Blood and Gold

I made my way down the hill, under the careful scrutiny of two dozen hard-eyed buffalo soldiers, and stopped beside the officer, an elderly white captain with iron gray hair showing under his battered campaign hat.

“Captain James O’Hearn,’ the officer said by way of introduction, his voice harsh like he gargled with axle grease. “Ninth Cavalry.”

I gave O’Hearn my name and added: “I see you’ve fared badly, Captain.”

The officer nodded. “Had a run-in with Apaches south of here. Lost my scout and a couple of my men are hit hard.”

I glanced along the column and saw a Pima draped belly down across his saddle, his long black hair hanging loose, almost touching the top of the grama grass. Two of the soldiers sat slumped in the saddle, one with a bloodstained bandage around his head.

O’Hearn studied me with interest. “What brings you out here, Hannah?”

I nodded toward the approaching wagon. “That. We’re headed for the Clear Fork of the Brazos.”

The captain watched the wagon creak slowly toward the column, and when he saw Lila walking by the side of the oxen as she finally reached us, he touched the brim of his hat. “Captain James O’Hearn, ma’am. Ninth Cavalry.”

Lila dropped an elegant little curtsy, then introduced herself and her father.

Obviously taking pleasure in the sight of a pretty woman in this stark wilderness, O’Hearn smiled and swung stiffly out of the saddle. He turned to his sergeant, a clean-shaven man in a faded blue army shirt, tan canvas pants tucked into his high cavalry boots. “Rest the men for fifteen minutes, Sergeant Wilson.”

I watched the troopers dismount, all of them black men in the ragtag uniforms of the frontier army, no two of their sweat-stained campaign hats alike, each shaped to the wearer’s individual taste. Most wore the blue shirt and yellow-striped breeches of the horse soldier, but a few affected store-bought pants and all had brightly colored bandanas around their necks.

To a man the men looked worn-out and hollow-eyed, but their weapons were clean and as they searched for wood to boil their coffee, their restless attention was constantly on the hills around them.

These were first-class fighting men who had earned a reputation among the Apaches of being brave and tenacious enemies, no small accolade from Indians who were mighty warriors themselves.

O’Hearn himself looked to be about sixty, but he was lean and hard, honed down to bone and muscle by constant campaigning and the harsh nature of the land itself.

The soldiers shared their coffee with us, and while we drank, O’Hearn paid a great deal of attention to Lila. She was so beautiful that morning that when I looked at her, I felt pain as much as pleasure. Lila had a way of doing that to a man and when I was around her I found it hard to think straight.

It was the captain’s voice that brought me back to reality. “Ma’am, I’m returning to Fort Griffin and I’d be happy to escort you and your father there until the Apache renegades are penned up.”

Lila flashed her dazzling smile. “Thank you kindly, Captain,” she said. “But Pa and I are anxious to reach our farm while there is still time to plant a crop.”

O’Hearn shook his hoary head. “Ma’am, I have a daughter your age, and I would tell her the same thing I’m telling you. It’s too dangerous for a woman to be out here. The Apaches have split up into a dozen different war bands and they have the whole country between here and the Brazos in turmoil.”

He nodded his head to the south. “Yesterday they killed two men at a cabin over on Valley Creek and before that they hit a preacher and his family on the Concho. Killed five people, three of them children.”

The officer looked from her pa to Lila. “I urge you, ma’am, to accompany us to the fort where you’ll be safe.”

Lila was silent for a few moments, obviously weighing possibilities, but then shook her head, a tendril of raven black hair falling over her face. “Captain, Mr. Hannah assures us we can reach our farm in a couple of days. I really do wish to press onward.”

The soldier shrugged, a helpless gesture. He turned to Ned. “And you, Mr. Tryon? What do you think?”

Ned looked exhausted and suddenly old. “My daughter has a mind of her own, Captain. I’ll do as she says.”

O’Hearn studied Ned closely, taking in his haggard appearance and bloodshot eyes and drew his own conclusions. “Then God help you,” he said. His shrewd blue eyes turned to me, judging me, sizing me up from the scuffed toes of my boots to the top of my hat. “Now it’s all up to you, Mr. Hannah, I think.”

I nodded, drawing a breath from deep in my chest. “Once we cross the Brazos we’ll be safe. My ranch is down there.” I tried a smile. “We’ll get it done.”

“Well, maybe so,” O’Hearn said, unconvinced. He drained his cup and turned to the sergeant. “Mount ’em up, Sergeant Wilson.”

The soldiers threw the dregs of the coffee onto the fire and swung into the saddle.

Captain O’Hearn looked down at Lila and touched his hat brim. “One last time, ma’am, I beg you to reconsider.”