Chapter 22

Jeff and Milton stayed put during the rest of the day, only shooting when a Comanche got close to the house.

After a time, they began avoiding the road out in front of the house in favor of breaking into houses up at the north end of town. Penelope Rudd, for that was her name, had cleaned powder-fouled barrels and reloaded emptied weapons while Jeff and Milton kept watch, ready. During lulls, Jeff learned more about Penelope. A falling tree limb had killed her father and a year later, her mother had died from smallpox. Neighbors had taken her in while they waited for a response from her uncle, who had agreed to take her in.

But then had come the revolution.

She had seen little of her uncle John Linn while the war was going on, and along with many others, had fled east during the Runaway Scrape. He had eventually located her in Nacogdoches, where she’d taken refuge with a family who had recently lost a daughter to smallpox. He’d sent a letter to friends in Galveston, who had brought her south with them and paid her passage to Victoria. She had only praise for John Linn; he’d kept her safe and when opportunity allowed, done what he could to educate her.

But since her arrival, he had gone away often on business. And now had come the Comanche attack. The woman who’d been with her when Jeff spotted them, and who now was helping the housekeeper in the kitchen, was a stranger. Penelope had seen her struggling and moved over to help her take care of the children.

Jeff and Milton took turns keeping watch, but as expected the Comanches rode away late that afternoon. They would fight during darkness only when there was no other option.

“No rifles tonight,” said Jeff. “We wouldn’t have light enough to aim, and if we do run into a Comanche it will be knife-fight close, so keep your pistol ready in your hand. First stop, the gun-shop, to pick up four revolvers. That way, we’ll both have two and there’ll be two for Penelope. Girl, you watch out for us coming back and don’t be too quick to shoot!”

“I won’t! You’re getting pistols for me?”

“We are. Better you than a murdering Comanche, and I also reckon that you can handle them easier than a rifle. Bar the door as soon as we leave and don’t open it back up unless it’s one of us,” Jeff said. She nodded assent and after a quick look around outside, the cousins slipped away into the night.

The full moon, called by settlers a ‘Comanche moon’, cast shadows across the town. Toward the north end of Victoria, flames flickered red from a still-burning barn. The fitful light appeared to reveal movement when there was none, but both had seen the like before. Milton led the way, while Jeff followed a short distance behind.

Entering the gun-shop by the back door, they located the pistols by feel. After gathering them up, they slipped back to the house. The low flame of a candle their only light, they sat down a few feet away to load the cylinders. Not for the first time, they silently cursed the clumsy reloading process made doubly-difficult by the poor lighting, but soon it was done. Jeff called Penelope over and explained how the pistol functioned. “When you cock the hammer,” he said, “the trigger will swing down. The hammer has a notch for sighting, but with the light the way it is you’re better off if you just point it like you would point your finger and squeeze the trigger. Think you can do that?”

“I can,” Penelope said quietly. “If there’s time, I think I can reload it too.”

“Good girl!” he said, and smiled.

But she didn’t smile back. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. For your information, I’m not a girl, Mister Bell!”

“I’m sorry, that just slipped out,” Jeff said, flustered. From her expression, she was not mollified in the least. But he would worry about that later; first, there was the matter of ensuring that the Indians had gone, and after that and seeing whether their neighbors needed assistance.

Milton once again led as they slowly worked their way north, moving silently from house to house while listening for signs of life. They found two families, and one hadn’t been raided at all for reasons known only to the Comanches.

The other family, by name Maverick, had sustained an injury. An arrow had struck Sam’s upper arm just before he reached the house. His wife Mary had broken the shaft just behind where the feathered end entered his arm, then pulled the arrow the rest of the way through. She had poured whiskey into the wound and bandaged it with a strip from a table-cloth. He took a long swallow of the whiskey, then pulled a chair into position behind the shuttered window. From then on, whenever he spotted an Indian he’d shot at him. He’d had no way to be sure, but thought he’d killed several.

To both families Jeff gave the same advice: “Everyone else is down at the south end, forted up. We’ve got room for you where we are, but if you have friends you might prefer to stay with them.”

“Do you think they’ll come back, Jeff?” asked Mary. She had just finished swapping Sam’s bloody bandage for a fresh one.

“Ma’am, I just don’t know. Jacob never expected them to raid us, but then I doubt he ever reckoned on there being at least a hundred of them, maybe more, in one war party! As to whether they’ll be back, they stole whatever they could lay hands on up here in the north end of town but they never got past us. We killed some and wounded more, but since there’s more plunder to be had and a few more scalps to collect, they might just decide to come back. They also might just figure it’s time to go home with what they already got.”

“What you’re saying is that there’s no telling,” Mary said calmly, “so we need to act as if we were certain they would be back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeff agreed. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“How are you fixed for powder and shot?” Sam asked. “I fired off most of mine yesterday. I could have shot a few more of the devils, but I figured I had to keep some back. I reckon you know why.”

“I understand,” said Milton, “and yes, we’ve got both. We’ve got lead enough to cast as many balls as you’re likely to need, and as for powder, there’s half of a keg of triple-F and another of double-F grade that hasn’t been opened yet. We should be fine, but bring your bullet mold with you, in case your rifle is a different caliber.”

“You didn’t mention Jake. He’s not hurt, is he?” asked Mary.

“No, ma’am, not as far as I know. He went off with his partner Jean-Louis, trailing a herd of horses to Linnville for auction. Their families might be there already. They took the cutter, so they likely got there quicker.”

“I hope they’re all right,” Mary said. “You don’t think the Indians will go all the way down there, do you?”

“I hope not,” Jeff said, “but none of us are safe now. I wonder if President Lamar knows what a hornet’s nest he stirred up at the Council House?”

Time passed slowly after they returned. “I doubt they’ll be back, and probably not during the night, but as riled up as they are I don’t reckon we can chance it. You want first watch or midnight to morning, Cousin?” asked Jeff.

“If they’re coming back, they’ll be here right after daybreak, so why don’t I take the second watch?” suggested Milton.

“You get some sleep then,” Jeff said, “and at first rooster-crow you wake me up. If they’re not here by dawn, you and me will scout around and see how bad they tore things up.”

“I don’t think I can chance sleeping in a bed,” Milton said. “I’ll rustle up some bedding and make a pallet over against the wall. Wake me up if you hear anything.”

Jeff nodded, planning to take over the pallet after Milton got up.

“We’ll fix breakfast after you get back, then,” said Penelope.

“I would admire a cup of coffee now, if you don’t mind,” said Jeff.

Penelope smiled at him. “I’ll be happy to! The beans are already roasted, so I’ll just grind enough for a fresh pot! Be back in two shakes.” Jeff watched as she walked away. Was that a little extra wiggle? Maybe; she had to know he’d be watching! Was that what she meant by two shakes? He felt like laughing, then decided he’d better not. She might ask what was so funny, and he’d never be able to explain!