it. Charlotte could handle a two-mule team with ease, so that was not a problem. Where the problem came in was that the Comanches were on a real tear about now before they started laying in food for the winter. In answer to that, Charlotte had two of the Henry rifles and one of the old Colt Navy pistols with her in the wagon. She also carried extra Henry ammunition, though she might have trouble reloading if we were involved in a heavy fight.

I had two shotguns slung over my saddle horn and extra shells in my pouch at my belt. I also had both .44 Star DAs at my waist with extra cylinders and loose cartridges in another pouch. I was riding my horse beside the wagon to act as a mobile strike force if we needed it. Well, we did!

We were not bothered on our way into town, but the story was different on our way home. I did not know if the 10 Comanches were waiting for us specifically, or if we were just a target of opportunity. It really did not make any difference because we were in trouble either way. Our wagon was heavily loaded with flour, sugar, and the fake coffee as well as a lot of other things. As a result, the two mules were pulling a much heavier load than they were used to and were going slow in the afternoon heat.

Anyway, we were just starting up a long hill when the Comanches showed up at the top of the hill. They came boiling over that hill at a dead run right at us, and that was what saved us. The Comanches had to hold their fire because they did not want to kill the mules, and the mules were facing them. Therefore, they could not shoot their arrows at us and had to wait until they were even with us before they could use them.

We had no such problem. Charlotte kicked on the brake and dropped the reins as she reached for a rifle. She had time to drop behind the wooden wall of the driver's box long before the first arrow could be fired. On the other hand, she was shooting from a completely stable platform and could use the lip of the driver's box to steady her aim even further. That way, she was able to drop three of the Comanches before any arrows could be fired in her direction.

I took a different tack. I grabbed up one of the shotguns and raced toward the Comanches. That was a surprise to them, and they were not quite sure how to handle my response. As soon as I got close enough, I fired one barrel of my 10-gauge sawed-off shotgun at the closest Indian. Of course, by being mounted on a running horse, I did not have a very steady aiming point, and that was why the sawed-off shotgun was such a valuable weapon.

As best I could, I aimed at the waist of the Comanche and fired the left barrel. Some of the buckshot hit the Indian and some hit the horse. I have no idea if any of the hits on the man were fatal, but they were enough to make him loose his seat and tumble from the horse. At a full speed run, that fall had to be fatal.

My next shot did not land where I had aimed. Instead, this time most of the useful buckshot hits landed in the face of the Comanche. I did not complain about the location of the hit because this Comanche also fell to the ground and was fatally injured by the fall, if not by the buckshot. I had time to reload, so I did not have to swap shotguns.

I was not so foolish as to ride directly toward the center of the group of Comanches because I did not want to interfere with Charlotte's shooting. She had hit another Comanche by the time I had reloaded, so the enemy was down over half of their number, and the battle had barely started. I cut to one side to bypass the group of Indians and swirled around to begin an attack from their right side. That was going to make it difficult for a right-handed archer to shoot at me.

The Indian horses were much faster than mine because of the difference in the weight they were carrying. Therefore, when one of the Comanches turned away from the charge at the wagon to come after me, he was moving at nearly twice the speed I was traveling. Actually, it was a case of the slower the better for me and my shooting, so I was not troubled by the speed of the Indian's approach. I let him get close enough and shot him in the chest. I also hit his horse in the head and neck with some of the pellets, so that made it shy away from the straight line in my direction. The sudden jerk to one side by the horse, plus the impact of the buckshot, was enough to shake the Comanche to the ground.

Again, impact with the ground at this speed was going to result in fatal injuries to the man, so I was able to ignore him. Thank God that the Comanches considered the White man's saddle and stirrups beneath the dignity of a true warrior! As long as they insisted on riding what amounted to functionally bareback, they were a hell of a lot easier to kill, and that made me very happy!

I still had one shell left in my shotgun, but I took the time to reload that fired barrel. One could never know when two shots would be necessary. Meanwhile, the remaining three Comanches were riding around the wagon and keeping up such a steady fire with their arrows that all Charlotte could do was to keep her head down and hope that I could help her out.

I rode toward the wagon as fast as my rapidly tiring horse could manage. I fired the left barrel again as soon as I had any hope of hitting an Indian or his horse. This time, I had fired too soon. I saw the horse flinch, but it kept going. It was going to slow down soon from its wounds, but I could not tell when that would be.