Chapter 20

Thirty-three Penatekas, twelve of them chiefs, the others respected warriors whose words carried weight in Comanche councils, rode in to San Antonio. Some also brought their wives and children. Altogether, a total of sixty-five Comanches came in to the parley, most of them painted and dressed in their best. Chief Muk-wa-rah, second-ranking chief of the Peneteka Comanches, was their spokesman. Among the ones that hadn’t come were Buffalo Hump, a Penateka war chief, and Peta Nokona, chief of the Nokonis.

Buffalo Hump had never agreed to giving up the Penateka’s captives. Mexican traders would ransom them, the Texians would too. He would not willingly give up his only source of money, for to do so meant that he couldn’t buy better arms for his warriors. The need was great, because the Texians not only had long-range rifles, their Rangers now had fast-firing revolvers.

Peta Nokona had his own reasons. He and Cynthia Ann Parker, taken captive during the raid on Fort Parker, had fallen in love and married. It was a match that would last the rest of their lives. To return all the captives held by his band meant he would have to hand over his family to the hated Texians.

There to meet with the chiefs were Quartermaster-General William Cooke, Adjutant General Hugh McLeod, District Judge John Hemphill, District Attorney John D. Morris, and Bexar County Sheriff Joseph Hood. There was also an interpreter; none of the commissioners spoke Comanche and the chiefs spoke no English.

Instead of the expected 200 captives, Muk-wa-ruh’s delegation brought only one, a 16-year-old white girl named Matilda Lockhart. She had been horribly tortured, with burn-scars over most of her body, and her nose had been burned off so that the bone showed. She could not hold up her head, but she could describe what had been done to her. She had also learned enough Comanche to tell the commissioners that Muk-wa-ruh had never intended bringing in even the thirteen captives his tribe held.

Instead, he planned to offer them one at a time for as much ransom as he could get. Spanish and Mexican negotiators had paid well to get their people back, the Texians would too. What he did not understand was that the old ways were gone for good.

President Lamar had given strict orders that if the chiefs did not produce the captives as promised, they themselves were to be taken hostage and held until the Comanches returned the captives. To enforce this, three companies of soldiers, totaling more than 175 men, had been dispatched to the meeting.

The interpreter, when pressed, delivered the news to the chiefs and knowing what would happen, escaped out the door.

Colonel Fisher, commander of the First Regiment of the Texas Army, immediately ordered one company into the Casa Reales, as the courthouse was known, while two others remained outside. In the general melee that ensued, the chiefs were stabbed or shot to death and in the dimness and confusion, soldiers bullets also struck Texian attendees. Seven Texians were killed, including Sheriff Hood, and eight were wounded, three seriously. The Comanches who’d been listening outside the Casa Reales tried to escape, but all were hunted down and killed or captured.

After the fight, an elderly widow of one of the chiefs was released and told to inform the tribe that a twelve-day truce was in effect. The tribes could bring in the captives without fear of being attacked, but if not, the Comanche prisoners would be killed.

Instead, they tortured thirteen of the captives to death. Three others had been adopted into the tribe and so were spared. Among the killed was Matilda Lockhart’s six-year-old sister.

A rider headed to Gonzales with the news, and two days later we heard about it.

I figured it was only a matter of time before the Comanches retaliated. Priscilla and Little Ed were in Victoria, so I figured they were safe. It would take a powerful lot of Comanches to attack a town this size! But Jean-Louis and Sharon were at his rancho and they would need to be warned.

Milton was the best rider, but I asked anyway. “I need one of you to warn Jean-Louis,” I said. I waited, and sure enough Milton said he would go. “Tell him that Sharon and the baby can stay with us, we’ve got plenty of room. If he balks, remind him that his hacienda has thick walls, but walls only work if there’s a man with a gun to keep the savages out.” Milton nodded and went off to the livery stable. We had taken to keeping half a dozen of our best horses there and he’d pick the one with the most speed and bottom; even so, the trip would take him the rest of the day.

“Jeff, I want you in the house with Priscilla and Little Ed until this is over. I don’t expect them to raid Victoria, but a body never knows what might happen. You’ve already got your pistol, but take a couple of the others too. You’ll also want a double-barreled shotgun in case they get close, and a rifle in case they don’t. Take one of the kegs of powder and all of the molded bullets, and a couple of the lead bars too.”

He nodded soberly, face stiff. I knowed what he was feeling. I was scared too, though a man doesn’t show it. “What about you, Jake?” he asked.

“I’ll be along directly, bur first, I intend to find out if the militia needs anything. If they need me to join them, I will. You take care of my family, and if the Comanches hold off for a day or two, I’ll send Milton to help. Tell Priscilla I’ve messaged Jean-Louis to send his family in, so she should expect visitors.” He nodded and started gathering up what he’d need. While he did, I took down that pistol belt that I’d avoided wearing up to now. I strapped it on, adjusted it to fit snug around my waist, and fiddled with the holster.

It hung from the belt by a three-inch wide loop, and it occurred to me that hanging it on my left side made sense. So I slid it around and tried that, with the butt sticking out forward. It still felt loose and floppy, but maybe...

I punched a pair of holes near the holster bottom and inserted the ends of a rawhide pigging string, then tied them around my thigh. No more bouncing or flopping around, and I could carry my rifle in my right hand without it banging into the pistol! If the Indians did come, I would need all five cylinders, so I loaded the empty one and fitted a percussion cap over the nipple. I gently squeezed the copper skirt to hold it in position and let the hammer down gently so that it lay between two of the caps. Not as safe as an empty cylinder, but there are times when safety comes in second.

My rifle was loaded, but I figured a fresh powder charge and a new cap would be more reliable. I used the worm on the end of my ramrod to draw the bullet, which left it misshapen, so I put it in with some others I’d rejected to be melted down later. The powder I dumped outside, to mix with the dirt. Before reloading, I put that cap back on the nipple and fired it. I figured if there was any of that old powder still stuck in there, that cap might set it off. But nothing happened, other than the pop of the cap, so I ran the nipple pick through the hole to make sure there was no fouling and reloaded. I got a few stares during my walk down the street. The rifle in my right hand was unusual, but that pistol on my left hip was a sure-enough attention-getter.